#creaks 2020

[winsstar-art]

La creatura

#creaks #creaks 2020 #fanart #now tht i know there is a very tiny audience. well. #artists on tumblr #star art

[eerna]

Waking up for seemingly no reason only for an earthquake to hit a few secons later at this point is like. Disappointed but not surprised

#it was a small one no worries the house just creaked and shook #but like. still enough for adrenaline to flood my bloodstream and ensure i cant sleep anymore!!!! #and WHY do they only happen in the early hours of the morning. WHY. WHAT IS UP WITH THAT. WHAT KIND OF A COUNTDOWN IS THERE. #DOES THE EARTH'S CRUST KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS???? LIKE????? #and i REMEMBER earthquakes like this before and they NEVER woke me up #before the big ones in 2020 reset my entire system i guess. i am like an animal now except worse bc i dont feel it all the way #eernatalk

[koushirouizumi]

{Koushiro} + L O U D N E S S + C o v e r i n g E a r s

(Rules usage for imgs under ‘read more’!)

REGARDING GIFS USAGE:

- they must NOT be used to spread negativity for the canon/fandom! {INCLUDES: in regards to Adventures AS A WHOLE, Adventure (Original series), 02, Tri, Kizuna, Adventure & 02 movies, Drama CDs, any spinoff materials} - they must NOT be used to promote shipwarring within the fandom - they must NOT be used to attack any Adventures character focused on - IF I SEE YOU DOING THIS I WILL LIKELY BLOCK WITHOUT MERCY {usage may be allowed IF PERMISSION IS ASKED TO USE.}

{Please also LIKE this post if you are wanting to use!} {Once you have “Liked”, feel free to contact me to ask for permission!} {However, read my about & FAQ pages first. Please DO NOT use / ask if you match anything in my “Do Not Interact” section.} {I MAY POLITELY DECLINE USAGE REGARDLESS. Please do not take it personally!} {if you are unsure if you can use you can SEND ME AN ASK} {I will check your blog; if you do not match anything on my “DNI”; [CHECK THE FAQ FOR MY DNI SECTION/S] you will likely/may pass the check and can use!} {However please note my ENTIRE FAQ sections on such} {It is possible I may not grant permission for other reasons} [i.e.: You post a lot of something I have blacklisted]

PLEASE ALSO NOTE: {My headcanons for the characters of this series VARY} {for this set particularly; I headcanon most as M-spec/Multi-gender attracted*} {this post/my icons ARE NOT for people who cannot respect this fact or M-spec people / M-spec headcanons / MF relationships, Queer identities, etc. in general!}

[PLEASE BE RESPECTFUL AND FOLLOW MY RULES] {OR DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS POST/MY CONTENTS}

#izumi koushiro #koushirouizumi adv #koushirouizumi adv: #2020 koushiro #adventure koushiro #adventure!koushiro #digiadv 2020 05 #koushiro and sensory #koushiro compilation #koushiro comparisons #(in Adv ep 01 its Kuwagamons screeching) #(in 2020 ep 05 theres literally an explosion) #(which sounds like loud groaning or creaking inside Whamon) #(and even Taichi asks him 'whats wrong') #(I have a full compilation for this too but I'm testing how it looks with just these) #(since these are for my H.C.s series) #(in Ep01 Motimon copies his pose too) #(Kuwagamon whose screeching sound negl is pretty dang annoying) #(I do not blame Koushiro) #(but yeah this is me just throwing Koushiro things) #(into my void) #(because I Can) #(and) #(I WILL) #(I'm a DigiAdvs blog for a reason gdi) #(EDIT: these imgs have been stolen via the img function like x3 times by now so I'm stylizing text just so it stops coming up for ppl)

[cametotheshowinsd]

evermore || taylor swift [Dec. 11, 2020]

And I was catching my breath Floors of a cabin creaking under my step And I couldn't be sure I had a feeling so peculiar This pain wouldn't be for e v e r m o r e

#taylor swift #evermore #tswiftedit #tswiftgif #it's almost 2024 and we still dont have enough contents to make a proper evermore anniversary gifset #happy 3rd bday to my fav little sister

[carolmunson]

let's go, don't wait (e.m. x f!reader)

inspired by this prompt by @edsforehead - it's not exactly the same but i did my best! summary: modern!eddie's been single since 2020 and aside from getting his dick wet after weekend shows at the hideout, he hasn't been going out of his way for love until his friends make him. cw: 18+ for adult themes. alcohol use, swearing, some sexual themes. some discussions of bad parents. eddie had some sad parts of his childhood. all around this is a fluff piece so nothing too bad. (11k) eddie is 32, reader is 30. so older!reader i guess, idk. i already started writing the part two which is almost entirely smut.

Jingle. Click. Creak. “Mmmm.” Eddie knows that groan anywhere, the deep primal urging of a one Gareth Emerson and the giggles of his girlfriend, Tatianna Edwards. They stumble into the apartment, lips attached, hands grabbing and fisting each other’s layers from the cold. 

“Hi guys,” he calls out, his tone was as bored and annoyed as he hoped it would be. His eyes don’t leave the TV, transfixed on the screen while he watches another YouTube compilation of the best guitar solos of all time. He disagrees with most of them, but it’s enough to drone on in the background while he scrolls through his Twitter feed. He’s never even posted. Not once. Not even a picture on his profile. 

“Hi Ed,” Tati chirps, clicking the side table lights on. He can smell her Chloe perfume when she comes to give him a hug hello. Her arms wrap around him from behind the couch, cheeks touching, a few of her butterfly twists falling forward over his shoulder. 

“Did you stay in tonight?” she asks, pressing a glossy smooch to his cheek. “Sure did,” he huffs, arms crossing over hers in a semblance of an embrace. Her gold bracelets are cool against his skin, her gold rings match his silver ones. He thought when Tati entered the picture that he and Gareth would’ve started to drift apart. Instead, Tati became Eddie’s new best friend – Gare really took ‘date the girl version of Eddie’ to heart. They were two peas in a pod. “You should’ve come out, there were a lot of single girls there – you’re a good dancer, you coulda snagged one,” she sounds like a mother trying to set him up. Eddie tilts his head up and looks at her from below, her deep skin shimmering with the glitter fallout from her eye makeup. She always looks pretty with ease, even with her makeup smudged – like she meant to do that. 

“Oh, I’m sure,” he smiles tightly, but the look falls to something soft when Tati lets go and her almond shaped manicured nails rake gently over his scalp through his conditioned curls.  “You can’t just keep picking up girls from shows, dude,” Gareth chides playfully, coming around the couch to sit next to him, “They’re starting to get waaaay too young for you at the bars.”

“Yeah, perv,” Tatianna teases, ruffling his hair before curling up on the recliner closer to the TV.

“Can we please not talk about this again,” Eddie sighs, sinking further into the cushions. He presses on his eyes with the heels of his hands, “You do this every time you guys come back from a date.”

“We gotta get you on Hinge, or something,” Gareth says.

“Tinder at the very least,” Tatianna follows.

“Okay, I’m going to bed,” Eddie grunts when he gets up, a little dizzy at the speed before he finds his footing, “Don’t be too loud tonight.”

“Just trying to help!” Tati calls out, “You deserve to be too loud at night, too!”

Eddie sucks his teeth before he turns the corner to the hallway, disappearing for the night while his friends fell more in love. 

It feels like they’re disassembling a bomb. Eddie sulks in a seat at the kitchen table while Robin, Steve, Nancy, and Gareth chatter behind him. Jeff and his wife sit across from him with just as much excitement as the group opposite them. Eddie frowns, bangs too long over his eyes, hands sweating onto the back of his banged up stickered phone case.

“I think you should put the picture of the guitar last, it doesn’t have your face in it. I’d swipe past you,” Robin points at the screen in front of him while he tries to make sense of his Hinge profile. 

“Well you’re a whole lesbian Rob, so you’d swipe past me anyway,” Eddie’s clipped words make the group laugh instead of making them back off. His shoulders sink immediately. This was mortifying.

“She’s right though,” Steve pipes up, “They’ll think you’re some weirdo who's obsessed with his guitar if you — well, actually then maybe it’s fine…” 

“Why don’t you—” Jeff starts.

“You’re married and you’ve been with Alycia since 2014. Your opinions are void,” Eddie interrupts with a sigh. 

Jeff lets out a laugh from his broad smile, “Look, I’m just saying. Why don’t you focus on your answers to the questions rather than the pictures? Girls love stuff like that. You’re smart, you’re a good writer.” 

“Babe, they’re not gonna care about his answers if the first picture they see is of an out of focus guitar taken on an iPhone 4S,” Alycia cocks her head at Jeff, “Like, at least be honest with him.” 

“I know you’re squinting in that picture from Jeff’s wedding but maybe you can put that one first,” Nancy points to the screen and then scrolls down a little. It lands on a photo of Jeff and Eddie, both sweating from the night's activities. His dress shirt is unbuttoned half way down his chest, silver chains and tattoos on full display, tie tied around Jeff’s forehead like a makeshift Rambo. 

“Yeah, you look really good in it,” Robin agrees. 

“Wait, wait, wait!” Tati shuffles into the kitchen, “I got in touch with the photographer from the show two weeks ago at Wraith Bar and he’s sending me some pictures.” 

“You can use the six pictures you’re tagged in from the last three years,” Tatianna scolds, “You look like a bum in them.” 

The group frowns and tosses glances at each other, it’s true. The more recent pictures they had of Eddie were far and few between. He was either blinking or off to the side, blurry or ducking out of frame. Every picture where he looks like himself was either from a show or had Chrissy in it, and he deleted all of those three years ago.

“Stop, you look so fine in these,” Tatianna squeals, “The girls are gonna love you.” Everyone but Eddie huddles around Tatianna to scroll through the pictures. Some of him mid shred with sweat pouring down his chest. Some of him screaming into the mic, hair wild and wet around his face. There was one, that he begrudgingly really liked, where his head leaned back into the light with a winning Munson smile. It was when he heard the opening drums to cover ‘The Immigrant Song’ as a gag – but not really a gag ‘cause he loves that song. It gets everyone at the bar pretty excited – even if they only know the song from School of Rock. 

Eventually, Eddie isn’t even holding his phone, it’s being passed between Tati, Steve, and Robin while he dictates his answers to stupid questions. By the time his profile is finished, his head is hidden in his mass of curls, resting his forehead on his forearms at the table. 

“Are we done now?” he asks into the space between his face and the woodgrain. Despite the winter air flowing through the kitchen window, he’s overheated with embarrassment. There are suddenly too many people around, too much talking, too much giggling at his expense. He tilts his head back up and takes a full breath through his nose and out through his mouth – “Oh shit! You matched with someone!” “How? I didn’t even look at anyone yet,” Eddie’s brows furrow while his head slowly comes to center. “Don’t worry about it, dingus,” Robin chides, “Just talk to her.” Eddie takes the phone and looks at her profile. Rachel, 27, Vet tech. She’s pretty, soft eyes, great smile. He swallows thickly before he goes to his ‘Matches’ and types three letters that felt like they took ten years to write: Hey.

The chats start fast and die faster, some flirty banter here and there before he’s too nervous or quickly bored. His heart squeezes every time he gets a notification, a buzz in his pocket, a reminder of a message. Some girls don’t want a relationship and that’s fine, that’s just not what he’s looking for. Some girls ask the big questions first and he can’t answer right away. Some girls just aren’t his type and he isn’t theirs either. 

The first date he goes on ends with her excusing herself to the bathroom before they even get to order dinner. She doesn’t come back — he’s not even sure what he did. It started off fine, she was pretty with blonde hair and blue eyes. Fun and easy conversation, a voice that sounded like powder puffs and sugar scented perfume. If he blurred his vision a little, she could’ve been Chris. But she wasn’t Chris. 

Maybe that’s why she left. Maybe she got the vibe that he was preoccupied with her looking like his ex. 

Maybe it was because he said, ‘You remind me so much of my ex-wife,’ before they got to order dinner. 

His second date wasn’t much better. He was proud of himself for not going for another Chrissy look alike, but it was clear that this new girl was on a hunt for a husband. 

“So are you planning on getting the tattoos removed?” she had asked, pursing her red lips. He was surprised at how well her lipstick stayed on after eating a pasta dish. Whenever he wears makeup for a show, it smudges before the lights come up. 

“Uh, no why?” he asked.

“Just y’know, thinking ahead — family photos and whatever,” she shrugged. His mouth had never run so dry in his life. The chicken alfredo turned in his stomach. 

The third ended up being a quickie in the bar bathroom only for her to leave right after and unmatch him without as much as a ‘Thanks for a good night!’ He at least wanted to be a gentleman about it. 

The fourth fizzled out and neither of them felt the connection. 

The fifth felt weird because they had talked so much on the app that they didn’t have anything left to talk about when they went out for drinks. 

A month had gone by and all he had to show for it was five bad dates and dozens of unanswered chats. Eddie was found sitting in his bed in the dark, only the light on his phone keeping him illuminated while he thumbs through Instagram. Another app that he has for no reason, he never posts, he never shares anything. He just scrolls.

He wonders if Chrissy’s on Hinge. Eddie’s stomach lurches at the thought of coming across her profile. All blonde and blue eyes, all sweet and spunky, all the right answers to her curated questions. Photos of her in the Maldives, in her friend’s weddings, of her in Chicago after she moved. His heart hammers, sweat collects on his bare chest, heating up the chain lying flat against it until it sticks. He quickly swipes out of Instagram to his home screen, a photo of Robin and Steve flipping him off from the stage after a Corroded Show during load out. He holds his thumb on the app until all the apps shake, thumb hovering over the ‘x’ on the corner to delete the Hinge for good. 

What’s another three years of being single? 

“Ed?” he hears Tati on the other side of the door, her soft knock following her voice, “I got Indian and I’m not gonna eat it all. Gare doesn’t want it, you want it?” 

“Yeah, sure,” he hums. She opens the door and sighs at the darkness. He squints as the light pools in from the hallway and sees her lean her shoulder against the door frame.

“Are you in here sulking?” she asks, one brow raising.

“Yeah, Tat, I’m in here sulking,” he groans, laying flat on his mattress, “I like to sulk. Let me sulk.” 

“Don’t sulk,” she puts on a pout and flicks his light on, leaving the containers of rice and chicken saag. He groans when the light stings his eyes, tossing a forearm over his face. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, her voice falling into kindergarten teacher territory. She never realized her profession would come so handy living with two grown men, “Why’re you being such a baby in here?” 

“I think I’m gonna delete the app,” he murmurs, still hiding under the protection of his tattooed arm. The pressure feels good on his face, releasing the tension starting to brew behind his eyes. He hadn’t eaten since his lunch period at work, the hunger was starting to catch up to him. 

“Don’t delete it,” she shakes her head, crawling onto the end of his bed. She takes her twists out of her jumbo claw clip and readjusts to pull them all back away from her face. Tati eases his phone out of his hand and slides her glasses on, flinging his dead arm off his face to use his Face ID. He whines, face scrunching is disapproval.

“I told you to stop doing that,” Eddie complains, sitting up against his pillows before crawling out of bed to get the food waiting on his dresser, “Do you have any naan or…?” 

“Do I look like a food bank, Munson? Damn,” she tilts her head and he raises his brows in a silent ‘Well, do you?’

She sighs deeply, “Yes, I have extra naan but you can only have it if you don’t delete the app and eat with us in the living room.” 

“Those are two totally different asks, Tati,” Eddie huffs. 

“I don’t make the rules,” she shrugs before starting to laugh, “Actually, I totally do.” 

The phone buzzes in her hand and Tatianna’s grin only widens when she sees the notification, “You have a new like.” 

“Whatever,” he shrugs, face laced with disappointment and frustration, “It’s gonna be another dud. Why bother if there’s no point? Like, this can’t actually be how people meet each other —“ 

Tatianna opens her mouth to protest but Eddie interrupts his own thought before she can speak, “You and Gareth are the anomaly.” 

“What if the sixth time’s a charm? She looks really cute,” She smiles, teeth bright against her smile, cheekbones glistening where her moisturized skin hits the light. 

He rolls his neck and sighs while Tatianna continues to encourage him, “Just try. You owe yourself that. Chrissy wouldn’t—.”

“Fuck Chrissy, Tat,” Eddie’s voice raises slightly, suddenly defensive. His chest burns at the sound of her name, heat rising up through his neck to his face,  “I don’t really give a fuck what Chrissy would and wouldn’t want. ‘Cause if it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have to be on these stupid fucking apps.” 

“Whew, tell me how you really feel Ed,” she says while she stands up off the bed to walk towards him.

“Look, I get you’re still mad about how things went down with Chris. I know you’re still hurting, but you’re denying yourself a chance to start over — just shoot this girl a message. She seems cool,” Tati speaks so gently to him that he soothes instantly. She offers his phone, still open on the new profile — he’s hesitant at first but he takes it from her to look at the screen. 

There you are. You are cute. Your profile is simple: your name, age thirty, your opening tagline ‘idk i’m just out here i guess’. He lets a puff of air out of his nose at the sentiment — ‘Same,’ he thinks. 

“Fine,” he says finally, “I’ll look through her stuff and I’ll message her. Are you happy?” 

“Thrilled,” she smiles, “So thrilled that I’ll even let you have the extra samosa.” 

He follows her out of the room with his phone and food in hand, looking at her fondly when she passes him a tinfoil covered piece of naan in the kitchen, “You’re my best fucking friend, dude.” 

“I thought I was your best friend?” Gareth pouts from the kitchen table, D&D notes littered in front of him. 

Eddie scrunches his nose, tilting his head while he considers, “You’re alright I guess.” 

When the food is done and he’s gotten a proper look at your profile he decides to bite the bullet — fingers shaking while he matches back with you. He doesn’t start with ‘hey’ this time because Robin and Steve said that was boring, so he tries something new: 

wild that you’re just ‘out here’, me too. 

…

…

…

lol, twin behavior. how’s your night?

Eddie’s heart hammers at the response. He’s surprised at the reaction, he hadn’t had that with any of his other chats, normally expecting them to die off after the first ‘Hey, how are you?’ pleasantry. But maybe this could be different, maybe this could be fun. 

scored some indian food from one of my roommates so it’s one of my better nights. 

ooh, i’m so jealous. i have buyers remorse from some baked ziti i ordered. should’ve just made it.

what did you get?

chicken saag, still jealous?

i’m more of a saag paneer girl but consider me over here seething.

Eddie grins into the phone, cheeks hot while he thinks about what to say back. He skims over your profile again, eyes stilling at a photo of you laughing on what looks like a cruise deck. The sun hits you like a golden streak across your eyes. The caption reads ‘the last time i felt a single shred of genuine happiness’, he huffs an airy giggle before going back to the chat. 

you’re funny, did you know that?

um ya, i’m the funniest person i know, actually. 🥰

that's crazy cause i’m the funniest person i know. and since now i know you, it’s looking like we gotta battle for who the funniest is.

Jesus fucking Christ Munson, why can’t you just be normal? Why can you just say ‘lol’ and call it a night? He frets. His leg bounces while he waits for your reply, food rolling in his stomach. The cool metal of his rings is welcomed on his warm cheeks while he leans against his hand on the arm of the couch. The few minutes he waits for the buzz of his phone feel like eternities. But there you are to save him from his embarrassment:

lmao okay. where did you wanna battle?

there’s a bar in the city that i think could host. you around tomornight?

tommorow night* sorry, fuck, i was trying so hard to be smooth with it.

TOMORROW***** FUCK. LET ME LOG OFF FOR ETERNITY REAL QUICK.

yiiiiikes! embarrassing. but this proves you actually might be funnier than me. i’m not a sore loser so i’ll go on a date with you if that’s what you’re asking.

do you drink? it doesn’t have to be a bar.

i do! where did you have in mind?

there’s a spot called little spoon saloon in the city if you’re familiar. sorta cozy.

oh yeah sounds great for a battle 🙄

but yeah i know it, that’s not too far from my place. maybe we’ve seen each other before and never known it. two ships passing in the night~*

does seven work for you? i know it’s a monday, so we can do earlier if you gotta be up early or something.

sevens fine :)

okay :)

:)

:)

see ya tomorrow! Eddie bites his lower lip, breathing steadily through his nose while he sends over his number. Anything to get out of looking at the app for at least another day, anything to spare him from potentially running into Chrissy’s profile despite her being in a different state. It was getting close to the holidays, she could be around at any moment. 

Before he can spiral, his phone buzzes again – this time a text from an unknown number. His grin widens, too caught up in the excitement bubbling in his chest to feel Tatianna’s stare from the recliner. hi, it's me. jsyk if you don't reach out by like, two tomorrow -- i'm considering it a cancellation and i do have a 50% cancellation fee. sorry! 

50%? stop selling yourself so short, kid. but don’t worry, i won’t cancel. no? you’re not scared to battle? i’m never scared of a battle. :) (A lie.) see you tomorrow. 

“What’s got you smiling like that?” Tatianna smiles, cheeks tight from being unable to hide her excitement. “Are you talking to a girrrrrl?” Gareth teases. Eddie let’s out a ‘tssss’ while he stands up and stretches, quirking a brow at his best friend. “Is it a girl? You takin’ her out?” he asks again. “Yeah G, it’s your mom,” he shrugs, “Night y’all.” “Ed,” Tati whines, “Come on.” Pink floats across his cheeks, itching his nose to hide his goofy smile behind his hand. “Yeah, it’s a girl. And yeah, I’m taking her on a date tomorrow,” he groans. Tatianna squeals, shimmying with giddiness while the recliner rocks with her. Eddie’s too caught up in hiding his face, “Ugh, she’s cuuuute, Tati, what am I supposed to do?” 

“Show her what she’s been missing,” Tati shrugs, “Everyone needs an Eddie.” 

Last night, Eddie fell asleep caught in a memory that became a dream. He’s eight years old at the YMCA, Wayne sitting in the stands watching him – this is maybe two weeks after his dad dropped him off before he got sent to prison. Wayne wanted to make sure his schedule stayed the same as it could, so Saturday swim lessons it was – today was diving off the block. Eddie had been dreading this lesson for a month, knowing that level 2.5 meant you had to at least try. In level two, they had you stand on the block just to get used to it. He could barely breathe for the ten seconds it was up there, tears stinging his eyes while his teacher encouraged him to come closer to the edge. Three of his classmates had already asked if they were allowed to jump off. It looked fun but it was just so high up. What if it hurts? What if he landed the wrong way? He was up soon, standing behind the block with the rest of the kids, shivering from being out of the water. He could dive off the edge of the pool just fine – in fact, his teacher said he was a great diver, especially for an eight year old. So it should be no problem to dive off the block, he just had to do the same thing he always does. Just higher. 

Gareth, before Gareth was his best friend, climbs up the block and puts his feet at the edge of the white plastic and metal. His teacher, Miss Tiffany, tells him to put his arms up and bend his knees and to dive at the whistle. The whistle blows and Gareth leaps – but he doesn’t dive smoothly into the water. 

“BELLY FLOP!” Jason Carver yells from the edge of the pool where all the kids who already dove sat. They start teasing him relentlessly, Miss Tiffany helping him out of the water to inspect his red belly. Tears well up in Gareth’s eyes, his mom leaning over the bannister from the seating area. “Are you okay, baby?” she asks. Gareth burns red with embarrassment, only encouraging the cackling kids to get crueler. 

Miss Tiffany puffs her whistle three times, “If you tease again, you’re not allowed to go to free swim. Do you understand me?” 

The group quiets, slowly kicking their feet in the water. “Alright Eddie, you’re up next!” 

He gulps, climbing up on the block slowly before standing to full height with his eyes closed. He takes a deep breath through his nose and out through his mouth, like his Uncle Wayne taught him to do when he was feeling nervous. When Eddie’s eyes opened, a chill ran through his chest – for some reason the block seemed higher than ever. 

“Ready Freddie?” Miss Tiffany asked, treading water in her red bathing suit. She grinned up at him, knowing that the phrase always made him giggle – but not today. 

“Arms up, knees bent,” she continues. Ed looks down at the water and the room spins, he can hear Jason and the class giggling. Hear the splashes from the kicks of their feet. 

The whistle blows. He doesn’t move. The whistle blows, again. He puts his arms down. “You okay, Eddie? You can do it! You’re a great diver!” she cheers. 

Eddie chews on his lower lip, thinking about the smack of the water when it hit Gareth’s stomach. The laughter. The teasing. The potential of the pain. The whistle blows again. Eddie climbs down off the block, sniffling when he makes it back to the pool deck, “I don’t want to Miss Tiffany.”  

“C’mon Ed, I know you can do it! Do you want me to save you for last?” she asks, her smile still bright and encouraging. Eddie sniffles again, eyes burning with tears while Jason and his friends start to tease him, too. “Swimming sucks,” he bites, stomping towards the boys room, grabbing his ratty towel off one of the benches on the way in. He’s only in the locker room for a few minutes before he hears the door open and Wayne’s apologetic voice talking to Miss Tiffany from the deck floor.

“He’s just goin’ through a lot right now,” Wayne says, his gruff voice rattling off the metal of the room. 

“Eddie?” Tiffany’s voice calls. 

“Come out here, son,” Wayne calls, “Y’know, if your decent.”  

Eddie sniffles back his tears again, shuffling over to the door while Miss Tiffany waits with his Uncle.

“Do you maybe wanna stay a little late today and we can practice diving off the block when class is over?” she offers, “I know it can be scary to do it in front of your classmates, but I want you to pass to level three!” 

“No thanks Miss Tiffany,” he mumbles to the tiles on the floor. 

“That’s okay Eddie, maybe we can try again next week. How’s that sound? I know you can do it,” she says softly. 

“Okay,” he murmurs before turning on his heel and moping back into the locker room. Wayne was waiting by the check in desk when Eddie emerged after changing, his ratty towel slung off his shoulder. 

“You okay?” Wayne asked.

“Yeah, can we just go home?” 

“Sure kid, was gonna stop and get us some lunch if you wanted,” Wayne’s eyes crinkle with his smile, “Wanna go to McDonalds?” 

Eddie returns the smile half heartedly, “Yeah.”

They walk to Wayne’s pick-up hand in hand, despite some parents thinking he’s ‘too old’ to be doing that. He needed the support, and his uncle was never one to make him feel like he didn’t have it. 

“So d’you wanna try again next week? Your starting form was great, buddy,” Wayne asks while Eddie puts his seatbelt on. Eddie considers it. Getting to the edge of the block and making Jason Carver eat his own words. Making him look like a loser for a change. 

But the words ring in his ear ‘BELLY FLOP!’ The relentless teasing if he didn’t do it this week and then messed up next week. He’d be a baby and a joke. 

“I don’t wanna do swimming anymore, Uncle Wayne,” he huffs.

“You sure?” his uncle frowns, putting the car into gear, “You’re really good, Ed. Y’could be on the swim team.” 

“I don’t wanna come back. I quit,” he repeats. He crosses his arms while they pull out of the parking lot, watching the rest of the kids pool out of the doors with smiles on.

Eddie wakes up to his alarm blaring, back in his 32 year old body. He swears that the air of his bedroom smells like chlorine.

Eddie made sure to text you at 1:59 PM like an asshole. 

still on for tonight? :)

so close to having to pay my cancellation fee. 

but yes, still on for tonight :) 

sorry, work’s been wild today. would’ve texted you sooner!

you’re off the hook…

for now. 😡

He likes your little attitude, he decides. That little hint of sass in your messages keeps him on his toes and it’s not lost on him that this is probably how you flirt. He wonders, selfishly, how easy you are to fluster. You both exchange a few back and forths before he’s finishing up work for the day and heading to Wheeler’s for a campaign chat. 

The texts completely drop off while he gets ready to see you. He takes an extra long time in the shower, using the tiniest squeeze of Tati’s curl cream when he comes out because it makes his hair look good. He scrubs his face raw before shaving, following up with the skin care routine he kept up with, even though Chrissy curated it for him. 

Once dressed, he stepped quietly out to the living room to grab his jacket in the closet and pull out his boots. 

“You used my curl cream, I see,” Tatianna crosses her arms. He blushes. 

“Don’t be mad, I just wanna look good,” he puts on a faux pout, eyes rounding while he slides the leather over arms.

“You look really good,” she smiles, “It’s gonna be great.” 

Eddie shoves his socked feet in his Docs, worn in from years of wear, and looks up at her, “I’m kind of excited.” 

“You should be! I don’t know, I just have a really good feeling about this one,” she smirks, “Text me at some point, let me know how it goes.” 

“It’s a better indicator if he doesn’t text you, Tati,” Gareth says, coming up behind her, “You look sharp, dude.” 

“Sharp?” Eddie rolls his eyes, “What’re you? Eighty?” 

Tatianna clicks on her phone to look at the time, “Can you get the fuck outta here? You’re gonna be late!” 

“I’m going, I’m going!” he laughs, arms up while he grabs his keys from the hook by the door, “Wish me luck, bye!” 

Eddie felt sick. Suddenly feeling like he was standing at the edge of the pool in ‘98.

When he got his keys in the ignition of his Honda Civic, a text came through immediately. He swallowed tightly, in some way expecting it to be you. In some way, expecting you to be canceling on him. 

Instead, it was Tatianna in the big group chat: 

here, we made a playlist for you

Eddie clicks on the Spotify link and laughs. First Date - Blink 182

First Date - Blink 182

First Date - Blink 182

First Date - Blink 182

First Date - Blink 182

First Date - Blink 182

First Date - Blink 182

First Date - Blink 182

First Date - Blink 182

First Date - Blink 182 First Date - Blink 182 First Date - Blink 182 First Date - Blink 182

And so on. The music automatically connects, the opening guitar ripping through his speakers. Eddie quickly types up a response on his phone before pulling out into the street. 

very creative, edwards.

someone in this house has to be. ‘In the car, I just can't wait, to pick you up on our very first date. Is it cool if I hold your hand? Is it wrong if I think it's lame to dance?’ He rolls his eyes as Mark and Tom serenade him in the car, laughing at the lyrics. It’d been a while since he’d listened to this album, let alone this song. While he won’t admit it to Gareth or his girlfriend, it was exactly what he needed before he got to the bar. 

‘Do you like my stupid hair? Would you guess that I didn't know what to wear? I'm just scared of what you think, you make me nervous so I really can't eat.’ “Let’s go, don’t wait, this night’s almost over,” he sings along, fingers tapping on his steering wheel while he waits at a red light. He’s on the fourth replay of the song by the time he pulls up. The ignition cuts off the lyrics before the chorus, he takes a big breath before opening the door. Just a couple minutes past seven, but he told you he was running a little late, so you wouldn’t be mad. His phone buzzes to Robin, Steve, and Jeff reacting to the playlist Tati sent. Alicia, Jeff, and Nancy sent him sweet good luck messages. Robin and Steve sent them a picture from a bar they were at, flipping him off. ‘Break a leg, dingus,’ came in her follow up voice memo. Eddie considers making this new picture his phone background. 

He swallows hard when he gets to the door, his bottom lip getting pulled between his teeth in apprehension. He nods to himself, “You got this, Munson.”  Another deep breath, he’s still ten, he’s still afraid to dive off the diving block. What if it hurts? What if he belly flops? 

‘What if you don’t? What if you dive this time?’ He thinks to himself. He opens the door to the bar, his ten year old self puts one foot on the diving block. The chatter of a few conversations at once is disorienting, so is the low light of the bar in comparison to the neon outside. The man at the entrance asks for his ID and he awkwardly fumbles for his wallet as if it’s not obvious he’s been old enough to drink for eleven years. “Here, man,” he says, somehow nervous he’ll get caught with a fake like he’s nineteen again. The security’s light flashes over his birthdate and he passes it back with a short and gruff thank you. Eddie takes a few steps before checking his phone to remind him what you said you’d be wearing.

in a red cut off sweatshirt, jeans that look like dickies – hard to miss! white airforces! i’m here, looking for you if you can’t spot me just approach the most off putting girl at the bar, it’s probably me :) 

He smiles into the light of his phone. You’re are funny. His phone lights up again, another text bubble added to your previous one. Eddie’s heart hammers in his chest when he looks at it, knowing you’re really only moments away. got you a guinness cause that’s what you said you liked on your profile. it looks like battery acid tbh. there’s a couple seats by the end of the bar, i’ll grab them. He looks up from his phone finally to see a blur of red start maneuvering over to the end of the bar. That’s you. Oh shit, that’s you. Oh shit, you’re – fuck. You have a fat fucking ass in those jeans. He swallows again, shaking the horny thoughts out of his head through the tendrils of his hair. Another deep breath through the nose, out of the water to the diving block just to dive again. He walks the length of the bar and hears his name, your voice in real life – not through a voice note or on your profile. “Ed?” 

Eddie catches your eye and his heart sinks and leaps so quickly he thinks he’s going into cardiac arrest. You’re real pretty, even more so when you grin at him from a few feet away. You wave him over and he does his best to walk confidently towards you, taking his jacket off while he does. He doesn’t know it, but the other girls at the bar are looking. He’s all broad shoulders and dark tattoos, two silver chains and understated rings. Full lips and doe eyes. Tatianna never told a lie, he was unmistakably handsome – he just didn’t know what to do with it. You toss your hair when you speak to the bartender from the end of the bar with a bright smile. The man puts two drinks in front of you and you leave cash in their wake. Eddie winces when he sees you pay, but tries to ignore the sting. In a way, it feels like he’s already losing – like he’s playing Sims with Robin and he’s not on track to get a gold reward on date night. You’re hot and you know it, but he can tell it’s like you just found out. Your eyes are flirty no matter what you’re looking at, you’re full bodied and it’s like you know it’s making him salivate. Eddie can’t help but be nervous when he takes a seat next to you, fingers immediately drumming on the bar top in front of him. “Guinness for you,” you say, sliding the pint glass in front of him. “Thanks,” he smiles, “You didn’t have to do that. I asked you out, you’re not supposed to be paying for me.” 

“I know, but – why don’t you get the next one and we’ll call it even?” you offer. He nods while he takes a sip, eyeing the lighter orangey liquid in your glass. “Did you get a cider?” he teases. 

“It’s a grapefruit beer, thank you,” your brows furrow at him while you take a sip. You have a good face, part of him wants to say that but it seems like a weird compliment. ‘Nice face.’ Like, what does that even mean? His tongue feels heavy, he can feel the sweat building under his curly bangs. “Weaksauce,” he laughs, scrunching his nose, “Grapefruit beer? Not for me, toots.” 

“Yeah, because you drink battery acid!” you tease back, “You’re a stout snob, huh?”

“Nah, just never heard of grapefruit beer. I always drink Guinness – or like, Miller light. Never really stray,” he shrugs. 

“You wanna try mine?” you ask, sliding the glass to him. 

“You sure?” he watches you nod and brings the beer to his lips. It’s tart, a little bubbly, hitting his tongue on the off beat from the stout before. It settles and then it’s sweet, he wonders if you’re the same. Eddie smacks his lips, “I don’t hate it.” 

“That’s such a stout snob thing for you to say,” you pull a face, bringing your drink back to sit in front of you. “I’d offer you a sip of mine but I know you don’t like it,” he smiles, “Wouldn’t want to ruin the taste of your dessert beer.” “Fuck off,” you shake your head and smile, taking another sip of your drink. The Guinness in his hand makes him feel less nervous, but not all the way – toeing the line of the end of the diving block but not scared to look down into the water. He can tell you’re nervous too by the way you pick at a hangnail on your thumb absentmindedly, the way you cross and uncross your legs. Eddie’s eyes linger for a moment at the way they spill over each other, squishing flat on the seat of the stool when you keep them uncrossed. He tries to discreetly follow the line of your thighs to your hips, up to your waist before getting ahead of himself and pulling his eyes away. 

“How was your day?” you ask. Not the question he was expecting. “My day?” he asks, brows raised while he tries to recollect anything before getting ready to see you. “Uh, my day was good. Yours?” You fucking dumbass, you couldn’t just spare one detail? She’s gonna think you’re an asshole. “It was fine,” you answer quietly. Your smile fades a little and he feels a panicked chill rush in his chest. “S-sorry, I should’ve elaborated. I sound like such a dick, sorry,” Eddie feels the heat creeping up on his cheeks, a clamminess starting up at his hairline, “I um, I went to work. Came home, went to a friend’s house for a minute and we talked about a campaign we’re putting together next weekend. I had some dinner, and then I started getting ready to see you and um – uh, now I’m here.” “Campaign? Are you a politician or somethin’?” you quirk a brow while you look him over. He feels insecure under your gaze, he hopes you like his tattoos.  

“No, no, it’s for Dungeons and Dragons.” Saying it outloud makes him feel like a loser, even though you don’t react like you think so. 

“Cool,” you smile. 

“Do you like, even know what that is?” Defensive already, waiting for you to make fun of him. Waiting for this to end up another mistake. Waiting to belly flop. 

“Yeah, I know what it is,” you answer quietly again, this time your shoulders, “Have some friends that play.” 

“Oh, cool. Cool,” Eddie nods, chest tightening, toying with his rings while you reach for your drink, “Um, I’m — yeah, sorry if that came off like, dickish. I didn’t mean to—.” 

“No, no, it’s okay,” you shake your head when you say it, almost like it’s rehearsed. Like you’re always ‘okay’-ing something. 

“Sometimes people think it’s weird when I tell them, I dunno,” he shrugs, still looking down at his rings, “If I’m being honest I haven’t been so great at this whole dating thing.” 

You smile again and he looks up in time to see it, his breath hitches. You’re very pretty. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I learned how to play Magic the Gathering twice to impress a boy. Two different ones,” you grimace, scrunching your nose, “Gross right?” 

“Oof, that’s rough,” he jokes, “Magic the Gathering? That’s like, way worse than D&D.”

“Well the difference between you and me, is that I don’t still play,” you bite back, cocking your head while you take another drink. “Didn’t impress those boys after all, huh?” he raises a brow and your mouth falls open in faux offense. 

“You’re so mean,” you gasp.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he drawls, “Should’ve put that in my profile.” 

“Oh, so you are mean?” you grin. 

“The meanest,” he grins back, teeth straight and shiny. Full lips pulled tight against them, “How was your day?” “I worked,” you shrug, “Not as exciting.” 

“What do you do?” he asks, turning towards you on the stool, leaning one arm on the bar. He relaxes into the seat, legs spreading wide while his free hand runs nervously over his thigh.

“I’m a personal assistant to a jewelry maker,” you let out a half chuckle through your nose, “It sounds fake when I say it out loud. But basically, I just keep her schedule and run errands and keep her shit in order. She’s an older woman and she’s not the most tech savvy in the world — great at what she does though, really eccentric but I feel like you gotta be when you work in the arts like that.” 

“That’s cool,” he says softly, watching you talk, “What kind of jewelry does she make?” 

“Oh you’ll love this, since you like D&D and stuff,” you start, your excitement is infectious, his heart thrums, “She makes fine jewelry for the most part, but also makes anodized chain mail jewelry and wearable pieces for theater and ren fairs on the side. I told you, eccentric.” 

“Oh, so she’s a little alchemist, huh?” he smirks. 

“Kinda, yeah,” you shrug, heat hitting your cheeks while he keeps his gaze on you, “It’s cool to watch the first few times, and then you get bored.” 

“I’m sure it’s the same for people who watch my band,” he laughs. You shake your head, a curve pulling from the corners of your lips while you finish your beer. 

“Alchemist,” you repeat with a playful roll of your eyes, “You’re such a nerd.” 

“What do you do for work?” he notices you fully turn when you ask, your knees toward him. He remembers Steve telling him once that it was always a good sign when they do that. Like Steve knows anything about body language and dating these days, he’s been platonically attached to Robin for years. His little guard dog. 

“I’m a teacher,” he replies, knocking back the remainder of the Guinness in his glass.  

“Hm,” you hum, looking him over suspiciously, “That’s surprising.” 

“I work at a performing arts school,” he rolls his eyes, “It’s 2023, I’m allowed to have tattoos.” “What do you teach?” you squint when you look him over a second time, “Actually, let me guess – drama?” 

“Music theory,” he corrects. 

“Ooh, big brain,” you joke, “That’s cool.” 

“Big brain? I don’t know about that, I just like music,” he shrugs, “It makes sense to me.” “When I was in high school everyone always talked about how hard music theory was – like, all the band kids,” you explain, there’s a sparkle starting to glint in your eye when you talk to him. “You were hanging out with the band kids?” he tosses a sarcastic knowing look before taking his glass in his hands, “And I’m a nerd? I dunno girl, it’s not looking good for you here...” “Even worse, I was dating one,” you grimace back. “Fuuuuck, you were really fighting for your life in 2009 huh?” Eddie laughs low, lower lip tucking in between his teeth to run his tongue over it. 

“2007, 2008 all the way to like, 2016,” you hide your face in one hand and he wishes you wouldn’t. 

“Damn, that’s a long time,” he observes, “You didn’t marry that guy?” 

You lift your head back up, and shake your head, “It was on and off for a long time, he’s not a fan favorite. It’s uh – it’s why I normally don’t date musicians. I almost didn’t match with you ‘cause of your first picture.” 

Fucking Tatianna. 

“Eek, sorry,” Eddie puts his hands up, “Should I go?” “Do you play bass?” you wince.

“I play a lot of instruments,” he chuckles, “I can play the bass. But I’m not like…a bass player, if you know what I mean.” 

“Oh, I know what you mean,” you breathe out a sigh of relief, “Made that mistake more than once.” “What’s your favorite instrument that you play?” you ask, it’s almost girlish. He ponders it while you cross your legs, the toe of your shoe barely brushing the back of his calf but he knows it's there. You rest your chin on your fist while you watch him think about it. His brown eyes glint in the reflection of the light overhead, plush lips parted while he runs his hands over his stubble. “I think I’d have to say…electric guitar? I’ve been playing that the longest,” he hopes you think that’s cool. “Is it the same one that’s in your pictures?” 

“The Warlock?” he asks with a grin, “Yeah, that’s my girl. Best relationship of my life, prob’ly the only lady who talks more than me.” 

“It’s really nice. I like the color.” 

“Thank you,” he says quietly, eyes darting to your knees where they sit between his, “Um, can I get you another drink? Do you want a beer or…?” 

“If I get a real drink will you stop making fun of my beer?” 

“I promise.” He slides off the stool, sad to see your close proximity to him fade away when he stands up. 

“They have food here, right? I’m sort of hungry, if that’s okay,” your voice gets sheepish when you ask. 

“Yeah, that’s okay. Did you eat dinner?” The words fall out of him too fondly. 

“I had like, a huge spinach salad,” you explain, “Might not have been enough.” 

Something tells him to press further before he buys you more liquor, lest this date go to the wayside too quickly, “Did you eat lunch?” 

“I worked through lunch.” 

“Did you eat breakfast?” 

“I had a smoothie,” you confess. 

“Okay, so before I get you a drink, why don’t I get you some chicken fingers or something?” he insists. You’re shy in your smile back to him, nodding along at his advice. Yes, you should eat more before you keep drinking with him. He doesn’t want you to think he’s just trying to get you tipsy, he’s never been that kind of guy – even when he’d bring home girls from the bar. (They’d at least be the same level of totally obliterated as he was.)

He beams back at you when you nod, “Atta girl.” 

He doesn’t notice when your thighs clench. 

The last chicken finger is eaten, the last fry of the basket he got for you to split crunched through. The conversation had lulled, not because you weren’t interesting – the nerves were getting to him, creeping up like vines along his chest. The look over the diving block at the water, it’s slow waves teasing him to jump. 

“So um,” you began, swallowing your final fry and wiping your hands on a napkin, “Since you’re a teacher, how was school today?” 

Eddie’s so used to this question that his response doesn’t change, always the same quote from the same movie. Forgetting he doesn’t know you like that, his mouth moves quicker than his desire to play things off cool.

“The worst day of my life, what do you think? Gosh!” Eddie sounds more like John Heder in 2004 than John Heder does now – but when he hears himself say it, he’s immediately embarrassed. Eddie opens his mouth to apologize, nervous you won’t understand but instead – you laugh. And what a sound that is for him to hear. 

“Oh, shit. I haven’t watched Napoleon Dynamite in years. Like, not since grade school.” Eddie laughs with you, “Sorry, sorry, that’s like my go-to reaction at home when my roommates ask me that. I should’ve said something more normal like, ‘It was fine. The kids can’t stop trying to take TikTok fancams of me.”

“Roommates? Fancams? You’re so hip, tell me more,” you enthuse. He puts a finger up to stop you at first, locking eyes with the bartender so he can finally order another round of drinks. 

“What kind of real drink do you want?” he asks. 

“Just a marg on the rocks, salt,” you shrug. 

“Psh, I said a real drink,” Eddie teases with a roll of the eyes, but they soften when you go to argue back, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” 

His toes inch towards the middle of the diving block.

“You’re cute when you’re mad,” he flirts. Eddie can see the heat hit your cheeks, the creep of a smile slowly curving upwards, you’re embarrassed. Nervous like he is. Maybe this is going just fine. 

When the drinks arrive he slides the margarita towards you and sips his own Jack and Coke slowly through the tiny bar straw. 

“Okay, so. I have two roommates. Gareth, who’s been my best friend since I was nine; and Tatianna who has been my best friend since I was twenty-nine,” he explains. 

“So why aren’t you dating Tatianna?” you challenge. You miss the straw when you reach for it with your mouth, it slides over to the other side of the cup. You try again and miss, cheeks burning while Eddie looks at you continue to fuck up. His eyes glint mischievously while you hold in your frustrated laughter, “Stop looking at me.” 

“It’s fine, I’ll wait while you get your life figured out over there,” he jokes, checking ‘the time’ on his wrist, “Shouldn’t be too long until you finally get it.” 

“You’re so annoying,” you grit out playfully while you capture the straw between your teeth, “Should’ve put that on your profile, too.”

“Anyway,” he continues, “I’m not dating Tatianna because Gare’s going to propose to her when they go on vacation in a few weeks.”

 “Oh! Yeah, that makes sense,” you nod, “Probably not a good idea to date your best friend’s almost wife.” 

“Yeah, definitely not well advised,” he shakes his head, pulling his hair up off of his neck for a minute before dropping it down, “Plus, her last name is Edwards and I dunno…don’t think I could live with myself if I was ‘Eddie Edwards’.”

You laugh again and he hoped you would. It’s a goofy laugh, you don’t try to sound cute when you do it. He knows you must be a loud laugher, if your small ones are any preview to what you could really do. You don’t sound like Chrissy. Her laugh was dainty, feathery. Like how they teach you to giggle in an etiquette class – all soft edges, all smooth lines. 

“You wanna take the girl’s last name?” you raise your brows, “Very forward thinking. Progressive.” 

“I don’t know, something about it’s kinda hot right?” he asks cock of his head, “Plus, my dad sucks so I don’t want to keep repping him by having his last name.” 

“Oh wow, my dad sucks, too,” you reply cheerily, “We have so much in common!” 

“What was it you said before? ‘Twin behavior’?” 

“Twin behavior, yes!” your hands meet both of his knees where he sits across from you, your tone is light and earnest, “You get me.”

Eddie takes in a hitch of breath, desperate to keep his cool when he feels your hands on him. It’s not even sexy but he could shoot straight to the moon if you asked him to. You use his knees as leverage to hop down from your stool, grabbing your drink before nudging him with your hip. 

“If we’re still battling though, there’s an air hockey table in the back room if you wanna play,” you offer. 

“Are you any good?” he wonders, hopping off the stool to follow you to the back. 

“I’m amazing,” you grin, “Actually won seventeen first place trophies in the intergalactic air hockey competition – of course I’m fucking bad at it, that’s why it’s fun to play.” 

Eddie laughs this time, it’s gruff and nicotine soaked. You’re already winning the battle for funniest person – you’re sharp with him and he’s starting to like it. He runs his hand over the side of the air hockey table in the empty back room, more and more pleased that he put this date together on a Monday. He slides a dollar into the machine so it whirs to life, the neon lights flicking on with a stutter. 

“This reminds me of birthday parties when I was a kid,” you muse to yourself, reaching for the hockey disc trapped in your goal, “Can you help me?” 

He nods, hand grazing your back to get you out of the way – you’re warm to the touch. If he was a braver man he would’ve pulled you into him but he’s not, instead squatting down to reach further into the goal where your game piece was. 

“Hm,” he murmurs, reaching further back and barely touching the top of it, “It’s in here, it’s just back there. I can get it, just –” he sucks his teeth like he did the night before, getting to his knees to try. Music plays over head, stuff the new crop of bar goers would consider oldies. You smile at the opening ‘Damn, shawty snappin’...’ of T-Pain’s ‘Buy U A Drank’, but even more surprised when you hear Eddie sing along softly to himself. 

“Snap ya fingers, do yuh step, you can do it all by yourself. Babygirl, what’s your name?” “Not you knowing the lyrics,” you laugh. 

“I was in highschool in 2007 of course, I know the lyrics,” he huffs, standing up, “I think it’s a bust for air hockey.” 

“That’s fine,” you shrug, “We tried.” 

“I know the club, close at three,” he lip syncs to himself before, turning his attention to you, “What’s the chances of you rollin’ with me?” 

You back and forth to each other in time with the lyrics before settling back down in your spot at bar. 

“You even know the Yung Joc part? Damn,” you laugh again, he loves it. 

“Why’re you so surprised? Is it the tattoos?” he asks. 

“Well yeah, you definitely give off a ‘loved Avenged Sevenfold’ in high school vibe,” you scooch your stool closer to his, your knees slotting between his open ones like a perfect puzzle. It’s not enough though, and he’s not sure if it’s himself or the Jack and Coke that encourages him, but he reaches for one of the legs of your stool to pull you closer. 

“Hey,” he says, your faces only a few inches apart. 

“Hey,” you respond. You catch his eyes flick briefly to your lips before they meet yours again. You can see the light smatter of freckles over his nose, long faded from the summer. 

“You’re right, I was really into Avenged Sevenfold when I was in highschool.” 

“I figured. I was into that whole scene thing, back then. All those singers that are mad at their dad’s and like, in retrospect, all hate women I guess,” you realize it as you speak. 

“I probably would’ve thought you were cute,” he guesses. 

“No, you would’ve called me a poser,” you correct, “Don’t lie.” 

He hesitates before nodding, “No, no, you’re right I definitely would’ve called you a poser. Did you like Fall Out Boy and all of that shit?” 

“Don’t shit on the music I liked,” you frown, “That’s not cool.” 

“I’m not, I’m not,” he assures, pulse speeding, “I promise, I’m not. I’m sorry.” You continue talking about music, high school, college, some ins and outs. Nothing too serious. Nothing too intense. But by now, Eddie’s feeling nice and if one thing’s for certain:

He wants to fucking kiss you. Toes at the edge of the diving block, Miss Tiffany’s whistle caught between her teeth. 

“So now that we’re three drinks in, can I ask you a personal question?” you ask, your eyes a little glassy. You’ve confessed that you’re tipsy, but aware, that if you have one more drink you won’t be – so Eddie already paid the tab. 

“What do you wanna know?” he asks.

“Why’re you,” you enunciate, implying he’s something, “On the apps? It’s hard to believe that someone like you would be single. Unless you have like, something deeply wrong with you, but you’ve been all green flags so far.” 

Your hand falls back to his knee and he eyes it before sliding his own hand down his thigh to lace your fingers with his. 

“You want the real story?” he asks, lifting your hand up of his knee to play with your fingers in both of his hands while he talks. His hands are warm and calloused on the fingertips, but the rest are soft. Lacing and unlacing, running his thumb up the lengths of your fingers, tracing your palm. 

“The real story.” 

“You gonna tell me why you’re on the apps after?” 

“Sure,” you nod. You look gentle, at ease. He eases in, too. 

“I got divorced in 2020,” he confesses. It feels like a weight off his chest to tell you, “Married my high school sweetheart, things were great for a long time, but y’know. People grow and – the pandemic was not kind to us.”

“Oh, I’m…I’m sorry to hear that,” you offer softly. 

“It’s okay,” he smiles tightly. “I guess I was both surprised and not surprised at all when she broke up with me. Almost relieved, I guess – that I didn’t have to play the part of her husband anymore. Not that she was a bad wife or anything, she was great she just – I don’t know,” he rambles, “And I don’t know, I just threw myself into work and my friends after. Girls after shows. Was too scared to like – go on dates incase it ended up like my marriage and –” 

He laughs, “My friends were tired of seeing me be so sad, I guess.” 

“You have such a solid support system,” you comment, “You mention your friends, like, every other sentence.” 

A beat. “I like that,” you nod and smile. He can’t get over how you look when you do that. 

“Why’re you on the apps?” he asks, your hand now cradled between the two of his, his fingers grazing your wrist. 

“I’m six months out of a six year long relationship,” you let out a breath through your nose and drop your shoulders a little, “Figured it was time to get back out there – enter my slut era.” 

“Oh yeah, you’re super slutty,” he teases, “That’s actually the first thing I thought when I saw you. ‘She’s in her slut era.’” “God, fuck offfff,” you giggle again. 

“But yeah, I ended it. I figure I should make that clear,” you say, “Just in case that’s like, a red flag for you. But I don’t know, we just weren’t growing in the same directions. Things felt done way before I left and I – I don’t know. I think I was just scared. I took some time for myself and now, here I am.” 

“It’s okay that you ended your relationship, it’s not a red flag,” Eddie’s voice soothes you when he says it, “If you told me you like, cheated on him and then hit him with your car then maybe yeah, I’d be a little concerned. But you’re an adult, you just know what you want better this time around.”

“Yeah,” you agree. Your eyes meet in a silent confirmation. His eyes flick to your lips for a second time before tucking his lower lip between his teeth again. 

BELLY FLOP! 

“You wanna head out? It’s getting a little late,” he offers. 

Your brows raise in surprise, “Uh, sure, yeah.” 

“Not that I don’t like spending time with you,” he assures, letting his fingers linger over your hand while he stands up, not wanting to lose contact just yet, “Just don’t want to keep you out too late.” 

“Oh yes!” you start with an old southern twang, “My daddy’ll be out there with his pistol if I don’t get home ‘fore sundown.”

“You’re funny,” he laughs, letting go over your hand to reach up and squeeze your cheeks affectionately. You both put on your jackets and head outside, both of you wincing in the cold of the winter air. 

“I’d really like to do this again, if you want,” a shy blush reaches his cheeks, meeting the pink from the cold. 

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you’re just as shy in your response, “This was fun. You’re fun.” 

“Thank you,” he flushes deeper, trying to prolong the inevitable. What if he belly flops? What if it hurts? What if the kids make fun of him? 

“I’d offer to drive you home but I’ve had a few,” he says, hand reaching out to fall on your shoulder, “I feel good to drive but like, god forbid anything happens so – I’m happy to get you a car or pay for it for you.” 

“That’s really sweet, thanks. Let me just um,” you pull out your phone to get in Uber with a speed that impresses him, “It’s really not that pricey, I’m close-ish by.” 

“Still,” he says, “Just wanna be a gentleman y’know?” 

“You’re very gentlemanly,” you flirt. Eddie stiffens, nervous, palms clammy. 

“So um, I’ll see you soon?” he asks, opening his arms to give you a hug. 

“Yeah, for sure,” you nod while you let him engulf you. His scent is warm and spicy, mixed with tobacco. You guess either still smokes, or he used to, but he never got up to have a cigarette in the hours you were at the bar. Eddie let’s go and cups your cheek briefly before giving you a gentle but winning smile. His warm brown eyes linger for the last time on your lips, now they’re slightly parted, waiting for him. His toes curl over the edge of the diving block, his knees are bent, arms up over his head...I don’t want to Miss Tiffany. 

Swimming sucks.

“See ya.” 

You quirk your brow for a moment, having expected much more than a hug, “Oh, um…see ya.” 

He walks half way down the street to his car, heart thrumming in his chest in embarrassment. He should’ve just done it. FUCK. He should’ve just kissed you. 

But what if it hurts? What if she leaves? What if you can’t make it to level three? What if they laugh at you? 

He breathes heavily through his nose while tears threaten to well up in his eyes, staining his eyelashes. What if you don’t want to see him again after this? What if you change your mind? He sighs audibly when he turns the key, phone auto connecting to the speakers. He turns up the radio while the car revs to life, pulling on his seatbelt and putting the wheels into gear. He leans back in his seat to pull out of his spot only to see you still waiting for the car outside of the bar. 

Blink-182 blares through his speakers, hitting him straight in the chest.

‘Let’s go, don’t wait, this night’s almost over. Honest, let’s make,this night last forever. Forever. And ever. Let’s make this last forever.’ 

What if he did stay a little later after class? What if he got the chance to move on to level three? 

Fuck it, he thinks. He turns off the ignition, shaking out the sounds of Jason Carver and the kids laughing, the sounds of their feet kicking in the water. Just Miss Tiffany and her whistle. He gets out of the car, determined. You’re still there, head whipping around to see him coming towards you while you bounce on the balls of your feet in the cold. 

Arms up. Knees bent. “Ed? My car’s gonna be here in a sec–” Whistle. His hands reach out to your cold cheeks to pull you in before his full lips capture yours. His eyes flutter close at the contact, feeling your mouth react to his in time. Soft and needy, hydrated. You immediately know how to keep his pace while he separates and goes back in for more. Wet but not messy, passionate but not feverish. The smoothest dive he’d ever done in his life. Your hands escape your pockets, fingers sliding behind his neck to pull him closer, sliding through the nape of his hair. He breaks away for a moment to delicately push your hair out of your face and really look at you before pressing his lips to yours again. You only stop when your Uber beeps from across the street. 

“I wanted to do that all night,” he mumbles sheepishly. 

“I wanted you to do that all night, too,” you giggle, breathless and blushing, “Thank you.” 

“Thank you,” he says, running a hand over his face, “Let me know when you get home, okay?” 

“Okay,” you nod, hurrying across the street as the car honks again,  “Bye!” 

“I’ll put something together for next time!” he calls out. ‘Cause there will be a next time. 

Tatianna is leaning over the back of the couch with her chin in her hands when Eddie opens the door. Her cheshire cat grin matches his own. 

“So I didn’t hear from you all night,” she starts, her voice syrupy smooth, “So that means it must’ve went really well.” 

Eddie sighs dreamily, kicking off his boots at the entryway and hanging his jacket on one of the hooks by the door. 

“Ooh, you like herrrr! I can tell! Look at your stupid face!” she laughs, pointing at him, bouncing on the cushions. 

“Tati she’s…fuck,” he shakes his head in disbelief while he walks towards her, “There’s either two ways this could go.” 

“Yeah?” she asks, looking up at him, “And those are?” 

“I’m gonna marry her, or she’s gonna absolutely fuckin’ ruin my life.” 

“I like her already,” Tati grins, “Sit down, tell me everything.” 

“Yeah, yeah, give me a sec,” he grumbles, his phone buzzing in his pocket. He plops down onto the couch while Tati grabs two cups of tea from the kitchen that she made especially for the recap of his night. Gareth had been long asleep for an early morning at work tomorrow. 

Eddie takes out his phone, two unread text alerts lingering on his home page. He opens them, smiling stupidly into the screen.

i’m home :) you’re a really good kisser by the way. 

glad you made it home safe. you are too. :) but you started off pretty kissable so, that’s probably why. you’re making me blush over here, stop it. 

Eddie lets out a soft chuckle through his nose, clicking out of your text conversation to go back to his home screen. 

He deletes the apps.

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson

[itsallyscorner]

Maple syrup, coffee, pancakes for two | H.S

pairing: boyfriend!Harry Styles x reader

summary: you unintentionally help Harry with a song he’s been struggling to write

warnings: a lil on the cheesy side tbh, but she’s cute. Mentions the pandemic

a/n: this was one from the drafts, originally written when Harry’s House was released and I finally got around to finishing it :)

Sometime during 2020 and the pandemic

His soft murmurs and humming were the only sounds that can be heard in his makeshift studio. The occasionally creaking of the house or him clicking his pen would break the silence from time to time. His frame was hunched over on the burnt orange colored couch, with his knees almost pressed against his chest, the couch was far too small for his tall figure. However, he liked the couch and it was comfy to lay on when he took breaks from writing. The journal he used to jot down lyrics was balanced on his left knee while his right hand scribbled words on the paper sloppily.

He had just gotten off a zoom call with Kid, Mitch, and some other members who he’s been working with for his new album. While they were supposed to be working in the studio for today’s session, one of the writers had come down with a cold. While it wasn’t confirmed to be COVID, Harry and his team decided it would be safe if everyone just isolated themselves for a while until further notice. Harry actually enjoyed the thought of working on the album at his home. He considered this to be one of the most intimate albums he’s ever made. The artist in him believed that being in the place where he’s comfortable being vulnerable would allow him to write more personal songs. Being home also allowed him to be closer to his muse—you.

The small claw clip holding his fringe from his face began to feel a bit too tight and his eyes were straining against the warm toned light to look at the page on his journal. He had been stuck on a certain verse for a while now and couldn’t bring himself to just call it a day on writing. He had been on the grind when he first started it, but all of a sudden his verses were turning into single words waiting to be properly knitted into a song. So far, some words/phrases he had were:

Wine glass

Puff pass

Side boob ;)

Cocaine

Toothache

Yellow sunglasses

They were the most random and absurd words to be grouped together, yet he knew he was going somewhere with whatever he had. His train of thought came to a halt when your voice rang through the room.

“Hey, you”

His eyes shifted towards your voice and there you were leaning against the door frame. You wore one of his old sweatshirts, which came up to your knees, and some socks on your feet. You weren’t wearing much but your presence and the soft smile gracing your features screamed comfort to him.

The slight frown on Harry’s face turned into a smile that resembled yours. Pushing off of the door frame, you slowly approached Harry’s spot on the couch.

“Hi angel.” He greeted you, spreading his legs out to make space for you. You happily make your way in between his legs and settle on the floor. You crossed your legs and sat so you were looking up at him. Harry craned his neck to place a kiss on your temple, his lips continuing to move down your face to spread little kisses all over your face. When he got to your lips he placed a soft peck on them with a smile on his own pinkish lips.

“Hope you don’t mind me bothering you.” You tease, the sweet smile still on your face. Harry scoffs playfully, “Y’never a bother to me. I missed you today, what’ve y’been up to?”

He’s been in the “studio” since the morning, having a quick breakfast with you and immediately hopping on zoom to work with his team. It was now 6pm and you couldn’t recall seeing or hearing your boyfriend leave the room throughout the day for a break or a snack—which led to you checking in on him.

“Not much, finished up some things for work and caught up on some Love Island.” You shrugged, Harry rolling his eyes jokingly at the mention of the reality tv show. “How ‘bout you? Was today’s session successful?” You ask. Harry hums, reaching for his journal.

“S’half ‘n half. We finished that track we wrote last month—don’t know if y’remember it—but it turned out really great. I have a good feeling ‘bout it once it’s out.” He began while still flipping back to the page he last wrote on. “I started writing another, b’now I’m just stuck. M��brain feels like it can’t think of anything else, s’blank.” He ranted using his hands to express his emotions. You let out a chuckle as you avoid one of his large hands waving around from hitting your face.

“Maybe it’s time for you to take a break, H. You’ve been here all day, god knows how long you’ve been slouched on this couch.” For emphasis, you nudge said couch, Harry shooting you a look.

“S’not a bad couch, leave m’couch alone.” He pouts, silently agreeing that it was definitely time for a break. You duck out of his arms and get up, walking towards the door. Harry follows, moving to get up but halts his movements when a crack comes from his back. You swiftly turn around with your eyes wide and an amused look.

“Oi m’back!” Harry exclaimed in shock. He stood there for second before making eye contact with you. The two of you burst out laughing.

“I fucking told you!” You pointed at him, only to be gently pushed out the door by Harry who was muttering for you to “shuddup”.

Despite the two of you being home, Harry linked his fingers with yours while you both walked to the kitchen. His large hand engulfed yours, his rough thumb stroking the top of your hand.

“I’m actually hungry.” Harry thought aloud once the kitchen came to view. He was wondering what he should eat, deciding between leftovers, cooking, or ordering in. However, he let out a gasp when he saw food already on the table.

He turned around to you beaming, “Y’made my favorite!” On the dining table were pancakes, hash browns, eggs, and coffee. Even though he was eating healthier, Harry believed that one can never go wrong with breakfast for dinner. The main reason why he loved it was because of a memory you both shared during the early stages of your relationship.

The two of you had overslept at his house after movie night and skipped dinner. By the time you both woke up, everything was closed. So the two of you ended up rummaging through his kitchen only to find eggs, pancake mix, frozen hash browns, and coffee. Harry loved that night so much because it was the moment you two truly got to know each other more and connected. It was like finally breaking the barrier of whatever was holding you back from one another. Till this day he remembers the sleepy haze behind your eyes as you shared stories from your past. Your mascara smudged beneath your eyes and your hair was a mess, but none of that mattered because he thought you were beautiful either way. Ever since that night, the two of you would have breakfast for dinner as a staple in your household.

While Harry piled two plates with eggs, pancakes, and hash browns, you filled up two mugs with coffee. Harry liked his black, while you liked yours with a bit of cream and sugar. The two of you settled in the living room, ditching the dining table because it just wasn’t comfy enough. You smiled down at your plate—which had maple syrup dripping down a tower of pancakes—as Harry picked a record to put on. Call it old school, but it was one of the normal things keeping you sane during this lockdown. He had chosen one of his Elvis ones. The same one he played that first night you had breakfast for dinner.

You sat across each other on the couch, feet nuzzled together and your knees bumping alongside the other. The sound of your forks and knives scratching against the plate filled the room along with Elvis’s voice on the record player.

Harry had forgotten he had been writing the entire day. Instead, he remembered all the places you traveled to and the memories you made together on those trips. Being stuck at home for months made the both of you crave the outside world and the normality of it all. Though as much as you wanted to book a trip to Italy, it wasn’t safe to leave the country.

It felt like the world was ending, but to Harry it didn’t feel like it because he was with you. You brought light to the darkness—yes, it was cheesy—but it was the only way Harry knew how to describe being with you.

You guys spent the night eating and reminiscing on past memories you made together. As the hours passed, your plates were now empty and on the coffee counter, while you had found your way into your lover’s arms. His arms held you close to him as your body rested perfectly against his. Your head laid upon his chest, allowing you to feel him breathe and hear the beating of his heart. You were surrounded by his warmth and it was truly all you ever wanted.

Harry could feel you dozing off, your sentences had gotten shorter and your voice had a slight slur. With his nose against your temple he whispered, “Y’know I’ll always love you, right?”

You shifted your head to look into his dark emerald eyes, “Yeah.”

His eyes squinted at you playfully, “How so?” He tested you.

“Because I know I’ll always love you too.”

Then just like that, a spark set off in his head, and all of a sudden the words he has jotted down earlier that day made sense.

#Harry Styles #Harry Styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles drabble #Harry styles blurb #harry styles headcanon #harry styles fluff #Harry’s house #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry edward styles

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

H and his little boy, him just wanting to copy everything Harry has and does. When Harry does a home workout, he wants to join in. When he shaves, he wants to sit on the counter and shave too. Just literally being a mini Harry 🥺

Like Father Like Son.

my masterlist || ask me anything <3

blurb masterlist is here.

word count - 2.6k

in which, in 2018, you and your fiancé harry welcomed a little baby boy into the world, and his name was sammy. him and his father were exact replicas of each other, same brown tousled curls, forest green orbs, matching dimples and bunny teeth, harry jr. loves everything to do with his father, wherever he went, he wasn’t far behind.

On August 7th, 2018, you and your fiancé welcomed a little boy into the world. He came screaming and fighting, his little lungs constricting with each cry that left his mouth.

And his name, his name was Sammy Robin Styles.

A mini replica of the man you loved, when he was cleaned off and passed back to you in the hospital bed, you noticed that his hair had little wisps on the end which would ultimately turn into full blown curls almost three years later.

It was as if he had been intricately crafted as a miniature replica of Harry himself. Every detail, from the shape of his eyes to the curve of his smile, mirrored that of his dad. It was an awe-inspiring moment, realising that nature had effortlessly bestowed upon this child the essence of Harry Styles.

Now, as the years have passed, it is clear that the similarities between father and son extend far beyond their physical appearance. It's as if the essence of Harry has seamlessly woven its way into every fibre of his son's being. Watching the young boy grow, it feels as though time has fast-forwarded, bypassing the nine months of pregnancy and directly manifesting Harry's persona in this young child.

Just like his father, the little boy exudes an air of charm and charisma that is utterly captivating. With every mischievous grin and twinkle in his eyes, he echoes the magnetism that has captivated audiences worldwide. His infectious laughter fills the room, reminiscent of Harry's own contagious joy that never fails to bring a smile to people's faces.

Even their mannerisms align harmoniously. The way the young boy tilts his head, the gestures he makes with his hands, and the way he carries himself all mirror the idiosyncrasies that make Harry so uniquely himself. It's almost as if the essence of his father has been imprinted on his very soul.

The first time you realised Sammy was like his father, was when he was a year and a half old.

You had fallen asleep on the sofa accidentally encasing yourself in an afternoon nap after being up during the night with Sammy who was teething, and it had knocked all energy out of you.

When you woke up, the house was silent which made you tilt your head to the side and wonder where your lover and angel boy had gotten to.

When you walked down the hallway to the house, that was when you heard the giggles that resembled your sons and the familiar sound of your fiancés voice had you realise that they were in the at home gym.

February 7, 2020.

The door to the at home gym creaks open, revealing a heartwarming sight that melts your heart.

There, on the treadmill, is your fiancé Harry, his toned figure in motion as he runs, sweat glistening on his forehead. But what catches your attention even more is the sight of your one-and-a-half-year-old son, Sammy, running alongside him on the floor, his little legs in a blur as he tries his best to keep up.

You can't help but smile at the adorable scene unfolding before you. Sammy, with his chubby cheeks and tufts of messy hair, is determined to emulate his dad in every way possible. It's a sight that fills you with warmth and joy, knowing that your little one looks up to Harry with such admiration.

"What's going on here?" you ask, unable to hide your amusement. Your voice startles both Harry and Sammy, and they turn to face you, their faces lighting up with love and happiness.

"Mama!" Sammy squeals, his baby voice barely forming words, but the excitement in his voice is unmistakable. He holds up his tiny hands, fingers splayed wide, as if mimicking his dad's intense workout. “wike, dada!”

Harry, a grin stretching across his face, glances your way but doesn't stop running. "Hey, m”love. Sammy wanted to join m’on the treadmill, so we're having a little running session together."

You chuckle, admiring the dedication Harry has to his workout routine. "Looks like our angel is eager to keep up with you."

Harry nods, his eyes gleaming with pride. "He's got the spirit of an athlete, that's f’sure. And besides, it's good f’both of us to stay active, right, Sammy?"

Sammy babbles in agreement, clapping his hands as if understanding every word. He tries to match Harry's pace from where he’s running on the floor, his tiny legs working double time as the speed of the treadmill Harry’s on increases in speed slightly.. But the treadmill's speed proves too fast for him, and he stumbles, landing on his diaper-padded bottom with a soft thud.

Harry immediately stops the treadmill, not liking the fact his son fell over and steps off of the machine and reaches out to scoop him up.

“Careful, buddy," he says, pressing a gentle kiss to Sammy's forehead. "You’ve got to slow down, we don’t want you getting an ouchie do we?."

Sammy giggles, hugging his dad tightly, his eyes sparkling with joy. You join them, enveloping both Harry and Sammy in a warm embrace, feeling an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude for your little family.

Another time that you realised that Sammy was like his father in both appearance and personality, was when he was when the three of you were on a family holiday to Italy.

After a chilled day of just sitting around the pool, catching some rays, the three of you retired to the bedroom at around half four, seeing as you had dinner reservations in the old town for half six. For a nice family meal.

Over the course of the holiday, which you were only four days into, you noticed that your fiancé was starting to complain about the stubble resting on his face.

Harry’s stubble was starting to get to him in the heat, making him always have an itchy face, and when the three of you were chilling in the main bedroom of the villa, he told you that he was going to go ahead and shave.

July 19th, 2020.

You sit on the plush bed in the stunning villa you and your fiancé Harry are staying in, overlooking the picturesque landscape of Italy. Sammy, your one-and-a-half-year-old son, is nestled against your chest, his eyes drooping with exhaustion after a day of splashing around in the pool with his doting father.

As the gentle breeze rustles the curtains, you gaze down at Sammy, his tiny hand gripping onto your shirt. His cheeks are flushed from the sun, and his little body radiates warmth against you. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest indicates that he's slowly succumbing to sleep.

Just as Sammy is about to succumb to dream land, you notice Harry absentmindedly scratching his face. You raise an eyebrow, concern etching your features.

"What's the matter, baby?" you inquire, your voice soft and soothing.

Harry pauses, his eyes meeting yours. "I think it's time for a shave," he responds, his fingertips still grazing his stubbled chin.

Sammy, who seemed to be on the verge of slumber, stirs against you at the mention of shaving. His eyes flutter open, now wide with curiosity. "Shave?" he mumbles, his voice sleepy yet filled with intrigue.

Harry chuckles, turning his attention to his little boy. "Yes, buddy. Daddy needs to shave. It's like a special grown-up thing."

Sammy's eyes light up, his drowsiness momentarily forgotten. "Shave!" he exclaims, sitting up against your chest, his tiny hands reaching for Harry.

"Y’were falling asleep, mister. What're y’doing awake?" Harry says with a playful grin, kneeling down to be at Sammy's eye level.

Sammy giggles, his small voice carrying a sense of determination. "Be like you, daddy."

"All right, champ," Harry speaks, his voice filled with tenderness. "We'll do it together. You can watch and maybe we'll pretend to shave your baby fuzz too."

Sammy's face lights up with sheer delight, a wide grin stretching across his tired features. He nuzzles into the safety of Harry's embrace, knowing that he is loved and cherished.

And so, with Sammy in his arms and love in his eyes, Harry leads the way to the bathroom, flicking in the light and you silently follow behind, wanting to see the memory as it was being made.

You stand against the door frame, observing the scene unfolding before you with an adoring smile. Harry carefully lifts Sammy onto the bathroom counter, ensuring he stands securely in front of him to prevent any mishaps. The soft lighting casts a warm glow, highlighting the bond between father and son.

Harry takes a shaving brush and begins to lather his face with thick shaving foam. Sammy's eyes widen with fascination as he watches the process, his little hands fidgeting with excitement.

"Dada, me shave too!" Sammy exclaims, his voice filled with an adorable mix of eagerness and innocence.

Harry's eyes crinkle with amusement, his love for his son shining through.

"Alright, buddy. We can make y’look like a little gentleman," he says, his voice infused with playful encouragement.

Harry reaches for a dollop of shaving foam and gently applies it to Sammy's tiny face. Sammy bursts into giggles as the cool foam tickles his skin, the sensation new and delightful.

You capture the precious moment with your camera, eager to immortalize the memory of father and son sharing this special experience. The sound of their laughter fills the room, a harmonious melody that warms your heart.

As Sammy giggles, his face adorned with the foam, Harry reaches into the drawer and retrieves a cotton bud. He holds it up for Sammy to see.

"Now, this is what y’need to use, little man," Harry explains, his voice gentle and reassuring. "You're t’young for a razor, but y’can pretend with this."

Sammy's eyes widen with wonder as he takes the cotton bud in his small hand, mimicking his father's movements. He touches the foam on his face, his laughter bubbling up once more.

You lean against the door frame, overcome with love and admiration for the beautiful connection unfolding before you. The trust and joy shared between Harry and Sammy create a bond that transcends words.

Harry then retrieves his razor and begins to carefully shave his own face. The rhythmic sound of the blade gliding across his skin fills the air, intermingling with their shared laughter. You capture every precious moment, preserving this extraordinary bond for eternity.

As you watch from the doorway, snapping pictures, you realize the depth of Sammy's admiration for his father. In his innocent eyes, Harry is a superhero, a role model worth emulating. And Harry, with his patient guidance and boundless love, shows Sammy the way.

Another time that you noticed the resemblance and fatherly bond between the two Styles boys was when Sammy was one years old and Harry was twenty five.

With much persuasion you had gone out for the evening with the girls, Harry insisting that you go out and have fun seeing as you hadn’t had a proper night out since Sammy was born.

Harry had been on a few nights out, and insisted that he have the night in with his mini me so you could have the night off and have so well deserved fun.

So, you dolled yourself up to the nines and hit the town with a few of your friends, you didn’t drink much seeding as you were still exclusively breastfeeding, towards the end of the night you ended up drinking a few mock tails.

When you walked into the bedroom that night, that was when you saw Sammy and Harry fast asleep in the super king bed, and like the twins that they were, were both lying in the exact same position.

Laying on their stomachs, one hand above their head, Harry had one hand holding onto his son's waist so he didn’t roll off of the bed, and Sammy had his free hand grasped onto his stuffed bunny teddy named ‘Eddie’ that was gifted to him by his Nana Anne.

September 14th, 2019.

After a long-awaited night out, you quietly enter your bedroom, the tiredness seeping through every inch of your being. Your heels are in your hand, and you clutch your chest, feeling the familiar ache as your breasts need to be pumped. The evening was a well-deserved break from the responsibilities of parenthood, but now you're ready to be back in your sanctuary.

As you step into the room, you're greeted by the heartwarming sight of Harry and your one-year-old son, both lying on their stomachs on the bed. Their arms are stretched above their heads, mirroring each other in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. Harry's hand rests protectively on Sammy's waist, ensuring he doesn't roll off the bed, while Sammy clings tightly to his beloved stuffed bunny teddy, "Eddie."

In that tender moment, you can't help but feel a surge of love and contentment. The exhaustion of the night fades away as you witness the undeniable bond between father and son. It's a sight that fills you with a profound sense of gratitude for the beautiful family you have created.

Reaching for your phone, you quietly snap a picture of the two of them, their peaceful expressions and shared embrace forever preserved in the frame. With a smirk on your face, you send the picture to the family group chat, knowing it will bring a smile to their faces.

But then, as you glance at the photo once more, you can't help but notice that Harry is wearing only his boxers, and Sammy is content in his diaper. A soft chuckle escapes your lips as you realize that their fashion choices are similar even when they snoozing.

In that moment, it hits you: the similarities between Harry and Sammy go far beyond physical appearances. Their quirks and habits, their shared moments of vulnerability and tenderness, all paint a picture of an unbreakable connection.

You tiptoe closer to Sammy's side of the bed, the exhaustion momentarily forgotten.

Leaning down, you whisper softly, "I love you, my sweet boy," pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. Sammy stirs slightly, but his peaceful sleep remains undisturbed.

Next, you turn your attention to Harry, his cheek invitingly close.

With a smile, you press your lips to his cheek, whispering, "I love you," the words laden with the depth of your emotions.

July 17th, 2023.

You snapped out of your daze, thinking about how similar the two loves of your lives were to see the two of them sitting on the sofa next to you.

You were sitting in the corner, blanket around your waist as you watched Sammy and Harry sit next to each other on the sofa, your fiancé had his arm wrapped around his son's shoulders, as the four year old munched on some crisps.

You grew Sammy for just over nine months, and it didn’t look like you had anything to do with it, since the way that Sammy came out looking appearance wise.

It seemed like Harry had a baby with himself.

Sammy adored his father, there was no doubt about it.

You could only hope that your next baby came out looking more like you, but the Styles had strong genes.

Anywho, you’d find out in seven months anyway.

#musicforastylesrestaurant #harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles au #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles masterlist #harry styles fake ig #harry styles headcanon #harry styles x oc #boy dad!harry #harrystylesdrabble #harry styles fake social media #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harrystylesxreader #dad!harry #harry styles one shot #harry styles x yn #harrystylesxyn #harry’s house #dadrry #anon <3

[getvalentined]

After four years, I finally have video proof of Purra* making that horrible noise that is one of the three sounds she makes. The other two are "radio static" and "creaking door hinge." She does not meow. Or growl. All the noises she makes are some combination of these.

She's a freak and I love her.

*Full name Purramid Head, special thanks to @aftepes for giving us the name way back in 2020 when we were calling her "the Silent Hill kitten" because of the noises she made.

#purrablogging #suddenly cats #catblr #for those who remember the jellybeans #aka the kittens Turtle gave birth to in our laundry shed in 2020 #purra is the one of those we wound up keeping #nobody wanted her because she sounds weird #and she's really antisocial #doesn't like being touched #or...looked at #used to flee from eye contact #literally #she's a cryptid #but she's OUR cryptid! #and no her hearing is fine #she just sounds Like That #and we love her

[dominantslasherking]

I read your bbc Dracula x male reader posts and loved them. For some reason the reincarnated lover one reminded me of The Last Voyage of Demeter movie (recommended if you like horror movies).

I mean no offense to you, the works were great, I’m very sorry if it offended you in any way.

Now to the ask:

I was looking through tumblr for that Dracula x male reader but the only ones I found were yours as the rest were female reader, so I was wondering, if you still write for him of course, if you can just make fluffy moments. No smut or anything like that but just Dracula and his lover enjoying each other’s company.

Dracula(2020 series) with Dominant Male S/o

My Stories are meant for the much more mature audience, 18+.

Backstory: Dracula prepares a soothing bath with rose petals and scented oils. He and his lover soak in the warm water, talking and enjoying each other's presence. Warnings: Pure Fluff, Wholesome, (A hint of seductive touches but nothing more.)

The scent in the air was sweet, the relaxing type of sweet, not too overwhelming just so faint that it can relax the senses. You close your eyes, letting the warm water linger on your skin. You slowly open your eyes once more as you hear the creaking of the door. "May I join you? My love?" Dracul had calmly asked his voice holding a velvety undertone. Turning your head slightly, "Of course." Your voice was just above a whisper.

Shifting your gaze, you noticed that Dracula was holding a tray, a tray which was full of rose petals. The candles of the castle, dimply lit upon Dracula's face, he was still in his suit. The candles have cast a romantic sense inside the bathing area. playful shadows dancing on the water surface of the large bath.

Carefully Dracula approached taking a seat at a nearby bench inside the bathing area, picking up the petals, Dracula had flown them in the air, just above you in the bath. Within an instance of the petals falling, Dracula's clothes were neatly folded on the bench and he had already joined you in the tub fully naked. As the two of them had soaked not only in the water but also in the silence for a while, Dracula's gaze solely fell onto you. "My apologies, beloved. A rogue rose petal has dared to find refuge in your hair." his sultry voice spoke, reaching up his fingers and easily plucking the petal out. "Thank you." You sweetly spoke, your husky voice echoing into Dracula's ears. Dracula's lips slowly pressed against your cheek, as he whispered "You're welcome." And in that simple gesture, an affectionate tension hung in the air. As their bodies had bathed in the glow of their eternal feelings for one another

#bbc dracula #bbc dracula x reader #bbc dracula imagine #claes bang dracula #claes bang dracula x reader #netflix dracula #netflix dracula 2020 #netflix dracula 2020 x reader #dracula #dracula x reader #dracula 2020 #dracula 2020 x reader #Dracula x male reader #2020 Dracula x reader #bbc Dracula x male reader #slasher x reader #slasher x male reader #bbc dracula x male reader #netflix dracula x reader #netflix dracula 2020 x male reader #Dracula x male reader fluff #Dracula x male reader wholesome #Dracula wholesome #slashers x reader #slashers x male reader #slasher imagines #slasher imagine

[madwomansapologist]

NFWMB | shan yu

Navigation | More Shan Yu | AO3

synopsis: After a tiring day, all you wanted was to sleep. To dream, to rest, until you were ready for another day. You weren't expecting for the turning your night would have.

warnings: fluff then hurt/comfort. chocking. stabbing. violence. torture. murder couple. in this house we hate the misogynist version of Shan Yu in Mulan (2020) yandere!shan yu. female!reader.

It's been a long day. A rough week. Alright, those past few months were complicated.

All you wanted was to sleep. Since you woke up, all your mind desired was to come back to the warmth of your bed. Truth be told, every person you talked to were nothing but a distraction from your tiredness. Travelling with a army isn't easy or comfortable, nor it's to have so many daily tasks.

You have knife combat training sessions at dawn. After that, you need to face the fact that you're still struggling with economics. Don't matter who's your teacher, it always takes longer for you to understand any subject of it. And all those weeks learning about strategy got you a permanent chair during generals meeting.

Even exausted, you did your best. But as soon as the troop's commander gave in to the argument of one of the generals, you understood that you reached your limit.

The perspective of finally doing what you wanted bad, which was to sleep the night away, touched your heart with a expanding peace. Your entire body was numb, nothing in it had enough strength to continue.

In front of your dresser, you struggled to undo your braid. The door creaked, and you didn't need to look to know who was approaching. Shan Yu smells like steel. Impossible not to recognize.

As Shan Yu got closer, you saw him on the mirror. And that ruthless man, a breathing promise of violence to anyone who dares stand on his way, smiled to you.

You let go of your hair, and transferred your attention to the rings adorning your fingers. "Care to help me?"

His cold, forever cold, fingers held the base of your neck. With a tender squeeze, Shan Yu's hands slid down to undo the braid. How can such a big man be so delicate? It will never stop surprising you. How the hand that cuts others is the same that strokes you.

"You honor me, my moon," Shan Yu kissed your scalp. He kept his face resting on you, just breathing in your essence. After a moment, he worked on the pins. Carefully, he took all of them from your head.

Meanwhile, you worked on taking off your earrings and necklace. Lighter than when you entered the carriage, you didn't even realize that you had melted against Shan Yu's touch. This was already a common occurrence. A touch with Shan Yu is never just a touch, it is always something closer to worship.

When Shan Yu first saw you, the end was soon. As he leave you behind, a sweet taste found a home on his tongue. A incessant desire that would never leave him. Now, when Shan Yu touches you, he holds you.

You held his hands, and pulled them towards your mouth. You kissed his knuckles, enjoying the way he too melts against you, and closed your eyes. Silence came, but quickly you decided to break it. "You have much to do?"

"Not until dawn," Shan Yu answered. "Are you going to bed already?"

You let go of his hands, nodding. Shan Yu rested his hands on your shoulders, and his long fingers slid across your collarbone. His affection is always like this, natural. Genuine. "Then can you help me with something?"

"Anything."

Looking into his falcon eyes, you smirked at his eagerness. "What do you think about exhausting me?"

Shan Yu's chuckle was just what you wanted to hear. His fingers tightened on your collarbone, his yellow eyes becoming sharper. "You little devilish thing," he whispered.

You laugh. "Thought I was your moon."

"You are everything," Shan Yu's fingers returned to the base of your neck. They slid through your hair, squeezing. The gesture caused the good kind of pain. "It all depends on your humor."

“Want to find out what my humor is for tonight?” You turned in your chair, now looking him in the face. Your fingers slid over the lace that kept your clothes attached to your body. "Or would you prefer to keep on debating?"

Shan Yu held your fingers, stopping you from continuing. "You're cold," he said. You agreed. "Let me light the fire. Can you wait, my devilish thing?"

And he's right. Not about the devilish part, but about the my. Shan Yu really owns you. Not because he's stronger than you or anything like that, but because everyday you can only chose to be his. The part of you that matters, maybe even the rest, they all belongs to him.

Still, you rolled your eyes. "I'm not sure if I can."

As soon as Shan Yu got out of the carriage to fetch firewood, you ran to the bathroom. Your insides feel all warm and hazy.

You spent a few seconds trying to get your hair to look right. At the same time as you wanted to see Shan Yu's reaction to entering the carriage to find you naked, you also wanted to feel his hands removing fabric by fabric from your body.

Maybe it took you a long time to decide on the second option, because you were approaching the bed when the door opened again. "It was only a joke," you said as you pulled the sheets off the bed. "You didn't need to run."

Shan Yu's silence wasn't something unusual, but as the seconds went furrowed brows replaced the smug smile on your face. Then it hits you. It didn't smell like him.

You were quick to pull the dagger from its hiding place, but so was the chinese soldier who charged at you. In a matter of seconds, your head hit the bedside table and hands clasped your neck.

But you weren't helplessness. As he pushed the air out of your lungs, you stabbed the figure above you. Warm blood gushed over you, but he didn't stop. And because the man didn't stop, neither did you.

The dagger continued to come in and out. Your arm burned, your fingers ache, your throat felt like it was being torn apart: you just kept going.

Until the weight above you disappeared.

For a while you were only able to cough. Holding your throat, as if your hands alone would be able to heal your pain, you struggled to breathe. Your head was spinning, and your body had never been so exhausted.

Then your hearing started working again. And as the shrill whistle faded, the dry sound dominated the place that was once so safe. And the sound, that raw sound, was of bones clashing.

Shan Yu's fists were raw. The skin was torn apart. And no matter how unrecognizable the face of the being that attacked you was, how much he bled and begged for mercy, Shan Yu continued to punch him again and again.

“Shan Yu…” you breathed. Tears ran down your face. "My sun..."

As Shan Yu looked at you, covered in blood and with colorless skin, he stopped.

He turned away from the soldier, and for a moment he was nothing more than a worried animal. His bloody hands held your face, and when you felt his touch... you broke down.

You didn't know what to expect, you couldn't think, you couldn't move. All you did was to sob, shaking in between his hands. You held him, your nails digging on the skin of his forearm, eyes unable to function.

When the soldier whimpered on the floor, you both looked at him. How was he still alive? You stabbed him endless times, Shan Yu beat him until all he could see was red. And he was still alive.

Shan Yu stroked your hair, and that made you look deep into his eyes. You saw a certainty, a determination that couldn't be stopped by anyone. Anyone but you.

"Would it warm you?" Shan Yu whispered to you. The world was reduced to you both. "If the world ended in flames, would it warm you?"

And you understood. As if you both were one. Because maybe you are. Your sun, his moon. Maybe you both are one, and maybe that's why you understood him so well.

"Do it," you told him. But you didn't need to. Shan Yu could see it in your eyes. He saw the moment you decided to agree. "Have your fun."

With a care that no one would expect from a man with bloody fists, Shan Yu carried you to the bed. Not caring about the blood, only about the fact that it wasn't yours, Shan Yu covered you. He kissed your forehead, your lips, your blood-stained hands.

From the ground, the man was lifted up by a Shan Yu burning with hatred. And instead of hurting him, killing him once and for all, Shan Yu dragged him to the healers.

The man will live. Not for long, but long enough. Enough for him to become an example. Enough for him to regret not killing himself when he had a chance.

This time you were the one watching. And Shan Yu does know how to make a show.

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

#madwomansapologist #prisoner/bride au #shan yu scenario #shan yu #shan yu fanfiction #shan yu x reader #shan yu fanfic #shan yu mulan #shan yu fic #disney villains #disney classics #disney villain scenario #disney villain x reader #disney villain #mulan 1998

[darling-i-read-it]

A Slytherin's Gryffindor

George Weasley x fem!Slytherin!reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Draco being an asshole (he breaks up with the reader, makes crude/cruel jokes at George and her), physical violence, slight insinuations to smut 

Author’s Note: HELLOO

If you remember this story you probably read Horrid Ex Boyfriends which I wrote in 2020 but I feel like I’ve grown a lot since then and wanted to take my hand at rewriting some old fics. I loved this one much more in its current form &lt;;3 

The original request: by anon, Hello love, your pinned post made me all fluffy inside: I’ve dreamed of this story for so long!! Could you do a Draco Malfoy’s Slytherin ex-girlfriend hating the Weasley twins but amidst the break up, finds herself drawn to George and falling for him? Just so you know, I even read the stories about fanbase I do not know because your writing is A+ !!! ❤️

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

(not my gif)

Draco gave you a look you didn’t recognize. You knew his face by now. You knew his expressions better. Dating the Slytherin heir came with its perks but it also came with its downsides, like having to know exactly what he was feeling for the sake of yourself and everyone around you. 

But this look seemed unfamiliar. You sat together at the table in the Great Hall, across from Goyle and Crabbe. You didn’t particularly like either boy but you tolerated them for the sake of Draco. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked, gently, trying to coax out some sort of emotion. His face wiped of any disdain. 

“Nothing,” he snapped. You widened your eyes. 

“Alright.” You cleared your throat, putting down your fork. “Do you want me to meet you after the Quidditch game tonight?” 

“Don’t bother,” he said. “I have things to do.” 

“Oh? What kind of things?” you asked, defensively. 

“Nothing that concerns you.” 

“What is your problem Malfoy?” There was a loud bout of laughter coming from the Gryffindor table. Your eyes followed the noise, landing on the familiar group of redheads. George Weasley’s head was resting on the table. He was shaking from laughter. You found yourself longing to know what they were laughing at. They always seemed to be having more fun than you were. 

“Damn Weasley’s think they’re the only people in the world,” Draco grumbled. “Don’t they know we can all hear them?” 

“You didn’t answer my question,” you pointed out. 

“We’ll talk later,” he promised, voice sneering. He reminded you of his father then. You had the displeasure of meeting Lucius on multiple occasions and the more you watched Draco grow the more he became like him. Was that his goal all along? Did he strive to be the heir his father wanted him to be? Or did he want to be his own person, more like his mother? 

You got up from the table and grabbed your bag. If you could sit with the Gryffindors you would, if only to annoy your boyfriend. You left the Great Hall and Draco didn’t even bother to watch you go. 

George did, only because you caught his eye. Dinner wasn’t even halfway over. You had a determined look on your face that intrigued him. No matter how much your boyfriend attempted to put the Weasley’s down, you never were able to join him. You usually stood, a bystander, which implicated you only in your silence. 

George stood abruptly. 

“Where are you going?” Fred questioned, still laughing about the tail end of some other joke. 

“I’ll be right back,” he promised, the light hearted smile never leaving his face. He rushed to the doors, suddenly eager to follow you. 

The silence outside of the Great Hall was sometimes deafening. It always surprised you when the loud voices became muffled. You never felt more alone than when you were no longer part of Hogwarts student body. You were just a girl inside a large school, far too large for her own good. 

It was easy to hear that someone had followed you. The door opened, creaking, and the voices were loud once more for just a moment. You leaned between some pillars, against a stained glass window. You should get your books for your next class. Forget Draco entirely, focus on the schoolwork you knew you had to get done. 

You expected Draco to round the corner, a forgiving look on his face, knowing that you would mend things with him again. You were startled to see a gentle look and some red hair. You squinted, confused. 

“Miss Slytherin, what on Earth are you doing out here?” he questioned. He crossed his arms. He wasn’t here for some other reason, he had followed you. You glanced behind him, attempting to find Fred. Surely they were here to tease you mercilessly, just as Draco would’ve done to them. 

“Where’s your better half?” you asked, bitterly. He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. 

“He’s still eating, just as we both should be.” 

“Who’s stopping you from going back?” 

“A very solemn look on a very not solemn girl.” You hardened your face defensively. You looked down at your shoes, hoping not to reveal anything else to him. 

“I’m fine. Just getting some air, Weasley, don’t worry about me.” 

“I’m not worried. I’m curious. There’s a large difference.” You found yourself grateful for his care. Draco should’ve been the one to follow you but he never would've been inquisitive on your feelings. He would’ve told you his, begged you to forgive him, promise it would never happen again. 

“I’m fine,” you repeated but it sounded less true this time than it had the first time. 

“I can sniff out liars. It’s a skill I have, courtesy of Ron being best friends with the boy who lived and such.” You eyed him, guarded. “Alright, well you can’t say I didn’t try.” 

He started to back away. 

“It’s Draco. Though I suppose that gives you satisfaction doesn’t it?” 

“I can’t lie, it absolutely does.” He smiled slyly. “But you don’t deserve whatever that twat has dished out.” You looked back down at your shoes. 

“Thank you Weasley,” you said, quietly, like saying it any louder would mean you’d have to confront the situation. 

“Do you know which Weasley I am?” he questioned, hands in his pockets, a familiar trickster look on his face. 

“George,” you said, without missing a beat. “I’m not stupid.” The smile he gave you was genuine. It felt like he had handed you a small promise, a gentle secret. 

The doors to the Great Hall opened. Draco emerged, showing almost no reaction to you and George speaking. Almost. You knew his face and you knew the twitch in his lips and the anger boiling within his eyes. 

“Get lost Weasley,” he said, enunciating clearly. 

“Come to beg for forgiveness Malfoy?” George questioned. 

“I don’t need to tell you twice,” Draco promised, walking between the two of you. George put his hands up in surrender. 

“Not my circus, not my monkeys,” he joked. He sauntered away, throwing you a wink that only you caught. You tried not to smile. It wasn’t until he had returned to the Great Hall that Draco spoke. 

“We need to break up,” he said, clearly. The smile on your face fell into despair. What had you done to warrant this? The question seemed to be painted all over your face because he answered without you saying anything verbally. “We don’t work anymore. It’s nothing you’ve done.” 

Your face twisted. 

“Clearly it is.”

“It’s not. There’s no need to be emotional about this, we both knew it was coming.” You wished you could disagree with him. But you could tell he was distancing himself for this moment. You just thought you could play this game a little bit longer. 

“Alright,” you breathed. “Fine.” 

Draco showed nothing on his face other than awkwardness. He shoved his hands into his pockets. How long had he been wanting to do this? You crossed your arms and turned away, walking farther away from the Hall and back to the dorms. You weren’t going to class this morning. 

“You aren’t going to fight?” he questioned, annoyed.

“Why would I? Clearly you’ve given this a lot of thought. We’re better off without each other.” His jaw set. He wanted a spat. He wanted a fight. Draco and you did nothing better than fight. You two could fight like no one else, screaming, throwing things, kissing and making it all better. 

You wanted to fight him. You knew how it would end. But you also knew you were better off without it this time. 

“Fine,” he said. You were still walking away. Draco had been part of your identity here at Hogwarts. It would be an adjustment without him. 

“Fine,” you repeated and rushed away, turning a corner so you could allow your emotions to flow. 

-

The next morning you made it halfway to your potions class before giving up. Sitting in the hallway and fake studying seemed so much more appealing than sitting in a classroom with Snape and Draco. You had no energy to make your way to the common rooms or a library so you sat on the steps beside a window, a book in your lap that you weren’t reading. 

You could hear footsteps making their way towards you and you quickly searched for some sort of excuse to be on stairs instead of in class. You were pleasantly surprised to not find a teacher when the footsteps emerged. Fred and George Weasley gave you curious looks. 

“Oi! What are you doing over here?” Fred asked. He seemed a little annoyed that they had run into you. You couldn’t blame him. Draco was cruel to the Weasley family and you couldn’t say that you were any better. You at least, never stopped it. 

“Just ignoring potions,” you said truthfully. You wiped your eyes, just in case any stray tears from your small homework crying session had lingered. 

“What’s wrong?” George asked.  He seemed genuine but you didn’t want to give him the immediate satisfaction that Draco had broken up with you.

“I want to apologize. For being so rude to the two of you, it isn’t something I pride myself on,” you said changing the subject. It had been itching at you since yesterday and you were happy to finally get it out. 

“It’s alright,” George started.

“We rarely think such things personal,” Fred finished.

“I would personally blame the most of it on that horrid boyfriend of yours,” George said. You locked eyes with George. The sympathy on his face led you to believe he knew. He hadn’t been told. He had guessed. 

“Well I suppose you won’t have to worry about him influencing me any longer,” you promised, voice hard. You attempted to ignore the emotions that came with speaking it out loud. He wasn’t worth the tears, you tried to tell yourself. 

“He finally did himself in,” George observed. 

“After I spoke with you yesterday,” you explained. 

“Good to be rid of him then,” Fred said.

“You always did deserve better.” 

“Truly so.” 

All three of you heard footsteps coming down the hallway at the same time. A panicked look came across your face but they remained entirely calm. George grabbed the book off your lap and helped you up. You gazed at him, confused, as he led you to a hallway that hadn’t seemed to be there before. You gasped, looking around, somehow within the walls of Hogwarts. 

“How did you know this was here?” you questioned in awe. 

“Lucky guess,” George promised, hand still holding your arm. It was a tighter space than you had been in before. You heard whoever was walking go past. You remained where you were, looking up at him with curious eyes. 

“This wasn’t a guess. What do you two know?” 

“More than you,” Fred assured. You scoffed, though the laughter was pleasant. You moved away from George, leaning against the wall. 

“You Gryffindors act like Slytherins are the sneaky ones,” you mused. 

“To be fair, a Slytherin created the Chamber of Secrets didn’t he?” You shrugged at the observation. 

“Alright Weasley’s let me out of the walls.” 

- 

It was unexpected, just how drawn you felt to the twins. Especially George. You had never bothered to give them the time of day when you were with Draco. George was easy going when you needed emotional attention. They were light hearted and funny. You needed light hearted and funny. 

The Hogsmeade trip was the highlight of everyone’s month. Getting to leave the school was exciting, even if your school was a literal castle. You had always gone with Draco, even before the two of you dated. Still you forced yourself to get ready, bundle up into a scarf and hat, promising yourself a good time. 

“Hey!” You turned to find George, a smile plastered on his face. He was cozied up for the cold as well, though he was without the twin that usually trailed behind him. 

“Well if it isn’t my favorite Gryfindor,” you mused. “Where’s Fred?” 

“Fred had to stay behind and make up a test for Snape. I offered to help him cheat but he’s already on the terribly bad side of that teacher and decided to fend for himself,” George explained. 

“Well better that than to end up having detention for the next month.” 

“Would you care to be my companion on this trip?” he asked, bowing dramatically and offering a hand. You laughed gently, shivering. It was starting to snow. You took his hand. 

“My red knight,” you teased. He threw his arm around you. You tried not to lean into him, or feel anything at all. You had just broken up with Draco. 

Well, Draco had just broken up with you. 

“Honeydukes?” he asked. 

“I thought you’d never ask.” 

-

You stopped in for some butter beer and walked around until you were too cold to be outside. By the time you entered Honeydukes you were full and George had a butterbeer foam mustache. You pointed at it, shivering from the new warmth of the shop. 

“I’ve been trying to grow one,” he admitted, not wiping it away. 

“It is a good look,” you admitted, laughing. 

“You think so? Perhaps I could draw one on with some make-up pencils.”

“They’ve got to have some fake mustaches around here somewhere.” George gravitated towards the candles which had some prank ones mixed within them. 

“Which should I bring back to Fred?” he questioned. “I was sorry he had to miss today.” 

“One of those,” you said, pointing at the ones that explode when you light them. “He’d love that.” 

“You’re absolutely right Miss Slytherin. I’m glad you’ve got to come along with me.” 

“Me too,” you said earnestly. You couldn’t remember the last time you had so much fun at Hogsmeade. Your smile lingered more now. George could almost swear you were glowing. It made him want to take you aside, keep you to himself. He refrained and offered you a candle to smell. You leaned in, a serene look going over your face as you breathed in. You made a twisted face. 

“What is that one?” “Firewood.”

“That’s an awful candle!” 

You were laughing when Draco saw you. It was odd, going to Hogsmeade without you. He found himself unable to figure out what he wanted to do. Usually you dragged him around the shops and he ended up buying something you didn’t need. 

Seeing you so happy made his stomach churn. With a Weasley no less. He had thought you would still be heartbroken. He would be lying if he still wasn’t a tad torn up himself.  But you looked immensely unaffected by the lack of him around. 

You looked happier. 

“Goyle, go see what they’re getting,” Draco spat. His friend nodded, eyeing him suspiciously before slinking through the crowd of people. 

“Smell this one,” you said, offering another disgusting one. “You should get this one for Fred, if you’re going to get him the chocolate frog like a good brother. It’s only…” you trailed off, feeling Draco’s gaze. You caught his eye. At the same time George saw Goyle, coming to do Malfoy’s dirty work. 

“Oh bloody hell,” George muttered. He gave you the things he was holding and turned to Goyle who looked like a deer caught in headlights. George grabbed him by the scarf, dragging him over to Draco. 

Draco had never noticed how tall George Weasley was. 

“Made your minion come and do your dirty work, did you?” George questioned. You rushed forward, leaving your things on the table where you were at. 

“What’s your end goal here Weasley? Have you gotten into her pants yet?” Draco questioned, voice like venom. George shoved Goyle at Draco, almost causing both of them to fall over. 

“Listen here Malfoy-” 

“George he isn’t worth it,” you promised, grabbing his shoulder.

“Oh no, let him speak.” Draco stepped up, sizing up the twin. “What, did she call my name instead of yours?” There was nothing you could have done to stop George. He was already throwing the punch before you could even register Draco’s words. 

Draco staggered, hand up to his nose. 

“Watch your tongue Malfoy,” George seethed. You had never seen him so worked up before. You weren’t even sure he knew how to get angry, let alone through a punch as good as that one. Draco’s nose was bleeding, dripping down his chin. Goyle turned to his friend, eyes wide in shock. Hexes were one thing. An actual assault was something completely different. 

“George come on,” you hissed, pulling him away. This time George listened, allowing you to drag him out of the shop. You didn’t speak until you had left the scene completely, landing on one of the hills just outside of Hogsmead. The snow had piled up. You could see the footsteps you took here.

George had calmed down, the red almost completely gone from his face. 

“God George,” you hissed, grabbing his wrist. You looked at his knuckles, now slightly bruised from the impact on Draco’s face. 

“I don’t regret it,” he promised. His general joy was back. 

“Why are you being so nice to me? After all Draco and I put you through, I didn’t deserve that,” you questioned. 

“Fred and I agree, it was always more Malfoy than you.” He paused, gazing down at you. “And I always did think you deserved better than him.” His voice was quieter now. 

“Like who?” you asked before you could even process his words. “You?” You meant for it to come out like a joke but your tone was too soft to have it be read as one. There was a moment of silence. You smiled at his stunned face. You had caught him off guard and he wasn’t sure how to answer. 

“Well yes. I suppose,” George said finally. You smiled. You could feel the cold on your face, making your movement slower than usual but the joy was there either way. 

“Good then.” 

“Good?” he asked. You were still holding his wrist, so close to his hand. 

“We’re in agreement.” He scoffed.

“Agreement then.” 

“Yes. Agreement.” 

“Love, I’m going to kiss you now.” The words sent shivers down your spine. 

“Alright,” you breathed. His lips were warmer than yours. He didn’t allow you to get away with just a peck. He said he would kiss you and he meant it. You were smiling against the kiss, too stunned to do much else than kiss him back. 

When you pulled away you noticed one of his hands were on your side and he had started to hold the one that was once holding his wrist. You could see your breath in the cold but you could see him more clearly. 

“Let’s go back to the school and get a bandage for your hand,” you said quietly. He nodded, keeping your hands intertwined. 

“Just a moment.” He took off his scarf, the red and gold one that signified his house colors. He took off yours, the Slytherin green and black. He wrapped his own scarf around your neck and you watched him with wonderstruck eyes. The scarf smelled like him. It was warm with his body heat. He lazily put yours over his neck. “Alright we can go now.” 

-

Fred was in the Gryffindor common room when you got back. The school was empty, sans the portraits, ghosts and a few stragglers. Everyone was still going about enjoying their day outside of the grounds. 

“What did you bring me?” Fred questioned, standing up from the couch beside the fire. You had started to shed your layers, taking off your gloves and hat. “You have a severe case of hat hair Slytherin,” he noted. 

“George punched Draco in the face,” you explained brightly. 

“Good for him.” He patted George on the back. “He had it coming.” 

“So we had to run away,” you explained. “Hence, the empty hands.” Fred rolled his eyes. 

“You could have stolen something but alas.” George gave his twin a gaze that caused Fred to pause. There was a beat of silence. “I think I left something in the dorms...” he said, slowly, eyes squinted. 

“Yes that sounds right.” 

Fred backed away, a cheeky smile on his face. 

“Faster Fred,” you said, smiling. You couldn’t remember the last time you had smiled this much. He took the hint and scurried up the stairs. George sat in front of the fire. You looked around for some bandages, finding a familiar box of supplies that you had in the Slytherin common room. You sat beside him, helping him take off his large jacket. 

“You can help take off the rest of my clothing if you would like Slytherin.” You flushed, unable to meet his eyes. 

“I’d like to wrap up your hand first.” 

“First implies a second thing,” he mused. 

“Yes, yes it does.” You finally looked up at his face. He was gazing at you with a look Draco had never even understood. George’s eyes had softened, the lines on the side of his face turned downward. His lips were parted expectantly. “Thank you for today,” you whispered. 

“I’d like to do it again, if you’re up for it.” 

“Punching Draco or kissing me?” 

“Honestly I wouldn’t mind doing both again. But I was talking about the kissing thing.” You giggled. You actually giggled. 

“I already promised that. Don’t be so eager George.”

“I will be as eager as I want to.” 

You gently joked at each other as you wrapped up his knuckles, getting warmer by the fire. He played with his scarf around your neck. He distracted you by trailing his fingers across your jaw. He promised to memorize your face. 

You promised to memorize his.

Harry Potter Tag List:

@karasong @lov3vivian @russian-soft-bitch @elisaa-shelby @alexxavicry @valentina-luvs-u @demigirl-with-problems @chaotic-fangirl-blog @mads-weasley @secret-obsessions @shownuflakes @dumb-fawkin-bitch @captainsophiestark @neptunesbxtch

#george weasley x reader #george weasley imagines #george weasley x fem!reader #george weasley x slytherin!reader #george weasley fanfiction #harry potter imagines

[websterss]

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 — 𝐖𝐄𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐓  

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓: Smoking with Wes 🙏🙏

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): none really, angsty, fluff, mentions of smoking????

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2,130

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Wes Bennett x fem!Reader

𝐀/𝐍: Alright here you go...I hope you enjoy it! I don’t know how to feel about this. I haven’t written anything in a hot minute. Expect a lot of prom dedicated fics, cause we 2020 grads never got to go to prom lol @biqherosix​ it’s done bby!

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Wes had been reclined back in the lawn chair behind his house. The secret place, the only place really to give him any peace of mind. He inhaled the Swisher Sweet cigarette, then watched as a puff of smoke blew out past his lips. He was too lost in his own thoughts, that he missed that creak of the gate door being pushed open. 

“Thought that was you...” He blew out another puff as he turned to see the culprit who disrupted the quiet he was bathing in. 

“Hey?” He raised a brow, confused as to why you were suddenly in the Secret Area. “What are you doing here?” He sat upright.

“Saw the fairy lights on from my window...” You pointed in the direction of your house. “Thought I’d come say hi...so hi.” You breathe out a laugh, feeling awkward under his stare, you hadn’t missed the way his eyes raked you from head to toe. You looked away to avoid his awed expression. 

Wanting to cut the tension and silence with a knife, you looked up playfully, a smirk on your lips as you flaunted and posed in a funny way. “What do you think? I was going for How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days and The Wedding Date?” You give him a little twirl.

“Really? Could’ve fooled me...I would’ve guessed What a Girl Wants.” He smirks. You roll your eyes as you walk over and plop into the chair beside him. You sigh feeling the heat from the firepit, thankful for the warmth you were provided. You reclined back into the seat, your gaze trailing up to the minimal stars in the sky tonight. Wes couldn’t help the faint smile as he watched you. Two people admiring something beautiful to them. He would’ve thought that you’d be at after prom, taking advantage of a fun night with the rest of the student body, but to his surprise, you were home, and now you were here...right beside him. “What time you’d go to prom? I didn’t see you there.” He took another drag. You turned away from the sky to find his eyes already on you. You almost gasped at how intensely his eyes met yours. You didn’t want to fully get into the awful night you were having, but you always felt the need to let yourself be just a little vulnerable in front of the curly-haired boy. 

“I...actually didn’t even go to prom.” You chuckled to ease your nerves. 

“What? What do you mean?” He sat upright once more. 

“Well, I wasn’t going to tell you but...you know how you usually see the protagonist or the best friend getting canceled at the last minute before the school dance in movies?

“Yeah...” He furrowed his brows.

“You expect it right? Because the climax of the movie makes it obvious, you expect it.” Wes nods a ‘yeah’ at you. Then it only takes a second for the obviousness to hit him like a truck.

“Don’t tell me...” He frowns.

“You just don’t expect it when your actual prom date says he’s taking someone else right before he’s supposed to pick you up. So there’s that...” You shrug. You exhale, feeling stupid and insecure. You shake your head, a chuckle spilling past your lips. “The worst part was that my mom was so excited, she had bought a disposal camera and everything. So imagine her disappointment when her daughter tells her, her date is suddenly taking someone else.”

“I’m sorry, Y/n...” Wes didn’t know what to say. 

“It’s not your fault.” You turn to him, eyes wide in sincerity. He reciprocated your smile. Not an inch of sadness written across your features, if you were consoling how you were really feeling, then you weren’t showing it. “It’s cool...besides I’m getting to spend my night with my favorite neighbor.” You nudge his sneaker with yours. 

“Me? I thought for sure that Liz would claim such a title.” He laughs.

“No...Not after Michael ditched me last minute to take her...but I guess I can’t be entirely mad, she did like him after all.” You finally confess. A careless shrug not missed by him. This had him sitting forward.

“Wait- Michael? As in Michael Young? Michael Young ditched you for Liz Bauxbum.”

“Saying his name three times in a row won’t soften the blow, Bennett...” You roll your eyes. “Yeah, he did. Gimme.” You motion to the cigar in his hands. He passes it over, watching as you take a drag out of it. Not as experienced as he was, you let out a cough as the smoke hits your lungs.

“What an ass.” Wes takes the cigar back from you.

“Eh, what else can a girl do? Cry over him?” You sigh. You dig the toe of your shoe into the dirt.

“That’s not right though. It’s your prom too. He ruined it.”

“Can’t ruin something that I wasn’t looking forward to in the first place Benett...besides he wasn’t the one who I really wanted to go with anyway. He too had a date.” You spare a glance at him, hoping he didn’t catch on. “It’s better this way, better to have stayed here than have gone alone. I don’t think I’d have had any fun anyway.” 

“Yeah no, I can’t accept that.” You watch baffled as he gets up and pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Come on.” He extends his hand out for you to grab.

“What?”

“Come on get up.” He motions with his hand.

“Where are we going?”

“Nowhere.”

“Okay...” You eye him questionably as you take his hand and stand. Once you're up he pulls you to one side of the fire pit. “What are we doing Bennett?” You laugh as he pockets his phone. 

“Michael’s an ass. You deserve at least one dance tonight.” He offers his hand to you again, not forcing you to take it this time. He gave you the option to choose for yourself. You’re taken back by his offer. You’re even more taken when Alina Baraz’s “Electric” featuring Khalid starts to play from his speaker. 

Darker than the ocean, deeper than the sea You got everything, you got what I need Touch me, you're electric, babe

Your head turns to the music filling your ears. Wes waiting patiently. It was quite odd to you. His behavior all of a sudden. Wes was kind, that wasn’t a lie, and he liked to mess with Liz any chance he got, he was playful, sometimes annoying, but he wasn’t always so forward with his feelings. Hell, the dude never really did a good job to hide his infatuation with the redhead that lived in between you two. You were sure he liked her, so you questioned this moment. Wondering why? Why would he care so much to ensure you got to have at least one dance? You didn’t even go to prom? Maybe he was just being nice. 

Wes was nice. He was nice and attractive and...

“You took Alex to prom...” You said out of the blue. The thought crossed your mind all of a sudden. 

“I-I did...” He took his hand back. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You took Alex to prom but Liz didn’t have a date then. You took Alex to prom.” You stated out loud. “Liz was without a date so why wouldn’t you have asked her instead?” You turn around and walk a few steps away from him. Wes was confused about what you were trying to get at. “That doesn’t make sense to me. You’ve liked her since the second grade. I’ve watched you tease and torment her for years, and chase after her. You have room in your damn driveway, Bennett. You weren’t fooling anyone by taking her spot. It doesn’t make sense.” You pull at your hair. “The girl you've been in love with for years was right there, and you took Alex! What the fuck dude!” You exclaim. 

“Are you serious right now?” Wes’s shoulders drop. 

“Yeah, I am! It’s not like she had a date!” You had missed the hurt in his eyes as he looked at you. He could not believe what he was hearing. Had you really not noticed?

It looks like it.

“Yeah, she did!” He exclaimed louder than you.

“So the girl you really wanted to go with had a date? That’s what you’re going him. That’s your excuse?” You scoff at him. Hands crossed over your chest. 

“Yes! I don’t understand why we’re talking about Liz. She doesn’t matter right now. I wanted to dance with you.” The last sentence goes over your head entirely as you shout at him next.

“Because you’re being ridiculous. She was free and you just passed up the opp-”

“No, she wasn’t!” Wes grows frustrated with you.

“Liz didn’t have a date yet, Wes!” You try to reason.

“No, but you did!” He points at you. You freeze up.

“Wait what...” You mutter.

“I’m aware that Liz didn’t have a date, I am, but you did. So I took Alex instead...” He looks away. 

“You took Alex because I had a date?” His words slowly begin to register.

“Yeah, and imagine my surprise when you didn’t even show up.” He kicks out a rock. You furrow your brows. 

“But Liz-”

“What about Liz, Y/n? Who cares about Liz right now.” He lets out a chuckle.

“But I thought you- all the years you’ve- the frogs down her shirt?”

“Liz always had a knack for keeping you all to herself. The so-called teasing and tormenting was to try and get her to tell me something about you. The only thing she ever really told me willing was that you were allergic to nuts.” He smiled as a memory invaded his mind. “I remember my mom used to get so mad at me for throwing out her pecan pies.” He chuckled, his twinkling eyes met your awed expression. “Just the thought of you even being near anything with nuts scared me.” He confessed, a faint smile painting his lips. 

“You knew about my allergy?” Your eyes glistened. 

“Since we were seven.” Wes nodded. 

“Is that why you never offered me Snickers or the yellow M&M’s, except to everyone else?” You breathe out a faint laugh. It was all making sense.

“Yeah...I didn’t want you to swell up or break out into hives. I couldn’t live with that on my conscience.”

“I just thought you had some vendetta against me or something.” You giggled. 

“With you? Never Y/L/N.” He shook his head. You nodded and looked down, then brought your gaze back up to him. 

“I never knew you did all that.” You smiled graciously. “I haven’t had an incident in years, except last month, but you’ve all but kept me nut free.” You joked. Wes perked up at the mention of you having a recent reaction.

“Last month?” Wes frowned.

“I guess you could say it was kind of a sign. Michael made me have a reaction.” You wince. 

“Were you okay?”

“Yeah, luckily Liz was there too. She knew where I kept my EpiPen.” You nodded. “If anything, you’ve taken my health more seriously than anyone else ever has. That alone I can’t thank you enough for.” You slowly walk up to him and go in for a peck on his cheek. But just to your luck he turned his head right as your lips were about to meet his skin. “Oh.” You gasped, as your lips were collided together for a mere second. You pull away slowly but get pulled back closer this time. Wes wraps a hand around one side of your waist and tugs you closer.

“I don’t know if you even remember this, but when we were six, you had a really bad reaction. I don’t recall what exactly it was, maybe something my mom gave all of us. I remember turning to look at you and you couldn’t breathe.” You furrow your brows trying to recall the memory. “I thought you were gonna die because you kept gasping for air and I just remember my parents rushing you over to your house. You were fine after an hour, but I knew then I never wanted to see that happen to you again.” He reached up to caress your cheek. “Since that day, your health has never mattered to me more.”

"It has?” Your eyes glistened again.

“Still does.” Those two little words welcomed a deeper meaning. It was all it took for you to reach forward and bring his lips down onto your own. He sighed in relief, as he wrapped his arms tighter around you. 

#wes bennett #wes bennett imagines #wes bennett imagine #wes bennett x reader #wes bennett x fem!reader #wes bennet oneshot #bttm imagines #bttm x reader #better than the movies #better than the movies imagines #my gif #writings by juls

[theresattrpgforthat]

Hello, thank you for all your hard work on recommendations! Do you know of any vampire games where being a vampire is NOT presented as a 'You are a horrible parasite clinging to humanity!' thing? And/or perhaps it is more about how humans are awful to vampires. Being non-crunchy is a bonus. It doesn't have to be light-hearted, I'd rather play something with a serious tone.

Theme: Alternative Vampires.

Hello friend, there’s a lot of really interesting vampire games out there! One of the most well-known is, of course, Vampire: The Masquerade, which you've possible heard about before, but I think is important to acknowledge when looking at many vampire games that have been created in the past. It's influenced the way a lot of roleplayers see vampires.

On the other hand, there's also a lot of work to change up how vampires are seen, and the BIPOC Vamp Jam is an excellent example of that. I think you'll recognize some of the games in this list from that jam!

Some of the games here are more serious than others, but I think there’s still some complex themes even within the games that don’t take themselves too seriously. I hope there’s something here that fits what you’re looking for!

Bloodsucker Elegy, by Porcupine Publishing.

Tonight, everything falls apart. The place went up like a bonfire Black-clad mortals They know everything about us They know our names They know how to kill us

Bloodsucker Elegy is a compact (15pp) game for two or more players, about vampires on the night their world comes crashing down around them.

Intended for short-form play, Bloodsucker Elegy uses a diceless system that draws on ideas from the Vampire: the Masquerade spinoff video game Swansong.

A game about enduring the end of life as you know it, Bloodsucker Elegy gives you both human skills and supernatural powers to help you face your oncoming doom. Every time you do something supernatural, you must take 1 Hunger. Every time you use a human skill, you must spend Willpower. With no Willpower left, you’ll slip into a slumber resembling death. At 12 Hunger, you can feel your inner beast surface, your bloodlust take over. You can gain willpower by meditating and reduce hunger by feeding, but both are dangerous when you’re being hunted. If you want a game that pushes your characters and forces them to make heavy choices, this might be the game for you.

Thousand Year old Vampire, by timhutchings.

A creaking hunter among dust and cobwebs, you prowl the night places, seeking the souls on which you feed. You have done this since time immemorial, or so you believe; you have no memories of  living as a man-thing like those you catch and eat. But human traces linger; your fingers trace clever arabesques in the dirt of your grave-place and with the flourishes come whispered songs in a language you've forgotten. Far away, in a museum, hangs your portrait in oil by a master five hundred years dead--you might have been lovers but the diary you kept then is long lost.  

This is a solo game, meant for intimate and personal experiences. Thousand Year Old Vampire comes with a lot of high praise, meant to be powerful, emotional and thought provoking. You are a vampire, discovering and losing memories as you fill up your diary. This is a personal horror game, a game about losing pieces of yourself to the ravages of time. It’s received 3 awards from the Ennies, and also won the Indicade Tabletop Design Award in 2020. I think it’s probably worth checking out!

The Blood, by Falconian Productions.

Vampires are creatures of magic; how else do you explain the undead? It’s not some outside force’s pet project — vampirism is magic. An arcane force, The Blood, is what makes a vampire.

What is the Blood? It’s the fragment of power shared by every vampire in the world, and the conglomerate force made up of those segments. It's not a voice, or instinct, but… insight. The Blood shows you what you want, what It wants. It shows you the quickest and easiest ways to get to it.Then, it gives you what you need to act on it.

But your choices are always your own. Those that would do no wrong even in the face of temptation likely still won't as a vampire, but those that avoided wrongdoing only because they feared being caught, or lacked the means?

The Blood is a game about vampires as arcane creatures, an otherworldly force empowering their undead forms and providing them with magical potency. The powers attributed to vampires in stories and media are simply the spells that come most easily to them. It's about seeing how they balance their desire for power with the need for secrecy in the world, and about succumbing to or resisting the arcane desires their Blood inflicts on them. 

This is a game that feels like it draws quite a bit from the lore and allure of Vampire: the Masquerade. It gives your characters an internal struggle to wrestle with, gives you 10-sided dice to roll in dice pools, and counts a 7 or higher as a success. In this game, your character also has magical strengths and personal advantages or disadvantages - perhaps a certain kind of magic always comes easier to you, or perhaps you have a sworn enemy who is always on your tail. If you want a game about secrecy and struggle, this might be the game for you.

Dead Letter Society, by Rori Montford.

Live your best unlife as the newest member of the Dead Letter Society, an exclusive communication network for vampires. Pursue your ambitions, and question the Society's motives, in this journaling and epistolary game for 1-2 players.

Dead Letter Society is a journaling game where your letters drive the action. Choose your genre, build your world, and discover the joys of corresponding via a secret society with unknown motives. 

This is a slower and quieter game, for a much smaller group of people that happens over the course of writing various letters or journal entries. Using tarot cards, you’ll answer the questions that arise out of the course of your play (although it looks like you can use dice or other method of number generation if you like). The game is, at its core, about two vampires sharing a connection through a Society whose motives are… suspect. It looks like there are play-sets for various settings, and while I’m not sure exactly what your vampires’ position is in relation to humans, the fact that it’s meant to take place between 2 players (or by yourself) gives me a suspicion that your characters will be sympathetic, rather than monstrous.

Eat the Reich, by Rowan, Rook & Decard.

The year is 1943. You are a team of crack vampire commandos with one mission: drink all of Hitler's blood.

This over-the-top, ultraviolent game is designed to be played from beginning to end in one to three sessions of carnage, blood magic, meaningful flashbacks and hundreds upon hundreds of extremely dead fascists. It tells one story, it tells it loud, and it tells it brilliantly. Think Wolfenstein crossed with Danger 5 and you're not far off the mark. 

This is a game about punching up, and punching back. The designers are aiming for something that is over-the-top, messy, and violent, something that guides your characters through one big mission while providing the ability to flash-back to moments in WW2 that led your characters to this final moment. It’s meant to be big, bombastic and bloody - and it’s currently still in production. You can still pre-order it on the Kickstarter page, but if you want to learn more about it first, I recommend checking out this post by the authors, as well as the game v, which uses the same rule system to deliver a punchy one-shot experience.

Bloodbeam Badlands, by Viditya Voleti.

You have survived the apocalypse, and your worst nightmare has come true. The sun burns redder, brighter, and hotter, never setting - the Forever Dawn. The land has been irradiated and kissed by its strange sanguine rays, warping the world into a carnival for the strange and the supernatural.

Bloodbeam Badlands is a game for at least 2 players, including a Game Master (GM). It’s a game about vampires stuck surviving a post-apocalyptic world where the sun never sets, what it means to keep moving when the deck is stacked against you, the immortal facing mortality with every step. It’s also a game about being really cool vampires with cool vampire powers and cool magic guns going on rad adventures in a rad world filled with rad things. 

Characters in Bloodbeam Badlands have 3 Stats: Guts, Guile, and Guise that determine your capabilities and how many dice you roll, and 3 Sources: Blood, Bullets, and Burn which determine your state of being and what value you need to roll under. Managing your Sources as they fluctuate and playing to your strengths allows for a dynamic yet simple system! It’s the end of the world and your greatest enemy is able to kill you at all hours of the day.

A game of survival and plenty of character pieces that exist in threes, Bloodbeam Badlands hands you some cursed guns and powerful vampiric abilities and asks you to try and survive in a world where not just the humans, but the landscape wants to kill you. If you want a game about kicking desperation in the face and rad adventures, this might be the game for you.

The Sun’s Ransom, by pidj.

The Sun's Ransom is a poetic, tragic RPG where you play vampires determined to bring back the sun.

The world has gone dark and the mortals are consumed by the need for warmth, light and power. It is up to you, who do not need life or warmth or light or power, to ransom the sun, despite the cost. You must go against your vampiric nature and remember what brought Light and Joy to your mortal self. That is the blood-price for the sun.

This is a game that takes your resources away from you as you play. Your table will have the freedom to determine what kind of world you start in and what exactly the roles are for both mortals and vampires. This means that it’s up to you what kind of creatures vampires are, and how people see them! What you’ll struggle with is your doom - or to be more clear, the doom of the mortals around you.

When you begin play, you’ll place as many dice as can cover the sun that the game provides for you to print out. As you play, those dice will be removed - and the sun will come back, saving the mortals you fight for, and hurting you in the process. If you want a game of tragedy and sacrifice, I recommend this game.

Other Games I’ve Recommended

Blood and Sacrilege, by Tom Clark.

Vamp Camp!, by Sebastian Yue.

Bubblegum Vampires, by Gormengeist.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #game recommendations #dnd #asks #vampires

[breadbrioche]

nocturnal

claude von riegan x reader

➳summary: you confess some of your worries to claude when you can’t go to sleep

➳warnings: mentions of war and desertion

➳word count: 2.2k

➳a/n: I began writing this back in may 2020 and I’ve been writing this on and off again ever since so this piece is kinda my baby I can’t believe I finished this

It was quiet.

Not awfully so but something like this only took place during the peak of night. Despite everything happening in the world, this was the time where people stayed blissfully ignorant to the events around them; even if it’s just for a few hours. Looking back, this was something you always took advantage of; your past self always expecting it would be there. But, if the past five years taught you anything, peace and quiet was somewhat of a privilege.

Despite this, you lied numbly in your bed, eyes wide open and observed how the moon’s light casted patterns on your room’s ceiling. Shifting around the bed, the sheets ruffled loudly. You knew you had to sleep; being sleep deprived could cost you your life on the battlefield. All the benefits of some rest were basically being presented right in front of you with your limbs feeling as heavy as lead. Your body was screaming at you to sleep yet, no matter how long you closed your eyes for, your mind buzzed with useless thoughts. A flurry of irrational worries littered your mind for no reason. The warrior in you felt like scoffing; how could you doubt yourself or your comrades when you’ve reached this far?

You weighed out the choices you decided to take mentally. Logically, you should have tried to go to sleep again. But you’ve already tried that a number of times with all the same fruitless outcome. What’s the use in fighting a pointless battle when you knew you were going to lose?

You sighed deeply. It wasn’t the right thing to do but it was really the only thing to do at this point. With the little sensibility you had thrown out the window, you heaved yourself out of the bed. Wincing as your bare feet touched the cold stone, you padded to your desk and retrieved your cloak. After hastily fastening the clasp to it, you retrieved the lantern that was still barely burning and made your way out of your room.

The door creaked too loudly for your liking. If it was any louder, others would have suspected a surprise attack. You speedily paced through the halls of the monastery, a flickering flame illuminating your path and steadily made a beeline through the dining hall, out to the fishing pond. You hissed as the cool breeze made its way underneath your cloak, and tingled your skin as it brushed past (you were expecting it though, what a great idea going out barefoot in pyjamas and what was essentially a glorified blanket).

Ignoring this, you cast your gaze up at the moon and sighed wistfully.

The moon was free, you thought to yourself. It didn’t have any noble obligations and definitely didn’t need to participate in a war. The moon only had one job; to rise at night and set during the day. Imagining how easy that must be, you continued to admire it mindlessly. You even felt yourself feeling a bit sleepy.

“A little late for sightseeing, don’t you think?” A voice called from your surroundings.

You stopped your actions at an instant and spun around, shifting your feet into a defensive stance. You groaned, feeling stupid for not thinking of any possible unwanted intruders lurking outside of the monastery. You bit the inside of your cheek, cursing yourself for not bringing a weapon with you; reason magic was out of the question too - you couldn’t even call yourself proficient. The professor had always told you to practice using it and you guessed this was the reason for it. You were an absolute fool for going outside and your past self was as much a fool (if not more) as you were now for not putting effort in their studies.

You grew wary and stepped back towards the inside of the monastery. As the footsteps got increasingly audible, the person (was it a man?) slowly emerged from the shadows of the night with their arms up innocently. Rays of moonlight danced upon his face and you released the breath you held unknowingly. Your nose shrivelled in distaste.

“Claude von Riegan! What the hell was that for?!” You shrieked.

“How so? I was only asking a question.” The Alliance leader chortled as he sauntered his way over to you. Huffing, you smacked his shoulder lightly.

“Sneaking up on somebody in the middle of a war, even if it’s just a harmless scheme that’s quite silly isn’t it?” You questioned rhetorically. You crossed your arms underneath the cloak to retain your increasingly depleting body temperature, the chilly winds finally catching up to you. “Why are you up at this hour anyways?”

The man next to you merely shook his head and shrugged. “A Master Tactician like myself is far too busy to rest, even when I want to… what about you? I remember asking you the same thing before you diverted the question.”

You scoffed, waving your hand as you made your way to sit on the ledge which overlooked the pond “It’s nothing complicated; there was too much on my mind to actually sleep. I was hoping a change of scenery could lull me to sleep but all I got was our oh so great leader trying to scare me out of my skin” Your legs dangled off the side freely, relishing the cool breezes that went past them

Claude raised an eyebrow curiously, “Too much on your mind, huh? Willing to give me a penny for your thoughts? Wha- don’t give me that look! You never know, it might help you ease up a bit”

“It’s fine, you don’t need to worry about it. They’re stupid anyways” You insisted yet the inquisitive twinkle in his eyes pressed on the topic. You exhaled in defeat, accepting the fact you couldn’t escape the situation.

“You sure you won’t judge?”

Claude nods.

“Well- how do I start this? … sometimes I just get paranoid y’know? This war’s got everyone on edge, it’s made me realise a lot of things and one of them is the fact that I really don’t want to die. Like literally just now when I thought you were an intruder, I was even thinking about using reason magic to defend myself - and you know how hopeless I am with that… Sometimes I don’t even care what happens or who wins. I guess I just want to be alive.”

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably as you recounted your thoughts. As much as you were aware of its awful implications, speaking your thoughts felt like a weight being lifted over off your chest and you could finally breathe again.

How long have you felt this way?

An awkward silence ensued after your statement. Great, you thought. He probably wasn’t expecting that kind of confession. First thinking he was an enemy and now oversharing your darkest of thoughts - what a way to fuck up your relationship with the Leader of the Lieciester Alliance.

Now you couldn’t bear to look at Claude, ashamed, embarrassed, guilty.

You cleared your throat, catching his attention quite easily. “Uh-… sorry about what I said. I didn’t mean to offend you or anything; it was selfish of me to think that…”

“It’s okay.” Claude stated firmly. “Don’t apologize for something you can’t control.”

Okay, so he pitied you, even after you’ve basically offended him. Just how could he put up with you like this?

“I was being presumptuous.” You insisted with your head hung low as you turned around and slid off the stone wall you sat on. “Just ignore what I said.”

“No, I think that-“

“Stop. Please, you don’t have to listen to my stupid irrational fears.” You pleaded to him. Feeling uncomfortable tingles behind your eyes, you rushed back inside the monastery with your feet slapping against the freezing ground.

“Hey- Just wai-“ he called out to your steadily retreating form before huffing. If he didn’t hate you before, he definitely did now. Just fantastic.

What’re the chances he might send you off to a skirmish where you have no chances of winning or maybe even imprison you for thinking about desertion? Great. Great. Greatgreatgrea-

You were promptly pulled out of your thoughts as a force pulled the neck of your cloak and sent you falling backwards. You braced for a fall that never came as Claude grabbed you and turned you to face him. One hand on your shoulder secured you still while another was placed on your head to direct your gaze to meet his.

“Would you please just let me finish my sentence?” He expired jokingly. He lightly smoothed down the top of your hair, sensing your nerves and embarrassment.

“To put it frankly, you’re not the only one who’s thought about it.”

You gave him an incredulous look. Did that mean that-?

“In my opinion, there’s no shame in wanting to run away. It’s a normal human instinct.”

No way. There was no way you just heard him say that. He wasn’t gonna kill you? And he’s maybe wanted to do it before too?

“No one wants war. It’s unnecessary and it takes more from you than what you get in the end, even if you do win. It’s easy enough to want to get away from it all.”

“But you're the leader of the alliance! Haven’t you been basically raised from birth learning how to prepare for one?” You almost scoffed, still hesitant. He gave you a small smile, and shook his head, hair falling out of place slightly from the action. Though that did little to diminish his appearance - the tousled hair giving him an air of effortlessness and making him look more attractive than anyone should be this late at night. Goddess, you’ve known Claude all these years and somehow you’ve never thought about how hot he was? You really were discovering new things about yourself (and Claude).

“Being prepared for something barely holds a light to actually doing it.” He explained. “Just when you think you’ve thought of every possible situation, life slaps you in the face and gives you a scenario you’d never even considered! The stress it gives you, urgh!”

You snorted, only Claude could crack a joke about something like this. His grin stretched, teeth almost peeking out between his lips, and patted your head lightly. “Welcome back. Frankly, seeing you so scared like that was unlike you, but it’s understandable. Glad to see you can still smile like that”

Rolling your eyes, you slapped his chest halfheartedly. He gasped accusingly and clutched at his chest to play along with you. It was a crime how nice it felt to be around him - the way he made you feel relaxed and safe during a war was something only he could do.

“Alright I get it now. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Claude gave you a look suggesting that he was still unconvinced. Noticing this, you scowl slightly.

“I’m serious! Thanks to you, I have absolutely no more self deprecating thoughts about running away.”

You assessed his face to gauge his reaction but he simply wore his tried and true smirk, as if this too was just one of his schemes.

“Urgh what do I have to do to make you believe me?!” You groan out. By now, you’ve been outside for longer than you’ve expected (the sky’s colours were changing to a much warmer tone now) and you would like to at least get maybe a couple hours of sleep.

“Do you think I’m just gonna leave you alone after what you just told me? What’s the point in helping you calm your nerves if I just send you back to your room and have you just spiral all over again?” Claude pointed out which made you scoff, crossing your arms.

“What do you propose I do then, Mr Master Tactician? I don’t really fancy staying out here all night.”

“Well then just sleep with me in my room, of course!”

You gave him an incredulous look, eyes probably bulging out of your eyes. Were you hearing correctly? For such a smart guy, does he even know what he’s saying? You’re almost definitely sure he’s messing with you.

“Are you serious?” You gaped. He gave a confident nod.

“But you only have one bed in your room?” You clarified, just to be sure.

Claude huffed in amusement and tugged on your arm. “It will be fine. C’mon, bed is big enough for the two of us. ”

You rolled your eyes but moved your arms so that you linked your with Claude, finally giving in. He beamed at you, excited to have accepted his request. Beginning to guide you the way to his room, you stopped the man in his tracks to give him a stern glare.

“If you push me off the bed, I’ll lose all my hope in you and then I’ll really run away.”

“Well then it's a good thing that I don’t have any weird sleeping habits! You’ll get plenty of sleep tonight.”

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem three houses x reader #fe3h #fe3h x reader #fire emblem x reader #claude von riegan #claude von riegan x reader #own works

[ohtobealady]

Love your cobert drabbles and fanfics!! Please write more!! Hope you are doing well 😘🥰😉

So I had a very, very old request for a long-lost prompt list. They requested #18 which was an angsty “All you had to do was stay.” I do not know where that request went, so I am answering this more open-ended one from 2020 instead. Thank you Anon of Bygone Times. I am doing well! And I hope you are, too.

Just felt like doing a little something! Hurt/Comfort really. Post ANE. Please forgive the clunkiness xoxox

—//—//—//—//—//—//—

Angst #18 - All You Had to Do Was Stay

Her mouth felt as if it was stuffed with cotton and her tongue felt dry and thick. It was over, but the taste remained: mineraly and sharp, a bitter tang. It filled up her entire mouth and nose, the taste and smell indistinguishable from each other. She needed water.

Cora opened her eyes and immediately blinked. She worked for a moment to adjust her vision, pressing her eyelids softly and then peering into the afternoon rays of sun coming in at an odd angle to the room. Oh, her head pounded and throbbed. Water; where was the water?

She closed her eyes again and rested her head back against the thin pillow. She’d prayed it wouldn’t be like this. The first few times she’d done the treatment, as Doctor Clarkson had called it, she’d gagged, of course. But she managed the small measured portions of raw liver she’d been prescribed to eat over the course of the day. She could have the injections just as soon as they were shipped from London; this would get easier—less frequent. But after a week, and with the shipment still missing, she found she could no longer stomach it. She managed her portion at luncheon, just barely finding the strength to swallow the gelatinous mush in her mouth that had once been neat cubes upon her plate. But then the vomiting began at tea. And it didn’t stop. The smell of it, the vomit a dark red in the basin, set her mouth to watering and nose burning as a precursor to even more retching.

So Robert had taken her here the next morning—this morning—, in spite of her protesting, to the hospital.

Cora groaned. Whatever strength and newfound energy she’d enjoyed before was completely depleted now and what remained were aches and fatigue. She wouldn’t think of what it may mean—that the incessant vomiting of the last day and night had undone all of her progress—but instead tried her best to look at the bright side. The injections would be in soon, and there’d be less liver. Not no liver, she knew. But less. She could stomach less.

With this, she opened her eyes again. Late afternoon, she could tell. The hospital bed beneath her felt stiff and narrow. The quilt was rough. She attempted to ease herself up slowly, the blood in her head thumping and her stomach sore from its terrible labor.

But then the small creak of a wooden chair to her right, and the warm weight of his hand upon her blanketed shin stilled her.

“Lie back.”

“Robert,” her voice croaked softly, her protest pitiful and weak. “I’m alright.”

“You aren’t. You need rest.”

Despite her scoff, Cora did lie back. She hadn’t even the energy to roll her eyes. “I’m alright. Really.”

“So you said.” His voice was gentler in his contradiction than before, and even though her eyes were closed, Cora could feel the way he shifted in the wooden chair. She could feel the way he leaned closer to her, and she felt his hand move from her leg and to her arm. His fingers encircled it, and she felt him draw a soft line along the thin and fragile bone of the inside of her wrist. She sighed; her head hurt a little less. “We were pleased to see you’ve kept down the last portion.”

She hummed a reply. “Best not to speak too soon.”

“Doctor Clarkson says if you can keep down the next, he’ll send us home to bed.”

She swallowed down what she wanted to respond: She didn’t want another portion. The very thought of it prickled up beads of cold sweat upon her hairline. She did groan, but took in a long breath to steady herself. “I’ve been resting all day.”

“Yes. And he has given you direction to rest as much as possible tomorrow. That is, if you’re well enough to leave.”

“Oh, Robert,” she opened her eyes. “I don’t wish to take up a bed for anyone who may really need it.”

She felt the way his fingers moved upon her wrist. “I suppose you think you don’t?”

“I don’t need it. I’ve been ill, yes, but not ill enough for constant monitoring.” She shook her head, closed her eyes, and swallowed down the dry burn of her throat. Her voice was hoarse from the vomiting. “Besides, I’d like to see you try keeping all that liver down.”

His fingers tightened. The chair creaked. And in the absence of what she thought would be a low chuckle, Cora slowly opened her eyes to find him looking down at her.

“I wish I could do this for you.”

She sighed. “Do what?” she asked, even though she knew.

“All of it.”

She knew. Her chest ached when he looked away from her, his chin trembling. Yes, she knew. For she felt the same when he was lying in this bed a few short years ago and she was the one on the creaking chair praying that somehow they could exchange places. She’d suffer it for him, she knew. And he would suffer this for her. “Oh, darling.“

“I hate seeing you so ill. Last night. I’m so terribly sorry you must endure this.”

It took more energy than she thought she had to slip her wrist from his grasp and for her fingers to find his hand instead. She squeezed, quickly and firmly, and smiled when he at last met her eye.

“No. I don’t want that. No apologies or pity. Hmm?” She smiled wider for his sake, and she tried her best to level her voice, to not sound quite so weak. “All I want is this. For you to stay beside me. Holding my hand.”

He chuckled, softly and sadly. “You’ll have some of my pity. It can’t be helped.” At this, he brought her fingers to his lips and pressed them. They felt warm against her skin. “But I will hold your hand.”

#cobert #downton abbey #cora crawley #robert crawley #cobert drabbles

[halfbakedideas]

this is a bookshop, not a parking space!

A TARDIS being accidentally parked indoors leads to a Demon and a Time Lord having somewhat of a reunion, and a very confused Angel.

notes:

Yet another fic I never cross-posted to here, and this was the first time I ever wrote crowley or aziraphale.

As for the timeline…just post Forest of The Dead (DW s04e09) but pre-Midnight, and just pre-Good Omens s2.

Read on Ao3

—x—x—x—

The TARDIS had no windows. Not that windows would do you any good when moving through time as well as space. As such the Doctor had developed something of a habit of parking the TARDIS in rather odd and/or unconventional places. They only parked the TARDIS inside when they intended to do so. Most of the time.

But there were times that the TARDIS had materialised indoors and the Doctor (and their current companion) didn’t know until they stepped out. Office buildings, alien spaceships, and on one notable occasion, an Angel’s bookshop. Windows would have helped immensely in all of those cases.

—x—x—x—

It was a pleasant Thursday afternoon. A. Z. Fell and Co. was still open for business but was not going to be for much longer, at this rate.

Aziraphale sat on the sofa tucked away behind the bookcases halfway through a reread of Agatha Christie’s Death in the Clouds when he heard a peculiar sound. It sounded like a cross between an out of tune violin and a car horn

The Angel abandoned his book on the sofa to go investigate what had made the sound, although not before he had marked his spot with a bookmark. Emerging from within the shelves, Aziraphale discovered a blue Police call box standing in the middle of the open space between the door and the bookcases. Which certainly hadn’t been there earlier.

What was that doing here? Police call boxes hadn’t existed since the 1950s and certainly not inside shops. Let alone his shop.

The box’s door creaked open and two people emerged from within. A red-haired human lady in a gray dress and purple cardigan, and…a very familiar-looking person in a long brown coat whose aura was definitely not human despite their appearance. Aziraphale caught sight of some kind of machine that was glowing green behind them.

“The 2020s! fantastic decade—“

“Why do you have my husband’s face?” the Angel demanded before he had the time to think of anything else to say.

“What?” they questioned. Both of the newcomers looked very confused.

What were they? A Demon with the power to steal other’s faces? Another Angel with that power? Or something else entirely? They must have the ability to change face.

And Aziraphale hadn’t seen Crowley all day, it was nearing three p.m., the last time that he had looked at a clock. Usually the Demon would have shown up around lunchtime at the very latest, like clockwork.

“Your face, it isn’t yours. Why did you take it?” he pressed. “What did you do to Crowley?”

“Crowley?” they asked, the confusion disappearing from their face.

“No no! I haven’t done anything to them!” they insisted. “Well not in the last twenty years, at least,” And then, softer: “He’s still hanging around here? After all this time?”

So this mysterious unknown not-human did know Crowley after all. It wasn’t just the face that was the same (well, except for the hair), it was the voice too.

“Yes?” he said, unsure of what else to say. Now it was his turn to be confused.

“And if he’s your husband…you must be Aziraphale!” they exclaimed, eyes lighting up.

“I am,” he confirmed with a nod.

“Doctor, who is this man?” the lady asked, interrupting their conversation.

“Someone very dear to a friend of mine,” they told her. “Speaking of, where is Crowley?” They looked around the shop, as if trying to find the Demon, even peering around the police box.

“Sorry, who are you?” Aziraphale asked, instead of answering their question.

“I’m the Doctor,” they introduced themself.

That was a very vague name, or was it a title in the way that the word was intended to be used?

“And this is Donna,” They turned to the red-haired lady.

“Hi,”

“What exactly are you a doctor of?” he asked.

“Oh, many things,” they said with a gesture to nothing.

Before any of them could say anything more, the door opened and someone entered the shop.

“Angel? You here—?“ Crowley’s voice called out.

The Demon came to a sudden stop not too far from Aziraphale. He looked both shocked and confused, although certainly more shocked than confused.

“Doctor? What’re you doing here?” he asked. “What’s with the face? And that suit? Where’d the scarf go?”

“Sorry about the face — I knew it looked familiar,” they said, the second part sounded like it was more directed towards themself than Crowley.

“You two do know each other!” Aziraphale interjected. “Crowley, how do you know this Doctor?” He turned to his husband.

“Oh, they’re an old friend,”

Well that was infromative.

“Would someone please tell me who you two are?” Donna asked. “Or am I gonna have to keep standing here all confused?” she added.

Aziraphale echoed the sentiment.

“Right, yes…Donna, this is Crowley, I met them in the 1860s, although not with this face,” The Doctor introduced him. “And this is Aziraphale, he owns this bookshop,”

“Hello,” the Angel greeted pleasantly. “Now, this is very interesting and all, but could you please park that…police box—“

“—TARDIS,” the Doctor corrected him.

“—TARDIS outside? This bookshop is still open and I doubt that you want any customers who come in here to ask questions about it,” Aziraphale said.

“No, no I do not. Won’t be a moment,”

“Thank you.”

The Doctor and Donna returned back inside the police box, shutting the door behind them. The same out of tune violin-car horn cross sound filled the shop and the TARDIS faded out of sight.

It reappeared in the alleyway behind the bookshop, not that either Aziraphale or Crowley would know that.

The Doctor and Donna came back inside after having moved the TARDIS.

Despite Aziraphale’s confusion and mistrust of them, Crowley seemed to not only have befriended the Doctor but trusted them too. And he did not trust people easily, so the Angel decided that he would trust them as well. For the time being.

The rest of the afternoon saw a pot of tea (which had originally been lemon-ginger but had since been miracled into the green it had remained as for the next three hours) being shared and even more questions from both sides.

—x—x—x—

“Those two…they weren’t human, were they?” Donna asked when she and the Doctor were back in the TARDIS standing around the console later.

“No, they aren’t,” they agreed as they fiddled with something.

“Then what are they? Aliens? They looked pretty human,” she commented.

“They’re not technically alien either, not in the same way I am,”

Okay, now that’s just confusing.

“What do you mean ‘not technically alien’? You aren’t having me on, are you?” Donna said.

“Nope. Supernatural beings — well Angel and Demon, but that still counts as supernatural,” the Doctor explained.

Of all the wild things that she had been expecting them to say, supernatural beings hadn’t even made the list.

“What? An actual angel, like in the Bible? Not like those murderous statues?” she questioned.

Although, now that she thought of it, those two being a Demon and an Angel made rather a lot of sense.

Who was which? Aziraphale definitely seemed more angelic than demonic, but the way he had come storming out of the backroom and accused the Doctor of stealing his husband’s face. Crowley appeared the opposite. Honestly it seemed equally possible that both of them were either.

“Those ‘murderous statues’ are Weeping Angels, Aziraphale’s just an Angel,” the Doctor explained, having finally finished with whatever he had been doing to the console. “Now, what do you think about a visit to Alpha Centauri?” they asked.

Well, now she had the answer to her most recent question.

“That sounds lovely,” Donna said. “As long as we’re going there because you want to and not because we’re responding to a signal,” she told them, sternly. “I don’t want another Library situation just yet,” she added.

“There’s no signal this time, I promise,” they reassured her.

“Alright.”

The sound of the TARDIS dematerialising filled the alleyway. It caught the attention of a man wearing far, far less clothing than was considered socially appropriate, not just in this century but in any century, carrying a cardboard box who happened to be walking past.

#good omens #doctor who #dw #crossover #fanfiction #good omens fanfiction #doctor who fanfiction #the doctor #aziraphale #crowley #donna noble #hbi fics #yet another fic i meant to crosspost here and forgot to #half baked queue