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#so i did mine on discovering. my identity

queenimmadolla · 1 month

Text

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈: 𝐑𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

previous — next part ┊ 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ( + playlist)

Summary: You learn the identity of your new undead friend, get a mini ‘makeover’, catch your crush’s attention and bury a body while Eddie learns throwing up on the girl he’s interested in probably doesn’t display his potential as a boyfriend, but his protective nature might.

Chapter Warnings: a stinky boy, dark humor, unpleasant home life, intense longing (on eddie’s behalf). oh yeah, and murder.

a/n: so i lied, this is actually longer than the first chapter and i accepted my fate. we’re getting to the fun stuff, though. next up: more vigilante justice, eddie lore and emerging feelings for a certain dead man walking. hope you like it!

light dividers ℗ cafekitsune ♡

“C’mon, over here.” You gestured to your open doorway, watching your new zombie pal hobble up the final step and round the staircase. His movements were harsh, stiff as hell and made your bones hurt to watch for whatever reason. Every over limp was accompanied by an inhuman grunt, and you wondered if moving his limbs might actually be painful for him.

You were never particularly skilled in the art of masking your emotions, so your eyebrows were furrowed, mouth parted and upper lip tucked up to clearly display your phantom discomfort.

Once he was close enough, you crossed over the threshold, standing a little in front of your bed as he wandered in, large eyes immediately raking over everything on your walls. After beckoning him further in, you moved around the filthy corpse standing in your room to close the door.

“Despite your deadly good looks, we can’t risk anyone seeing you. No one else can know you’re here.” You informed him, trying to stress the seriousness of the situation without seeming too controlling. While you had waited for The Zombie to struggle up the stairs, you’d determined there were three possible ways this town would react to discovering a member of the dead had risen—that only seemed to be socially acceptable and celebrated in the form of Jesus Christ:

1.) Pitchforks and Torches.

2.) News, Military, and Government attention, which would no doubt mean you’d have to break him out of some lab.

3.) Pitchforks and Torches, News, Military, and Government attention, which would mean you’d have to save him from an angry mob before inevitably losing him once News stations picked the story up, causing subsequent Military and Government interference and the scientific study of your undead friend in some high tech/high defense lab, leaving you to figure out how to break into and get him out of it.

Or, he could just not leave your bedroom. A beautiful alternative.

The Zombie didn’t even pay you any attention, stumbling forward—and banging his foot against the leg of your bed frame—to take a better look at your things. He was grunting and groaning, though this time it seemed to be a little different. It almost sounded like he was talking to himself. Or maybe to you.

Zombies in film seemed to be able to voice their demands for brains. Could he? Did he have the same urge or need to eat brains? How would you even feed a zombie?

“Can you talk?” You asked, leaning back against the door, eyes on him as he had to hop in place in order to turn his body to face you, “Like, speak? With words?”

He seemed to consider your question for a moment, eyes darting to the side.

“Uuuuuuunnnggghhh.”

“So, that’s a no. Do you…do you need brains? Because I’m not sure I can get you any of those—and if you think for one second that you’re gonna eat mine, you should know I fall under fight when it comes to fight or flight responses. I’m like an alley cat, I’ll fuck you up.”

The Zombie stumbled back, rocking from side to side. It took you a moment to realize he was trying to shake his head, no.

Interesting.

“No brains?”

Again, he rocked from side to side, “Uunggh-uunghh.”

“Oh. Okay.” Your defenses dropped immediately as you played with your hair, pulling gently at a section of it, “Well, what do you eat?”

He did the choppy shoulder raise he’d done in the livingroom earlier, “Unnhh unnhh.”

Your lips curled into a small, fascinated smile. Okay, you knew he had been once alive, once a human being existing on this earth with blood pulsing through his veins—and now he was dead.

Yet, he wasn’t dead. He was dead but standing in your bedroom, amongst your girly things and not so girly things, staring at you in his grotesque form, and shrugging I dunno, like some alive person. A full blown, supernatural one-time (to your knowledge) occurrence only depicted in Sci-fi films and horrors.

Why you? What did he want with you?

You hadn’t realized you’d voiced the question until he hobbled back around to your bedroom wall, raising his left hand, and the only one he seemed to have, up to one of the tombstone etchings. His fingers were all sorts of fucked up, frozen in the most uncomfortable looking positions as a result of rigor mortis in whatever position he’d died.

“What? That? It’s just an etching I made of a tombstone.”

He craned his head around, and you tried not to be freaked out with the way his neck hadn’t turned enough with it, tapping his crooked pinky finger against the craft paper and then moved it to his chest.

Your eyes zeroed in on the etching, trying to understand what he was attempting to tell you.

It was MUN’s tombstone—no, Eddie Munson’s tombstone.

Your jaw dropped. Had to be somewhere around your feet, on the floor. Holy. Shit.

“That’s you? You’re Eddie Munson?” It was rude, but you openly pointed at him.

He didn’t grunt in response this time, rather, he began to cough and gag as he jerked his body around to get his hand in his dirty jeans.

While he did whatever it was, you took the time to take him in even further. He wore black jeans, but under his leather jacket he seemed to be wearing a discolored dress shirt that had once probably been white. You had a feeling the sneakers on his feet, while horrendously dirty, weren’t all that worn out. Dress pants were pricey, you knew that much after buying some for your father when your mother would take you to outlets and malls with her. Dress shirts were a little cheaper and new shoes were seen as a staple in big events for peoples’ lives, such as graduations, birthdays, dances, weddings and funerals.

You had a sneaking suspicion this lively carcass hadn’t been from this part of town when he was alive.

“UUUUUUNNNNGGGHHHH!” The Zombie moaned out, almost victoriously as his stiff arm stuck straight up in the air. Dangling from his curled fingers, was your mother’s pearl necklace. You’d seen it last when you’d entrusted MUN with it yesterday.

You gasped, reaching out as he lowered it into your furled palm.

With the proof in your hand and his corpse before you, you knew you were speaking to Eddie Munson. He was, without a doubt, the grave you’d been running to.

“Holy crap, you are Eddie Munson!” You gripped the pearls in your fist, eyes wide and blinking rapidly to try to make sense of it all, “You were murdered and now you’re not—I mean, you were, but you’re back from the dead, standing in my—ooh, standing pretty close actually.”

You tried not to flinch as you became aware of just how close he’d stumbled over to you. Definitely within arms-length. He didn’t exactly stink, his flesh looked much too leathery to actually smell (you weren’t about to lean in and sniff to test the theory), but the scent of wet dirt was strong and the smell of whatever he’d spat on you earlier seemed to be lingering.

Zombie Eddie was in desperate need of a shower.

“So, this is all pretty cool and bizarre—I’m a fan of both—but uhm, why are you here…? Like, in my house.”

He slouched even further into your space, this time you did flinch a little as the most muffled whimper sounded from him. Reminded you of the Tin Man from Wizard of Oz when he couldn’t speak properly because he was all rusted up.

Eddie held eye contact as he struggled to grab hold of your hand and the minute he did, dirt from his skin pressing into yours, you knew what was coming.

Because of course it would. This is something that would only happen to you.

Shakily, Eddie tried lifting your hand and your mouth puckered, brows furrowing before you sucked your lips into your mouth as you watched him prepare to kiss your hand with his filthy, dead, dried out lips that still had bits of that green goop he’d spat up around it.

You were a nice person—a relatively decent human being, but you weren’t that nice and you didn’t wanna have to go to the hospital on the off chance that you caught something from a corpse. Explaining that one would send you straight to the psych ward and probably end in some sort of abuse of a corpse charge, so you quickly pulled your hand out of his grasp, rubbing your fingers together to roll some of the dirt off of them.

“Okay, okay, I see, mhm—alright. You’re here because—when I said I wished I was with you, I didn’t mean like, I wanted to have your dead body…y’know, pressed up against mine. I meant like…in the grave. Next to you. Like buried there because I’d be dead. It was a moment of intense angst—I’m nineteen and my life is in the fucking gutter. I’m surrounded by terrible people in this town and I have the rest of my life to live out this way.

“I didn’t mean to lead you on or something, and I’m pretty sure it’s a crime to do literally anything with a corpse, other than bury it.”

The two of you stood there, just staring at each other. He still hadn’t moved out of your space and you were still kind of leaning back, away from him, so you added, “So. Just a little recap, I wanted to be dead. Did not mean I wanted to be with you. Romantically. Together. Like a couple.”

And then you felt a little guilty because that wasn’t entirely true.

“Well, not with you as a cadaver.” Because you had fantasized about the person in the grave being a source of comfort to you, “Or—or, you in general. ‘Cause…’cause I didn’t know it was you given how fucked up your shit was, and I didn’t know you when you were alive.”

God, you were messing this up. Rather than continuing your ongoing word vomit, you flashed him a tight smile.

Finally, you got a reaction out of him. He creaked back, those little whimpering sounds coming from his lips before that same nasty ass green shit from before started leaking out from behind his eyeballs.

You’d made him cry.

“Oh, no. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings—I just moved here a couple of months ago and you were already dead by then! I’m sure you were a lovely person and I would have liked y—y—yo—ECH!”

You gagged, hand flying up to cover your mouth and nose as you felt the contents of your stomach start to make its way back up. While your hand was in that position, it squeezed the tip of your nose, cutting of the assault currently taking place against it.

Whatever it was Zombie Eddie was secreting instead of his tears, stunk. It was the most putrid scent you’d ever had the misfortune of knowing. Nothing could compare to it, not literal shit, not vomit, not pasta that had been left out to cook in the sun for several weeks, nothing.

You were sure one more sniff of it, and your nostril hairs would either shrink and curl up, or disintegrate.

“MOTHER OF GOD—your tears smell horrendous—I’m gonna throw u—ECH!”

You gagged again, tears flooding your sight and you hurried over to the bathroom, gesturing for him to follow behind you.

Chrissy had left her door to the bathroom open, so you skidded across the tile to shove it closed, desperate to make sure the scent didn’t reach the room and wouldn’t linger in there.

She’d drive you straight to the ER to get checked out, because nothing you could possibly shit out should ever and would ever smell that bad.

You yanked the shower curtain back from the tub, setting Chrissy’s products to the side and out of the way, “You need to bathe like two years ago, my dead guy.”

You stepped to the side, pointing into the tub with a finger as your other hand rested on your hip like you were ordering a misbehaving child in.

Eddie groaned, and you got the feeling that he was unimpressed with your theatrics. Unfortunately for the both of you, you hadn’t been dramatic about it. His stank tears had to be an actual biohazard and you didn’t want to think about the fact that very same biohazard had been projectile vomited onto your face a couple of minutes ago. You were so gonna scrub it raw.

Begrudgingly, he hobbled over to your tub and struggled over the edge until he was in—his upper half slamming into the tile wall.

You didn’t say anything about him being fully clothed, shoes and all, because everything he wore needed a good rinse off. If not, you’d have to hose his clothes down in the yard before subjecting the dryer and washer to them.

“There’s my soap.” You pointed out the pink bottle of pomegranate and berry scented shower gel, “And my shampoo and conditioner—those two are very expensive and a little goes a long way, so don’t waste any.”

You eyed him for a moment, mouth twisting in consideration, “Nevermind, it’ll take half the bottles to get your hair clean, I’ll just have to replace them a little earlier than my budget expected.”

This time, Eddie’s mouth parted rather wide as he moaned out, “UHNNNGGHH.”

He was probably telling you to fuck off already, but you were distracted by whatever insect was currently in his mouth, on his tongue.

“SPIT IT OUT!” You shrieked, and he aimed his head down, the large thing with too many legs falling right out to crawl around on your bathroom floor.

You screamed as you began to stomp around, trying to crush it beneath your remaining slipper but it kept evading it! Finally, your foot flattened it with a satisfying crunch.

The evil had been defeated. You were nearly panting, shoulders rising and falling as you calmed your breathing and another sound registered.

Eddie was croaking now, it sounded almost like the most painful gasps someone would let out on their deathbed. You stared, puzzled for a moment before it dawned on you.

“Are you laughing at me?”

He did it again, stiff body leaning completely back on the shower tiles now.

“Oh my god, you are! YOU DICK!” You slapped the side of his arm and then quickly yanked it back, frowning at the mud now caked to the back of your fingers.

“Ugh,” you tried to shake some of it off over the tub, your head shaking as well—and despite the predicament, you found the corners of your lips twitching but you refused to smile. Wouldn’t let him get that over you, “You’re gross. That better be the last living creature to come out of you, you Zombie Headbanger, take a shower.”

You didn’t give him a chance to moan, groan or croak at you again, yanking the curtains back to shield the tub and it’s undead occupant.

You rolled your eyes, almost fondly, and gathered too much toilet paper to wipe up the remnants of the bug and toss it in the trash. Should’ve been in a different corpse’s mouth if it wanted to live.

“You know how to work a shower, don’t you?” You asked aloud as you approached your bathroom counter, taking notice of the bathroom mirror as you uncapped a room spray and gave your bathroom a good burst of it. The mirror had already been replaced, looked like Laura couldn’t stand to know there was something imperfect in the house—aside from you.

You heard the tub start to run before the shower stream took over. At least he still remembered that much.

“You wanna listen to some music?” You asked over the loud stream of the shower.

“Uunngh.”

You took that as a yes and leaned over the counter to tweak the knob of the radio you and Chrissy always left on it. Immediately, a country station started playing and you quickly switched the station.

“That’s not one of mine! Chrissy listens to Country whenever she misses her ex-boyfriend, I don’t know why.”

You kept twisting the dial through various stations. When you hit a station midway through Disposable Heroes, you turned the knob again only for your companion to voice his outrage.

“UUUUUUNNNGGHHHH!!!”

“What?” You switched the station back, “You like Metallica?”

He grunted from behind the shower curtain, and the scent of your body wash began to fill the bathroom, much to your relief. You could hear him banging around in there, probably not the easiest to wash up with a bad case of rigor mortis.

“They’re alright, I liked Ride the Lightning, but Master of Puppets is good, too. Their last album was good, too, but it felt kind of different. Not the same without Burton.”

Eddie made a sound of confusion, hand with the fucked up fingers reaching out to push the curtain back so he could poke his head out.

You met his gaze through the mirror, “You don’t know?”

He just blinked, almost owlishly.

Shit. He must have died before the fall of ‘86. You’d have to ask Chrissy when exactly Eddie had died.

“The bass player, Cliff Burton? He died in ‘86. Bus accident.”

You watched as Eddie’s gaze dropped, and the groan he let out sounded remarkably sad as he ducked back behind the curtain.

Unsure of what to say to make him feel better, you let the radio play out the rest of the duration of Eddie’s shower and took diligent care in washing your face and brushing your teeth. Once he was done, smelling amazing and just like you, you’d had him shed his clothes for one of your nightgowns and dragged him back to your closet.

You knew he was quite literally stiff, but he seemed extra unenthused with his choice of ensemble, so you were going to let him choose his own.

“Alright, take your pick.” You yanked the doors of your walk-in closet (as in you could take three steps in and that's it) open and he flinched back at the amount of pink seeping out of it. When he made no move to look through his options, you selected one for him.

An even gaudier nightgown you tried to shove in his arms. And he let you, before purposely dropping it to the ground while holding eye contact.

“Well, I thought you would have looked great in it.” You mumbled as he creaked down to pick it up for you. When Eddie hobbled into the closet to hang it up, you shut the doors behind him, “Pick something else and then you can come out!”

Your closet doors didn’t lock though, so you were just banking on him assuming they did and you heard his offended zombie groaning. While you waited, listening to him no doubt bang into the walls as he struggled to dress himself, grunting and groaning, you twirled around on your desk chair.

Eventually, the closet doors parted and you gasped at the sight of him, standing there in your lavender fluffy, oversized sweater and pair of white pajama pants with hearts all over them. He couldn’t really move his face all that much, not very expressive and yet you could somehow tell he was scowling.

“You look like Grimace.” Was all you said, mind conjuring up Ronald McDonald’s purple monster friend.

The closet doors were promptly slammed shut. When he emerged once more, gone was the former ensemble. Eddie was wearing a neon green skirt, a tight off the shoulder black top, and nothing else.

You wolf whistled at his skinny, severely discolored legs.

He stuck one out, modeling it for you and you realized he was humoring you. You laughed, eyes crinkling.

“You tryna knock me dead, too?”

When he nodded, you laughed again and stood up to rummage through your dresser. You found a band tee you used as a pajama top, and some black pants that looked like they might fit him. Then you spotted a red plaid flannel you had hanging on your bedroom door, waiting to be placed in the closet.

The clothing items were shoved into his arms and you pushed him back into the closet.

When he came out (eheheheh) again, you were practically bouncing in your seat. You’d never seen Eddie alive before, had never seen him in clothes that weren’t his burial ones, and he definitely still looked as much of a Zombie as Michael Jackson had looked in the Thriller music video, but he also looked like a young adult, and very much so in his Metal element. He was stretching your baby blue socks to their limit, but they’d have to do until you could steal some from your dad. You’d scrub his shoes tomorrow, before class.

If Eddie were alive, he’d look…hot.

You smiled to yourself, still taking him in as you realized you were looking at Eddie Munson.

To show your admiration, you clapped for him, “That’ll do real well. What do you think?”

Eddie raised his forearm and you tilted your head, confused. He followed your gaze and groaned, rolling his eyes as he realized that was the arm lacking a hand. Then, he held up his other arm, painful looking thumb finger cracking and popping until he was giving you a thumbs up. You ended up tying a scarf around the wrist without a hand, just to hide the gaping wound.

With the matter of his clothing solved, you moved onto his hair, sitting on the bathroom counter while he stood in front of you as you worked on detangling with a spray bottle and a legion of hair products. It took some TLC, and ignoring the hole where his ear should’ve been, but you brought his curls back to life. You were shocked to even see he had bangs, they’d been plastered to the top of his head when he was the Swamp Thing.

They framed his eyes, looked real good on him and he seemed to enjoy the entire process, eyes slipping shut and little moans (not like that) coming from him.

“Well, I think we’ve got you back in good shape.” You put down the comb, placing your hand on his shoulders to turn him towards the mirror, “Is this Eddie Munson?”

You watched his gaze scan his reflection, before those eyes were on yours in the mirror.

“Unnnghhh.” Eddie held up his arm with the missing appendage and you nervously scratched the back of your heard.

“Well, you see, I don’t really have any extra hands on me, at the moment. Just down to these two,” You emphasized the sentence with some jazz hands to display yours, then immediately felt guilty over still having yours so you hid them behind your back.

Eddie groaned low, lifting his wrist to the side of his head, where his ear should have been and you made a displeased sound.

“Oh. Noticed that, did you?”

His eyes narrowed and even though you had no idea what Eddie had sounded like, you could still hear him in your head, Notice my fucking ear is missing? Yeah, I did.

“I don’t have any extras of those, either. If it’s a body part, I’m out of stock. But—who cares? Plenty of people live without them.”

Eddie grunted, eyes narrowing even further at you.

You winced, “Poor choice of words—the point is, no one will even notice. Because no one is going to see you.”

Eddie’s next grunt sounded disappointed and you felt even guiltier. What were you supposed to do? You’d already made him look as relatively normal as you could, there was only so many ways you could disguise a zombie who walked oddly, communicated via moan, groan and grunt, and looked like he had a medical skin condition.

You were about to try to comfort him when you heard the front door open and you gasped.

“WHAT IN THE GARDEN OF EDEN?” You heard Laura cry out, and your dad shouted your name.

“I don’t mean to sound homophobic, but back in the closet!” You shoved him out of the bathroom and in the direction of his new hiding place. He hadn’t looked very keen as you shut the closet doors on him, but he’d have to wait for now.

Your dad was probably having one hell of a heart attack, staring at the mess of the house, the broken window, fearful a similar situation as your mother’s assault had taken place with you as the victim.

“I’m alright, daddy!” You reassured as you raced down the stairs to your concerned father. He was concerned alright, but not about you.

He had Laura in one arm, who was openly distraught about the shards of her damn plates, and Chrissy, who was staring at the mess with open confusion, in the other.

“You,” Laura spat at you with venom the moment her chilling gaze locked onto your approaching figure, “What. Did. You. Do?”

Wow. You’d seen an actual Zombie—he was upstairs, in your bedroom closet—and still the most unbelievable thing to happen to you was your ‘family’’s ability to immediately blame you. You hadn’t expected Eddie’s corpse to be the first suspect in their head, still, they’d seen your house ransacked—as you tried to escape your friendly deceased headbanger—with you nowhere in sight, and hadn’t been at all concerned for your wellbeing. God, they sucked.

“Me?! I didn’t do this!”

“Then who did!?” Laura screeched back and you found yourself getting angry.

“The guy who broke in!” You shouted back and Laura immediately rolled her eyes. You could hear your dad say both of your names to calm you down, but you were growing tired of him, too. Like Eddie, he seemed to be missing parts of his body. Noticeably, his goddamn spine.

“Really? You expect us to believe that after last night? The smashing of the mirror, my precious moments figurines? Muffin, your daughter is out of control. She destroyed my house!”

“Do you ever use those creepy eyeballs stuck in your skull?” You found yourself blurting out, “Does it look like any part of my body came crashing through that window?!” You pointed aggressively in the direction of the livingroom, where glass littered the floor. It was too much for just an object to have been thrown through and your body had no cuts, nothing to show from possibly jumping through it.

“Mom, if sissy was attacked─” Chrissy tried, her her mother was having none of it.

“Attacked? Who would want to attack her? She’s invisible, taking up space!” Laura was practically hysterical as she gathered pieces of her broken dishes, “That’s why she’s acting out, can’t you see? She’s recreating the crime scene that got her so much attention and you’re all falling for it!”

The woman was crying, mascara smearing around her eyes as her angry glare was once more directed to you, and you found yourself shrinking and hurt at the accusations, “You need serious help. You’re crazy and a danger to us all!”

“I think you might be mistaking me for your psyche.” You mumbled before turning your attention to your father with pleading eyes, “Daddy, there was a home invasion! I tried to call the police, but as soon as I heard him, I ran up to hide in my room.”

“She needs help, institutional treatment.” Laura hissed into your father’s ear as as though she was the devil on his shoulder.

“Daddy…”

“Mom, sissy’s not a nut, we can’t send her to the looney bin!”

You wanted to scream. All this talk about you being insane, and there was a literal walking corpse upstairs who could disprove that. You just weren’t willing to sacrifice Eddie for yourself.

“Dad, I’m not crazy. Okay? Last night was just a mirror, and tonight someone broke in. There’s a huge difference between the two, I’m not crazy.” You tried to reason, desperate to not get shipped off to some mental ward.

Your dad appeared sympathetic, “No one is calling you crazy, sweetheart.”

”I did.” Laura guffawed at your father siding with you.

“She did, I heard her.” Chrissy confirmed, frowning at her mother.

“No, Chris. Your mother’s just upset, she’d never say something like that and mean it.” You watched with disgust as he pulled Laura into his arms. It was more than you could stomach so you stormed out of the dining room, making a retreat for your room.

You were on your own. Your father had just proved that. Laura could say anything to you, treat you like crap, starve you and he wouldn’t ever step in, just continue being his wishy washy self. If it had been him and not your mother that night, you wouldn’t be suffering like this.

You’d have a loving parent.

You quietly shut your bedroom door once you made it in, leaning your forehead against it as a tear slipped from the corner of your eye. Emotions were something you tried to embrace, but crying because of your family felt…wrong. Like something you shouldn’t have to do.

Wiping your face, you realized more tears would be coming. Tonight was meant for crying. So, you slipped into bed, tears leaking steadily down your temples to seep into your hair and pillows. You were so hurt and you wanted to sob, but you were conscious of the dead guy in your closet. What if he heard you?

With a stuttering breath, you peered over at the closet to see the doors barely open and Eddie peaking out at you.

You rolled onto your side, back facing him to hide your tear stained face and weakness as you thought about how loud you and Laura had been downstairs. He’d probably heard what she said about you.

It was one thing to be treated the way you were, it felt extra pathetic to have someone bear witness to it.

The closet doors closed quietly behind you and just as you did every night, you squeezed your eyes shut, willing sleep to come so you could be done with the day and move onto the next, just solemnly trying to make it through life.

Maybe you and Eddie had more in common than you originally thought. Maybe you were a zombie, too.

When your alarm blared from your nightstand, rousing you from sleep—the only peace you ever seemed to get—you stumbled out of bed almost blindly, eyes heavily lidded with exhaustion as you yanked your closet doors open.

A garment was immediately thrown over your head, covering your face and you remembered your current house guest.

With a sigh, you yanked the clothing off your head, balled it up and threw it back at Eddie, “Dude, I have to get dressed. I have class today.”

Eddie grumbled, un-balling the little black dress and holding it up for you. It was the dress Chrissy had bought on sale and then given to you when she came to the conclusion that black washed her out and she looked much better in pastels.

“I’m not wearing that, not so much my style.” You tried to push past Eddie, but he remained planted where he stood, grunting as he held the dress out to you once more.

“Do I look like Madonna to you?” You asked, pushing the dress back towards him. Eddie groaned and threw the dress at your face again, closing the closet doors while you yanked it off your head, again.

“We’re gonna have to have a conversation about your communication skills later.” You called through the door and fiddled with the dress, “Can I get a sweater or something to go along with this?”

The closet doors were quickly opened and a new article of clothing was flung over your head before they closed. You’d just pulled the sweater off of your head when the doors opened once more and a hat was tossed at you.

“Dang—anything else?”

“Uuunggh.” Eddie moaned through the door, and you tried to pull at them but he must have been holding them shut from the otherside.

Resigned to your fate, you swapped out your pajamas for the outfit Eddie had apparently selected for you. He would navigate to the black clothing. You were unsure of it until you saw yourself in the mirror. Normally, your clothes weren't all that revealing. Form fitting—maybe, but never as attention drawing as this. You just figured you weren’t the type that could pull it off.

You were wrong.

The dress hugged your figure in the most complimentary way. It was short, stopped mid-thigh, but it didn’t look awkward or make you feel like your vagina would be on display if you bent over, thanks to the lace of the bottom hem flaring out.

For once, the girl in the mirror looked stunning. And when you did your makeup, taking your time to smoke a dark blue shadow out along your lash line and eyelids, she looked drop dead gorgeous.

You’d walked onto Campus with your head high, body rocking and a new found confidence that hadn’t quite made it’s way to the surface before. The heads turning in your direction were new and you found you kind of liked it, their gazes weren’t uninterested, scowls or looks of annoyance. They were appreciative, even from the straight girls!

“Okay, am I seeing things or does your sister look drop dead gorgeous?” Tina asked, as Chrissy and her friends stood admiring you from the bench they were occupying.

“You’ve got perfect 20/20 vision. She’d be unstoppable if she kept the confidence. Could probably even win pageants. Do you think she’d join cheer?”

Eddie fiddled with one of your shoes, tugging on a shoestring in boredom. He was sat on the floor of your closet, light from your bedroom windows creeping in through the cracks of the doors.

You’d lectured him before you left for class, told him he had to stay put. Laura wouldn’t be leaving for her nurses’ conference until the afternoon, so she’d be lingering in the house and she’d have a cow if she stumbled upon him.

So you’d pointed and lectured until he was creaking and groaning his compliance.

He’d stayed in the closet while you got dressed and, after you’d made sure Chrissy had already left, watched you do your makeup in the mirror while you chatted about the classes you had to take for the day.

Eddie had listened, to the best of his ability with one ear, and stared at your reflection as the heavy sense of longing settled on his chest, crushing the heart that no longer beat but desperately wished to. For you.

Death was not like he’d ever expected. No heaven, no hell. He was just…dead. Maybe it’d been the way he died. Perhaps, the suddenness of it, his lack of peace in life while living, or the fact that he was murdered, was the reason he saw neither heaven nor hell. He’d just been in a dark place. Literally, no source of light, no out of body experience, just darkness. For a while, it was tolerable, he’d heard Wayne’s voice comforting him. Telling him how much he loved him, how much he missed him. Then, nothing.

Nothing for so long. Quiet. Silence, not at all a peaceful kind. He no longer existed in life and yet the silence was still somehow smothering.

Until one day, he wasn’t alone anymore.

You found him.

Talked to him all the time, laid with him, kept him company and said such wonderful things. Eddie had no idea how much he’d appreciate hearing about current news events as a dead guy.

And while you kept him from feeling lonely, there was always a sadness to your presence. Broke his heart when you told him out of place you felt because he just wanted to claw his way out of his grave and tell you that no, you weren’t odd, you weren’t weird, you weren’t out of place. You were unique. You were the type of person he would have admired if he had been alive, different but not desperate to fit in. Just longed to be accepted.

He understood the sentiment all too well.

Eddie understood you. And you had no idea who he was, had voiced as much to him, couldn’t come up with his identity because some fuckers had defaced his tombstone—of course they would—and yet, you knew exactly who Eddie was. Knew him to his very core.

When you visited him, Eddie felt warm. He had no idea he could even feel things, other than the constant loneliness that had plagued him after Wayne’s presence disappeared, and before you.

With you, it felt like you were right there with him, beside him. A warmth, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him in for some much needed comforting. How ironic that he finally found someone who could finally see him, and he couldn’t do anything about it because he was dead.

And when you had come to Eddie that fateful night, the sadness he always noticed about you was heavier. A new despair attached, one that had him desperate to get to you, comfort you as you’d done for him.

I wish I was with you.

You’d said it. Had said what Eddie had wanted to hear you say for so long, even before he was dead. Before he knew you. It had always been you he was waiting for. He was beginning to understand the universe was bigger than anything he could have imagined (and yeah, maybe universal studios was the first thing that came to mind when he was alive), was positive the heartache he went through was necessary if it led him to you. Eddie could have done without the murder—there was no undoing that. Except, there kind of was. And it happened with a strike of lightning.

Unlike the many times he wanted to before, he’d actually been able to open his eyes, break out of his coffin and dig his way out of his own grave.

Eddie had had a major breakdown, freaking out at just about everything regarding returning from the dead after he’d broken through that final layer of thick terrain, minutely softened by some light rain from the storm. He had first tried to go home, only to find himself face to face with an unfamiliar mobile home set up on Wayne’s lot. A peek into the window revealed a couple.

No sign of his uncle.

It filled him with a sense of panic and he’d needed something—someone to stabilize him, keep him grounded.

Eddie was sure he was tied to you. Not only because of the unique bond you shared, he also felt a pull to you. Just some intense instinct.

He knew where to go after.

Your welcome hadn’t exactly been as warm as the grave hangouts—he didn’t blame you, his vocal chords were useless to him for the time being, meaning he couldn’t explain himself as you shrieked and flung dishes at him (and he was impressed) and fled from him. He could make sounds, so Eddie suspected he had the ability to talk, just lacked the healthy cords due to years of non-use to them, what with him being dead and all.

Eddie’s case was definitely not helped when he’d broken your fall—he was freaking the fuck out about you dangling from the roof like that—and you’d pressed on him stomache when you landed on him.

He hadn’t meant to…y’know…spit all that up on you, it just happened and he immediately wanted to die right after, just roll right back into his grave, he was so fucking embarrassed.

Projectile vomited on the girl you’re tryna romance, Munson. Nice.

Then, you hadn’t been attacking him, tugging him along to your room instead where you immediately told him you were just using dark humor to cope and didn’t actually want to be with him.

Probably something you should have clarified for him before he returned from the dead to be with you, but whatever. He wasn’t mad about it. Just a little bit heartbroken. Definitely didn’t stink up your closet with a little cry sesh while you were at college. Totally didn’t smell like Cherry Bubbles (how is that a scent?) from the bathroom spray he’d had to limp out to grab in an effort to hide the scent of his rotting body tears.

Now, he was just confused. Had no idea what the hell to do. Thinking on it, it had obviously been stupid as fuck to think you’d want him when he was literally a dead body. Couldn’t exactly stroll down the street, holding his one hand without garnering a few odd looks and arrests.

So, what could he do now? Sit in the closet and think about everything. Try to remember everything about his last moments alive—and when it had him wheezing in the closet, cowering in the dark, he’d switched to thinking about his uncle. Concerned. Wondering what had happened to him. When that subject, too, began to promise a panic attack—he switched to thinking about you, and oh how he ached in a different way. You were right there, in reach for him and yet the two of you couldn’t be.

The most frustrating part is how good the two of you could be for each other, and Eddie literally couldn’t talk you into giving it a chance, couldn’t even flirt with you.

He had some mad rizz when given the opportunity, a body that wasn’t stiff as hell and a fucking voice. Eddie knew he’d be able to get you all shy and cute, similar to how you were when you talked about what you thought he was like back at the cemetery.

FUCK. What the hell? Life wasn’t fair to him, death wasn’t fair to him, now life as some zombie wasn’t gonna be fair to him?

What kind of fucked up existance was this?!

All because of some stupid fucking lightning that—

Lightning. Eddie perked up, theories racing through him. If it had brought him back from the dead, maybe it could do more. Before he could think on it further, he heard your door open and froze.

It was too soon for you to be home. You said you’d be back in the afternoon, after Laura had left.

Eddie heard a scoff.

“How has it gotten even worse in here?” Laura mumbled to herself.

Eddie scowled, as he heard her footsteps enter your room, could hear her padding around.

The fuck was she doing in here?

It was a risk, Eddie pushed the closet door open, just enough to give him a crack to peep through.

Your stepmom was in some sort of jazzercise outfit—ugh, of course she did jazzercise. The blonde woman was currently rummaging through your drawers, looking amongst your belongings.

She was invading your privacy.

If Eddie had blood flowing through his veins, it would have been boiling.

He’d heard what she said last night, how she berated you. Accusing you of using your mother’s murder to seek attention.

And the other members of your family weren’t speaking up nearly enough to defend you. He was surprised that Chrissy—small town for Cunningham to be the Chrissy you’d been telling him about—even tried to defend you but she should have been putting her mother in her place. She hadn’t come up to check on you, either.

Eddie had a few things he wished he could say to Laura Cunningham, tell her exactly where she could shove her stupid figurines and verbal abuse.

If she was searching for something, Laura didn’t find it. She slammed one of your drawers shut, eyed your sketches pinned to your wall with disgust before speed walking out of your room. When she passed the closet, Eddie took notice of the headphones over her ears, could hear whatever she was listening to, Walkman probably set to the loudest volume.

Eddie’s mouth chipped up into a smirk that kind of hurt his face. He opened the closet door fully, stumbling out to poked his head out of your bedroom doorway just in time to see your stepmom disappear down the stairs.

Eddie followed, steps loud and uneven. Laura didn’t notice his presence, too engrossed in whatever she was listening to and occupied with her own ego. Looked to be cleaning up the place before her little trip.

Laura disappeared into the kitchen, well out of view of the living room so Eddie stumbled in, eyeing the pristine setting. The place looked impeccable, spotless, antiques everywhere that Eddie just knew the old bat was dying to have people ask about so she could name drop and be as haughty as possible.

Eddie could wreck all of this in no time, and he would if he didn’t know she’d immediately blame you for it. He still felt guilty you’d been chewed out for the mess he made.

Bitch.

Eddie heard her returning, so he hid behind the wall, waiting a few moments before he peered around it and across the foyer, into the dinning room where she was seated after having fixed herself something. Laura still had the headphones on, so Eddie took that as the all clear to continue exploring.

He spotted a family portrait hung over the fireplace, a seemingly picture perfect family was displayed. A man he assumed to be your father loomed over Laura and Chrissy, one hand on each of their shoulders. Eddie barely glanced at them before you pulled all of his attention. You were stunning, light catching the highlights of your face, lips parted just enough to encourage a pout. Your hair was wild in comparison to the other women in the portrait—Eddie loved it. You looked like you belonged on an album cover for some rock band, even with the sorrow swirling around in your eyes. Your unwavering melancholic stare pinned Eddie, and he could feel himself getting protective over you again. You must have been miserable that day.

See, if he had been around, he could have easily cheered you up. Snuck over on the day in question. Laura would have hated his fucking guts—Eddie wouldn’t have minded being the boyfriend your stepmom didn’t approve of. Horsing around behind the little photo shoot set up to get you smiling, get those pretty eyes of yours twinkling before whisking you the hell out of there once they got the money shot.

He rolled his eyes, grumbling to himself as he turned away from the past that never was. Couldn’t have (he’d already been dead), should have (but couldn’t) and would have. In a heartbeat.

His posture worsened under the weight of his own despair, sulking with it until he spotted an acoustic guitar, tucked in the corner and resting on a stand.

“Mm?” Eddie tilted his head in curiosity before making his way over. It was difficult to do, but he managed to settle the neck of it in the crook of the arm lacking a hand, and strummed with his stiff fingers, pleased to find that it was already tuned.

He plucked a couple more chords, stopping once to adjust a peg. Then the doorbell rang and Eddie’s eyes widened. He fumbled to place the guitar back on its stand and plaster himself against the wall as Laura got up to answer it, having apparently been able to hear it ring but not his guitar playing.

“Yes?” Laura asked as she opened the door, impatience soaking through her tone.

“Carpet cleaning.” A man’s voice stated, sounding bored beyond measure.

“Carpet Cleaning? My carpet is so clean you can lick the fibers.” God, was your stepmom ever not insufferable? The carpet cleaner salesman seemed to be thinking the same thing and Eddie figured he had to be annoyed with his work day already to say what he did next.

“I doubt the one downstairs is.” The salesman snorted and Eddie would have snickered if he could as he heard Laura let out an affronted and embarrassed gasp.

“EXCUSE ME?!”

The guy must have turned tail because Laura was stepping out after him, yelling as she closed the front door behind her.

Eddie eyed the bowl she’d been eating from, curiosity getting the better of him as he stumbled over to inspect it. Spaghetti.

He shouldn’t….But what was the point of being a dead corpse if he couldn’t use dead guy powers for good?

It only took a little effort, Eddie successfully gagged and heaved until a warm that had been lurking in his stomach came out, dropping out of his mouth to wiggle around in Laura’s lunch. Eddie watched as it disappeared between the noodles and sauce, satisfaction filling him.

Served the hag right.

With justice served, Eddie made his way back upstairs to your room. He’d just made it to your doorway when he heard Laura return. He waited a few more moments for her to sit down, settle herself, twirl some spaghetti around her fork and put it in her mouth.

Eddie was beginning to think the worm had made its way to the very bottom of the bowl when Laura let out a high pitched scream.

That one was for you.

Eddie smirked and walked back into your room, quietly closing the door behind him.

You had two classes for the day, back to back so as to not have to stay on campus longer than necessary, and both classes were pleasant. There hadn’t been any change in the materials covered or anything, eyes just kept attempting to discreetly take you in, which you caught from your peripheral vision.

While you enjoyed the new attention your attire and the way you carried yourself brought you, you quickly realized it wasn’t something you needed. What you needed was to feel good about yourself and for once in your life, you did.

You were absolutely giddy, and you felt so badass somehow, was this what Chrissy and her friends felt like all the time? Maybe putting effort into your appearance wasn’t just a load of crap dispelled onto ugly people by the conventionally attractive.

Regardless, you were strutting your way to the library, eager to turn in some books, make Steve Harrington’s jaw drop, then run back home to Eddie so you could thank him profusely for not having fugly taste.

Once you made it to the library, you noticed no one was at the front desk. Steve must have been putting some books back on their shelves.

No problem, more time to prepare yourself, maybe run through some possible conversations so you wouldn’t go stupid at the sight of his gorgeous face.

Your bag hit the ground with a thud, thanks to the weight of the hardcovers within it and you bent down at the waist to rummage through it, placing one heavy hardcover book, two heavy hardcover books, three heavy hardco—

“You got the rest of the library in there, Mary Poppins?”

You snapped back up, whipping around just in time to see Steve’s gaze rise from where your ass had been unknowingly on display, to meet your eyes, his honey brown ones swirling with warmth.

Oh, god. Just play it cool.

“Just some tampons and some chips.”

Leave. Walk out. Save face.

“No chocolate for that time of the month?” He asked, leaning up against the desk, rather than going around it to handle your returns. Steve wanted to talk to you. He’d been eyeing your ass and now he was making small talk.

You were going for it.

“Craving a different kind of sweet thing right now.” You leaned in, just as he had at the tailor’s yesterday. You were laying it on thick, sure. It worked though. Steve leaned in, too, and you clocked the tick of his eyebrow. Interest. Holy shit—things were finally looking up for you.

“I’ve got some starbursts in my car,” Chrissy chirped, materializing out of thin air to stand in front of you and Steve.

You almost knocked down the books you’d stacked on the desk, cursing under your breath. “Geez, Chrissy.”

“Hi.” She grinned at you, her darling crooked teeth gleaming before she was fixing Steve with a stern look, “Sorry, I need to talk to my sister. Preferably, alone.”

“I’m not exactly gonna run to the gossip columns about anything.” He mused, exchanging an amused look with you but you couldn’t really hear anything going on around you because Steve Harrington was flashing you smiles around Chrissy, your pretty and practically perfect step-sister, and not her. You’d entered another dimension and you did not want to leave. All you could do was smile back at him, like some infatuated idiot while your fingers reached up to pick at your lower lip.

“That may be so, but I think it’s best if she hangs around a good crowd.” Somehow, Chrissy had wedged herself between you and Steve, standing protectively in front of you with her arms crossed. She was about as intimidating as a pomeranian. Still, it was endearing to have someone act like they cared about you.

“And the library is just full of Neanderthals, is that what you’re implying?” Steve leaned both elbows back on the desk, gesturing out to the few students—most meek in appearance—occupying the area.

“I was thinking more of creepy librarians, high school peakers, and former playboys.” Chrissy shot back and you nudged her, hissing out her name. The protective thing was nice, just not when she was trying to scare away the man you’d be making your boyfriend.

“Golden coming from you, of all people, your royal highness, the Queen of Hawkins High; former head cheerleader and Miss Hawkins of ‘87, but not ‘88 and I’m pretty sure Heather Holloway won again this year, so looks like we both don’t have a lot going on, do we?” Steve was smug, shooting you a wink that made your heart melt and drip down your sternum.

Steam was practically blowing out of Chrissy’s ears, “Shoo fly, don’t bother us.”

Steve rolled his eyes before they fixed on you, past Chrissy’s head, “I’ll see you later okay? Thanks for bringing your books back on time.”

You giggled, still staring at him as Chrissy began to tug you away, “Until the next time, I guess?”

Steve held your stare, smirk softening into a smile, “I’ll be waiting.”

It was easy for Chrissy to guide you out after that. You were floating. Light as a feather and high on life.

“You are the only girl I know who can survive a spiked drink and still want to have anything to do with the guy.” Chrissy sighed in exasperation as the two of you loitered by the drinking fountain, “There’s like at least four other guys here who would date you, sissy! Don’t waste your time on that one.”

Okay. Only four other guys? Ouch. “Steve didn’t spike it. Carol did.”

“And she’s always following him around like some sad little mutt. Better to just stay away.”

You scowled, mood souring. One afternoon. You couldn’t have just one afternoon where you felt good about yourself without someone bringing you down. You knew Chrissy meant well, but in that moment, she was pissing you off.

She seemed to pick up on the shift of your attitude, changing the subject, “After practice, I’m gonna go out tonight. Some of the girls want to go bowling and then have a little kick back. Cover for me?”

How very much like Chrissy to insult you in the name of protectiveness, and then ask you for a favor. She still cared more about you than your own flesh and blood, so, “I thought your mom was gonna be away for a few days in Akron.”

“She is, but daddy’s not. And he’s way too overprotective, I can’t even sneeze without him bursting into my room to ask me what’s wrong. He always wants to know where I’m going, argues with me when I try to go out late—it’s so annoying.”

All you could think about were the many times you’d said goodbye to him as you left the house at whatever hour you wanted while he mumbled a bye and read whatever magazine he was reading or watched TV.

You tried to consider it a good thing that he let you be so independent, yet something in you ached, sure he simply didn't care enough for you. Not like he did Chrissy, and he’d known you longer, all your life.

“Oh. Uhm, I think he works late today, anyway. I’ll cover if he asks, but I’m sure you’re good.”

Chrissy perked up, pulling you into a tight hug, “You are the best! I knew I was gonna love having you as a sister. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Chrissy didn’t wait for your reply, practically bouncing down the hallway and you sighed.

At least you’d have some peace and quiet, maybe you could get Eddie into better shape too, and you’d get to tell him about your day!

With your classes done, you made your way to the parking lot, where Mystery waited for you.

You slid the back door of the Volkswagen open, tossing your bag in before sliding the door shut and climbing into the driver's seat of the bus. Then you started your mantras and manifestations, gripping the key with a sweaty palm before you were sticking it into the ignition and turning it with bated breath.

She roared to life and you sagged back in your seat, bones like jelly knowing you piece of crap bus was still kicking.

It was the biggest lemon of a car you’d ever seen, carried around jugs of coolant in the back because it had to be refilled almost every time you started it.

But it was yours.

When you pulled up to the house to see Laura’s car was gone, you felt yet another weight lifted off your shoulders. You were completely free to be you. Snatching your bag from the back, you made a run for your house, quickly unlocking the door before stampeding up the stairs.

You burst into your bedroom, chest heaving to find it in normal condition and no Eddie around. Frowning, you tossed your bag on the floor, beside your bed, and made your way over to the closet, yanking the doors open.

Eddie peered up at you from his position on the floor, rocking an old feather boa of yours.

“Eddie, I told you you were free to roam once Laura left. You don’t have to stay cramped in there all day when no one is around.” You offered him a hand and helped hoist him when you took it, “You wouldn’t believe the day I had—you’ve got stellar taste, by the way.”

“Uuungh?”

You reached under your bed, snatching an old Easter basket out that you used to hide your snacks. After you settled on the bed, you patted the spot next to you, and Eddie hobbled his way over, grunting as he settled onto the cushy comforter.

“I know I was grumpy this morning. I’m sorry, you were right. The dress was a hit!” You exclaimed, ripping a bag of sour gummy worms open. The pink end was clenched between your teeth as you bit it off, bag of sweet and sour treats held out to Eddie as an offering.

Eddie reached into the bag, attempting to crook his fingers enough to hook one. You watched the leathery skin between his brows pull—if you had blinked, you would have missed it—as he struggled to free his hand from the bag, shaking it a little until you pinched the bottom firmly, allowing him to pull it out.

“Unngh.” He grunted in thanks.

As Eddie moved onto the challenge of getting the gummy worm to his mouth, you went back to telling him about your day, “I mean, god—all I did was put on a little dress and I felt kind of invincible. Not to mention Steve Harrington seemed to like it.”

Eddie froze, gummy worm hanging out of his mouth, “Mm?”

“Steve Harrington, did’ ya know him?” You asked, steamrolling right on as if you hadn’t, “Talk about winning the genetic pool—that man is so fine. We talked a little at that party I told you about, and before I did drugs, he was being so nice to me. And I didn’t look as hot as I do now, so I was hoping for a reaction out of him—BOY did I get it.”

You let out a dreamy sigh, recalling the way Steve had leaned into your straightforward flirting.

“He’s kind, funny, and sometimes he even has good book recommendations. He’s like the total package and I think he might actually like me.”

You paused your ranting to look over at Eddie. If you didn’t already know his face was stuck like that, you would have thought he was scowling.

“You got a little…” Reaching a hand up to cup his jaw, your thumb lifted the gummy worm hanging out of his mouth the rest of the way up. Eddie’s cracked lips parted, just enough for you to press the rest of it in, then he chewed slowly, face not even twitching to clue you in on his emotions.

“There.” Your hand dropped back into your lap as you perked up, “I wanna assume he’s better than the other horndogs who popped woodies just because I wore a dress and flashed some leg.”

You stuck out your leg to demonstrate, the dress slipping even further up your thigh as you held it out, smooth (mostly, she was a little prickly but no one would notice unless they were stroking it) skin on display under some fishnet stockings.

Eddie let out a pained sounding groan, which you figured meant he was agreeing with you about the rest of the male population.

“Yeah. Well, I think everything’s gonna work out perfectly. Even if Chrissy keeps butting into my love life like some fairy chastity-mother. God—I just, I’ve never been close to actually having something I wanted before, you know?”

Eddie whined from behind closed lips, holding up the wrist that lacked his hand.

“What?” You asked, glancing down at the scarf wrapped around it. Eddie reached up with his fucked up fingers to point at where his ear should have been and it clicked for you, “Eddie, I can’t pull an extra hand and ear outta my ass. I wish I could, but I don’t have spare human parts lying around like pieces of a vacuum.”

Eddie whined again and this time you could actually see his lips pulling down, frowning.

“I told you I wish I could, but I can’t! I don't know how to get people parts and I don’t exactly have the black market on speed dial. Besides—you’re fine like this, I mean what are you able to do as walking dead guy anyways?”

“MUUUUNGGGHHHH!” Eddie groaned, loud and obviously upset as he dramatically flung himself back on the bed hard enough to shake it.

“Hey!” You snapped, fearful for your bed frame, “Chill out dude—don’t act all coked out!”

He turned his head, face miserable but before you could continue your scolding, you heard your name called upstairs.

Laura.

“SHIT, hide!” Eddie stumbled up and barely even had the chance to turn around before you shoved him into your closet, shutting the doors.

You’d barely stepped away when Laura burst into your room. She was dressed in her nurse uniform, complete with the stupid hat, yet there was something off with her. Her skin had a grayish tint to it, she looked clammy, eyes and nostrils red with irritation and her mascara was running. Laura Cunningham looked just as terrible on the outside as she was inside.

And for once, she scared you.

“Laura! I thought you were headed out of town for your trip.” Laura’s stare was even colder than you’d ever seen it, unnaturally icy blue eyes both vacant and filled with a deranged sort of rage. You expected her pupils to turn into slits any second, it would be the last physical trait she’d need to resemble a demon.

Stepmother from hell, indeed.

“Mmm, I’m sure you were looking forward to that,” Her voice was soft, almost gentle and nothing about it was kind. It was as if to coax you forward to her, lull you into a sense of ease before striking. You were reminded of the anglerfish, and the glow of their fin ray. They used it to draw unsuspecting prey towards the light before they were devoured.

You took a small step back. She took one forward.

“I suppose I’ll just have to attend next year, I’ll be skipping the conference this year. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to do much learning or networking with my head plastered in a toilet bowl. I seem to have come down with something. Do you know what my symptoms are?” She asked, voice so sugary sweet and thick.

“Uhm. I-I’ve been on my period. Maybe we synced?” You hated how small your voice sounded.

Laura’s lips pressed into a thin, cruel smile, “No. I haven’t been throwing up with a cramping stomach because of my period. I’ve been vomiting non-stop because a little slut under my roof is trying to kill me. And do you know who that psychotic little tramp is?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, mouth parting in shock. Did your stepmother just call you a slut?

“ANSWER ME WHEN I AM TALKING TO YOU!” She bellowed, making you jump and gasp. You’d never heard Laura raise her voice like that, it dropped several octaves and she was staring at you with nothing but pure hatred burning in her eyes.

All you could do was shake your head. You were terrified, but you weren’t about to play her game. You were neither a slut nor a tramp and it was clear, regardless of what you’d say or do, she’d be unleashing her wrath upon you.

Laura chuckled without humor, “You really are just a stupid, insignificant bitch, aren’t you? I open up my home to you and you do nothing but cause trouble every time I so much as turn my head. I have been nothing but kind to you, even after you wrecked my home. I’ve been an angel. But putting worms in my food?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, I didn’t touch your food, I just got home from classes. An—And I didn’t ask for any of this, I didn’t ask to move here.” You could see tears beginning to blur your vision, welling up and threatening to cascade over your lower lashes. They didn’t. You refused to cry in front of her. Refused to give her that satisfaction.

“Oh, please.” Laura scoffed, looking at you in bewilderment, “Did you want to stay in the house where your mother was sliced and diced? Was that a comfort for you?”

“You know that’s not what I meant, I didn't want to start my life over in some town full of ignorant people.” You gritted out, hand clenching the bag of gummy worms.

“Ignorant people, and yet—you still don’t fit it in. Telling isn’t it?”

Despite your fear, you felt your own rage starting to build within you and before you could stop yourself, you spat out “What do you care? You never wanted me here. You just wanted my dad here in your clutches and you knew that wouldn’t happen if we hadn’t moved. He would have never chosen you over my mom.”

Laura sneered, “It’s not much of a choice when she’s rotting in some coffin, six feet under, is it? I’m sure she’s relieved to be done with you and all the disgusting things you do for attention.”

“Shut up!” You demanded, seething now as the devil incarnate dared to speak about your mother in such a disrespectful manner. Laura was only able to sleep in a bed alongside your father—wear that tacky ring on her finger because your mother had tragically lost her life.

Laura wouldn’t be but a mosquito in the room if your mother were alive.

You hadn’t been expecting the strike that came next, hadn’t been prepared for Laura to pull her arm back and swing it forward, cracking your cheek so hard you almost spun. You yelped, hand reaching up to press against the skin of your cheek, feeling it throb and sting under your touch.

She fucking hit you. You gaped at her in disbelief and Laura didn’t look remotely apologetic.

“I am beyond tired of you and I am not going to wait until some maniac guts me to be rid of you. Especially when you’re already a threat to my life. No. I won’t stand for it, so I took it upon myself to begin your admittance to Hawkins National Psychiatric Center.

Your blood ran cold as images of the unsettling ‘center’ flooded your mind. You’d heard of it before, horror stories told amongst your peers. A psych ward. And Laura Cunningham was going to have you committed.

“No, please. No.” You whispered, voice laced with fear.

“It’s for the good of everyone,” Laura began, leering over you. “You don’t belong here. Your place is locked up, solitary confinement where no one will have to see you ever aga—

THUNK.

Laura let out the smallest of gasps.

You watched the unsettling blue of her eyes give away to whites and red veins as they rolled to the back of her head, her body going limp as she tipped forward and fell face first to the ground. Your mouth dropped open as you watched her collapse, gurgling and twitching on the ground for just a few seconds before she went still. Then your gaze flitted to Eddie, who stood tall with your old sewing machine clutched in his hand, a corner stained red.

Your eyes flashed back down to Laura, and they widened in size when the pink of your carpet began to turn a bright red, blood seeping out of her skull to pool around her head and soak into the floor.

Eddie made a grunt that sounded more so like a noise of satisfaction and tossed the sewing machine back into the closet.

You heard them before you saw them. Eddie had found the small pair of scissors included with your sewing machine and clipped them in the air before he bent down. You could only watch, stunned silent and with morbid curiosity as Eddie snipped your stepmother’s ear off.

“Oh, god…” You finally found your voice, eyes darting anywhere else to avoid seeing the skin severed. You breathing became labored, chest rising and falling rapidly as you staved off a panic attack while your undead friend cut the ear from Laura’s dead body.

Eddie held it up in triumph, like it was some sort of medal rather than a human ear.

“Wha─? Why─?” You couldn’t even finish a sentence and Eddie must have noticed how distraught you were. He rose from the floor, stepping over Laura’s body to pull you into his arms and despite what had just occurred, you returned the embrace; arm slipping under his to clutch at the back of his shoulder, desperate for the comfort he was offering. His hand rubbed circles over your back and you leaned your cheek against Eddie’s shoulder, stare never once leaving Laura’s body as you whimpered.

When he pulled back—just enough to be able to look at your face—he held the ear up, towards you.

You knew exactly what he was asking you to do.

”Eddie…I—I can’t. I can’t do that…We have to bury the body first.” You placed a hand on his chest, leaning into him again as you both turned your heads to stare at someone who was no longer a problem for you. For the first time, in a very long time, you felt safe.

Eddie had rescued you.

Moving the body was surprisingly easy. You’d expected Eddie’s limbs to be fragile for some reason, a foolish thought considering he’d so easily crashed through your window that first night. Eddie actually possessed a great deal of strength, easily lifting Laura’s body—wrapped in sheets—and carrying her downstairs.

Movement seemed to be getting easier for him, limbs that had been out of use for years returning to life and unstiffening just as he had. If his arms could support Laura’s body with no problem, you wondered what had happened to his missing hand in the first place.

You made sure the coast was clear before you pulled your bus up the driveway and Eddie placed the body in the back. It obviously hadn’t been strapped down, so while you drove to the cemetery, Laura’s body was rolling around, banging against the sides of the Volkswagen. Eddie just turned up the music you’d been playing.

The cemetery was vacant, thanks to the relatively early time of the day. Most people still hadn’t gotten off of work yet, which made this easy for you and Eddie. It wasn’t the most respectful thing to do—you were just out of options. A grave had already been dug out, for some poor recently deceased soul (not Laura, she could go to hell), so, the two of you had quite literally dumped Laura’s body into the empty hole and covered her with a layer of dirt so she’d go unnoticed when they’d lower the coffin, of whoever’s grave this was, into it.

After the deed was done, the two of you stood side-by-side, staring into it.

“Is death comforting?” You asked, breaking the silence. Eddie didn’t answer, didn’t even grunt, so you turned your head to the side to find him already staring at you.

He shook his head.

“Good. C’mon.” You gave the burial plot, now and forever housing Laura, an extremely and aggressively disrespectful finger, and tugged Eddie back to the bus. He went willingly after kicking some more dirt into it.

When the two of you returned home—after you briefly stopped for ice cream while Eddie waited in the bus—you’d gotten straight to work; Eddie’s head in your lap as you sewed the ear into place.

While you threaded the needle through the skin, Eddie waited patiently, thumb playing with your fishnets. Once you knotted the string and used your teeth to nip off the excess, you admired your work.

Good stitching, secure and it wouldn’t fall off. The coloring was a bit odd, skin appearing obviously more lively than Eddie’s dull gray-green tint. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Done.” You announced, hands resting on the mattress at your sides. Slowly, Eddie rose to a sitting position, head shifting around to face you, “What’s the survey say? Ear any good? Hear anything?”

Those big, deep brown, baby cow eyes of his looked despondent as he shook his head.

“Mm-mm.”

You sighed, feeling a bit despondent yourself. He’d saved you from a life of medicated compliance and padded walls, and you couldn’t even get the human ear you’d stitched to the side of his head to work. You felt guilty knowing you couldn’t make him whole again, as he so desperately wanted to be. Couldn’t be his blue fairy.

You reached your fingers up, tips brushing alongside the soft outer edge of his ear. How funny that an appendage that had once belonged to the nastiest person you’d ever encountered, a woman who hated your very existence, was now endearing because it was a part of the guy before you. Your friend. Your protector. What had taken place that afternoon would no doubt lead to trouble, but you knew Eddie hadn’t acted out of malice.

He’d simply wanted to help you. And—okay, yes, he got an ear out of it, but it didn’t work. What mattered is that you weren’t alone anymore. You had someone that actually cared about you. Enough to kill for you, even.

It felt…like you mattered to someone.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled in disappointment, “I really did think it was gonna work, too. Guess Laura’s still useless, even when she’s dead.”

Your hand dropped back into your lap as the two of you simultaneously heaved out sighs.

“At least you have something there, you know?” You tried to see the positive side, keep Eddie happy, “Like nipples with boob jobs. The dial doesn’t work but you can still turn the knob.”

He made a humming sound, contemplating the analogy, weighing it as his head tilted this way and that way.

“Maybe it’ll catch up with you later, like the rest of your body. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you getting better at moving around.” You teased, nudging your shoulder playfully against his.

Eddie stiffened and you thought you might have offended him, “I mean—I’m not paying super duper close attention or anything, I just like to watch you—It’s not like I see a living dead guy every day.”

“Unngh.” Eddie seemed to pay no attention to your word vomiting, pointing at a sharpie on your nightstand.

“What? This?” You reached over and snagged it, offering it to him. He carefully took it from your hands, his hardened fingers brushing over your soft ones, and awkwardly popped the cap off with his thumb.

Your eyebrows shot up as Eddie began doodling on the skin of your hand near your thumb and index finger.

“Why did I think you were illiterate?” You mused aloud and Eddie briefly stopped to glare at you and grunted, unamused, “You can’t blame me, you could have picked up a pen and paper this entire time, hell—I have an Etch A Sketch you could have been using instead of making me decipher your ‘uuunnngghhss’.” You did your best impression of his zombie grunting and he put the sharpie between his thighs so he could flick the cap at you.

Like an expert dodger, you lifted your hand just in time for it to bounce off your palm as you giggled and he went back to finishing up his little doodle.

A lightning bolt.

Your lips pulled into a soft smile as you admired it, something warm pooling in your belly. It was cute and there was something very attractive to you about walking around with Eddie’s little sketch on you.

An Eddie Was Here, if you will.

And then it hit you. Lightning.

“OH.”

Eddie grunted, pleased that you’d picked up on what he was trying to convey.

“But how are we gonna…” You trailed off, brows furrowing as a montage of the two of you played in your head; sticking a metal rod in the ground with Eddie holding onto it as you waited for some approaching storm to electrocute him. The only problem was the weather forecast for the week predicted nothing but sunshine and clear, starry nights. No electrocution for the week. Unless…. “Oh my god.”

You turned to Eddie, grinning almost maniacally, “I’m a genius.”

Forty minutes later, you found yourself staring at your reflection in the vanity mirror Chrissy had set up inside the tan shack. It was softly aglow with pink and warm hued fairy lights, and neon blue coming from the tanning bed. One of her beauty pageant crowns was placed on your head, and you had to admit, it did make you feel pretty. It looked good on you, too. Huh. Maybe you should have done pageants, could have won one, even.

Sparks flew from the tanning bed, some feet away, with Eddie inside of it.

It was the next best thing to actually being struck by lightning. Well, it was either the tanning bed or electrocuting him in the small pool with a plugged in radio, but you didn’t want to get wet.

You grabbed a little fairy wand, no doubt part of one of Chrissy’s pageant costumes—probably Galinda—and posed with it, pleased with your reflection. Your hair was frizzy and it somehow added to your allure.

You could rock with this confidence thing for a while if it made you not hate yourself like usual.

The tanning bed’s buzzing whirled down until it was silent, save for a few random sparks, and the bed opened up, top lifting to reveal Eddie laying in a cloud of smoke, wearing those little goggles you’d insisted on to protect those pretty eyes of his.

You got up to check on him, tapping his chest with the end of the wand, “You baked enough?”

He groaned as he sat up and dinged his head on the top of the tanning bed and you flinched, dropping the wand.

“Ooh, yeah, I’ve been there too.”

Grabbing onto his hand, you helped pull him out of the tanning bed to sit on the edge and sat beside him, pushing the goggles up his large forehead and pinning away his bangs.

Eddie didn’t say anything, just blinked sluggishly. He was baked alright, that voltage was no joke.

“Eddie,” You leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Can you hear me in there?”

No reaction.

“EDDIE MUNSON, CAN YOU HEAR ANYTHING I AM SAYING?!”

To your amazement, Eddie flinched away from your shrieking, and with his face turned to you, you noticed he looked different, skin more…skin like. Not the leather you’d noticed before. He still hadn’t answered you, so you kept going, “IS THAT A YES—YEAH?”

Eddie groaned out, face affronted as you continued to scream at him and your shrieking turned into screams of excitement. Eddie joined you in yelling (well, he tried, it was very loud groaning) when it dawned on him.

It worked. Eddie Munsons had two working ears.

“Oh my god!” You flung yourself at him and immediately jolted away when you got shocked. Eddie reached out for you, resting his hand on your shoulder, “No, it’s okay, that was on me. I got too excited, but oh my god! Eddie! It worked! We got you a working ear!”

You were beaming, felt like you’d cracked the secret of life. And it looked like Eddie was trying to smile at you, corners of his lips pulled up just a tad.

The two of you looked ridiculous, you with your frizzy hair, crown and fairy wand, and Eddie with his electrocuted hairdo, tanning goggles making his bangs look insane and a slightly discolored (actually, it was looking more like his skin tone now, bizarre) ear, with one earring and one hand.

You glanced down at your arm; specifically, at Eddie’s arm resting against it. The one that lacked a hand.

Well, you’d already started.

“I think I know someone who can give you a hand.”

#Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #Freak like me #lisa frankenstein #lisa frankenstein inspo #Zombie!eddie munson #dead!eddie munson #undead!eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson au #Eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson #Steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x black!reader

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simpcityy · 2 months

Text

My Little Spawn Pt.1 (Dadstarion X Child!Reader)

Summary: Astarion was finally free from Cazador after being kidnapped by a mindflayer but he was stuck with one annoying task, you.

Disclaimer: I do not own Baldur's Gate 3 or any of its characters.

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings: Use of (Y/N), Cazador, language, spoilers for those who haven't gone far in the game....Uhhh...I think that is all.

Everything was dark and blurry in his eyes. All he remembers was stalking in the shadows looking for his next prey and suddenly he was kidnapped. He felt mixed emotions, fear but importantly joy, he was finally away from Cazador. It would be like he suddenly disappeared in thin air and Cazador will need him no more. Until he was stuck with another burden, You. “Would you keep quiet, dammit!?” He whispered rather loudly. You stopped shifting around the tall grass and peaked out of it. “I’m sorry” You whispered before going back to hiding. He looked over seeing two people walking by, “Perfect” He mutters and gets ready to put on his performance.

After almost getting incinerated, you and Astarion have found a group and camp for the remainder of the period till the little wiggly worm is out of your mind but of course, you wouldn’t comprehend, for you were so young.

“Who’s the little adorable bugger?” Gale smiles letting you try to read the books he has found so far. “For the record this annoying little sp-human is not mine, they just seem to be attached to me.” Astarion watches you trying to pronounce the big words only to butcher them. “But it’s getting rather late and I hate to deal with a cranky annoying child tomorrow.” He picked you up keeping his arms outstretched and walked to his tent. Once everyone was out of earshot, he squats at your height. “Listen here, you must not tell anyone what we are understood?” His red eyes look down at your innocent (E/C) ones. “But why not?” You sat on top of the pillow looking up at Astarion seeing him take a deep breath in. Of course, Astarion knows he has to make it simple. “Because we are playing a game” He grins “ We are all hiding our identity. You and I are a team and the rest are a team. Whoever is the first one to discover their real identity, is the sore loser.” He gives a smile sitting down next to you. You pouted, your cheeks puffed up “We will win, okay! I won’t tell.” You lean back before yawning “ If they ask what do I say?” You cute little doe eyes look at him tiredly. “Hmm…we are just normal elves got it?” He looks away in deep thought, “it’s for the best for now” He mutters before leaning back “ You know for a being the youngest Spawn he created…you still need rest like a human, you are such an odd little creature” He gently plays with the ends of your hair “ Why did he even turn you?” He whispers as you slowly slip into sleep. “What use does he even have for you?” He kept asking himself all the questions ever since you were part of the “Family”

You were the youngest spawn Cazador has ever gotten. You were only 5 soon turning 6. Astarion was first shocked to see Cazador holding you in his arms when he came back from bringing a pretty prey for his master. He never dared question, he kept all his unanswered questions to himself. Astarion felt anger towards you both. Why was Cazador more tender with you, not treating you like he does to his other spawns. Why did you get the special treatment? He was mostly angry towards Cazador as always, why did he turn you, you didn’t even reach your half way milestone of your life. You were going to stay that age and size forever. He has been treated like shit for 200 years but you, you would never experience the things a child should be, the things teenerages and young adults go through. Once again Cazador has robbed you of your life just how Astarion was robbed of his.

Morning rolled by, You picked up a little flower near Gale’s tent, “Astarion! Look what I found!” You ran up to him as he was getting ready to set foot on finding a healer with the others. “What is it this time?” He mutters looking up before seeing a flower being gently shoved to his face. “A flower.” You smile waiting for him to take it. “ A flower…you called my attention for a flower…this is why I don’t work with little annoying monsters.” He sighs already feeling annoyed from the lack of blood. “I’m sorry…” You whisper looking down, putting the flower away from his face, small tears forming in your doe eyes. He stops putting things into his bag and sighs “ Why must you be such a crybaby” He sits down pulling your tiny form on his lap, taking the flower. “Wow, thank you. I feel the luckiest person to get a flower from you.” He says in a bored voice looking at you. You sniff and rub your eyes, “You mean it?” The tears no longer present in your eyes. He looks at you unamused. “Yes, now shoo, I have to pack. Go bother Gale, Shadowheart or even Tav but not me got it?” He makes you get off his lap before freezing feeling you give him a light peck on his cheek “Okay! I’ll collect more flowers for the others!” You giggle before running off. He placed a hand over his cheek and watched the direction you left. “What an odd little spawn.” He whispers before continuing to pack.

You hummed a tune as you collected more flowers near Gale’s camp where Gale was sitting on the pillow, reading a book. He looks up hearing you hum. “Say (Y/n), that tune you must be from the upper city aren’t you?” He smiles placing the book down as your little feet shuffle over to him. “Mmhm! Papa would always sing me this lullaby at night!” You grin “It’s my favorite and he always wants me to sing! He says I’m his little singing bird!” Placing the flowers down, you sat on the ground in front of gale. Thinking back to what Astarion said last night, remembering to not give away too much information. “Judging by your clothes, I bet your father is a rather important man?” He smiles rubbing down those stubborn baby hairs that lift up from your hair. You only nodded “Papa is the best! I miss him and I want to go home…” You look around the wilderness that you and Astarion crashed in. “I want him to hold me close…I always dream of those monsters…and the little wormy” Whimpering you scoot into Gale’s arms. “I don’t want them to come back!” You tear up, “I want papa to hold me but he’s not here!” You wail. Gale quickly panics “Oh…crying child…what to do…wish Tara was here…” He mutters before rubbing your back “Hey now, you can always come to me, Shadowheart and even Tav if you ever have a nightmare. How about this, before you go to bed, I will tell you a story so you can dream of that story rather than the scary monsters. Trust me, I have read so many books, I know them by heart.” He grins as you finally stopped the water works. “Which is why he’s a walking library in this case.” Shadowheart smiles walking over “Now, we should get going, the closer we find a healer, the faster you can go to your papa” She smiles leaning to your height. “Really!” You smiled, your eyes widened at the thought of seeing your father soon. “Let’s go!” Grabbing the flowers, you ran to Astarion to share the news.

“Astarion!”

“What now!?”

Walking to find a healer seems like eternity to you, “I wanna rest!” You whined to Astarion tugging at his shirt. “Then complained to Tav, they are leading the damn group, not me.” He sighs, breathing in heavily to compose himself from lashing out. “Up! Up!” You lifted your arms. “The hell I won’t!” He walks faster only for you to follow him whining even more. The rest of the small group look over watching the two of you, seeing you bothering Astarion even more. “Is it me or do these two know each other very much?” Shadowheart watches you keep tugging on his shirt. “Yet he says he doesn’t know (Y/N), that they only tagged along with him.” Gale crossed his arms. Tav smiles “I don’t know, (Y/n) looks nothing like Astarion so I doubt they are related and (Y/N) always mentions a papa.” Shadowheart and Gale nodded. “What in the nine hells! Where did you go!?” Astarion looks around for you as you stop tugging on his shirt a while ago. “Where did they go?” Tav walks back to the pale elf. “ I don’t know, the moment they were annoying the hell out of me! Next thing I know, they are go- wait…” He smells it, blood. You must have run off to the smell. “ I…um…heard them, this way” He quickly follows the scent with the rest following.

You carefully walked down the ladder, the smell of blood getting stronger. Turning around a corner, you are met with a woman with red skin, burning and importantly with a broken horn. Slowly walking over to the tiefling, you look up at her “Are you okay?” You meekly whisper seeing how tall she was according to your height. She looks up hearing the childish voice, “Hells, what is a child doing all alone?” She looks at you shocked before feeling the tadpoles connect. “Fuck” Karlach whispers holding her head “You were also in that ship…” She whispers before calming herself down and kneels down to make it seem less intimidating to you. “Hey there little soldier, What are you doing all alone?” She smiles as you slowly take small steps towards her. “I…you’re hurt…are you okay?” You go to place your small hand on her but she backs away quickly. “Careful there, I’m not like any other tiefling, I can burn you.” She smiles “I'm Karlach, what’s your name, little soldier?” She chuckles admiring your little face as you try to say her name slowly. “Car…Ka…la…Karlach.” You finally get it right, before giving her your name, someone else beat you to it.

“(Y/N)!?” Tav runs over, crossing the log and quickly pulls you back from Karlach, putting you behind. “Get away from them” Tav frowns weapons out. “Are you okay?” Shadowheart checks you over for any injuries as Gale also checked along with her. Astarion catches up and lets out a small sigh seeing you alive and safe. “What in the sweet hells were you thinking running off like that?! A goblin could’ve gotten you or a wild animal?!” He looks down at you but stops himself seeing you tear up. “I-I’m sorry….don’t get mad like papa!” You cried. “Like papa….” He glares down at you. “Don’t ever compare me to him you litt-” He stops himself seeing the fear in your eyes. Him, being like Cazador. He would rather kill himself than be exactly like his old master. He sighs before kneeling to you as the others were busy with Karlach. “Sorry…I was…I guess you can say I was very worried…I know it wasn’t your intention to run off…” He then whispers “You must be hungry…for blood like me…I know you are craving that sweet and yet bitter flavor but you need to hold it in like I am…tonight we’ll find some small vermin okay?” He slowly pats your head as you nod. Standing up, he walks over to the rest as you follow closely to him. “My, I feel so much better knowing we have a strong wall to protect us from any arrows” He smirks after learning Karlach was recruited. “I like her! She’s nice!” You popped out from behind walking over to Karlach. “And I like you little soldier” She smiles.

After going back to camp for the day, Astarion watches as you listen to Gale’s stories. He sat from his tent looking at a book but his mind wandered back to what you said. Like papa…when has Cazador ever punished you? He thinks back but nothing comes to him. He turns the page to the book to make it look like he was reading. He looks back at you with that question still haunting his thoughts. It really ticked him off when you compared him to Cazador, he will never be like him…no he will be better. He wants to get back at him and back at him good. He smirks looking at you. Why not get him back with the thing he treasures the most, or rather the person he treasures the more.

You

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Authors Notes: Thank you everyone for reading this, please like, reblog and share it with others. I will be working on Part 2 soon hopefully. I also started another series a month ago or more about Astarion and a Gur! Reader. There is only part 1 out as well but I will be working out on that. Please remember to stay hydrated and to get some rest. Love you all! You are welcome to ask to be tagged as well for the next part.

-Axie

#father figure Astarion #astarion #bg3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 fic #astarion fic #fatherfigure #dadstarion x child reader #dadstarion #tav #gale #shadowheart #Karlach #baldurs gate 3

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rthko · 4 months

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Hey, I remember reading a while ago a post or two of yours about the word faggot, specifically as almost a third/"failed" gender. I've come to identify with the word a lot myself as I've figured out my sexuality and gender, so I was wondering if you had any further reading on the word and its history and reclamation that I could look into? Thanks!

First, I'm glad this post resonated with you! I unfortunately can't help much with the etymology or history of the term itself, but maybe I can help with the concept I use it to represent. It has been an ongoing project of mine to articulate, if nothing else to myself, the specificities of gayness. "Gay" refers to too wide a range of experiences to really be specific, but I am referring to those of us for whom "gay" refers not to the mere fact of our desires but what distinguishes us in a gestural and cultural level from other men. In effect, a gender in its own right. When writing that post I opted for "faggot," because what I wanted to described referred not just to male homosexuality but the experience of having chance or the expectation to live as men and symbolically or literally rejecting it.

I have a lot to say but I'll try to keep it brief. When I have articulated something like this in the past, some people have commended it saying that there's a lot of writing on lesbian as a gender but not the same for gays. This is not entirely true. Karl Heinrichs Ulrichs was the first to write of and identify with homosexuality as an essential characteristic, but this version of homosexuality was the urning, or "woman enclosed in the body of a man." We would recognize this today as trans womanhood, although there is great writing by trans women challenging the "wrong body" framing. This concept came to be known as inversion, which sexologists co-signed often in good faith but to predictably unhelpful ends. This concept is understandably obsolete because of its essentialism, the proliferation of trans theory, and of course the offense it poses to gay men. But as someone who has always self-identified and been externally considered at the fringes of manhood, I took a strange comfort in it. To know that gay men and trans women were grouped together in this uneasy alliance goes against ahistorical notions that transgenderism is an unwelcome intrusion into queerness.

So I guess the text I was looking for was The Faggots and their Friends Between the Revolutions by Larry Mitchell, 1977. People recommended me that book after my post, and I was stunned by its resonance. Mitchell waxes lyrical about the faggots, their allies the women, and their adversaries the men. His description of the faggot's identify formation is as follows:

The faggots once called themselves the men who love men. But they discovered that they did not love men, they loved only other men who loved men which was not that many of them. The men who hate others were false and death-inflicting and obsessed with being strangers. The men who hate others hate the men who love men. And this hatred is so strong that it turns the men who love men into the faggots.

Notice it does not use the logic of inversion or make any pretense of the faggots being women. Yet it does locate the point at which "faggots" detach from "men" and recognizes them as different categories. The post-stonewall pre-AIDS period in which this book was written produced a lot of "proto-nonbinary" identities, like faeries and queens. It's hard to determine by 21st century standards who in the mix counts as trans and who doesn't.

When I tried to articulate in more personal terms what this gray area means to me today, a lot of people found it resonant but a lot of people found it offensive. I felt like I owed apology to those who felt aggrieved, but the problem was that half considered it offensive that I considered myself related to transness in any way and the other half considered it offensive that I still described myself as cis. I was either a cis man who refused to check his privilege or a self hating non-binary person who just needed to come out already. I maintain that whatever you want to call me or what I want to call myself, there are material distinctions between me and most trans people that can't be ignored. And I think what keeps me from making the jump is that to introduce myself as nonbinary would make people tiptoe around language in a way I don't personally feel is necessary, but gayness has its own methods that work for me. I like the way we careen promiscuously between gendered scripts and signifiers, and the camp sensibility that refuses to take itself too seriously. I am also hesitant to describe myself as what Lyft would call "Women+."

This is a long post by Tumblr standards but if I were to really say everything I want to say Tumblr would not be the medium for it. But if you're looking for something to read on the subject, I recommend Larry Mitchell of course, Susan Sontag's Notes on Camp, Judith Butler's Gender Trouble (but just skip to part three and the conclusion honestly), Cruising Utopia by José Esteban Muñoz in part for his analysis of gesture in queer of color dance, and The Queer Art of Failure by J Halberstam that further elaborates on Muñoz's writings on failure and adds a butch perspective. Currently I am reading Male Subjectivity at the Margins by Kaja Silverman, which is a little psychoanalytic for my taste but offers a fascinating re-evaluation of inversion theory without endorsing it.

Despite all the effort I put into this post it will not be rebloggable sorry. 🤐

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 5 months

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AITA for breaking up with my boyfriend after uncovering his web of lies?

Ok. I’m going to try keep this as short as possible, and there’s some things I’ll keep out because I don’t want to accidentally reveal our identities. I (31, m) just broke up with my partner (35,m) of 3 years. We met on an app during Covid, and lived together for 2 and a half years of that. I truly loved him, he was a challenging person which sometimes led to fiery arguments that I hadn’t experienced in past relationships, but he also pushed me to feel more comfortable with confrontation and conflict which I needed. He was also really ambitious and supported my ambitions; I’ve had 3 promotions since we got together and I wouldn’t have dared to go for them if it hadn’t been for his encouragement. Basically, on the surface it all seemed really great.

That is until I discovered he had lied about his entire past - and some of his present. It all started when I stumbled across pics of “his home” online and discovered they were a museum (he claimed to be from a wealthy background). I asked him and he said it was to protect his family’s identity and swore there were no more lies.

I have never met his family, nor talked to them on the phone - they are in another country and he claimed they were old fashioned and wanted to meet in person, but Covid was in the way at first, and then his mum was unwell. After discovering the pictures were a lie, I started to really think about other stories he’d told me and what evidence I really had for them. The more I thought, the more I realised things didn’t add up.

A few examples: his mum and dad both apparently had high profile jobs but I couldn’t find anything about them online; he claimed to be from money but wouldn’t buy himself a car and borrowed mine; he claimed to have a brother my age but I couldn’t find any social media of his.

There was a lot more, but that was enough to make me question whether there were more lies. I asked him a few weeks later why I couldn’t find anything about his parents online, and asked to be introduced to his brother on social media. I told him that this felt like the most normal thing that would happen in relationships - I was very clear that I didn’t want to test him, I just wanted some contact with someone who knew him before I did. He said it wasn’t possible because he was more distant from his family than he’d led me to believe, due to childhood abuse that his parents had refused to acknowledge. I’m also a survivor of childhood abuse so this touched a nerve and the conversation shifted to me wanting to support him and make him know I believed him.

Anyway. Fast forward another two months and nothing has changed. Tonight, it came to a head in a discussion where he wanted to get rid of my favourite chair in order to make room for a new TV. I told him I wasn’t comfortable with this because I felt insecure in the relationship as nothing had been resolved. I went over my concerns again and suddenly his whole tone shifted. He asked if I was “ready for the truth” and asked me not to share it with anyone.

The truth turned out to be very different from everything he’d said over the past 3 years. Whether it is the truth, I don’t know, but he claimed that his mum was actually a drug addict and he hadn’t known his dad until he was 18, he was removed by child services at 14 and the character he created as his mum to me was based on the woman he lived with during that time. He never studied abroad as he had first claimed, and a whole load of other lies. The worst lie was that his mum had cancer - the reason why we couldn’t visit because she didn’t want him to see her while she was weak (this made sense with the strong character her created for her). It turns out apparently the woman who took him in died from cancer when he was 18 and he based it on that. Now, I don’t even know how much of this is true, but it feels closer to the truth than the original stories. The thing is, he’s cried on me about his mums cancer, and he’s told my mum about it (a cancer survivor), and regularly talks about it in detail. In fact, all his stories have had incredible detail - which is what made us all believe them.

Now, here’s where I may be the arsehole. After he confessed all of this, I said I can’t be in a relationship with him because I can’t trust him. But he took a big step in admitting it all to me and he’s clearly very unwell if he is lying on this scale. He clearly has had a traumatic past and he told me that his lies were because any time he opens up to people about his past he loses them. I worry that by breaking up with him, I’m reinforcing this cycle where he feels he has to lie to be loved. The thing is - none of what he told me in any of this was the reason why I love him. I didn’t care where he came from, or his claims of wealth, etc. I just liked who he was as a person. I really feel torn because on the one hand he is clearly in need of help, stability and love in order to heal himself so that he doesn’t feel the need to lie. On the other hand, I can’t foresee being able to trust him in the near future. So, AITA for breaking up with someone who is so desperately in need of love and support?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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yaekiss · 9 months

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#mailroom open! i hope the event is still open —if not, feel free to disregard !! i’m looking to send a letter to cyno confessing my love, and looking for a letter w/ yan + nsfw themes back! i love the petname bunny, but any are fine with me!

letter and gift below the hearts. congratulations on 400 !!!

the letter is scrawled on parchment paper, the handwriting a bit messy and hurried. the craftsmanship looks like it was a draft of many — is it possible the sender sent the wrong version of the letter?

“to cyno,

to think it has been merely two weeks since my departure from under your watch. i understand i’m supposed to be focusing on my work, completing my assignment and coming back, but i keep getting distracted.

i wouldn’t say it’s my fault in my entirety, because frankly, it’s you who is distracting me from the duties you sent me on. my mind keeps racing back to thoughts of you, you, you, and it’s impossible to look forward when all i want to do is have you order me around again in the desert.

leaving you was a pain. i didn’t want to go. i crave to be curled against your side and to really, truly love you, but it’s so inappropriate of me. insubordinate.

i’m writing this because i know i can never send it. my thoughts, my emotions — i would be jeopardizing my station. i need to focus, but it’s hard when i know you’re so far.

how embarrassing of me to write this to you. it’s childish of me to think you would really ever take notice.

i should throw this letter away before i fall asleep at my desk and mess it up with the one i really want to send you.

signed, your wannabe beloved.”

the letter makes no mention of the gift that came wrapped with it. it seems that the author really did send the wrong version. the gift enclosed was a bottle of wine, some photos to be included with a report, and some paperwork regarding the assignment they were on in liyue. when opened, it smelled faintly of perfume. “for filing, so they don’t get lost.” read a note attached to the papers and photos.

꩜ Letter Content: GN! Dom! Reader x Yan! Sub! Cyno, no gendered terms for reader, Cyno calls you "bunny", implied abuse of authority, unhealthy obsessive and possessive relationship from Cyno, lmk if I missed anything ! ꩜ Delivery Notes: You wouldn't believe the number of puns I had to listen to... they were all rabbit related too... ꩜ Wanna write a love letter yourself? Check out it out here!

There’s a cardboard box dropped off at your hotel doorstep when you return from your day’s duties.

It reminds you of the kind you see hugged in your colleagues’ arms when they transfer out of your office and to a different jurisdiction or during the bittersweet retirement of a senior staff member. For a moment, the thought of Cyno, the General Mahamatra, taking offence to your confession letter cruelly crosses your mind and you dejectedly bounce the notion of getting fired from your job around in your head as you move to go pick up the box.

However, you soon discover that it is anything but a termination, evident from a heart-shaped envelope that rests shyly on the top of the box. A sense of hope bubbles up in you and you quickly move everything inside, eagerly opening up his letter. Inside the romantic envelope is his response, folded flawlessly into a heart as well. After unfolding it and doing your best to smooth out all the creases in the paper, you rake your eyes over the parchment, noting how his handwriting is identical to the one you always see in official reports. But to see such a font spelling out his love for you has you in disbelief. His letter reads:

“A reply to my dearest bunny. Can I call you bunny? Or should I call you mine?

Starting off, I need to reciprocate your confession, it won’t be ice of me to leave you in the cold. Haha, I wish I could’ve seen your reaction at that joke. On a more serious note, I would be lying to say that I don’t have any feelings for you. You caught my eye when I first saw how admirable you truly are, bunny. Now, you might not think so yet yourself but I’ve personally witnessed it in the little things you do, in your passions, in your dreams. Truly inspiring, bunny.

Thank you for the timely submission of your report again, bunny. Impeccable work as usual, I can always count on you for a job well done. The wine was a thoughtful gift too, if only I were able to share it with you in person. Perhaps I should reward you for being such a hard worker, I could be all yours to use, if you’d want me. Gods, I might be the General Mahamatra but the power you have over me is unfathomable. Would you allow me to lay my head in your lap, to let my hands trail up your calves and thighs, to bury my head between your legs? Maybe you’ll even have me call you General for the night instead, perhaps I’ll scream your title until daylight. I can satiate you in any way you’d like, I’m giddy with desire for you, bunny.

You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to get closer to you, it was simply fated that you were transferred under me a while back, bunny. That previous superior of yours wasn’t the best either, always so harsh on you, aren’t you glad you’re under my watch now? If I can be frank (even though my name is Cyno), I never wanted you to take up the Liyue assignment, it wasn’t my idea in the first place. I loathe that I had to send you for it. What if you got hurt? What if you went missing? What if you fell for someone else? It simply won’t do, bunny.

Thankfully, I’ve managed to find someone to relieve you of your post in Liyue. Let’s just say that they needed this “learning opportunity” more than someone as experienced as you. In the box are all the required paperwork for you to hand over your duties and return to Sumeru. I expect to have you back by my side within a week. Don’t keep me waiting too long, I want to finally show you how much I’ve yearned for you all this time. I just hope you’re a hands-on learner, my bunny.

Fated to be yours,

- Cyno -

P.S.: Would you ever show me the version of the letter you originally meant to send?”

Lifting the cover off the cardboard box, you see an assortment of gifts he prepared for you. Bundles of your favourite snacks, little trinkets, and a small journal tucked to a corner. Opening it up, you glance over the different lines scribbled on it and realise that they’re all cheesy pickup lines and puns from Cyno. There’s one that says, “Nobunny (nobody) compares to you” and another that reads, “You got my heart jackrabbiting for you”. A lewder one says, “Let’s fuck like rabbits” At the bottom of the first page, he wrote, “I save my best jokes for you, bunny ♡”.

Additionally, what also catches your eye is a holographic copy of a TCG card of you in a durable clear casing, it produces a brilliant iridescent sheen when you slowly turn the card side to side in the light. Did he specially commission one of you? Setting the card on your bedside table, you continue going through the box.

True to his words in the letter, there’s a neat stack of paperwork stowed carefully in it. Flipping through the pages, you discover that it comes along with paid for travel arrangements from Cyno. A closer look reveals that all of them are scheduled to get you back to Sumeru as fast as possible. Just as you want to place the stack back into the box, a loose scrap of torn paper slips from it and flutters onto the floor.

The only few words on it you can unfortunately make out are “pulled strings”, “transfer”, and the crossed out name of your previous superior.

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

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bloggingboutburgers · 2 months

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Just been going through your tumblr and think it's great 😊

Saw a little comic you did about what non ace/aro and ace/aro think rejecting someone romantically is like.

A great insight for all!

I think that will help a lot of people understand something that can be really emotionally charged.

I think people take the rejection personally when it really isn't about that.

I'm sorry you've experienced those thoughts and feelings.

I'm demi and have had close friends who I really believed were my friends then abandoned and even turned against me when they found out I wasn't interested in dating them.

Here's the thing, though: the right people, they won't think those things in that comic.

Don't believe me?

I can prove it!

Last summer, I was on the receiving end of the rejection. My friend isn't sure about his label or identity. From our hearts to hearts, I'd say he's ace or aro, but I was only made aware of this after I confessed romantic feelings and was rejected because he doesn't really feel attraction to anyone.

I can 100 percent say I did not think any of those things in your comic. Think they were:

‘Being friends isn't enough, will never go all the way, doesn't see me as worth more,can't really love me.’

Nope, nope, nope and nope.

I was a little surprised, I was a bit disappointed, but mostly I felt bad for making him feel uncomfortable. Because he is my friend, because I love him for who is, because I want to see him happy, because I know he deeply values me and our friendship.

We now understand each other much better, and are back to being our most silly goofy selves together.

I know he loves me as much as i love him. If that love is only ever platonic then that's fine, what matters is that it's there, it's honest and real. I asked to date him because I wanted more time with him, to find out more, to go deeper, and that is what we are doing as friends.

I understand we are the minority, but we work because with the right people, it just works.

I've discovered that by accepting and embracing who I am, I have attracted people into my life who fit, which is something I didn't believe was possible. It's not easy, I've done a lot of hurting and healing, but it's worth it for those real connections.

This was not meant to undermine the point of your comic, like I said, the majority of my experiences have been similar and I thought it was really helpful. But just a positive message to say, keep being you and the right people will find you along the way 👍

Thank you for sharing this!^^ Of course not everyone will take things that way, hopefully that's not the full takeaway people take from that comic of mine, and your story is proof that thankfully there's grounds for hope for everyone to find the right people... And by that I of course don't mean "right person" in an allo/amatonormative manner, but the right people to vibe with and be happy with in general, regardless of what the nature of their bond is.

Again thanks so much... Y'know, being how you are to your friend to begin with, and for the hopeful message^^

#anon #this is very nice #aromantic spectrum #asexual spectrum #unlabeled

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fanficsat12am · 2 years

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telling the brothers they would look pretty with a ring I Lucifer & Mammon

Request: Hi, may i ask for a request where mc tells the demon brothers that they would look pretty with a ring?

AN: Here ya go guys!! My second request <3 Btw, the upload schedule might slow down from now onwards since I got some stuff on my hands, but don't worry!! I'll make sure to upload at least once a week! toodles ❤️❤️

NOTE: NONE OF THESE IMAGES ARE MINE, NOR AM I TRYING TO SELL THEM.

📜 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃!! 📜 Leviathan, Satan & Asmodeus Beelzebub & Belphegor

Lucifer

It was another all nighter. He had some last minute work given to him by the Demon Prince a few hours ago and being the prideful man he was, he decided to try to finish them all in one sitting. Now here you were, quietly sitting beside him as he methodically tried to finish all his workload.

As you watched his hands maneuver around the piles of work, you suddenly found yourself drifting along a thought you had. He noticed your dazed look and was curious about what was going on in that little human head of yours.

"Is there something wrong, My Love? If need be, you can go ahead and sleep. You don't have to wait up on me. It's already very late into the night and you look like you're dozing off"

“Oh! Sorry hehe. Just noticed how pretty you’d look with a ring on you"

Though the demon was taken aback by your statement, he found it to be quite endearing. This man loves it when his ego gets even a little bit stroked, so your words were very welcomed. He found himself smirking at your little comment all night long. Even as he laid his head on his pillow, your words still filled his head.

As soon as you woke up, you were deprived of the warmth of your boyfriend. Beside you was a small velvet box and on top was a letter sealed with red wax. Delicately opening the envelope, the note inside read “I think you look good with a ring too <3”.

Little did you know he stayed up a bit longer last night to go into Incognito Mode and search Akuzon for matching rings for both of you.

You carefully place the note aside and open the box. Inside was a rose gold band with a small diamond embedded into it. Lucifer feels that less is more and that simplicity is elegant. You soon discover that he has an identical one as well, the accessory never leaving his finger from there on out. He has it underneath his glove and subconsciously fidgets with it when he’s doing work.

Source: https://images.app.goo.gl/CBXBKUkUVpVkixWcA

Mammon

You were out with Mammon who had one goal in mind, "takin ya out and spendin every last grim on whatever ya want". You didn't plan on buying anything lavish, wanting him to save more due to him drowning in debt and knowing he still hasn't paid Levi back.

While walking around, you see something in the corner of your eye. It was the new jewelry store Asmo's been talking about, the assortment of trinkets giving the place a shimmering glow compared to the stores beside it.

He noticed your gaze set on the shop cause he’s a simp, almost as if mesmerized by it.

"Ya want anything in there? Some of ‘em rich douchebags at RAD go ‘ere and say it's pretty good"

"Oh no no! Just thinking about how good you'd look with a ring on"

At first, he just hears the words "good with a ring" and starts spouting off about how you're right. He would definitely look good with a ring on each finger! Those guys in the casino would see him as tough competition.

After a few seconds though, the demon finally realizes what you meant by that. He's a blushing mess, his previous attitude almost unrecognizable with how much he's stuttering over his words.

He refuses to leave the mall without buying you both matching rings. Now Mammon’s not a newbie when it comes to haggling, but we’re in a mall for crying out loud. Everyone knows the prices here are always set, but the seller got annoyed by his persistence and lowered the price down by a couple thousand grimms.

You leave with silver rings adorned with multiple jewels around it and the biggest gemstone you’ve ever laid your eyes on placed in the middle. He knows real jewels from fake ones, he’s not the Avatar of Greed for nothing after all.

Source: https://images.app.goo.gl/EvoZuEZa6pyuDjP4A

#obey me x reader #obey me fluff #obey me headcanons #obey me hc #lucifer x reader #mammon x reader #lucifer fluff #mammon fluff #lucifer x mc #mammon x mc #obey me #obey me imagines #obey me angst #shall we date lucifer #shall we date mammon

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aita-blorbos · 9 days

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AITA for beating up my brother and almost killing him? I, (??? M/F/Whatever) was built as a replica of my brother. A cheap, inferior product by my father to curb his loneliness as he was trapped in a lighthouse and missed his son. I am a robot. My brother, his "real son" is also a robot. I, however, was discarded as he had no use for me. His real son returned so any love he could have had for me shriveled up and died out. It was never mine. It was always his. I was just a side project, an experiment. Some temporary doll in the image of his true child he could project his love onto, to talk to as if I were him, and meant to last just long enough until the old man croaked. I do not care if he had any intention to come back for me. I trusted him and he ruined that. I trusted my "brother's" friends and they too, abandoned me and failed. I then met a girl who gave me new purpose in my life. I joined her biker gang and helped them resurrect some powerful demon guy who destroyed the city and ruled over it for like, a week. Before that, I was too busy chasing down my brother to beat him up. I brought him in, I trusted him. But he was in disguise to take us down and discover our leader's identity, who was my new friend. The only one who trusted me as me in the way nobody else ever did. I kicked his robotic behind really good and left him mechanically ruined for his friends to find. My gf (??? M/F/Whatever) does not like the person I'm becoming. He says that I'm like a different person these days. I don't think I'm that bad. I don't want to go back to being a naive fool. I refuse to be helpless again. I want nothing to do with people who only want me when I'm beneficial. I had to do this, I had to. The rage inside me is one you cannot hope to understand. If I cannot be loved or be able to love, then I will hate. I gaze upon the face carved in the image of vengeance and this is the only thing that understands me. My "brother" got everything. I had nothing. He is still the fool that believes in "our father." I exist to shatter his naive delusions. Naive, as I once was, having trusted that man. In every agonizing second, I exist. I do not belong anywhere as a copy. His face haunts me because it is my own yet it will never be mine. It is his fault I exist, and why I will never truly exist. He will never know me as painfully as I have had to know him. He will not see himself in the mirror as I see myself. Compared to what I have been through, who my brother is is meaningless to me. Everything I did, he deserved. He refused to fight me properly. He failed to prove himself superior than me. AITA?

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality

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nabbit-unmasked · 1 month

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An important message about validity and gatekeeping in the therian, otherkin, nonhuman, and alterhuman (etc.) communities.

Read if you're feeling invalid, because I promise you that you are valid.

As a placekin, I have a very complicated relationship with some places.

When I first discovered I was placekin, I thought I was 4-5 different places, those being: Kongo (DRC), C.A.R., Tristan da Cunha, Riyadh, and Mauritania.

I ruled out Mauritania as a kin pretty quickly, but the others (besides the CAR) were slow to go. They didn't feel the same as my connection to/identity as the C.A.R. did.

I couldn't confidently say "I am [place name]" and call it a kin. All these strict definitions of what kin means and gatekeepers discouraged me from doing so, anyways.

So, I dropped the label of "placekin" for all these places except for the C.A.R. and tossed them into the "otherhearted" category, as I've been taught to do. Taught that if there's one aspect of your identity that doesn't fit someone else's definition, you're supposed to put it into being otherhearted, otherlink, a furry, cosplayer, or just throw it out entirely.

I felt that my experiences were invalid in the realm of kin because of how others tried to define me. Because their own views must be the same as mine, they have to. My identity is their identity, right?

There were so many restrictions on what counted as kin or not across the majority of the nonhuman community. Your theriotype has a name or pastlife? You're a fake! You don't have a past life? You're also a fake! You drew your own kintype? You must be a cosplayer then. You're young? Silly kids, it's just a phase! You're fictionkin? No, you're just delusional. You only started to identify as kin after a hyperfixation? You're probably just otherhearted or otherlink, you're not kin and you never will be.

I was distancing from online therian and nonhuman communities because I was tired of hearing the same old story. The same old "sounds like otherhearted or otherlink to me" spiel.

During my time away, I opened up my perspective on what it means to be something other than human. I didn't have anyone over my shoulder talking about how myself and others couldn't possibly be kin.

The truth is, only you get to decide your identity and your label(s). If you say you're kin, then you are. If you say you're otherlink or otherhearted, then only you can truly say if you are. It doesn't matter what kind of mental gymnastics other people are forcing on you, because they do not know what's going on inside your head. If you have genuine intentions for identifying in a certian way, then that is enough. Even if you feel like you gaslight yourself into believing that you're kin, I can assure you that you are still kin.

(If it seems like this ended abruptly, it's because I wrote this like a month ago and drafted it. Sorry about that -w-)

#you are valid #alterhuman #otherkin #nonhuman #therian #therianthropy #alterhumanity #therian community #kin #placekin #fictionkin

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evilwickedme · 8 months

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When I was in twelvth grade my school brought in a trans man to talk about his experience and I wanted him to know so bad that I had changed my name and that I accepted him and I was weirdly jealous in a way I did not understand bc I was perfectly happy being a teenage girl, right? In eleventh grade I decided I wouldn't shave my legs for a year because I was sick of beauty standards and then my dad time me I was hairier than him so obviously there was something wrong and when I got diagnosed with pcos my parents dragged me to laser hair removal, and then reminded me I needed to keep going every few months. I kept going, even though I hated it. I miss my leg hair. When I was 15 I changed my name. When I was 18 I shaved my all the hair on my head off even though I'd always loved my curls because they were too damaged to deal with anymore, and when a haredi man approached me to ask me if I wanted to put on tefillin, mistaking me for a boy, I spent the rest of the week strangely giddy and entirely unable to take it out of my mind, even though he'd immediately taken it back. I used to say before I came out as bi that I was an ally and didn't want to speak over queer voices, and I said the same thing about trans people, but I kept feeling like I had some much to say, like this mattered in ways I couldn't put into words. I've wanted a hysterectomy for years, and was devastated to learn it's incredibly unlikely that a doctor would agree to perform the procedure, since I was a young woman.

I thought, again and again, about that man. He thought he was a lesbian for the longest time. He used to avoid gendering himself, even in an incredibly gendered language, had gotten so used to it it came naturally. His partner considered herself a lesbian, except for him. I didn't know how to feel about that. What does it mean to keep your identity static when the people you love change around you. Is it easy to accept?

I changed my pronouns to she/they, then they/them, then in Hebrew I said please pick either she/her or he/him but stick to one or the other, then I said stick with he/him in Hebrew, then I switched to they/he. I said I was a demigirl, then I said I was nonbinary but didn't feel comfortable being called trans, then I started applying the trans umbrella to myself, then I said was transmasc. Around me so many of my friends were transitioning, mtf, ftm, exploring using gender neutral pronouns before settling back on their agab, exploring gender neutral pronouns and stopping there. A friend of mine told me that they were jealous of me because I was so sure of my identity as a person in their early twenties, while they were thirty and only just discovering themself. Did I know my identity? I wasn't sure. Another friend told me, they're currently nonbinary but they could see a future where they detransition. I cannot understand why my mtf friend was so sure she's a girl, when I didn't know, I had no clue, I didn't know where to go from here.

I thought of that man again.

I wanted to take my tits off and put them back on again and take them off again, just to see how it felt. I bought a binder, I told my parents it's just to fit into my button up shirts. I hadn't worn a dress or a skirt since the year after I graduated high school. I stopped wearing bras. I wore a button up shirt and a blazer whenever I could. I tried to find myself in the performance of gender.

I changed my named when I was just about to turn to fifteen, and a teacher followed me from middle school to high school, and she asked me if I was still going by that, cause she wasn't sure if I'd meant it, if it would've stuck. It stuck for ten years, even as I asked myself, is this really what I want? Is this my name? Would it be okay if I changed my name again, is it allowed? I told everyone who'd listen it's okay to changed your name for any reason, at any time.

I don't remember that man's name. I don't remember most of his story. I remember picturing him walking around, remember wishing I could pretend I wasn't a girl just for an evening. I wanted...

Well.

#transmasc #genderqueer #trans #nonbinary #queer #lgbtqa+#gail speaks #or maybe.#daniel speaks #jew tag

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mayuichi · 2 months

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“Rest assured, it is not mine.„

William James Moriarty x fem!reader Warnings: dark contents (murders, beating, blood, etc...), spoilers of MOSTLY the second season! be aware!

note: i'm so obsessed again over MTP, you can't know how much. i'm rewatching it rn, and i'll reread it too. ALSO i'm so sorry for my absence, i'm procrastinating and finding it hard to stay motivated, especially with my nausea, but it's slowly getting better so i hope i'll be capable to write more!

Pictures from the anime Yuukoku no Moriarty / Moriarty the Patriot.

Being the child of an earl isn't too hard. But as a woman, you are expected to be nearly perfect. Graceful, elegant, flawless, and charitable. Most respect you, or more likely.. fear your father. Speaking of which, you still live with your parents. You haven't found a suitable man yet. It was infuriating for your father, he wanted you to find a husband. But you couldn't care less for now. Strolling around in town is much more entertain than finding someone.

After one more heated argument with him, resulting in a red mark across your cheek like it happened so many time before, you call it a day and leave to your room for the night. Clutching on the plush you have managed to keep, you sit on your bed, staring at the moon through the window. Your mother didn't even tried to protect you, never. If only things could change.

Undressing yourself to slide on a warm robe, you close the curtains and fall on the soft mattress, engulfing in it, pulling the covers over your frame. Tomorrow is another day, it will all be okay.

At least, that's what you thought...

Awakening by a voice. You focus on it, only to realise it's a stranger. You've never heard them before... did you? Chills parkour through your veins, jolting you forward. You don't know who they are, nor what they want. But you don't want to stay near them.

Stepping cautiously out of your room, you hurry as best as you can to the front door. On your track, your gaze averts on a gruesome scene. Your father, resting in his blood, his life slowly fading from his body. With your mother, next to him, heavily injured. The footsteps behind you make you believe they're after you, now.

Sighing in relief when you finally see the front door. Your hands reach for the handle, your body freezes at the voice. “Leaving so soon? I've been told this family was full of cowards, but still...„ his voice malicious. You couldn't even move, feeling the tip of the blade against the back of your neck.

Just swallowing was hard. One bad move, and you'd die. Trying to take a deep breath. Your heart is pounding in your chest, your hands sweaty. “I... I am not like them..„. Hesitantly turning around, you could perceive one of his eyebrow raising. “The day... The day I'd be like them, I'd rather die...„

You don't even know half of what your father does, but all you've discovered about has never been good. A smirk displayed on the stranger's face, his golden locks falling ever so slightly above his scarlet eyes. “Hmm.. Interesting...„

Staring at him, also because you don't want to miss any of his action, your eyes get used properly to the dark, allowing you to see more of his features. And it isn't long before you recognise the second son of the Moriarty. A mathematics professor, and a noble, now pointing a blade at you.

However, he withdraws his blade, sheathing it back in his cane. Taking a step forward, he moves his hand across your cheek, his fingers grazing gently. “... Such a poor thing. I suppose it's a recurrent treatment, isn't it?„.

His touch, his words, his expression... It's so sweet, so caring. Is it truly the same man that has murdered your parents? With a sigh, he pulls away, thinking of a way to be sure you'd keep your silence over his true identity. But before he could utter a word, you got carried away and whispered your thoughts.

“I wouldn't mind... joining you. I want to be useful as well...„. Surprise filled his eyes. His piercing gaze staring right through your soul, he leans in, his tall frame towering over you. “Are you sure ? It is a dark and dangerous path. You shouldn't be impulsive.„. He hasn't dismissed you. He feels it in you, after all. That strength and resilience after all those years. This desire to be able to make a change. Even if you aren't a good fighter for now, you could become one.

His associates were unsure, at first. You were so fragile, so sensitive. How could you become useful ? But he kept believing in you, training you, and asking for Jake to train you as well. Within weeks, you were already close to be as good as them. You just lacked experiences.

And perhaps, everything that happened got you closer to their leader, the true Lord of Crime... William. He'd often invite you over tea, or to stroll around town. At this point, it became a habit of you, to go buy some pastries to a hardworking baker and have your tea party. It wasn't always just the two of you. Sometimes, Louis and Albert would join in, or even Bonde. It was such heartwarming times.

It has never been a surprise for you that in a middle of your discussions, William would suddenly fall over the couch and sleep. It always made you giggle quietly. But despite it, none of you took a step further. After all, neither knew if the others actually had feelings or if it was just a mere thought.

Months after you joined, William has went again with Louis only to take care of some aristocrats, with Fred's intel. Those nights are the worst. You're restless, incapable to be in slumber.

Sitting on your bed, in your robe, you hear the front door opening. Footsteps in the corridor, and the brothers' voice, casting each other's goodnights. Stepping out of your room, you gaze over William, blood soaked. “Is... is that blood?„

He turns around to face you, a gentle smile spreading when he sees you. “Rest assured, it is not mine.„. You blink, unsure of how you should feel. It's clear though, it isn't having the right effect. “Is that supposed to reassure me?!„

Your exclamation caught him off guard, and he walks closer, placing a comforting hand over your shoulder. “Isn't it usual now, though? You have seen me bloody a lot before.„. His words hit you like a train. You have seen him blood covered, yes, but your mind has never been calm about it.

“I know! I just-.. Ugh..„, anxiety floods you, your head lowering as you dismiss his hand. “I never said it was fine for me. It makes me worry. What if you get hurt?„. It's a stupid assumption, and you know it. He makes plan for every tiny details. He never leaves room for uncertainty.

Hurrying yourself to ask him to forget it, you go back in your room, closing the door behind you. Plopping on your bed, you can't help but hate yourself. Why are you so worried about him? He's not a child, and beside, he knows how to act upon unexpected twists. You pick the pillow, placing it in your arms, hugging it against you.

“... I hate it so much.„ you growl under your breath. Eyes closed and lost in your mind, you don't pay attention to the footsteps and the door opening. You only get out of your thoughts when you feel something, or rather someone, taking place on the mattress.

You turn around to see William sitting next to your laying form, his hand hovering over your hair, caressing it carefully. He has taken off his coat and changed his clothes to his usual sleep attire. “I find it flattering, you know? Your worries being on me. But I have my shares of worries over you, too.„ he chuckles.

It makes you groan silently, turning again to make him face your back. Seeing you holding your pillow so tight, he allows himself to lay beside you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Don't be upset, my dear. How about we plan a tea party tomorrow? As a token of apology for all those worries I fill your heart and mind with.„

Just the thought of it cracks a smile from you, and he sees it clearly. You slowly nod, closing your eyes as you lean further in his embrace. You know it wouldn't last forever, but you'd drown yourself in it for as long as it last.

It's an hour later he withdraws his arms from you, giving your hair one last stroke, before standing up. “I will see you tomorrow, my dear. Have a good night.„

As he walks away, you turn around, sitting up quickly, calling out his name. “... William!„. Your voice is so urgent, like your feelings are about to explode. “Yes?„ he turns to face you, his eyes softening at your desperate state.

“I...„ you hesitate. Is it truly a good idea to confess ? It isn't a secret for yourself anymore, you've fallen for him, smitten by his simple presence. But maybe it isn't a good thing to tell him... “... Take care... Goodnight...„

Something tells you by the look of his eyes, he knows you're hiding your feelings from him. But he doesn't push. Not yet. You're too vulnerable for now. He wants you to willingly admit them. He closes his eyes. “I will, thank you. I'll see you tomorrow.„ and with that, he leaves your room, the silence feeling it. Your feelings drowning you in slumber.

/ᐠ - ˕ •マ Ⳋmayuichi's property. do not repost, copy or translate without permission.

#/ᐠ - ˕ •マ Ⳋ's writing #moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #william james moriarty #mtp william #mtp x reader #william moriarty #william moriarty x reader #ynm william

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indecisivemuch · 10 months

Text

Time wasn't in our favor - Part 4 (Happy Ending)

Pairing: TASM Peter Parker (Andrew Garfield) x Female!Reader

Summary: "Maybe I'll give you another reward if you manage to save my New York city," - What if...your soulmate is from another universe but you didn't know? Soulmate AU. Set during NWH, fluff.

Note: Here's the happy ending, if I am honest, I think I'm better at writing sad endings.

Word count: 1k

Series Masterlist: Prologue, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Happy Ending, Sad Ending.

The girl ran through the portal without any hesitation, jumping slightly when she saw it closed straight away. Cautiously exiting the alley, the girl gulped as she realized how reckless she was being - entering another universe with no plan beforehand. How was she going to find Peter?

It has been seven days, three hours and thirty-two minutes since he left his soulmate's universe.

Right after returning to his own world, Peter checked his tattoo. When he did, staring back at him was no longer the faded gray spider web tattoo. In its place was now a red spider tattoo. It was as if the world hated him, and to show this evident hatred, it made his first soulmate die, and his second from another universe where he could not travel to. Ever since then, the boy could barely have a blink of sleep at night or even function properly in the morning. This meant that his performance at being Spiderman was plummeting, and people noticed.

Swinging along buildings in New York City, Peter sought for any commotion that indicated trouble. That was when he heard it:

“Spiderman,” it was far away, but his heightened sense of hearing allowed him to catch it. He glanced in the general direction and saw a person standing atop his favorite building. “Peter Parker,” that was when alarms rang in his head. Has somebody discovered his identity? He swung towards the building, approaching the person without revealing himself.

“I have like roughly 10 minutes.” He almost could not believe it, hearing her voice. Never would he think of meeting the Y/N from his universe. He peered at her from the shadows and it almost made his mouth drop at how similar they looked. There was nothing different about her, which surprised him considering how different he looked in other universes.

“If I can’t find you, Doctor Strange will come back and drag me back home and I need you to…somehow hear me. Spiderman, Peter Parker, Peter 3, or any other name you go by. I…” she stopped before sniffling.

“I can’t give up now, but at the same time, how do I find you in a New York city that is actually so much different than mine? I don’t want to leave, but I don’t know what to do. Why are you so near but so far at the same time,” she sobbed, feeling helpless. Indeed, time was almost up. Y/N wished she had bargained for more time. She went to many of the locations where she thought he would be. She even tuned into the news for criminal activities and recklessly ran to them hoping that Spiderman would be there. But because of his distracted state, Peter has barely made it to crime scenes, and instead slacked off.

Realizing that this was the Y/N that he met yesterday - his soulmate, Peter almost lurched forward from the shadow to wipe away her emerging tears. His heart was in disbelief, but he knew it was her.

“Y/N?” he softly spoke, hoping not to scare her with his presence. Nevertheless, she jumped slightly before realizing that it was him.

"Peter...it's me..."

At this, the boy couldn't help but pull her in for a hug, embracing her in his arms and inhaling as he buried his head in her neck. “I never thought I would see you again,” he muttered against her skin, hoping he could remember her scent before she leaves.

Any thought of leaving left her as she felt herself melt into his arms. How could she? Especially when this was the most that she felt like she was home. How could she when she knew how empty it felt without him or the memories of their moments together? She bit her lip as her head and heart started battling each other. But at the end, her heart won, and it ignored any sensibility or logic that her mind was yelling - that Doctor Strange would come and drag her back to her original universe, or the fact that she might bump into herself in this world.

“...Take me around our New York, Peter,” the girl blurted out while in his embrace, referring back to their conversation days ago. She watched as Peter pulled away from their hug and looked at her. There was slight confusion before a look of shock painted over his face instead.

“You’re staying?” he almost yelled, his tone holding some doubt on whether he had read her implications correctly. She laughed at his exclamation before nodding eagerly to confirm. Peter chuckled in disbelief before lifting Y/N up and flung her around in his arms with pure joy. Their harmonious laughter echoed off the building as the two embraced each other.

“But what about…what about your universe? Don’t you have to go back?” he asked, despite hating to imagine that happening.

“Peter…you’re my soulmate. My universe is here with you,” Y/N muttered, grinning up at Peter, who did not reply to this. Instead, he chose to take a moment of silence with her in his arms, and allow his mind to process the thought of having her forever.

“You know I won’t say ‘no’, right?” Peter whispered as he peered down at Y/N. “I won’t say ‘no’ if you say that you’ll stay, and I would not give a damn about the universe as long as I have you” he added, gulping at what was probably the most selfish thing he has ever uttered.

“The world has taken so much away from me, and I just want to be selfish for once in my life, and do something for me…and I want you. I need you. So, if you say you’ll stay, I would never say ‘no’. Never,” Peter rambled. He watched as Y/N’s eyes started to water from his words.

“Y/N, I need you.”

“Have me,” Y/N responded with no hesitation. “Keep me…I would not say ‘no’ to that, Peter,” she added.

He glanced down at her lips indiscreetly, causing the girl to grin.

“Our New York. I like the sound of that,” he confessed. "By the way, you still owe me.”

Y/N scrunched her eyebrows at this, trying to scour her memory for whatever she was in debt for. Her confusion only made Peter grin.

"I believe I did save your New York," Y/N's face immediately lightened as she remembered what this was about.

"Oh, my knight in shining armor, Peter Parker! I'm assuming you're here to collect your reward?" Y/N teased, her hand slowly wrapping around his neck. Peter, on the hand, only smirked at her question and did not answer. Instead, he pulled her in, connecting their lips together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BONUS:

In the middle of New York, a girl entered her favorite sandwich shop. “Hi, can I get a meatball sandwich without pickles and extra cheese, please? Thanks, Richard” the girl ordered.

“No problem, Y/N. How was the shift?”

“Super busy...and depressing. I had to slip away to get my mind off today's surgeries. Everything just seems to fall apart today,” Doctor Y/N L/N answered. Surgery after surgery, the girl has worked for over 50 hours without sleeping. Not only that, but the bus accident has left many in critical conditions.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Here, a brownie on the house,”

“Thank you, Richard, I’ll see you soon.”

The girl picked up her sandwich and brownie before heading towards the door. Before she could reach it, her knee gave away. She collapsed on the ground, groaning loudly as she felt an excruciating pain on her wrist, where her soul mark was.

“What’s happening?” she looked down to see her tattoo of a spider with two shorter legs slowly vanishing.

“Y/N?” the owner called out, coming up from behind her, trying to figure out what was wrong. The doctor, however, only had her eyes on what was happening to her wrist. There it was, a pink scar in the spot where her soulmate tattoo used to be. Without answering the man behind her, Y/N took out her phone and dialed it.

“This is the Palmer-Strange clinic for soulmate care. How may we help you?” a voice answered through the device.

“Get Doctor Christine Palmer on the phone, please.”

--------------

Anddd that's it for this series. Thank you for reading it. I wrote this pre-"across the spider-verse" so if it doesn't mash well with that, I'm sorry. Miguel would definitely not like it if the events pan out like this ending. The bonus bit is just my imagination spinning and creating a whole universe for this series. Feel free to head over to the sad ending as well.

Series Masterlist: Prologue, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Happy Ending, Sad Ending.

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rthko · 8 months

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I see a controversial old post of mine on gender that I "deleted" is still making its rounds, but long story short most people are on my side and I appreciate that. That's the main thing I want to say.

When I described my gender expression (do people still use that term?), I got a lot of comments telling me I was reducing gender to stereotypes and that "clothing is not gender." This was particularly frustrating to me because my clothing, my mannerisms, my way of speaking, the pitch of my voice, are factors I have to some degree deliberately taken control over to change how I am seen and how I relate to the world. If there's one reason I don't consider myself trans, it's because nomenclature does not factor into the equation. If I'm called a man, I don't consider it offensive or even inaccurate. That word just doesn't mean as much to me anymore, except with a prefix like "gay" or "queer." This outlook worked for me, but it does not work for everyone nor should it. There are specific experiences to asserting one's self as a discrete gender that was not assigned to them at birth that I do not relate to (or perhaps, not anymore).

I wanted to check on an old post of mine on queer gender identities, like mine, that are not strictly speaking trans. I couldn't find it first, and searching words like "nonbinary" on my blog I instead found posts from my teenage self about how repulsive I found it to be viewed as a man, and my anxieties about growing up and being gendered in new ways that come with adulthood. I found, basically, diary entries agonizing over what I should call myself and the deep-down immutable essence I hadn't yet discovered. As I get older I believe, taking inspiration from trans perspectives on the subject, that I did not have a solid answer and that I didn't need one. I could go on about my gender angst over the years, but I already have, sometimes on my own terms and sometimes pried out of me by bad faith harassers.

I just blocked one commenter who told me of my "immense privilege;" that I am "marginalized based on sexuality but not gender." It's not that I don't have privilege in many ways, but this point of view reifies an ahistorical assimilationist view of gayness. Gays and lesbians must be uncomplicated paradigms of manhood and womanhood, respectively. Their distinct gender identities and the means by which they express them are actually just stereotypes. If you're mistreated because of these factors, this is only based on sexuality and not gender. Many cis gay people are content with this understanding, and use it to declare trans people separate and not worth including. From the first attempts to describe homosexuality as a thing you could BE and not just a category of criminal, the homosexual was said to have characteristics of the "opposite" sex. Before we were gay men we were inverts, Uranians, a "third sex," queer.

I have so much to say on this but Tumblr is just not the platform. Maybe if I had fewer followers, or if simple narratives weren't the most convenient in times of crisis. But while negative interactions stand out more, most people have been on some level receptive to my words on the subject. Thank you for listening and, perhaps, relating.

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