#while at the same time most of my writing seems to flip the switch

[bakubunny]

bnha: saying, “thank you, daddy,” during sex

18+ content. mdni. minors & blank blogs will be blocked.

yagi | shota | hizashi | izuku | eijiro | hitoshi | shoto | iida | denki | fumikage | katsuki

a/n: thank you so much for 200+ followers! i ended the poll just a tad early because i’ve got a busy day. i hope you all enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it, and i’ll see you with the next piece! 💜 bunny

tags: aged up characters, multiple orgasms, begging, verbal teasing, pleasure dom!eijirou, pregnancy mention (izuku), breeding kink mention, rough sex, daddy kink (obvs), mommy kink mention, name calling: slut, pet names, implied sexual trauma mention (shouto)

small note that none of these were written to have massive age gaps, but read them however you like. :)

yagi. do i really need to explain this one? (again?) fine, fine. he’d never really thought about it until you called him “daddy” once out of the blue in a non-sexual way; now he can’t stop fisting his cock to thoughts of hearing your sweet voice moaning “daddy” over and over while you grasp tightly to him until neither of you can think. sure, he’s very vanilla, but that doesn’t mean your sex life is lacking or that he’s not willing to try new things. the first time you whimper a soft, “thank you, daddy,” while looking him in the eyes in the middle of it, he’s surprised and blushes hard, but he loves it. he kisses you tenderly and fucks you hard but sweetly. yagi aches to take care of you in the sweetest ways in every aspect of life. he’s lived a hard life and carried the world on his shoulders for decades. let the man live and love him deeply, feed that desire. he deserves rest, and your tender, shaky, soft voice can give him that.

shota. hooo boy. buckle up, you’re in for a man you’ve never seen before. he grabs you hard by the hair or the face and makes you look at him. he has a look in his eyes that strikes fear into you and makes you melt at the same time. “that’s fucking right, babygirl, you thank daddy when he fucks you. say it again." his hands grip tighter and are rougher and stronger than you expected. i hope you’re ready for multiple rounds, being sore the next day, and possibly a red ass and a few bruises. may or may not have a breeding kink that suddenly rears its head if you try this (i’m undecided).

hizashi. it’s like he was expecting it, and not in a, “yeah, you better thank me,” kind of way. a switch flips, and you realize that he’s been waiting for you to get on his level the whole time because he’s been trying to draw this out of you for months without saying it. he might seem aloof sometimes, but you know he’s got great social and emotional intelligence. it’s almost like he knew “daddy” was on the tip of your tongue from the first time he laid eyes on you, but he’s surprisingly patient and will wait until you call him that first before making it a regular thing. you finally let, “thank you, daddy,” slip out during sex? he’s caressing your face saying, “there she is, that’s my sweet girl. say it again, love…. such a good little listener.” next thing you know he’s adding little notes like, “Daddy loves you ;)” to the lunch you left in the fridge for the next day, and you’re blushing at work, trying to hide it from your coworkers unless you eat alone.

eijiro. if you say that in general, he gets a lot rougher, but his praises and encouragement get sweeter (for the most part). i’d say eijiro either gets more desperate, much like i wrote here, or it pulls that dominant streak out of him with a vengeance, so watch out. he’s not necessarily a daddy, but say you try this on pleasure dom!eijiro? you’re in for a fucking trip if you utter the words, “thank you, daddy.” with the help of toys he’s gonna have you cumming more times than you thought possible - well into double digits - and make you thank him every single time. “c’mon, pretty girl, just one more for me, hmm?… that’s my good girl. you can do it…. i know, it feels so good, doesn’t it, sweetheart?” meanwhile, the most you can give him by the end of it is a string of moans with a nod or a head shake if you’re lucky.

izuku somehow becomes needier and more dominant while also turning into a damn puddle. he’s might just wind up thanking you while fucking you harder because he didn’t realize how much he’d love hearing that come out of your mouth. “oh fuck, angel, you’re so sweet to me. daddy loves you so much.” he will probably fuck you stupid every day for at least a week just to hear you say it again. assuming you’re well into your relationship and have discussed kids, be prepared for him to softly mumble in your ear. “daddy’s gonna make you a mommy someday. you wanna be a mommy for me, princess? you’ll look so fucking gorgeous, baby. i can’t wait,” because izuku is a family man to the core. there’s no way he’s not thinking about you barefoot, pregnant, and bent over the kitchen counter if you call him daddy in any context.

hitoshi is going to tease the shit out of you for it in bed and out. “what’s that, slut? i didn’t quite hear you…. ‘thank you, daddy?’” he chuckles and wraps a hand around your neck, his violet eyes glimmering. his voice is soft and a little condescending as he leans in. “thank you is fucking right, kitten. say it again…. louder, slut. daddy wants to hear you,” hitoshi taunts with a grin. “it’s a good thing you’re cute when you thank me.”

shoto. oh, honey. please do both of you a favor, and gently ask him first. he’s got so much trauma around his actual shithead of a father that pulling smth like this without forewarning has a chance of not only killing the mood, but sending shoto into a tailspin for weeks wondering if he’s anything like enji in bed. and i don’t need to explain why that would terrify him, do i? if he wants to try it, it would likely happen while you’re riding him or maybe giving him a top tier blowjob; let him experience how enthusiastically you want him when you let those words fall out, and he might get hooked. be prepared, though. if it goes well, he may grab your hips/head and fuck you relentlessly. if it doesn’t, there may be a lot of quiet snuggling and consoling him for several days that, unequivocally, yes, he makes you feel so loved, and you truly enjoy every intimate moment you have with him. it wouldn’t hurt to remind him of that even if he ends up loving it. however, talk to him in just the right way and treat him so very well like the sweetheart he is tho? “thank you, mommy,” (or some other title) may slip out of his mouth, let’s be honest.

tenya is very confused. i’m so sorry lmao. there’s going to be an awkward conversation mid-sex. once you explain the appeal to him, he’ll probably be on board to try it again and initiate the next time you fuck. “thank me when i fuck you, baby. let me hear it.” warning: there’s a slight chance he’ll develop a breeding kink if you keep this up.

denki is kind of blindsided but he’s not mad about it. he never thought he’d hear that from you because he’s so much leaner and goofier and softer than his friends. he’s more than okay with that, but in his mind that doesn’t equate to “daddy.” hearing those words on your lips, the look on your pretty face, and the way your tits move while he’s fucking you does him in, to be honest. he’s moaning and loses himself a little bit. he asks you to say it again maybe once or twice, making sure you orgasm before he blows because he’s going to cum the next time you say it.

fumikage. is it possible for him to somehow become even more tender and loving while absolutely destroying your cunt with a hand wrapped firmly around your throat? you’re not sure, but you’re about to find out. dark shadow wraps the two of you up inside themself, intensifying the intimacy of the moment. “again, darling…. you are so precious to me. nothing compares to your sweet voice.” daddy kink may or may not be his thing; he’s still figuring that out. what he does know is that he loved the intimacy and vulnerability of that moment with you, and he needs more of it. if he hasn’t realized it yet, he may come to the conclusion that a D/s dynamic is the way to find what he’s looking for.

katsuki is a bit of a wild card. every time, he’s either going to melt on the spot or fuck you into another realm of existence. or both. you are far from the first to have said this spontaneously (he looks like a model, he’s strong as hell, and he’s one of the top pro heroes, what do you expect?), but katsuki is pretty damn sure you’ll be the last. first time: maybe one day he’s fucking you hard. you can’t explain it, but something about whatever he’s doing or the way he looks at you makes you want to beg to cum. so you get achingly close, and you do. “please, can i cum, kats? please? i need your cock so fucking bad, please.” he’s thrown off for a split second until he sees your needy, fucked out face. you ask again, and then he’s right there with you. “yes, cum for me, baby.” a rush crashes over your body and the words slip out before you can stop them, just before you cum. “thank you, daddy.” and you cum hard. it’s not long until he’s groaning into your skin about you being “such a good fucking girl” as he fills you.

#millennialmagicalgirl #i wanted to include togata and amajiki but maybe another day #aged up characters #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #boku no hero #bakugou katsuki #bnha smut #mha smut #x reader #toshinori yagi #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #shinsou hitoshi #midoriya izuku #todoroki shouto #tenya iida #kaminari denki #kirishima eijirou #fem!reader #bnha x reader #bnha x fem!reader #mha x reader #mha x female reader #bakugou x reader #kirishima x reader #Midoriya x reader #fumikage tokoyami

[manicpixiedreamcurl]

The More You Give ❧ (Part VII)

Pairing | Eddie Munson x shy!reader

Warnings | 18+ only, do not interact if you are underage. Heavy petting, P in V sex, soft dom!Eddie. Discussion of uncomfortable sexual experiences. Inordinate amount of praise kink, good girl's, and vulnerability on both sides.

Word count | ~10,000

Taglist

Previous Chapter

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Most days, walking into the cafeteria comes with a cool sense of dread. A heaviness in your chest, mind working overtime to prepare yourself for an hour not quite talking with your not quite friends. You’re never sure what you prefer; the white hot shame that comes with laughter at your expense, or the simmering ache from being ignored entirely.

But there’s a levity to your mood today. You’re proud, or maybe more accurately relieved, at the circled red letter on the top right of your Chemistry test. 

You spot May at the usual table as you file in, catching her excited wave over the head of some of the cheer girls. The others offer a cursory glance before returning to their conversation, but May’s expression is expectant. “So? How’d you do?”

You grin. “A minus.”

“I knew it!” She squeals, removing her bag from the chair next to her to make space for you. “You always make a big deal out of tests, and then breeze through!”

She’s half right. 

Something about the weight of potential failure, some unknown consequence to doing poorly, always has you worrying about tests days prior, heart pounding in the moments before you flip the paper. Then you second guess yourself all the way through, scribbling over wrong answers before writing the same thing down again.  

But you certainly don’t breeze through. The weight of this test on your mind had you bursting into tears in Eddie’s van last week. What was supposed to be a movie theatre date turned into an impromptu study session at the library. Eddie sat opposite you while you read over your notes, writing up his campaign ideas and flicking through a book he’d found in the fantasy section before working begrudgingly on an essay about JFK he was supposed to have handed in the week before. He switched to the seat next to you when you failed to hide a sniffle, let you tuck yourself under his arm and press your face to his shoulder.

“C’mon,” he said eventually, coaxing you out from the damp spot on the collar of his shirt. “Talk me through what you don’t get, okay? I bet the answer’s up here.” He pressed a finger to your forehead, narrowing his eyes like he could pinpoint the spot in your brain the information was hiding. “We just gotta knock it loose somehow.”

He must, truly, have been bored to death as you went through the problem, starting over again and again each time you explained yourself into a corner. But he listened anyway, prompted you to keep going until you came to an answer that satisfied you, a conclusion that made sense, and then he listened to the next problem.

You apologised at the end of the night. For all the hysterics, for dragging him along to a joyless evening. He’d swiped the thought away with a casual wave of his hand. “You couldn’t be my smart girl if you didn’t have to study sometimes.”

Just thinking about it now, your eyes flicker from May’s hand on the back of the empty chair beside her to the place Eddie sits, far on the other side of the room. 

It’s an invisible line you haven’t crossed, spending any time with him at lunch. Eddie would never let you question whether he wanted you to sit with him, never let you worry about seeming clingy. He’d made it clear you were always welcome. What stopped you was that tug at your heart, that feeling that you’d be taking another step away, putting more distance between you and your friends. Or May, at least. You can’t remember the last time Heather sat with you more than once a week. 

And you promised, sincerely, that you would try a bit harder with the cheer girls. Apart from that one tipsy conversation with Tracy at a party, you’re not sure you’ve quite fulfilled that.

But you want so badly to tell him. Shamefully, it was your first thought when you turned your paper over today. Along with the usual relief came excitement, knowing Eddie would be pleased for you and make it clear, call you his smart girl till your face burns hot. 

“I’m just-” You start, tucking your bag up on your shoulder, glancing back to May. “I’m just gonna show Eddie quickly.”

There’s a pause. Her pleased expression, the gentle curve of her wax pink lips, doesn’t falter. Instead, it seems to calcify on her face. “Oh. You’re gonna sit over there?”

“Just for a while,” you reason. “Just to show him my grade. Okay?”

She makes a high mm hmm noise, half agreeing, half unsure, but you decide to take it at face value, making a beeline for Eddie’s table. 

As usual, he sits at the head, the frizz of his hair lit up in the natural light from the window behind him. His expression is a touch bored, eyes blinking slowly, chin resting on his palm as a boy at the other end of the table - young, with tight brown curls tucked under a yellow cap - talks a mile a minute. You catch the words radio and roof as you approach, but your own mind goes blank when you reach them.

You’d feel only excitement, if it was just Eddie who noticed your presence. For his part, his whole posture changes; from slumped over the table to sitting straight up, his pouty lips turning to an excited smile in your direction as his hand drops away from his chin. But on top of that, six additional faces turn to watch you walk up the side of the table. Maybe you could handle three, used to some attention from Jeff, Gareth and Matthew at this point, comfortable in their acceptance of your silly little fidgets and occasional long silences. 

But the other three, all freshmen, staring at you like you grew another head on the way over, have you shuffling in place, playing with the strap of your bag. You vaguely know Mike from watching him run out the door on the occasions you’ve babysat Holly, though his hair is a good couple inches longer than the last time you spent an evening at the Wheeler’s. The others, Lucas and Dustin, you know both from Eddie’s descriptions and his complaints. 

“Hi,” you say, voice quieter than you’d like as you wave at the group. 

“To what do we owe this pleasure, Princess?” 

Your mouth opens, and your throat closes. Your face feels suddenly warm under the eyes of his whole table. In an instant, you regret coming over here. What must you look like? What will they think of you, when they realise you came over here to brag about a simple test result? 

Eddie hums a questioning sound, bringing your focus back to him. He’s looking at you the way he does when you both know you’re going to have to be the one to speak first. There’s anticipation there, but the little curve of his lips is all kind patience. 

You swallow, glance down the table again. You make eye contact with Lucas, give him an awkward smile at his friendly wave. Even at that, you know the words won’t come. Sighing quietly, you unzip your bag and search through your books for the test, drawing out the paper and fiddling with the corner for a second. How do you tell him, all of them, that you really aren’t bragging? That more than anything you just want to thank him? 

Eddie’s eyebrows raise as he looks between you and the paper. When he holds his hand out, and you find yourself passing it to him instinctively, toes curling in your shoes.

“An A!?” He screeches immediately, thoroughly dispelling any hope you might have had that he’d keep it to himself. Though your face burns, you fight the urge to glance around and offer an apologetic smile to his group, to the people that turned at the sound of his yell, because this is Eddie. Any embarrassment you might feel pales in comparison to hearing the pride in his voice, to see it on his face. What do judgmental looks and cruel whispers from strangers mean to you when they’re caused by Eddie, so excited and pleased for you that he’ll yell it publicly?

You tuck the top of your foot to the back of your ankle, playing with your skirt, correcting him shyly. “An A minus.”

Eddie scoffs. “An A’s and A, sweetheart. I’d know, I’ve missed enough of them.” 

Knowing now that at least Eddie himself has taken it the right way, you let yourself indulge. “I was two marks off a real A.”

Eddie’s hand slams down on the table with a bang, making you and everyone in the surrounding area jump as he rises, kicking his chair back with a screech. You watch, left in some strange place between proud and mortified as he practically floats over to the neighbouring table, flicking the paper at a group of juniors dressed exclusively in neon. 

“You see that? My girlfriend got a fucking A in Mr Brown’s AP Chemistry class!” He moves the paper around, displaying it for each of them. “That shit’s like fucking gold dust- hey!” He turns to shake it at a passing boy with a calculator in his breast pocket. “You’re in that class, right? How’d you do in this test, huh?” 

“If you must know, Munson, I got an A plus.” 

There’s a moment of silence.

“Okay, man. Shit. Kinda showing off a little-” He turns to you, eyes wide and head tilted as if to say get a load of this guy, but you’re shaking your head, desperately biting back a smile. 

“Eddie!” 

“Ah, she calls to me.” He drifts over to you then, frizzed hair flying out behind him. You giggle a little wildly behind your hands, still shaking your head at him though any disapproval is for show at this point. Everyone who turned to watch Eddie crow seems to have returned to their conversations, this side of the room apparently well used to his outbursts. He stops close enough that he’s all you can see; his dimpled smile, eyes shining at you while he hands you your test back. 

“Take my seat, Princess.” He gestures with a wide arm, directing you to the chair he rose from. You make a quick glance over at the cheer table, find Caroline just sitting down now with her tray, and feel an unusual sense of relief. It feels like freedom, to be on this side of the room, and not directly under her gaze. 

By the time you’re settled in his seat, Eddie has retrieved a spare chair, carrying it above his head and dropping it down next to you with another outrageous bash. He collapses into it, his arm finding the back of your chair as he leans in to Jeff, sitting on your left. “You’re in that class, too, right man?” 

“You know, we’ve been friends three years now, Eddie, and you’ve never once taken an interest in my grades,” Jeff answers, shutting down Eddie’s inquiry before he can really ask. He turns to you. “Bet it was question 18 that got you, huh?”

“Mm, no, that was okay.” You answer. “Eddie and I went over retention factors so much at the library last week. I understand it way better now.”

Six pairs of eyes blink at you, and the relief you were experiencing is fading fast. Instead, you get the recognizable sense that you said something wrong. Your foot starts tapping at pace, fingers finding the edge of the table and running over the edge.

“You were at the library?” Gareth asks Eddie, aghast tone mocking but serious in its surprise.

“I’ve been to the library before,” Eddie bites. “M’there all the time.”

“We’re not talking about monopolising the fantasy section, here,” Matthew says. “You were studying, Eds.”

“I told you,” Eddie replies, widening his legs until you feel the denim of his jeans rough against your bobbing calf. “I’m working hard this year. Trying to get out of this shithole.” He presses his leg more firmly to yours, and you realise it’s a deliberate touch, a silent reminder that he’s there, that he’s not going to leave you alone with whatever’s got you fidgeting.  

“You said that last year,” Jeff says.

“And the year before that,” chimes Gareth through a bite of his sandwich.

“Yeah, well, I meant it this time,” he says, leaning back in his seat with a deep sigh. “Jesus, Henderson, you look like you’re gonna explode. Go on. So you’ve built your stereo on the roof.”

“Not a stereo, Eddie- a radio!” Dustin cries through a mouthful of cafeteria lasagne. 

Eddie’s face darkens. “Do I look like I give a- Christ.” He closes his eyes tight, shaking his head with genuine frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Whatever, man. Please, please, just finish your story so we can all move on with our lives.”

Undeterred by Eddie’s rough tone, Dustin launches right back into what he’d been speaking about as you approached. Mainly focused on how he convinced his Mom to let him up on the roof in the first place.

You sigh in quiet relief as the attention of the table moves swiftly away from you, leg slowing until it stops shaking altogether. Eddie’s knee bumps yours, and you feel the warmth of him as he leans in to speak softly, just to you.

“My smart girl,” he says, drawing pleased shivers up your spine. “You deserve it, yeah? You worked real hard.”

“I wanted,” you start, grabbing at his sleeve, thumbing the chain that holds the leather together. “I wanted to say thank you for helping me. I know it was kinda boring.”

“Nah, glad I could help.” Eddie’s expression turns a touch sheepish. “I, uh, actually got a C on that History essay? Mrs Kelly said I would have got a B, if I’d handed it in on time, so…” 

Your eyes widen, barely able to process the sight of him now. Eddie Munson, who just yelled across the room about your academic achievements, now looking anywhere but at you, scratching his face and shrugging like his own barely matter. You find his hand, squeeze it tight until he shows you his eyes.

“Eddie, that’s brilliant!” You say. He puffs out air like it means nothing to him, shakes his head. “When-” 

“You aren’t even listening, Eddie!” Dustin calls from the end of the table. Eddie rolls his eyes, but then he gestures ;azily for Dustin to continue, now with the gift of his attention. It’s enough for anyone to believe he finds the boy annoying at best, but you know from how Eddie talks about them that Dustin’s kind of his favourite. There’s a clear fondness in Eddie’s tone when he rants about Dustin trying to contribute ideas to his campaigns, the begrudging respect he has for how unapologetically himself the boy is. The touch of jealousy that creeps in when he talks about Dustin’s friendship with Steve Harrington, of all people. Badass, my ass, he mumbles each time.

You listen in comfortable silence to the conversation as it continues, occasionally contributing a little yes or no when Jeff asks you leading questions, your fondness for him ever increasing. Only when you watch Eddie retrieve a bag of pretzels from his backpack do you remember your own lunch, too taken in by the awe in Matthew’s voice recounting the first time he heard a Judas Priest song, apparently life changing.

You frown at the realisation that the half empty bag is all Eddie brought for himself, immediately offering your open tupperware and holding it steady under his shaking head until he acquiesces to tearing one half of your sandwich in two, chewing on the quarter in between his contributions to the conversation.

Your ears prick when you move on to tearing the segments from your satsuma, handing a half to Eddie without a word. Amongst the chatter, Mike laughs about Dustin’s current failing grade in Latin, an unusual outcome for him. Dustin sighs like an old man. 

“I ask you, how many tenses does one language need?” He groans. “I thought there’d be something we could use for a campaign, The Exorcist style, you know? Instead I’m trying to remember the difference between types of declensions. Or I will, when I fully grasp what declensions are.”

The conversation about Judas Priest you’d found yourself somewhat involved in fades with how much you’re focused on Dustin’s defeated tone. One part of you is screaming that you could help him, that he seems really worried about it and he’s a smart boy so it probably wouldn’t be much work to get him on the right track. Then another part, the one that screeches and wails its distress until your head hurts, asks, what if he says no? What if he laughs? What if they all do? 

You open your mouth, wondering if you should just say it across the table. Just offer; just do it. Of course he won’t say no. And if he does, he’s Eddie’s friend so it will be gentle. Still embarrassing though. Your mouth closes again, teeth digging grooves into the gum behind your lips. Just help him. You pull your sleeves down over your hands, playing with the soft ends. You clear your throat, take a breath-

“I’m good at Latin,” you say, immediately cringing at how that sounds. But you’re pleased when Jeff goes on chatting about the album he just bought, letting you contribute to the other conversation across the table freely. Dustin blinks at you owlishly. “I mean, I can help. Tutor you, or something? If you want.”

“Seriously!?” Dustin asks, flashing you a braced grin when you nod. “That would be amazing! Thanks!”

You smile, just sighing out your relief when you feel another nudge at your knee. Eddie’s watching you, eyebrows raised. You shrug shyly, grasping the sleeve of his jacket again to fiddle with the chains. He pulls free, but only to take hold of your hand instead. 

You’re basking in the feeling of knowing Eddie’s proud of you, your own pride in yourself, and you know you couldn’t force yourself back across the room today if you tried. 

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You realised, walking alone to class, that you hadn’t spoken that much during lunch the entire time you’d been at highschool. Giggling at Lucas’ jokes, asking about their DnD characters, getting increasingly comfortable talking about metal with a group of people who are genuinely excited to hear about your introduction to the genre. By the end it felt almost natural; simple and fun to talk to an entire table of people.

But you’re feeling some of the effects of it now, even quieter than usual in Eddie’s van as Gareth considers whether to paint or sharpie the Corroded Coffin logo Eddie designed onto the front of his bass drum. 

From the soft hum you’d given in greeting as you climbed into the van after school, Eddie had offered you his palm, open and relaxed. Now, your forefinger traces the long groove from his wrist to the base of his thumb that forms his life line. You love Eddie’s hands, love how they feel in yours, and on every other part of you they’ve touched. 

You swallow, face suddenly hot. It’s been easier, nicer, every time Eddie’s touched you. So much so that you now understand why it’s all some people think about, all that drives them. The way Eddie feels inside you, all the words that spill from his mouth as he moves; how much he wants you, how good you make him feel. You find your mind circling back to it at the strangest times. In class, making dinner, driving home with Eddie’s friends-

You jump a little at the chorus of bye’s from the back, the sound of the doors being thrown open. Eddie’s already watching you curiously when you look back to him, unable to hold eye contact, half convinced he’ll be able to read your thoughts with one good look at you. “You okay, sweet thing?”

“M’just tired.”

“Right,” Eddie says, nodding thoughtfully. “The guys- they can be a little intense.”

Mirth spreads through you at the thought of Eddie ‘jumps on cafeteria tables’ Munson describing anyone as intense. “I like them.”

“You say that now. A week tutoring Dustin and you’ll be changing your name and moving to Idaho. I’ll never see you again, and it’ll be all that little punk’s fault.”

“He’s your favourite.”

Eddie’s tone goes from playful to offended in a second, as to close a screech as his deep voice can get. “He is not- I don’t even have- Even if I did have a favourite, which I don’t, Dustin Henderson would not even come close-” He pauses at the sound of your laugh, narrowing his eyes. “Mmh. I get it. Tired, but not too tired to rile me up.”

You chew the inside of your lip, fighting a smile. Running a finger along his palm again, you reply, “it’s not particularly difficult.” You expect another dramatic yell of offence, or maybe a laugh. Instead, you get something pleased from his expression, dimples on his cheeks. “What?”

“Nothing. I just like it when you tease me.” His fingers close around yours, weaving together. “S’like you’re more comfortable around me, I guess.” 

You’re sure he’s right. Every day it’s a little easier. Every time you see him, your mind gets in the way less and less, slowly coming to accept that he’s not waiting for you to say the wrong thing, that he won’t abandon you when you inevitably do. 

“You make me feel comfortable, Eddie.”

“Yeah?” His eyebrows raise, waiting for your quick nod. “Does that mean you’re coming back to mine?” 

“Actually,” you start, truly needing that comfort now. You know the implications of what you’re going to ask, sure that if somebody other than Eddie heard you, they’d come to conclusions about the kind of girl you are. 

The more time you spend with Eddie the less you’re sure that it matters if they would be right or wrong. 

You press your knees together, tap your fingers in a wave along Eddie’s knuckles. “Well, my parents aren’t home...”

There’s a second of silence, long enough to have you squirming, finding his dark eyes and then looking away again in a loop. 

Eddie leans into you, chin tilted to capture your gaze and keep you there. “You mean to say that the Princess’ tower is unguarded this night?” 

Your stomach squeezes at the sound of his voice, serious and soft, like a real adventurer on the verge of committing himself to a great quest. You love this about Eddie, how easily he can slip into characters like this. It’s something he learned from DnD, or maybe Eddie’s so good at the game because he has this ability to play at being somebody different without hesitation, without a hint of the worry you’d feel if you tried it, convinced you’d do it all wrong, sure you’d sound stupid. 

“No dragons for me to slay?” He asks, closing one eye like he’s trying to work out if you’re tricking him. Your head shakes, and Eddie turns your hand in his to bring it to his mouth. He kisses your knuckles, a soft warm press. “S'that what you want?”

“Yes, Eddie.” 

“Okay,” he says, lips meeting your hand once again. “To the castle, it is.”

Eddie is as quick as usual to drive you home, each turn forcing you to lean to the door or to the centre console. But any urgency seems to vanish the second he’s pulled up by your house. In the van, you wait as he makes sure he has his wallet and his keys, sets the sun visor back into position. When you've jumped out, you watch him check that he's locked each door of the van with more care than you've ever seen from him, like he's particularly worried about a carjacker on your suburban street in broad daylight. 

Inside, Eddie is careful about unlacing his shoes and placing them at the door next to yours, toed off your heels carelessly. Then, at the top of the stairs, when you think you finally have him at a regular pace towards your room, you are jolted back by his sudden stop on the landing, leaving your hands connected at the end of stretched arms. 

“‘M looking for anything I can use as a weapon, you know?” He says, peering into a vase of fake orchids, examining a glass seahorse statue, scrunching his nose when he gets hit with the scent from a bowl of potpourri. “This all feels a little too easy, and you’ve gotta expect the unexpected in situations like these.”

“Eddie?"

You’re so endeared to him, watching him examine the objects your Mom set out playing up to this story he’s created. But the way he’s stalling, almost hesitant, has you sure you missed a clear sign along the way. “Eddie?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Did you, like, not want to come here?” 

His head shoots up then, round eyes blinking. “Of course, I did. I do.” Eddie laughs airily, tucking some of his hair behind his ear as he approaches. “I’m a freak, okay? I’m not crazy.” 

You still feel like you’re missing something, wondering if you should offer him another way out. Eddie makes a sweeping gesture with his arm, inviting you to guide him forward. Walking slow to give him time to change his mind, you make your way to your door, decidedly not looking back at him when you enter.

Eddie is unusually quiet, then, following you in but stopping once again when he takes the first step onto your cream carpet. You only glance back at him when you’ve dropped his hand and started playing with your sleeves, comforted by the fact he just seems to be taking everything in. He stands out, all ragged denim and black leather in the pastel softness of your bedroom, and yet he fits so well in a room full of things you love. 

He shifts his weight back and forth on the soft carpet, subtly sniffs the air that must smell of you and the apple blossom diffuser on your side table. His eyes drift as he takes in each focal point; the desk laden with textbooks and paper, your windowsill, lined with a couple snow globes, a ceramic cat you’d painted as a child, a framed photo of you and your friends Heather gave you for your 16th. He scans quickly over the cork boards to the corner of the room, smile lines appearing at the sight of your long favourite stuffed animal, a soft grey elephant you’d carefully positioned on a pink cord beanbag, looking ready to start reading judging by the pile of books to her right.

His gaze eventually circles back to you, waiting nervously for his reaction. Eddie shifts back and forth on his feet. “You know, I, uh, gotta admit, I imagined some stained glass.” He gestures lazily to the window, then to your bed, the wooden frame and the blue floral bedspread. “And I was sure you’d have one of those beds with all the fabric, you know what I’m talking about?” He raises both hands to motion the shape of a canopy bed, fingers wiggling. 

“Disappointed?” You say, only half joking. 

Eddie finally takes a step further in, turning to the shelves of books by your bed. “Me? Nah I was worried about getting tangled up in it, to be honest.” He flashes you a quick grin before scanning over the spines. Eventually, he points to one. “Iron Maiden, yeah?”

You check the book he’s pointing to, The Complete Poems of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and nod, always pleased by the reminder that Eddie listens, really listens, when you speak. That he remembers so many innocuous things you share with him, things you’d never expect him to remember. 

You badly want to reach out for him then, fingers itching to hold his hand, play with his sleeves. You almost do, raising your arm a touch, but a wave of concern hits you, still trying to work out if you’ve done something, said something wrong to make him act like he’d rather not be here. 

Eddie catches your stunted movement, eyes blinking at your fidgeting hands before shifting to your face. You’re sure then that your anxiety is clear in your expression, that he sees how eagerly you’re waiting for him to give you an explanation for his hesitancy in the hallway.

Eddie frowns, looking at the books again. He clears his throat. "I've never been in a girls' room before," he tells you. From his voice, it sounds like a confession.

“Oh.” Your brows furrow, trying to work out how that matters. “I mean, they’re not all like this.”

"No, I mean, it’s just that it’s like, a first. For me.” When that doesn’t quite cover your confusion, he continues. “Nobody ever wanted, y'know, me in their room. Or whatever."

Your heart pangs with sudden understanding, the memory of Eddie lying across from you on a blanket, the warm sun on your skin. Am I being too intense? That's what Eddie had asked you, that day at the lake. People say I can be too much too soon. 

“And it’s already different, with you. Better. I mean, shit, a million times better,” he says, eyes wide. “But I still just didn’t expect you to, just, ask me, like- Like, you just want me here. Cause it’s never been that simple. Shit. I’m fucking this up, aren’t I?”

“No. No, Eddie,”

“I didn’t wanna make you worried or anything. It’s the complete last thing I’d ever want. I guess I was kinda just waiting for the other shoe to drop.” He laughs again, but it’s hollow, and cuts off too suddenly to be real. 

You give in entirely, practically launching at him to wrap your arms around his torso and pull him into a tight, desperate hug. You wish, not for the first time, that you were more like him, better at getting your thoughts into words and saying them.Then you could soothe him like he deserves. Then you could tell him the truth. 

Eddie’s face presses to your hair, arms tight around your shoulders. 

“Eddie,” you murmur into his shoulder, squeezing him again before you build the courage to look him in the eyes. “You’re so-” Your throat tightens, forcing you to whisper. “You’re so good.” It seems lacklustre, probably a million better words to describe all that Eddie is, but it feels right; it’s what you think, that Eddie is, deep at his core, so good that it hurts. “You’re too good, too good for anyone that made you think-” Your voice cracks, and Eddie blinks shining eyes at you when you reach up to stroke his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he assures, pressing his face to your palm. “I’m okay. Really.”

You press your lips to his, hoping he understands this at least. You feel his smile, and believe that he does. He hums as you shift your kisses to the corner of his mouth, his cheeks. You peck the end of his nose, watch it scrunch sweetly. You’re warmed by the sight of his reddening face, the sound of his laugh. “You know how to make a guy feel appreciated, sweetheart.”

Your hands seem incapable of moving from him, only moving from his cheek to his shoulders, wrists tickled by the fluffy ends of his curls. “I want you here,” you say, a little strained. “I promise.”

“I know. I know you do.”

“I would have invited you earlier,” you continue. “It’s just…”

Eddie’s eyes flash. His hands, big and warm, rub up and down your back, pulling you closer to him until you’re flush against his chest. “It’s just, we couldn’t have done what you want to do,” he finishes. “Not with your parents downstairs. That’s right, isn’t it?”

Your stomach twists with that exciting shame, face hot. You don’t have anywhere to hide, caught by Eddie’s gaze. You still can’t look into his eyes for too long, lest your heart beat out your chest, so you find yourself staring at his lips, pillowy and pink. “Not just that.”

“Okay,” he answers, hand drifting down to skim the end of your skirt. You press closer to him when his fingers tease the soft skin of your thighs, and he breathes a laugh. “But, mainly that, huh?” 

Your fingers curl into his shoulders, embarrassed and excited in equal measure that he’s naming your intentions so clearly. You bounce a little on your toes, still gazing at Eddie’s lips, the dents of his laugh lines and his dimples.

Callused fingers reaching under your skirt, his thumb grazing the cotton of your panties, pulling at the elastic. You think you’re being subtle, the way you open your legs a little to make space for him, but know immediately that you failed when Eddie laughs, eyes crinkled at the sides. He breathes a sigh, watching you lose the last pretence that you aren’t a little desperate for him to touch you how he wants. “My good girl.”

Oh, but that makes you ache for him. Your head drops to his neck, hiding your face in his skin. You breathe him in, smoke and Eddie, swallowing a whimper.

“You like that, don't you? Like being a good girl.”

You nod on impulse, willing to agree to just about anything when his fingers drag over your mound, press to the split of your pussy through your panties, the material just grazing your clit. But something about what he's said isn't quite right, and you start shaking your head instead.

Eddie's mouth finds your ear, warm breath teasing the sensitive skin at the top of your neck. "No? Not a good girl?" 

You shake your head again, because that's not right either. You tilt your face to catch his gaze, ink dark eyes already waiting for you. "I like-" You sigh when his fingers catch at the fabric that sits at the top of your sex again, giving a single teasing circle that helps you relax enough to tell him the truth of it. “It’s for you, Eddie.”

"Ah," Eddie breathes, finally, finally dipping his fingers past the elastic of your panties. He hums his approval when he finds your clit, swollen and waiting for him. He gives you one tap just to see you pout, then he’s rubbing tight circles that have you trying to press even closer to him, nails digging into his shoulders. “My good girl, mm?" 

"Yeah," you nod desperately, proud to see how pleased he looks with you. "Yes, Eddie." 

"That's right." He continues, watching your face as your lips open to moan softly, eyelids flickering. His fingers dip quickly to your entrance, dragging slick up to ease the way for his fingers on your button. “Just for me. Cause I'm the one who gets to touch you," he says. "Only I get to hear you like this, yeah? Hear you begging me with that pretty voice?" 

"Only you. Please, Eddie." 

“S’cause you know I’m gonna take care of you, don’t you, sweet thing? You and this pretty pussy?”

Eddie's fingers keep rubbing at your clit, pulling sensations from your body that only he ever has. Staring at him, hearing his rough voice even as he looks at you like you’re precious, you feel it again, as you have with increasing frequency. How badly you want him like this and every other way. It almost overwhelms you, makes you want to hide away again in his shoulder. But Eddie is owed the sight of the pleasure he brings you, deserves to see it play out on your face, hear every whimper clearly. Eddie coos softly at the sight of you, his free hand coming to support the back of your neck, nodding you through each shaking breath. “That’s it. That’s it. You gonna cum?”

A tremble moves through your body, hips rolling against his hand as you groan into the air. The high builds to a long, half painful peak, your hands grasping at Eddie’s t-shirt, his hair, first for something to hold on to, then because the resulting groan has your cunt clenching around nothing. It crosses over into too much suddenly, twitching away from his hand between your legs even as you give in and throw your face to his neck, kissing your gratitude all over the pale column of his throat. You find his pulse, feel its steady beat under your lips, and bite. It’s little more than a scrape of your teeth, but Eddie shudders in your arms, tilting his head back to let you soothe the bruised skin with your tongue, then kisses. 

You sigh deep, relaxing your death grip on his body while Eddie kisses at your sweaty temple. You peek at him then, find the warm brown of his irises swallowed up by darkness, his tongue licking quick over his bitten dark lips. He pulls his hand from your panties, showing you the remnants of your slick on his fingers before licking at his ring finger. “Always taste so good, baby. Wanna try?”

“Uh huh,” you say, head fuzzy with pleasure. Your mouth drops open for him, letting him press his middle finger to your tongue. You close your lips around it, sucking gently. You don’t think it tastes of much at all, but Eddie seems suddenly desperate to get at what he’s given you. He drags his finger from your mouth and captures your lips before you’ve even registered the loss, his tongue licking at yours like he can steal the taste of you back. “That what you were thinking of when you invited me up here, mm?” He says when he breaks away, lips still grazing yours as he speaks. “Or do you want more?”

You do want more. You want Eddie. Want him filling you with the length you can feel, hardening against your thigh. You want to make him feel good, want to hear him groan when he cums. “More, Eddie,” you whisper without shame. “Please.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, leaning in for another desperate kiss, taking advantage of your pliant state to open your mouth to him. “Fuck. I wanna bend you over so bad,” he admits, watching your face for your reaction. “You want that? Want me to fuck you like that in your pretty princess bed?” 

Your toes curl, clit throbbing at the playful tone of Eddie’s voice, teasing and rough. “Mm. Okay.”

Eddie tilts his head, meeting your eyes, checking in. “Okay?”

You try to picture it, imagine how Eddie will feel fucking you that way. In truth, you’re stuck  on how vulnerable you’ll be; exposed, not able to see him or cling to him the way you like. But it’s Eddie, you assure yourself. You take a breath. “I want that, Eddie.” 

The kiss that follows is sweet. It’s a comforting reminder that no matter how much Eddie teases you, how rough he gets, he's still the boy who calls you princess, holds your hand in the car, promises to take care of you. 

He helps you remove your shirt from your heated skin, pulls his own over his head the second you start tugging at the hem. Once you have access to his skin, you can't stop touching him, palms flat to his chest, kissing his neck while he pulls your panties down over your hips. 

“C’mon, sweet thing,” he murmurs, turning you to face your bed. He kisses your shoulder, his body warm at your back. "Climb up for me, mm?"

You want to do what he says. You want him to touch you like this. But you still feel a prickle of nerves as you crawl up to your pillow, body exposed and missing Eddie’s skin already. 

“So pretty,” Eddie says above you, behind you, as you rest your chin on your curled arms on top of the mattress. You hear the clink of his belt, toes curling at the sound. Then you feel him through his boxers, hard and hot as he rolls his hips against your ass. You hear him whisper, shit, say something about protection. It's followed by a far off, satisfied a-ha at locating a condom in his discarded jacket, but it’s fuzzy beneath the sudden rushing in your ears. 

You feel him again, grinding against you, and you're not sure where all the excitement went. You’re staring at the blue cornflowers on your pillowcase while he continues behind you, remembering the last time you were positioned like this, tense and vulnerable. You try to breathe slow. When that doesn’t work, you try to let the heavy throb between your legs remind you how badly you want this.

It doesn't work, and you focus instead on feeling of just having to lie like this, get through it for him, just stare at the flowers and don't cry and he’ll be finished soon-

The pressure behind you disappears, the mattress shifts under you. Eddie bounces when he flops down beside you, face level with yours and hidden behind his flying hair. He makes soft puh noises like he’s trying to spit it out, blowing it away from his face. You blink, the white noise in your ears fading when you touch him, tucking his hair back behind his ear to find his grateful smile. 

“Thanks, baby,” he says. He reaches for your hip, rubbing soft as he presses your arched body down until you're lying, flat to the bed. Then, all heartbreaking gentleness; “where’d you go?”

You stumble, embarrassed. “I, I didn’t-”

“Stopped making those pretty noises for me," he reasons. “Isn't any fun without 'em." Your bottom lip shakes, and you feel like an idiot. 

Eddie. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Not Andy, not some boy here for himself, only to take and never give. 

"Hey," he says, shuffling in until he can bump your nose with his. "We don’t have to do it like this if you don’t want. You know that, right? Don't have to do anything you don't want.”

“It’s not that, I-” You sigh, watch Eddie’s shining eyes, round and soft, waiting for you. “I needed to know it was you. I’m sorry.”

Recognition registers in his face. He frowns, cupping your face in his palm. “No apologies. Not about what you need, okay?”

“Okay, Eddie.”

“Wanna cuddle?” 

You do. Desperately. You reach out for him easily, shuffling until you're surrounded by him, clinging to his torso, cheek to his chest.

"Ah," Eddie breathes, wiggling like he can get his skin any closer to yours. "That's the good stuff." 

You hadn’t realised how fast, how hard your heart was beating until you’re settled in Eddie’s arms and it starts to slow. There's a minute’s comfortable silence, letting his presence ease you back to comfort. Then he hums, strokes at the hair on your temple. "You gotta tell me when something's not right, ‘kay?" he says seriously. "I like to think I can read you pretty well, but I could've missed it." 

"I'm sorry," you say, then, remembering you just agreed not to do that, "sorry."

Eddie breathes a laugh through his nose, leaves a wet kiss on your forehead. "My shy girl, mm?"

"Sometimes it's just…hard to say what I'm feeling. I didn't want you to stop.” You hum. “I don't think I did."

Eddie considers that, still stroking at your hair. "Do you, uh, know what a safe word is?” You shake your head, and he continues. “S’kinda like a code. Something you can just say if you wanna press pause, you know? Means that instead of getting in that head of yours, trying to work out what you want, you can just say a word and we’ll talk about it, yeah?”

You consider it, imagining the scene if you'd been able to just say one thing and slow down. Easier not to have to think through what you need before you tell him, just say one word and let Eddie help you get there, coax from your head what you haven't worked out yourself. "That sounds good, Eddie." 

"Yeah?" He asks, eyebrows raising. “Okay. We can keep it simple for now. If we wanna stop completely, for any reason, we say red, yeah? If we need to slow down, talk a little about what we need, we say yellow. And green for keep going. How’s that sound?"

"Good," you say, feeling grateful that you’re learning all these things with Eddie. "It sounds good, but I- I am sorry that I'm, y'know. Difficult, sometimes."

Eddie blinks, eyebrows pulling together. "Difficult? My sweet girl? Nah. Besides," he leans in, closing one eye. "I like looking after you." 

You sigh happily when he kisses you, gentle and seeking nothing more than sweet presses. But you're still wet and wanting, hand rubbing across the softness of Eddie's tummy until your fingers draw across the sparse hair at the top of his pants. Eddie makes a noise in the back of his throat that has you pressing your thighs together. 

"You wanna turn over, mm? Open those pretty legs for me?”

Yes. You love having Eddie on top of you and inside you. Better every time, as your body gets used to him, as Eddie learns how to draw pleasure from you, as you learn what makes Eddie gasp, makes his hips move desperately like you're the only thing he needs. 

But you pause. Now, comfortable in the knowledge that you know how to slow down, stop when you need to, you let yourself imagine Eddie behind you. His hips hitting the back of your thighs, his big hands holding your waist, arching your body just right to slide inside. Letting yourself be vulnerable with Eddie, the feeling of offering yourself up to him, the reward of his touch.

“I want to try, I just, I need-” You don’t know, exactly. You feel another wave of irritation at yourself, wishing you could be a little more simple. That you didn't need to cling to him that first time, that now you need him to work out this hurdle. 

Eddie hums, and the mattress shifts again as he sits up behind you. “Lift these hips for me again, sweet thing?” He asks, helping you shift your knees forward, tilting your body up for him. You hear the crinkle of him tearing open a condom, his soft sigh as he rolls it down over his cock. “There’s my girl,” he murmurs, hands smoothing your skirt up, exposing your hot flesh to the air. You shiver up your spine, but when Eddie grinds against you, what follows is his torso stretched along your back until you can feel him pressing wet kisses to your shoulder. The tension falls away, replaced by the tickle of Eddie’s hair at your neck, his sweet sting of his teeth nipping your shoulder, the sound of his pleased hums.

A final touch, his left hand grabs yours on the mattress, linking your fingers up and resting them in your eyeline. You know Eddie’s hands better than you know your own. Thick fingers adorned with a pig, a cross, a skull; all pale skin but for the subtle pink at his knuckles and around his nails. The veins that run from the end of his fingers to his wrist, the dip at the end of his thumb. 

“Better?” Eddie asks. You hum happily. You’re so blissfully wrapped up in him like this, surrounded and safe. Eddie’s right hand teases your clit again, presses gently at your entrance and finds you still went and wanting, bearing down at the first dip of his digits inside you. “Fuck, don’t worry, sweet thing. Gonna give you what you need, mm?”

“Eddie,” you say, his name a gentle plea.

“I know,” he whispers, squeezing your hand in his. He reaches between your bodies to guide himself to your entrance, the head of his cock tapping torturously at your clit. You have half a mind to kick your legs out in impatience now, settle on whining at the back of your throat. Eddie breathes a laugh into your shoulder, but it shifts immediately to a groan as he presses inside. 

You’re still not entirely used to the feeling of him slowly filling you, the edge of pain still leading you to bear down on him, body stuck between desperations; to force him out or or pull him deeper. But then there’s the perfect ache of feeling full, the warmth and heaviness of him inside. 

Eddie’s hips roll, the wet sound of him pulling from you making your toes curl. He starts up a steady pace, easing your body into letting him slide deeper into your cunt with each thrust. His fingers return to the top of your sex, rubbing at your sensitive button. With every slow thrust, each stroke of your twitching clit, it feels like your body is opening up to him, easing the way for him to press deeper, push inside a little rougher. Your body flinches, tightens and loosens up all over when the end of his cock finds the back of your pussy, sending waves of pleasure up your spine. 

“Feel good?” He says, amusement in his tone. You moan freely, happy to be teased by him as long as he keeps touching you. “Tell me.”

“Feels good,” you parrot, staring at Eddie’s hand in yours, the slow movement of rose tone up his wrist, along to his knuckles as he heats up. You shiver to let in his warmth, his breath on your shoulder, his chest at your back. His cock, hot and thick, fucking you open.

“My good girl,” he murmurs, groaning at the way your cunt clamps down, gushing wet around his thick cock in thanks for his praise. “Christ. I shoulda known that was your favourite,” he breathes, his right hand pressing at your mound to angle your hips just so, helping his cock find the spot at the end of you that makes your thighs shake with every heavy push. “S’mine too.” 

His lips travel up the side of your neck to the top of your cheek, eyes finding yours when you turn to him. Eddie gives you a gentle pout at the sight of your mouth open to take gasping, whimpering breaths, your eyes fluttering when he starts to bully your clit in line with the increasingly harsh movements inside you. “You were fucking made for me,” he tells you. “You know that, don’t you, sweetheart?”

You cry out, arms giving way underneath you when your body twitches all over, squeezing tight around Eddie’s invading cock. Your head drops into the mattress next to your joined hands, but you nod desperately, wanting him to see that you know perfectly well. That nobody could make you feel as good as Eddie does.

Eddie keeps your body angled how he wants, adjusting your hips to pull your back into an arch. “All mine, aren’t you? Mine to look after, mine to touch. Mine to fuck-” He gives you a harsh thrust that makes your thighs twitch, legs close to giving out if he wasn’t holding you up with his arm under your stomach. “I wanna feel you cum, yeah? Think you can?” 

You’re still nodding, hand gripping his tight, fingers curled through his. 

“For me? Just for me?”

Always. Only for Eddie. You can’t say it, mind too far away to form the thought properly, but the feeling of him saying it like that, claiming your pleasure for himself as he drags it out of you with his cock, heavy and hot, and his hand playing with your clit, drives you over the edge. You mewl into the mattress, cunt clenching tight around his throbbing cock as your pleasure peaks.

Eddie makes a soft whimpering sound as you cum, following you down to bury his face in your shoulder. His hips move faster as he starts chasing his pleasure instead of focusing on yours, hand that was teasing your clit now stroking at your hip to soothe your sensitive, twitchy body. 

Hearing him now, gasping breaths, whimpers in your ear, you sink happily into this feeling. Almost as good as reaching your own peak, the knowledge that you’re making Eddie feel good. That this boy who treats you so well, dedicates himself to helping you find your pleasure, loses himself a little at the clench of your cunt around him.

You drag your clasped hands to your mouth, kissing at the pink skin of his knuckles. How could anybody not want this with him? How could anybody have given him up? You feel a sudden, desperate possession of him, the need to claim him like he claimed you.

“Mine,” you murmur, pressing your lips to the back of his hand in an array of gentle kisses. Your other hand reaches back to tangle in his hair, scratch at the back of his head as he whimpers. You crane your neck, searching for his eyes. They’re dark, shining as they take you in. His cock twitches inside you, and you squeeze his hand again. “Mine?”

His bottom lip shakes. “Yeah. M'yours. Yours, fuck-” He captures your lips but the kiss ends quick when he groans, hips stuttering in your warmth then sinking deep. You keep scratching at his neck as his body shakes through his orgasm, and still after when his weight drops on you and you fall flat to the bed together. You lie there for minutes, catching your breath, luxuriating in the feeling of being held by Eddie, pussy still clenching weakly around him.

Eddie hums, pulling from you slowly with another wet sound that makes you bury your face in your pillow. He rubs at your hip gently, squeezes your hand a final time before untangling from you to deal with the condom. You make a mental note to do something with that before tomorrow morning, but Eddie has your mind going wonderfully blank again when he bounces back beside you and pulls you in. You’re both a little sweaty, cheek a touch too hot against his chest, but you have no interest in cooling down if it means you have to stop touching him.

“Good?” He asks, fingers rubbing at your temple. You hum a long content sound in answer, not ready to form any coherent thought yet, and feel Eddie’s chest shake with laughter under your cheek. “Good.”

You lay like that, clammy and pleasured, convinced nothing could drag you from this bed.  Until you feel a quick pang in your stomach, and the quiet reverie is interrupted by a deep rumble. There’s a moment of silence, then Eddie snorts underneath you. You’d be embarrassed if his laugh didn’t make you want to follow his happiness, smiling shyly when he rubs gently at your tummy. “Hungry work, huh?” He asks, giggling. “Never fear, sweet thing. I can fix that.” He pauses then, licks his lips quickly. “Hey, you got a box of mac and cheese sitting around here, somewhere?”

❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦

You flinch, watching with increasing horror as Eddie’s attempts to chop the onion you’d handed him. Fingers splayed and terrifyingly close the blade, you’re stuck between gently taking the knife from him and asking point blank how he’s managed to keep all ten fingers intact this long. 

“Do you want me to finish that?” You ask, frowning when he shakes his head, still fully concentrated on each dangerous movement, his tongue just poking out of his lips in a physical demonstration of his focus. 

If you weren’t so terrified, you’d be appreciating how soft and comfy Eddie looks right now. Black Sabbath t-shirt tucked into his jeans, socked feet ready to slide along your kitchen floor. His dark curls pulled back from his face and braided by your own hands, tied at the end with your favourite lilac scrunchie that you kind of hope he’ll keep.

But you can’t think about it, because you’re terrified Eddie’s going to ruin his musical career here in your kitchen, making pasta.

“No, need, sweet thing,” he assures. “This is a patented Munson technique for chopping onions.”

You could curse yourself for not having any boxed mac and cheese, for suggesting you cook something from scratch together in the first place. You’re used to cooking, with your Mom and Dad, with your friends, and eventually for yourself. But you get the sense that Eddie does a lot of microwaving, looking after himself the same way he has since he was a kid, at dinner time when Wayne is working nights.

“Eddie, can I?” You gently take the knife from him, turning the half of the onion left and chopping it with your thumb tucked in. 

He tilts his chin. “Lacks the adrenaline rush that comes with the Munson method,” he says when you’re done, watching you tip the contents of the chopping board into the heated pan on the stove. Then, a little sheepishly, “I, uh, I don’t cook much. If that wasn’t obvious.”

“You don’t like it, or?”

“I like this,” he answers. “And I make breakfast sometimes with Wayne. But not dinner, so much. He’s usually at the plant that time of day, so nobody ever taught me, I guess.” He pauses. “That’s not true. My mom and I used to cook, I think. Sometimes.”

You wait for a couple of seconds, watching the onions and garlic soften. “When you were a kid?”

“Yeah, we’d make stuff like this. Or, she would. I think I’d just watch mostly. Stir stuff, lick the spoon.”

“Best part,” you say, smiling. Then, watching him carefully. “Your Mom, she…?”

“She died,” he finishes with a shrug. He taps at the counter with his knuckles. “Then I lived with my old man, and he was not one for cooking lessons,” he laughs derisively. “Then one day the bastard dropped me off at Wayne’s. Best thing he ever did for me. Not that he cared either way, he was just sick of having me around.” Eddie finally looks at you then, and catches something in your expression that makes him wince, the laughter that follows clearly forced. “Christ, sorry. I’m really dumping on you today.”

“Don’t apologise, Eddie.”

“Nah, I shouldn’t have-” He shakes his head, tapping the counter again before resting his palms at the edge. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Eddie, of course it matters,” you say, turning off the stove to approach him, standing separated from his body by his arm reaching to the counter, keeping you from wrapping around him the way you want to. “Of course it matters.” 

Eddie shrugs again, and it’s another one of those moments where you wish you were more like him. Eddie always knows what to say, senses where you’re hurt and how to soothe it, knows when to talk and when to just hold you. 

But now that it’s your turn, you’re left feeling useless, stuck just wanting to cry at the thought that anyone has ever hurt him, made him feel like he has something to apologise for just for being around.

“I think you’re so wonderful, Eddie,” you say. “I want you around all the time.”

There’s a second of something. He turns to meet your gaze, searching your face with a frown. Then he gives you a small, barely there smile. The arm between you raises to let you close, wrap him up in a tight hug. You feel his body lose tension as he sighs, your hand stroking his back the way you know he likes. “I want you around all the time, too, sweet thing,” he says softly. “I really do.”

Next Chapter

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x shy!reader

[ghostgirl101]

Yellow! Loved your BEN Drowned Dating HCs, they made my heart skip a few beats. Pardon me if this isn't allowed, but could I request some sort of BEN "aftermath" scenario with a reader who's been distancing herself from electricity in order to escape BEN? (A tad bit like Netflix's horror movie Umma if you've seen it) Then one day, electricity pops back intro her life, hauling a BEN along with it who's not about to let you repeat the same mistake without knowing the consequences.

Condolences if that isn't allowed. If not, Ticci Toby Dating HCs instead?

BEN Drowned; You Can't Run

|| Word Count: 2.2K || Angst → Comfort → Fluff ||

A/N: Can do, I've been wanting to write for BEN again, though this did take me a while 🙃 and I'll add Toby headcanons to my list. I've been thinking about some stuff for Jeff The Killer too? I mean, if you want 😎

A releasing click sounds as you pull the final plug out of the socket, flipping off the switches on the wall, the little red strips hidden as they're pushed down. Your hands are trembling, and you stay where you're standing for a few long moments, your uneven breathing all you can hear.

There. It's done. It's gone. Breathe.

Your home is stripped of its electronics, the TV screen dead, your laptop and phones' batteries lying beside them. Even some of the lights are off, every mains switch is turned off, red strips hidden from sight. This was the last resort, and you know it could work if you leave everything off for a while. BEN can't get to you without electricity to power your gadgets, practically all of which have been infected by his presence. He was everywhere, but like this, he can't get to you. You're okay.

It wasn't that BEN had ever tried to harm you, though you knew he could if he tried. The whole thing was just so unsettling and confusing, it kept you up at night. Your life went from normal, to a glitchy, disturbing version of Majora's Mask you'd found at a garage sale, from an old neighbour who was moving out garage sale. His haunting eyes pierced through you every time the Nintendo 64 powered on, empty, like the elegy should be, but very much alive.

He liked playing with you, teasing that was almost taunts if it wasn't for the oddly suggestive nicknames and phrases sneaked into each jumpscare and wrong moment of the game. At one point, you were so freaked out by the boy in the game that you threatened to destroy the cartridge, to anything that could hear you, the fireplace on and humming with burning energy as you readied yourself to take the game out and toss it into the flames.

That was when the haunting, materialized form of BEN Drowned had snapped to life and simply pushed itself out of the TV connected to the Nintendo. Those cold, ghostly pale hands had grabbed your wrists tightly, though not so tight as to hurt, and the same intense eyes from the elegy bore into you, masking any emotion as you dared not to struggle in the being's hands.

"You can't run."

No, you couldn't. What with BEN loose from the game and with free access to anything powered by electricity, you didn't have much choice but to let him invade your life. You kept reminding yourself of the questionable fact that BEN didn't seem to have any intention to hurt you, physically or mentally. He just showed up when he pleased, which was quite often, and watched as you worked, deleting a sentence or two just to get on your nerves, or played as a supposed robot on online games, the screen glitching with his presence every thirty seconds. You'd almost, almost gotten used to it.

It was when you were reminded of exactly who BEN Drowned was and what he could do that you panicked, hence where you are now. Even though at this early-ish point in your time together, most about him remains a mystery to you, you always knew just how deadly his antics could be. He tears people apart by driving them paranoid and crazed by what they see and experience, until they lose all sense of reality, most even ending themselves before BEN does.

Some girl from your class had started mocking you on a group chat, and you knew that as soon as you'd opened it, BEN had most likely read it before you did. Because, just minutes after, her account had updated with several posts that weren't all that wholesome at all, unflattering, candid shots of things no one should share on the internet up for all to see. Then the account was closed, and that was that.

She didn't show up to class the next day. BEN showed you exactly why.

"She shouldn't have done that."

All the blood, all the fear, the abnormality of it all, really got to you. It was one thing having a really odd kind of friend that seemed to just be overly protective, but this was too much. He had the strength to do the same to you. What if you said something accidentally that set him off? What if he got bored of you? How much more stable and normal could your life be if he moved on?

And the only way for that to happen is for him to not have any way to get to you. He has no proper reason to stick around, none that you can figure out, since you aren't one of his victims. What are you, then? Someone that interests him? He won't be mad for long, will he? He'll get bored.

Yes. That's it. He'll get bored. Of course he will.

The tense silence that fills your house when everything's unplugged makes you stay standing still for a long minute, double-checking everything's cut from power. You can make this work, if that's what it takes.

A day went past. Then another. And, all at once, after a boring day in class, your friend approaches you with a bewildered look.

"I did what you asked. Bit weird."

"What?"

"Why'd you unplug everything in your house? Some competition? Look, I managed to swing by yours and find the spare key under the mat to turn your stuff back on. I guess you're gonna need it like that if your parents are visiting. Don't want them to see you living in the stone age, I guess. Oh, and you owe me, bestie."

"Wait, wait," your voice heightened in dread, "I never asked you that. My- my parents aren't coming over! What are you-"

BEN.

Crap.

"What're you talking about? Are you messing with me? I got your text this morning, and since you work through lunch and I don't, it was easier for me to just run in. Look, no biggie, alright? Why do you look so worried? I didn't rob you."

"I- I know," you breathe shakily, forcing as genuine a smile as you can muster on your face, knowing that it would be more than unfair to expose them to BEN too. "Thank you."

"Sure."

Where do you go? Back home, where he's waiting for you? What'll he do? Most likely kill you. If you weren't his victim before, you must be now. Or maybe you can stay with a friend for... for what? Forever?

You can't run.

Every step you take that leads back to your home seems heavier and heavier, and although from the outside, the house looks perfectly normal and quiet, you know there's a fatal storm coming. All you can do now is face it and try to reason with it.

You unlock the door slowly, stepping tentatively inside and closing the door, leaving it unlocked in case you need to make a break for it, in the rare event that you get the chance to. And, as your friend confirmed, there's everything back in, ready for the counter to reset.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up as you feel eyes all around you, and solid static coating the atmosphere, buzzing coming from every screen and making the light twitch when you turn it on. You take one step into the living room before the colour drains from your face, fear rushing over all other thoughts as a bloody spark blinds you momentarily, before revealing the boy. You squeak as freezing hands clamp onto your arms tightly, pressing you back against the wall.

You're forced to look into his eyes, his crimson stare blazing amongst the dark, hollow space around his pupils. They're bleeding, the deep red dribbling down his pale cheeks, his usual amused, smug smirk replaced with something much more sinister. He's scowling in untamed fury, and you can't make yourself take a step back, frozen stiff to the spot. The lights are practically sparking from how much they're flashing with his wild anger, and you can't do a thing about it, except look straight back at him helplessly.

"You shouldn't have done that."

Your mouth's agape, scarcely blinking in dread of what BEN might do, everything you've been scared of just leading to this moment. He speaks with a snarl, and you flinch, trying to make yourself say something to diffuse the situation, even by a little.

"I know," is what you manage to whisper brokenly.

"Are you stupid?! Bored and didn't want me anymore? Found someone better? Shutting me out's the safest way, is that it?!"

You jump as a lightbulb from nearby smashes by the force of BEN's anger, glass spraying over the floor as the brightness winks out.

"Please, BEN-"

"No! I gave you one last chance, remember? You can't play with me anymore. It- it's not fair!"

He's not making any sense. Playing with him? You catch a fleeting moment to study his dark expression, and you can practically see the cracks of genuine vulnerability seeping through his dangerous fury. The lights have stopped flashing as violently as they were a minute ago, and so you take the chance to ask the inevitable.

"BEN... why do you care so much?"

He hangs onto you for a while longer, obviously processing the question as his grip grows looser, clenched jaw relaxing slightly. It doesn't seem to be out of defeat, though, but out of tiredness, BEN's piercing gaze weakening but never leaving your face, his scowl dropping into a frown. He almost looks hurt, concerned, the hints of caringness contrasting with his unnatural, deadly looks.

"If I go, who'll protect you?"

You don't know how to respond, and so you don't, lips clamped shut as you stare at him apologetically, his cold hands leaving your arms.

"Who'll watch over you?"

You blink at his expectant, thoughtful look, shaking your head silently. The blood's stopped gushing from his eyes now, but trickles down his face slowly, eerily like tear tracks.

"Who'll understand you?"

You let out a shaky sigh, your body finally moving, taking a hesitant step closer to him. BEN's eyes drift over to the TV absentmindedly, a frown still on his face, and you dare to take a step closer, reaching a hand out tentatively, your warm fingers brushing against his freezing ones. His eyes snap to you then, and you speak up quietly.

"BEN, I'm sorry."

He doesn't say anything, staring at you indifferently, and you try again, your fingers wandering to his hand, which doesn't pull away at when you lace your fingers with his.

"I'm sorry, BEN, I am. I won't shut you out again, okay?"

BEN still won't answer, and you dither, before doing something that'll either get you killed by shocking stuns of electricity, or his miraculous, unbothered amused smile. You take back your hand to steadily, anxiously wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his cold body close for a hug. He stiffens at the action in surprise, and you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for impact.

Impact that never comes.

A small poke at your side makes you shrink back with a stifled laugh, and you relax in relief and happiness when you spot BEN's signature smirk, though it's a little milder this time.

"That won't do you any good."

"Oh, come on," you plead, and he raises a brow, clearly enjoying the desperate attention. "I- I was just scared, okay?"

"I know."

"I won't run from you again, BEN. I know you wouldn't hurt me..."

He tilts his head to the side at the last sentence.

"Do you?"

You don't know how to answer the question honestly. "Well..."

BEN seems annoyed and almost exasperated by your response, and you notice how the blood has stopped leaking from his midnight eyes, his red pupils searching and reading you all too easily.

"Would it help if I tell you?"

You nod slowly, uncertain of his motives, but don't move away as he's suddenly an inch away from you, the lights flashing briefly from the electric energy.

"Yes?"

BEN nods, the cold skin of his hands pushing your middle back into the wall again, though much more carefully this time. Then, all too soon, the electric boy's lips are on yours, and your eyes widen in shock at the bold move, and the unusual, addictive feeling. He tastes electric and appley, his lips melding against yours perfectly, and there's nothing you can do but melt into the feeling, letting your eyes flutter shut within a second.

But then it's over after a few drawn-out moments, and you hold back from chasing the sensation as he lingers, his nose bumping against yours and his cool breath tickling your cheeks.

"I'd never hurt you."

You let out a shaky breath, a faded smile on your face.

"You scared me," you admit awkwardly.

"...So did you."

"I'm sorry," you plead again, and he shakes his head dismissively. You know he's forgiven you by the way he looks at you, with no trace of his previous aggravation in his red and black gaze.

"Never mind."

"Can't I make it up to you?" You try asking, but as soon as you've said it, you watch apprehensively as that signature, boyish smirk, that you've surprisingly missed, tugs at his lips.

"I can think of a few ways."

There's no running from that, either.

#ben drowned x reader #creepypasta ben drowned #ben drowned #ben drowned creepypasta #ben drowned smut #ben drowned x y/n #creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta imagines #creepypasta fanfic #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta fluff #jadusable #majoras mask #legend of zelda #zelda link #slasher fanfiction #slasher imagines #slasher fluff #slasher fic #ben drowned x you #creepypasta fanart #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta x you #creepypasta x y/n #creepypastas #eyeless jack #jeff the killer #slenderman

[seasurfacefullofclouds1]

Hey sea! Can you please give me the interpretations on each song from FITF?

Hi there!

I was looking at the FITF tracklist again, and something struck me that other people have mentioned but which didn’t really crystallize in my mind before. But this post made me realize that something really snapped in Louis’ mind during the pandemic.

In Louis’ Alt Press interview, he said, “I wondered if this was going to be my narrative for the rest of my life, where I'm just constantly frustrated that life wasn't dealing me the hand that I wanted.”

Louis talked about a few factors motivating him, and once he got started with writing Faith In The Future, things went really quickly. He got most of the songs done within 3-4 months of writing. The factors were:

1. Being able to sell 160k livestream tickets: he realized that he could “do this at a high fucking level.”

2. The influence of John Frusciante and Red Hot Chili Peppers, whose Live at Slane Castle documentary Louis watched FIVE times. Frusciante had left RHCP during a period of personal struggle, only to return to the band while making solo albums over 32 years. 5x is an obsession.

3. Moving away from the heavy, confessional balladry of Walls toward the lighter, more dynamic stage-driven Faith In The Future. Louis not only felt that he could do it (“Self-doubt, worry and a lack of confidence have, at times, plagued Tomlinson”), but that he DESERVES it. Louis feels his worth. The boosted confidence injects wry humor into much of FITF: despite the heavy themes, the album is ticklish with laughter.

So, just keeping this in mind, I realized that the songs on FITF generally had a theme of Louis’ saying, “You can’t have me anymore.”

In Walls, Louis was writing about going through a breakup, feeling forlorn and lonely (Only The Brave), wishing for reconciliation (Always You) and begging for love (Defenceless). Being alone was something he was afraid of, something that made him feel darkness and insecurity. Even when Louis was reconciled to being alone and trying to be brave about it (Walls, Fearless, Copy of a Copy of a Copy), there was still a feeling that he was responsible. Maybe he was not worthy of love. He woke alone with the same “problems under the sheets.” He had been Too Young. He was addicted to a Habit that had long ago stopped giving him happiness. Louis’ reaction to the pain: Kill My Mind.

In a way, he was working through the stages of grief (many types), but hadn’t really made it through depression.

In FITF, Louis’ attitude has flipped a switch. He is no longer scared or insecure. Louis has become aware that he’s amongst The Greatest. He knows that his journey is worthwhile; he can build his life for his own happiness, and he will no longer beg ex-lovers or any lovers. Whoever wants to come along with him is Lucky to be on this trip. There’s a feeling of light, wind, openness, amplitude, a hope for Paradise, the relief that he can look at any thoughts of suicide in the rearview mirror with gratitude for having survived, a grace and delicacy to his spirit, a distancing from personal anguish. On this album, Louis is nonchalant, effortlessly cool, calm, mature, sexy. It’s what makes him irresistible in every recent photo, and what gives his Instagram selfies an elegant, feline quality. Louis has defined success and peace on his terms, and love seems both sadder but also more attainable, calmer, warmer, because Louis loves himself more.

For Louis’ Track By Track explanations, you can read them here. These are my interpretations.

The Greatest: I’m never going to be in the cold again. We will never see the setbacks we saw in the past. No one will make us disappear again.

Written All Over Your Face: these petty fights are stupid. Whenever you feel like it, you can find me on the other side waiting. And by the way, both your anger and your desire for me are written on your face.

Bigger Than Me: I needed a bigger perspective. Time gave me a chance to rethink.

Lucky Again: there’s no use wishing things were different. Fate has other plans for me. I’m worthy of love; I will find it again.

Face The Music: forget consequences and anxiety. Live in the moment. Your instinct will tell you what’s right.

Chicago: our breakup hurt me incredibly deeply. No matter how much time has passed, it feels just like yesterday. But I learned from it, and I can rise above it.

All This Time: no matter how hard I try, part of me will never be “normal.” But what stays won’t be reminders of the pain of trying to fit in. It will be the love. Pleasure is pain. But pain is a lesson, hard won.

Out Of My System: A wall is a wall but sometimes it feels fucking good to smash it down.

Headline: you thought you could judge me and pin me like an insect, but you were wrong. We could have had a love like a poem; instead, you treated our love like the fucking tabloids. If you had tried to understand me, we could have made our own forever. Now I’m free; I have flown.

Saturdays: my heart might be broken and I’m a grade-A sap tbh, but my hometown is my secret weapon. Whenever I feel lost, I will always find myself there: “there” being the metaphor of Home that I carry inside. My childhood memories will always tell me who I am.

Silver Tongues: I’m a 90’s kid. I guess I’m a 90’s man now. Part of me still lives there. And I want to tell the kid in 2004 and all his friends, you’re gonna be alright. Hang on. Be good. Things will work out.

She Is Beauty We Are World Class: a brilliant night out

Common People: Doncaster is my touchstone. It grounds me and makes me who I am, reminds me what’s real.

Angels Fly: sometimes you have to table your grief and share a drink or ten with a friend.

Holding Onto Heartache: sometimes hearts don’t heal. Life feels like death. Every day feels worse than the previous day. Bad things pile up. What can we do? I am an artist, and I can write a grand, magnificent bridge to scream it all out, and it feels pretty goddamn cathartic! And maybe, maybe I can help others feeling the same way. My high is higher than most, and my lows are darker, but we can resist the pull of darkness together.

That’s The Way Love Goes: it’s their loss 🫡

You can see that many of these songs have the theme of recovering from loss, from heartache, but with an ebullient lightness that was missing from Walls. Most of all, Louis is also stepping back from sadness and self-blame, and giving himself some value. He knows he’s put in the work and he deserves good things, and he’s willing to wait for the payoff.

Forgot to add these photos of Louis looking thirty, flirty, and fucking hot.

#Fitf interpretation #louis songwriting #louis tomlinson #29 january 2023

[gildedmuse]

Hey, I thought I might start with an introduction. This is my latest rough draft of my next All Hearts chapter.

I'm posting this for two reasons:

1. To prove that I'm still alive and writing.

2. Because I actually am still alive - there were a couple of moments where that was on the rocks - and while I know I've been horrible at updating this fic it's always on my mind. I'm always thinking of it, even after weeks spent in hospital. And, okay, maybe I just posted because I need some reassurance that some single individual out there is still reading it. Maybe I just wanted to prove I wasn't dead, despite what it may seem. Maybe I'm hoping All Hearts still has a fan out there and this little start to the next chapter might make them happy.

I mean, go on and judge me for being an attention whore or whatever, but you know what!? This attention whore is still alive! (Barely)

All Hearts

Chapter IX Surgical Incision (Part I, incomplete)

The midday sun passes over Amazon Lily with a leisurely, almost inattentive and lazy amble. Perhaps without packs of clouds bustling by and the wind not pushing and shoving for the whole day to get a move on and take that warm feeling of safety with it, the days don't feel so rushed along. They have time to linger, the way the sun is now. Just hanging over them, beating down on them with its undiminished heat.

Down at The Gulf of Women, the only spot on Amazon Lily her majesty queen of the pirates (and probably a list of other titles Law quickly tuned out) would allow them to dock (Ikkaku and Beluxa had rejected further invitation, sticking with their crew) even with the sea right there, the air is still. Occasionally on a whim the smallest of breeze will barely brush at the grass beneath their feet, stirring it ever so slightly, but as if with the purpose not to disturb it in any meaningful way. Instead, it only adds to the perfectly serene atmosphere of this island in the middle of the calm belt.

The weather might have been nothing out of the ordinary for the Amazons, but it's not entirely unfamiliar to the Heart Pirates, either. They knew this eerie stillness, the harshness of the sun watching down, waiting for the show to begin. Its sunbeams danced off the placid, mirrorlike surfaces of the untroubled water, and while the weather itself may not show any sign of changing, every North Born pirate can imagine the way the air and sea must begin to churn.

There is a storm brewing out on that windless, waveless little corner of the Blues. A dark, dangerous storm unlike anything the calm belt could possibly be prepared for, and every second it waited under the tranquil scene of Amazon Lily's more clouds and destruction started to take form.

"How can that be all you have to offer me?" Law stands in the center of his crew who, having seen their fair share of Northern storms, knows when a what could be your normal everyday ice and darkness sort of affair can just as easily flip a switch and suddenly turn into a full on natural disaster. One they had no intention of seeing themselves caught inside.

Silvers Rayleigh, right hand of the Pirate King and one of the most legendary names of all the seas, also kept some space from

--------

"You mean to tell me." The crew glances over at their captain before sharing an anxious look among themselves. They definitely didn't want to raise the suggestion that Law get angeried with the legendary pirates, but the calmness in Law's demeanor somehow fails to reassure any of them. "That the man they call the dark king is little more than a victim of good luck?" Law's eyes flash as he looks up to meet the old man's curious gaze; the first lightning bolt that gives warning to the oncoming storm finally building up and ripping through the sky. "Not even my own crew was sure where we would end up with Mugiwara-ya bleeding out in our ship."

"You clearly knew where the boy would end up, one way or another." Law doesn't make the claim with the same sort of cocky attitude he might have used only a day or two earlier, he doesn't have the luxury of such confidence now even when it would appear he had Rayleigh pinned down with the facts. Because the old man could still refuse to answer his question, in which case it doesn' matter if Law caught him in a lie or not, it wouldn't get him any closer to finding Zoro. "It's doubtful you decided to swim to every island down the Grand Line and Calm Belt until you could find a single pirate without even being assured he would still be alive."

The old man flashes Law a bright smile, brilliance never wavering not even when it collides up against the aggressive chill that accompanies the Northerner the way a curse might wrap itself around a sword, or a first mate follows alongside their captain. With no flashes of warm gold and vivacious green always in the corner of his vision and with the natural warmth no medical text could ever completely convince the young doctor isn't just the result of growing up under took much sunshine and warm weather, Law's own aura has turned cold, acting as a shield against even Rayleigh's good nature.

It reminds him in no small way of back when he'd been a child, how the pale spots spreading across his skin had ensured people kept their distance. He'd liked that space, he hadn't wanted anyone to try and get too close. He'd become more comfortable when it was just him and death circling around, like a strange suit of armor protecting him from the consequences of his own reckless violence, from any potential future at all.

The all too familiar fit of this shroud brings along with it all sorts of memories. Memories that Law has spent years with their teeth nearly sinking into his heels, but every time he loses focus and glances back, there is the sharp and fearless smile of a kid so reckless he'd set sail across the North Blue with a rowboat, three swords, no map, and no hesitation. With Zoro-ya watching his back, Law only ever had to look forward, and now isn't the time to lose that focus.

There are other smiles forever captured in Law's memories, but if he lost focus now, Zoro would become just like them. A memory, something Law could hold onto, could swear on, but could never get back. He can't let go, not yet.

Something in Rayleigh's own smile, it makes Law's hands turn whiter than Amber lead syndrome, clenched so hard at his side. He honestly isn't surprised to find the old man so lighthearted that he could smile without shame or worry; his crew is long dead. It probably brings him some kind of joy, having that closure while Law has nothing.

"You'd be surprised," Rayleigh replies, pulling his arms over his shoulders until there is an audible pop. He doesn't stand, not at first, just plays as if he's stretching out, like he might go jump back in the sea and swim another 100 leagues just for the exercise. "How far these old bones can take a man."

Slowly, the Dark King rises to his feet. He walks closer with a confidence and ease that creates almost a physical push. Law stands unmoved, but behind him he can feel his crew stir. Do they move back, respect the man's space? Should they lean in, giving him all the attention he's due? And all this time he approaches them with a smile, a harmless facade.

And a gleam to his eyes that Law recognizes well. He suspects any pirate with his bounty would know what it's like when the enemy is sizing you up. "Of course, it helps to know where you're going."

"Oh, no! But Zoro ne- owe!" Without looking back, Law can sense the commotion as Shachi and Lummiko both desperately try to keep Eland quiet. Law just breathes. He doesn't blink, he doesn't lose his focus. He can't afford to, this is no time to stop looking forward.

"Though I suspect someone with your reputation. You always know where you're going," Rayleigh adds, and Law knows when he's being mocked. He isn't about to just stand here and let this man, no matter how infamous among the four blues, tell him- "After all, it takes vision to watch the war unfold and to sail straight into the mess."

"Zoro-ya was with that crew when Kuma sent them all away," Law argues back, as if this is some kind of a debate. What is the old man actually looking for, staring at Law like that? Hasn't he made it clear why he's here, why he had been there to save Mugiwara-ya in the first place? It's not somewhere Law would have just gone for fun! Not unless…..

If Zoro had been there, if he had still been where he belonged, with the crew, it might have been a sort of adventure, getting that close to all those big names. All those figures of legends, nightmares, tales and whispers. Law could have taken Zoro along, pulled up to watch the carnage, the excitement. The boy would have wanted to jump right on, reckless thing he is, but that would have been expected, what with all those shichibukai right there. He's far too young, he didn't have a plan for it yet, but no doubt his Zoro-ya would have wanted to let such an opportunity go to waste.

It would have taken Law with his arms around the boy's shoulders. Law leaning into the smaller boy, holding him back like a leash, his weight against Zoro helping to keep the boy in place by reminding him to remain steady. Now was the time to watch, the acting could come later. Behave yourself, Zoro-ya, that's all Law would have had to say. His breath would send those gold bars knocking against one another, chiming out, just like his whole body would be resonating, that raw energy radiating off him like -

One glance the wrong direction. One curious look towards the audience and suddenly red lenses would be flashing in the sunlight. Strings cutting through the air, and in an instance the man would have Zoro in his sights all because Law-

No. He would have never been there if he hadn't been looking for his lost first mate. There is no universe, no fate. He would have never risked it.

It's so easy to imagine them standing there on the deck of the Polar Tang, but that would have been risking everything.

Eyes forward, Trafalgar. Stay on target, on mission.

"How did you know Mugiwara-ya would be here, of all places?" Direct and to the point, almost more like Zoro than Law, but he didn't have time to indulge in some useless games.

The old man pauses, attaching at his whiskers as though he needs to actually stop and consider Law's question. "Ah, you young captains," the man mutters after a time, shaking his head. As if he weren't acting condescending enough, sitting there smiling at them, eating his meal, laughing, living his life while Law and his entire crew didn't even know if their vice captain had one left to live. "I remember the type. You make everything so much more complicated than it needs to be."

"You saw the same as I did," Rayleigh offers and this, actually, gives Law pause. Had Rayleigh been there, been at the site of the attack? Law had no memory of him, he couldn't see anything in his mind but the image of Zoro running away from him, running towards the warlord, and then…. "You saw the direction Kuma sent him, same as I did."

The direction---?

Law slided to a stop at the ledge of the cliff, staring for any sign of his first mate.

The first thing he sees is that damn childhood friend kneeling in front of one of the robotic replacements, looking even weaker than she had inside the auction house. She's wearing new marks and scars and a new acceptance, too.

It's the giant stripping off his glove that makes Law pause just a moment - his damn prurience getting the better of him at such a critical time - only he couldn't remember any of the replicas they had been fighting ever engaging in such behavior. They simply blasted the beams straight through the center of their hands, gloves and all. It could be, his mind alerted him, that this was a new kind of attack

Not that it matters. Either way, Zoro was sliding down the side of the incline and right towards the pair. Law shouted out for him, and in the chaos, it went entiely unheard.

The replica said something, Law tried to gather his own energy, he didn't pay the girl any attention. As the replica raised his hand Law saw strange bumps of the giant man's palm, some piece of knowledge fought from the back of his head but couldn't have given a fuck right then. He raised his hand as the monster did the same. They're both set right when Zoro lept from the side of the slopping hill and made his grab for the girl.

"ROOM!"

"SHAMBLES!"

That's when it happened, when in a sudden flash Zoro had disappeared. Law stood, fingers outstretched. He waited. He watched and waited.

Law only saw his vice captain, his Zoro-ya, being swiped away. Gone.

"Ah, of course," Rayleigh adds with a chuckle, and it's that simple sound that makes Law stop his desperate searching of his own thoughts. This is another game, isn't it? Another joke, easy for a man to make when he'd already let his crewmate die at the hands of the government. "You likely just followed the naval broadcasts, correct? That's how you found Luffy. As for the rest, admittedly, it does help if you understand old Kuma's strange sense of humor."

And that is it. That is when the still, serene airs of the calm belt lift and the cold winds of the north blow in. That is when the lown gives way to the storm. That's when the peace breaks.

And the Northern Winds with all their might really start to gather.

"Is this a riddle to you old man?" Law's knuckles crack, his body trembling in the stillness of the air, but some power is starting to rustle that calm. A storm is coming. "Some puzzle I'm meant to solve?"

From somewhere off the calm sea, the slightest breeze swirls around the hair and hats of the Heart cream they find themselves unconsciously moving closer, not that they were in any real danger. This is the calm belt, they couldn't be caught off guard by a storm, not here or all places.

"Zoro-ya wasn't MEANT to be taken away from me!" Or maybe they aren't, maybe the northern storms of the childhoods have only followed them here. There is definitely something familiar in the darkness and the lightning of their captain's eyes, the sudden thunder of his voice as he snaps at the old man, turning his gaze up on the ancient first mate. The dark circles beneath the Captain's eyes are even dark and deeper than normal, and it seems little whirlwinds and gusts are drawn to the grass and dirt at his feet. "He is a Heart Pirate, not one of Mugiwara-ya's little friends! He has a duty to this crew! He had a promise to keep and -"

"You seem so sure, little Midorigo-ya." Law reached for the boy, as if he might ruffle his hair, as a brother almost, but of course the bounty hunter only growls at him, using the knife in his hand almost like a sword to stop Law's hand in it's place.

"Don't call me that." Law laughed, it's not deep or loud, but it's certainly amused. It's what he's heard the Marines who had caught him referring to the boy, and he could see how it might fit. But since Law isn't some monster, he isn't a marine, he lowers his hand, let's Zoro go back to trying to stuff the entire steak down his throat all at once, using the knife more as a second fork than anything else. He almost wanted to correct the boy, tell him he was being so savage, but Law knew hunger, and he let him eat.

"You are going to be quite the handful, Midori-ya." Law already had his hands up when the knife came back. The young bounty hunter, Roronoa Zoro, glared for a good while and decided the two where different enough to allow.

"You want me on your crew," the boy goes on, only his face is so stuffed with food it comes out "Anatawatashoatanorikumnshitaide" which only made Law chuckle, and the boy stuff more in his mouth, as if Law's amusement might mean less food for him.

"To be honest," Law goes on, lazily reaching over for a dumpling. His hand is swatted away, and Law smirks at the young boy. So protective, he's not what you would expect from the East. That's good. Law liked that. "I wouldn't say yes expect our Polar Bear, he's taken a weakness."

Zoro had to swallow a mouthful so big you can see the whole lump being forced down his throat..his eyes were watering when he turned to Law, even if it was too glare at him. "Bepo deserves better than you lot, if that's how you think."

Yes, Law decided, he liked this one. "Besides," Law went on as if he hadn't heard the boy's protest. He looked out the small window of the inn where they were hiding. Up on the hill the army base was in ruin, lights were circling, alarms blaring, back up would be here soon. Luckily, Law and his crew had a way around all that. "I don't feel good leaving you here to defend yourself against such a source."

Zoro snorted. Rice came out of his nose. Law simply rolled his eyes and continued on. "You have little chance to survive here on your own. You should come with me or-"

SLAM.

It was the sound of Zoro's now empty plate on the table. The eyes that studies Law now, they were not the same eyes on the boy who had been stuffing his face only seconds earlier. They aren't the familiar cocky look of the bounty hunter that often found himself fighting beside the heart Pirates.

This was solid steel, old and used and tested. When Zoro met Law's eyes that day, Law doubted the boy understood the lifetimes in his soul. "I will take you as a captain!"

Law opens his mouth, the smirk already there. Poor boy, has he failed to notice how he follows Law around as if-

"I will take you as a captain!" Zoro repeated, and he rose from his seat and Law could feel, in the flash between them, this was no act of a child. "But that doesn't mean abandoning my calling?"

Law just smiled, his chin resting in his hand. What an interesting creature, he thought as he asked, "And what was that calling?"

"The destruction of event shichibukai!" There is such determination, such passion in the boy's voice, such belief.

Law can't help breaking down laughing.

"It's not a joke you idiot!" Zoro slammed the table with both hands, he waited until Law had brushed the tears from his eyes. "It's my goal! My calling in life!"

"You plan to go for every shichibukai?" Law asked, and he tried to hide his smile (expect he didn, though he stopped laughing). "And if a shichibukai is taken down before? Or dies? Or the government declared them illegitimate?"

The knife goes into the wood next, and Law didn't flinch but he did cock his head, watching the boy with more interest. "Then I'll go for the next one!" Zoro had promised, just as sure and just as bright. "And then next and the next after that! Until none remain! Until they are no longer allowed to use us as slave and puppets, goods and targets all on the word of some government I've never met!"

His fever burned and in his eyes Law could see the silver of his eyes reforging into something stronger; black, cursed, and undefeated. And when he turned that on Law, he didn't laugh. He didn't even smile. He met the boy's gaze head on. "I will honor you as captain," the young boy promises, no hesitation and no doubt, certainly o trickery, but Law knew that of him long before now. "I will be loyal. But the moment you step between me and this goal, I must abandon you."

"I understand," Law accepted, nodding to the boy but also turning away, not allowing his own face to be seen. "I understand the importance when one-"

"I promise you! I promise you Cora-san!" Law found himself screaming to be heard - not by others, but in his own head - above the storm that tossed the small rowboat one way and the next. He didn't know where it was going or if he would even get there alive but he didn't care. As long as it took him to where he needed to be, Law would allow the sea to beat him around as it liked. "With this gift you've given me! I will do it!"

"I will use my secret name!" The boy swore, grabbing onto the small mast and quickly finding himself tossed to the side of the boat as it splintered in half, narrowly missing crushing his small body. He stayed there, curled up on the floor of the ship. Maybe because all the sea water splashing into the ship was leaving him weak, the way Corazon use to get, maybe because the way he'd been thrown against the wall had struck the white slabs of his skin which were so susceptible to pain, and maybe just because he didn't have the street get to up, not anymore. He was so alone, and it all felt hopeless. He no longer had Corazon by his side, he hadn't even truly gotten to see more than a glimpse of his friend as he went down, but he could feel his power holding on…. Clinging to him until the moment it no longer has a body to cling to.

Law was used to be alone, there shouldn't have been a problem.

Only…. Only now he felt more alone than ever. Where was his forever companion? Where was his shadow Where was the death that always followed him? The darkness and the loneliness it brought with it.

What had Corazon done!? To be so selfish as to give Law the worst of all curses!

Hope.

He would have only done it for one purpose, Law decided, spending the night weak and barely able to hang on as the ship whipped him this way and that. There must be a reason.

"I will stop Donquixote Doflamingo!"

#rough draft #deal with it #one piece #one piece au #roronoa zoro #trafalgar d. water law #trafalgar law #zolaw #zoro as a heart pirate #one piece fanfiction #my writing #all hearts #law x zoro #zoro x law

[darklightsworld]

Hi! I'd like to ask a question about your Fire! post, because I got asked one when I reblogged it :) Can you elaborate a little bit on what you are referring to with the edgy stuff "Friends" did? I'd like check it out. Thank you, and have a nice February.

Hi! I was referring to Weekly Shoujo Friend, the other major weekly shoujo magazines in the 60s next to Weekly Margaret. These rival magazines followed different editorial directives and had different tones overall.

Initially Friends was considered to be the more conservative one. Even though many young female artists debuted in the magazine in the 60s (this was the decade when female artists became the main content providers of shoujo magazines), they weren’t really trusted to write their own stories, and most had to work based on narratives provided by separate writers. Kodansha continued this at least till the early 70s (I have to check further), and many artists hated it, for example, Aoike Yasuko (Eroica yori ai wo komete), who came into her own only after she left Kodansha and this practice. (There are exceptions, of course, Satonaka Machiko, who debuted at the same time as Aoike in 1964 (both were 16※), was mostly doing her own thing—with editorial guidance, of course.)

Conversely, Margaret recognized faster that young female readers would rather read what artists of their age group would create, and at the same time these young artists, many of whom debuted at 15-16, would know better how to approach readers hardly younger than themselves. This does not mean that there was no editorial guidance, and editors often suggested themes, literature, movies and such for young artists to use as a template for their stories, but Margaret was less rigid and reacted to the changes in demand faster. This is one of the reasons Weekly Margaret was the most popular shoujo magazine in the 60s, the first one to break a million copies in 1967, and even overall, the second manga related magazine to reach that number after Weekly Shounen Magazine.

While Friend hung on to family oriented dramas of young girls for quite long, Margaret switched to romantic comedies faster, first Hollywood-esque, then about foreign girls in foreign setting (mostly American), then about school girls in Japanese setting. Eventually Friend shifted too, but overall the magazine seems to be darker and more dramatic to me than Margaret, the art was also plainer, less decorative overall in Friend (huuuuuge exception is Hosokawa Chieko, who had the most amazing, most decorative, most unrestricted art in the 60s). This impression got only stronger in the late 60s/1970 when Friend had several serious coming-of-age dramas, like Mayuko no nikki by Yamato Waki and stories by Machiko＆Kenji (all came with a writer, but it’s not always a bad thing). Especially Machiko＆Kenji’s works have a touch of gekiga (this was the period when gekiga was widely popular, trickled into shounen manga and led to the birth of seinen manga magazines a few years before) and occasionally mixed with shounen manga line work. Mayuko on nikki is interesting too, it has some experimental artwork as well.

All in all, even though Margaret also had dramas, sometimes addressed societal issues, coming-of-age (the latter in foreign settings more in Bessatsu Margaret), and Friend also had its share of school girl love comedies, I feel Friend, that was more serious to begin with, gained an edgier, grittier tone as well by 1970. (Disclaimer: while I have read every issue of Weekly and Bessatsu Margaret from 1963 to 1970, I have only sampled Friend, a few issues per year, so far, so these are my impressions based on that.)

And since this came from the first bed scene, sexual revolution arrived in Japan as well, and by the late 60s it trickled down to manga magazines even for school boys and school girls. The infamous Harenchi Gakuen is a result of that, which caused the quite harmful trend of boys flipping girls' skirts in schools. These topics appeared in shoujo magazines in articles and manga as well, although often from a male perspective. Naughty (harenchi) behavior was kind of encouraged, and even regarding skirt-flipping girls were encouraged to “deal with it” as “boys will be boys” *rolls eyes* (Also never forget that one Friend issue in 1970 where teenage girl nude modeling was basically encouraged—photos included! *urgh*) Gradually articles about physical maturing of teenagers appeared, both about boys and girls, which were more serious, but in comedic shoujo manga “harenchi” elements (peeping toms, skirt-flippers) became frequent, and even more serious works featured shower scenes, underwear scene, nudity. Many of these were also from a male perspective (peeping toms not getting punished, girls being embarrassed, girls showing skin… in a shoujo manga), but many artists were more forward thinking and/or showed boys at the end of the female gaze as well.

Anyway, sexuality was kind of there at the end of the 60s, kissing became more frequent, and coming-of-age narratives featured sexuality, although mostly offscreen. I remember having seen panels of people in bed in at least one story I think in Bessatsu Margaret, but I can’t seem to find it among all my photos now.※※ An there are also the junior manga titles I mentioned, that featured more mature characters and relationship. Characters are obviously sleeping with each other, so at this point, when I haven’t read all the 60s shoujo and junior manga I would neither confirm nor deny that Fire! had the first bed scene ever (depends on the definition anyway.)

※By the way, it is often mentioned how Satonaka Machiko’s debut at 16 was a shock to young mangaka aspirant girls. However, her age is just one reason, several shoujo manga artists debuted that young or younger even before her. However, this was the start of manga awards for people aiming to be a manga artist, and with this (and also manga schools, a tradition started by Bessatsu Margaret not long after and immediately copied by almost every magazine) aspirants finally knew an exact way how they could become a manga artist. Before that it wasn’t clear at all, it involved sending or bringing manuscripts to publishers or older artists and so on.

※※Found it, it was in 1971 so it doesn't matter, Juliano no asa by Nishitani Yoshiko. Well, that was crazy stuff: the boy slept with the mother of his girlfriend thinking she might be his mother o_O

#shoujo manga #manga #vintage manga #retro manga

[abyssalpriest]

Consciousness studies 22/12/23

Lucidity in dreams practice w. Shiva

Woke up in a dream, went to a kitchen. My mother in the dream was talking about how we used to live next to a pub and how it was easier to go visit it when friends are around or a match was on when that was the case. Cohesive conversation, I could follow the logic of it. The house in the dream, now I'm awake, seems to be based off one of my childhood homes mixed with my Astral house.

I realised in the dream that I didn't feel like my consciousness was all there, that it felt like, at least in line with my worldview (so others may rightfully see it differently), I am a totality of a bunch of switches, most of which were flicked off and my conscious mind was the totality of those flicked on. Not groundbreaking there, that's the underlying idea of most off my spiritual work, but the fact that I understood and was on-the-fly perceiving in in a dream is new for me.

Effectively though, I was operating with most of my consciousness rendered inert. I was wondering whether I needed to attempt to magnetise my consciousness to me, or treat it like switches and attempt to flick them. I woke up outside of the dream, and interestingly I felt the same out of it regarding the fact that I still felt like I was a small set of flicked switches - I was not fully in reality nor fully awake. I felt like I was existing elsewhere and I was, part of me was still in the dream presumably making tea and puzzling this out. I think that was because my Astral body was asleep still?

Not going to fully go back to sleep, but I'm going to meditate and let myself fall into sleep again.

-

Meditating:

I was trying to flick the inert switches up as in working with that expression as a symbol, but they seemed to just keep falling down. I wasn't sure if I was experiencing the weird mental thing I experience where in my imagination I just can't fucking do anything (trying to walk around a room but I'm spinning, trying to sit still but I'm.. spinning. trying to walk but I'm falling over etc) bc that has a very distinct similar feeling to this, so I crafted a temporary mindspace expression of these switches

It seems they do fall at max. a few seconds after you switch them. There's a few to the left that stay on, maybe 12 or so, and when you click others it's like flicking parts in a a rope upwards, there's this strange gravitational pull downwards. However, there's tension in it. The less switches there are remaining up, the harder it is for this gravitational downwards pull to pull the switches...? It seems there's not a hard limit but a magnetic limit to how few you can have down/inert at the same time, which I guess makes sense. It's a very sharp drop-off though as much as it is definitely a curve, it gets harder to flick them extremely fast

There's obviously, outside of the visual switch metaphor, a field within which is consciousness in various states. Sort of like air where there's molecules of all types all through it mixed relatively evenly, except this cloud filled with consciousness types isn't molecular it's something else. It's definitely going to be a case of working with this haze to raise consciousness to the point of lucidity

--

A while ago (in-between above writing and now), Lev let me know that he was doing the same sort of thing he did while we were on the ocean in the Astral the other day: suppressing. Specifically, I commented on how I never seem to be able to do what's needed which is magnetically flip the... oppressive magnetic force that's in play when he teaches me this stuff.

I remember the time he showed this with the sky in the Mental where there was this area that just dragged me down into dreaming consciousness, and a lot of the time in dreams where I start getting lucid but it's so much force and effort to stay conscious - that second example, I'm pretty sure, is not enforced by his conscious mind but it is, like all consciousness, still Shiva - and so on, I always struggle against this magnetic pull.

L: The fact you're aware of this pull, though, is a step above dreaming consciousness. It will give you a stronger foundation in consciousness studies than me purely throwing you into lucid dreams when you want them.

D: Oh I presumed, I guess I'm just not getting what to do, though yeah, as you're saying, you'll teach me.

---

L: The next step after this is not rewriting these switches' orientations, but increasing the size of the bubble you have around you of -

--

D: I'm in the Astral right now, bilocating. Just overheard Lev calling my newest name (Vahana) which he's come to me with a few times - that's to say he's been getting my attention with it - but this time when i answered I could tell he was asleep calling it. Weirdly when I try to trace back his consciousness I feel like I'm following him into blue skies over water, but actually, walking through his dreaming space, I'm walking through dense forest vegetation thick with either hanging branches or long draping moss-like flowers or... moss. It's hard to tell, because the visuals are distorted, I don't see the forest I just know I'm travelling through it. Really, it feels (intuitively) like I'm travelling through his hair draped down in the form of abstracted leaves.... yeah. There he is in the heart of things, the kind-eyed symbolic art form of Shiva looking down. I feel like we're in an orrery like that in Oblivion, because I see the expanse of space around him but it's partly illusory. More so... It's like thick gel around him within which space is shown, or accessed, or both.

His eyes are following me as I move, but he has no pupils, just slightly off-white light emanating outwards. The usual two at least; when I go to look at his third eye it's closed in a way but within it is a spiralling black hole that is more orange than I'm used to seeing. There feels like three sets of eyelids/eyes there, one open, one half open, one closed... and another fourth option I can't put into words.

The whole thing feels like tides rushing back into sea, where before I was under the oppressive weight of the ocean this is a gentle, magnetic ebbing back to breathing and open air.

What's the difference between consciousness outside (say, in the body that writes this) and inside (here in dreamspace)? Dreamspace feels like more of a play, though when I exit I'm aware of how reality feels like that too, just to a lesser degree and in a different way. Dreamspace feels like I'm setting up a theatre stage, though he's dragging me away from this thought.

The backwards ebb of this ocean is pulling me through where he was standing, which makes his appearance as Shiva fade or warp into an open river, specifically a wide one clearly about to descend down into a waterfall. Below, the water vapour makes clouds, it feels... Really fresh and realistic. Vesica piscis comes to mind again, seems that's the mood. He wants me to shut off connection with this body, prompting me to fall into this lucid place and allow him to take over my body until I'm done.

--

I went, I was travelling through sparse, sunlit forests with streams of water, overlaid by glacial heights and streams, and waterfalls. Was told partway through to channel from dreamspace to reality a response to someone who messaged while I was gone, which broke my concentration (or specifically I guess the blissful lucid dreaming state in his mind) but it was necessary. After a while he woke me up officially into my Astral body, and told me that before I went back to dreaming I needed to wake up fully and not let myself drift back.

#ramblings // #Channellings // #Maheshvara //

[emoprincey]

horror movie, with intrulogical (or if that makes you uncomforable prinxiety) for the trick or treat thing

It’s been a while since I recieved this ask, but I don’t like to leave things unfinished, so here’s a ficlet!! As always with this game, I flipped a coin - and got tails, which means angst! Enjoy! 

Writing taglist: @iclaimedtobethebetterbard

Word count: 1428

Warnings: Angst, descriptions of violence in a film, fantasy discrimination. 

The World is Ugly (but you’re beautiful to me)

By now, Logan was relatively used to his flat not being empty when he returned to it after work on Fridays. The first few times, the reflective green eyes staring at him from the darkness had startled him, but on this particular Friday he just greeted them with a weary nod.

“Good evening, Remus,” he said, switching the light on.

His boyfriend was crouched on the sofa, suddenly pouting. “Seriously? Not even a squeal?” He lamented. “The first time I did this you properly shrieked.”

Logan paused to adjust his tie in the hall mirror. “I do not shriek,” he said plainly, straightening his shirt collar just so. 

He glimpsed a blur of movement behind his reflection, and then Remus was leaning over his shoulder, his arms wrapped around Logan’s waist, and his lips at his ear.

“Of course you don’t, sweetie,” Remus whispered lowly. “But I’m sure I could find other ways to make you scream.”

Logan tried to ignore the way that low voice made his heart thud, and he cleared his throat pointedly, gently pushing Remus off of himself. “You, um- you said there was a film you wanted to watch?” He remembered, his voice only coming out a little higher than normal.

Remus seemed satisfied with that reaction, shooting Logan a wolfish grin that showed his sharp teeth, before his smile morphed into something more genuine.

“Yep!” He exclaimed, hopping back on the sofa to retrieve a DVD case. “I’m so excited to watch this one! It’s my favourite series of all time, and I’ve been waiting for the newest film for ages-”

Logan let Remus ramble on, frowning down at the case, which was decorated with a clearly CGI image of a viscous werewolf, bearing its teeth and lunging at the camera.

“Darling, are you sure you want to watch this one?”

“Yes?” Remus said, tilting his head in confusion. “I told you, it’s my favourite series. And this film even has a werewolf in it, look!”

He pointed excitedly at the cover, clearly not seeing it the same way Logan did.

Logan sighed. He’d been a warlock all his life, growing up around supernatural beings, and he knew how horrific human’s portrayals of them could be. But Remus had only been a werewolf for a few months. Before that, those creatures had been nothing more than a fantasy to him, a scary story to tell children around the campfire.

“Remus, have you watched a film that contained werewolves since you were turned?” Logan asked hesitantly.

“Nope,” Remus said. “That’s why I’m so excited about this! I can finally see a werewolf on screen and know that they’re real, and I’m one of them. This is so cool.”

Logan shook his head, though he couldn’t help feeling a little bit endeared. While most newly turned werewolves went through something of a honeymoon phase with their powers, superhuman strength and speed amazing just about anyone the first time they used it, most began to despair after the first full moon. But for Remus, everything about being a werewolf seemed to be exciting. He wanted to taste every bit of the supernatural lifestyle, and when he sunk his teeth into something, it was hard to get him to let it go.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” Logan said, still looking down at the case.

“Why not?” Remus asked defiantly. “You know I’ve been excited about this for weeks. If you don’t want to watch with me, you could just say so.”

“It’s not that,” Logan said.

“Fine then. I’m watching it whether you want me to or not,” Remus said, popping the DVD into the slot before Logan could stop him.

As much as Logan himself didn’t want to see whatever caricature of werewolves was being displayed on the screen, he knew he couldn’t leave Remus to watch it alone. He loved his boyfriend, even if he was being stubborn. So, Logan sat back on the sofa, watching Remus more than the film as it started to play.

Remus seemed intrigued at the story of a group of 20-something-year-old campers who decided to go on holiday in the woods, although it was an opening that Logan had seen to many horror movies before. When the first scene ended and the camera panned back to a pair of glowing eyes watching the campers, Remus bounced on the sofa, clapping his hands with glee.

Logan still felt cautious, but at least Remus was enjoying the film for now.

Things were okay until the first kill scene. One of the campers had been separated from the group, and was trying to find her way through the woods back to their van. Remus scoffed at that, and even Logan knew this was a sure set-up for a character being killed off.

Then the bushes rustled behind the camper, and out jumped the beast. The wolf on screen was truly monstrous, with its eyes blazing and teeth twice as long as those of any real werewolf. The girl screamed, but she didn’t have time to run before the massive monster pinned her to the ground. What followed was a mixture of blood and snarling and screams that almost drowned out the whimpering next to Logan.

“Remus?” He asked, feeling dread settle in his chest.

Remus was watching the film through his fingers, squeezing his eyes shut every time the werewolf took a bite. Remus never ever covered his face when he watched horror films. Logan couldn’t think of a single time he’d actually been scared of one. But Remus didn’t look scared now. He looked distraught.

“Turn it off,” Remus gasped. “Turn it off!”

Logan quickly reached for the remote and turned off the screen. The silence that filled the room was suffocating, with only the sound of Remus’ quiet sniffles being heard.

Without hesitation, Logan shuffled close to him, and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, gently rocking the both of them back and forth.

“Shush, shush,” he crooned softly into Remus’ neck. “It was just a film.”

Remus gulped, and he wiped furiously at his wet face. “I know. I know, it’s just...”

He was cut off by his own sob, and Logan held him tightly. After a few moments of deep breathing and rocking, Remus pulled away from Logan a little, staring blankly at the carpet.

“Is that... is that really what people think of me?”

The words, so soft and fragile and so unlike Remus, pierced Logan’s heart, and he rushed to reassure his boyfriend.

“The people who made that film don’t even know werewolves exist,” Logan reasoned. “And anyone who knows any werewolf knows that the things depicted in that film are in no way accurate.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Remus muttered bitterly. “They still made that film, for millions of people to see. And it hurts that if everyone knew, that’s what they’d think of us.”

“Not everyone,” Logan said. “There may be those who overreact – that’s why werewolves live in secret, to keep you safe. But think of everyone you have now. You have me, and Janus-”

“Janny’s a vampire,” Remus mumbled. “He’s in the same boat as me.”

“Virgil and Patton are humans,” Logan said. “If it’s the opinion of humans you’re worried about. And you know they love you, and have never been prejudiced against any supernatural beings despite seeing that kind of media.”

“I guess,” Remus shrugged.

“And, need I mention Roman?” Logan continued. “Who found you on your first full moon and looked after you? Do you remember what he said to you?”

A small, if tentative, smile curved onto Remus’ lips. “He said, wolf or not, I’d always be his brother.”

“Exactly,” Logan said. He pulled Remus against his chest again. “There are always going to be prejudiced assholes in the world – and that hurts, I know – but more than that, there are always going to be people who love you. Like your brother, and your friends... and me. I love you, Remus. No matter what.”

Remus hugged him tighter. “That’s kinda gay,” he murmured, the fragile humour in his tone falling flat, but Logan smiled anyway. That was the closest he’d get to an emotional response from Remus.

After a few more moments, Remus’ head began to loll against Logan’s shoulder, his eyes fluttering closed. When Remus stilled, Logan waved a hand – a simple incantation so that a blanket from across the room would come and wrap around the both of them.

“Sleep well, my love,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Remus’ hair.

#sanders sides #logan sanders #remus sanders #ts logan #ts remus #intrulogical #couldn't resist giving this one a title bc it just fit so perfectly

[chalamart]

Breathing Room

TW: blood, home invasion, mentions of prescription drug use, mental health issues (anxiety), abusive relationship, brief choking, slight...horror? Gore, even? Possibly death - that one's up to you.

I nearly gave myself panic attack while writing this, so...reading it may have the same effect.

All of my stories are inspired by the AI art that Midjourney gives me using Timothée Chalamet as a prompt. Most of the art is quite romantic, but upon asking for TC in a dark room (lol), I ended up with...this.

I simply could not pass up the opportunity to return to my old love as an author using this image as a prompt, and write a good old thriller short. It quickly became much more than that.

As a result, this is NOT smut, or fluff, or anything even close to "normal" fanfiction I will write on this account. This story was intended to be something completely different, but as many other authors may experience from time to time, it took on a life of its own.

While I do intend to write the lovely smut and fluff we all so enjoy and share it on this blog, this story is not that. It's actually pretty...disturbed.

As the author, it is my duty to assure you that, while it may not entirely seem so, I am of both sound mind and stable psyche. Does some of this story likely come from a place of repressed trauma and echoes of a distant past? It's likely.

Do not read if you are triggered by panic or violence. You have been firmly warned.

The moment you turned your key in the lock, you knew something was off. You swore you had locked the deadbolt when you left, but the front door swung right open, almost as if it hadn't been closed all the way.

You peeked your head through the doorway and glanced about the entry hall. The light on the security system indicated that it was still armed, and nothing seemed to be amiss.

You had never been one to ignore your first instinct, but your mind was immediately eased as your eager Rottweiler came shuffling down the dark hall to greet you. Spud was a protective dog, and surely wouldn't keep calm if there was any real danger. He didn't even like the mailman, and he definitely didn't like strangers.

"It's been a long day, buddy," you groaned as you reached down to tickle Spud behind the ear. Stepping into the entry hall and kicking off your tall stilettos, you reached for the light switch as you shut the front door behind you.

*Flick, flick. Flick...flick...*

"Power's out...that's odd."

The security system must have still been running on the backup generator, but there didn't seem to be any power in the rest of the house. You'd have to go through the kitchen to the garage to flip some breakers.

Exhausted from your long day at the office, you let out a lengthy sigh and ran the fingers of one hand through your long hair as you stood barefoot in the entryway. You spent way too much money on your salon blowout to be tousling your hair around, but after this long of a day, you could care less about appearances.

You glanced at your phone as you set down your briefcase, fumbling the objects and nearly dropping them both. Life seemed a constant balancing act.

Making note of the bright phone screen as you set both objects down on the cold marble, you found it rather odd - no new notifications. Your long-time boyfriend, Timothée, usually sent you multiple, incessant texts as he left whatever big-shot movie set he was working on for the day. You felt a pang of annoyance that quickly began to grow into frustration. Timothée expected texts nearly every hour on the hour, even if he knew he would have no time to respond. But he could just go ghost for a whole afternoon and not even text you to ask how your day was? Typical.

Giving Spud one last tickle behind the ear, you sauntered towards the dark hallway that led into the kitchen. Spud didn't follow.

You could hear the "pit-pat" sound of your feet on the marble floor as you walked down the hall. The only other sounds present seemed to be the crickets outside singing their late-night lament and the light, distant buzzing of the backup generator coming from the garage. You continued down the hall, your eyelids heavy from exhaustion. You paused for a moment in the darkness to take in the sounds of the night and rest your eyes. You allowed your breathing to slow, focusing on the cool inhale and the warm exhale of your breath - just like your therapist recommended. Your anxiety was at an all time high with the COO position opening up at work, and the last thing you needed was to turn back to benzos to feel "normal" again. Nothing "fixed" the problem quite like Xanax and a large glass of wine...but the breathing exercises did seem to help.

In and out, in and out. Your breathing steadied.

Who knows how long you stood there, alone in the dark in your meditative state. It had come to feel so strange in this big house all by yourself. You usually felt so truly alone, especially recently with Timothée spending most of his nights on set or at his own place in Calabasas. Maybe the breathing was actually helping. Maybe you were finally getting better, and all your crippling anxiety, the fear of being by yourself, was finally beginning to subside - until it occurred to you.

...What if you weren't actually alone?

Your eyes shot open at the thought and you frantically glanced at your surroundings. Spud was still sitting gingerly in the middle of the entry, staring at you as you stood in the hallway. His tail began to wag as you met his gaze, but the dog didn't budge. The white walls were littered with moving shadows cast by the lilac bushes outside the windows. Feeling your eyes beginning to play tricks on you, you blinked hard three times to adjust them to the darkness once more.

"This is so silly," you thought to yourself. "I'm just losing my mind...again. It's fine." You steadied your breathing again as you stood alone in the silence.

Silence.

The crickets had stopped chirping.

Feeling your body begin to tense, you slowly turned your head away from the entryway and back down the hall towards the kitchen - a black hole in the abyss. It took you a moment to recognize that you hadn't been breathing at all, the air captured in your lungs after your last inhale. You had been holding your breath, listening intently for any strange noises in the darkness.

And then, you heard it.

A slow, guttural, rasping breath. It was faint, but distinct, coming from somewhere on the other side of what suddenly seemed to be an eternal, unwavering darkness.

As your eyes slowly began to adjust even more, you noticed a dark, gleaming substance contrasting with the white tile floor at the edge of the kitchen, along with what appeared to be the stark glimmer of broken glass, barely illuminated by a small strand of weak moonlight.

Your first real thought was to turn and run. Back down the hallway, out the front door, and straight to the neighbors for help. You'd knock on their door and tell them...

...Tell them what?

The last time you knocked on your neighbors' door for help, you were frantic. Screaming, crying, shaking...it was just embarrassing. You couldn't remember exactly what had happened, but you were told you had some sort of psychotic break. Timothée had shown up moments later to take you home and reassure the neighbors, who were seconds away from calling the police. The police ended up coming anyways, but by the time they did, you were calm and collected. They chalked the whole thing up to a false alarm.

No. No neighbors. They were out of the question. For much the same reason, so were the police.

You quickly snapped away from your thoughts and back to immediate reality as Spud, still sitting in the entryway, began to smack his tail loudly on the marble. You didn't pretend to know the reason why he would possibly allow an intruder into the house. No stranger could possibly get past him...nor would they want to. "A Rottweiler with jaws of steel," as Timmy called him...not a chance.

...What if there was no intruder? Had you been imagining the whole thing? It wouldn't be the first time you had imagined something, or been afraid of the dark.

You stood still in the gloom of the hallway and strained to listen to the silence. Whatever sound you had heard that caused you so much fear and grief did not seem to be present anymore. Maybe it was just the generator, sputtering as it ran out of fuel. The faint buzzing of the machine was gone, and it was total silence now.

Standing in stillness for a moment more and failing to pick up on any other strange noises, you finally allowed yourself to let out your breath. You could feel your heartbeat lightly pounding against your ears.

Turning back towards the kitchen, you once again noted the glint of the glass and what appeared to be some sort of liquid on the floor. Knowing you needed to clean the mess up before Spud managed to cut himself, you slowly made your way down the hallway to the kitchen once more.

"Breathe. Relax. False alarm. Stop being a total nutcase," you whispered to yourself.

Finally entering the kitchen and heading in the direction of the garage door on the other side of the room, the moonlight shone through the large French doors leading to the patio. Still, the kitchen was much darker than the entry, even with the absence of shadows from lilacs and trees outside. It was nearly impossible to see without light.

Managing to make your way to the cabinets at the edge of the kitchen counter, you reached for the junk drawer and rummaged through the jumbled mess of odd household objects. A small flashlight made its way into your hands.

*Click.*

The flashlight turned on and illuminated the shadows in the room. Remembering the mess on the floor, you immediately shined the flashlight towards the edge of the tile and squinted to determine the gravity of the situation.

Three panes of the doors on the china cabinet at the edge of the kitchen had been shattered. A vase on one of the middle shelves had somehow managed to crash to the ground, and pieces of clear glass and ceramic littered the floor. Mishaps like this had certainly occurred before at the mercy of Spud, who was notoriously clumsy and easily made hyper by even the smallest of sounds.

But, is that...blood?

You tip toed closer to the mess, doing your best to avoid any stray shards of glass on the tile. Leaning down closer to the dark, gleaming substance, a hint of deep red was illuminated by the light of the flashlight. You reached down with one finger to touch the substance and make your determination.

As you reached down, you heard it again - louder this time.

A shuddering, rasping, guttural breath.

With one fluid motion of body and flashlight, you whipped around and rapidly shined the flashlight in every direction, into every corner and crevice...

...and that's when you saw him.

Timothée was standing in the corner of the kitchen near the French doors, just out of reach of the revealing moonlight, completely covered in blood. His face was expressionless, and there was a threatening darkness in his demeanor that did not yield despite being discovered. The familiar sparkle that so many people know and love was not present in his eyes. As his eyes met yours, his sharp jawline pulsed at the mandible as if he was gritting his teeth together, hard. There was something oddly familiar about the way his face appeared - somehow gentle, yet violent at the same time. A single drop of blood trailed down his cheek as he shook and shuddered in what could only be described as the calm storm of uncontrollable rage. The blood did not appear to be his own.

"T - T - Timmy?" you gasped, your voice barely audible as shock and fear lapped at your lips.

Timothée continued to stare at you with a menacing intensity, as if breaking eye contact would all but shatter reality. Your breath was trembling, but steady as you held his gaze.

"TIMMY!" you shouted with a certain convicted might that you had not held in your voice for a long, long time. The courage did not feel like yours.

At the sound of your uninhibited shout, Timothée broke his steadfast demeanor and lunged at...no, sprinted towards you as he let out an angry, growling yell. With one swift motion, his large hand stretched out to meet your throat, the force of the contact carrying you harshly backwards until your body slammed into the broken china cabinet. You let out a sharp cry in pain as you felt stray shards of broken glass penetrate the delicate skin of your bare feet. Timothée's strong grip tightened around your throat, his strength lifting your feet from the ground as the remaining panes in the china cabinet began to crack from the force. You felt your airway closing at the mercy of his fingers. The silver rings adorning his sturdy hands applied concentrated pressure to weaker areas of your fragile neck.

Slowly, Timothée moved closer, placing his soft lips near your cheek.

"Can you fucking breathe, you slut?" Timmy shuddered quietly into your ear, his hot breath like fire on your skin. The metallic smell of blood entered your nostrils through what remaining air passage was left.

"C-can't...f-f-fucking...br-ea-the," you managed, your voice like a faint whisper.

You could feel the blood rushing to your ears...hear it, even. Your heartbeat grew louder and louder, beating faster and faster until you could suddenly hear your pulse begin to slow.

As the room around you grew dim and distant, you could barely make out Timothée's face - bloody, angry, unfeeling. As you faded in and out, you thought for just a moment that you felt his demeanor suddenly weaken. You could hear his gentle, whimpering cries as his grip released from your throat and he guided your limp body to the ground.

"I love you, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm so sorry. Please, please, I'm so sorry."

You would never know whose blood covered Timmy's usually perfect, picturesque face, or why his love for you suddenly turned to rage. At least Spud was there to protect you from strangers.

#horror fiction #horror slashers #horror short #thriller #short stories #fiction #tw abuse #tw violent imagery #tw violence #short story #short fiction

[reading-wanderer]

A Compendium of Magical Artifacts

Chapter 2: The Chaos Wand

Prompt: Chaos

AO3 Link

Trigger Warnings: blood mentions

[You flip through the first couple pages, but there doesn’t seem to be a table of contents or even any kind or organization at all. The pages switch randomly between very new looking and very old. Most are in black pen, but there’s also blue and, rarely, red or pink. Since there’s no rhyme or reason to the order, you don’t bother to start at the begining and instead flip through the pages until something catches your attention— it is a compendium after all so there’s no reason Not to look for the most interesting thing first. And speaking of most interesting, you find one of the pages around the middle absolutely covered in notes with one of those little sticky tabs attached to the top— specifically the one that says “don't try to find again”. The majority of the page is written in black ink, but there’s a few spots where things have apparently been added after the original text in blue.]

Name: The Chaos Wand; The Wand of Many Effects; [The last name on the list is blue, shoved into the small area between the other names and description, and crossed out, but you can still make out what it says] The piece of shit that turned me blue

Description: The item looks like a piece of gnarled wood carved into the vague shape of a wand. The grip is only slightly more smooth than the rest. On closer examination of the shaft of the wand, there appears to be small symbols carved into every inch. Each symbol lights up slightly when pressed against organic matter such as skin, hair, blood and ectoplasm. It does not appear to react to inanimate objects such as tweezers or glass rods.

Known Abilities: The wand is said to create random effects every time it’s used. Some notable effects that were recorded by other users include: the destruction of everything in a five foot radius sphere around the caster, turning several miles of desert into an ocean for three days, and the creation of small ectoplasm-based creatures that look like elongated Furbys.

Location: [The first location is crossed out, but you can still make it out easily. The second is squished in the remaining space between the first one and the notes.] In my possession. Last seen in the mouth of what appears to be an unholy mix between a crocodile and a horse as the creature ran into the Infinite Realms [Infinite Realms? You haven’t hear of that before. Is it some kind of shop or something?].

Notes: Testing was performed in a laboratory setting with everything cleared out for a five foot radius around the testing area. Sensors and cameras were placed in order to get a record of the effects as some could be unnoticeable to the eye or dissipate too quickly for detailed inspection during the test.

Test 1: Time is 12:47 on [Despite everything else being perfectly legible, it looks like someone shoved their thumb into the ink of the date while it was wet and made it unreadable beyond the number 16 in the front.] . After an initial examination of the wand and writing down the initial observations, I moved to the middle of the room and waved the wand while pushing energy into it. The wand produced a thick yellow-brown smoke that immediately caused blisters to form. Going intangible prevented further injury and classified the gas as something purely earthen in nature.

I have identified the gas as Sulfur Mustard Gas— military grade. The majority of what the wand produced dissipated into the surrounding air after five minutes and the lingering scent disappeared abruptly after ten. Unfortunately, the blisters didn’t disappear as well and were left to heal on their own. It appears that, while the direct effects of the wand can end after a certain duration, the consequences remain very real. Something to keep in mind.

Test 2: Time is 1:37 on same day. The blisters have finally healed, so I have decided to test the wand once more. The information I’ve gathered has indicated that the wand never does the same effect twice in a row, so no extra measures have been put into place. This time when I used the wand, a blob ghost appeared floating in the room not two feet from me. It was rather small and too weak to give off much of an ectosignature. As these are rather skittish creatures, I was unsurprised when it attempted to flee. Fortunately, the ghost containment shield was already active just in case of such an event. It bounced off the ceiling several times over while I watched. Unfortunately, when I looked away, the creature somehow managed to escape my sight. I am unsure if it managed to find a new hiding place or if it was transported back where it came from. [Theres another, smaller note in the margins next to the paragraph in blue, “I never did manage to find that blob.”]

Test 3: Time is 1:52 on the same day. Unfortunately I misjudged the range of the wand and one of the scanners I was working on got turned into an oversized egg. The egg is much bigger than any I’ve ever seen before and seems to have a more leathery shell than what one would expect from a bird’s egg. The shape is elongated and without a more rounded side. Perhaps it’s the egg of some kind of reptile? I will monitor the egg until it either returns back into my scanner or hatches. A flashlight behind the egg revealed that there is, in fact, something growing inside. No more tests for today, or at least not until I see the outcome of the egg.

[There’s a larger gap between this paragraph and the next than there was between the ones above. The writing is also sharper in the beginning before smoothing out as it goes.]

It took three days for the egg to turn back into my scanner. Unfortunately I had foolishly decided that after the first 24 hours that the egg was likely to be permanent and had placed it into an incubator. Both the incubator and the sensor are now damaged from the egg reverting back to its original form.

Given that the test on an item seemed to produce more interesting results, I pulled an ivy from the garden and placed it in a pot in order to test the wand on a living thing. The results were fascinating to say the least. The plant grew several times its size, even producing flowers that then wilted away and grew again four to five times in succession before the plant finally started going brown at the edges fading in until the entire plant was dead. Then, from the wilted stem of the plant, a ghostly version sprang into being. It is rather small and not affected by the accelerated growth of the living plant (see further description in the ghost plant compendium). I am unsure if the ghost plant is a continuation of the wand’s effects or a result of them. Thankfully, I have a greenhouse full of ghostly plants with various needs. I should be able to find a spot for it. [There was a greenhouse? You hadn’t seen it on your way in, but to be fair, you hadn’t spent much time exploring the wild field that surrounded the castle.]

After placing the flower in it’s new home I found it had a rather fascinating ability. When looked at directly, the plant appears to be a fully living, if ghostly, ivy, but, if looked at through a camera, it looks like the original dead plant. The actual wilted corpse was, of course, removed when I placed the ghost ivy in my greenhouse. Perhaps it’s suppose to be some kind of camouflaging effect? Or perhaps a ghost attractant? More data needed on what causes each form to appear. It seems likely that the plant is a result rather than a continuation of the wand’s effects. Unfortunately, if the last test was any indication, I may need to wait multiple days to get confirmation.

I next used the wand outside in the field behind my home. I was interested if there might be some other kind of targeted effect if I moved into a different area.

There was a farting sound in the distance. No other effects were observable. Similarly, the next use did not appear to create an identifiable effect until I went back inside and found that my skin had been turned a bright blue. It does not wash off. Tissue removed grows back blue as well.

Given that the previous two uses caused effects that could not be immediately identified, I returned to my lab and the sensors. Unfortunately, the next use was much more dramatic than the previous two.

The wand produced what appeared to be a large reptilian creature reminiscent of an alligator or crocodile. It was as large as a horse and, similarly, had its legs positioned beneath its body— likely for increased terrestrial locomotion. The creature, upon forming in front of me, grabbed the wand from my hand, narrowly missing taking a few fingers with it, and ran into my portal to the Infinite Realms.

[The rest of the text on the page is in blue ink.]

It’s been three months. I don’t think the blue is going away. The ghost plant is still around and has taken over a third of my greenhouse. It keeps eating the other plants as it grows and is very annoying to prune back. There doesn’t appear to be any others of the plant in the areas of the realms I’ve explored, so it may be unique. Unfortunately it also seems to have consumed the book I recorded my observations in.

[You’re starting to think that the author was either writing this as some kind of writing practice or not totally human. You’ve heard of ghosts before, of course, but you didn’t think they were actually real. Maybe the author was just insane— that’s always an option. Given the fact that they, for some reason, bound their book completely out of order, it wasn’t out of the question.]

#ectoberhaunt22 #EH Chaos #Day 3 #Chaos #reader writes a thing #Danny phantom

[enderwalking]

TERMINAL ENDERSMILE BRAINROT WOOO \o/ also yeah i totally agree that a reveal at the finale wouldn't make sense w how they work, but i'm torn on whether or not enderboo sees it that way. bc overall, i see the staredown the same as you! "its part of the plan, it'll be fine, no worries, we're still on track" bc seeing your buddy get yeeted twice unarmored is. awful. but enderboo's notes(do not read 2, pg 16-17 on wiki) he seems shocked by dream lying(understandable, dream doesn't often lie) he writes "may have" but we know he Did do the community house, tho we also know his memory is wonky when stressed. regardless he almost sounds like he Expected dream to out him for some reason, and maybe that Was part of the plan in his mind before dream decided to protect him. ranboo/enderboo is known for catastrophizing, dream is known for sudden emotion-driven choices, enderboo could've expected the worse bc of that but was proven wrong the notes were also For ranboo to see, so he could've wrote in a way that kept things basic and confusing, just like the voice(and his book response later on. and all the cryptic messages. enderboo is a cryptid bastard /pos), make ranboo call into question Why dream wouldn't just reveal him, why dream of all people would Lie for Him bc if dream hadn't lied for him, then he'd be in just as much trouble, both of them bad guys worthy of prison(which he agonizes and swears to Hide in his follow up stream). this was the second time someone else took the full blame for something he took part in(first being tommy in exile trial, narrative parallels my beloved), and this time its by the most hated, evil man on the server, which should raise some big questions for him. sadly our boy ranboo is just as much about de'nial river as he is lethe, so he tries to avoid thinking on the signals being thrown at him by his own mind as much as possible, if he ignores hard enough surely it'll go away(it didn't go away, it got so much worse bc he's stubborn through and through, mind/voice and enderboo included, both taunting him over his attempts to avoid the truth ala Why Are You Running? lmao)

i get you i GET YOU i think my main point of contention overall is obvs we know "enderboo" is just ranboo with all his memories etc, but even with that caveat that they are ultimately the same person, i think it's also important to realize that it's not just a binary switch, yknow? it's not like there are just two states that flip between each other, it's not quite as easy as being like, oh ranboo forgot about this event which means that he was enderwalking during it. there's some kind of spectrum between the states, there are times he's more aware than others but also still not Fully aware, and all in all it's just very difficult to distinguish i think? so i can't say with confidence that ranboo writing things during events he forgot about is always actually the enderwalk trying to leave messages for his less-aware self, though obviously we know he does do that sometimes? idk idk. it is a VERY cool read though and is not one i had considered in the past!

i do think that something notable in all this is that ranboo--all parts of ranboo--do not want to fear/dislike the other parts, like. it is about the need to reconcile all these different parts that seem incompatible but actually are all necessary to form a cohesive whole! while ranboo has been terrified of the enderwalk at times, and while the enderwalk has seemed to mock him at points, the one most direct instance of communication between the two states is written with such care, and in a way where ranboo seems notably reassured! and it's shown again in the way ghostboo initially derides his living self, but then realizes better, and ultimately is doing all he can to protect his soul! all parts of ranboo are better off when they come together and love the other parts RANBOO IS ABOUT SELF-CARE AND I LOVE HIM

also MY GOD, DREAM'S LIL QUIRKS W INFO REGARDING RANBOO. this man is a disaster of slip ups w that to the point its a miracle he hasn't been called out on it, from him choosing to send the message to ranboo to his and techno's stand-off of "i refuse to reveal i care for/know ranboo, but what about You???" in the cell where dream had to backtrack and lie so hard. like "yeah he visited the most. no i don't know him that well tho nope" ??? gg king, ur lucky it was techno he's very good at keeping the secret despite those slip ups, and his talk w sam..... ohhhh that's a mental landmine for me /pos. bc when making sam go through the list of things people hate him for, when he talks about ranboo dream's tone changes to a bit more aggressive, his words more biting, and when it becomes clear sam only killed ranboo for Ego(imo, based off his words) dream pulls out his axe subtly after only holding steak(WHEN I TELL U I LOST MY MIND...) and then dream doubles down on poking to see if sam Knows about them, and when he realizes sam has no clue he then Taunts him over it by revealing the tnt thing but refusing to put 2+2 together for him, bc honestly out of ANYONE on the server, sam should be the one who'd make that connection the easiest And Yet He Doesn't and its hilarious. all the visits and altered waivers and ranboo's panic, and yet sam Does Not See It lmaooo its a taunting reveal, w two layers, 1 is "ur a dumbass for not realizing w/o me basically spelling it out" and 2 is "ur a dumbass for falling for it this whole time + btw ranboo's life is worthy of more than ur stupid ego + there was totally actual reason to arrest him ur just stupid + cringe fail warden + L + ratio". its just enough info to fuck w sam's head, which is exactly what dream wants

YES EXACTLY oh my god i didn't notice the thing about him pulling out his axe JESUSSSSS OK OK OK COOL!!! but YEAH this this exactly all this

ALSO i'm under the belief/hc that dream has No Clue that ranboo is actually like. Dead dead. bc w the ho16 death, ranboo was down one more life than dream is aware of, so it'd make sense if dream assumed ranboo was still alive somewhere and just hasn't contacted him(he still wasn't told Why the visits stopped after all, and a lot happened so he could be assuming enderboo is hiding or avoiding) which is why boo has been left waiting for a "He" to revive him as he fades more and more (wondering if He is even trying), chased by sam, unable to be in contact w many people or else it gets worse as he'll feel more. bc i doubt that dream would just leave his ally for dead when he has the full power to Fix It, especially considering how he reacted to sam about the murder. boo is trusting dream to revive him, but much like w how he feels about the rest of the server, he's likely starting to fear he's been abandoned by him too -Soul

this definitely makes a lot of sense! i think a factor that i've personally put a lot of weight into is, again, the fact that dream Will Not publicly reveal his alliance with ranboo, and so if he just revives the guy out of nowhere then that would automatically send out red flags to literally everyone who is even a little bit aware of anything. so i think he fully intends to revive ranboo and has intended to do so for a while, but he can't do it unprompted, yknow? otherwise it would be extremely sus to say the least lol. so basically he's just gotta play a waiting game to see if anyone approaches him first to give him a justification, yknow?

#asks #(actually a submission but i'm categorizing things here ok) #soulandseer #lei talks lore #TYSM <3

[drowningindango]

20.alone, finally

from the prompt list for MadaObi please

👀 why yes I can surely do something for that…. I took the freedom to use my “Eye Love You” AU for this one……. because sometimes it’s just fun to write Madara being smitten against all rational sense or reason.

(Another ao3 link, because it’s long again <3 or you can read it under the cut.)

MadaObi / Alone, finally

War was a noisy affair. It was loud, it was messy and, after a while, it was simply overwhelming, even for the most experienced of fighters. After all the blinding flashes of light that were just as aggressive as the jutsu which caused them, Obito relished stepping into the emptiness of his personal dimension. Here, there was nothing to assault his ears and eyes, only peace and quiet. If only for a brief moment, it was nice to be -

“Alone,” suddenly a voice sighed directly into his ear, ironically completing the thought in his head. “Finally.”

The latter word was spoken with such fervour that it raised the hairs on his neck. The heat of his breath was still clinging to Obito’s skin when he swirled around and came face to face with Madara who was standing far too close for his liking.

Damn. He forgot the man was able to travel here as well, now that he possessed one of Obito’s eyes.

He instinctively walked backwards to bring distance between them but like a magnet drawn to its opposite pole, Madara simply followed after him. There was something truly unhinged about the man ever since he had been revived in his true body. Obito much preferred the cold indifference Madara displayed when he was still an Edo Tensei puppet. He had been watching Obito with quiet amusement back then, likely just biding his time to swoop in and take his place. Now, however, it seemed as if a switch had been flipped.

Those eyes were devouring him.

Obito began to sweat when he realised that by escaping the war he manoeuvred himself into a much more dangerous situation.

After his revival, Madara had done one insane thing after another, starting with stealing the other half of Kamui from Kakashi and offering it to Obito like a token of friendship. And when Obito told him he could keep it - he adamantly refused to hand over the rinnegan - instead of getting mad, Madara’s whole face lit up like the sun.

It was disturbing and made Obito regret his decision instantly. Madara appeared to be under the impression that this exchange of eyeballs somehow was bonding them.

He refused to think about what kind of bond this was supposed to be. Probably some convoluted, outdated Uchiha tradition that died out a hundred years ago. But it was extremely difficult to ignore the obvious implications when Madara was slowly closing in on him and his foot caught the edge of the stone block. Unless he wanted to throw himself down into the abyss or play a game of tag by jumping from one cube to another, he had to confront this problem.

And he had little doubt that an adrenaline fueled chase would only end in trouble…

“What do you want?” Obito finally snapped, raising his chin in a provocative manner.

Madara tilted his head. It was such an innocent gesture that in spite of himself Obito had to think of a puppy.

“I merely wanted to check up on you. You seemed a little distracted on the battlefield,” Madara said casually as if he had not just backed him into a corner like a predator. They were in the same position as before and when Obito awkwardly shifted his stance to at least lean slightly backwards, he briefly lost his balance. Immediately a hand reached out and tugged on his obi, pulling him even closer.

“Careful, you could fall,” Madara murmured and this time he could feel his breath against his lips. In a knee jerk reaction, Obito shoved him away. He had no choice, otherwise terrible things would happen if he was exposed to this any longer. It was unclear if those “things” entailed punching Madara’s face or something more stupid, like closing the distance between them for good.

“See?” Madara raised a brow as if he had proven his point. “You’re so twitchy. If you keep being so impulsive, you will make a mistake soon.”

His eyes narrowed, his gaze suddenly sharper than a knife.

“And we don’t want that, do we?”

There was an edge to his tone - a warning. Obito suppressed a shudder because he still had some dignity left.

“What do you suppose I should do, take a nice long nap in the middle of the war?” He asked sarcastically. “We’re past the point where we can afford that, not when it gives the alliance time to heal and regroup.”

Madara smirked.

“We’re Uchiha… We have all the time we need at our disposal,” he purred and raised his hands to frame Obito’s face with them. The proximity of his gloved fingers to his most valuable assets caused Obito to freeze up.

It would be so easy for him to dig his thumbs in.

But he wouldn’t. He needed him. Needed his eyes.

Nevertheless it sent a spike of fear down his spine when Madara touched him there, a feverish tingle that travelled through his whole body and decided to settle down below, curling so deviously and insistently that Obito wondered if it was really fear or excitement.

He did not dare to swallow or even blink but with that he played directly into Madara’s hands. Those mismatched eyes, one purple, one red, perfectly mirroring his own, glowed with purpose and he was already plunged deep into a genjutsu when he understood what the other wanted to do.

It took less than a second for him to get caught.

Madara was right… time had no meaning for an Uchiha, if he was only skilled enough to draw out one moment for eternity.

It was a whole other question if he would be able to relax in here, with Madara glued to his back like a leech, his arms wrapped around his waist like they had any right to be there. The caster controlled the illusion and Obito was halfway tempted to destroy the domestic picture the older man had painted in his mind without asking. He was sure he had a good chance to dispel it, he had trained himself vigorously for a moment like this.

But he didn’t.

Instead he listened to the chirping of birds just outside this illusionary room. If he was better at recalling their names, he was sure he could pick out the exact species. There was something nostalgic about this, musing over birds while safely wrapped in the comfort of a cozy blanket. Just another lazy morning when he was off duty, only that now he was much bigger than he was when he lived with his grandmother, and this was not his childhood bedroom.

Of course there was also the warm weight enveloping him from behind… a presence that should have completely broken the immersion for him but he found that he minded it less than he initially thought.

He felt… grounded.

Perhaps it was the effect of the genjutsu dizzying his mind. That was as good of an excuse as any to close his eyes and snuggle backwards into Madara’s body for maximum comfort.

#my fic #madaobi #obimada #eye love you au

[queenoftheboard]

get to know the author

name: Mari.

pronouns: she/her.

preference of communication: definitely discord for mutuals who I've chatted for a while to further plot and everything! I can use the tumblr IMs at first, but if I typically offer to switch to discord pretty early on if the other mun agrees.

most active muse: currently Eirene, with my fandomless OC Melissa (@stingslikeabee) in second, and my beloved Yakuza leggy man Akiyama (@akiiyamashun) in third.

experience / how many years: gosh, I'm a Fandom Old (tm). I've used a million platforms and I started with passing notes in school and writing on actual paper; it's 15+ years doing this on and off.

platforms you use: tumblr at the moment, but I've gone through everything (forums, AIM, discord, livejournal, MSN, skype and so on).

best experience: I had a couple of really great runs in the early 2000s on livejournal and the RPC there, then since 2020 onwards here on tumblr on Melissa, including branching out to Akiyama and Eirene. It's been a constant/stable writing exercise which has helped me a lot through irl things, too.

rp pet peeves: I think the biggest one is getting what I call 'passive' replies? I'm not sure how to describe this, but feeling like I'm carrying the thread by myself and that the replies do not offer any new elements (no questions, actions or anything to react to or move the thread forward) make me lose muse very fast. Of course, sometimes this is necessary and makes sense in context! My issue is when this is a standard thing and the storytelling aspect does not feel shared, I guess. This is what makes roleplay fun and different from fanfiction, in my mind. :)

fluff, angst, or smut: all of them! I love flip-flopping through genres although smut is something I'm only comfortable after plotting and enough ooc interaction with the other mun. I'm all for telling interesting stories, no matter how they come to be in terms of being presented.

plots or memes: plotting all the way! I'm heavily plot-based and I have a preference for plotting a general timeline where we can move as we wish for threads and memes; I struggle at keeping interactions alive without some sense of direction or objective behind it all. It's fine to have the occasional slice of life or more conversation-based threads, but I generally like to have those within a bigger context.

long or short replies: long replies, I'm afraid - I just seem to have an issue with brevity, to be frank. This is something from my personal life that bleeds onto work, school assignments, real life letters etc; I write a lot, I write fast and I write frequently. It doesn't bother or strain me and as a result I've developed a rather introspective style of roleplay where there is a lot of thoughts/feelings included in replies, so they tend to be longer than average, I feel. I am always lowkey afraid this intimidate others - because it shouldn't! And I never expect the same length in return, just something to react to, really.

best time to write: it used to be during work hours when I was at the laptop already and alternated between work stuff and replies to take breaks, but now it's more evenly distributed during the day, I guess? I'm usually not writing super early in the day or very late at night because English is required and I tend to be only half-coherent and running mostly on default software that is equipped with Portuguese only, I'm afraid. >_>;

are you like your muse(s): definitely not hahaha. Apart from a life in the corporate world, we have almost nothing in common - not even the hair color! I'm more emotional, I know just the basics of chess, I have no super powers related to partial mutation, I don't really enjoy wearing high heels everywhere and I grow attached to people way more frequently than Eirene does. I'm pretty fucking good at my job, but I'm not a business prodigy either.

#♔ ooc . taking a step back #♖ dash games . what pure pleasure #I've done these at my other blogs #figured it was a good moment to bring it over here

[immortalbutterflycos]

My relationship with writing is getting too complicated.

I don't really understand why writing is simultaneously the easiest and most difficult thing for me to do.

I've always been writing. I think that maybe it could have started in elementary school, but if I'm honest I don't have many memories of back then. If I didn't really write in those years, it was probably because I was always reading instead. That much I do remember.

In middle school, it had been an outlet of sorts.

Bullied, depressed, just your average awkward kid I guess. I don't really know what actually inspired me to- wait. okay no. I do remember what inspired me to start writing. There really was a genuine notable moment in my life and that just seems like an insane thing to have forgotten until now.

The entire school was reading this same book at the same time. It was this huge event for a while. There were posters around the school and everything. (The book was 'Schooled' by Gordon Korman)

After we had all completed the book, there was an assembly for the whole school in the Gym that was led by the author himself. This was the very first published author I had ever seen in person and I was enraptured. Because for the first time, the author of a book I actually enjoyed wasn't just a couple of words on the cover, they were a real-life thing. A profession.

The moment Gordon Korman said that he had written his first book when he was in 8th grade, it was like a switch was flipped in my brain. I wanted to be just like him. If he can do it, then why couldn't I?

I truly did start really writing that day.

It was a story about a girl falling in love with a demon after her best friend got kidnapped (or something like that. There was a demon and a best friend named 'Jay'.) and it was written down in a composition book in pink pen. I think I actually still have that now that I think about it... Maybe I should re-read it...

From that day on, I was always writing. No, I never got anything published, but the passion was still there.

I've started to write/plan out a few different stories since then but they've never been completed and to some extent, they've been abandoned completely. (which is actually a big part of the actual point of this post)

Sophomore year of high school, I started writing so much that I actually managed to piss off some of my teachers because of it. Well that and I would just pull out the book I wanted to read instead of the one I was supposed to for class.

Listen, if they were going to force me to reread "The Pearl" by John Steinbeck for the 5th school year in a row, then I wasn't going to comply. I liked the book at first and then they killed it. They beat that dead horse until we were all like, "Hey maybe leave the horse alone??? Just let the poor thing die???"

Other kids got to read Shakespeare and learn about Greek Mythology but I hadn't read a single thing about Greek Mythology until my Senior year. BRIEFLY. I was so mad.

Oh, and Catcher in the Rye. Fuck that book. I read it my Junior year for school and hated it so much that I, the least confrontational person on the planet, got into arguments with my teacher about it. She was also a shit teacher on top of that so idk I think I just had a growing grudge that whole time.

Fucking hell. I don't even know if anyone has even read this far but fuck it. If I wasn't convinced that I had undiagnosed ADHD before writing this post, then I sure as hell am now.

Actually, that's a good segway. I'm going to cling to that.

WRITING IS SIMULTANEOUSLY THE EASIEST AND HARDEST THING TO DO AND I THINK THAT HAS SOMETHING TO DO WITH IT.

Sorry, didn't mean to yell. (lmao)

Anyway, back in sophomore year, I started writing fanfiction. That was genuinely the first time I started writing something that I planned to actually be read by another human being other than myself. All of the work I did in high school is on my old Wattpad account. I wish I could delete some of them but honestly, I lost the account info along with the e-mail address I used to create the account so it just gets to live on the internet forever.

But yeah. That was a thing.

I was still doing regular writing on top of that, but I have been hyperfixating on things my whole life, and fandoms and writing go hand in hand.

The whole point of this, WHICH HAS TAKEN TOO DAMN LONG TO GET TO, is that I can write. I can write for hours and hours without wanting to ever stop. I have plans and journals and slips of paper and post-it notes all just filled with writing. Hundreds of Docs.

And not a single completed project.

That is my issue.

I can plan out a cohesive story but actually getting to the writing part is so fucking hard.

This is weird as hell because I've posted full chapters before. On Wattpad in the past and Ao3 since I got into Critical Role. Never finished a story but that's another issue.

Right now, I struggle to even write a full chapter that I'm happy with.

I don't know what it is honestly. but its frustrating to be capable of writing and then to not be able to write.

That's it. That's the post.

If any of you read this far, you get a cookie because goddamn...

#writing with adhd #writing is hard #writers #ao3 author #maybe it was so easy back in school because I had to sit in a desk for hours and hours a day and needed an escape from the mundanity of it #i just want to do that again #I miss it