#hi tumbler void
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Last Line Challenge
Rules : in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like).
Thank you @cocotter for tagging me ☺️
So, there you go with the last line i wrote on one of my WIP (it was a few days ago because i spend more time reading on AO3 than progressing on things...)
Ponds didn't get to go ask his general in the end. It's Windu who came to him.
And for the tagging part, I'm going to play it like I'm not starstruck just a little bit and ask very nicely and politely (with a flower 🌻) if @varpusvaras @mamuzzy @here-be-bec and @commanderfoxdeservesbetter have anything you'd like to share ? Would love to know but no pressure what's over !
#if you dont want me to tag you in the futur just tell me no problem#but anyway#if you wanted to know this line is from a wip full of chaos#because the Guard love shenanigans like the next vod#and Fox's batch make it worse (for once it wasnt intentional)#not going to say much more ill just had to continue on it to publish it soon ☺️#just needed to ramble a bit#hi tumbler void#it's game time !#tcw#writing
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This is a thank you, not an ask. I guess I would be classified as a lurker in the Tumbler world since I primarily only read what others write. But I did make a comment to you once and you responded so you made me feel comfortable enough that I could send this to you. Shippers have unknowingly been helping me stay sane these past few years. My husband has Alzheimer’s with Aphasia and I have been his sole caretaker for a long time. Having this responsibility is not for the faint of heart. One day in early 2019 I stumbled across Outlander and like a lot of others, was in, hook, line and sinker and Jamie & Claire and Sam & Cait became part of my daily life. Last week I had to place my husband in a memory care facility. It was an agonizing decision and I prayed for a sign that this was the right move. As stupid as this may sound, I think my prayer was answered. On the second day he made a friend. His name is Jamie. Only in the Outlander world would this have any meaning, but we've now got a sweet Jamie in our lives. You may officially call me crazy. Thank you to you and all the other shippers for all the smiles and happiness you've brought to me and many others. It kept me going.
Dear @jovialchaoslover,
By all means, do not thank me, even if I felt incredibly moved and honored by your submission, on behalf of the entire OL Shipper community. In fact, I should thank you, because for all those name calling and finger pointing Anons, you get to read something as genuine, moving and personal. These moments are rare and precious (and should remain so). They make you feel useful, in a very unexpected way.
You are one of those daily life unsung heroes and I want you to know that you are probably way stronger than you would ever think. I can only imagine the kind of experience you are now going through, even if I am (like many daughters, all around the world) only too aware of the cruelty with which old age sometimes disfigures beloved family members. I have only a remote idea of my own grandmother's quick descent into dementia and death, but I do have a very direct experience of the grueling toll it took on our family. Especially on my own mother, who let everything go and cared for her until the very last moment.
With the proper care solution in place, you will find yourself with a lot of time on your hands. A spare time you perhaps forgot existed. Please (I urge you) use it wisely and never forget this is all about you. You more than deserve it and the moment is now. I may know a thing or two about emptiness and void. They are incredibly enticing and treacherous. Please try and do something for you every single day. It does not matter if it is important or completely futile: it is about YOU and changing the angle will change everything. Remember the wonderful woman I am sure you are and try to reconnect with her. I can promise you she is not very far and I bet she misses you, too.
Last but not least, let me tell you that I will never call you crazy for having shared that Jamie story with us. I think it was very brave of you and I can confidently tell you it even has a name. What you experienced is called synchronicity and it is part of the tiny and personal magic of daily life. People as serious as Carl Gustav Jung dedicated their life to try and make some sense of this. And it all started with one of his patients (he was a shrink) describing a very vivid, recurrent dream of hers, that featured a scarab beetle. At the very same time, they both saw a scarab beetle (uncharacteristically) tapping on the window. The woman was not instantly cured (psychoanalysis does not exactly work like this), but it helped both of them overcome a very frustrating communication barrier.
That Jamie story is a real synchronicity, too, because it is meaningful for you and nobody else. It happened for a reason you are the only one to understand, in time. I could talk about it for hours and link it (as Jung did) with my beloved I Ching or with a couple of dead(ly) serious German philosophers, for some extra gravitas. But I am not going to over-complicate things. You got this. You are strong and brave and believe it or not, I am sure you are also loved by many.
I also think Caitriona Mary Balfe and Sam Roland Heughan should read your ask, finally understand their magic brought solace to many, many people around the world and get their damn act together for Season 8. But that is a different story altogether.
For the rest, if you want, we will be here for you. Me and probably other kind people on this side of the fence. Anytime you want, here or in DM. It may not be much, but it is something.
PS: that may or may not have brought a #silly tear, you know.
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There is no more home - Dark!Rafe Cameron
WARNINGS: Major death, depression, alcohol abuse, loss of child.
This is part 2 to Lets go home! thank you to one of the amazing readers for the idea of part two with Rafe spiralling ❤️
Part 1
After the death of the love of his life, how does Rafe cope?
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Rafe was spiraling, he couldn’t get control of himself and everyone around him had to just watch as this car accident of Rafe’s life was happening before them, and there was nothing they could do to save him from the wreckage.
The day of your funeral no one thought Rafe would make it. As they lowered the two caskets side by side into the ground, Rafe forced himself to endure the torture of watching and being fully present as the loves of his life were put to rest.
With silent tears streaming down his cheek, he kneeled in front of the grave as his eyes fluttered taking in the two caskets, he grabbed a handful of soil before sprinkling it gently on his girls.
But that was all Rafe could handle. He lifted himself from the ground and ignored the calls of his name from his family and friends and walked back towards his car.
The pain he felt was so physical, he never knew such hurt in his life… he didn’t know this was possible.
Quickly getting into the car Rafe felt as if his knees would buckle if he walked any further, not that he cared… his mind landed on the thought of falling onto the dirt above both your graves and just withering away until he was with his family once again.
“FUCK!” He screeched, fists pounding on the steering wheel as he tried to let out some of his emotions, but no matter how much he screamed or sobbed he still felt the same… tortured.
There was days Rafe didn’t get out of bed.
Ignoring the constant knocking at the windows and doors from his friends and family as he had nothing to talk about. Nothing anyone could muster up would change a thing and so therefore there was no point.
The blackout curtains causing a constant darkness to where he could get lost in his thoughts of you, imagining you as you were that night, fast asleep in this exact bed. He liked to imagine crawling into bed with you instead of walking out the door… the things he would do different constantly eating him alive.
The days Rafe did manage to pull himself up, he would stumble to the kitchen as he would try to ignore the way everything was the exact way you left it. His bare feet padded on the glossy marble floors as he approached the bar.
Grabbing the first bottle his fingers made contact with, he pulled the cork and swallowed down the burning liquid as if it was water. he wiped his mouth of some of the spilt drink and sat down at the dining room table, taking another large swig.
Soon Rafe was using alcohol every moment he was awake. It didn’t make him feel better, but instead it helped the days go by faster. But with the constant use of liquor, it made him a ticking time bomb, often being set off by nothing at all to the smallest things.
Rafe’s eyes landed on a tumbler you used daily to stay hydrated; Rafe was always the one to go fill it up how you liked it, with half ice and then fill the rest with water. He never let you get up to get it for yourself, as he was the one to take care of you and your growing baby, it was his job to make sure you both were looked after and safe…
The sight of your tumbler had completely shattered something inside of him as he screamed out into the void, the pain in his cracked voice was something never heard of before as Rafe had never cared about anything in his life before. “Please-“ he wheezed out, gripping his shirt above his heart as that all too familiar pain filled his chest. “I wanna go with you…” His broken voice whispered, wishing only to be with his babies.
Other times Rafe’s outbursts were out of anger. Always ending up with his knuckles bloodied, glass shattered around the house, and holes punched through the walls.
If Rafe had to endure this kind of crippling pain, then why didn’t everything else? Why didn’t everybody else… Why did your beautiful life have to end? Why didn’t your daughter get to grow in the safety of her mother’s tummy? Why is it that only the lives of your family were affected like this?
Scabs reopening and new cuts forming as he tried to form thoughts about how this was real. “I failed you…” Rafe whimpered into the broken marble tile he had just punched through. His tears running down his nose and dripping onto the mess he made.
When Ward and Rose were finally able to enter the house after breaking one of the back glass windows they couldn’t believe the sight before them. Ward’s heart broke as he took in the state of the two of yours home.
Blood streaked on some areas of the walls along the endless holes, broken glass covering the floors as well as many, many, empty liquor bottles around the whole house. “Don’t let Sarah come in.” he swallowed, not even turning to Rose as she just nodded slowly, then silently made her way out of the house in hopes of not letting Sarah see the state of her older brother. Ward’s heart was heavy as he watched his whole family suffer over the past few weeks and he didn’t know what to do.
You came into Rafe’s life and changed him for the better, you helped him build a better relationship with his family and you made him truly happy. There wasn’t anything Ward could do to help steer Rafe in a better direction, he knew that… So when you came in the picture it was a blessing answered.
The moment he saw your pregnant bump he not only felt the weight of losing a grandchild he would never get to meet, but he felt for Wheezie and Sarah, and how they would never meet their niece or nephew… But the heaviest weight Ward felt was knowing his son just lost the love of his life at the same time as he lost his child, and that kind of pain Rafe could never recover from.
“Rafe?” Ward breathed, taking in the eerie silence of the destroyed house as he walked through. He stepped into the bedroom and could see his son in the dark room on the floor, the bones of his back and ribs protruding prominently only telling Ward that he hasn’t eaten.
He kneeled on the floor and sat beside his defeated son. “I failed her…” Rafe breathed, “I failed them both.”
#rafecameron#rafe cameron#rafe x you#rafe fanfiction#rafe x reader#rafe smut#rafe obx#rafe x y/n#rafe angst#obx imagine#obx angst#obx#outerbanks rafe#outer banks fic#dark rafe cameron
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Luffy = sun god, Law = moon god?
Some long-ass Analysis of this Theory! Enjoy !!
Warning: op manga spoilers ahead
first thing first,
Let us break down Law's name again. I found on Twitter, a translated tweet from a Japanese fan explaining that Law's taboo name isn't actually 'Water' but 'War Tale'.
The word used is ワーテル which is pronounced as "wāteru" and has no direct translation in English or any Language, unlike "水" (mizu) in Japanese. they point out that the same 'word manipulation' that happened to 'Laugh Tale' is applied here.
'war tale' according to Law is a taboo name, and his family for generations has...?
Let's take a minute and look at the Nefertiti family, for example, their duty was to protect the Ponegliffs all these years, also, The Kozuki Family's duty was to write the History on those Ponegliffs. ( there's actually a theory of them having a secret D as well)
Then, what is Law's Family rule? I am guessing something relating to inheriting or maintaining the records of the war that happened in the void century -The Story of War/ War tale- or some sacred wisdom or piece of Information. maybe Law had heard of the name Imu from his parents just like Copra did and that is why they keep their names secret - from Imu, which shockingly, knew Liliy for 800 years, and just now did Imu realize she is a D. So it runs in families?
Let me go back to why I think Law is related to the moon god despite the popular belief that Blackbeard is, in fact, the moon god.
here is Oda's statement for their flower:
Luffy=Sunflower
Law=Queen of the Night
So, these D boys are:
Luffy is the sun, Law is the moon, and Blackbeard is the eclipse and not the moon.
(Credit: @moustawott, on Tumbler)
Let's ponder Egyptian mythology for a sec, The god of the moon, Thoth, he is known for several things that sort of matches Law's actions and Characteristics:
( please notice the blue feather im dying)
Thoth helped the sun god ''Ra'' by providing him with magical spells to overcome obstacles during his nightly journey through the underworld( Luffy+ Law = Marineford).
2. He was depicted holding a writing palette and a reed pen, symbolizing his role as the divine record-keeper and lawgiver(war tale- Law's Family duty).
3. Thoth was also associated with medicine and healing. He was believed to possess knowledge of magical spells and remedies that could cure ailments and protect against diseases ( basically Law).
4. He was responsible for recording the verdict of the heart-weighing ceremony that determined if the person was able to continue on to the Afterlife (final operation theme).
5. in the eye of Hours, the sun is a symbol of good luck& the moon is a symbol of healing powers.
The moon is not the enemy of the sun, they co-exist, the moon is an ally that comes before the dawn. As Law broke the gear of the world in Punk Hazard, and announced the beginning of the new Area, a.k.a beginning of the Dawn.
Maybe Law isn't the moon god himself but he acts like a moon knight at least, since Luffy got to the new world, Law was at his side, as his guide from the darkness to the new dawn ( a bit romantic lol? not my intention really) and what drove Law to save Luffy at the Marineford was his instinct to protect the sun.
Another point is, Law's chest and back tattoos are clearly devoted to Cora, but his arms and hands show a wheel and sun-shaped circles, plus, his jolly roger, which I know is a rip off of doffy to piss him off BUT
when putting those next to each other, makes you wonder, right?
what made me come up with those biased, wild, and crazy ideas is this:
this cross is within a circle, the Solar Symbol cross. ( pointed out by @DawnDuskJapan on youtube, check it out)
the cross representing the rays of the sun and the circle representing the sun itself. It symbolizes life, vitality, and the power of the sun.
The ancient Shandians worshiped a Sun God, and The giants of Elbaf worship a Sun God as well, so maybe, The white city also worshiped the sun god? which Law subconsciously, added those features to his jolly Roger and tattoos.
Let's not forget, Both Law's and Luffy's devil fruits were what the WG wanted THE most.
in the end, I am ok with anyone calling me a nuthead.
#onepiecec1085#trafalgar law#one piece#monkey d. luffy#will of d#sun god nika#onepiece theory#moon god#one piece imu#trafalgardwaterlaw#not a ship post but if you want to
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Fight for her
(Bogard x f!reader based on @i-am-vita's Ghost Rose)
Summary: Bogard lost the love of his life a decade ago. Immersed in his ascent within the Marines, he has endured your absence for years… until a random encounter shatters everything and confirms his long-held suspicion: your passion still burns. Desperate, he contemplates this forbidden love, trying to convince himself that there's nothing he can do to win you back again… or is there?
Notes: This short fic is a poisoned gift to my friend @i-am-vita, because she deserves everything 💕. It is based on her Ghost Rose OC and its aim is to add a bit more angst to A Night at Loguetown and try to... make the writer... doubt 😈. Vita, you can't make us all fall in love with Bogard and then not expect us to act accordingly! Come on, Bogard!! Fight for your love!! ⚔️
Words: 900
Warnings: angst, some violence, not NSFW but sexy
Song that inspired me: Quizas, Quizas - Cuarteto patria, Manu Dibango
The night was oppressively hot, the air thick with humidity. The relentless chirping of crickets provided a constant background noise, punctuated by the soft whir of the ceiling fan blades, their feeble attempt at cooling the stuffy inn room.
A nearly drained bottle of whiskey graced the bedside table, alongside a well-worn tumbler. Draped over a chair, an elegant suit jacket and marine coat were meticulously poised for the coming morning. A gleaming, well-kept, and sharp sword slumbered in its scabbard, resting upon the chair's seat. Atop the backrest, Bogard's signature fedora added the finishing touch to the ensemble.
The bed was a mess, its sheets tangled and creased from repeated use, damp patches betraying the night's discomfort. The pillow lay askew, disrupting the bed's symmetry and adding to its air of disarray and weariness.
Bogard embraced you from behind, his arms tenderly pressing against your abdomen to keep your body as close to his as possible. With his face buried in your hair, he inhaled your intoxicating scent of spring flowers while delicately lowering one strap of your black dress with his fingers. Revealing your bare shoulder, he placed a tender kiss upon it, making you chuckle softly.
“Rick…”
Smiling, you turned around to face him and encircled his neck with your arms. You sealed your lips against his in a slow, deep kiss which he willingly reciprocated, his hands now caressing your bare back through the opening of your dress.
With slow, deliberate movements, you both reclined on the bed. You straddled him, your thighs framing his hips and the dress hitched up, revealing them. His hands trailed between your shoulder blades, pulling you closer, and you leaned in to kiss him again while your hands caressed his freshly shaved chin.
“Rick…”
Your kisses grew increasingly passionate on his neck, and he surrendered it entirely to you, like a blank canvas awaiting the brush of your crimson lips to paint sins upon.
“Rick… I love you”
Fight for her
Bogard woke abruptly, his body drenched in sweat and his breath coming in ragged gasps. His trembling hands reached out desperately, searching for the warmth of lips around his neck, only to find emptiness. He looked around frantically, his pupils struggling against the darkness as they searched for you, disoriented.
His fingers fiercely stroked his damp neck, desperately trying to fill the void left by your touch and warmth. They descended to his torso to hold and comfort himself, his chest rising and falling in an agitated rhythm as he struggled to catch his breath. He continued touching his skin, granting his body respite to adjust to your absence.
He sat up in bed, growling loudly with frustration, and brought his hands to either side of his head, gripping it tightly as he rocked back and forth in a small, restless motion.
She still loves you...
Catching his breath, he managed to calm down. He reached for the whiskey bottle on the nightstand, bringing it before his eyes to confirm its nearly empty state. With a grunt, he returned it to its place and stood up to wipe away the sweat and freshen his face in the bathroom.
Leaning over the sink, he turned on the cold water and let it run for a few seconds before cupping it in his hands and splashing it onto his face, the coolness gradually pulling him out of his daze and back into reality. With the water still running, he leaned his hands on either side of the sink for support and looked at himself in the mirror, his reflection infuriating him and causing his fingers to grip the sink's edge tightly.
You had her. You had her and you lost her. And now that you've got her back, you're losing her again.
In a burst of anger, he released his right hand from the sink, clenched it into a fist, and struck the mirror forcefully in the center, creating a crack that diagonally sliced through his reflection. It took a few seconds for him to feel the pain in his knuckles, staring blankly as a trickle of blood made its way through his skin.
You still loved him, he was sure of it. The kisses you gave him the other night were unlike any he had found before on other lips, when he sought solace in other women. Women who weren't you.
Your kisses were pure, unbridled passion. And he had felt it when he held you in his arms, his chest overflowing with love and desire, as his fingers traced the heart-shaped curve of your upper lip.
You still loved him…
He raised his eyes and stared at his shattered reflection in the broken mirror, bitterly reflecting on how it perfectly mirrored his heart.
It was clear you were hiding something, and he wasn't a fool... he could perfectly well imagine what your new life consisted of. And this information made everything even more complicated, turning you both into antagonists of a forbidden tale.
But... what if things didn't have to be this way?
In his career as a Marine, he had seen many things outside the norm. He had witnessed various kinds of relationships: pirates falling in love with Marines, Marines secretly marrying individuals wanted by the law...
And he wasn't just some random guy. He was the damn right-hand man of the Vice Admiral Garp. With the right steps and circumstances, he could make the right moves to have you again.
You could have a clandestine relationship that no one would dare to judge. And with his power and authority, he could offer you protection if you ever needed it.
You were the love of his life.
And a love like that was worth fighting for...
... even if that meant he would have to challenge the world's greatest swordman himself.
.
#bogard#bogard one piece#bogard opla#bogard x reader#bogard opla x reader#opla bogard#x reader#one piece bogard
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https://www.tumblr.com/luckykiwiii101/744127863747493888/hi-wii-its-finally-my-turn-my-own-void?source=share
Can you please tell us your 3 day routine
SPOTTED: Desperate Upper East Sider seeking advice. Asking for a daily routine? Well, i’ve got news you may or may not like. Make your own. Disrespectfully, since everything you’ve learnt on tumblr has just been flying right over your head. Somebody else’s plane won’t get you to your own destination. Only you can take yourself there.
Take your own advice, or take nobody else’s and watch yourself tumble down the hill. Talk about a tumbler, on tumblr. How ironic. It’s almost funny.
- Gossip Girl
#void state#void#law of assumption#loa tumblr#loa blog#loassumption#loablr#manifestation#loa#the void state#nevile goddard#neville goddard
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more of my post-DotO au that I wrote a couple nights back. just exploring Emily and the Outsider's potential friendship
for some reason it's 1.5k words
The mechanism of Emily’s crossbow clicks into place as she holds the weapon up, the dart pointed squarely at the Outsider’s forehead.
“It’s just me,” the Outsider says, not phased by the weapon aimed at his face.
Emily sighs. “You’re going to get yourself shot if you don’t start knocking,” she says. “Especially if you do that to Corvo.”
“I do not visit Corvo’s office,” the Outsider replies as he closes the door behind him. Emily raises a brow at his words, but asks no questions.
“Well I am honoured that it is I who you chose to visit at-” she glances at the clock on her desk, “ten minutes past midnight. Shit, it’s really late…” She nods to an armchair across from her own seat on the sofa and straightens up. “What are you doing here this late, anyway?”
The Outsider drops down into the piled up cushions of the armchair with a sigh. Up close, Emily notices the buttons of his shirt are misaligned, and he’s wearing only a jacket on top. His hair sticks out over his left temple, and the answer to her question is obvious even before he opens his mouth.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he says. The same words he’s shared with her many times since his arrival to the Tower. “So I decided to walk around the hallways, scare a couple servants, tempt married women and lonely men, you know, the usual Outsider business.” He waves his hand as he speaks, sarcasm lacing his words. “I only came to see you because I noticed the light was still on.”
Emily nods, hums. “Would you like a drink?” she offers, kicking her feet off the armrest of the sofa she was sprawled over.
“You know I do not solve my night terrors with alcohol,” the Outsider says, but by then Emily has reached her desk and picked up a clean whiskey tumbler.
“I do,” Emily admits and sets the tumbler in front of him. “But I also know that you do not decline alcohol in polite company.”
The Outsider snorts at her words, an ugly half-laugh that escapes through his nose, and Emily follows with her own laughter. “How in the Void am I supposed to interpret that?” she exclaims. “Am I not good enough for you, prick?”
The Outsider laughs proper, then, shaking his head at the insult. “I would not call the Dunwall nobility polite even if it saved me from an Abbey interrogation session.” He takes a breath, feels the air fill his lungs. “You will do, better than anyone else in this accursed city.”
With those words, Emily opens the half-empty bottle of whiskey set on the little table between them, and pours until the Outsider calls ‘enough’. She refills her own glass, then, and as the Outsider picks up his share with trembling hands, she clinks their glasses together.
“To sleepless nights,” she toasts.
“To sleepless nights,” he echoes.
They drink in silence, the whiskey warming their bellies and burning their mouths. It isn’t until he has drank most of his share that the Outsider speaks again, his eyes downcast, watching the remaining liquid slosh in the tumbler.
“I keep dreaming of the Void,” he whispers. “The way it was for millennia. And then the way it was before I was freed.” The remaining whiskey shifts from deep browns to gold, warm like Serkonan afternoons, and the Outsider tries to focus on the warmth and the light to chase away the remaining wisps of the Void still curled around his racing mind. “I thought- or hoped, dared to hope, that once I leave Shindaerey, it would let me go. That I was freed. But it persisted and chased me to Karnaca, and then to Dunwall. I felt ill with fear when we approached Dunwall at night, and I heard a whale song from my cot, and the ship was so cold by then that for a moment I expected to open my eyes and be back there-”
“Hey,” Emily interrupts and the Outsider looks up from his glass, meets her eyes, as deep and warm as whiskey in candlelight. “Mio,” she speaks the nickname and the Outsider doesn’t flinch away as he would at the sound of his full name. “You were trapped there for over four thousand years. These things stick with you. They follow you. I spent six months with Madam Prudence and sometimes I still dream of my days in the Golden Cat. It’s normal.”
“I do not understand how you deal with that,” the Outsider admits. He sinks back into the pillows, pulls his legs up until he folds himself onto the armchair. He’s startlingly small like that, with cushions and velvet armrests swallowing him whole. Emily wonders for a moment just how much of his life he spent being swallowed whole by the world around him.
“You just do,” she says and takes a sip from her glass. “You wake up every day, and you keep going. And then you wake up again. And again. And you do not stop.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“It is, in a way.” Emily finishes her whiskey, pours herself another glass. “I simply do not know what else there is to do but keep going.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” the Outsider mutters. “It does not make the nightmares any easier to bear.”
“I never said they would be easy to bear,” Emily tells him. “Maybe with time. But for now we have whiskey to dull that ache.” She raises the drink to the light, a smile creeping to her face. “Drink up. This is the good shit.”
And the Outsider does. Finishing the last of his drink in a single swig. The last drops burn away the remaining chill of the Void from his chest and the present sets in, with the warmth of the embroidered blanket draped over the back of his chair and the fire slowly dying in the fireplace since long before he entered Emily’s office. The icy sting of the Void does not reach him.
“You’re smiling,” Emily notes as the Outsider cradles the now empty glass in his hand. “I told you it chases the bad things away, for now.”
“Billie taught you that one,” the Outsider says instead.
“She did,” Emily confirms.
“You struggled sleeping on the Dreadful Wale,” the Outsider continues. “You never felt like you could wake up right.”
“That’s one way to call me spoiled,” Emily teases. “The cot was too hard, the room too stuffy, and everything reeked of stale liquor.”
“And your mind kept wandering, even in your sleep. You were so determined to chase after Delilah and her minions you could hardly rest. Her magic was too vast for you to stop worrying.”
“I don’t think I ever stopped worrying, even after coming home,” Emily admits. “I felt empty once things went quiet and we chased the last of the witches away. Too little to worry about.”
“Just like every time you came back to the Wale.”
“Every time I’d return,” Emily whispers, “Billie would get the best whiskey she had and we would celebrate a mission accomplished. It knocked me out on top of the exhaustion. After three times I realised Billie just wanted me to sleep for once. I guess it helped.”
“It must have, since you went out of your way to find the same brand of whiskey to keep around.”
“Nothing gets past you, huh? Nosy brat.” Still, there is no malice in her voice. Just fondness “It calms me down even a year later. Helps put me to sleep.”
“And yet you keep it in your office.”
“I could have kept it in the safe room instead. But here we are. I had to walk all the way here for this bottle. You wouldn’t have found me otherwise.”
“I am grateful that you came here for me to find you, for whatever that might be worth.”
“It’s worth a lot,” Emily says. Their eyes meet and the Outsider turns away. “Truly.”
A silence stretches between them. The Outsider closes his eyes, soaks in the warmth of the room as Emily drinks what is left of her share. The time approaches one in the morning when a light knock sounds from the heavy door and it is pushed open.
“Emily?” Corvo’s rasp follows. The room goes still as he enters the office and his eyes go to the Outsider. Neither of them move, but Corvo’s voice lacks the private warmth it held just a moment ago the next time he speaks. “I didn’t realise you had company.”
“Father-” Emily tries to say, but the Outsider interrupts her.
“Well, would you look at the time,” he says as he sets his long empty glass on the table. “I suppose it is time I retire to bed. Thank you for your time.” He stands then, straightens his crumpled jacket. Corvo’s eyes never leave him as he hurries to the door. Don’t worry about it, he mouths at Emily as he walks past Corvo, as he grips the brass door handle. He pretends not to see the angry furrow of his brows. “Goodnight, Emily.” He avoids her eyes as much as he avoids Corvo’s when he slips out of the room and shuts the door closed behind him.
The Tower is much colder outside of Emily’s office.
#dishonored#dh#whale song au#emily kaldwin#the outsider#idk what tags are#yes the outsider is human and mortal yes he has a name yes there is more angst to be had around that one#Ive been meaning to post this for like 3 days now#this takes place before the snippet I posted about the conversation outsider has with corvo#writing tag
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My personal comments on every pigeon breed (photos from the American Pigeon Museum site) pt 1
directly yoinked from my notes app. this is like a couple months old btw. anyways pt 2 in progress
Ancient pigeon: did a GREAT job naming this guy. this is a grandfather. weird lookin’ fella
Am Strasser: I like the color scheme, but really nothing special as far as pigeons go. shes very pretty tho!!
Am Roller Champ: she looks indignant about SOMETHING but is too anxious to speak up about it
African Owl: aside from the obvious comment that this is not an owl, I want to know what made people want to breed this. Like, animal husbandry takes time and effort, doing all that for this guy? Really? You do you, I guess.
Arabian Trumpeter: no comment. Just some guy, pretty but nothing to write home about
Berliner Shortface Champ: hey. hey what’s going on here. I’ve got Thoughts on this guy and they are indescribable
Archangel Champ: I do not like him. Begone, foul beast, and do not come here again lest you be hanged and quartered.
Baldhead Snow Roller: What a pleasant fellow! What a lovely lad! Just seeing his charming face makes me light up with glee. 10/10, magnificent beast!
Berne Lark: I really don’t have anything to say. Oddly geometric, if that makes sense. She looks frazzled. I like the orange chest.
Bernhardiner Schecke: She is the moment, she is the world, she knows what she’s about and it is being a girlboss in a pigeon way!
Breslauer Tumbler: Sir, what horrors have you witnessed to make you look like that? What arcane knowledge did you look upon to turn you into such a madman? Love the red talons btw
Brunner White Champion: I showed my mom this picture because there’s nothing people love more than their sons shoving pictures of weird birds in their faces, and she said “Why it is it shaped like that?” In the most horrified voice ever, to which I responded “Wow, mom, body shaming? Kinda problematic… :/“ anyways girl what
Chinese Owl Champion: Once again, this is a pigeon, not an owl, but I don’t care because hes fluffy
Cumulet White: Kinda want to paint this bird. Not paint a picture of it, paint on it
Damascene: I read that as Dramascene, which makes sense, because she was bird for the theater. That was supposed to say born but autocorrect knows me better than I know myself I guess
Danish Jacobin: You would expect the Danish Jacobin to be a more odd Jacobin, because it has an adjective. It is not, this is a normal animal compared to the “regular” Jacobin, which you must wait for because I’m doing these in the order they’re in on the website, which is alphabetical. Should I be capitalizing Jacobin?
Danish Tumbler: But fear not, the beautiful country of Denmark is not void of freaks. Because the Danish Tumbler is here, and he is stranging up the place (denmark), which is also a thing I do! Not to denmark, tho, that’s where the similarities end
Danzing Highflier: Can I just say I love the name? Danzing Highflier—really rolls off the tongue, with an element of opulence in there. Poetry in two words. that being said this guys gay and weird, just like me
Dewlap: Massive name downgrade, imo. Dictionary.com defines the word dewlap as “1) a pendulous fold of skin under the throat of a bovine animal. 2) any similar part in other animals, as the wattle of fowl or the inflatable loose skin under the throat of some lizards.” You could’ve put a little effort in there, my guy. Weird neck, but overall hes pretty normal as far as these little shits go
Dewlap Frillback: I actually like this name a lot. He’s not as frilled as some of our other frillbacks we’ll be seeing (we’ve got some CRAZY BITCHES in the pigeon list here, just a warning) but it’s nice. An elegant animal, though he seems pretentious
#pigeons#pigeon#birds#bird#my stuff#krill miscellaneous#gizmos bird judging#<- tag for that.#shitpost#bird memes
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Bruce Wayne's Headache Classification System
IKEA VERSE
AN: So... three parts has now turned into a five-part. Hope that's okay. I thought I could wait to publish the entire conversation between Bruce and the boys, but I'm. Still. Working. On. It. So, y'all are getting the first of three parts to this frankly epic retelling of the IKEA events from the boy's perspective. So Yes I continue the IcedAquarius's old tradition of increasing my chapter counts. I would apologize, but I doubt any of you are mad. 😁The second part should be out... relatively soon. I'm not making any promises but it shouldn't be a month again. I'm getting close. As always enjoy!
(P.S. As always Jason Todd is being written as if played by Jensen Ackles, I'm sorry I don't make the rules!)
Chapter 2
Bruce lingers at the dining room’s doorway, secure in the shadows the dim lighting casts, observing his battlefield with intense precision.
The twenty-two-seater, solid wood table, lies buried in papers, folders, and a grand collection of coffee mugs and tumblers. In the middle, Tim resides in the carnage, staring deeply into the void of his computer. Dark eye bags, greasy hair, and occasional eye twitch clear outward signs of his severely worsening exhaustion.
His son’s chronic insomnia stemmed from a variety of issues; habit, necessity, and a factor of uncontrollable circumstance. Sometimes Tim just couldn’t fall asleep. Bruce would insist on medication if it would work on his strung-out son. It doesn’t. They tried.
Maybe less coffee.
As if sensing Bruce’s thoughts, Tim’s hand reflexively tightens around his current mug. He takes a long sip of whatever liquid is inside – ideally water, but probably coffee – and cradles the mug close with all the ferocity of a mother lioness protecting her cub.
Bruce steps inside.
Newspaper clutched in hand.
“Good afternoon, Tim,” he greets. Lunch passed hours ago.
“Hey Bruce,” Tim replies, not looking up from his screen. “Invasion or coup?”
“It was a coup; I’ll drop you the files.” Tim grunts in acknowledgment. “Can you answer me something?”
“Sure.”
Bruce shakes the paper. “What is this?”
Tim’s eyes still scan across the screen. “Well, it sounds like a piece of paper, but I assume you’re referring to what’s on the paper?”
The headache drops in all at once, starting at the crown of Bruce’s head and sinking through his poor abused brain until it lands on his shoulders. Tightening every muscle seizing them until he’s nothing more than a walking ball of nerves.
This is his My-children-are-about-to-cause-me-untold-hassles headache.
“Tim.”
Bloodshot eyes finally look up. Tim tilts his head like a confused bird. “Why are you reading a physical newspaper, Bruce? Are you finally experiencing your mid-life crisis and trying to act like, a hipster or something?”
“I’m always in crisis.”
“Same.”
Bruce represses the urge to sigh with a deep concern for his son. “Tim…”
“Why are you getting your news from a paper? We’re in the 21st century. You have a phone and media accounts. I know you do, I made them.”
Bruce lays the paper down on the crowded table and decides to play his son’s game. He plucks his phone out of his pocket.
“Okay, fine.” Swiftly opening up Twitter, already loaded with trending stories. “Care to explain to me why there is a video of you, barefoot, and Jason, with a nerf gun, arguing political philosophies on a shopping cart in the middle of an IKEA trending on Twitter?”
Tim’s brow furrows with a detached perplexity. “We’re still trending? I thought it would drop in rank hours ago.”
“The video has thirty-eight million views.”
“Last I saw it yesterday it only had nineteen million.”
“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne.”
Tim leans his chair back on two legs. Vivid memories of Alfred smacking Bruce’s knuckles for the same action come to mind. “Oh, wow full name. Look I haven’t slept ever since Dick dragged me out of bed at eight in the morning for his demented version of family bonding time two days ago. Three newspapers, two broadcasting companies, and all of Twitter want an official statement on whatever the hell happened.” Tim snags a file, presumably holding those requests, and waves it around like the frying pan he most definitely wants to wield against said media outlets.
“I don’t even know what the hell happened! I was too busy being set on fire and held hostage by security for an hour while Damian and his little girlfriend wreaked havoc across the store.” Abandoning the file, he reaches for his coffee mug and shoots back the caffeinated sludge’s last remains like one does hard liquor.
Bruce’s brain goes blissfully still for one moment, before doubling the intensity of his headache.
“Damian’s… girlfriend?” Oh, Bruce is so having words with Alfred about this later. He should have wrung the man for every last detail instead of walking into this mess of a conversation blind.
Tim laughs; high, manic, and incredulous. “Oh, yeah. Her. Haven’t managed to find a single drop of information about her beyond her name, that she attends fashion design school, here, in Gotham for some godforsaken reason. Especially when, get this, she’s French, and her parents run a fucking famous bakery in Paris. She doesn’t exist, she’s a ghost. I’m pretty sure it’s the damn magic.”
Nope, his headache has quickly gone from My-children-are-about-to-cause-me-untold-hassles to I-am-not-mentally-or-emotionally-preared-to-handle-this-chaos. “Magic?”
Tim leans in, his left eye twitching rapidly. “Yeah, she said her powers only affected situational probability, but considering Damian’s been glued to his phone ever since, and smiling, I call bullshit. He’s obsessed. Hook, line, and sinker. I still think it’s bewitchment, but the demon brat won’t hear a negative word against her.” Tim – clad in a wrinkled, singed cardigan – gestures to his arm. The sleeve is ripped. “He threw a knife at me.”
A clatter in the hallway connecting the kitchen to the dining room interrupts the conversation, and a second later Jason walks through the door carrying a plate heaped high with nachos, and an entire liter of diet coke. His dark grey shirt reads, ‘I’m just here to establish an alibi.’
“What’cha two talkin’ ‘bout?” he asks, taking a seat on the table’s other side. “Oh, hey Bruce, glad to see you’re not dead in space, or whatever.”
“Thank you, Jason,” says Bruce, the tension in his shoulders growing tighter the longer this conversation continues. Bruce takes a seat three chairs down from Tim. Bandaged ribs still aching from slamming against an alien tank.
“I’m giving Bruce the report on Damian’s girlfriend, and his subsequent bewitchment.”
“Oh, not too sure on the last part, but she sure as shit is just as demented as him. Is Dickie here? He needs to be here for this.” Placing down his plate he grabs his phone. “Never mind I’ll call him.”
The call picks up quickly. “What’s up, Jaybird?” says Dick, sounding a little out of breath.
“Hey, B wants a sitrep on your grand family bonding activity and Damian’s magical French girlfriend.”
“Oh, shit.”
Jason's grin is wide and sharklike. “Yeah, get your ass to the big dining room, golden boy. You’re not leaving us to take the fall for your screwup.”
“Um…”
“Don’t make me hunt you down, Dick,” Jason warns, brandishing a nacho at the phone like a tiny knife. “I will do it, don’t test me.”
“Dick, if you could please come here and explain to me what happened,” Bruce says, trying to keep his calm. He loves his children… Even if they are currently driving him up a wall.
Dick sighs, the sound crackles through the tiny speaker. “Yeah, sure give me a second.” The call disconnects.
“Damian should be involved as well,” Bruce says. Concern and trepidation are familiar friends for Bruce - although a particular big blue Boy Scout might call it paranoia - the idea his youngest son might be enchanted inspires both in extreme measures. However, Tim and Jason appear more annoyed and salty rather than terrifyingly concerned for their younger brother’s peace of mind, so Bruce isn’t willing to jump to conclusions.
At least not without all the evidence.
“Nah, you want to hear from us before dealing with his ass. Besides he keeps gettin’ pissed every time I mention his girlfriend.”
Tim leans back farther in his chair. “Might have something to do with you calling her a bitch. Or a liar. Or both.”
“Whatever,” grumbles Jason, grabbing another nacho. “He’s overly sensitive, and he’s not even here right now. And I got shit to do today, so either we’re doin’ this now, or you’re outta luck on a full sitrep.” Bruce knows from experience his second eldest will walk away if this goes on too long.
“Fine, I’ll question Damian later,” Bruce cedes.
Jason nods. “Cool. How’s the media fallout, Replacement?”
Tim massages his temples with a frazzled half-groan, half-choked sound. “Rabid and spiraling out of control. Did I ever say what a good idea it was to bring you back to life officially? I would be in literal hell right now if we didn’t.”
“Still don’t think it’s worth the galas. I’m not gala material.”
Raising an eyebrow in a distinctly Alfred-like manner, Tim says, “You made that perfectly clear after you spiked the punch at the charity gala two months ago, called Mrs. Mariano a “festering boil on the devil’s ass” and insinuated she stole money from sick children.” Bruce remembers that. Frankly, the insult was a little weak on Jason’s part.
Jason gasps, placing his hand against his chest. “Timmy, shame on you, you need to get your facts straight. I didn’t insinuate. I sent records of her emails proving she stole money from sick kids to the press and printed up copies to hand out.”
Tim gestures his hand with a flourish in Jason’s direction. “Do you see what kind of children you are raising, Bruce?” Although everyone silently agrees Jason did the right thing, Tim complained long and hard about how long it took to mop up the PR disaster.
“I didn’t teach him that,” Bruce says, defending himself.
He didn’t.
He taught Jason to be much sneakier. Subtlety was never his second son’s strongest area though.
“No, you just taught me how to free fall off thirty-story buildings, hack into government agencies, disarm bombs, and emotional repression.” Jason unscrews the cap on the liter of diet coke and takes a long sip. “The paranoia and over-preparedness come from the trauma, which admittedly’s not all your fault, but pretty close.”
Bruce wants to rub his temple to relieve pressure but it won’t help, he knows it won’t help.
“And your innate need for drama and theatricality?” Tim asks.
Jason grins, “Well that’s just all me, Timmy-boy. Why bother doin’ anything if ya don’t do it with style.”
“Sure, style.” Tim scoffs with a patronizing smile. “The same style that implies day drinking’s a fine idea?”
This time Bruce does not refrain from bringing a hand to his face to massage to bridge of his nose. “Jason what’s in the bottle?”
An audible swallow follows a swish of liquid. “Nothing you can prove.”
A door on the dining room’s opposite side opens, pausing the conversation. Dick slinks in wearing bright neon workout clothes, his hair half done up in a messy bun.
He has the same hand-in-cookie-jar expression on his face as he did at eleven when he snuck three baby raccoons into the Cave and tried to keep them a secret. A feat lasting all of forty-three minutes before Alfred discovered them. “Heeeey Bruce, glad your back in one piece. Soooo, how’s space?”
“Dick…” Bruce sighs, staring at his son for a long moment, unimpressed. His headache pulsing in time to his heartbeat.
His eldest son drops into a chair next to Jason, sprawling in the way only an acrobat trained from birth could. “In my defense, we were left unsupervised.”
“You’re thirty-two.”
Dick shakes his hand in a so-so manner as if his current state of adulthood is a mutable factor. “I mean by an adultier-adult, one who actually knows what they’re doing. Not me.”
Bruce shakes his head, not wanting to touch that statement. “I don’t mind the bonding, but you all have an entire estate to use however you want, a transporter that takes you anywhere on earth in the basement, and access to a private jet. Why on Earth did you pick an IKEA forty-five minutes outside of the city?”
Dick halfheartedly shrugs, sinking lower in the chair. “Seemed like a good idea at the time?”
Bruce pins Tim and Jason with a questioning stare. “And you two?”
Jason grins, holding up his liter bottle of what Bruce is one-hundred percent certain is some kind of alcohol. “I live for the chaos.” He knocks back the liter bottle again, holding onto the neck for dear life. Oh great, if even his most chaotic child – arguably – needs a drink to fortify himself for the conversation ahead, Bruce holds no hope for his headache receding anytime soon.
“My complaints were ignored. I was forced to participate against my will,” Tim complains, wrinkling his nose with a hint of annoyance. Messy, greased hair falls over his eyes, while his head rests on top of an empty tumbler cup. Blue eyes drooping heavily. After this conversation, Bruce needs to manhandle Tim into bed so he can pass out.
“And Damian?” Bruce asks.
All three freeze stockstill at the mention of the group’s fourth missing member. Bruce didn’t think his headache could grow stronger.
It could.
At this rate, it will turn into a full-blown migraine, and then he doesn’t care whether Alfred wants him out of bed and acting like a functioning adult and father. He plans to head straight back to sleep.
He takes a breath and plunges ahead into the fray.
If you want to read this on ao3 you can click here!
(Pst... If you think I'm great and my writing is entertaining, maybe check this out!)
Tag List
@a-slytherinish-gryffindor @hammalammadamdam
#maribat#damian x marinette#maridami#mlb crossover#damimari#marinette dupain cheng x damian wayne#the great ikea game#the ikea verse#damientte#damianette#ml x dc
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Brother
It was luck of course, though the primarch of the Thirteenth and the Regent of Terra would scoff at the idea of good fortune. A captured Iron Warrior Warsmith, seeing Guilliman striding across the battlefield, seeing a loyalist primarch for the first time in almost ten millennia, unable to control his fear. The mask of arrogant self-righteousness common to many of the Fourth slipped for just a moment. The young Ultramarine Librarian guarding the traitor caught a glimpse into his awareness, a terrified mind collapsing in on itself at the sight of the Emperor’s Avenging Son. A number only, VII, VII, VII. Over and over again, the numbers tumbling down into the sticky black miasma of the Warsmith’s deranged mind, his polluted soul burning with hate. VII.
Was this not good fortune? The right people in the right place, at the exact time necessary to catch a piece of the puzzle? Guilliman would dismiss it as coincidence, but the Librarian knew better. Luck existed and could be kind as well as cruel. Cutting into the Warsmith’s psyche as if through wet paper, he believed luck was a two-edged blade and as such could be utilised as any weapon could, for good or ill. He didn’t get much else from the kneeling Warsmith, a single image only, a memory engram. A noble face, beaten and bloody, a single eye staring through strands of long dirty hair. As the tumblers of the Warsmith’s mind snapped shut again, his nose spurting with diseased blood, the image of the defiant storm-grey eye burned itself into his mind.
Passing the information to his superiors, the Librarian had never felt such urgency, such complete need. He must tell the one person in the galaxy that would care the most. It took time, but Guilliman’s pathological need to assimilate information proved good fortune again. Reading after-action reports, the Thirteenth Primarch came across the Librarian’s account, as well as numerous requests from him for an audience. He sent for the lad immediately.
Guilliman was in informal robes when they met, in his private chambers, the Librarian saluted smartly. Dismissing any preamble, Guilliman’s voice was steady and calm, but with a weight of import.
“Do you think this is genuine?”
“My lord,” began the Librarian, “My masters in the Librarius aren’t convinced of it’s authenticity-“
Guilliman held up a hand to stop the lad.
“I know. I asked what YOU think.”
The Librarian paused for a moment, the burden of the question weighing heavily. He looked into his gene-father’s eyes for the first time, so like the eye still burned into his mind.
“I do sire. I’m certain it is your brother. He is, or at least WAS alive when the prisoner saw him.”
Guilliman said nothing as he turned away. Staring from the huge viewing window taking up one wall of his quarters, he sighed. The blackness of the void, so unimaginably vast and empty, so completely OTHER was comforting to him in a way it wasn’t to other men. A few beats of his heart for the librarian were almost an eternity for Guilliman’s extraordinary mind.
“I think so too.”
***************************************
Tracing the Warsmith’s path of destruction through the Emperor’s realm proved difficult. It would have been impossible without Guilliman’s singular mind. Seeing connections others would dismiss or overlook completely. The entire crusade halted and turned to this one purpose, burning out Iron Warrior’s fortresses, one after another. The might of the imperium’s war machine searching for a single man in the vastness of the galaxy, the Inquisition’s secret ways essential to success. Whispers, snatches of information dug from the flesh of screaming prisoners, pieces of a vast puzzle only Guilliman had the sight to put together.
And so it was, that Guilliman’s fleet arrived in a lonely unnamed system after weeks of ploughing through the immaterium. The primarch himself went in with the first wave, modified jump pack flaring, his Honour Guard barely able to keep up with his supreme aggression. Enemy combatants fell to his flaming sword in dozens, traitor legionaries, filthy mutants, daemons of the warp. Guilliman could feel his goal near. The Armour of Fate streaming with polluted blood, he raced ahead of his warriors. Knowing it was tactically unsound, but unable to stop himself. Assaulting the battlements of the fortress, he had never felt so sure of anything, not since the days of his father’s Great Crusade. He found himself inside, the interior of the huge fortification alternately bare unadorned metal and huge sections of cancerous biological growth, the stink of thousands of years of blood and pain. The Iron Warriors here were changed and mutated, like many traitors he’d encountered since waking, their ancient armour decorated in disgusting displays of spiked trophy racks, smeared with excrement. Helmets of fallen loyalist astartes speared on their backs, blood and gore festering on their dark armour. Guilliman considered killing such creatures mercy. They didn’t deserve to live. He cut a swath through them, his sword rising and falling almost mechanically, those in his honour guard barely needing to fire their weapons.
None could stand against him in battle, but this was different. He was almost wild, pure aggression. Operating on instinct, so unlike his usual careful and considered approach to making war. His silence was the most terrifying part. Communication, he’d drilled into his men, was the key to success. Now, that was moot. He expected his men to keep up, or be left behind, so great was his need to see this task done.
Down, down. Into the dungeons beneath the vast fortress, Guilliman’s jump pack scraping the rough unfinished walls, his boots crumbling ancient stone beneath his feet. He seemed to just KNOW the way, an instinct driving him forward. He paused at an intersection, a miserable traitor astartes sliding off his blade to the floor. The traitor was unarmoured, save for his helmet, bizarrely. He was almost naked, covered only in a tough leather apron made from human skin, it was darkened with old blood stains. The iron warrior carried as weapons implements of grotesque torture, black iron pincers and dirty scalpels. Guilliman turned left and continued. The lamps on his suit illuminating the grim darkness, the eye lenses of his helmet shining pure white light.
He stopped in front of a heavy door, bound in iron. Lock after lock adorned it, some old and rusted, others looking new and barely used. He paused for a second, as if collecting his thoughts, giving his Honour Guard a chance to catch up. He reached out and touched the door gently with his huge gauntleted hand.
“This is it,” he said, his voice breathy with effort. That in itself was disquieting to his men, even training with the Chapter’s most skilled warriors, Guilliman was never out of breath. He pulled off his helmet, inhaling the charnel meat stink of the awful place with unfiltered lungs. Dropping the priceless helm to the filthy floor, he raised the sword gifted him by the Emperor himself, and swung again and again, the locks flaring with daemonic wards as the Avenging Son hacked at them. One after the other, they were destroyed. The last screamed as he pierced it, the anguished wail of a tortured child. The door fell open, darkness and pregnant silence spilled out into the tunnel.
Stepping into the room, the flame light of Guilliman’s sword fell across the sole occupant. The room itself was small, the floor dry dirt. Blackened old blood stains covered the walls in sprayed arcs, the smell of piss and shit was overwhelming, even through the helmet filters of the Honour Guard.
A noise escaped Guilliman’s throat at that moment. The flaming sword clattered to the floor.
Kneeling in the centre of the space, was a man. His body, though powerful in frame, was emaciated and starved. His arms were spread wide, chained to the walls at either side of him. The rusted links of the spiked chain had been forced between the bones of his forearms, holding him in place. He was missing his left hand; it’s tarred and diseased stump weeping blood and pus onto the floor. He was naked, with pain goads thrust into the flesh of his body, thighs, chest, genitals. Crude symbols had been cut into his skin, crusted and bleeding freely, his left eye had been gouged from its socket. Scars covered his flesh, layers and layers of them, healed and reopened. Patches of skin had obviously been removed, Guilliman knew tattoos of allegiance had been deliberately taken from him. His once pure white hair was lank and filthy, falling over his bowed head. His beard was long and equally dirty, filled with dried blood, snot and vomit.
Rogal Dorn, proud son of the Emperor, Praetorian of Terra and master of the Seventh Legion, raised his head, painfully slowly.
A single tear ran from his remaining eye, his lips trembled. His voice was barely a whisper.
“… It’s good to see you, brother.”
#warhammer#imperial fists#loyalist astartes#horus heresy#rogal dorn#fanfic#games workshop#defends#roboute guilliman#ultramarines#iron warriors
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I either need to be drench by a violent rainstorm or drift deep in space surrounded by stars. both sound really good.
#i need to feel one with the biggest nosiest rain#or be full of space's pretty lights far far away from anything#it really sounds like a plan#you know what ? i would even settle for a good old storm or just heavy rain#hasta rambles#hi tumbler void#how are you on this fine day ?#i know youre a void but#reminder to drink/eat a snack/relaxe your jaw/move your body a bit/let your eyes ears fingers or brain take a break#love you#goblincore#monstercore#rain#stars
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Eddie “The Savior” Munson
Pairing : Eddie Munson x f!reader
Synopsis: Eddie helps you get away from your ex who tried to rape you. After the police don’t listen, you end up back at Eddie’s trailer, and all he can think about is how to make you feel better and forget everything.
Word count: 9,758 (I’m not sorry)
Warnings: 18+ MDI, attempted sexual assault, violence, blood, foul language, oral sex (fem receiving) fingering (fem receiving ), friends to lovers, dirty talk, virgin reader, slight dom!Eddie, cum eating, angst, smocking, praise kink, pet names, hair pulling, good I don’t even know what else. Let me know if I need to add something.
AN: this is my first time writing fanfiction on tumbler, I tried my very, very best. I’m practically in love with this man so horny on main all day long. There will be a second part to this, I promise! Feed back is greatly appreciated 👏🏻
~~~~~~
“Jack… I have told you, time and time again, I do not want you back.” You bark, stomping through the freezing, lifeless woods away from the old picnic table and your ex boyfriend who told you he was only here to get his stuff back. A demand you were more than happy to oblige.
“No, no, no!” He yells, grabbing your arm and twisting you around, pulling you against his chest. “We are done when I say we are fucking done.” His green eyes bare into your own and his nostrils flaring with anger. A murmur of trepidation races down your spine, and you try to snatch your arm from his hand.
“Let go of me, you psycho!” You smack and shove at his chest with your free hand, doing your best to get out of his painful grip.
Jack’s other hand suddenly wraps around your throat, your terrified scream cut short as he lifts you in the air until only the tip toes of your sneakers are touching the moss covered dirt.
You grab onto his arm, struggling to breath as he draws your face to his. “You and I both know you would be absolutely nothing in this town without me. You owe me everything…” Jack’s nose bumps against your own, he drinks in the look of horror written across your face. “In fact… I know how you can repay me… right here, right now.”
Jack shoves you backwards and you crash to the ground with a thud, head smacking into the unyielding earth. Desperately you suck in lung fulls of the cold winter air, coughing uncontrollably as tears rush down your cheeks.
Then Jack is kneeling over you, greedy rough hands grabbing and tugging at your clothes as you frantically try to push him away.
“You’ve always been such a fucking tease. Always acting like you’re so perfect.”
Jack forces himself between your legs, the denim of his jeans tearing at the delicate skin of your inner thighs. Terror courses through your being, limbs flailing as you desperately try to fend him off, pleading uncontrollably with him as he stares down at you.
“Bet you’re nothing but a slut just like your mom, and sluts take what’s given to them.”
Jack’s eyes are emotionless, void of any thought other than to take what he so clearly thinks is owed to him.
“Stop! Stop!” You’re choking on your tears as you grab at his wrists, his fingers curling into the front of your sweater and ripping the white garment straight down the middle.
Something inside you tears along with the fabric, your emotions shutting off as your body kicks into autopilot, it’s only goal to free yourself from underneath Jack.
You scream, the sound so abrupt Jack pauses, giving you the split second you need to bring a knee to your chest and kick out with all your might, heel connecting with his jaw.
Jack let’s out his own scream, falling backwards as he cradles his face, twisting back and forth as the pain laces from his jaw into his head.
You scramble to your feet and run, clutching your shirt together as cold wind whips and bites at your newly exposed skin.
Barreling out of the woods you skid to a halt at the edge of the high school’s empty parking lot, today being the beginning of winter break everyone had fled the campus as soon as possible.
Though through teary eyes you spot one car at the other end..
No.. One van.
A sense of of relief breaks through your panic, a fresh wave of tears spilling down your cheeks as you watch the mop of long, curly brown hair walk out of the building and towards that run down, glorious van.
“You bitch!” Jack’s voice rips through your moment of bliss startling you into motion.
“EDDIE!” You scream like you never had before in your life, your voice thundering through the silent winter afternoon.
Eddie Munson whips around, his eyes going wide as he watches you running towards him, and not a second thought goes through his head before he is rushing at you. Meeting you half way across the parking lot he scoops you into his arms as you crumble, nearly hitting the black pavement as your legs give out.
“We- we have to go! We have to go now, Eddie, please!” You beg hysterically, grabbing onto his leather jacket and clinging to him for life, your face pressing into his chest, sobs wracking your body as you try to push him towards the van.
“Woah, Woah, (Y/N). Breath. What the fuck is going on?”
Before you can babble out another poorly put together sentence you feel Eddie stiffen, can physically feel the change in his mood and you realize Jack must of come into view.
Your head turns towards where you just fled from, your eyes landing on Jack at the edge of the trees. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, face red and contorted.
He stares straight at you, straight into the deepest part of your soul, a trickle of blood coming from the corner of his mouth that he wipes away with the sleeve of his letterman before he turns and stalks back into the woods.
“(Y/N).” Eddie grips your shoulders, voice laced with concern, turning your focus back to him. He takes in your tear soaked face, the hand that grips your shirt together, the dirt that covers you and the leaves stuck to your usually neat hair and he knew, but he needs to hear the words. “He did this to you, didn’t he?”
You can only nod, the tone in his voice dripping pure venom making you shiver. “I’m going to ask you to do something for me. Okay?”
Another small nod. “I need you to go wait in my van.”
“Eddie please, please don’t leave me.” You choke on another sob, trembling fingers tightening into his jean vest.
“I’m not leaving you. Go get in my van, and lock the doors. You can do that for me, can’t you sweetheart?” Only he could soften his voice for you like that, even though his body is buzzing with rage, even though he was sure the moment he came across Jack he was going to beat the bastard to death.
You whimper, staring into those big doe eyes before finally nodding. “Good girl.” He kisses your forehead, squeezing you against his chest before walking away, his pace steady as he enters the woods. You stare after him for a moment, a shudder wracking your body.
~~~~~~~~~~
You sit curled up in the back of the van, one of Eddie’s loose Metallica t-shirts replaces your ripped one and you fiddle with a stray string at the hem. It stinks heavily of weed and cigarettes but you don’t mind to much, it smells like Eddie, it smells like years of comfort wrapping around you.
It couldn’t of been more than thirty minutes when a knock sounds at the door, peaking over the seat you are relieved to see Eddie standing outside, still staring in the direction of the woods.
Clambering over the seat you pop the lock on the door, scooting back as he hops in, slamming the door so hard the van shakes. Rage completely molds his features, and he is griping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white.
“I couldn’t find him… I looked fucking everywhere.”
“I-it’s okay.” Your voice is still shaking, nerves completely shot. You want nothing more than to be far, far away from this place. Reaching out a tentive hand you grip Eddie’s arm, feeling the muscles under his jacket relax. “Please, E-Eddie… let’s just go, please I want to go..” He looks at you finally and his features soften, one large ring clad hand coming up and stroking your check, his skin warm despite the air outside.
“Okay, princess.”
~~~~~~~~~
“You need to go to the police.” Wayne was home when the two of you got to Eddie’s trailer. He took one look at your battered frame and jumped out of his recliner, wearing the same ‘I’ll fucking kill him’ look that Eddie had mastered.
“Will… will they believe me?” Wayne raises an eyebrow, shooting a questioning look Eddie’s way, who returns the same look of confusion with a small shrug.
“Of course they will.”
Wayne Munson is the father figure you never had growing up. Always letting you stay over when your mother was on a bender, or a new man was in the trailer that made you uncomfortable. He happily feed you, gave you a place to sleep, and helped you through school knowing you were trying your best to set Eddie in the right direction.
You couldn’t count the number of times when you were leaving their trailer and you overheard Wayne tell Eddie. “You better keep that girl, Eds.”
Now Wayne was fulfilling that role in a different way than he thought he ever would have to.
Your mom wasn’t home for the fourth day in a row and Eddie begged you to come with him to the police station but you outright refused. Crying on your couch wanting to die then and there, shame and embarrassment flooding through you, until Eddie finally dragged you to his uncles trailer, you begging and pleading the whole way.
“They know how my mother is… will they even believe me?”
The question pains you to the core, and you feel Eddie flinch beside you, realization setting into Wayne eyes.
“We will make them.” Wayne’s warm hand grips your own, squeezing reassuringly as more tears slip down your cheeks.
~~~~~~~~~~~
“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)?” A skinny man rounds the corner, a manilla folder clasped between his hands. You stand abruptly, ripped shirt balled up in your fists. The two men stand with you, Eddie’s fingers splayed across your lower back reassuringly.
“Y-yes?”
He peaks over the folder at you, scanning you quickly before going back to reading whatever was in the folder. Most likely the statement you gave to the first officer you saw when you walked into the building, Wayne and Eddie on your heels, Eddie’s hand clasped tightly in yours for support… or to make sure you didn’t run away at the last second.
You had switched shirts at your trailer before heading to the police station. Eddie’s idea saying he didn’t want you smelling of refer walking into a building full of ‘pigs’ as he called them and you continuously smoothed the front of the simple garment, drying your sweaty hands.
“Come with me.”
Glancing back at the men, they nod their heads encouragingly, Eddie’s brown eyes holding yours a beat longer than needed, before you turn away and follow the officer down the hall. The badge on his chest reading ‘Powell’.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Eddie’s leg is bouncing a mile a minute, shaking the bench he and his uncle sat on. Between worrying about you and the amount of cops surrounding him, his anxiety was spiked ten fold.
“She’s a strong girl, Eds. She’s got this.” Wayne grips his shoulder, the same sick feeling crawling through his guts but he wasn’t going to show it. Not when the two of you need someone with a level head. “She’s got this.” He repeats, looking up at the clock as time ticked on.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I’ve told you, I met up with Jack to give him his things back. His varsity jacket, a necklace, and a few t-shirts.” The feeling of fear and embarrassment gave way to frustration and hopelessness as the minutes grew into hours and the same questions were asked, over and over again.
“Why did you have his t-shirts? You two had only been dating five months?”
A red tint creeps up your face as anger bubbles low in your chest, ears burning.
“Eight months. I’ve told you twice, Jack Miller and I dated for eight months. I took t-shirts from his house to sleep in because that is just what girls do. We have been broken up for almost two months when he asked me for his things back, which I was more than happy to give to him, then he attacked me because I refused to start dating again.”
Officer Powell nods, tapping his fingers on the grey desk, your crumpled sweater sitting in a bag a few inches from him. Fluorescent lights hum loudly above your head and a floor to ceiling mirror takes up the entirety of the wall behind him.
Walking into the interrogation room was the first time you were able to take a look at yourself, and you could only cringe at the sight.
Your light blue skirt is dirty, ripped at the bottom, and dirt covers your arms and legs. You look the definition of a mess, and avoid looking at yourself as much as possible.
“(Y/L/N)… You’re Tara (Y/L/N) little girl, aren’t you?” You nod, adverting your eyes as recognition shown in his.
The fear of not being taken seriously because of your mother’s reputation as the town whore become more and more of a reality.
“How if she doing? Hadn’t sent her here for a few months.” Your fuses blow, vision nearly tenting red.
“I am not here to talk about my mother, officer Powell. I am here to talk about the fact that Jack Miller tried to force himself upon me. Now either you do something about this or I will find someone else in this God forsaken town who can.”
The cold metal chair scraps harshly across the tiles as you stand, palms pressing into the table as you stare the older man down.
He stares at you a moment before sighing, flipping the folder closed and gathering his note book and pen, carefully stacking everything before locking eyes with you. “I will have an officer go to his house and give you a call later this week. We will see where things have gone from there, Jack Miller is a good kid though, so we are gonna need to hear every detail from his side. We don’t want someone getting locked up over some lovers fight.”
Your jaw physically drops open, chest heaving as you try to form words, any words but your mind goes blank as officer Powell stands and opens the heavy metal door for you.
“Good for nothing Pig.” Is all you can mutter as you pass by him, walking down the long hall towards where Wayne and Eddie sat.
Wayne spots you first as you round the corner, standing up and walking towards you, concern pulling his eyebrows together. Eddie was right beside him, already knowing the look on your face meant things did not go well.
“Let’s go.” Is all you can offer as you walk straight by them and out the front door, anger rolling off of you in palpable waves leaving both men shocked and confused. Eddie opens his mouth, turning to where officer Powell stands, but Wayne grabs his arm, shaking his head. The older man nearly has to drag Eddie from the station, his own anger bubbling low in his stomach.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wayne has to leave for his night shift at the plant right as the three of you make it back to the trailer. But as he walks out the door he plants a fatherly kiss to the crown of your head; hugging you tightly and reassuring you it will all work out. That they will make sure it all works out. You just give him a thin smile, hugging him back and thanking him.
Once it was just you and Eddie though you break down into lung crushing sobs, burying your face into his chest as the day catches up with you, crashing into the forefront of your mind. All of the terror, pain, humiliation pummeling into you at once.
Eddie, having never dealt with anything on this level, pulls you into the small bathroom to your confusion, sitting you on the closed toilet seat.
“E-Eddie?” His name catches in your throat as you wipe at your face with the back of your hands.
“Just sit right there, princess. Give me one minute.” Eddie ducks out of the small room returning nearly as fast, a washcloth in one hand and his t-shirt in the other.
He turns on the sink faucet, the water sputtering a few times before he wringing the cloth under the warm water. Eddie squats down in front of you, wrapping one large hand around the back of your calf before wiping the rag along your knee.
You giggle breathlessly, still fighting tears, as you came to the realization that Eddie is cleaning you up.
“Yo-you don’t have to-to do that.” You whisper, but he only shoots you a look before rinsing the rag again and continuing his work.
Once both of your knees are cleaned to his satisfaction , Eddie moves to your hands and arms, being cautious around the cuts along your elbows and palms. His focus solely on you and his task at hand, his tongue sticking out slightly between his lips.
But slowly, ever so tenderly, he coaxes you into a calm state, keeping the crippling darkness away with the constant, kneading touch of his fingers.
Lastly he moves to your face and neck, moving onto his knees, his waist bumping the front of your shins, pushing them apart slightly to get closer. One hand cards into your hair to cradle your head as he washes away streaks of makeup and salty tear stains.
Your eyes flutter shut, and you let your body relax against the warm cloth and light caress of his fingers against your skin.
Eddie’s focus is trained on the column of your throat, wiping what he thought was dirt only to discover the delicate skin of your neck has been bruised. Anger swelled up inside his chest, fingers crushing the rag in his hand as he makes a silent promise to himself to kill the fucker the moment Eddie laid eyes on him again.
It takes a mighty deal of control, a great strength he didn’t know he had in him to smile up at you as your eyes crack open, to pretend nothing was wrong as you give him a shy smile. “There you go, princess.”
Eddie chucks the rag into the sink, the running water the only sound between the two of you as his hands come to rest on the tops of your exposed thighs.
His face is still so close to yours, and the way his thumb is rubbing along the skin on the inside of your thigh, brings a totally different buzzing to your veins. This close to Eddie you can make out small freckles littering his nose, a small scar just above his eyebrow you hadn’t noticed before… and you come to the shocking realization that your best friend is the prettiest man you had ever seen.
Those chocolate eyes search yours for a long moment, fingers digging into your skin subconsciously as he tries to figure out the look on your face. Tries to decipher the slight part of your lips, the way your chest rises and falls a little faster, or how you twist the end of your shirt between your slender fingers. Had you ever looked this beautiful before?
But right as you open your mouth, he clears his throat and shots up. “I’ll make us something to eat okay?” And like that he is rushing out of the room, door closing behind him leaving you in stunned silence.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In all your years of knowing Eddie you had never once worn his clothes, but now you couldn’t understand why.
The Metallica t-shirt is soft, hanging about your frame and brushing the middle of your thighs, and smells deliciously of him. Laundry detergent and a slight boyish musk that you associate with Eddie as much as you associate the smell of weed or cigarettes with him.
Eddie hears the bathroom door open and he pulls the StoveTop away from the flame, flicking the eye off.
“Popcorn?” He turns away from the stove and stops in his tracks. His eyes travel from your messy hair to the bottom of your feet, noting the lack of anything underneath the t-shirt.
Eddie would be a god damn lier if he said his pants didn’t feel a little tight at the sight of you only in his clothing.
“Eddie?”
“Huh?”
“I asked if you had salt?” You smile sheepishly at the way his cheeks turn a soft shade of pink, rubbing the top of your foot along the back of your calf.
“Oh yes… yes, yes, yes.” Eddie spins in place until he spots the salt, letting out a victorious ‘AH’ before handing it to you. “Your salt M’Lady.” He bows at his waist and you let out a chuckle, giving a slight curtsy.
“Why thank you, my knight in…” you look him over, torn black jeans and his well worn ‘Hellfire Club’ t-shirt, that the two of you had designed together adorns his slender frame. “Dark armor?”
Eddie’s chuckle is light and the smirk that crosses his lips makes your stomach clench.
“You’ve got that right princess.” His eyes twinkle with mischief.
~~~~~~~~~~~
“Hog.” You giggle, reaching across Eddie for the nearly empty bowl of popcorn. This was the third bowl the two of you had scarfed down after Eddie rolled a few joints to share at your request two hours ago. A comedy long forgotten playing on the small TV in the corner.
The buzz running through you makes your body feel like jello, another feeling you had become accustomed to over the last five or so years. The weed helping you push today to the back of your mind, letting you focus on now, on Eddie.
“You know it.” He pushes the bowl farther away, a shit eating grin tugging at his lips, causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle.
“Eddiiiie.” You whine, leaning across his lap, grabbing at his long arm as he keeps the bowl just out of reach.
Making a last ditch effort you lunge for the food, toppling across his lap, face planting the sofa as he raises it up above his head.
“Asshole.” You mumble, not bothering to move, relaxing against him. Eddie’s chuckle reverberates through his body and into your own, as he finally sits the bowl down beside your head. “Ya know it.”
Eddie bite his lip, gaze sliding from your head and catching on the pink, floral panties peaking out from underneath his t-shirt. A groan bubbles up inside him, and he can’t help himself as his lips start moving.
“Been trying to figure out how to get you across my lap all these years, princess. Wish I’d known sooner it just involved food.” Eddie’s voice is teasing, one hand coming to rest on the back of your thigh, cold rings sending goosebumps scattering across your flesh.
A deep blush starts at the base of your neck and rises into your cheeks, painting your face a lovely shade of red.
“Heh… oh yeah? Clearly you didn’t try hard enough.” You tease back, trying to keep the wobble from your voice as your body goes still, all too aware of Eddie and where his body is touching yours.
It wasn’t like you hadn’t laid across his lap before, it wasn’t like you had never curled into his chest and fallen asleep there numerous times… in fact your friends would regularly comment on the way you were always tangled up together, sitting in his lap, or Eddie playing with your hair as if the two of you were dating in secret. To which you both always scoffed and rolled eyes.
No, feeling Eddie against you wasn’t uncommon, was something you’d grown to love… But maybe it was the weed, Eddie did say it was new stuff, or maybe it was his teasing words that made his hand feel so hot, so intimate. Feel so… good.
Eddie hums softly in contemplation, fearing he was pushing things to far after today, as he rubs that same hand up and down your leg; brushing from the cup of your ass all the way to the back of your calf.
Your toes curl in response, hands gripping the rough fabric of the sofa cushion. Neither movement missing Eddie’s eyes as he squeezes the supple meat of your thigh, weighing your reaction.
Eddie thought he knew better, today was hard on you, and the last thing he wanted to do was to force you into something you didn’t want. But hidden behind the soft touches and gentlemanly acts he couldn’t help the raging lust boiling in his stomach for you.
Eddie wants nothing more in this very moment other then to make you feel good, to make you forget everything except his name, and he was silently praying to whatever or whoever was out there that was listening that you wanted to feel as good as he wanted to make you feel.
“Maybe I didn’t princess… But god you look so pretty like this, laid out across my lap. Makes me regret not trying even harder.”
Your head shoots up in shock, upper body twisting to look at Eddie’s face. He is staring down at you, brown eyes almost black, sending a shiver along your spine .
“W-what do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said… you look so god damn beautiful laid out on top of me, back arched so your ass is sticking up in the air. A piece of fucking work.” Your cheeks are on fire, breathing suddenly impossible as Eddie smiles, his signature lazy half grin on his lips.
Eddie is testing the waters, feeling you out as he slips his thumb along the edge of your panties, watching your lids flutter, needing to see how far you will let him take this.
“Sh-shut up Munson.” You breath, you want to look away, want to hide your face from his intense stare but you can’t deny the little part of you wanting to hear more. “You t-tease me too much.”
Eddie fakes a pout, jutting out his bottom lip, “Do I baby? Sweet girl can’t handle a little teasing?” He’s toying with you, still sliding his thumb up and down the little bit of lace edging along the swell of your ass. You whimper slightly, fisting the cushion, almost embarrassed at how good the simple action is making you feel.
“Relax for me sweetie, just wanna make you feel better.” Eddie rubs his other hand up your arm, genuine longing dancing around in his eyes underneath the clear want.
“Eddie… we’re friends… I don’t… don’t wanna ruin that.” You struggle to get your words out, his thumb inching closer to the apex of your thighs. You close your eyes, a breathy moan catching in your throat as he finally settles his thumb atop your cloth covered clit, not moving, just resting the burning digit there.
Eddie judged every move you make, every sound leaving your throat, the delicate way your brows knit together and you draw your bottom lip between you teeth.
He can feel your slick juices coating the thin cotton and he draws in a heavy breath, commanding his body to listen to him for once and go with what you are giving him.
“That’s right baby, we are friends and I just want to help you out, friend to friend.” You crack open your eyes to see his smile still there but something was curving the edges of his lips down slightly. You know he is afraid he is over stepping, knew he was just as scared as you are to ruin what the two of you have…
“Eddie…” your eyes search his for a moment, “Want you to make me feel good Eddie.”
It takes him a moment to register your words, the silence so thick you feel it settling over the two of you.
Then Eddie is grabbing your arm, hauling you up to your knees.
Startled you grab ahold of his shoulders to steady yourself. “Edd-“
He cut you off with a kiss, his soft pink lips capturing yours shocking you for a moment before you are hungrily responding.
Your fingers clasp onto his shirt, tugging at the collar to bring him closer, wanting more of him, craving more of him as you open yourself to the kiss.
One large hand drags itself down your back to your hip, pulling you until you are straddling his lap, the other gripping the back of your neck, fingers tangling into your hair.
You gasp for air, breaking the kiss as his erection digs into your mound. Eddie takes the opportunity and attaches his lips to your throat, sucking and biting almost frantically, your head falling back to accommodate as deep groans leave his chest.
“Tell me if I need to stop. Tell me (Y/N) so I don’t fuck this up, tell me and I’ll pretend this never happened and go back to just being your best friend.” His voice is heavy, rich with need as he speaks against your flushed skin.
Your heart aches at his words, the realization hitting you that there is no way you could ever go back from this, that you never want to.
Cupping his face with your hands you pull away, watching his expression. Eddie looks almost pained, fingers squeezing your hips.
But you know the moment you say anything that indicates you don’t want to go any further he’ll stop. He was always putting you first.
“We aren’t just friends, are we Eddie Munson?” You whisper, searching those doe eyes for the answer you knew was there. The answer you harbored for so many years as you watched him go from girl to girl, wishing they were you and as you skipped from boy to boy wishing they were him.
“No baby. ‘M don’t think we ever were.” He smiles, his own cheeks burning red.
You lean forward at that, sealing your lips over his with a soft moan.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
God only knows how long the two of you sat there, grinding into each other, teeth and tongues clashing as your saliva mixes. “Eddie.. mmm Eddie…” He is working a soft spot on your neck, hands pulling at your waist as you dig your fingers into his hair.
“Bed… bed now.” He mutters, grabbing your thighs and lifting you as he stands.
He damn near kicks his door down, not wanting to abandon the hickey he is leaving in a place that would be too hard for you to cover up later. Marking you over the bruises that asshole had left.
He dumps you unceremoniously onto his bed, your body bouncing once into the air before settling, the old springs groaning in protest. You laugh loudly, a giddy feeling bubbling in your chest at your sudden fall but as you relax you catch sight of Eddie once again.
Your mouth dries up.
The way he is standing over you, hair mused from your fingers, lips swollen and red makes something inside you tighten up. His expression serious, the smile that normally adorned his lips no where to be seen.
“You know how long I have dreamt of this?” His hands drop to his belt, undoing the buckle slowly, his dark eyes never leaving yours. Your thighs squeeze, subconsciously trying to give your throbbing cunt any type of release.
“D-dreamt of what E-Eddie?” You breath, lids feeling heavy as the leather slips through his belt loops, dropping to the carpet with a soft thud.
“This… you on my bed, your body covered in my hickeys.” Popping the button on his jeans he kneels between your legs, lust fluttering in stomach.
“Eddie…”
“Watching all those other guys get to hold you, touch you the way I’ve always wanted to.” Large hands slide down your thighs, pushing them apart gently, he clicks his tongue against his teeth, shaking his head as he stares down at you splayed out before, every wet dream and lust filled thought he’s ever had flooding his brain.
“’S always driven me crazy.” Eddie’s words are burning through your veins, making your blood thick and heavy.
“Please…” You whisper. You want his touch, want to feel his body against yours once again. You reach up, tugging the end of his shirt and a wicked grin pulls at the muscle of his face.
Eddie coos softly, finally settling his body against yours earning a soft sigh or relief. “My sweet girl, need me that bad? Never knew you as the type to beg (Y/L/N).” He plants a firm hand on your hip, sliding it up to your chest bringing his shirt with it.
You are nearly panting, thighs squeezing his waist as you shift below him, squirming against his hand and under his steady gaze.
“Help me out here, princess.” He tugs at the shirt, indicating he wants it off and you blanch slightly, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.
“I’m not.. I’m not wearing anything underneath it Eddie…” You admit, having left your bra waded up in your skirt in the bathroom. He bit out a groan, head dropping a bit before he caught your unsure gaze. You are going to be the death of Eddie Munson, he is sure of it.
“That’s okay sweet girl, don’t need it anyways.” He kisses you softly, tongue slipping between your lips to swipe across your own. Your eyes practically roll to the back of your head, fingers sliding under the end of his shirt. Your nails leaving crescent indents in the flesh of his lower back causing his hips to rock into your.
“Eddie…” You mumble against his kiss, the heat of his body making you feel light headed, the room spinning slightly.
“Yeah?” He moves to nuzzle your neck, frizzy hair tickling your skin as he covers your throat with wet open mouthed kisses.
“I… need to tell you something.” Your breath hitches as he rocks against you again, his rough jeans rubbing deliciously at your throbbing cunt.
Almost reluctantly Eddie pulls away, his cheeks pink, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. “You okay? Do we need to stop?”
Your thighs squeeze, a whimper falling from your lips at the thought of losing this high.
“Nononono. I…I just…” Eddie smiles at your rushed answer, loving the way you dig your fingers in a little harder, keeping him firmly pressed against your heated core.
“You just what?” He cocks his head, smile damn near dangerous.
“I just needed to… to tell you.” Swallowing thickly you glance away. “I’ve never done anything like this before with anyone…” You mutter hardly above a whisper making Eddie strain to hear you.
But he caught on every word.
His eyes widen a bit, hand fisting the comforter by your head as his cock twitches in his jeans.
“Never?”
You shake your head meekly, embarrassment flooding your body. Eddie smiles down at your flustered face, to many thoughts running through his head.
Dirty, bad, depraved thoughts.
Eddie is going to ruin you in every sense of the word.
Cooing softly he brushes the hair from your cheek, “Has no one ever taken care of that sweet pussy before, baby?”
Your face is a shade of red Eddie has never seen before and he is loving it, the way you are squirming below him, how your eyebrows pull together in frustration at his apparent teasing. He is eating it all up
You can’t understand how his teasing is igniting something low in your belly. You should be mad, should say something to drop his ego a rung or two… but he has your brain fogging with just his words.
“I-I’ve done stuff… before Eddie, just… not with anyone...” A lie, a very obvious lie. He only chuckles, fingers dancing along the side of your ribs making you squirm more.
“Yeah? What kinda stuff?”
You blanch, mouth falling open to defend yourself but no words follow, not wanting to admit your secret stash of romance books hidden below your bed being the only form of intimacy you’ve ever encountered.
“What kinda stuff, huh baby? Let me guess. Do you hump one of your pretty little pillows, thinking about someone’s face between your thighs? Do you finger yourself late at night? Bet you have to cover that sweet mouth of yours to keep from waking up the whole park.” Eddie can practically see your brain short circuiting, absolute shy embarrassment filling your eyes making them watery.
“Eddie…” You whine hands falling to fiddle with the bottom of his shirt, adverting your gaze. You can feel your wetness spreading down your thighs, ashamed his teasing can turn you on this much.
“What baby? Hmm? Talk to me. Tell me all the dirty things you’ve done.” Eddie’s smile is all knowing and you can’t stand it anymore. Your hands wrap around the back of his neck, dragging him down for another kiss, he chuckles against your lips obeying your needy commands and kisses you deeply, gathering your body against his.
Pulling away Eddie taps a finger against your nose, making you scrunch your face. “No need to lie sweet girl, everyone has to start somewhere.”
His fingers brush the underside of your breast and your suppress a moan, biting down on your lower lip.
“Y-yeah…” is all you can manage.
Eddie nips softly at your bottom lip and you can’t help the small giggle bubbling past your lips. “I’d be more than happy to show you where to start.” Kisses begin trailing along your jaw to your ear, soft, warm, coaxing and your sigh, melting into his bed. You nod your head with a small ‘Mhm’ as you close your eyes, your hands traveling from his neck to his sides.
“I need you to say the words baby. Tell me what you want.” Eddie suddenly resumes the soft rock of his hips, causing you to suck in a breath, eyes fluttering open to look at the man above you.
“I… want you Eddie… I want you to be my first…”
“Sit up.” You let Eddie pull you, allowing him to grab the hem of the shirt you wore and tug it up over your head, discarding it somewhere in his messy room.
Instinctively you move to cover yourself but Eddie’s fingers are circling your wrists, pulling your arms up over your head as he pushes you back onto the bed.
“That’s a good girl.” He breathes, dragging his eyes over your shuddering body.
Oh fuck…
Oh FUCK!
Your face heats impossibly more at the small praise, pupils dilating and as much as you hope Eddie misses it, the sparkle in his eye says other wise.
It’s like Eddie was given the biggest gift on Christmas, his excitement palpable.
“Keep your hands right there.” He lowers his head, his hot breath falling over your breasts before he captures one budded nipple between his teeth, sucking the rose colored bud into his warm mouth.
Your body bows off the bed with a loud gasp, fingers finding his hair and tugging harshly. “Eddie!”
He pulls away, prying your hands from him and pining them to the bed next to your face much to you dismay. A high whine imitating from the back of your throat as you look up at Eddie, confused as to why he stopped.
“Didn’t I say to keep your hands here? Don’t you want to be a good girl for me and do as I say?” Eddie looks at you sternly, squeezing your wrists for emphasis.
You start panting, nodding your head frantically wanting to feel his lips again. “Y-yes Eddie… I’m sorry, please don’t stop.”
He hums his approval at your submission, the thought at the back of his head that you didn’t even know what you were doing; before bringing his attention back to your breasts, sucking and nipping one as he palms the other with a guitar calloused hand.
“Eddie… oh Eddie…” Your fingers curl into the covers, thighs clenching around his as the ache between your legs grows stronger. “Please… please Eddie.”
He smiles against your skin, loving how you’re responding so readily to his touch.
He trails kisses down your chest, peppering across your stomach to the waist band of your panties making you wither and groan.
“So beautiful. My sweet, beautiful girl.” Eddie nips and sucks at your hips, your check pressing into the sheets cooling your heated skin as you whimper louder.
Eddie’s fingers curl into the elastic, tugging them down slowly, keeping one eye on your face as he works at the skin on your abdomen. His intentions to mark you any place he could get his lips. To let the world know you belong to The Freak.
Your panties literally have to be peeled
Soon you are completely bare below him, fighting the urge to cover yourself as Eddie sits back on his heels, his lower lip caught between his teeth admiring his handiworks .
“‘S Not… Not fair.” You whisper softly, squirming as you look him up and down. He had on to many layers.
Eddie’s smile widens as he pulls his shirt over his head, revealing pale skin adorned with random tattoos. “Better, princess?”
You nod, saliva pooling to the front of your mouth as Eddie pushes his black jeans down good long legs, the fabric of his boxers tented from his erection.
“I wanna taste you.” His hands grip your thighs again, cold rings biting your skin as he lies down, breath fanning over your cunt.
You close your eyes, the view alone enough to drive you towards the edge, but when Eddie ducks his head; licking one long stripe from your hole to your throbbing clit, you see stars.
“Oh god!” Eddie keeps your knees pushed apart as your thighs shake almost violently, loud mewls flying from your parted lips as he continues his assault.
It took everything in your power not to grab at his halo of brown hair as he licks one slow long stripe after another up your cunt, your walls clenching around nothing.
“Please… please let me touch you…” You whin, hips instinctively grinding up against his mouth. Needing more, body screaming for more of him.
He hums softly, the reverberation passing through your clit making you moan loader. “Sense you’ve been a good girl-“ Eddie doesn’t get to finish his sentence before your fingers are digging into his scalp, tugging at his soft hair to bring him closer. He smiles widely, his nose bumping against your clit as he laps at your hole. “You taste so good, so fucking sweet. Need to feel you.”
His lips seal around your throbbing clit again, one long finger circling your slick entrance before slipping in.
“Mmmm…” You jump slightly at the new feeling, toes curling and body arching, inadvertently rocking your hips to take his digit deeper.
“That’s it… Use my hand, princess. Fuck you are so tight for me.” Eddie slips in another finger, dragging them across your soaked walls, helping stretch you open for him.
“Eddie… oh God Eddie…” Something in your stomach was tightening, spreading across your stomach and down your thighs. Lewd noises fill the room from your drenched cunt making you blush deeply.
Eddie doesn’t seem to mind though, he thrust his fingers in and out at a maddeningly slow pace, curling up and hitting a spongy spot deep inside that has you throwing your head back, gasping for air.
“D-don’t stop… please don’t stop.”
“Such a good girl, be my good girl and cum for me… I wanna see you cum all over my fingers baby.”
Your body obeys, gummy walls tightening around his fingers as he keeps the same pace, lips attacking your swollen clit as you erupt underneath him. Your orgasm rushes through your body so fast and hard all you can do is moan a string of his name and loud profanities, white light flashing behind your closed eyelids.
Eddie works You though the after shocks until your spasming pussy starts to becomes to sensitive. Squirming, you try to break his hold as you tug his hair. “Please… Eddie, ‘s to much…”
But all you feel is Eddie’s smile as he slips in a third finger, thrusting them in an out, curling and hitting that right spot over and over.
“You can do one more, I know you can.” Eddie’s tongue is meeting his fingers, lapping up your juices that cover his hand and rings. You whin louder as you struggle to take in another breath. That same tightness forming in your belly, as he drives you closer and closer towards another shattering orgasm.
Eddie’s free hand reaches up, rolling your nipple between two fingers as his pace picks up. Listening to the vulgar noises leaving your throat.
Eddie doesn’t care that his hand is cramping or his jaw was sore. Not when he looks up at you, head tossed back against his pillow, hair fanning around you like a crown with that beautiful fucked-dumb look scrawled across your features and he knows it is all because of him.
Your pleasure is pushing him forward, so he hunkers down, eating your pussy with a renewed vigor making you cry out.
Tears slip along your temples, catching in your hair as silent pleas of pleasure spill past your lips. Your second orgasm barrels at you, seizing ahold of you before you can think and you scream Eddie’s name.
“So tight for me, God you’re so tight for me (Y/N).” Eddie works you through your second orgasm, watching you twitch and moan, loving the tight hold you have on his hair.
Finally he slips his slick fingers from you at your hoarse voice begging him for no more as your hands fall to the bed beside you, body limp as Eddie clambers to his knees between your legs. “Look at me baby.”
It takes you a moment to comply, cracking open your eyes to see him kneeling above you, chin glistening in the low light, evidence of what just happened. Eddie brings his fingers to your lips and you look at him questioningly, managing to raise a brow.
“Open.” You submit, opening your mouth just enough for him to slip two his fingers in. You can taste yourself on his skin, hot and heady, and you let out a small moan, sucking his fingers deeper into your mouth.
“See how good you taste baby?” You nod slowly, tongue swirling around his fingers before he pulls them out with a quiet pop.
Glancing down you see a wet spot forming on his boxers, the noticeable bulge straining against the fabric.
“Wanna feel you Eddie… I need to feel you inside me.” You reach for the black material, fingers hooking into the waistband as you shyly peak up at Eddie through your lashes.
Eddie’s looks so pretty, all of his concentration locked on your fingers. His lower lip caught between his teeth, a sheen of sweat causing his hair to stick to his forehead as pink dusts the apples of his cheeks.
You pull his boxers down and his cock slaps against his belly, a low groan falling from his lips as his head drops back, hands fisted at his sides. Eddie was… very well endowed as your books called it, the head of his cock swollen and angry looking, a bead of milky precum leaking from the slit.
The sudden rush of bravery leaves you.
How… how was that going to fit?
You swallow thickly, nerves setting in as you glance back at Eddie’s face. It was like he could feel your trepidation as he looks down at you.
“You say the word and we can stop, we can go back to cuddling on the couch even. You’re in control.” His voice is strained, already folding himself over so his cock isn’t right in your face.
Really, though, when you think about it you aren’t in control at all, your body sings with arousal, ever nerve buzzing with need. Eddie has you in his hands and you didn’t want to be anywhere else.
“I…” You try to calm the shaking in your voice. “I want you… just… please don’t hurt me.”
The look in your eyes nearly kills Eddie. The fear and want of reassurance clouding your vision, dulling the light that was there just moments before.
Though you yourself have never had sex, you’d heard it many times through the thin walls of your trailer. Everything always sounded so rough, so angry, and Eddie had always, always let you crawl into his bed on those nights, letting you talk out your discomfort.
Eddie leans over you now, the comforting stroke of his knuckles along your jaw bringing you back to him.
“Never, never in a million years could I ever even think of hurting you baby.” His lips brush over your, settling his body against you but not enough to crush you with his weight. Eddie eases you away from the anxiety, away from the fear clouding around your brain, with soft kisses, gently strokes of his fingers along your bare skin.
Gone was the Eddie that was relentlessly teasing you, replaced by a soft lover.
You thread your fingers through his hair, relaxing into his body as the heat between your legs begins to swell.
Soon Eddie has you moaning, breath coming in short bursts as he rubs his heavy cock along your wet folds, costing himself in your slick.
“Won’t hurt you baby… but it might get a little… uncomfortable…” Eddie whispers into your ear as he lines himself up with your entrance, the head of his cock pressing into you.
You nod your head, lip caught between your teeth as you hike a leg up farther on his thigh. One hand falls from his hair to hold onto his shoulder, gripping tightly as he begins pressing inside.
It burns slightly, the way he is stretching your walls around his cock but even as you whimper, turning your face into his neck to hide, he is whispering praises.
“Taking me so well baby, just like that honey, breath.” Eddie works his cock in, sinking into your depth inch by inch. You let out a soft whine, tears springing to your closed eyes as he bottoms out. Giving you all the time you need to get adjusted to the feeling of being so… full.
“That’s my good girl, God you feel so good, so tight around me.” His voice is deep, rumbling through his chest as he props himself up on his elbows to get a better look at your face. You’re trembling against him, hand so tight in his hair you’re afraid you’ll rip it from his skull.
“Breath baby, gotta breath okay.” Eddie lowers his head, taking a nipple in his mouth sucking gently. You moan openly, expelling the pint up breath, pressing your head back into the pillow, your pussy clenching around Eddie’s cock. “F-fuck… gotta move... Can I move baby?”
You whimper out a pathetic ‘mhm’, releasing another breathy moan as he pulls out a few inches before sinking back in, hitting a spot deep inside that has you seeing stars. Eddie sets a slow pace at first, his lips and hands caressing over your body as you melt into him.
Timidly you begin cantering your hips against his, the pain dulling, being snuffed out by the drag of his cock along your walls.
Eddie moans above you, pressing his forehead against your collar bone. “Such a sweet little pussy baby. Look so pretty on my cock.”
Your body responds to his pornographic words by clenching around him, your fingers leaving his shoulder to explore the planes of his back, nails racking gently sending shivers scattering across his flesh.
“Eds… f-feels s’ good Eddie.” His pace is quickening, the tip of his cock bruising a spot inside you that shots lightening up your spine making your stomach clench like before. “P-please don’t stop…” you’re close to tears, your pussy still over stimulated from earlier, body trembling for an entirely different reason as Eddie slowing pries himself from your grip to sit back on his knees.
The new angle rips a moan from your chest, and you are suddenly made aware of just how loud you are being.
You try to cover your mouth as Eddie fucks into you, gripping your hips so tight you are sure you will have bruises there as well.
“N-no princess. Let me hear your voice. Moan for me baby, let… let everyone know who’s fucking you so good right now.” Eddie bats your hand away, stilling his movements until you comply with a needy whine, hand going back to the sheet.
“E-Eddie…” His name is a prayer on your tongue, falling past your lips so easily. You rock your hips into his, desperate, feral in your need for him to keep moving. Eddie chuckles lowly, pinning your hips to the bed so you can’t move.
Your head trashes from side to side, a frustrated cry leaving your lips as the orgasm you could just barely touch eludes you.
“Mmm… you want it that bad baby? Willing to fuck yourself stupid on my cock for what you want? Such a dirty, nasty little girl.”
Eddie nearly busts his load as you finally look up at him, lids heavy, eyes glossed over with euphoria. Your body is burning against his and all he can focus on is the throbbing walls of your cunt.
You don’t have to answer, his own question long forgotten as he starts fucking you again, pumping into you so hard your breasts bounce with the force. A shrill moan emanates from you, fingers twisting into the sheets as his dick slams into that same spot, over and over again.
“C-close… Eddie so close.” You grip his thighs, the fist thing you can find that’s him and not the shaking bed.
“That’s right baby cum on my cock, make a mess for me.” Eddie ghosts his fingers from your hip to your neglected clit, rubbing sloppy circles as his own release looms over him. But you had to cum first. He has to make you cum first.
Eddie can’t describe you cuming with any other word than beautiful. Pussy milking his cock as you arch off the bed, nails digging into his thighs, slack jawed with your eyes rolled to the back of your head.
It’s his undoing.
A few more forceful pumps and he goes still, exploding deep inside you, painting your walls with the sticky white substance. Your brain is mush, body limply riding the aftershocks as Eddie fills you.
So full.
So fucking good.
You don’t want the feeling to end as Eddie lazily grinds into you, his seed spilling out around his cock, dripping onto the bed.
You’re both panting wildly, coming down from your collective high too stare at one another in almost disbelief.
“H-hi.” You offer up sheeple with a tired smile.
Eddie’s returns one of his own, “Hi. How do you feel?” He leans down, still seated deep inside you and gives you a peck on the lips, resting most of his weight on his elbows.
You’re tired, will most likely be sore for days to come, but more importantly you are happy. “I feel amazing, Eddie.” You answer truthfully, a gasp slipping out as you feel a gentle twitch inside you.
“Good, that’s all I strive for.” His boyish, go lucky attitude is falling back into place, a smile carving his face as he slowly pulls out of you, sitting up to see the mess he caused.
“Fucking hell…” Your conjoined cum is leaking out of you, messing his sheets as it slides along your ass. “Could look at you like this all day baby…” he swipes a finger along your sensitive, puffy lips making you whine and wiggle away as he collects the juices on his finger. “All day.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Eddie returns to the perfect gentlemen as he helps you get dressed. He had gently cleaned you up with a clean cloth before helping you slip his Hellfire Club shirt on to sleep in.
“Where are my panties?”
Eddie frowns slightly as he tugs his boxers on, looking around the pit of doom that he calls a bedroom.
“Um…. Well… if we are being honest I haven’t the slightest clue.” You roll your eyes, sitting up to look yourself, expecting something so pink to stand out drastically against all the black. And nothing. You screw your eyebrows together, shuffling to the other side of the bed to peer over, coming up empty handed.
Eddie sputters, trying desperately to hold back a laugh, as you look unsuccessfully for the little scrap of clothing. You catch his eye, holding his gaze for a moment before you both are in a fit of laughter.
“I liked those Munson!” You playful swat at his chest as he crawls into the bed, pushing you down and pinning you below him. He gives you this adoring smile, eyes softening add he props himself up on his side, dragging your body against his.
“I’m sure they will turn up. One of the rats probably got it though, might come back with a few more holes than you expect but you’ll get it back.”
You scrunch your nose before wrapping an arm around his waist, pressing your face into his chest. Eddie engulfs your body with his, crushing you to him with strong arms and long legs tangling with your own.
He plants a soft kiss against your hair, fingers fiddling with the fabric of his shirt that hugs your body just right.
“(Y/N)?”
“Mhm?”
Eddie pauses for a second, fingers curling into your hair, a million things running through his head, different words, meanings, sayings. But as you tilt your head up to look at him, doe eyes and all, his brain freezes on three simple words.
“I love you…”
The smile that spreads across your face lights his own and he feels his heart swell.
“I love you Eddie Munson.”
#eddie stranger things#eddie x reader#eddie munson#eddie munson x fem!reader smut#stranger things#smut#fluff#Eddie#stranger things 4#st4 vol2#alternative ending#joseph quinn
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Evermore
Summary: Living without Dean is an unbearable endeavor.
Pairing: Dean x Female Reader
Warnings: ANGST, character death-no graphic detail
Word Count: 1,000😮 (Probably will never do that again.)
Title Card Credits: @tumbler-tidbits
Beta(s): Un-betaed, (😬first time for everything), but tear tested.😭😭😭
Author’s Notes: Based on the song evermore and the SPN finale. I am not a Taylor Swift fan, but the first time I heard the song, there was a visceral need to write a Dean-related fic. Listen while you read. I wrote this in one afternoon after listening to the song on repeat for about four hours the night before and literally crying when I woke up visualizing the story.
November
Months pass. Devastating sorrow lingers. The scene too vivid in her mind. The torment in her heart too painful. The hole in her soul too big to fill. A gut-punch in unsuspecting moments. A colorless world void of vibrant peridot eyes.
Roaming the bunker’s hallways like a ghost, she looks for him around every corner, listens for his voice echoing through the building, smells the cologne of motor oil, leather, and spice everywhere.
Sam had left with Miracle and the Impala days ago. She missed the lovable mutt but knew he was better off with Sam. She couldn’t take care of the dog. Hell, she can barely take care of herself.
They’d argued about Baby, though. That car was everything to Dean; one couldn’t be mentioned without thinking about the other, synonymous. Sam had never appreciated the black beauty the way that she and Dean had—seeing it as just a car. That is until Dean d-. Then, then, he saw it as something more—a token, a connection to the larger-than-life man that no longer existed in this life.
She’d finally let it go, exhausted from dealing with him, but had put her foot down regarding Dean’s other belongings—clothes, weapons, albums, the old record player. Finding a spell in the MOL archives, she’d ensured that no one could enter Dean’s room but her. Was it unfair to Sam? Maybe, but by that point, she didn’t care anymore. Dean had been taken from her, and she wasn’t about to let anyone, not even his brother, take more. She knew it wouldn’t bring Dean back, nothing would, according to Jack, but she couldn’t, wouldn’t, let go.
The old scaffolding groans beneath her weight, threatening to give way as she climbs higher. The wooden planks sigh under her feet as she leans against the brick. She stares disconsolately through the broken window of the dilapidated factory hiding the bunker below. The wind howls, ripping leaves from the trees. Dull, ugly shades of goldenrod, ochre, and walnut whip through the air and over the ground—drops of rain lash at her skin, the cold, harsh sting goes unnoticed. The only thing she feels is a pain so deep in her bones that she knows it will be there evermore.
December
Tiny crystals crunch beneath her feet. The path to their place hidden beneath soft white flakes and icy shards tinted blue. He’d brought her here the first time he told her he loved her. She’d found him here, heartbroken and crying after the loss of his mother. It’s where they came to escape everything the universe threw at them, even if for a brief moment. It’s where he proposed—painted a picture of a life without monsters, angels, or demons, free of the burden of saving the world and the almighty’s manipulation. A colorful, shining life full of freedom, happiness, and love.
Sitting on the fallen tree, she runs a hand over the space next to her. Face turning to the dull sky painted in greyscale, hot tears sear a trail over her cheeks. She’s lost, adrift in a vast ocean without him, tossed about on waves of misery threatening to drown her. She tries to recapture those fleeting moments of happiness, to break through the eternal sadness. Yet, every time she tries, the images distort and evanesce, like a reel of film disintegrating in a fire. The only scene to play out entirely is the one where she lost it all.
He doesn’t want her to live like this. He’s told her as much. Told her to move on and be happy. She’d tried… for him. It lasted a week. She contacted old friends, took an easy salt and burn a few towns over, and even went to dinner with Donna and Jody. It was all too much—too bright, too loud, too full of… life.
That’s why she comes here most days now. It’s peaceful, safe. She feels closest to him here. Can see him in the sun’s rays shining through the tangled tree limbs, hear his voice on the breeze, feel his presence in the thrum of the earth. Sometimes she’ll fall asleep for an hour or two. That’s when the dreams come. It’s the only place she can dream anymore. No nightmares reach her here. The feel of his touch lingers when she wakes, a thumb brushing over the back of her hand, a rough-skinned palm against her cheek, supple lips pressed to hers. The deep rasp of his voice an echo in her ear. Ethereal, but enough to get her through to the next day.
It’s snowing now. Inhaling the cool, crisp air deep into her lungs, she closes her eyes. The pain still there, always, evermore. A single tear slips beneath her lashes, and he gently thumbs it away, whispering into her ear, “Rest.”
It’s warm when she wakes. A soft gust of wind tousles the hair falling on her face. A shiver flutters through her as she pushes up to sit in the shade of the flowering Mountain Ash above her. It’s just like the one she pictured outside the cabin he had promised to build for her. Standing, she spins in place, the skirt of her sundress lifting in the breeze. When her eyes land on the wooden structure, her heart skips. It’s exactly as he described it. The grass is cool beneath her feet, tickling her soles. Skipping up the stairs and across the porch, she throws the door open. Floorboards creak beneath her steps as she races from room to room, ending up where she started. Chest tightening when she doesn’t find him.
A shadow blocks the sun streaming through the open door, and her breath catches. For a split second, she’s frozen in place, terrified that the slightest movement, the tiniest breath, will send it all up in a haze of smoke. The air shifts around her, and warm, rough-skinned hands rest on her shoulders.
Turning with a small cry, she breathes, “Dean.”
“Welcome home, baby.”
Love Me Some Pie taglist: @akshi8278 / @asgoodasdancingqueen / @calaofnoldor / @compresshischest09 / @deanwanddamons / @flamencodiva / @idreamofplaid / @jerkbitchidjitassbutt / @michellethetvaddict / @mvdeanw / @shawnie74 / @siospins2 / @thinkinghardhardlythinking / @thoughts-and-funnies / @waynes-multiverse / @wayward-and-worn / @waywardbaby / @weepingwillowphoenix
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Hi my names b2 I am the main host of the system called the US collective name pending still, I will post stuff that I find entertaining that goes on in our daily life if I feel like it we will start off with interdiction posts and stuff like that also noted I do not know how to draw I found this pic one day when I was much much younger and used it ever since if someone dosent like that or the original creater somehow finds this then I will be more then happie to change it but until I can get a proper picture of what I acculy want to look like and put it on paper this will be what I look like for now anyway on to the interdiction. (Also all other alters will have pictures I found on the internet same thing just tell me and I'll change it. I do not take any claim to any pictures I post unless siad otherwise all respects to the original creators)
My name is b2 short for Brandon2 as the main host of the system was named Brandon and I picked up the name for a while as he went dormant and is now back but goes by emie and she/they pronouns so I shortend it to b2 witch fits better imo. I have been one of the main hosts for most of our lives, and I am a main trauma holder. I have many titles in the inner world but I mainly have the one of multiversal protector when the system firstly formed witch I have extensive documentation of it was nothing but a vacant void except for the amalgamates until ink found me one day and that's a story for later anyway. so more about me. balck and red are my favorite colors. I like to research and document religions and other things. I dislike spiders, and uh, idk what else just relly relly don't like spiders. I wright books watch anime love gaming all the fun stuff, my favorite food is spaghetti i also love cooking. I feel like thats it of corse if you have quetions or anything feel free to ask and oh right the perpous of me making this account and typing this all out is that I want to make a more indepth representation of our system with pictures and illustrations and maybe even animations one day. I would love to be able to animate evrything that has happend in the system to better understand it ig. anyway this is getting too long and I'm too lazy to go back and put periods and shit where it's needed so if you have any quetions or anything then stick around and itll probably get answerd but feel free to ask anything I'm also new to tumbler so any pointers would help as well. Thanks for reading.
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hi! i'm ash
they/them/xe/xem • panromantic • asexual • non binary • autistic (with suspicions of having adhd) • english • atheist quaker • a tad bit silly
been on the tumbler since 2021 so i know my way around here but i dont get every little reference (i get most and for the ones i dont i just nod and smile along). i am still a teenager so some Classic Posts are older than me and most are from when i was in primary school.
i dont really have a sophisticated tagging system, but if it helps, spouting to the void is my text post tag. i dont even strictly use it for text posts tbf
blogs i run:
this one (obviously)
@blues-amazing-blog - oc blog (currently on hiatus)
@wswe-autism-fic - fanfic blog (for waluigi says 'wa' everyday until dekuyama is popular). i also treat this as an alt account for fandom stuff sometimes
@knuckles-with-a-keyboard - silly little blog where i pretend to be boom!knuckles (i really really love this blog its so fun)
@jupitercl0uds-art - my art blog (shock horror)
@nonbinary-sticks-the-badger - my sonic blog
external links (whoops forgot to add this)
maybe one day ill set up a linktree idk
ao3
letterboxd
twitter (i only use this for posting from my switch now)
spotify profile
email me - [email protected]
dm me on discord: jupitercl0uds
i think thats it
click this link for more external links including some of the above ones but specifically how to contact me if i cant use tumblr
interests:
omg i love so many things its not even funny. a few important ones are waluigi (special interest), sonic the hedgehog (special interest AND hyperfixation (omg please kill me)), art (like, as a general thing, but particularly visual) and you WILL find me randomly posting oh-so-passionately about something ive never even mentioned before.
i do animation and illustration but that's over on my art blog. also all my animations are WIPs. you probably won't find anything other than a few weird lip syncs from when i was like 11 (i got into animation because of gacha life and animation memes). most of my art is sonic atm lol.
i also read and write fanfic! my wattpad and ao3 is jupitercl0uds :D
wattpad is mostly old stuff, crack and occasional reposts of my ao3 stuff. ao3 is mostly whatever is on my mind at the moment and WSWE.
misc
occasionally i get all heated up about actually important stuff. that's usually sandwiched inbetween my regular goofy goober behaviour. for the basic gist of it: very left wing, the tories are cunts, vote green, free palestine. you also need to understand the weight of that sentence because i hate swearing.
i have other socials too but i dont really use them that much. got bored of twitter and i forget about all my other accounts. only ones i use now are whatsapp (lmao), tumblr and i guess ao3 and wattpad. theres no real point in linking something i havent used in months
anyway, have a nice day and please go to bed on time!
faves (non-exhaustive)
AUTISM BOY!!!! ANXIETY GUY!!!! MILES 'TAILS' PROWER!!!!
he's been my favourite sonic character since i was little!!!! except for that brief period where it was amy because i found out tails was a boy and i, as a 7-year-old girl who had just learned about misoginy, decided amy was better because she was a girl. and that briefer period where it was cream because she had confetti in sonic dash.
my favourite iterations of him are scu tails, classic tails and sonic boom tails!!! i h/c him as autistic, having anxiety, low self-esteem but also being really cheerful and nonchalant about a lot of stuff. i enjoy trans tails of all kinds, but i believe in cis gnc tails.
NON-BINARY ICON!!!! TOP SURGERY GUY!!!! WALUIGI!!!!
call me thomas jefferson cause i have an entire binder on this guy. waluigi is THE blorbo from my spin-off-party-shows. i got into him because 'hahahaha! it is the funny garlic man's funny rose partner!' and that became 'they could marry me and i'd say yes on the basis that we'd get to see each other everyday, even if i only love him as a friend.
im very passionately hateful about 'hot' waluigi. shut up. waluigi is perfect. i hope he can be canon one day <3 i h/c him as autistic, transmasc non binary and really into gothic lolita. i interpret their relationship with wario as romantic partners and waluigi being super super poor. also, wlw mlm solidarity with rosalina!!!!!
anti-faves
dr starline
i love a bisexual icon as much as the next person but starline is not it. i want him to Suffer. which is why i then go on to make loads of fanart of him where he's crying over something. in the one shown above, i have just kicked him in the balls (full image). i also would love to be a VA for him because that'd really piss him off. good style tho. you go girl.
manjimutt (sorry but i only have 1 image of him)
hello to the other living yokai watch fan out there. i hate manjimutt. when i was younger i felt sorry for him, cause i was like 'oh, poor guy, always going to jail!!!' no. die. i do not like him. i hate manjimutt. i do like saying his name tho. MAnji-mutt! i think i hate him more than starline, because at least starline has redeeming qualities. the only redeeming qualities manjimutt has is pity because hes not actually committing crimes. thats it. hes not a nice person. hes just a guy. hit him with a wooden plank (har har).
that poor poor poodle though
posts i like
idk posts on my own blog i like a lot. idk if thisll be A Thing because im literally only doing tthis because of the first post on the list
recognising a url and the chaos that followed
stuff about my lgbtq+ identity idk
THIS IS HOW MUCH I KNOW ABOUT SONIC OK!!!!!
can you call me that slur?
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Text
Embers of a Dream
The rest of the mercenary unit, a so called order of 'knights' of conquest, had moved on to yet another chamber, where djaradin and still living druids of the flame held the line, seeking to claim this part of the Emerald Dream's temple in spite of failure and the loss of Fryakk.
Had it not been for the burned, smoldering, and overturned bookcase he'd of missed the small alcove, out of sight of the main vestibule, still merged as it was with the Firelands, he'd of missed it, like so many others who'd come before.
It was a sad sight. Scorchmarks streaked along the floor and the walls, what had been a kal'dorei given its height and relative shape the lone companion to the centerpiece of the room, a firey orb hung suspended, its osculation's indicating active magical energy. Whatever ritual had backfired, was still in progress, it simply had no one to channel its energies.
As the warlock strode closer, his bootfalls were enough to reveal how the corpse had been reduce to nothing more then ash, already crumbling from its elven shape. A glance at the wall exposed the plain green patina not touched by scorchmarks, in the shape of a man. The ashen kal'dorei, given its height.
And there, in truth, was the immortality the Firelands promised.
An outline on a wall. The only real way fire could preserve.
He wanted to have some cutting retort, to conjure some pitiful contempt for the desperate seekers that had risked their world in exchange for a modicum of what they had once, and found that he could not.
How could he? Was the loss of Teldrassil, of Hyjal, of not just home, of place, but also of lifespan, to know your children would likely die before you, victims of disease and rot, and wars not of their choosing not enough to warrant extremism? Was proof your goddess existed, and was -incompetent- not enough to drive a man to despair? Was any price too high to pay to go back to the way things had been, impossible as they may seem to recover?
He was Sin'dorei, he knew full well how far a people could fall after suffering such loss. The bargains struck for power. Power to preserve. Power to hold onto what was left. The power to one day rebuild.
Power, was hope. After the disaster of the Shadowlands revealed, possibly the only real hope for anyone.
He had more in common with the dead druid of the flame at his boots then the Aspects and druids who made camp and who played at leadership at the base of Amirdrassil.
He looked to the orb. It was in fire's nature to caress. It wanted to be held, to move, to find fuel. It cared not for whom or on what.
He looked once more to what had been a man. He'd reached to the firey orb with all that he was, no armor among the dust and ash. No protection asides his will and his magics.
Slowly, Nixalegos came to unbind and unlock the gauntlet on his right arm. The clunk clock of lock tumblers coming undone in sequence like prayers as he exposed his void scarred right arm and flexed bare fingers. He would not be outdone by the dead.
He grabbed the orb, ignoring for the briefest of moments how it immediately burned his fingers and palms. If he was to be scarred, at least this time it would be by choice. He pushed against the orb harder, to grip onto the currents of magic under it, to channel it fully.
It was a curious sensation, he thought it perhaps the sort of injury that goes mercifully beyond mortal powers of feeling, some burning out of nerve ends as fire flooded into his veins, but he still felt his fingers against the red hot orb. A rapidly diminishing orb. An orb that was snuffed as quickly as he'd began to grab hold of it. His cowled visage tilting in obvious curiosity.
Had there been some mistake? The dead man burned out too much of its energy at its onset? Leaving little more then a mote of flame that looked more impressive then it was?
He crushed the orb in his palm as swiftly as a child of Silvermoon might the core of a party favor wand, what burns it had left on his hand already starting to mend and heal over unnaturally.
He flicked his hand clean of ash and soot before moving to replace his gauntlet before walking away, letting the pain of disappointment wash over him as he did so.
He'd hoped to claim something stronger.
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