#ALSO HEAD IN A WALL????? reminds me so much of will PLEASE does anyone see the vision Tumblr posts

[clowningcrows]

not sure if i’m projecting or crazy or stupid or just actually incredibly good at characterization but will graham is extremely ethel cain coded 2 me

this man would drunkenly listen to strangers on repeat on his bathroom floor and bawl his eyes out while murmuring along to, “i tried to be good, am i no good? am i no good? am i no good?” while thinking about abigail and alana and beverly and and and….

[turtletaubwrites]

Sweet Abduction ~ Part 3 ~ End

I absolutely adored this request, and you can click here for Part 1 and Part 2. I was nervous about trying my hand at some smut with this lovely 16.5 ft (509 cm) tall man, but y'all overwhelmingly voted for a smutty ending, so I did my best. I hope you enjoy this sweet conclusion! 💜🍩

Pairings: Katakuri x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3781

Ao3 Link

Summary: You and your new husband get to know each other, and what makes the other feel good. Maybe this abduction was a miracle after all.

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Fluff, Smut, Light Angst, Grief, (reader's dad has passed and she thinks about him a lot), Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, Vaginal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Spit, Comeplay, Size Kink, Human/Monster Romance, He's freaking 16 ft tall, Reader is too sweet for this world

A/N: I love these two so much, they deserve all the sweetness in the world! 🥰

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Every slow, steady step of the man who carried you sent your heart beating faster.

Your husband held you against his massive chest, the moment you were waiting for fast approaching. Your lungs didn’t quite know what to do now that it was so close. 

“Do you have a map? I think I’ll get lost in here on my own.”

Katakuri’s soft chuckle felt so soothing through his warm skin.

“I’ll have one drawn up for you. There’s also some vehicles that you can use to traverse it quickly, and tomorrow the staff will return, so you can always ask for their assistance.”

“Staff,” you chirped, once again feeling out of place.

“Yes. I dismissed them for the evening so that we… I thought we should be alone on our wedding night.”

He couldn’t see your shy smile as you bit your lip, but you were sure he felt the bob of your head as you tapped it against his chest. 

“Here we are,” he announced, opening a door made for someone his size.

“How do I open the door?”

Katakuri apologized, clearing his throat as he set you down. You had never met anyone so calm and polite, and you had no idea why it should make your skin flush the way it does.

Beside the door he’d opened was one your size, and you bit the inside of your lip to hold in laughter. 

It’s like a pet door.

The image of your door, so tiny next to his, reminded you of those little doors for dogs and cats.

It didn’t seem right to make that sort of comment on your wedding night when you didn’t know how he’d react, so you bounced on your toes, trying to think of anything else.

He led you inside an immense suite that hardly seemed different than all the walkways and rooms you’d already passed. 

Except for a corner of the room that had been decorated as an extravagant bedroom for you, your furniture looking adorable amidst all the space. 

“Where’s your bed?”

Reaching to touch his knee as you surveyed the room, the only furniture you saw of his size was a desk and chair. 

“I never lay on my back.”

“Katakuri,” you hissed, poking his leg, “Please tell me we don’t have to keep up the lie in our own bedroom?” 

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said softly, kneeling to see you closer, “the staff enter this room occasionally, and I can’t risk it.”

A pout formed on your face from the disappointment, but he only smiled, bringing his finger to his lips as if shushing you.

That finger stretched, and your eyes went wide as the tip of it formed into a key.

He stood against a blank wall and pressed a brick as if it were a button. The wall slid away to reveal a large door, which he unlocked with that mochi key, offering his hand to carry you inside. 

“This secret really is precious to you,” you giggled, listening to the wall slide back into place after he locked you in with him.

“It is.”

Your laughter halted as he set you down on the edge of the bed. 

“Don’t worry,” you promised, gripping the soft blankets as he sat on the floor in front of you. “You’re my family now. I’ll protect your secret.”

“I know,” he said, the trust in his deep voice making you smile.

The small smile on his wide lips brought that fluttery feeling back, and you dangled your feet off the side of the bed. The bed was only a little taller than you were, so hopping onto it yourself would be like jumping a fence.

Falling off of it in the dark would still hurt.

Meeting his crimson eyes, your skin flushed again as you realized how distracted your mind was. How nervous you were. How he sat so patiently, his silence always peaceful instead of awkward. 

“Y/N, we don’t ha–”

“Katakuri, can you–”

“Sorry,” he cleared his throat as you gave a small laugh, “you go first.”

Your voice came out high as you tried not to squirm. 

“Can you kiss me again?”

This time his silence held more than peace. His brows tensed just slightly, looking at you as if he didn’t understand. 

But he came to you. 

One of those strong, warm hands stroked your hair, pressing lightly against your back. As he moved in, you couldn’t believe how a man so sweet could have such sharp and dangerous teeth. 

I know he won’t hurt me. 

The thought made you sigh with contentment, and you pressed your lips against his larger ones, minding the tusk-like fangs on either side. 

“Wait,” you breathed against him before pulling yourself up to kneel on the bed.

Those eyes were even more gorgeous up close, and you smiled at him before tracing your fingers along his jaw. 

The way he’d reacted when you kissed his neck earlier made you want to kiss him more, so you did.

His hand on your back tensed when you laid your lips along his scars, but you whispered ‘wait,’ and he let you keep going. Keep touching and kissing his beautiful face until you heard, and felt, a satisfied hum move through him. 

“This feels good?”

“It does. What feels good for you?”

Shyness hit you again, and you bought time by taking off your shoes and tossing them as far as you could, bringing what seemed to be another rare smile to those wide lips. 

You hoped that smile wouldn’t be rare with you.

“I like when you touch me,” you started, fighting to keep eye contact as the hand at your back moved softly against your hair and shoulders. “I like when you hold me. I like feeling you.”

“Will you tell me if you don’t like something, or want to stop?”

“Of course,” you agreed, grabbing his wrist, “will you keep telling me what you like?”

“Let’s agree to do both,” he said, both of you nodding as he pulled his hand away. 

“If you’re comfortable, Y/N,” he started, his deep eyes pouring over you, “I would love to see you. All of you.”

“Oh.”

Blood rushed to your face, your cheeks, the tips of your ears, but you climbed away from the edge to stand on the bed. 

After a moment of struggle, you couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think I can take it off myself,” you gasped with laughter, turning to show him the complicated lacing that a team of servants had done up for you.

“May I help,” he chuckled softly, bringing his fingers to your wedding dress when you agreed.

Just those fingers running along your spine, pulling and tugging at your dress, was enough, bringing more delightful chills across your skin.

“Hmm…”

“What,” you asked, voice breathy.

“Would you be opposed to me tearing the lacing open? I don’t believe I can untie this without harming you or the dress.”

“I don’t mind! I didn’t even pick it out,” you laughed.

“I’m sorry–”

“Oh, don’t be sorry, Katakuri. I’m happy we’re here together now,” you turned to smile at his guilt ridden face. “Please get this thing off of me, husband.”

Seeing guilt replaced with satisfaction at your words made you want to keep doing that. Keep making your sweet, frightening partner look happy. 

“Will you trust me?”

You agreed, then followed as he guided you into his hand, leaning over to bare your back to him.

“Please stay still, Y/N.”

A breath held in your body as he brought you close to his face. He never touched your skin, but you felt the laces snap and loosen, and knew he’d cut them with his teeth. 

So sharp. 

He set you on your feet, and you held your dress up as the back fell. Katakuri opened and closed his mouth, and you realized that you could both talk awkwardly through the whole night if one of you didn’t push through.

You let that heavy, decadent fabric fall down your skin, giggling a little as you had to shimmy it down your hips. You hopped out of the circle of fabric, and tried not to cover yourself with your as you stood in lingerie. 

What do I do with my hands?

Katakuri’s eyes were so intense, as if you could feel them on you. Instead of squirming, you surprised yourself, stripping the lingerie until nothing but skin remained.

He took a deep breath, and sighed, tilting his head toward you.

“You are gorgeous, Y/N. I thought so the moment we met.”

“Same to you,” you teased, deciding to sit back down to fight off the urge to hide.

He removed his white boots and vest while you watched. You bit your lip not to laugh at how cute it was that he’d kept his frightening spikes and buckles, and just made everything white. Sitting in front of you again, his smile seemed stronger, as if he was starting to believe it was alright to show it. 

“I would like to make you feel good. Can I try?”

“Yes, please,” you breathed, hands shaking with nerves as Katakuri bunched up the blanket behind you like a pillow. He leaned over you, that soft press of lips against yours before he hovered over your chest, eyes darker now. 

“Please tell me if this is alright,” he checked in, humming quietly as you nodded.

The touch of his breath on your skin was already amazing, breathing over your chest, your stomach, your legs. His hands brought a gasp to your throat, arching your back as he traced fingers all over you, until your skin was tingling.

“That feels so good.”

Your praise was like an invitation, and soon those large fingers were massaging your breasts. He was so so gentle as he teased your nipples, and you heard his soft intake of breath when you cried out. 

Those fingers trailed down to your thighs, spreading them softly.

“Is it al–”

“Please touch me, Katakuri,” you begged, spreading your legs further for him.

All the deep, pleased noises he had let out as you reacted to him made your eyes roll back, and the feather light touch of one of his fingers through your folds was almost overwhelming.

“Y/N…”

His pause brought your eyes to him, and you felt your body clench with need as you watched him lick the taste of you off his finger.

“You’re so wet, so sweet... Is this all for me,” he asked softly, bringing his finger back to slide along all that wetness, finding your clit to circle gently.

His words hit you like a tease, but somehow you knew he was genuinely asking.

“Yes, Katakuri,” you managed to confess while his finger made you twitch. “You make me feel so good. I want you.”

His mouth parted as he watched you writhe for him. You fought to keep your eyes on his, wanting him to see it, to believe it. 

His jaw loosened just a bit, his eyes growing even darker as he circled that finger around your entrance. 

That finger was at least the width of two of a man your size, and it was so long. He tested you, pressing in softly, smiling at your nod before plunging it inside of you. 

Slowly thrusting, he brought his other hand to your face, rubbing his thumb along your cheek.

“I can’t believe how lucky–”

He cut himself off with a groan as you turned your head to take that large thumb into your mouth. You sucked and bit at him, swirling your tongue around his thumb as you watched those hungry eyes. 

He curled the finger inside you, hitting that sweet spot until you were moaning around his thumb.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he rasped as he drew that thumb out of your mouth, trailing spit down your chin. “I’m going to make you feel so good.”

Katakuri kept his promise, bringing that spit covered thumb to your clit. Already so close, you moaned as he teased another finger, testing, pressing gently until you nodded, now plunging two of those large fingers in to stretch you. 

“Please, please, please.” 

“Are you okay–”

“Yes, please please,” you panted as his fingers started working in you.

“Mm, does my lovely girl want to come? Do it for me, sweetheart. Come for me.”

“Katakuri!”

Your hands fisted into the blanket, back arching as you moaned, screamed for him. For your sweet, scary husband whose fingers stretched and fucked you, curling up again and again, his large thumb rubbing perfectly over and around your clit.

It felt like an explosion, your mind going blank for everything except for raging pleasure, your body thrashing on that huge bed. 

When your awareness came back, you were still twitching from aftershocks as he chuckled, smoothing those hands along your skin again.

“Kata… kuri… that felt amazing.”

“I’m so glad,” he sighed, tracing fingers through your hair. “Do you need anything?”

He helped as you struggled to sit up, your breathing still ragged as you grinned up at him. 

“I want to make you feel good, please.”

“I…”

“Can I try?”

His own breath was heavy after what he’d done to you, and that made you want to give him more. 

You chewed on your lip as he stood, removing those white pants with all their buckles and straps. 

“It’s okay, we don–”

Katakuri started to turn away when he saw your jaw drop, but you coughed, your voice coming out high and breathy.

“Will you lie down with me?”

He climbed into bed, propping up on a pile of pillows the size of couch cushions. 

“Tell me if this is alright,” you whispered as you crawled onto his chest.

Smiling at his nod, you laid against him to kiss his neck as you’d done earlier, enjoying the rush of the chills that ran over his skin. 

“I like that,” he rasped, sighing as you left a trail of kisses along the crook of his neck. You teased a small bite, waiting for his response after he twitched slightly. 

“I like that too, Y/N.”

Feeling his body react to your touch like this was delicious, growing that heat in your core, that desire for him. 

Nibbling his earlobe was a dangerous task, but worth it, as this massive warrior squirmed under your touch. 

“N-No more,” he pleaded, gently moving you away from his ear to sit on his chest.

“Did it feel good?”

“It did,” he admitted after a pause.

You answered by laying kisses and soft touches down his chest. 

He must not get a lot of touch in his lonely life, you thought as you enjoyed his reactions. 

I’m going to change that.

You worshiped his gorgeous body as he’d worshiped yours. Kissing and nibbling down his skin, you traced his muscles and tattoos with your fingers while his breathing and gentle moans were like the sweetest of songs. 

Until you worked your way down, and sat beside the gorgeous, throbbing length of him. 

The fact that he was larger than anyone you’d ever seen wasn’t a surprise. The girth alone was intense, but even though his length was intimidating, you tilted your head at it. 

Maybe it’s possible?

You realized you’d been thinking about it almost scientifically, and looked up at his face, a hint of concern on it. 

“Y/N, I don’t need or expect that, there are ple–”

“I won’t lie, Katakuri, you are very intimidating,” you teased, regretting the choice of words immediately as his face started to fall. You gripped onto his hip to bring his eyes back to you.

“But I would love to try that with you. I think we might be able to. Just maybe not tonight.”

“No,” he agreed, his face soft again as he stroked your hair. “I don’t want to hurt you. I only want you to feel good tonight.

“Well, you’re doing a great job so far,” you laughed, poking his side. 

“So are you, little wife.”

The heat in his voice, along with those words, made your skin flush all over again, somehow feeling shy after everything you’d already done.

“I like when you make this face,” he chuckled, touching your cheek. 

“Stop,” you squirmed, hiding behind your hands. 

“Please, don’t hide that pretty face from me.”

His deep voice vibrated through his body, so you could feel his request through your legs as you sat on him, making you shiver more. But you listened, looking up at your gorgeous husband. 

“Perfect,” he whispered, tracing from your temple to your jaw as your lips parted. 

“Can I,” you choked out, clearing your throat before trying again, “can I make you feel good now?”

Seeing those scarred lips curve around those sharp teeth would probably scare most, but you already loved seeing it. It sent warmth right through you before you brought your attention to that needy length of his. 

He had softened a bit as you talked, but you could see the drip of precum that had trailed down, rolling along thick veins that made you bite your lip. 

It twitched before you touched it, already getting hard as his sharp eyes watched your every move. 

Your fingers reached out to tease, just as you’d done across his body, tracing from the base to the tip, eliciting a little twitch from the crimson haired man beneath you.

Trying not to laugh, you realized you might get bucked off if Katakuri twitched too hard. 

Pushing your thoughts away, you focused on the thick flesh in front of you, and the hungry eyes devouring you. 

You had to taste him. Had to. 

With your tongue flattened against him, you licked along those gorgeous veins, licked up that trail of precum, flicking your tongue across the slit of his tip, before kissing it, tongue swirling as you met his eyes again. 

His wide mouth was open, sharp teeth parted as he breathed heavily, and you saw his large hands fisted in his sheets. 

“Does that fee–”

“Don’t stop,” he begged, his voice strained as you’d pulled your mouth away. “Fuck, Y/N, please don’t stop.”

You answered with your tongue, licking and teasing around him, bringing your hands to his throbbing cock that tasted soo good. 

One hand couldn’t fit around his girth, so you used both to slowly stroke up and down while you wrapped your lips around his tip. 

His head tilted back as he moaned, your new favorite sound.

“Just like that, so good…”

Spit dripped down his length as you gave him as much as you could. The feel of him, the sounds he made, it had your own body twisting, clenching with need. You found yourself moaning and rocking your body back and forth as you touched him. 

“Y/N, is that… Are you dripping on me?”

His husky voice made you pause, until his fingers slid between your thighs. 

“Fuuckk,” he cried out as you moaned, his fingers coming away dripping with slick. 

“You like my cock– fuck… this much, honey?”

“Yes, Katakuri,” you whined, your body feeling desperate as you kept stroking him.

“You’re doing so well, little wife. Grind that sweet pussy right here for me,” he gestured, bringing his fist up beside you. 

With shaky limbs, you sat on the back of his hand, finding the perfect friction for you to grind on while you went back to your task. 

The relief made you moan around him, and you opened wider to take as much of his thick cock into your mouth as you could handle. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet. Sweet mouth feels so good.”

Every delicious word of praise that dripped from those lips was like fuel to the fire in your blood. You rocked against his hand, drenching his skin as your clit got that perfect pressure.

Your eyes rolled back as you felt that thick cock starting to twitch. 

“Wait,” he choked out, his free hand moving to pull himself out of your mouth. 

But you whined, clinging to his cock as you hit your orgasm, grinding on his skin as he started to moan your name. 

The feeling of those veins throbbing and pulsing was incredible. He came spilling into your mouth as your lips were wrapped around his tip. You tried to swallow it all, but it was so much. 

You let it spill down the sides, using it to slide your hands along him a few more times as he let out deep, glorious moans. 

Out of breath, both of you twitched and gasped until you could speak again. 

“You made a mess,” you teased, gesturing to his come as it dripped from your chin to your stomach. 

He let out a surprised laugh, and you gasped as he pulled his hand out from under you. 

“So did you,” he rasped, making your eyes roll back as he licked your wetness off of the back of his hand. 

“How do you feel?”

His gentle words seemed so much more open, less full of worry, and you loved it. 

“I feel amazing, husband.”

“Mm, so do I, little wife.”

You scrunched your nose at the pet name, feeling like you should argue. But you liked it. 

I like him. 

You smiled to yourself as you watched him leave, going to clean up. 

“What’s wrong,” he asked as he returned, that worry back in his voice as he handed you a damp towel. 

“Hm? Oh, I’m sorry!”

Tears had pooled in the corners of your eyes, and you wiped them away with a laugh.

“I’m just happy, Katakuri. It’s crazy how this all happened. But I’m really happy to be here with you now.”

This sweet man’s face softened, making you believe your own words even more. You cleaned yourself off, and let him lift you up as he crawled into bed. 

Katakuri laid on his back for you. He let you lie on his chest, the deep rhythm of his heart pulsing through you, sending your relaxed body to sleep. 

But not before his gentle fingers stroked your hair, trailing down your back as you melted, the memory of your dad’s voice coming to wish you goodnight.

‘Don’t fight miracles, sweetheart. Sometimes good people really do get good things.’

You were right, dad. I won’t be alone anymore.

Katakuri’s deep voice rolled over you, proving it.

“I’m happy too, Y/N. I’m happy you’re my family now.”

You drifted off with his warm skin on yours, and had the sweetest dreams you’d ever had. 

Likes and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: Thank you for joining me on this super fluffy adventure! It's definitely the sweetest thing I've ever written, and I hope you you enjoyed it! 🍩💖

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @jadeddangel

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[monzabee]

the lusty month of may – cs55 (+18)

masterlist

Summary: The one where it’s that darling month when everyone throws self-control away, and you and Carlos decide to do a wretched thing – or two. 

Pairing: carlos sainz x reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex (cover your willy, don’t be silly), pre-established relationship, cursing, google translate spanish bc i forgot all the spanish i learned in school (lo siento mucho, señora xenia), talks about pregnancy, minors dni!!

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! okay so this was not supposed to take me this long to write, but i kind of procrastinated because of studying and my exams, but here it is, finally done! i fully blame carlos for my brain rot, so i hope you guys enjoy this one, and feedback is always appreciated! (p.s. the title comes from a song from the broadway musical ‘camelot’ for those of you who are interested!) good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

His hand is closed over your mouth in a feasible attempt to cover up any pleas or sounds coming from your lips. You tried telling him no when he started pulling you towards the greenhouse behind the villa his family rented out for the weekend. It was supposed to help Carlos destress before leaving for Miami for the rest of the triple header, a long weekend, “A quick little getaway,” his mother called it. Carlos lets out some built-up steam, alright, by fucking you every chance he gets over the course of the 4-day vacation. 

“You know what it does to me when you wear this dress, amorita,” Carlos’ breath hits your sweaty skin as he runs his nose down the length of your throat, “maybe I should rip it when I’m done with you, hm? De esa manera no puedes tentarme más.” That way you can't tease me anymore. You try shaking your head as a response which elicits a mocking chuckle from him, the way he bucks his hip driving him further deep inside you. The strangled moan that rips from the back of your throat has you throwing your head back, which causes Carlos to quickly, but gently, tug on your chin to make you look back up at him. “Eyes on me, cariño.” 

His hips continue their rushed movements as he keeps his eyes locked to yours, your lips opening in an attempt to make him see reason. “Carlos, they’ll hear us.” You think he’ll ignore you once again, like he did when he was frantically pulling you away from the pathway which leads to the courtyard both of you were supposed to be making your way over for dinner with his parents. 

With one last thrust of his lips, which pulls yet another moan from your lips. “I won’t let anyone see you like this; you know that don’t you?” His tone is sweet despite the way he’s breathing deeply in an attempt to organise his breathing, the way he uses the tip of his pointer finger to caress down your blushed cheek, sending shivers down your spine. Although you manage to nod your head, there is a small smile on his lips as he reminds you, “Words, amorita.”

“I- I know that,” you breathe out a ragged breath, hand gripping Carlos’ shirt tighter in the process, “you’re far too jealous to let anyone see.” 

“Always such wits, amor,” he drags the tip of his finger towards your lips, “maybe I’ll just have to fuck you harder to remind you how much you love my possessive side.” 

“You are insane,” you pant, letting out another moan when he shifts his hips to continue his movements even deeper, “is that why you pulled me here? To fuck me into the wall because you were jealous?” 

His voice is hoarse against your skin as he drags his hand down your face to your neck towards your chest to grope your breast. “I made you a promise, remember?” 

And you do. You remember the hushes whispers and promises shared before the New Year’s, and the sweet kiss you’ve shared afterwards. Your eyes soften as realisation sinks in, his determined gaze on yours suddenly making more sense. His hand is rough as he kneads the skin of your breast, his fingers quickly find your pebbled nipple, which has you whining. “I do- I do remember.” You manage to get out as you do your best to focus on his command from earlier. 

“Good, so be a good girl for me and hang on tight, hm?” He gives you enough time for you to organise yourself; your hands grab the flower arranging table underneath you firmly and it makes you receive a pleased hum from him as he keeps up the movement of his hips whilst also making you wrap your legs around him, a hand firmly placed on your upper thigh. “Eyes on me, cariño.” He reminds you.

You comply, of course, and his thrusts keep getting deeper and deeper every time his hips finds yours because of the new position. There is nothing innocent about the way the sounds of your skin slapping off of each other echo in the stuffy greenhouse, mixed with your moans calling out his name over and over again. He knows you well enough to know your tells when you’re getting closer, and he knows your body well enough to know that you won’t be able to hang on for too long. 

The way you scream out Carlos’ name when you feel his fingers drawing circles on your clit is nothing short of animalistic, the way he whispers praises to your lips is lost to you as you feel yourself getting closer to your release. “Carlos,” his name leaves your mouth in a desperate moan, followed by a softer and more pleading, “Carlos, please.” 

“Ask me nicely, amor.” His smile is almost devilish as he mumbles the words to your lips, his fingers slowing down their movements until you give him what he wants. His free hand tighten around your upper thigh in warning as he adds, “No continuaré si no lo pides amablemente.” I won't continue if you don't ask nicely.

You bite back a snarky comment, hyperaware of the fact that he is a man of his word and will leave you unsatisfied on the table by yourself if you don’t give him what he wants. “Por favor déjame correrme.” Please let me cum. The next moan that comes out of your lips come off more as a broken sob as he resumes his fingers’ movement on your bundle of nerves and his hips speeding up their movements to get you there, and you can’t help but chant “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The continuous moans that keep coming out of your mouth, in which you are begging him to make you cum causes his hips to continue their movement rather sharply. Your eyes are filled with tears of pleasure as your visions gets blurry, but you make a point to maintain eye contact with Carlos while he guides you through your orgasm. He only lets himself come undone once you’re done, but unintentionally clench around him due to still feeling sensitive. Hearing your name come through his lips in a guttural moan causes you attempt to bring him closer by tightening your legs around him. 

After a few moments of calmness, you whine at the loss of contact as Carlos pulls out slowly, careful enough to not hurt you. Just as he begins tucking himself back to his pants you attempt to fix your own clothing, but he’s quick to stop you as he says, “Stay on the table, cariño.” 

You choose to nod, not trusting your voice. He’s gentle with you as he pulls up your underwear up your legs and fixes the top and the skirt of your dress. You watch him with sleepy eyes as you ask, “Do you think it took this time?”

“We’ll have to wait and see,” he smiles softly at you while getting some of your tangled hair out of your face, “do you think it did?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble, suddenly shy in front of him for no reason – but he is quick to divert the situation by cutting your feet off the ground by carrying you bridal style, which has you squealing as you wrap your arms around his neck, “Carlos!”

 He lets out a laugh a laugh as he walks out of the greenhouse and the colder air outside has you snuggling closer to his body for heat. His voice is light as he mumbles, “Well, this brings back memories.” 

“You say as if our wedding was a decade ago.” You complain, scrunching up your nose in disagreement. You let a confused hum when he starts walking back to the villa. “We’re supposed to–”

“I’ll tell my parents you were feeling ill,” he raises an eyebrow, “unless you want to sit with them for the rest of the night with my cum still–”

“Carlos!” You exclaim, making him quickly drop the rest of the sentence as he stars laughing. “This is not funny, you know.” 

“Oh it is plenty funny, cariño.” Carlos objects, “We can always tell my parents we were trying for a baby.” He is quick to add, “Not, the literal way, loca,” after receiving a bewildered look from you. 

You sigh as you shrug, “I mean, we could.” 

He agrees with a hum, “We’ll talk about it later, now go to sleep, I know you will before I make it back to the room anyway.”

“Mhm, you know me too well.” You mumble as you bury your face into his neck. 

“That I do, cariño.” He mumbles as he presses a gentle kiss to your hair “That I do.”

[upat4amwiththemoon]

Heyy can i request a wanda x fem reader oneshot where r is the queen of a nation which is similar to Wakanda and the avengers need this nations help for something (sitting on the throne looking badass moment ) and she is graceful and so badass like: sitting at dining table uses knife to point towards empty seat, “oh. sit, please.” R has powers and helps them out. Wanda being head over heals and finally them dating. I am sorry for the long request 😭

Mother Nature

Summary: A queen so powerful, myths have been written about her. An island so mysterious, no one knows where it is.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x female!reader

Warnings: none

Word count: 2505

a/n: listen…this got a little out of hand

Tags: @thought-of-you-and-me @rafecameronswhore @sayah13 @wandsmxmff @emsmultiverse @natashamaximoff69

masterlists | guidelines

Dragonstone is a volcanic island in the North Atlantic Ocean, just below Greenland and Iceland, but it’s not visible on any maps. Not many know of its existence, as the island is surrounded by such powerful magic, making it invisible to the naked eye. If anyone were to sail towards it, violent storms and currents will make even the strongest of ships sink. It has become a myth to the outsiders, an area such as the Bermuda Triangle, where everyone disappears into the nothingness. This keeps the island, and its population, in safety and peace. They have fought no wars, nor have they suffered in the hands of man made concepts.

However, the fights have started to get bigger, sometimes having the faith of the whole Universe in their hands. That much they figured out after Thanos. Which is why the Avengers know of Dragonstone, and its Queen, and how to get her help.

Everyone holds onto their seats as the Quinjet’s autopilot navigates through the dark clouds, often going through turbulence. “Are we sure this isn’t actually just some freak of nature spot? Is there anything here?” Tony grumbles as he tries to fasten his seatbelt impossibly tight. “We have very expensive cargo on board, and by that I mean me and my suit.”

“Fury seemed confident in his knowledge.” Steve reminds, slightly more calmly, though he is also nervous.

Wanda has her eyes closed. She tries to stay inside her mind, ignoring everything going around her. Air traffic has never been her favorite, but this is next level. The Quinjet does sudden dives and turns, throwing anything loose around. This is why Fury said to fasten everything to the walls and roof, but like usual, Tony didn’t take the advice to heart.

She can feel Natasha’s hand holding her own, calming her down slightly. Wanda doesn’t personally know Fury that well, but she knows Natasha thinks very highly of him, so she is pretty sure he wouldn’t lead them to their certain death. However, she can’t be sure, as this is starting to feel like a wrong way to the supposed island.

“Why couldn’t Fury come here himself? Or the Queen to us?” Kate almost shouts at a particularly violent spot.

“Because when we ask for help from royalties, we show them respect.” Steve states, his *all the younger generations have forgotten respect* personality every old person has shining through. “Did none of you learn this in Wakanda?”

No one gets to answer him, as the Quinjet starts going up, up, up full speed, making everyone yelp. After it has reached the correct altitude, it goes down headfirst. For a moment, the team is sure something has gone wrong, that they are plummeting towards their death. But right before it hits the water, the Quinjet turns the right way and continues flying forward, now in a completely calm climate.

They instantly calm down, letting out breaths of relief and relaxing their tense muscles. Natasha is the first one to get out of her seat, going to the cockpit and looking out the window. “Well, at least the island is real.” She calls out. The others start to pile up in front of the window.

At first glance, it looks like they’re flying towards a big pile of rocks, but at a closer look, they can see the rocks form big walls and even a bigger castle on the island. They’re in awe of the view. The water and air are so calm now that they’ve gotten past the barrier.

They stare out the window while the Quinjet lowers itself to the ground, right outside the walls. Once they step outside, they see two people waiting for them. “Welcome to Dragonstone!” One of them smiles. “My name is Sylvia and I’m the Queen’s advisor. And this,” she gestures to the person next to her, who is wearing an armor, “and this is Calen, they’re the head of protection in this island.”

They bow their head down as a greeting, not saying anything to the guests. The look on their face is serene and their posture is straight, like a proper soldier’s. Sylvia on the other hand shows more excitement through her body, even though her hands are behind her back, they’re still wiggling around, and the smile on her face is one that can light up a whole room.

“Thank you for granting us access to your island.” Steve speaks up, being the unofficial spokesperson when it comes to formal situations.

“Fury is an old friend of Gaia, any friend of his is a friend to us. Now, if you’d follow me, I’ll take you to the castle to meet our Queen.”

They start trekking the land towards the castle, first walking on the bare land and then moving to narrow walkways as they go inside the walls. Most of the walk goes by in silence, the team taking in their surroundings. They’ve never seen anything quite like this.

Wanda drags her hand along the stone fence, her fingers going along the bumps and ridges of it. She smiles. The magic of this island feels different than her own, but not in a threatening way, it feels like it’s dancing with her own.

Finally they get to the castle’s entrance. The huge wooden door opens inward, two other soldiers pulling it. Calen and Sylvia greet them as they go past them. “The Queen is in the throne room.” The latter tells the group, leading them through hallways before stopping in front of a door.

The door to the throne room is also wooden, but it’s a lot more decorated compared to the other ones. It’s carved from top to bottom with different pictures, making it look like a story. Calen pushes the door open, letting everyone walk through it before closing it again. At the end of the room, the Queen sits on her throne. The royal seat has been made out of purely white stone. The backside of it is tall and the sides are wide enough for the Queen to lay her arms there comfortably, but it still looks delicate.

“Gaia.” Sylvia lowers her head in respect and Calen goes down to one knee to bow. The Avengers, quite hesitantly, bow in some way too, bot sure of the island’s customs.

“There’s no need for that.” The Queen’s voice makes all of them rise. Sylvia and Calen take their respective places near the Queen, while the team stop in front of the stairs to the throne. “I hear you are friends of Nicholas Fury.”

Wanda stares at her in amazement. The way she looks so soft yet regal makes her heart pound faster than normal. She can see her chest moving up and down as she breathes, the armor like steel plate moving with it. The dark blue fabric is thick for colder weathers, but flowy enough to move easily. Wanda’s eyes move up to the top of her head. The crown on her head looks like it’s made out of steel as well. It makes her look sharp and strong. She looks majestic sitting on her throne.

“We are,” Steve smiles, “thank you for agreeing to meet us, your Highness.”

“Please, Y/N.” She states. “That’s the name my mother gave me.”

“Y/N. I’m sure you’re aware of a recently defeated threat from space called Thanos.” He continues once she nods, “unfortunately the other worldly threats don’t stop there. We’d like to ask your help to prevent these kind of attacks more efficiently.”

“Certainly.”

Wanda shudders from the way Y/N says the word. Her pronunciation, the slight rasp of her voice and how she rolls the letter r, make her feel dizzy. She is sure the look on her face is stupid, and lovestruck, her eyes wide and mouth slightly parted. The whole conversation going on is going past her. Only thing in her mind right now is something she really shouldn’t be thinking about, but she just can’t stop herself.

“Would you give me the honor of joining me for dinner today? We even have enough guest rooms if you wish to rest before your trip back to America.”

“We would be honored to join you.” Natasha answers. She has been glancing at Wanda during the conversation with a grin on her face, she can read her face easily, knowing what the witch is fantasizing about.

The Queen stands up, her dress falling perfectly to her feet. “I’m glad to hear that. I shall see you in the dining room in an hour, in the mean while, Sylvia will show you where you can refresh yourselves.” Sylvia nods and gestures for them to follow her. Wanda keeps her eyes on Y/N as she walks away, noticing a small smile growing on her face.

After an hour, the Avengers gather into the dining room by Sylvia’s lead, where Y/N is already waiting for them. “Gaia.” Sylvia says before leaving the room.

Y/N stands up, pointing towards the empty chairs. “Please, sit.” She says with a smile, sitting down once again when they get around the table. Wanda sits next to her. She can see the small details of her breast plate from this close.

The table is already fully catered with different foods and desserts. It works like a buffet, everyone takes what they like to their plates. “Can I ask you,” Wanda starts when her plate is full, “why do they call you Gaia, if your name is Y/N?”

“Gaia is a title of sorts. Every queen before me was called that as well, because we keep this island alive and safe. It means Mother Nature.” She explains with a gentle smile on her face, holding eye contact with Wanda as she talks to her. “It is an honor to be called Gaia.” Wanda nods, not able to look away from her stormy eyes.

“How does the next queen get chosen?” Tony asks.

“It’s more faith than decision making,” she pauses, looking for best words to describe how their queens get their role, “we’re born to it, but not in a traditional sense. We are born from the previous Gaia, they mold us from magic.”

“So, there’s no…” he moves his fingers around in a promiscuous manner, which makes Steve look at him disapprovingly. They’re in front of the Queen after all.

But she only finds the situation amusing. “No. Children born in a traditional way are random, and our queens need to be precise. They’re all women and they all have powers. They need to be born from magic.”

Although they don’t really understand the process, and none of them want to ask about the specifics of it, they still find it fascinating. It’s a whole new country with completely different customs compared to theirs. Wanda especially listens to her intently. Her smooth voice practically drilling its way into her brain.

“Can the queen have relationships? Even if they don’t have any part on the next generation of rulers.” The question makes Wanda’s head snap to look at Natasha, who has a wide grin on her face.

“Yes. There are no rules on relationship. The partner just has to know they have no rule over the island.”

Satisfied with the answer, Natasha nods, sending a discreet wink towards Wanda. Her cheeks turn a shade of pink. She tries to hide it by eating the food.

They keep a light conversation going while they all finish their food. Once the plates are empty and the stomachs full, they start leaving the table and go to their rooms. The Queen doing the same. However, she isn’t alone for long.

There’s a knock on her bedroom door.

“Hello, Wanda.” Y/N smiles, the door now open wide. “Would you like to come in?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Wanda steps into the room, the door closing after her. She looks around the room, trying to keep her eyes off of Y/N’s thin night gown. A big bed is in the middle of the room, it has light blue veil over it and a white fur on top. A window, almost the size of the wall, is on the right side of it, but it’s already covered with dark curtains. Otherwise the room is quite plain. A wooden dresser. Mirror with steel decorations. What catches Wanda’s eyes are the tapestries on the walls. They’re bright and colorful, each one having its own story. “Beautiful.” She mumbles.

“They tell our history.” Y/N steps beside her. “Every queen makes one. These are the oldest ones, the rest are in the library, visible for everyone. One day mine will be there too.” She sounds proud when she speaks of her ancestors.

“Your mother, is she still alive?”

“No. The crown passed down to me when I was thirteen.”

“I’m sorry.”

Y/N turns to her with a smile. “Nothing to be sorry about. She’s with her mother and grandmother, and so on. And one day I will see her again, until then, I will make her proud by keeping the people on this island safe.”

However beautiful the idea is, Wanda still feels sad for her. She knows what it’s like to lose your mother young. But she doesn’t comment on it more, clearly it’s not something appropriate to discuss now. “The magic. It feels different here.”

“Yes, it’s not the same as yours. The magic is part of me as much as it is a part of the island. We’re connected. We can sense each other. I can control it and it can influence me.”

“That’s why they call you Mother Nature?”

“Sort of. There’s a long history there. But yes, my ability to control the sea and the air around us is a part of it.”

“Maybe you’ll be able to tell me some day.”

Her smile widens. “Maybe.”

Wanda smiles too. She notices how Y/N’s eyes twinkle in the dim light, as if they had their own light source. “You’re beautiful.” The words stumble out of her mouth. She had no intention on making any mind of move this soon, but she couldn’t help it. This felt like a right moment.

With a small giggle, Y/N looks down, trying to cover her warming cheeks. She doesn’t usually get nervous, but Wanda sounded so sincere. “I’m flattered you think so.”

“Do you think you could go on a date with me? Later, of course. Do you have any rules on that?” The nervousness starts growing at the bottom of her stomach again, the lapse of confidence leaving her body quickly.

“There are some rules, but nothing major. I could definitely go on a date with you, I’d actually really like to do so.”

Letting out a breath, Wanda nods. Her hands are moving her rings around. “Great. I- uhm, that’s great.” She laughs quietly. “I’ll leave you now. See you tomorrow.”

“See you.” Y/N gives her a small wave, smiling widely even after the door closes.

[aaaaaaallljffourrhodri]

Scars

A @libraryraccoon prompt

It was now a week since the whole STYKS fiasco and Grim was now back to Ramshackle living his student life to the fullest... however there was something bothering Grim... "Why does this place fill empty?" Grim hadn't seen his henchman since his return to the school grounds.

In his room the prefect was still unconscious recovering from the last overblot fight; the phantom had made him hit his head by throwing him to a wall.

When Yuu finally woke up ramshackle was surrounded by silence; "It's probably school time I shouldn't worry about it too much" after struggling a bit the prefect got up leaning onto the desk that was near his bead. Suddendly the mirror gave him a crude sight of reality: a black and blue scar ran trough his left eye.

"Oh right Grim..." The prefect murmured with sorrow before sighing "It would be better if I cover this up..." After a quick patch up his left eye was bandaged and hidden to everyone's sight with his black hair.

A week had passed again. Things were back to normal, and Yuu couldn't be more glad to see Grim finally happy! However there was something bothering him... why even after all the medication he took the scratch was still there? Didn't that potion cure scars? Why is it still there?

Lost with his train of toughs, Yuu didn't notice his legs took him to one place he dreaded the most: the botanical garden.

Yuu knew if he met the sleeping lion his cover would be blown and make Grim and the others far too preoccupied for his sake.

Panicking, he tried to exit the place, making as little noise as possible, only to be betrayed by a twig on the ground.

And there he was standing in all his majestic stance thr sunset savanna Prince, observing with annoyed eyes the now panicked prefect.

His look then softened before he scrunched up his nose without any word spoken he wrapped his hand around the collar of the prefect's shirt "Herbivore you stink."

The prefect tried to play it dumb

"Thanks, Leona..."

The lion growled. "Do you think I'm stupid Herbivore? Don't play dumb. We both know what I'm talking about the fact that you smell of decaying flesh." After his hand moved Yuu's hair out of the way, revealing a patch of bandages.

"Listen, Yuu, I'm not gonna tell anyone if that's what you want... however, I was not kidding when I said it smells like rotten flesh you should get checked by that dog trainer but for now I'll patch you up." Releasing his grip on the prefect he whipped out his magic pen casting a healing spell."This should keep things at bay for a while." Yuu swallowed before looking down not saying a word Leona hears were now flat on his head "You know I didn't want to say this but... that scar... reminds me of when I overblotted... the tought of me hurting you is now a nightmare to me so please get it checked."

Leaving the prefect stunned by this sudden confession, Leona started to head back to his dorm before turning one last time "Also; don't worry about that furball I'm sure he will understand that you forgive him if you tell him and you know.... having a scar is not something to be ashamed off" the lion said before pointing to his scar."For me, this is a reminder ofa successfull hunt, for you it will be a reminder of how much you endured since you came here..."

The prefect smiled softly thinking of Leona's words before heading back to the school ho owned everyone an explanation afterall.

(This was supposed to be super agsty but I made it fluff- o well. Sorry if it's not what you imagined @libraryraccoon but we'll enjoy? I guess?)

[beansmack2021]

She's Yours Now (Pt. 2)

Platonic!Teen!Reader x Hazbin Crew

TW: Mentions of abuse, death, murder, Reader is lowkey kind of op lol, mentions of drugs

Charlie wasn't really sure who she'd expected to see when her father sent her straight into the heart of Pride. She just knew that Lucifer himself didn't believe that this new soul deserved to be damned to Hell for eternity. Or until the next extermination, if she was one of the unlucky casualties.

She tried not to think too hard about the fates of many of her people. She'd start seething soon enough, and then she'd be practically useless on their trip to find their newest arrival. Still, she couldn't help the sensation of her blood boiling when she pictured the masked angel exorcists.

"Char, breathe. You're crushing my hand."

She snapped out of it pretty quickly. "Sorry, Vaggie. I'm just... I'm thinking about the extermination. We don't have much time, and I mean, we have plenty of people who don't even deserve to be here, but they're going to die again. This new arrival is apparently the perfect example. My dad doesn't even think she should be here."

Charlie personally didn't believe any sinner deserved the punishment that Heaven had dealt them. The whole point of her hotel was to make the people of Hell see the light and bring them to their utopia. It hurt to know that even if every other soul in Hell left, she'd never be able to, but she also knew that her life's mission was to help others.

She took a deep breath, the sulfuric smell and red haze of Hell reminding her that she couldn't just wallow, and she definitely couldn't rage. She, Angel Dust, and Vaggie had been walking for what felt like hours. They'd passed plenty of bloodied up sinners, a few shaking each other down for some baggies of white powder, but still didn't notice anyone out of the ordinary.

That was until they heard a crashing sound in the alley to their right. Vaggie readied her spear, leading the way quietly down the alley. They heard another rustling sound and Vaggie quickly pointed her spear at the source of the sound.

Charlie put her hand out in front of Vaggie to lower her spear, taking in the girl before them. She was small, definitely younger, and terrified. She had doe-like features, like fluffy ears, a snout, white freckles, and big eyes. Her hair was dark and curly, and she had curtain like bangs. She definitely didn't look like she belonged there. They found their new arrival. She sniffed once, eyes wide as she stared at them.

"Please. Don't hurt me." The young doe was practically whispering.

"Oh! We're not going to hurt you! We're here to help." Charlie crouched down, offering the girl a warm smile. "I'm Charlie Morningstar. I run the Happy Hotel here. Our mission is to redeem as many sinners as possible so that they may make it to Heaven someday."

The girl looked at the ground in front of her, thinking to herself for a moment. "So... this really is Hell, huh?"

Charlie nodded once, trying to maintain her composure. She really just wanted to hug the young doe, but she knew that that was probably the one thing the girl wanted the least.

"I know why I'm here. I know I did a bad thing. I just didn't realize the one bad thing could outway so much good. Especially since I did a bad thing for a good reason. I was trying to make sure nothing happened to anyone else, the way it happened to me." She put her head in her hands, laughing once, but it wasn't a happy laugh. She was in shock.

Charlie reached out a hand, trying to comfort the girl, but it was almost like she sensed the movement in the air. She flinched, grabbing onto the wall behind her and the trashcan beside her. She pulled herself up and took off down the road.

"No! Come back! We're just here to help!"

Vaggie met Charlie at the end of the alley, putting a hand on her shoulder. The same gesture that had the doe-ish girl running for the hills. A gesture that was supposed to be comforting and instead scared her more.

"Uhhhh... toots, you're gonna wanna see this."

Angel Dust stood staring at something on the ground where the girl had once been. Charlie gasped as she took in the sight before her.

"Did she do this?" Vaggie mumbled.

"This" was... definitely a sight.

The trash can was no longer in its original state. There was a gaping hole, with ashy edges. The wall wasn't looking much better. The small girl, who seemed so terrified and helpless, had disintegrated the bricks and metal that had surrounded her.

Charlie looked at Vaggie. "We need to find her. Before someone gets hurt."

[her-power]

Last Chance to Dance (Rockstar! e.m. x fem reader)

🚨🛑🔞18+++ MINORS DNI - YOU WILL BLOCKED🚨🛑🔞 TRIGGER/CONTENT WARNING (For entire series): Rockstar! Addict! Sweet! Mean! Eddie, smut, unprotected p+v, fluff, fingering (f receiving), masturbation, oral (m+f receiving), heavy drug use, descriptions of IV drug use, swearing, talks of anxiety, panic disorder, mental illness, talks of suicide

Summary: Modern Eddie + reader are early 30s. Eddie is the famous lead singer/guitarist of Corroded Coffin, who has gotten himself into legal trouble due to his antics and drug use. Eddie broke your heart many years ago and he receives a letter from you asking to meet to talk about what happened between you two so long ago. Secrets are talked about, mental walls are built and broken down. Most of this series will be in Eddie's POV. (I will also be putting song inspirations on each part 🤍)

Word Count: 5k

A/N: There will be a LOT of mentions of heavy drug use in this series. This series DOES NOT glorify the use of drugs. It is not cool, it is not fun, it is something that destroys people and everyone around them. I have loved and lost people I know to drug and alcohol use, a lot of what you read here is my own personal experience from what I have seen with my own eyes. I hope this series will spread awareness and will give anyone and everyone who reads this hope. If you or anyone you know is struggling with addiction, please know you are not alone, there is help out there.

The silence is almost deafening as I sit there in my dimly lit office, tapping my finger against the arm of the chair; the metal of my ring clinking as I stare at my therapist, Dr. Catherine Ryan, in front of me. She had a kind smile, but I wasn’t in the mood to talk today. 

“What’s bothering you?” She asks gently. 

I gaze at her, gnawing on the inside of my cheek. A stupid habit I formed when I stopped using six months ago. 

Let’s see, I’m tired of the noise inside my head that is constantly reminding me what a piece of shit I am. I’m lucky that my bandmates don’t hate my guts for the shit I put them through on tour when I was needle deep in a heroin fog and couldn’t remember the lyrics to a fucking song I wrote. My music career is only surviving because the world thinks we’re on a hiatus to write our next album when I actually did a stint in rehab and have court ordered mandatory therapy once a week. The only way I can have therapy is if she comes to my escape cabin in upstate New York and escorted in and out by a security guard. 

Oh, I also can’t stop thinking of you, the one whose heart I broke fifteen years ago back in Hawkins, Indiana because I was too scared to love or be loved. The same you who mailed me a letter that I received at my P.O. Box in Boston three days ago, that I haven’t opened yet and sits in my back pocket folded up, because I’m too much of a pussy to see what you have to say.  

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I tell her, taking a cigarette out of my pocket. I let the smoke fill my lungs and exhale the smoke away from her. 

“What do you want to talk about?” She asks, crossing her legs. I stare at her long legs, and my eyes scan up her body. She was curvy and thick, with a perfect set of tits and stunning green eyes. I almost laugh, if a beautiful woman like her was in my house six months ago, it wouldn’t take long before I’d have her bent over the back of my couch, fucking her until she couldn’t take it anymore. But I couldn’t do that anymore. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, or whatever the fuck the saying is. 

“Eddie, this is mandatory therapy. I can’t help you if you’re not willing to talk. We’ve had four sessions so far, and the only thing we have talked about is your drug habit.” She seemed annoyed, and I couldn’t blame her.

“I’m only here because of my drug habit.” 

“Is that all?” 

She was testing me, and I smile at her, leaning my elbows against my knees. “You know, I bet you are really good at helping people and are able to get your patients to sit here and cry about their shitty lives or whatever it is people tell you. But I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, you’re not gonna get it from me.” 

“You keep up a guard. Defense mechanism, it’s common in people who have been hurt before.” She says, scribbling a note down. 

I narrow my eyes. “I sense judgment in your tone, and I’m not sure I care for it.” 

“It’s not judgement, Eddie. It’s an observation. I’m observing you.” 

I sit back against my chair and scoff, lighting up another cigarette with the ember of the one I just had. I inhale deeply. “I think our session should be cut early today.” 

She closes her notebook and gives you a kind smile. “If that’s what you want.” 

“I do.” I tell her. 

I get up from my seat as she stands, walking her to the door where the security guard waited outside. I may be an asshole, but I know how to be a gentleman. Chivalry isn’t dead when your name is Eddie Munson. She nods at me as she leaves, handing me her card for the time of the next session for next week and I close the door behind her. I stub out the cigarette in the ashtray and let out a deep sigh. I plop myself on the couch, hearing the crinkle of the letter in my back pocket and I lift my hips to pull it out. I look at the neat print on the front; seeing your handwriting brought back so many memories that I had forgotten about. 

Why would you send me a letter? Is it just to tell me how happy you’ve been these last fifteen years since I’ve been gone, that you’re married with children, thriving in your thirties? 

“Well, the only way to know is if you open the letter, dipshit.” I mutter to myself. I groan, shaking my head as I rip the letter open and unfold it. It was only two pages, but you had written a lot. 

 Hey, You’re a tough guy to find, being famous and all. I didn’t think this P.O. Box was real at first, but I ended up tracking down Gareth and he told me it was real. I can’t believe he still has the phone number he’s had since high school.  I don’t know why I’m writing you a letter, I guess I could’ve just texted you, he did give me your number, but I wanted this to feel more personal. Like when I’d write you those stupid folded notes in class.  I know it’s been a long time, and you’re probably thinking I’m absolutely insane, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you lately. There are so many things that I wanna say to you. There are so many things that were left unsaid, and I guess lately it’s been bothering me. You’re probably not even going to get this, so I don’t even know why I’m continuing to write.  I don’t want you to think that I hated you or have hated you this whole time. It would be easier to hate you, believe me, I’ve tried but I physically cannot have that kind of power over me. I’m proud of you, Eddie. You worked so hard to get to where you are, and you made your dreams come true. I knew you could.  I want to tell you I’m proud of you in person; to let you know that what happened in the past stays there and we can both move forward in a way. I mean, I just told you now. I know you’re really busy and I feel stupid now. But I will be in Boston in December, the week of the 18th while my aunt is down in Florida for the week, house sitting. Gareth had mentioned you and the band were taking a hiatus to focus on the writing and doing some self reflecting. I would love to see you, especially with the holiday season. 

It’s not every day you get to see the boy you’ve known since diapers be on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine, selling out stadiums. 

Please don’t feel obligated, though. 

I suddenly forgot how to swallow, and I almost choke on my own saliva. You had written your phone number on the bottom of the last page. I swing my legs onto the floor, taking my phone off the coffee table. I scroll to my contact list, and add your name, along with your phone number. 

I pause, my hands begin to shake, and I inhale deeply. 

“No no no, not now, not now.” Grimacing, I sit back on couch, closing my eyes as my stomach turns to knots and my chest feels like it was going to explode. I can feel the sweat bead at the back of my neck as the panic attack feels like it’s choking me out and I groan. I go into the drawer of the coffee table, pulling out the lorazepam pill bottle, taking a minute to open the cap because my hands were so sweaty. I throw the pill in my mouth, swallowing it dry and breathe in through my nose. 

This happens more often now, especially since being off dope, I had to learn how to deal with them like a normal thirty-four-year-old man. It took a lot of convincing for my doctors to give me the lorazepam, but apparently threatening to go and take a hot shot of heroin to kill myself was convincing enough for them to give me the lowest dose of the stupid pill. 

I close my eyes. Thinking back to how I got here; how I could’ve lost everything because of my own stupidity, because of my inability to slow down, because I took sex, drugs, rock and roll too literally. All because I refuse to let love into my soul and hold on tight. 

One year earlier

The dressing room walls echo with the moans of myself and...I don’t even remember her name. Sarah? Shelly? It doesn’t even matter. I only see the back of her head anyway; she was very blonde. I hold onto her hips tightly, slamming my cock in and out of her. She was screaming like a porn star, and I’m pretty sure she was putting on a show. 

“Oooooh, just like that baby. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. Oh goddd, you’re so fucking good.” She moans and I roll my eyes, slamming into her harder just to get her to shut up. I reach over to the coffee table to grab my tiny vile of cocaine, I pop open the cap, and pull out of her for a moment. She was still rolling her hips as I sprinkle the drugs onto her ass.

“Stop fucking moving.” I tell her, grabbing the plastic straw and snorting back the drugs into my airways. She moans again when she hears me snort another line off her, and I slam myself back into her. My head falls back in pleasure, the effects of the cocaine causing every single part of my body to pulsate, and I can feel my orgasm approaching. 

“Fuuuuck.” I moan, my rhythm getting sloppy, and she groans. 

“Cum inside me baby, cum inside me.” She moans and I immediately feel myself go soft. Fuck this. I stop moving and slide myself out of her, she turns to look at me, her mouth opened in a gasp. “Why did you stop?”

I take a cigarette out of my pack and light it. “Get out.” 

“What?” She snaps. 

“Get your shit and get the fuck out of my dressing room. Telling me to cum inside you, I know what you’re doing.” I take her dress off the floor and throw it at her. Her eyes narrow and she gets up from the couch, throwing the dress over her head. 

“You weren’t even that good, fucking junkie!” She yells at me, and I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lungs. She looked like a cartoon character. Her eyes wild, her hair a wild mess, her fake tits bouncing as she storms out of the room. I lean back on the couch, a little mad that I didn’t cum, but whatever, that’s what my hand is for. I don’t know why I invite these women back to my dressing room after every show. Most of the time, these women don’t even know the words to our songs, they just want to be able to tell their friends they fucked a rockstar.  I sigh, opening the vile and do another bump. I’m one hundred percent in love with heroin, but I’m an addict. Cocaine just takes the edge off when I need it to. I tie my hair back in a low bun, blowing my bangs out of my face. I stand, catching a glimpse of myself in the fluorescent lit vanity mirror. The lighting made me look terrible; I was thinner than normal. The ram skull tattoo across my abdomen looked discolored, but I know it was just the way the light was hitting it. I was losing muscle mass in both of my arms, but since tattoo sleeves covered both my arms, no one could notice. No one knew how bad it was getting with the dope; I honestly preferred to suffer in silence about it, but I knew they noticed. I would feel Gareth’s eyes burn into the back of my skull whenever I would escape to go into a bathroom, or immediately go into my hotel room to get started on my new supply. I felt terrible keeping it from him, he was my brother, my bandmate, but he didn’t need to worry. I was fine, at least that’s what I told myself. 

We had awhile before we hit the next city of the tour. The tour bus felt too crowded, too stuffy. We all decided it would make sense to hide out in a hotel for a few days before we got to Atlanta.  I requested my own room of course, the supply I just bought felt like it was burning a hole in my pocket. Isn’t that what they say about money? 

Money meant nothing to me; if I lost it all tomorrow, I wouldn’t care. That’s the beauty of this drug, you don’t have a care in the world once that shot courses through your veins. 

I lock the door to my room after saying goodnight and head into the bathroom. I pull my shirt over my head and undo the belt from my jeans. I set everything up on the table: fresh needle, the drugs, and water bottle cap.  It doesn’t take long for me to pull the dope into the syringe, at this point it’s like riding a bike for me. I sit on the floor against the bathtub, I wrap the belt around my left arm, pulling it tight with my teeth and clench my fist. I see the most perfect vein pop up in the bend of my arm; I have to be careful though, I can’t go to the same spot twice or else I’ll blow up my veins and then more people will notice.  I’ve always hated needles, isn’t that ironic? I’m thinking that as the tip of it pinches my skin and my thumb is on the trigger, slowly pushing it down.

“A spoon full of sugar makes the medicine go down…” I sing softly, feeling the sweet burn of the heroin flow like a tsunami in my veins. My eyes flutter close as the most beautiful feeling overcomes me; my head lulls back against the porcelain and I feel a smile grace my lips. 

A loud knock at my door startles me out of my high, and I’m pissed. 

“Hang on a second.” I mutter and awkwardly pull myself up, undoing the belt from my arm. I place the cap on the needle and toss it behind the doors under the sink. 

Knock knock knock knock knock

I toss my sweatshirt over my head, putting a cigarette to my lips. “Yeah, I hear you! Fuck, I’m coming.” 

I open the door to find Gareth standing there with his arms crossed, I light the cigarette and wave my hand, tilting my head at him. “Yeah?” 

“What are you doing?” He asks me. 

“What do you mean what am I doing? I’m not doing anything.” I inhale on the cigarette, and he continues to stare at me. If there was a God, I thank him for giving me brown eyes, because at least he wouldn’t be able to see how my pupils look like pinholes. “Do you wanna come in?” 

I move to the side, and he walks by me, I shut the door, locking it. 

“Do you want a beer or anything?” I ask him, going into the mini fridge, pulling out two, I could feel myself about to nod, but I quickly stand up, clearing my throat so I can at least look like I’m not fucked up. 

“No, I’m fine.” His eyes scan every inch of my room, the floor where my clothes were, Sweetheart laying on the foot of my bed. My necklace I always wore with the red guitar pick laid on the nightstand by the bed. I always take it off before I shoot up, I don’t know why, I think something is going to happen to it if I don’t, it means a lot to me. His eyes fix on my belt on the bathroom floor, he doesn’t say anything, but I know what he’s thinking. 

“Gareth, if you got something to say, man, just say it.” I tell him, leaning against the small table, I ash my cigarette into a coca cola can. 

He turns to me; he was still blessed with a baby face that I remember from school. “How bad is it getting?” He almost whispers.

“How bad is what getting?” 

“The drugs, man. Come on dude, I know you’re not stupid.” He sits across from me on the foot of the bed, gently moving Sweetheart over. 

I sigh. “Gareth, I’m fine. It’s not getting bad.”

He puts his head down, shaking his head. “Don’t fucking bull shit me, Eddie. I’ve known you for almost two decades. Have you even looked at yourself lately?”

I close my eyes, feeling a wave of anxiety hit my lower gut, and I force it to go away by not caring. “Don’t worry about me, man. I’m serious.”

“Of course, I’m gonna fucking worry!” He stands up, his face full of rage. “If you fuck up this tour, our entire music career is in the gutter! How many times have I had to bail you out when you’ve been coming down from a cocaine binge and are late to rehearsal? How many goddamn times have I had to convince cops not to arrest you when you’re inebriated beyond belief. It’s getting fucking old, man.” He towers over my 6-foot frame and again, I start laughing. 

His eyes widen. “Are you seriously laughing right now? 

“Yeah.” I chuckle. “I am, because it’s funny how you think I’m gonna be the one who’s gonna fuck up this tour. I built this band from the ground up, nothing and no one is gonna fuck that up.”

“Oh fuck you, dude!” He yells at me. “You built this? What happened to you saying this entire band was built on friendship, loyalty and fucking friends who play nerdy games? What happened to that Eddie?” 

“Dead.” I give him a sideways smile. “Dead dead dead.” 

He looks at me incredulous. “Wow. You’re an actual nightmare.” 

“You’re the one who decided to knock on my door.” I place the cigarette in the can, hearing it sizzle out. I cross my arms over my chest, already itching for another shot. “Anything else?” 

He scoffs, walking towards the door and stepping out. “No. Have a good night, Eddie.” 

“Yeah, you too!” I scream at his back as I shut the door, locking all the locks and kicking the bottom of it. Suddenly, the chair near the table gets a boot from me, followed by the lamp, the paintings on the walls. I smash the beer bottles against the windows, and when I’m finally spent, I collapse on the bathroom floor, digging out the needle. I’ll leave the hotel a couple hundred dollars to pay for whatever I damaged; I’ll hopefully remember to clean up tomorrow.

I’m pretty sure I put too much in it this time, because I’m riding something wild right now. My eyes are half lidded, my breathing is slow but it’s such a peaceful feeling.

“Makes the medicine go down…medicine go down…”

The beginning of that year was when shit started going downhill fast for me. Once I had gotten my panic attack under control, and I felt calmer, I sent you a text message, realizing that tomorrow was the 18th. I typed up, deleted, typed up, deleted, about six different times before finally sending you: Hey stranger, it’s Eddie. Pretty wild to hear from you. I’m currently up in my cabin in upstate NY, but if you are gonna be in Boston. I can make the trip. It would actually be awesome to see you. Hope you are well. 

I forgot how nervous you made me, even back then. You were such a kind, beautiful soul, who loved me and took care of me when I didn’t deserve it. I was so nervous all the time because I really loved you too, but I couldn’t…wouldn’t let myself feel it. You were the only woman in my life that knew me, and actually saw me. You were my best friend, always my partner in group activities in elementary school. It was us against the world the minute I kissed you for the first time when we were eighteen, and then it ended with me, burying my head in the sand, because I’m a fucking idiot. 

My phone dings and I see your name pop up.  Hey!!! Wow, your own cabin huh? Are you a mountain man or something this winter season? I’m sorry if my letter was all over the place, I really should’ve just texted you but, whatever. Here we are now. Yes! Let’s meet, I can give you a spot to meet for coffee? Unless you just want my aunt’s address, I don’t know how Boston is when it comes to famous people. 

I type up a message: Boston is one of those cities that is wild to play on stage in front of, but the people don’t give a fuck if you’re famous. Which is why I bought a condo there, I can live out some downtime in peace. Coffee sounds great. Just let me know a time when you are settled. 

You quickly respond: Ha! Boston is pretty rad. I’m already here, I got here a day early. I know you got a pretty long drive so we can meet the day after tomorrow if you’d like? Say around 10?

I type up that that time and date worked for me and begin packing a small suitcase to take with me on the trip. 

I honestly felt like I was dreaming all this; I get sober, you, a woman that was literally the one that got away because of my own fucking deep-rooted issues, comes back into my life and wants to see me? I feel like I’m living the Notebook. Except, the rated R version where Ryan Gosling is an ex-junkie, who doesn’t build houses, or used to blow cocaine off a woman’s asshole. 

I groan, I already know I’m gonna fuck this up again. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The coffee shop you chose was a place I’ve never been before, it seemed newer, and no one batted an eye when I walked in. I take off my sunglasses and scan the place. It was quaint, quiet, with rustic undertones but mostly modern. 

“Eddie?”

My eyes immediately fix on you, sitting in the back booth by a small window, and I feel my heart flutter down to my stomach. God, you were stunning. Your eyes still shone that sparkle in them, your smile was just as adorable as I remembered, especially the dimples in your cheeks. I whisper your name and find myself quickly walking towards you. You wrap your arms around my shoulders, and I let out a deep sigh, almost lifting you off your feet, as I hug the curves of your waist, burying my face into your shoulder. We stay like that for a while, you giggle into my chest, telling me you couldn’t believe it was me and that I was here. I didn’t want to let go, but I knew I had to. We pull away and you are still smiling, looking into my eyes, you lift your hand to gently curl your fingers into my hair and I smile at you. 

“I love that you still kept this hair.” You say, shaking your head, looking like you’re still trying to process that I’m standing in front of you. 

I gently cup your face, swallowing hard, studying you. You turn your cheek into my hand, and I slowly remove it. You nod for me to sit, and I scoot over into the booth, peeling off my leather jacket. I still stare at your face; I couldn’t believe you were real. The server comes over to take our coffee order, I get mine hot with triple espresso and a shot of caramel, and you get an iced coffee with a shot of vanilla and almond milk. I smile, you’ve kept the same order since you started drinking coffee. 

Your eyes fix on mine, and I smile at you, sipping my coffee. “You haven’t changed.” I tell you softly. 

“My back will have to disagree with you.” You laugh, spinning the straw with your finger. “You haven’t either, aside from more tattoos.” 

I smile; remembering that you were there for most of my smaller ones. I had convinced you back then to get a large tattoo that started from under your breast, all the way down to the top of your hip; that was always my favorite part of you to taste. I cross my legs, feeling a tingle in my lower belly. Fucking pervert. 

I notice a few finger tattoos on your right hand, and I nod to them. 

“I told you they were addicting.” I laugh. “How many do you have now?” 

You laugh, a sound so beautiful to my ears, I want to cry. “Sixteen? Seventeen?”

My eyes widen and I laugh. “No way! Let me see.” 

You meet my eyes, your face turning crimson. Of course, there were hidden ones, I immediately feel like I overstepped and go to apologize when you speak. “It’s a lot of random ones, all over. I added some stuff to the rib piece.” That one you show me, you lift up your sweater, and I feel my dick twitch. 

Pervert. Dirty pervert. It’s been fifteen years, put your dick away. 

The cluster of wildflowers that started from your ribs to your hip had added roses to different spots they ended up entwining into a beautiful ivy vine, before falling off towards your back. I notice the bottom of a small piece on your sternum, and you pull your sweater back down. 

“That’s beautiful.” I tell her, smiling. “What have you been doing these last fifteen years?” 

“Well, I moved out of Hawkins.” I smile at that, she always wanted to leave that place. “I moved to Maine, I bought myself my own little cabin in the woods. I’m a nurse at the local hospital there.” 

My heart practically bursts with pride, and I laugh. “See? You don’t have to be famous to have your own cabin. That’s wonderful, I know that was always a dream of yours, becoming a nurse.”

“Yeah, it’s fulfilling. Heartbreaking 99% of the time but fulfilling.” Your eyes fix on mine again, and we just share comfortable silence as we stare at one another. 

“Your eyes are sad.” You say suddenly. 

“What?” I snap myself back down to my reality; it was easy to get lost in your eyes. 

“You look like you’ve been through hell and back again. Sorry for being blunt, I’m just sorry for whatever is bothering you.” Your eyes show me that same familiar kindness, and I smile awkwardly at you.  

“I’m okay.” I tell you, only half lying. 

You place your hand over my ringed fingers, gently entwining them. I stare at our hands, and gaze back into your eyes. “What am I doing here?” I whisper to you. I can feel my heart do another back flip, and my brain screams at me to get up and run because I can still feel your love. 

Your fingers gently move over the bumps on my rings, and your eyes dart to mine. You spot the small silver chain around my neck, half tucked in my shirt, and you lift your hand to gently pull out the red guitar pick. You finger the plastic and smile. “Wow. You kept this all these years.” 

“Of course, I did. I never take it off.” Except when I used to shoot dope, but that’s beside the point. I swallow the lump in my throat. “Sweetheart, why am I here?” 

You sigh, giving me a sad smile. “Would it be weird if I said that I really fucking miss you? And for the last fifteen years, I haven’tstopped thinking about you.” 

Heart exploding. 

My breath hitches and my eyes widen slightly. “But…I hurt you…and I left—"

“I know, I know you did, but” you take my hand again. “Eddie, we were best friends. Since before we could even say those words. You were so important to me. You’re still important to me. How could we throw that away?” 

I stare at you, reading your face, gazing at the shape of your mouth, the way your hair falls in waves, the curves of your breasts. I squeeze my eyes shut, pulling my hand away from yours. “You wouldn’t think that anymore once you know what I’ve done, who I’ve become.” 

“Then tell me.” You say softly, your eyes dart from my lips, to my eyes. I stare at your lips, remembering how perfectly they fit against mine, how soft they were. How eager you would be when your tongue would slip into my mouth, deepening the kiss, your soft moans vibrating against my mouth as I carefully push myself inside you. 

I meet your eyes; you’re waiting for me to say something. I shake my head, running my hands over my hair. I sigh. “How long you got?” 

You look at your wrist at a fake watch. “About a week.” I laugh and lean back in my seat, sipping my coffee. 

Yeah, I missed you too. 

*~*~*~*~*~*

Special shout out to: @trixyvixx @originalstar1 @iggyizalien @themorticians-world

& so many of you who supported my last series.

I wouldn’t continue writing if it weren’t for you guys giving me the motivation to do it. Love you all!

[rainintheevening]

West, Part I

Maps stretched out

The day after Peter ships out, the maps start appearing on the wall of the Fifth form common room at St. Maurice’s. Europe as a whole at first, then Italy, the Mediterranean, Greece, Germany, France...

He takes them home with him at the end of the term, Edmund Pevensie does, scatters them over his (and Peter's) room, mixed up with newspapers and letters in Peter's dashing handwriting.

Too many miles to count

He tries to find closer maps, more detail, tracing his finger across mountain ranges and down coastlines. He spans the entire Allied line with his thumb. He'd never felt the world to be so big before, never felt so small. Narnia had been such a small country. How long would it take to sail around the Cape of Gibraltar? How long would it take to fly to Sicily?

Sometimes he does the math. Sometimes he doesn't.

Let's just say we're inches apart

Remember watching the stars with Oreius? How you'd sketch them with your finger so carefully? How we'd lie out in the grass with Era and Philip, in silence sometimes, for hours? There were so many stars out there in the country. Some nights I'm lucky to see stars here. But when I do I imagine you seeing the same ones, mapping your way the way to well, your way to me. Sometimes I swear I can feel you beside me in the dark, little brother.

He lies in Peter's bed, letter in his hand, falls asleep with paper between his fingers.

And even closer at heart

For we are saved by hope: but hope that is seen is not hope: for what a man seeth, why doth he yet hope for? But if we hope for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it. Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.

Even as his pen moves over the paper, he finds his lips moving too, a begging murmur, mixing with the summer rain heavy on the roof.

And we'll be just fine

He laughs as Lucy places the crown of daisies on his head, and kisses her cheek. He rubs Susan's aching feet as she sits on the couch and reads aloud to them. He fingers his little silver lion against his collarbone, and smiles through the steam rising off his coffee.

Another pin pushed in

The maps on the wall grow a forest of colored heads and tiny flags, and anyone who wants war news or any better understanding of the progression of the European theatre goes to the Fifth's common room.

To remind us where we've been

He takes a map down to the stables sometimes, unrolls it on the table in the harness room, sits patiently as Master Gringham pores over it, searching for the boy who rode his horses like no one else, all of them trying to coordinate themselves.

The horses miss you, he writes to Peter. Have you had a chance to ride recently?

And evey mile adds up

He lies alone in their room, catching the faint murmurs of his parents downstairs, and he can't remember the last time he cried on Christmas, but he's doing it now, hot salt water on Peter's pillow, as Bing Crosby croons on the wireless in the girls' room down the hall.

Please, God, please let him come home safe, please let him be happy, please.

Leaving its mark on us

I was grieved to hear of your wounding, brother, but truly grateful it was not more serious. I wish I could be there, to make sure you were getting proper care and treatment. Be careful, please. But don't be a coward. I'd rather a dead brother, than a coward. But don't die. You're not allowed to die without me.

He means it, every word, that's why he doesn't cross any of it out.

And sometimes our compass breaks

Twelve of them dead, and I alive, and I don't know why, Ed, but I don't know if I can do this, I can't. Not alone. I'd forgotten how much this hurts. I only knew half their names, and I know Badger had four little kids back home, and I don't understand.

I don't understand.

And our steady true north fades

Snow lies thick on the moor, and Ed struggles to open his eyes in the morning. His feet are heavy, his mind moves slow, and he can't get warm. He sits as close to the fire in the common room as he can without setting his clothes aflame. Some mornings he sits with his hand on the black leather cover, but he doesn’t open the book.

We'll be just fine

There's a black and white photograph folded in with the thin paper, and there he is smiling up at them all, officer's cap set at a jaunty angle, shirtless with a bandage on one forearm. Peter hugs a scruffy looking mongrel dog close, hand rubbing the pointed ears, and Ed smiles back at the living shadow of his brother.

We'll be just fine

Warm spring sunshine splashes over Ed's face, and he leans on his spade, brushes mud off his hands, and surveys the dark turned earth of the school's Victory Garden, listens to the first formers laughing as they fling dirt clods at each other.

We'll be just fine

Come, behold the works of the Lord, what desolations he hath made in the earth.

He maketh wars to cease unto the end of the earth; he breaketh the bow, and cutteth the spear in sunder; he burneth the chariot in the fire... Peter writes.

We'll be just fine

Be still, and know that I am God: I will be exalted among the heathen, I will be exalted in the earth.

The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge, Edmund answers.

I know that we will

"I miss him so much," Lucy says, and Edmund wraps his arm around her shoulders as they walk, remembering how he closed his last letter with those three words.

I just know that we will

He kneels by Peter's bed, his bed now, and the maps hang all round on the walls, he is surrounded by everywhere his brother is and was and could be, as he bows his head and the evening prayer comes weary and steady from his lips.

They used to say it together.

[theslay3d]

Rots…. Anakin is in Palpatine's office, Palpatine tells him that if he wants to become powerful he has to eliminate everything that makes him "weak" so he points to one of his guards and then they appear with the reader (who is a senator).

Anakin sees his wife pleading with tears in her eyes telling him that she loves him, he decides that it is not worth it to turn to the dark side. He confronts Palpatine, wins and tells him that his love for you makes him strong, "it is not weakness to love".

In the end he runs and hugs his beloved and so I get my fluffy and happy ending.

I hope you like it

Anakin Skywalker x Female!Reader

Warnings: um none but if there any tell me!

Word count: 763

A/N ok so ik this isn't canon but....does it matter? no HAHAH sorry its taking me so long to get to requests. Also wanted to remind people my requests messed up so if i haven't gotten to your requests and its been a long time please resend them some got deleted for some reason

Anakin's eyes widened as Mace Windu fell from the broken window. He felt guilty immediately. Yes, Master Windu was never nice to him but he didn't deserve to die. At least that's what Anakin thought. 

Palpatine got up from the ground and let out a laugh. “The jedi reign is almost over”

Anakin's eyes glanced at him from where he sat down in shock. His breathing was heavy and he was going over what happened in his head. 

“It is almost time to fully make you my apprentice Anakin” Palpatine said as he walked closer to Anakin. 

Anakin didn't say anything. He felt as though if he tried his voice would fail him. Anakin could faintly hear Palpatine tell the guards to go and get someone ready to come in.

“Anakin look at me” Anakin did as Palpatine said so Palpatine continued. “To become powerful Anakin we must eliminate what makes you weak”

Anakin's head tilted a little confused on what he meant. Palpatine grabbed Anakin to get him up to stand next to him.

“Bring her in” Palpatine ordered the guards. The doors opened and they brought in you. 

Anakin's eyes widened again. Not you, anyone but you. You were supposed to be safe. He made sure you would stay safe. 

“Anakin” Your eyes had tears in them. You stared at Anakin. He looked so sad, so broken. 

The guards had grabbed you when you were on your way to a small meeting and brought you here. At first you thought Palpatine must have needed you but the way the guards were treating you told you differently. 

Palpatine laughed again “Ah the wife of Anakin Skywalker. You see Anakin to become powerful, you must kill her; it's the only way. Surely you know that”

You swallowed in shock. The window was broken and Palpatine looked scarier now. You had suspicions about him from the start but you didn't think he would order Anakin to kill you. He must have been a sith. His eyes confirmed your suspicions about him being one. 

Palpatine's eyes locked with yours. He smirked at you in such a mocking way.

 Your eyes then locked with Anakin's “Ani please you don't have to you don't” Tears continued down your face.

Anakin was conflicted. He did love you but he's done so much damage already. He didn't want to kill you either. 

Palpatine scoffed “Come on Anakin, don't you want to show the Jedi how powerful you truly are?”

 “I-i love you Anakin” You said as Anakin looked down to the floor. Anakin quickly made the decision in his mind. You were more important than the Jedi. 

He used a force wave to knock the guards that were holding you into the wall effectively knocking them out. He looked into your eyes giving you a look that meant stay back. You walked behind a pillar but still could see everything. 

Palpatine rolled his eyes “You stupid boy” Palpatine used the force to pull his other lightsaber to him and turned it on. A red blade shot out. Anakin got out his lightsaber and started to fight him. 

Colors were flashing all throughout the room. They both were blocking strikes left and right. One time you thought Anakin was gonna die until he got out from where Palpatine had him pinned. 

The blue and red lightsabers created such a harsh difference of color. You could see and feel the rage of Palpatine. His plan didn't work. He couldn't turn Anakin to the dark side.

Finally Anakin backed Palpatine to the window. Anakin was still twisting and hitting with his lightsaber. Palpatine was about to fall off the edge when Anakin stopped his strikes. The lightsabers were touching. The blades were so close to their faces they could feel the temperature of them.

“It is not a weakness to love. She gives me the strength I need. It's a shame you will never experience it” Anakin said he was gonna just knock Palpatine out until Palpatine pushed himself from the open window and fell.

Anakin stared down at where he fell. He could barely see his figure anymore and then it was completely out of sight. 

Anakin turned and saw that you were out from behind the pillar and ran to hug you. You sighed in relief when his arms wrapped around your waist. “Ani you're ok right?” Anakin kissed the top of your head “I'm fine my love. Are you alright?” You nodded from where your head was against his chest. 

Everything would be alright if you had each other.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Reader (a boy if possible please) who has bad anxiety and ptsd and gets nervous with loud noises but feels safe around Eddie and the Hellfire Club because they're his comfort people?

(Also your writing is amazing and I adore it so much 🦇🖤)

Hi there! I'm happy to give it my best effort for you! Thank you for such sweet words. I hope you enjoy this!

Eddie Munson X Male Reader.

CW: Anxiety, PTSD.

Send me request here! Currently writing for Eddie Munson. I write for a variety of reader inserts (male, female, gender neutral, POC too).

Feel free to look through my masterlist here!

__________________________

It all starts when Eddie drops by the school's library before heading to the cafeteria. He needs a browse through a first aid book for part of the campaign that's resuming later in the week. In all honesty, he doesn't really need to read through the book. He can based on the rolls say if it pases or fails but he wants to have a few more extra details in his pocket so he can really set the scene.

So it lands him there, in the library, tracking for the dewey decimal the librarian wrote down for him along the walls. He finds the book finally, cracking into the table of contents to see if he can find the section he wants faster that way. He does and travels over to where he knows the tables are.

When Eddie plops himself down, he winds up sitting right across from you. You don't fault him sitting there. It might've just been the closest table. His head is pretty buried in the book and he seems engrossed. So you only watch for a moment until he starts to reach for something but clearly doesn't have it.

"Shit," he whispers.

"Need something?"

"Christ, dude, you've sent me into cardiac arrest," Eddie huffs, hand grasping at his chest.

"Sorry. You just, uh, looked like you needed something," you return.

"I-I just need to jot some notes down. Forgot my bag consider it's lunch and all. It's not really a big deal," Eddie returns. He's got a decent enough memory.

You flip to a blank page in your notebook, tearing out a couple sheets and slide him a pencil on top of the college ruled line pages. "Knock yourself out."

"Oh, thanks," Eddie's smile is quick and he scribbles down the notes he's needs, including a quick, and to Eddie, sloppy diagram of the ankle wrap and tourniquet.

"Is-is someone hurt?" you ask. You don't mean to pry. But you catch sight of the page he's on and think maybe it might be worth something to ask at the very least.

"Oh, uh, it's not anyone real. Just in a game." The more surface Eddie can keep it, the better he thinks the interaction can go.

"What sort of game?"

"Dungeons and Dragons," Eddie returns softly.

"A player's trying to do it?"

His gaze narrows over your face but he takes in the genuine tilt to your head. "I have a feeling it's going to come up. I know it's really just a pass or fail, but I want-want to be able to describe it right."

"So you DM?"

"How the fuck?"

You laugh. "I've read up on it."

"Yeah, I'm the DM."

"Best of luck--to you and your players if you want this much accuracy."

Eddie laughs. He is a bit brutal of DM at times. He likes to make it count for his party when it really needs to. He's still compassionate when he can see them struggle, when he feels like it's right for him to remind them that in the end it's all a game. It's real stakes and they're passionate people, but they are not perfect. Luck won't always be on their side and it's okay if they hit a few walls and walls hit back.

The conversation seems to naturally dissipate as you turn back to your books and Eddie to his. But he slides the pencil back to you when he's done. "Thanks," he offers. "And if you want, I don't know if you have lunch right now, but feel free to sit with us when you want. Or say hi, like, whenever really."

"Thanks. I appreciate it."You give a tiny but still meaningful smile.

Eddie nods in return and then slips out of the library doors hoping that you do take him up on the offer. The week goes by and you don't show. Then the next week goes and you're nowhere to be found. Eddie stands from the table about halfway through lunch on a Wednesday and then starts for the library. The rest of the guys watch him leave, the slam of his hands interrupting the laughter that had been floating around the table.

"What's got into him?" Jeff asks.

"Not a clue," Gareth returns. Dustin clambers out of his seat, calling Eddie's name. And when Eddie doesn't stop, Dustin grabs his backpack and the last bite of his pizza and pudding cup to follow behind Eddie.

"Where are you going, Eddie?" Dustin ask again catching up to the older boy.

"Just to see someone, it's alright, Dustin. You can go back."

Dustin shakes his head. "No, any friend of yours is a friend of mine." Dustin does briefly wonder if it's not just a friend, but Eddie doesn't insistent or make some long speech to send Dustin back so he continues.

They reach the library and Eddie makes a beeline for the tables on the left side of the room, right under a window. Eddie stops just off to your left and you see him approaching, so you look up as Eddie pulls to a stop, another shorter boy next to him in a green hat. The younger boy waves, tip of what you assume is a spoon between his lips, as he holds the pudding cup.

"Do you hate me?" Eddie asks. "Like, I get it. But also, I don't."

"Hate-hate you?" you asks, needing clarification.

"Clearly this is your lunch period. But you're never in the cafeteria."

You shrug. "Don't really like loud noises." There's more to that. But chalking it up to a dislike is easier than trying to explain the way the fear claws up your throat.

"Tomorrow, I'm sitting in here with you," Eddie explains.

"Can I sit here too?"

You and Eddie turn to Dustin and Eddie makes quick of the introductions. "I mean-sure. I'm boring company though," you warn.

"Nonsense. But enjoy your last lunch alone."

"Eddie Munson, you are a strange man," you laugh, "but if you insist. Fine. I'll see you here tomorrow." Eddie gives you another final nod and you wave both him and Dustin bye.

When you show up the next day small circle table is already swarmed with people--some that you recognize from your classes, a couple others you don't think you've seen before. But there's a spot right next to Eddie still empty. "If I knew needed five more minutes for my History test meant I was going to get surrounded, I would've at least picked a bigger table," you tease as you approach.

Eddie laughs. "Hope it went well though."

"Time will tell." You settle in and the group introduces themselves more officially. You recognize Gareth and Paul and of course Dustin. But Mike and Jeff are faces that you don't think you've encountered.

As you pull out the lunch you packed for yourself, Eddie leans in a bit. "If we get too loud, let me know, okay?"

You nod. You hadn't expected Eddie to really take what you said about not liking too much noise to heart. But he had. The first few lunches they spend with you--an alternating schedule of catching some lunches with you and sometimes a person having to miss here and there for other reasons they do okay. But as they get more comfortable and you with them, occasionally the noise peaks.

You try to keep it from being noticable when it gets too rowdy. You sit up a little bit straighter, you furl your fists up tight under the table. You blink a bit more to keep yourself aware of your surroundings. But Eddie always seems to catch it. "Cool it," he barks and the entire time continues their heated discussion as a quieter volume.

Lunches becomes you joining them at sessions. They stop you in the hallways and before the year heads out for Christmas break you and the Hellfire club have become fast and close friends. They don't really question too much about the noise thing, though Eddie's forever watchful eye seems to always be directed at you.

On the first day back from break, you walk into the school to the guys of Hellfire laughing just outside the doors of tbe building. You approach with a nod of your head, smiling just a little at the enthusiastic returns. The group of you hang outside, a few feet from someone working on a ladder to get at something on the roof of the building.

The group of you continue to laugh, Mike recounting a fight with his sister is the focus of the group before something clatters above you all. It makes you jump, heart racing in your chest, fingers clenching around the straps of your backpack.

"You're all good, man," Jeff offers. His hand hovers for a moment over your shoulder, like he wants to give you a pat, a soothing touch, but he can see the sort of wildness to your eyes so he withholds. "Probably just a buck or something. Heard they're still fighting those gutters."

"Wanna head inside?" Gareth offers. "Eddie's going to be late anyway. We'll keep ya company of course."

You can only manage a nod as your throats dries out a little. The group rounds you Mike and Dustin leading you all through the doors. The noise of the hallways isn't loud as it is cacophonous. But the warmth of the heat breaks through the cold freezing panic and the guys hang in in a circle.

They keep their volume lower, Mike resuming his story but flicking his gaze over to you. He's not sure if you want him to continue but when your gaze lands back on him and it looks less glazed over, he thinks maybe it's a good distraction.

The warning bells rings and you wince again, this time sort of expecting it as you can see a clock on the wall not to far down the hall. Eddie strolls in and noticed the group focused on you. "We all good here?"

"Some dipshits can't keep a bucket in the grip on the roof," Jeffe explains.

Eddie nods. "Warning's a bitch, huh?" he teases and you find his eyes amongst the sea.

You laugh. "Halfway there."

"You young sheep should probably head to class, but I'll stay with you," Eddie offers. "Squat in the library until we get kicked out."

You shrug, not wanting any of them to have to be deal with trouble because of you. But the more you protest it seems like the one of them joins in on the plan. Before you know it, Eddie's got an arm slung over your shoulder, leading the whole party into the library. You all settle at your normal table and though a class is definitely be held in here that particular morning, you all manage to snag just enough seats to sit.

"You guys don't have to," you try again. "I'll be okay." You will admit having them makes you feel a bit better. The more Mike talked about his fight the more you felt yourself able to forget the earlier startle. And now, with them squeezed in tight, you feel like you're blocked off from whatever fear that could've crept in.

"Nonsense. We want to. So you've just got to deal," Eddie laughs. "I do make the rules, this time."

"DM rules are final," Gareth laughs.

"Shit, didn't realize I had made it into the party." A brief wave of embarrassment creeps up your skin and makes you hot for a moment.

"Oh you've been in," Dustin informs. "When Eddie and I showed up to tell you that we were eating with you the next day, you were in."

"Do-do I get a cool shirt?"

Eddie root around in his bag and present laying across both palms a tightly wound up Hellfire t-shirt. "Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and Happy Birthday all in one."

[chirpbudgie]

hi i wrote more gidget angst. wowie who could have expected that. its almost like im lonely or something

cws: emeto, unreliable narrator/perspective, themes of major character death. also it’s a sickfic

Gidget peeks out from under the table. A small crowd has formed in front of the escape pod as everyone clambers out of the Parable. He stumbles over, barely upright and carried by momentum. 

“Where-“ his desperate voice cuts out and he clears his throat. “Where’s Spencer?”

Suddenly the ceiling and the walls and the floor are much more interesting, because everyone turns their gaze away from him as soon as they hear the words. His heart stutters. 

“Uncle Stan? Where’s Spencer?” 

The man in question makes a horrible face that makes his stomach churn. Sympathy? Discomfort? Regret? All three? Gidget doesn’t see the expression on him often enough to know. It kind of scares him. 

“Uncle Stan?” He asks again, softer. Why won’t anyone tell him what happened? Can’t they just get it over with and spit it out? If he’s in trouble, they can go back for him, he just wants to apologize for-

“I’m sorry,” Stan finally murmurs. 

What? He does a double-take. Sorry for what? That he’s not here right now? Well, that’s okay, he can wait a little while. Spencer’s gotta come back eventually. It’s not safe in the Parable, so he has to. He can’t possibly be gone gone, right? 

Could he?

Is he?

Stan’s expression worsens when the realization finally clicks. 

“Gone?” He barely whispers. He barely sees the nod before Stanford sweeps him into a smothering hug that he clings to. 

Spencer is gone. 

It’s his fault, isn’t it? Gidget was the one who held him back, distracted him from the group. He didn’t even get to apologize. He barely got the chance to say goodbye. 

He’s never going to see Spencer again. 

“I want my Bubba,” he begs into Stanford’s shirt, feeling wholly undeserving. “Want my Bubba, please, please.”

A few broken sobs spill out, but he’s still in too much shock to properly cry. 

Another pair of arms wraps around him. “Want my Bubba!” He feels the strain in his throat from the desperate cry and he cringes a little. Somebody starts shushing him gently and it only makes him cry harder at the reminder. Spencer always did that for him when he cried, a reminder that he was there. But Spencer’s not here anymore. 

When he’s pulled away from Stanford, his head is pounding and everything is dark. There’s pressure under and behind his eyes and he can’t breathe through his nose, leaving him to take ragged breaths through his dehydrated mouth. 

“Want my Bubba.” The phrase is much more slurred and painful. 

[We hear you, sweetheart. You’re hurting yourself.] His hands are pulled along to read the signs. [Spencer’s not here right now.]

It feels like the world comes crashing down on him and he wails loudly. He misses his Bubba so, so much. Where is Bubba? Does Bubba not love Gidget anymore? Did he do something to deserve this? 

Something uncomfortably cold is pressed to his ear right as he begins to gag. He fumbles with the bin that appears in his lap. 

“Gidget, it’s me. Hi, baby. You’re okay, I’m okay.”

He can’t even force anything out in response besides ragged whining through the loss of his stomach contents. He’s so disoriented and dizzy—was he dreaming earlier? Is this real? Is he still dreaming? 

“Shhh, don’t strain yourself. Bubba’s not going anywhere. Stanford and his Narrator are gonna take care of you right now, alright?”

“Want Bubba,” he finally croaks out. He feels like he’s gonna faint, his hands and feet are getting tingly. The bin is taken from him and his face is wiped with a damp cloth. It makes him shiver and sweat at the same time. 

“I know, baby, I wanna be with you too. Bubba’s sorry.”

“Lay down, dear,” a Narrator whispers to him. A pillow is pressed to his head and he’s guided onto his back. Where did Stanford go, wasn’t he holding him up? 

He shakes the distraction off. “No!” He protests, sounding much quieter than he was hoping. “No sorry! Sorry!” He breaks into a coughing fit that feels just as awful as it sounds. His throat feels torn up like when he scrapes his knees on the concrete. 

“Shh, shhh,” the sound makes him shiver. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. What do ya mean, baby?”

Gidget sobs from the pain and the reminder. “Sorry, ‘m sorry, Bubba. Was dumb, my fault.” 

“No, baby, no. None of that, no more. Accidents happen and you already said sorry. Don’t think about that right now. Focus on feeling better, alright?”

Gidget can only whimper in response. He’s already run out of tears and exhausted himself. 

“Yeah, just relax. Get some rest, baby. I know you don’t feel good.”

He feels the spout of a water bottle nudge at his cheek so he turns his head to accept it. It feels so good, soothing his raw throat and tastes addicting. It gets pulled away several times while he’s still drinking, which he protests and whines about. 

Spencer just shushes him over the phone. It makes his eyelids feel extra heavy, and he paws at the blankets for something to hold. A warm hand stops him and tucks a familiar stuffed animal into his arm. 

“Fishie,” he mumbles, shaking it lightly to hear the rattle inside. A wobbly smile finally arrives. 

“That’s right, you have all your stuffies. They told me they wanted to go with you so you wouldn’t be lonely.”

Gidget feels himself tear up again. “T’ank you,” he bleats. “Miss you.” 

“I miss you too, baby. Go to sleep now, I’ll see you soon, alright?”

A damp cloth is tied to his forehead with a headband. He curls up on his side, phone tucked under his ear, and listens to Spencer’s voice and shushing until he can’t stay awake any longer. 

[always-andromeda]

Meda please tell me why I keep having a dream about getting knocked up by Joby Taylor and us trying to co-parent. Like. It’s always a mess but we pull together for the kid and there’s tenderness and anger and fights (I wasn’t going to tell him about the baby he found out) and. Why. Why does my brain want this

𝐉𝐨𝐛𝐲 𝐓𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: lmao poor baby stomping storm is gonna get a notification that I used one of his gifs and it's for this. I am sorry, my beloved. but I couldn't not use one of your gifs; they are too beautiful <3 also lmao thank you, delaney, for giving me an excuse to share these headcanons bc I also think about this kind of scenario all of the time. because truly. this has no right living rent free in my head.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: vague allusions to sex, pregnancy, Joby is a clueless dad (and I guess we're just eating that slop up), nothing else I can think of!

One usually doesn't try to purposely entangle themselves with Joby Taylor. Joby Taylor merely happens to you. One day you're internally groaning over how he's looking at you from under his heavy eyelids and baring that smug smile from across the bar and the next you're holding a positive pregnancy test and debating whether or not you tell him.

You decide not to. There's no reason to get him involved. He'd probably want you to get rid of it anyways, and you're not interested in that. So you go radio silent.

But Joby isn't entirely clueless. He notices how you seem to be distancing yourself. He doesn't want to admit it to himself, but when you don't answer his calls, he gets that pang of jealousy. He wonders for a moment if you might be seeing someone else.

Though he's far from being exclusive with you, something about that makes him twitchy. He likes to believe that you wouldn't need anyone else other than him. So, he becomes clingy. In an attempt to figure out why you won't see him, drink with him, or sleep with him anymore, he'll go directly to you.

And you'll never forget the dumbstruck expression on his face when he starts saying that he's been calling you for weeks, only to be caught off guard by the small bump that's forming on your belly. Now, he is intimately familiar with your body. And he knows that isn't just a pouch of fat.

Joby flies into hysterics. He'll exclaim, "Wait a second, what the fuck is that?"

Don't even bother trying to beat around the bush with him because he will straight up demand to know, "Is it mine?"

And though he hopes that the answer is no, he knows deep down in his bones that he would never be lucky enough to dodge that bullet.

When sent into fight or flight, Joby's first urge is to flee; to protect his ego. The old Joby who had never met his first child and who only cared about his career wouldn't have given a second thought before waving you off and going his own way. The easy way.

But he isn't the old Joby anymore. And as much as he loathes his truth, he resolves that he must live it regardless. For the benefit of you and this child, he'll be there.

Him being there is difficult, both for him and you.

First of all, getting him to quit smoking and getting him to drink less would be a feat. Drying Joby out is worse than most symptoms of pregnancy. Because he's stubborn, he'll insist that he needs it and only begins to soften when you remind him that you want the baby to grow up in a sober home.

Decorating the baby's room and preparing with all of the supplies you'll need, he mostly leaves that bit to you. He'd watch you paint the bedroom with a blank expression, just watching the pastel blue slowly cover over the plain white walls; a sign of the times if he'd ever seen one.

When you start to wobble on the ladder, he'll break from his trance and rush to your side, quietly chuckling about how he thought your balance would be better with the low center of gravity and everything.

You'd give him a little grimace, knowing full well that you look different now and hating that he seems to be aware of it too.

But if there's one thing that Joby doesn't struggle with, it's the way that bump grows through the months. Bodies are bodies in his eyes. He doesn't really have a preference exactly.

As long as he can still figure it out similar to how he did before you were pregnant, he'll be happy. And in that way, Joby is the most comforting through those insecurities; after all, he will never pass up the opportunity to tell you that you're not his favorite MILF before giving you a cheeky, sloppy kiss.

Actually raising the baby is the really difficult part, obviously. A life on the road with his bandmates really hasn't put him in the prime position to know what to do when the baby needs to be changed or burped or fed or nurtured in almost any way.

That leaves you teaching him as you go for the first few months. It also means that there's lots of conflicts. Not a week goes by where you're not arguing with him over him not doing his fair share to keep everything running.

The way that he apologizes is...unconventional...to say in the least. He expects you to read between the lines. Getting a verbal, "I'm sorry," takes a lot. He shows his remorse through random trips to the gas station convenience store on the corner and bringing you back your favorite snack and drink. He also shows it through offering physical touch.

Because Joby loves touching. Whether it's him rubbing your shoulders and easing the tension from your muscles with his skilled fingers or it's him rubbing a climax out of you at the end of the night; he hates the idea of you going to bed angry at him.

He'll lay in bed, watching the back of your head and wishing he had a clue what was going on in it. At least when you're relaxed under his hands, there's a better chance that there's no seeds of bitterness being sown inside of you.

That's another pill that's hard for him to swallow. He hates thinking that he's ruined your life. He's done it once before; and though Claire seemed to be just fine the last time he saw her, he'll never get over the fact that he brought life into the world and ignored it for the longest time.

Some of that guilt helps to fuel his efforts. It's what brings the deals into fruition. Because making those little promises forces him to keep his word and keeps him accountable.

"I'll clean up the baby food if you get the baby in the bathtub."

"Deal."

"How about you cook dinner and I'll do the dishes?"

"Deal."

"Let me take a nap for an hour while you play with the baby."

"Deal."

Each deal gets sealed with a handshake and maybe a kiss if he's lucky. Because at the end of the day, you're a team. You're in this thing together. And no matter what you feel for him, you're both determined to do right by this kid.

Joby does something that he never thought he'd do: he settles into a stable routine. One that doesn't include any substances or blackouts or lapses in judgment that make him hate himself. Through hard work and dedication, Joby becomes a functioning human being; a man who is actually trying his best.

And as much as he once hated the idea of planting himself firmly, he doesn't mind being potted right beside you. With the way you bloom, Joby makes sure that even during the moments where you don't like each other that much, you still respect each other. And Joby hopes that'll never change. Because maybe he didn't ruin your life. Maybe, though, you saved his.

[itsalwayswellattheworldsend]

Book 2 Chapter 12 - Richard Talketh With Ralph Concerning the Well at the World's End. Concerning Swevenham

Text Audio

Synopsis:

Ralph and Richard discuss what's wrong with Ralph, and the two come up with a plan.

Summary:

“In the land and the thorp where I was born and bred there was talk now and again of a thing to be sought, which should cure sorrow, and make life blossom in the old, and uphold life in the young." "Yea," said Ralph, looking up from his tears, "and what was that? and why hast thou never told me thereof before?" "Nay," said Richard, "and why should I tell it to the merry lad I knew in Upmeads? but now thou art a man, and hast seen the face of sorrow, it is meet that thou shouldest hear of THE WELL AT THE WORLD'S END."

The next morning, Blaise went about his business, visiting the men of the Port at the Guildhall.[1] he asked Ralph to come with him, but he would not, and so Ralph stayed in the hall of the inn and sat thinking sadly while people came and went, but he heard nothing about the Well at the World’s End. He passed the next two days like this, except that Richard was among those who came to the hall and he talked to Ralph at times. That is to say, he spoke and Ralph acted somewhat like he was listening.

Now, as it was said before, Richard was old and wise and he loved Ralph greatly, likely more than he loved Lord Blaise, his proper master, for he had no mind for business or anything about it. So he stayed with Ralph and saw that he was sad and weary-hearted, so on the sixth day of their time at Whitwall,[2] when all the merchants were gone about their business and it was just him and Ralph in the hall, he said to Ralph: “This is not a prison, my lord.”

“So?” said Ralph.[3]

“If you doubt it,” said Richard, “let’s go to the door and see if they have turned the key or shut the bolt on us.”

Ralph smiled faintly and stood up, saying: “I will go with you if you want, but I think I will be a dull companion for you today.”

“Would you have been a better one yesterday, lord? Or the day before?”

“No,” said Ralph.

“Will you be a better one tomorrow?”

Ralph shook his head.

“Oh,” said Richard, “but you will be, or you may call me a fool.”

“You are kind, Richard,” said Ralph, “and I will come with you and do what you ask, but I must tell you that my heart is sick.

“Yes,” said Richard, “and you do not have to tell me that, dear youngling; anyone passing by can see that. But come on, let’s go.”

So they went into the street and Richard brought Ralph to the market and showed him Blaise’s booth (for he was doing quite well), but Ralph would not go near in case his brother wanted to drag him into a conversation. They went to the Guildhall which was both large and beautiful, and smelled like new-carved oak (for it was not yet painted), which reminded Ralph of his childhood when he would hang around the porter’s new house at Upmeads while it was being built.[4] Then they went to the Great Church and heard a Mass at the altar of St Nicholas, Ralph’s saint. It was a very pretty church, and also somewhat new, since Whitwall’s rise to prominence was so recent, and its altars were better than any Ralph had seen at Higham on the Way.

But when they came out of the church, Ralph looked at Richard with a blank and tired face, as if asking “What next?” And in truth he looked so tragic that Richhard, despite his concern for him, could hardly hold back his laughter.

But he said: “Well, foster son (for you are pretty much that to me), since this fair city does not please you, let’s go further out.”

So he led him out of the marketplace and brought him to the east gate of the town, which was called Petergate Bar,[5] and they went out and into the meadows under the walls, stopping at a little bridge over one of the streams—for it was a land of many waters. There, they sat down in a secluded spot, and Richard spoke to Ralph.

“Lord Ralph, it would be a shame if the sons of Upmeads made little or nothing of themselves. Now, as for my own master, Blaise, he has the makings of a noble merchant, but not of a noble knight; though he says that when he is rich he will abandon merchantry—though I’m sure he won’t. As for the others, lord Gregory is no better—and maybe worse—except that he will never be rich, having no self control, while lord Hugh is is likely to be killed in some meaningly squabble, unless he turns back to Upmeads quickly.”

“Yes, yes,” said Ralph, “What about it? I didn’t come here to listen to you badmouth my relatives.”

But Richard continued: “As for you, lord Ralph, I expended something from you, but now I’m not so sure. Your heart seems to be dead within you, and you must tend to it or else the body will die, too.”

“All right,” said Ralph.

Richard continued: “I am old now, but I was once young, and I saw and survived many things before I came to Upmeads. I am old, and I cannot feel certain hopes and pains that young men can, but I bought knowledge of them with experience, and I have not forgotten. By this, I guess that your dreariness is about a woman. Isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Ralph.

“Now then, tell me about it, and your heart will lighten a bit.”

“I will not tell you,” said Ralph. “Or rather, to speak truly, I cannot.”

“Yes,” said Richard, “and though it would be easier now for me to tell you all the griefs of my life than it would be for you to listen to them, I do believe you. But maybe it would be easier for you to tell me something you want.”

“I want to die.” And he began to cry then.

But Richard said to him, smiling kindly: “That road is open to you on any day of the week. Why have you not taken it already?”

Ralph did not answer.

“Is it because you hope you will want something? If not today, then tomorrow, or the next day, or the next?”

Still Ralph said nothing, but he cried.

“Maybe I can help you hope, though you may think my words are crazy. In the land and town where I was born and raised, there was talk now and then about something to be sought, which would cure sorrow, make life blossom in the old, and uphold life in the young.”

“Yes?” said Ralph, looking up from his tears, “And what was that? And why have you never told me about it before?”

“What reason did I have to tell that happy young boy I knew in Upmeads? But now you are a man and have seen the face of  sorrow, it is proper for you to hear about THE WELL AT THE WORLD’S END.”

Ralph jumped to his feet as Richard spoke, and he cried out eagerly: “Old friend, where were you born and raised?”

Richard laughed and said: “See that? There is still some distance between you and death! But turn around and look straight over the meadows past that willow and tell me what you see.”

“I see the plains spread out and a river running through it, with little hills past the water and the blue mountains beyond them. There is still snow on the mountaintops, though it is early July.”

“Yes,” said Richhard; “And do you see on that first little hill past the river, where a great grey tower rises above all the houses near it?”

“Yes,” said Ralph. “I see the tower and the houses, though they are small.”

“That is so,” continued Richard. “That tower is the Church of Swevenham, which is in honor of the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus;[6] and the houses are the houses of a little town. What does that have to do with me? Well, I was born and raised in Swevenham, and indeed it was I who brought lord Blaise here to Whitwall, saying that it was a good place for merchants and because I wanted to see the little town and its great grey tower once more. Really, I didn’t lie—your brother is happy here, piling up coins upon coins. You really should go see his booth, fair lord; it is a pretty sight.”

But Ralph was pacing back and forth and he turned to Richard and said: “That’s all very good, but what about the Well at the World’s End?”

“I was going to tell you something that may or may not be worth noting: when I lived in Swevenham and was only eighteen years old—and now I’m sixty eight—two young men and one young woman from our town set out to see that Well. They knew a lot of lore about it, which they had learned from an old man, a relative of one of them. I never met this old man because he lived way off in the mountains, and these men were five years older than I was, so I was still a child when they grew up, and I didn’t pay attention to these sorts of things, just playing games and (and most of all) playing war and battle. God knows I’ve had all I can stomach of it since those days! However, I remember them setting out. They had a pack mule with them to carry supplies for the wilderness, but they went on foot, crowned with flowers and with pipes and drums heralding their departure, and many people came to see them off. By St Christopher! I can see it all as if it were yesterday. I was sad about the young lady’s leaving because although I was a boy, I had loved her, and she had let me kiss and fool around with her, though not for long.[7] Now, I remember that they had asked our priest, Sir Cyprian, to bless their departure, but he declined, for he believed that such a quest came from the inspiration of the devils, and was a memory of ancient, heathen practices.[8] As for me, I didn’t really pay attention, except that I was saddened that my white-bosomed, sweet-breathed friend was leaving.”

“What happened to them?” asked Ralph, “Did they come back?”

“I don’t know; I was tired of Swevenham after that and so I strapped on a sword and put a spear on my shoulder and went to the Castle of the Waste March,[9] sixty miles from Swevenham, and the Baron took me in and I joined his forces. There’s almost as little to be gained in my telling you about those deeds as there was in my doing them. But until now, I had never seen the grey tower of Swevenham again.”

“I should head for Swevenham right away,” said Ralph. “Will you come with me? It only looks like it’s four miles from here.”

Richard stayed quiet and furrowed his brow as he thought about this, and Ralph waited until he responded: “Foster-son, as I’ll call you, you know how it is with men from upcountry: that they’re most likely to tell a story if they’re not badgered about it. I think it would be best if I went to Swevenham alone, and better yet if I go on your behalf rather than for myself. Now, tomorrow is Saturday,[10] which is the market day in Whitwall, and I’m still young enough that some of my old friends should be alive and about in Swevenham: and if that’s the case, there will be at least one in the market tomorrow, and I will be there to find him. Then I’ll go back to Swevenham as a well-loved guest, and while I am there and talking about my doings and asking others about theirs, I’ll find out if there’s any new of the Well at the World’s End. How does that sound?”

“Yes,” Ralph said, “but how long will that be?”

“I will come back quickly if I find nothing, but if there’s anything to learn, I’ll stick around; so be patient.”

“And what should I do now?”

“Pass the time,” said Richard. “And to start, let’s go back and see your brother’s booth in the marketplace: it’s the bottom floor of a nice house which he is looking to buy, and he will marry a wife and settle in Whitwall, if things keep going this way. They have already given him freedom within the city and a brother of the Traveling Knights, for he is not only a charismatic man, but also he now no longer hides that he is of the family of Upmeads.”[11]

Notes:

[1] May refer to a port on the river where ships dock, but (as we’ve had no mention of boats anywhere the river seems to be pretty shallow at places), it’s more likely people who deal with merchants entering the town to register their goods and collect import taxes.

[2] Six days! That’s the biggest time-skip so far, but we still have all days accounted for as of yet.

[3] I should have made this note way earlier, but I wanted to say something about dialog tags. The style of dialog tags has changed a lot over the years and tends to be much more varied in terminology, though less varied in position. Morris places them before, during, or after a character’s speech, while we mostly put them in the middle (“Thanks,” said Ralph, “but no thanks.”) or at the end of speech (“I’m sad,” said Ralph.), but in this I often encounter dialog tags at the beginning (Ralph said: “I miss my horse.”), which aren’t used as much in modern writing, and tend to give a different feel to things. I often (but not always) restructure things. Also of note: modern writing tends to use a lot more descriptive speech words (“whined,” “shouted,” “mumbled”) but this story uses fewer, different words. Morris primarily uses “spake,” “quoth,” and “said” (all of which mean basically the same thing). I edit dialog tags to make them sound more natural to modern readers, but do not change verbiage to add emphasis or emotion. “Cried” is also used some, which I tend to translate as “shouted” (to avoid confusion with the other meaning of “to cry”). Basically, if I get repetitive on the dialog tag verbs, it’s modern and archaic styles not matching up and me not having enough neutral speech words to use. 

[4] The “porter” is referred to as the “water-reeve,” and “porter” is my best guess. A “reeve” is an official in charge of something, Upmeads has a river, I assume the water-reeve is in charge of it somehow. Also, the verb used to describe Ralph’s loitering is “hang about,” which I updated slightly but is still funny and modern-sounding to me.

[5] Some googling turns up that “Petergate” is a street name in York (and elsewhere, probably), and “Bar” is a word for “gate” in place names (in England).

[6] “Yonder tower is of the Church of Swevenham, which is under the invocation of the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus.” “Under the invocation” is a bit murky, and I haven’t been able to find a specifically defined reference to a church being “under the invocation” of someone or something, so I took a swing at it. As for the Seven Sleepers, there’s a story in Catholic mythology about seven young people who fled Ephesus (in modern-day Turkey) to avoid Roman persecution of Christians (like 200AD, I think?). Anyway, they went into a cave and slept, waking up some centuries later (number of sleepers and years slept varies). Not much else to say. Oh, the story also appears in the Quran. 

[7] “I was sorry of the departure of the damsel; for though I was a boy I had loved her, and she had suffered me to kiss her and toy with her; but it was soon over.” I guess my one comment is that he stated that the two young men were five years older than he was, but did not mention the young woman’s age. In any case, although he refers to himself as a “boy” here, if you reread his speech, he was 18 when this all happened (not 13 with them at 18, which was my first, confused interpretation). Anyway, way to go, Richard, making out with an older girl.

[8] More intriguing views of the Church. Priests (and monks) seem to have a poor opinion of the Well at the World’s End, despite the story’s clear religious leanings. It’s an interesting internal conflict, one that I’ve pointed out before and will continue to point out going forward.

[9] A cool name for a castle. To explain the name a bit: “waste” refers to wilderness areas, especially those lacking in natural supplies, and “march” refers to a border territory. Basically, the castle is on the edge of a wasteland, and is known for its position there.

[10] And we have a day of the week! It’s Friday, July 11th, which gives me a list of possible years this takes place. Well, sort of. This is the medieval period, so it uses the Julian calendar… I’m a pretty big nerd, but calendars aren’t my strong suit. Also turns out there are a lot of years in the medieval period where July 11th was a Friday. I intend to put together a calendar timeline, but not tonight because I’m tired.

[11] A few notes: Richard talks differently from other characters? He has a tendency to use extended metaphors (example: he talks about going and finding out how things are in Swevenham as a farmer checking on the condition of a field), which I excluded because I’m tired and didn’t want to re-write in an understandable way. Maybe I’ll go back and change that later. He also says of Blaise that “they have already bidden to the freedom of the city, and to a brother of the Faring-Knights.” The first part means that the city officials trust Blaise and he’s been given clearance to do business and such in Whitwall (he’s a foreigner, so he would have originally been subject to restrictions and might have been barred from owning property). As for the second part… Uh, I’m not sure. My guess is the “Fairing-Knights” is a group of knights in the city that accompany merchants for protection, and he’s been assigned one of them to help him do business.

[Map] My initial reckoning was that Swevenham was east of Whitwall, due to the flow of things following the river so far, Ralph and Richard went out the east gate, and also because it’s described as having mountains beyond it (we will find mountains east of Whitwall soon), but on re-reading, I believe it might actually be to the north, since it’s described as being across the water from Whitwall, though which water that is is not specified (and there are a lot of streams in the area). Assuming it’s the Swelling Flood, Swevenham is probably north of Whitwall. I also placed the Castle of the Waste March to the north (about even with Wulstead), but we’re not given any indication of direction for it (north puts it closer to Upmeads though, which would help Richard end up there). I know I said I was going to revise the map, let’s just pretend I did (actually I think I’m going to wait until we hit the mountains and then revise this whole first section).

Map:

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

Down the Tunnel: Part 2.

So we can really contact Kaede like this?

It’s a big “if” at this point, but I have faith in Sora. If we shoot her inside the lab using the tunnel I open, she can hold open the barrier and establish contact.

Still, I want you to be aware of two things, Sora. Remember, once you go in-

Yeah, yeah, I’m not coming back out. You already reminded me like...4 times.

Just making sure. I’m not trying to deter you from this or anything.

You won’t...

The other thing that I wanted to make you aware of is that even if you get inside the barrier, it’ll take a tremendous amount of energy to keep it open.

While I have no doubt this will work, I also have no doubt we can only use this system sparingly. 

My tenacity’s better than you think. I’m sure I can manage.

I’m just saying. Don’t take this lightly.

...

Yoruko...I have to do this.

I-I know...I trust you Sora.

*Everyone gathers around Rantaro, as he becomes hyperfocused and starts typing into his laptop.

Alright...I’m preparing to open the tunnel.

*VVRRRRRRRRGGHH!*

!!?

*Everyone who can see the laptop screen inside the confines of the laptop sees a large sparking blue wormhole-looking item appear inside.

So...it’s actually a tunnel then?

Not a necessary visual spectacle. Just one I thought I’d add to make it easier to understand.

...Hm...

Careful RaRa...That doesn’t look comfy...

...

...?

*Sora cautiously steps forward and reaches a hand out to touch the portal.

FEEYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAAAAGGH!!

*She recoils and starts jittering as if receiving a horrible electric shock.

SORAAAAH!

Ah!? Are you alright!?

*As Yoruko, Tenko and everyone else starts to panic, Sora turns around with a smirk on her face.

Heh...Gotcha...~

Oh you little-! That a prank!?

That...That was NOT funny...!

My bad, my bad! Just trying to lighten the atmosphere is all.

In all seriousness, I’m ready to shoot down this sucker. Don’t worry Saihara. I’ll find your girlfriend, even if it kills me.

Poor choice of words Sora. I don’t want you to die as much as anyone else does.

Can we please stop bringing up the thought of Sora dying!? I just got it out of my head!

If this goes wrong, we’ll remember you as a hero, Sora the Observer.

*Kuripa faux salutes.

Good luck, my non-organic friend.

Don’t worry. I got this!

But one more thing...My name is Sora Kabuya! Don’t you forget it!

...!?

Alright, you ready?

Yes, I’m ready!

Alright...Aaaaaand...UPLOAD.

*FWOOOOMM!!*

WOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHAAHAHAAAAAAAAGGHH!!!

GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGH!? Hah!? HAAGH!?

*Sora is shot like a rocket through the tunnel. Lights flash around her as she hurtles at light-speed through the system, until...

BAGH!?

*She bursts out into what looks like a traquil see of pixelated clouds, floating in a space of nothing.

Huh...It’s...prettier than I thought it would be...!

Right...Now to find Kaede...!

...

...Ngh...

*Kaede has taken refuge inside a supply closet in the lab, fit with a mop and bucket, and not much else.

...I don’t even have a photo to put on the mop...or anything to prop it up with...

*She takes her phone out of her pocket and looks at it. It is currently 6% battery.

I’ll be out soon...then I’ll have no way of contacting outside...Not that I could...

*She stands up, her hand shaking from despair and frustration.

UUAAGH! DAMN IT ALL!

*She throws the phone at the wall.

OUCH!

Ouch!?

*SMACK!*

DAAGHCK!

*At hearing her phone suddenly make a strange noise, she turns around, only for the phone to bounce off the wall and smack her in the face.

AAGH! Ooogh...Huh?

See that!? That’s karma, you ungrateful bitch!

What the-!?

*She scrambles over and grabs her phone.

SORA!? What are YOU doing here!?

Just thought I’d pop in with some snacks and tea I brought from Toconoco.

I’m here to help you, silly! Or at least I was until you THREW ME AT A WALL!

But how did you-!?

You can thank your friend Rantaro for that one.

I see...

Wait, but my phone is on low...battery?

*Kaede goes check her battery, only to see it slowly rising.

Oh, don’t worry about that. The phone doesn’t run out of battery so long as I’m inside it.

That’s...helpful!

But...why ARE you inside my phone?

I think it’s better if I show you...Just sit tight.

*Sora disappears from the phone screen.

...

*Kaede waits for a few minutes, until all of a sudden, her phone begins to ring with a FaceTime call.

!!!??

*She quickly answers it.

Hello!?

KAEDE!?

SHUICHI!

Well, look who’s still in one piece~!

*Kaede sees the faces of Rantaro and Shuichi on the other side of her phone screen, her face lighting up with joy and hope.

Kaede, you ok!? You not hurt, right?

Kaede!

You seem to be alright...A little tired maybe?

How are you holding up?

You better be alive, bestie!

Guys...

*Kaede wipes a happy tear from her eyes before responding.

I’m fine actually. In fact, it’s been pretty quiet in here. Haven’t encountered any real danger so far.

I’m nervous paranoid and sad more than anything.

Heh...That’s some valuable honesty.

Listen to me Akamatsu. We’re continuing to study the doors, and we’ve at least figured out what it is we’re dealing with. Unfortunately there’s no-

*CLICK!*

Whuh!? HUH!?

*GASP!* Haaah...

*Everyone’s faces suddenly disappear from the screen, and Sora’s returns.

Sora!? What happened!?

Sorry, sorry, this is tougher than I thought! Just give me a second to stretch!

*Sora indeed stretches, then vanishes again. Once she does, Kyoko’s face returns.

Kaede?

Hey, I’m back! Sorry, something happened with Sora.

Is she alright!?

I...think? She told me she needed a second to stretch.

That makes sense. She’s basically using all her energy to keep the blockade open.

In that case, we don’t have much time, so I’ll keep this short.

Ando has been freed of his brainwashing and has confirmed that there isn’t any way currently that you can open the lab from the inside. As for these doors, they appear to be completely impenetrable for the most part.

Cool...sounds like my options are fairly limited here.

Indeed. But now that we have Ando and several other people arriving to assist us, we’ll find a way out soon. Just hold out in there until we can.

Sora can hold open the communications blockade to allow us to talk to you for short periods of time, Kaede. Plus, now that I’ve shot her inside the lab, she’s stuck in there with you, so at least you’ll have some familiar company.

Really? And...she knew that going in, right?

It was her idea actually. 

She was pretty serious about wanting to help. Even at her wife’s behest.

Please keep her safe Kaede.

I will...It’s the least I owe her.

And Shuichi? Are you alright? To be honest, you look a little worse for wear as well.

Yeah I...I’ve been stressed.

We’re working on getting you out of there Akamatsu, but if you plan on exploring anywhere for a way out yourself, be careful. Just because you haven’t encountered any danger, doesn’t mean you won’t.

We’ll work on things out here, and you see if you can get something in there. Maybe you should find whatever AI is jamming the communications and smash it to bits to give Sora some rest.

I’ll keep an eye out. Thanks Kuripa. And don’t worry Shuichi, I’m ok. 

Now that I have Sora, I feel better than ever.

Good...That cheers me up a bit.

This is a bit of a groaner but...I love you Kaede. Don’t die in there.

Wouldn’t dream of it.

We should probably hang up now to give Sora a rest, but we’ll contact each other as soon as any developments pop up.

Alright, I’m gonna trust you. Hang tight everyone!

Same to you!

*The call ends suddenly.

Uuugh...I do not have the physical body strength to do that for long...

Actually...I don’t have a physical body period...

Sora...I...You sacrificed your freedom to help me...?

Hey now, let’s not get cheesy. 

You’re my pal. If you’re in trouble, I want to help you. And given that I’m the only person with the power to do so, well...Why wouldn’t I?

And you know what? I think I know where to start. 

Where?

Getting you to take a damn shower.

Wait, there’s a shower in here?

*Sora displays the lab map on Kaede’s screen.

Down the hallway, left, then right.

Awesome!

*Kaede secures her phone and weapon, then cautiously leaves the lab to head to the shower.

[linpunny]

Okay so as promised I'll throw you together a few random Taiju Headcanons my head came up with so it won't be silent hehe 🫶

Taiju has to bleach/dye his hair to get his signature look and one time he accidentally grabbed your dye, walking around half pink and he absolutely hated it but when it faded enough to dye over it he was kinda upset because he always got reminded of you when he saw his hair

HATES it when someone touches his hair but you can do everything with it. wanna make funny updos? He'll sit still for you. Braid it? You got it. Curl it? No problem.

Also his tattoos. He's such a sucker to have you trace them or pepper kisses along them especially the text above his hipbone

Talking hip bones. your man is SO defined and could melt when you take your time admiring him, fingers tracing his V-line only for you to add little purple marks to his hipbones

He could burst from the anticipation because you're so close to his length and it's so god damn intimate to him when you kiss him so close but not quite

That's a moment where you see that he's putty in your hands, eyes fluttering shut, head tilted back ever so slightly and his big hands cradling your head or his fingers running through your hair

He won't ever push your head onto him unless you explicitly tell him that he can do that. He might not look like it but it's a consent king.

Your body language is second nature to him as well. He reads you so well and if anything looks off he immediately stops everything he's doing to ask if you're okay / if you need anything

He would let you put a collar onto him if you ask nicely- only if you'll wear one too for him at some point

He actually has a ring with your name engraved on it. It's not a wedding ring or anything but he wears rings often and that one he rarely takes off, only if he really has to

We all know his favorite position is the mating press because you just look so fucking small beneath him and the way your belly bulges from him makes him lose his mind

Fucks his seed into you just so you're nice and stuffed but god he wants to have a child with you so badly

Dad!Taiju who's the biggest softie for his little bundle of joy, letting them sleep on his chest at all times and he almost cries when the tiny hand can't even hold onto his finger properly

He kinda hoped he would have a boy first and then a girl so he could raise his son to protect his younger sister but he would be overjoyed no matter the gender

Because the fact that this is a product of his love for you. The child has your eyes and he swore he couldn't love anyone more than you but then that little bundle of joy entered his life

Spoils them rotten just like you! Would do the dumbest things no questions asked. Wears a tutu and attends little tea parties if asked and ready bedtime stories every night, giving every character a different voice and he really does a great job at being a father

— Rhy 🫶

I frew upped

BAJAKAKAKSKKSKSKSKS

Please please I’m dying I’m crying im screaming and creaming, chasing my tail scratching at the walls, chugging his cum—- and and he I the stuffs me so well so I feel full 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 keeps me warm and cozy with yummy cummy ANJAISKSKSKSKS

COLLAR?! I mean I uh I have a really nice leash and collar obviously but but HIM IN A COLLAR??? I’ll break my fooking hands beating the table right now KAKAKAKAKSKSNNSNS restraining his hands too while I ride him? HELLO the 14% switch in me is clawing at my chest cavity trying to emerge REEEEEEE

The ring he has a ring with my name on it oh my god I’ll cry shut upppppppoo please 😭😭😭 that’s so sweet I love him I’d get one with his name too maybe those ones that leave an imprint/ skin tattoo when you wear them. 😩

Matching mating press always always 🥺 soul mates. Constantly thumbs over the bulge he’s making, loves feeling how deep he is just as much as he loves to see it.

I WORSHIP THIS MAN. HE IS MY GOD ILL RUN MY TONGUE ALONG EVERY SINGLE TATTOO ON HIS BODY. trace em with my lips, nibble, mark , cum on em. Just wait hold on tracing over his v-line fuccccck me. Mmmm I’m so unwell. I just wanna kiss all over his well cut torso, his abs, his hips, that slight happy trail he his—— im gunna be sick

I can’t, consent king 🙇‍♀️ and couple that with how observant his of me. I give him complete consent, absolute territory of my body. But just imagine him looking down at you and he sees that twinkle in your eyes, the way there half lidded, heavy with lust. Before you can even nod HE KNOWS and he’s gently pushing your head down so your lips are level with his dick 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 loves when you trace over that thick bulging vein, makes him groan 😩

That’s so intimate just worshipping him, god I’d do it all night, every second of the day let him feel like the god he absolutely is to me

[masterofdemise]

On the contrary to that post about the VC, I would like to learn more about Pluto Beyblade today I think 👍

You asking this question is like unleashing a beast. Here's the problem though. I can start literally anywhere. Shall I talk about what we know of canon and all the ideas me and my friends have come up with based on that information? Should I discuss the missed opportunities there were to have him interact with certain characters? How about the various story ideas or concepts that I have for him that also ties in with my other concepts for Beyblade (ex: Vermillion Vows and the Solar Swap AU).

I will not leave you hanging though anon. Pluto is quite an interesting character and I think he can be so interesting if you really read into how he progressively grows more deranged as the show goes on.

Pluto's voice (especially in the Japanese dub) and his overall body language becomes much more vicious as he becomes closer to succeeding, and also as he soon realizes, that victory can be stripped from him in mere minutes. When he battles Kenta, he becomes very desperate to win and goes on about how "King Hades' prophecy doesn't acknowledge [his] existence" and constantly brings up how he is the descendant of Hades (both as a flex, and when he loses in complete disbelieve).

In my head-canon at least, now you can call me delusional (but also he has literally nothing in terms of backstory so I can make things up and who is going to care LMFAO), but I think in his past, he has probably been told constantly about his lineage and whoever came before him, REALLY emphasized his importance and put a lot of pressure on him to succeed. His life is dedicated to the revival of Nemesis and the destruction of the world. When that goal slowly starts to fail, everything is crashing down. Hell, as soon as Zeus's Barrier succeeds, the whole place literally crashes on him.

I think the one thing that makes me feel extra sad about Pluto being trapped in the temple is that he could have escaped. He wasn't the one controlling Nemesis since that was Rago's job. Anytime after he lost to Kenta, he could have just left since he would have known full well that there was nothing Rago could do to stop Zeus' Barrier.

But then what?

Is he just supposed to go back to whatever he was doing before all of this Nemesis shenanigans? This whole Nemesis crisis is his fault. What can he even do, knowing he failed? He'd probably be arrested, maybe a death sentence even? Does he really want to spend the rest of his time rotting in a cell? What even is there to look forward to if he leaves the temple? The whole world not being fully destroyed would always be a reminder to him that he failed. Of course, that's good for everyone else, but for someone like him who doesn't know any other life? A stunt like this and no one would ever give him a chance again.

Oops I said too much again. See what I mean by the wall of text lol?

Thank you very much for asking though! I would love to go more into it but I probably would make this post WAY longer than it should be. If anyone is still somehow curious about my Pluto text walls, please feel free to DM me because I will gladly talk about him ^^'