#literally itching for more

[strawberrysodaslut]

UM ???

THE IMMACULATE WRITING? MY LORD???

BENEATH THE BLADE - part one

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: swordsman!eddie x noble!reader

summary: with your father on the brink of war he finds himself in need of a bigger army, and the only person capable of helping is none other than eddie munson, the lord of death, but the only way to achieve his loyalty is through marriage.

contains: enemies to lovers trope, marriage of convenience, alcohol use, themes of misogyny/sexism, SMUT - 18+, mentions of bedding ceremony tradition, loss of virginity, oral (f receiving), p in v (unprotected — stay safe pls), hint of breeding kink, tiny bit of blasphemy, mentions of domestic violence (brief), mentions of death, mentions of blood/gore/violence, asshole!eddie, and eddie being dark and hot <3

word count: 12.5k

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| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

Eddie is handsome.

Charming in a soft light, you’d say— at least when he’s not covered in dirt and the blood of his enemies— his features are vivid this way, sharp yet kind, free of the anger that you’ve known to follow him in tow.

When he arrived, he was a sight to see— a jarring one.

Mud and filth caked over his body; blood smeared down his face to match the blade of his sword, soiled hair tied back and dripping with a liquid you’re not sure you would even want to know the name of. He was walking death. Cold eyes and a honed fleet to match. When his lips cracked to form a grin, you had accepted that nothing could be worse than marrying the very walking doom of the earth.

You hated it. You think you hate him.

Your wedding caused quite the commotion amongst the city of RedGate— travelers from the opposite side of the world came just to see you be wed today, the biggest day of your life, yet you’re struggling to find the joy in it.

When you were little, your mother would tell you stories of how one day you’d be married off to a prince, a handsome one with a gorgeous smile and all the gold in the world to make you happy, and somehow you ended up with the complete opposite.

Still, even if this marriage is the least adhered to your liking, you don’t have a choice. It’s your duty. Your promise to the people of RedGate.

A marriage of convenience, your father told you.

You have the money, and he has the men.

In the eyes of the storyteller, it’s a match made in heaven. You see anything but.

Because the truth is, you don’t know him— Eddie— and he is now your husband.

Despite the circumstances, Eddie seems to be having a grand time. Beside you, fresh in his sharpest clothes and finest jewelry, he sips on his nth glass of wine, loudly laughing at the room's commotion before you. They’ve been entertaining you for hours now. Hours of singing, dancing, and jesting all to appease you, yet you haven’t cracked a single smile.

Eddie sees it. He glances at you and smiles to himself, dark eyes shimmering beneath golden light as he finishes his chalice. He raises the cup, a silent order for more, and you swallow hard, wary of what’s to come with a drunk husband on the first night.

You’ve heard the stories women tell of their first night. You’ve heard the horrors of the pain and dread their men put them through, and it’s sure to say that wine doesn’t help the case— it never does. 

As you prepare for the doom of your evening (assuming it’s yet to happen), you hardly notice the cup-bearer filling your husband's chalice to the brim. You expect Eddie to begin sipping on the fine wine, but you’re proven wrong when the cup is brought down and held steady in front of you.

You look at the cup, shiny gold with twinkling jewels embedded in the sides, rich red sloshing up the walls, spilling over the edges, and snaking around his bruised knuckles. You drag your gaze up the arm holding the cup, decorated fingers, and storytelling ink on the skin that belongs to him. Eddie quirks up an eyebrow, watching you with such precision that it makes your blood run cold.

“A lady doesn’t drink.” You say.

Eddie grins, light dancing in his eyes as he says, “No? How come?”

You straighten in your chair, dragging in a slow breath as you tip your chin up, “It is not of a lady’s nature to drink such poison.”

Eddie’s face stretches in amusement, “Poison?” He hums. He retracts the cup, bringing it to his lips, but he waits as he adds, “You have never drank wine, then?” He snickers. The boom of the crowd seems to drown out as you glare at your husband, watching as he takes a sip, playful humor still painted across his face. You find nothing funny.

“Wine distorts the mind.”

Eddie sighs, loud and heavy, as he shifts in his chair, turning to look out into the crowd, “Wine tastes good, princess. You’re too rich to deprive yourself of such luxury.”

“Dull thinking is a luxury?” You question.

You’re testing the waters. Asking the questions that will ultimately let you know just what kind of a man your husband is— as if the stench of death from earlier wasn’t enough.

“It is when you’ve seen the things I’ve seen.” He responds.

You assume he means the sight of his enemy's severed heads. The sea of bodies and blood he’s sailed upon. All of which are his doing. You can’t find it in yourself to be sympathetic to him, no matter how hard you try.

Eddie sighs again, sinking into his seat as he taps a ring against the gold cup, “You know, wine might make it better for you.”

Your eyebrows furrow at his words, confusion etched in your voice when you look at him with a tip of your head, “What?”

Eddie speaks with a grin around the rim of his chalice, eyes dancing across the dining hall as he says, “Wine makes it better,” he repeats, his eyes finally landing on you as he adds, “Numbs the pain for your cute little cunt.” 

You’re stunned by his words, disgusted and shocked by such crass words as he casually sips his wine. “Have you no manners?” You stress.

Eddie doesn’t respond; he ignores you as he studies you. He adds, “You’re a tiny little thing. I reckon you would have your fill within less than a cup.” You open your mouth to respond, maybe throw some choice words his way, but he beats you to it, “I’m quite big, you know? I’m sure you have heard the stories. You’ll be smart to prepare for it.” He shifts in his seat, hips tilting up just enough to tell you what he’s talking about.

“I will do no such thing.” You quip.

Eddie shrugs with a snicker and a smack of his lips, speaking against the cup as he eyes you, “I’ll go slow then.” He says with a wink.

A cold shiver runs down your spine, an echoing bang of doom resounding in the walls of your skull as his words sink in. It doesn’t help any better when the infamous bedding ceremony music starts up, the men in the room cheering along to the song as they begin making their way to you.

Your nails dig into the palms of your hands, blood sure to rise as your heart races. The bedding ceremony, while for your guests means the nearing end of the celebration, only represents the beginning of the end for you. Your night has only just begun.

The men will carry you away, grab at your clothes, and cheer as they lead you to your bed chambers, and Eddie will soon follow suit with women grappling at his clothes as well, preparing you both for what’s to come behind closed doors.

If you’re lucky, the men will grant you the decency of keeping your chemise on. But even still, that will soon come off as well. You won’t win either way.

Eddie leans in, the sour stench of alcohol seeping from him as he speaks, “Looks like it’s time, princess,” he teases, a white smirk haunting you before you’re hauled up from your seat, a yelp leaving your lips as the men lift you above their heads.

Rough hands and drunken fingers prod at every inch of your body, a song you’ve heard many times before wafting through the air— you still don’t find the joy in it. You always thought the bedding ceremony was a bit unfair. The women were never as ruthless to the groom as the men were to the bride. You’ve seen more than you’d like to admit— and you never wanted to be on the performing side, yet here you are.

You catch sight of Eddie as the dining hall doors open to carry you away. You see the heavy gaze of his eyes on you, an unspoken threat to the men carrying you lingering through the air— harm her, and it’ll be the last thing you do. 

You’d be a fool to think he cared.

Cheerful singing booms down the halls as they tear off pieces of your gown and corset, leaving a trail of innocence through the castle. It’s not long before you’re tossed onto the bed of your chambers, white chemise still covering you, the men still cheering as they leave you alone in the vast room, echoes of the celebration playing harmony to your racing thoughts.

You scramble up from your bed the second the doors close, reaching out for the thin robe that rests on a chair across the room. You pace for what seems like hours, talking yourself down in preparation for what’s to come. To aid you in preparation, you find yourself sitting at your vanity, candlelight illuminating the mirror so you can see as you freshen up— because although you’re not exactly excited, you still (annoyingly so) want to look appeasing for Eddie. You want to fulfill his desires. You will be a failed wife if you don’t.

You find yourself growing worried when time grows longer with no sign of Eddie, and the sounds of the celebration seem to be dying down. You can’t imagine where he’s gone. Maybe he wanted to drink more. Maybe he doesn’t want you— you’re unsure if that hurts or relieves your ego.

Before you can decide to leave and look for him, the heavy doors to your chambers slide open, light seeping into the dim room as your husband steps in. You catch his eye through the mirror before facing him, standing from the worn bench and clenching your fists as you ask, “Where have you been?”

Eddie, ever the dark looming tower he is, steps further into the room, steps echoing in the silence. He’s fully dressed, not a piece of attire missing from his frame, so you suppose the women didn’t drag him here like the men did you. Had something wrong happened?

“Miss me already, wife?”

You grimace, rolling your eyes as you turn back to your vanity, “Hardly so.” You mutter.

A few moments of silence pass before Eddie speaks, “I had a conversation with your lady-in-waiting.”

Your face twists in confusion, chills dancing up your arms at the breeze that blows in through your open balcony doors. “Robin?” You question.

With his back turned to you from across the room, Eddie removes his cloak, draping it across the couch in front of the fireplace. He doesn’t look at you as he walks around the furniture, responding with a smooth voice, “If that is her name, then yes.”

He sits, busying himself with unbuttoning the chest of his shirt.

“Why?” You ask.

It’s not usual for men to speak with the ladies in waiting. There is nothing for them to discuss, really. But Eddie surprises you when he responds, voice steady yet still indirect towards you, “I wanted to know you.”

Suddenly, you find yourself making a journey across the room to stand before Eddie. The light that the candles cast upon Eddie is beautiful, and his eyes glow when they lift to gaze upon you, fingers still busy with buttons and strings. He is handsome and dark, and he is now yours.

“You kept me waiting.”

“And I am sorry.” He admits.

You don’t know why, but you’re left speechless by the apology that rolls off his tongue. From the stories, Eddie is not one to apologize for much of anything, and you expect he would carry the same traits as a husband. Apparently not.

Eddie stands then, tall and broad in nature— intimidating to most, but his eyes are soft and sincere as he looks down at you. You find your feet stuck where you stand, expecting him to reach and touch you, to initiate the big finale, but he never does.

“I want to apologize for my behavior at the feast,” He begins, “That was no way to speak to a lady, let alone my wife. May you forgive me as I am only now learning to be a husband.”

The Eddie before you now is a different Eddie than you had seen at the dining table. Where he had once looked upon you with lustful and roguish eyes, he now looks at you with sincerity. A softness you would’ve never thought could come from a man like him.

“What did she tell you?” You ask.

His mouth twitches, and if you’re not mistaken, you might’ve thought he wanted to smile.

“She told me you like to garden.” He says. “Your favorite flower is the Middlemist Red. You spend a pretty penny each season to import them from Cathay.”

You smile with your eyes, lips pressed into a line, shying away when he finally cracks and lets his lips tip upon the sight of you. “I do. They are beautiful.” You respond.

Eddie nods once, “You will have to show me, then.”

You nod silently. And Eddie doesn’t seem to want to take the initiative, so you take the first step, reaching forward with shaky hands to finish the buttons of his shirt.

You’re too focused on the task; you don’t notice how Eddie looks at you until his warm hands cover yours. His hands are rough and calloused from days of fighting and hours of work, and you don’t know whether the bumps on your skin rise from his touch or the breeze. 

Dark pools of swirling mud sear into you, so kind around the edges that it makes your breath hitch in your throat. Eddie squeezes your hands in his palms, no sense of insincerity as he untangles your fingers from his shirt and says, “Not tonight.”

And for some reason, your heart drops.

You blink at him, confusion flashing across your face for a split second before you mask it. “You do not want to?” You ask, a tremble of worry you so desperately want to bat away dancing around the edges

Eddie’s thumbs drag over the bumps of your knuckles, “You mistake my words.” He says, “I… I do, but I can’t. I won’t.” He shakes his head.

You frown, a feeling of rejection looming over your head as you look at your husband. “Why?” You ask.

He relaxes, shoulders weighed down with the earth as his thumbs drag to press into your palms. Soothing and grounding, yet overwhelming for the moment.

“You’re shaking, my love.” He points out.

Your gaze drops to your hands, heart racing as you realize— yes, you are shaking. Visibly so.

You shake your head, eyebrows furrowing as you reply, “It is only excitement.”

You’re not sure why you’re doing this. You would’ve leaped for joy an hour ago had Eddie turned you away, yet you can’t help but find yourself fighting for him to say yes. A part of you doesn’t want to be seen as a failure in the eyes of your counsel if they find out you couldn’t consummate your marriage. And another part of you— a very small yet loud part of you— just… wants him.

He is handsome; that part was never a lie, even in the stories. It isn’t hard to feel different forms of frustration when it comes to him. And well, you’d be lying if you said you’re not curious to find out what it feels like.

Eddie laughs softly, gently dropping your hands before turning away and grabbing his cloak, “I know when a lady is excited, my lady.” He admits. You hate the green serpent of jealousy that hisses in your chest.

You ignore the unwelcome feeling when he turns back to you, eyes still profound as they fall upon you, “And I also know when someone is scared.” He lowly says.

“I won’t have you when you are afraid of me.”

You gaze up at him, fingers curling around the long sleeves of your robe as you gather your strength. “I am not afraid of you.” And you’re not. You’re more so… reluctant of him— unsure of the extent of his morality in the throes of power. But standing before you, you can see he has no intentions to hurt you.

He looks at you as if he’s studying you. Pretty, dark lashes fluttering beneath the movement of his eyes, and you think you see the grip on his cloak tighten for a moment. “You deserve better for your first, princess. Someone soft. Someone whose hands haven’t touched the face of death.”

And he’s right. His reasoning is so right it may be wrong, and you begin to feel sorry for thinking so ill of him at the start of the night. He is trying now, and that is already more than what most receive. 

How much of it is true?

You don’t think much before reaching out and curling your fingers into the cloak on his arm, eyes never leaving his as you step closer, tilting your chin up to size him. “You are my husband now, and I am your wife.” You say, removing the heavy cloak from his hold.

“So long as you are mine and I am yours, we will have no other.”

And something in Eddie’s gaze churns.

Like your words have altered something within him— opened a portal to something you have yet to experience in him.

“I won’t fuck you.” He replies.

Your gaze challenges his, and you don’t think before dropping his cloak to the ground to press your palms against his chest. Two steps and the back of his knees hit the couch, legs buckling beneath him and forcing him to drop onto the plush seat. 

You grasp at your robe and chemise, hiking the thin material up as you gently mount Eddie’s lap, nerves be damned.

Eddie’s hands hover at your hips, but he doesn’t touch you, resistance swimming in his eyes as he gazes up at you. You settle over him, bare thighs touching the rough material of his breeches, your centers ghosting over one another as you lean over him.

“Then I will fuck you.”

He is so articulated with his eyes, bright in the words that refuse to roll off his tongue, and you know you have him caught now.

You lower yourself onto him, shifting your center over his growing bulge, and your body preens at the shaky breath that leaves him. You rest a hand on the back of the seat, nails digging into the stiff material as your other hand settles on the curve of his jaw.

You hadn’t kissed since the ceremony hours earlier when you were still brewing with anger and misfortune— but now, with Eddie’s wide eyes watching you and the brewing heat of pleasure that comes with every drag of your hips, you can’t help but find yourself wanting to feel his lips on yours again.

Eddie, seemingly keeping true to his word, does not show any signs of acting on the intense pull between you, so you take it upon yourself to lower your lips onto his.

He is soft, bittersweet with the taste of wine on his tongue, but it only makes you want more.

You lean into him, body pressing against him as he kisses you back, lips moving in tandem with yours as his hands finally— and hesitantly— touch you.

They leave trails of fire up your skin, coasting up your sides and back, gentle yet firm as he holds the back of your neck and presses into you.

Your hips are steady in movement against his, seeking pleasure with every roll until you can no longer hold back the moan that spills from you. Eddie breathes heavily against your lips when you part, blown eyes focused on you as you crumble beneath the weight of pleasure, chasing that twisting feeling of heat.

He keeps one hand on your neck as the other travels down the expanse of your body, fluid and malleable with the dips and rises of your body. He lands on your hip, gentle fingers pressed against your skin as he follows the flow of your motion. He doesn’t try to take charge, doesn’t dig his fingers into your skin to move you against him in the ways he wants you to, but he’s there.

He is gentle in his guidance, delicate in the way he lets you use him— and he is a sight.

Flushed cheeks and blown eyes, bated breaths, and shaky grasps of restraint. He is war and the solemn peace that comes after.

You want more.

You move in hopes of searching for the ties of his breeches, but he stops you faster than you can move, shaking his head as he speaks with heavy breaths, “Cum like this. Keep going.”

You whimper, hips never having stopped their pace as the pleasure threatens to spill over the edges. It’s an all-encompassing feeling, having Eddie beneath you and encouraging you as you rut up against him, needy to feel that explosion of fire.

It doesn’t take much longer, not with the way Eddie leans up to press soft, fluttery kisses beneath your chin, and you find yourself falling into the abyss of satisfaction, moans and whimpers seeping from you like loose change.

The room seems to spin, candlelight and heat searing through you as you come to, legs shaking on either side of him. But you’re not done.

You kiss him, wet and heavy and needy. Less calculated than the others yet outdoing them by miles.

“Take me to bed,” you pant against his lips, “If you do nothing, do this one thing and take me to our bed.” You say, fingers curled into the soft material of his collar. 

There is a slight edge of reprimand in your words, a taunting lilt— if you don’t want to fuck your wife like a man, the least you can do is carry her to bed— it’s so mean. Yet, it does the job.

Eddie's eyes grow dim, an untamed beast growling to wake in his chest before he wraps his arms around you, holding you close as he stands. You are caught in his gaze, chest still rising with bated breaths as he walks away from the couch and towards the bed. 

“Our bed?” He lowly huffs. 

“Against my wishes, yes.”

Your fingers sink into his nicely pulled-back hair, searching for the tie to tug and loosen. His hair falls like a flower in spring, blooming with the dark riches of the earth, orange fire framing his mane of curls. He is beautiful and devastating.

You drop the string, careless where it falls as you run your hands through the soft strands.

Despite the fire radiating through Eddie, he lowers you onto the bed softly, handling you as if you’re a gem, and you squirm when you find yourself missing the heat of him as he stands at the foot of the bed.

He stands before you, tall and brooding, as he untucks his shirt from his breeches, slinking his arms out from the sleeves and letting the thin material drop. 

The reveal of his body is earth-shattering. Mind-numbing. The feeling of awe that overtakes you when you wake up just in time to see how the sun kisses the sea and melts the glass waters. 

He is violent. Sharp and merciless to the mind, a living depiction of the growing demise of the world.

But he is also radiant. Imperfect like a mine of gold, jagged around the edges with cuts and scars that run deeper than you’ll ever know. Inked stories pressed into his skin, thick lines running across his ribs and slithering to his back, hours of pain spent to capture a moment. 

He is so devastatingly beautiful.

The world grows dull in your ears; you hear nothing but the crackling snap of the candles that light the room and the uneven breaths that expel from your chest. Eddie looks at you, steady and calculated, watching you as if hunting you— and you don’t know why, but you find yourself reaching for him.

Your fingers are colder than his body when they touch him, soft tips grazing the sewn skin of his torso, and you leave trails of bumps in their wake as you dance over his skin.

Eddie’s skin is warm beneath your lips, and the steady thump of his heart is so vivid you can almost taste it through the layers of skin, blood, and bone. You gently caress what you can touch, thumbs sliding over raised skin that had once been broken, lips following suit with gentle pecks to each one until Eddie raises his hands to cup your face.

His lips are on yours like hot metal meeting water, sizzling fire and bursting in color. It’s addicting, kissing him. You don’t want to stop.

He presses into you, pushing you back until you’re laid against the bed, steady on your elbows as his ringed hands coast up your legs. So gentle in tow, rough in comparison to your soft skin as they push your gown further up your thighs. The air is cool between your legs, chills dancing up your spine until you shiver and pant against his lips.

Eddie then parts from you, dragging in air like he is greedy for it. His gaze dances over your body as he drags a hand over his mouth, looking at you in seemingly deep thought. He swallows, his resolve loose as the seconds pass before he finally speaks— “Need to be wet.”

Your face twists in confusion, the sheets twisting in your grip as you gaze up at him, “What?”

Eddie sinks to his knees, wordlessly dragging his hands over your thighs as he grumbles, “You need to be wet.” His hands coast up your legs, pushing your chemise up over your hips until you are bare to his eyes. “Wetter than this.” His gaze is hungry yet appreciative, drinking you in as if he will never get another chance to— if he will, you’re not sure. Your face is warm, blooming with shock, and a churning heat that settles in your stomach. 

And you have never had a man kneel before you. You are of high rank, yes, but you are no queen. Neither are you a lord. The people don’t bend a knee to your honor as often as they do to your father, and though you never really understood why men puffed their chest out so high and mighty upon the gesture, you think you understand now as you watch Eddie sink to the floor.

It’s humbling, seeing such a man of his stature relinquish his pride to rest before your feet, and it only gets better when he parts your thighs and leans forward to pepper wet and warm kisses to the insides of your thighs.

You’re shaking already, fists curling into the plush sheets of the bed, chest heaving in ecstasy. The feeling of Eddie’s curls brushing against your thighs makes you tremble, a smile threatening to pull on your lips at the sensation. His lashes flutter as he moves forward, a sense of shock overtaking your body as he pushes his face into the hilt of your cunt, nose pressed to the neatly trimmed hairs of your pelvis before breathing in deep. You whimper, squirming beneath his hold as he noses at you, breathing you in like you’re the last draw of air his lungs will ever receive.

“You smell divine.” He grumbles, voice thick with lust.

You breathe, teeth sharp against the inside of your cheek as you gaze at him with wide eyes, “T-thank you…” Your words fall off in a moan as he drags his tongue against you, through your folds and wetness, humming as if he hadn’t had his fill from the feast.

He leans in more, hooking an arm around your thigh to pull you in before completely devouring you. You can hardly keep your composure, licks of fire running through your veins in pulses as you quiver on Eddie’s tongue. Your vision wavers, eyes fluttering shut as your head tips back, mouth parted in desperate moans as you struggle to keep yourself open for him.

He groans against you, palm heavy on your tummy as the other hand reaches up to drag a thumb over your lips, sinking into the wet heat of your mouth. “Open your eyes,” he says against you, “Look at me.”

It takes everything in you to do so, but you manage, tilting your head back down to look at the man between your thighs.

“I want you to watch.”

Gods— you’re not sure if the air has been sucked out of the room, or you’re just that speechless. But you have no time to figure it out because Eddie is back to licking and sucking at you like his life depends on it. Like you are his last meal on earth. Like your cunt is the fountain of life and he’s spent years searching for it.

You are his altar, his god, and he is your loyal disciple.

The familiar feeling of pressure builds quicker this time, and your grasp on restraint is little to none, so Eddie can feel it when you’re close. He is cruel when he parts from you. A slick, wet sound and a string of spit come with his withdrawal, and it makes your face burn.

You had forgotten how great Eddie is in size with his position beneath you, but you’re reminded when he stands to his full height. You can’t help but watch with hungry eyes as his hands drop to the waist of his breeches, skilled fingers quickly unlacing the ties. 

He is an encapturing scene to watch, his muscles flexing with each movement, stories coming to life with each twist— and you almost become too distracted with it to notice the unveiling of his cock.

But you can not ignore it for long because Eddie… is big.

He had told you so at the feast, and you had taken it with a grain of salt. However, this is no grain of salt before you. This is—

“It’s not as frightening as it looks.”

Your eyes snap to his, wide and no doubt doing nothing to mask your shock. “Well, that is easy for you to say.” You respond.

And for the first time, a genuine laugh spills from Eddie. It’s warming to hear it, a sound that could— arguably— put the mourning doves to shame. And you think you might see little carves of sun in his cheeks. A strong juxtaposition for someone like him to carry an angel's kiss within his smile, yet incredibly appreciative.

He rids himself fully of his trousers, shoes already off, as he kicks them to the side. He is a force of nature as he towers over you, gentle hands brushing against your skin when he cups your face. But he doesn’t take action. No, instead, he steps away and walks towards the side of the bed, climbing up to lay against your pillows.

You watch over your shoulder before turning to him, face twisted in confusion as you ask, “What are you doing?”

Eddie shrugs, “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

You look at him for a moment, a long moment— his thick cock the only thing giving away the state of his desire, which apparently, is enough for you to turn and crawl your way over to him.

You frown as you swing your leg over him to straddle his lap, an annoyed tone in your voice when you speak. “This is wrong, you know?” You huff as you unbutton your chemise.

Eddie watches silently from beneath you, eyes failing to stay trained on your face when you begin to untie the neck of your chemise.

“You are supposed to fuck me. Worship me and show me that you want me.” You grumble as you fully open your chemise, your body on full display.

Between you, Eddie drags a slow fist up his cock, his tip ruddy and wet with excitement. A thrum of shock and sick pleasure twists through your body when he lightly taps his cock against your lower tummy, “Not proof enough for you, princess? Or are you just being greedy?” He teases with a tilt of his head.

Your heart races at the sight— Eddie pressed into your pillows, hair fanned out beneath him, his bare and scarred chest pink beneath your touch as his cock begs to be touched. Your core aches at the sight of him between your thighs, your fingers taking his place as you wrap them around his cock— and he is so warm. So thick and full of weight between your fingers, you can’t help but look up and ask— “Will it hurt as you said?”

Eddie gazes at you, never having stopped, brown eyes blown with desire. He can hear it, the slight tinge of fear in your voice. A warm hand resides beneath your open chemise and rests against your hip, a gentle thumb caressing your hot skin. “I licked you for a reason.”

Though lewd, it does well to ease your nerves. You find the tension in your shoulders lessen, and you hardly pay any mind as you wriggle closer to Eddie, softly sighing when you feel the heat of him. 

It makes your body ache.

He is heavy in your palm as you press him against your core, the soft tip tapping the aching bud of your clit. Your body writhes at the feeling, thighs parting further for him. His grip tightens on your waist, his gaze falling to watch as you paint his tip through your folds and down to your entrance.

You suck in a breath, toes curling in anticipation before you sink onto him. It’s an odd feeling at first, something more like a foreign pressure than pain, but the further you sink down, the more the heat rises and the burn of the stretch eats away at you. Below you, Eddie curses, his head dropping when you pulse around him. You pull in a sharp breath, thighs threatening to close as the first wave of pain washes through you. Eddie returns to reality quickly, looking up at you as he reaches out to pull you forward, cooing at you soft and sweetly, “You’re doing so good. So fucking well, princess. Just relax.”

You try your best, taking steady breaths as you continue to wriggle down into him, but by the time he is pressed to the hilt, you hardly have control over the breathless pants leaving your throat. “I— it’s big. It’s so big,” You shakily breathe. 

His lips are warm against your forehead, pressing soft, warm kisses as you flutter around his cock, the burn slowly but surely becoming bearable. Your hips squirm against him and he hums, praising you and caressing every inch of you whilst making no effort to make you move. 

You don’t know how long you stay seated on his cock, but you can feel yourself stretched to the brim with him and suddenly you want nothing more than to feel it move within you. With your palms pressed into the pillows beside Eddie’s head, you find stability on your palms and knees before dragging your hips up, slow and steady— and your vision goes white.

It is indescribable, the feeling of Eddie’s cock pressed so snugly against your wet walls, the feeling of him dragging through you slow enough for you to still feel the lingering burn mixed with that dull tease of pleasure. And you can feel Eddie physically holding back. Can see it swimming in his eyes when he looks up at you.

He wants to ravish you.

He wants to push himself into you so deep you won’t know where he ends and you begin.

He is a brooding force of desire and lust and power, and he could very well do it within the blink of an eye, yet… he doesn’t.

He stays beneath you, hands shaking with impulse as they drag up your sides to softly cup your breasts. His chest rises and falls shakily, tongue darting out to lick his lips as he lets you drag your cunt up and down his length.

He watches your body move, eyes seemingly overwhelmed with where to focus— and you don’t even think he meant for you to hear it when he says, “You are so beautiful.”

You whimper at his admission, head lolling back as you sink down onto him again and again. He kisses your neck, wet and hungry, and your body keens when he wraps his lips around your pert nipple, rough thumb dragging over the other, “Such pretty tits. All mine now.” He mutters.

“Is it—” You can hardly breathe when you fully sink onto him again, it feels like his cock is lodged between your lungs, but god it’s so good. “Is it g-good for you?” You ask.

His hands tighten on your hips, face twisting in pleasure for just a moment before he grunts out a response— “Fuck. Yeah, yeah, keep going.” His voice is low and rough and it sends shivers up your spine as you grind your hips into his. “Is it good for you?” He asks. 

Your mind goes blank for a moment— you hadn’t imagined he’d care, not when he’s so vividly troubled between the throes of his pleasure and the fight to sustain his composure. You drop onto him, harder than before, your cunt fluttering around him as you whimper in pleasure and respond, “Yes.”

He smiles at the action, his cock pulsing within you at the sound of your bliss. You do it again, this time both of your resolves cracking, a broken moan slipping from you as Eddie grunts, fingers digging crescent moons into your skin. 

You lean over him and press a hand to his jaw, a thumb dragging across his lips as your breath hitches, watery eyes gazing into his as the stretch burns through your hips and thighs. Your face twists in a mix of unrecognizable pleasure, a mix of pain and fear, but overall— “Show me.”— curiosity. 

How does Eddie want? How does Eddie need? Is he greedy? Rough? Angry? Or is he soft and kind— just like this?

The clench of his hands on your waist says otherwise.

Eddie shakes his head, jaw clenching as you drag his cock out of your wet, warm heat, just the tip caught in your pulsing entrance as your body shudders at the feeling. You sink back onto him, veins running against your velvet walls as you shakily breathe, “Show me, Eddie.” You say again, your other hand sinks into his hair, nails dragging against his scalp.

“I want to know what you like—” “It isn’t kind.”

Your heart races then— will he hurt you? Will he beat you like you’ve heard other women whisper about their own husbands. A feeling churns in the pit of your stomach, his rough hand dragging over your chest to palm at your breast.

“...Show me.”

Earth, dark and rich, pools swirling with lust as they gaze at you. Eddie’s chest is like restless waters beneath your palms— rising and falling— the beast gnashing its teeth, hungry for something between its jaws.

You give yourself right into him. Placing your gentle nature amongst his riot— you’re unsure if you’ll thank yourself or hate yourself later.

Eddie presses his feet onto your bed, fingers tight on your waist as his hips press into you— as if he could get any deeper than he already is. If he could, you think you would die. Your moan breaks around a sob, one hand grappling to hold one of his as your other curls against his chest and your head falls, your knees digging into Eddie’s sides.

One pull out and one push in— hard and fast— it has you seeing stars. He knocks the breath out of you, his cock so wide and deep in you that you fear you’ll be feeling him for days after this. You don’t care enough to be embarrassed about how much you're gushing around him, or the jumbled moans and words that tumble from your mouth with each punishing thrust. 

Eddie groans beneath you, fingers tight on your hips as he picks you up and drops you on his cock like you’re nothing but a toy. He’s punching out staccato moans from you, that beast thrashing in his chains— so close to freedom and yet…

“Fucking cunt’s sucking me in like I paid you for it— shit.” Eddie curses, briefly letting his head drop onto your pillows before easing back up to watch where he pounds up into you. You whimper, an annoying warm twist in your belly from his words despite the disgust that tumbles from your tongue— “As if I’d ever take your money.”

Eddie’s brown eyes snap up to yours, a growl rumbling deep in his chest before he slinks a hand up your body and around your neck. He squeezes, hard enough to have your toes curl and your nails dig into his chest. He drags you down, hovering your face above his as he drills into you, his other hand grabbing a handful of your ass to help him bounce you on his cock. “You can act as if you are above me all you want, princess,” He pants against your lips, fingers tight on your neck, “But who’s cock are you about to come on, hm?” He lowly asks.

Fuck.

You aren’t sure if your lungs exist anymore. You think there might just be a big, gaping hole in your body— an empty space where Eddie’s cock has carved its way into. Because you can not breathe when you fall apart above Eddie.

You can hardly see or think. You definitely can’t speak. And beneath you, Eddie hums as if he’s some sort of demon and he’s satisfied now that your soul has left your body.

You are speechless from the overwhelming feeling of bliss, and it intensifies when Eddie hits his peak, emptying himself into you with moans so beautiful you would call anything else that reaches your ears after this a disgrace. 

It’s warm, the feeling of his cum seeping into you, and it makes your body feel as if it’s boiling, but you sink into it either way, chasing the filling sensation that erupts within you.

Beneath you, though he had just defiled your body and had nearly strangled you, Eddie is spewing out soft words in appreciation, promises of keeping you forever, making a home, keeping you round and full with his babies. If you had known better, and you do, you would say he is drunk on the feeling. You think you might be as well.

And if the feeling only exists in this room— where Eddie holds you like you’re the last piece of soul he has on earth, where he is warm and throbbing inside of you and you can almost swear you share one set of lungs— then you never want to leave.

Morning light comes quicker than you had hoped. 

After a night spent with incessant writhing as Eddie plowed into you more times than you could care to count, you wake with an aching body and a soft pull of a shy smile threatening your lips. 

Between your thighs, you ache, but it is somewhat of a welcomed feeling knowing where it came from. The breeze of warm ocean-scented air drifts through your chambers like a song, and the sheets are soft against your skin as you stretch your sleep-weighted limbs.

Flashes of yesterday come to you with each moment you spend waking. Anger and frustration, worry of what the next chapter brings, betrayal of having to give your hand to another as you came to terms with the fact that your hand was never yours to begin with. You were always a pawn in the game. You were naive to think otherwise.

Understanding and acceptance, opening your world to the favors of the man who is now your husband. Desire and lust and the bittersweet fruits of passion. It comes crashing down on you like a rogue wave.

You are a wife now. You no longer only live for yourself but for and with another as well— and it is jarring to try and understand.

Still, you are thankful Eddie seems to be… less than what he is known to be. Maybe he is more than what is believed— of course, in the sense that he is not some monstrous being that lives and breathes to destroy everything in its path.

He is not easy to read yet, no, that will come with time. But you are hopeful in the sense that you believe you may be able to live with him without hating all you have become.

And anyway, now that you have fully acknowledged yesterday and the fact that you are now married, you wonder— where is your husband?

You leave bed, limbs cracking and popping at the stretch as you throw your chemise over your naked body. You shrug a robe over for the sake of your decency and slip your feet into the nearest pair of silk slippers, shuffling over to the door. Your hand settles on the doorknob before the door swings open, barely missing you.

Eddie steps in, brown eyes roving over you as you gaze at him in slight shock from his abrupt entrance. His eyes drop to your chest, the soft material of your robe having opened when you stepped back to give him space. You cover yourself, face heating in embarrassment as you clear your throat.

Eddie blinks, stepping further into the room to let the door close, “Pack your things; we leave for Ironhold tonight.”

Your face twists in confusion as you step away, furthering your distance from him, “What? Why?”

Eddie lowly huffs, turning away and pacing towards your dresser, yanking a drawer open, “I don’t know if you noticed, but your father is on the brink of war.” He grumbles as he pulls out various articles of your clothing. You march over to him, grabbing your clothes from his hands and stuffing them back into the drawer before slamming it closed. “Why do I have to go?” You frown. Eddie turns to you and looks at you as if you’re a pain in his ass— you want nothing more than to slap the look off his face.

“Because the council demanded I bring you.”

Your chest brews with a strong sense of annoyance— your father’s council has always found ways to prod and poke at your peace. And have they not done enough within the last day?

You hardly realize you’re pacing out of your room, quick strides carrying you down the wide hallways, ignoring the greetings of maids because how can you think straight when you have just been ordered to leave your home?

The knights at the door of the council chamber don’t ask why you’re there; the fury in your steps says enough to make them drag the heavy doors open.

“I won’t go.”

The councilmen are no strangers to your sharp tongue. Since you were a child, you were never one to willingly bend to their absurd demands— you want me to do this? Then you do this— and they hate it.

The meeting has yet to finish; they are all seated, seemingly still in conversation— but you don’t care, your gaze set on your father— the man at the center of it all. He drags in a breath, shifting in his seat; the slow tap of his finger against the table shows his patience with you— you have never given him an easy day in your life, and he knows your anger best. Which is why he doesn’t hesitate to respond, “You will go.”

You step further into the room, passing the council members to stand at your father's side, the heavy, stone table cold beneath your palms when you lean down to face him. “I will have nothing to do with your corrupt and murderous war.” You sneer.

Across the table, a councilman who is watching the entire interaction barks out a laugh, “My lady, you lost that choice when you married him.”

Your body burns hot and red, frustration pumping through you in riveting waves— that was not your fault. “That was against my wishes. You forced my hand.” You remind them all.

“So you say,” Your father says with a dismissive tone. He taps against the table again, “You owe a service to your country—” “I owe a service to our people. Not your politics.” You snap.

“I will not go.” You slowly repeat.

Your father’s gaze is bothered and bored when he looks at you; a long pause of silence before he speaks, “You are married now. You go where your husband goes—” he lifts a finger to silence you when you try to talk, “You will accompany him in solidarity, and you will provide him the love and care of a good wife— do not forget that he is helping us. He is helping our country— your people.” He mocks your last words. “You will go with him if it is to be the last thing you ever do, am I understood?”

The room, though physically quiet, is loud in suffocating domination. You gaze at the stone table. You remember when you were a child and sat on your father’s knee, here in the council chamber, and you wanted nothing more than to fill his space when you grew older. You know now that his chair was crafted for no one but him.

Your voice is stern when you speak again, “I am not a mercenary.” 

The councilman speaks again, “No, but you are a woman— a wife now. This is now your assignment.”

You stared at your chamber door for some time— how long, you’re not sure, but you feel the heat of your anger as if it’s been there for years. You are no longer your own. You’re now the property of the council, told what to do and expected to follow through with no complaints, and this is only the second time you have felt it hit full force— the first being the second a ring was slipped onto your finger.

You’re being pulled away from your home now, the place you know best, the place that has kept you safe, healthy, and free. The place you’ve grown to love and know— you’re being ripped away from it and it fuels the fire within you.

You pack your things with angry hands, grabbing clothes and necessities and tossing them onto your bed in a disordered manner. Robin steps in just after noon, eyes widening when she sees the heap of clothes on your bed.

“They’re forcing me to go with him.” You huff.

Robin walks towards you where you angrily fold your clothes, stuffing them into bags with an angry scowl. Robin places a hand on your arm, a gentle suggestion to let her take over.

You huff and step away, turning towards the window of your room facing out towards your city's port. “As I have heard,” Robin softly says as she begins folding your things, “I will be with you the whole way.” She tries to comfort you. It’s kind, and although it does ease you a little bit, it’s not enough to put out the burning embers in your gut.

Out in the port, you watch as Eddie’s men prepare the ships, hauling heavy crates of goods and weapons onto the deck. Eddie is there too, on the deck of the biggest ship, pushing crates and barking orders, telling them where to put containers and what shipments go on which boat. He commands like it’s second nature. Hardly thinking about it as he flicks his wrist to gesture towards a ship, never having to repeat an order twice because his men hear him, and they obey him.

You grimace at the sight of him, annoyed that you’re about to be stuck on a ship for him for at least two weeks.

“He is insufferable, Robin.” You grumble, eyes trained on him down at the port.

“One moment he is sincere and kind and the next minute he is the complete opposite. You should have seen him last night,” you say, briefly turning to look at her, “He was like a shapeshifter. And to think I’m bound to him til death— gods, nothing could be worse.” You grumble.

You’re brewing in silent anger, watching the chaos from above as Robin softly sighs.

“I wish he would just disappear.” You softly whisper.

And you do… you think. The only good thing Eddie has brought you was quivering legs and a few purple bruises between your thighs. 

Robin drags in a deep breath as she walks over to you, her shoulder touching yours as you both gaze out into the port. “It will get better, I’m sure, my lady.” She softly says.

Eddie’s ship is not what you had imagined it to be.

In stories and word of mouth, the Lord of Death sails on ships made of bones and steel, with a putrid scent of burning flesh and echoing screams of torture to complete it.

It’s terrifying to imagine. Appalling to hear and nearly impossible not to gasp at, but somehow, the moment you stepped onto the ship, no overwhelming sense of death hit you. Instead, you were greeted with curt nods and quick, warm hellos— surprisingly good hospitality seeing as the men you’ll be stuck with are brooding with rage and a thirst for blood.

Eddie’s quarters are adequate. Where Eddie has a character that exudes chaos and disarray, his quarters are somewhat cleaner than you had expected.

There is a large desk to the right, books upon books stacked on the floor and shoved into the bookcase on the wall behind it. There’s not much room, so aside from the desk and the books, there’s a sofa that rests beneath the window and a bed off to the left of the room. It’s a shameful sight of a bed, but it is now your reality.

Upon boarding this ship, you were under the impression that you would be sleeping somewhere else given the unfortunate circumstances of your presence and rather strained relationship, but after a short (and exasperating) discussion, Eddie told you it would be ridiculous for you to sleep anywhere that is out of his sight on a ship full of men. So, despite your heart's desires, you begrudgingly agreed that it would be best that you just stay in the captain's quarters… with Eddie.

You are not so excited about staying with him.

Along with Robin and your few bags of clothes, Steve has also tagged along despite Eddie’s clear and strong distaste towards him and his ‘unnecessary need to protect you’ as Eddie had said it. 

“Steve goes everywhere I go; he is my guard.”

“I’ll give you a new one in Ironhold. A real one.”

Your face pinches in annoyance, “Steve is a real guard, he’s a sworn knight.” You argue. 

“He’s an amateur.” Eddie grumbles. 

“Well, I only want Steve—” “Oh, would you like to fuck him as well?” Eddie pressed. You looked at him for a moment, realizing this was not an argument of your safety, but one of possession. “Steve is coming. End of discussion.”

Because Steve is your guard. His father was your guard when you were little, and when Steve became old enough and well-crafted with a sword, he became your guard. He has never left your side since and he won’t be doing so anytime soon just because Eddie has some unspoken problem with him. Steve was the deciding factor that you would be sleeping in Eddie’s quarters, even though Eddie refrained from saying it— you can tell.

RedGate is now nowhere in sight, and the only thing you can see through the cabin window is miles of nothing but water and sky. It’s been only a few hours since you left shore, but you are already feeling the burning rocks of yearning beginning to settle within you. 

Or maybe it’s just brewing anger that’s hot within you.

Eddie’s desk is clear of papers and has been replaced with plates of warm food and bread, and across from you sits none other than your beloved husband. It is silent in the cabin, save for the humming noise of the rocking ship and the occasional clinking of Eddie’s utensils. And despite the fact that the meal looks good, you haven’t moved an inch to even try it.

Eddie takes note of this after a few bites of his dinner, glancing up at you as he chews his food, jaw prominent under work. He gestures to the table with his fork, “Are you going to sit there and stare until it rots?”

Your gaze flickers from your plate to the brown eyes watching you. They look like thick honey under the candlelight, and you hate that it stirs your insides. He nods towards the food before you, “Eat your dinner before it gets cold.”

As if you are a child.

“Do you enjoy telling me what to do? Is that the kind of power you seek in a union?” You prod.

Eddie looks at you, chewing his food as he drops his fork and knife on his plate to rest his fists against the table. He swallows, eyes never leaving you as he shrugs, “If you do not want to eat then—” You don’t care to let him finish before you cut him off, “Because I will warn you now, it will be easier for you to cut off your fighting arm and learn to wield a sword with your other than to tame me to be your pet.”

Honey light spills across Eddie’s face, silky smooth tendrils framing his face and casting shadows— and you think you see a ghost of a smile on his lips, but you don’t see well enough before his lips start moving, “I have hounds in Ironhold, I do not need a pet.”

Your eyes subtly narrow, “You’re clever.”

“And you’ll starve,” Eddie drags in a breath as he picks up his utensils again, “Eat.”

You don’t bother moving to reach for your fork and instead reply, “Shouldn’t captains eat with their crew?”

Eddie gazes at you for a long moment, letting your question hang in the air as he cuts his food— and from here, you can see why people are so afraid of him: he glares like his gaze is meant to kill.

He finally drops his gaze from you, focused on his plate, as he replies, “I am a married man now. I should dine with my wife.”

To which you can’t help but scoff, rolling your eyes as you shift in your chair, “Please,” you scoff, “I thought the people of Ironhold do not follow tradition.” You say, reminding him of the conversation he had with your mother right before you left. Your mother had scolded you for being difficult about your situation as you pleaded that there was no reason for you to accompany Eddie on his journey home. 

“I’m sure you have a tradition for newlyweds in Ironhold— you wouldn’t want to miss that, would you?” Your mother pointed out. To which Eddie softly laughed, “We’re not a traditional family, my lady.” 

Eddie grumbles, cutting into his food and still avoiding your gaze as he responds, “That was a lie to get your mother to relent for your and my sake. My people are built on tradition, everyone knows that.”

You watch as he eats, his words turning your head— it was almost as if he was implying your mother isn’t well-versed in her history— and she is. You relent and pick up your fork, pushing at your food before you softly say, “She’s only looking out for me.”

Eddie still does not look at you when he replies, “Good for her then.”

And Eddie’s walls are thick and tall. Indestructible from your point of view. You had hope last night, but now he is as cold as he was at the feast, if not more. And even though this is not ideal for you, it would be foolish of you to not at least try to make it work— at least for your father’s purpose. What does it take to ignite the man from yesterday?

You stare at Eddie for a moment, the candle flickering against his features. Soft and beautiful in this light, always. Your nails dig into the skin of your palms as your fists clench before you abruptly rise from your seat, “You are insufferable.” You huff, tossing your napkin on your unfinished plate and walking away towards the bed.

“If I’m so insufferable, join the fish.”

You scoff out a laugh, forcefully rearranging the pillows and blankets on the bed with a scowl on your face, “Believe me,” you huff, “I would want nothing more than to leave this god-forsaken ship. Anywhere far away from you and this vessel of death.”

Eddie laughs, a screech of his plate bouncing through the room as he replies, “I can guarantee you won’t find that place in my bed, darling.”

Gods, the smug manner of his words infuriates you. You opt to stop replying, busying yourself with getting the bed ready for your rest. Eddie takes a deep breath and sighs, “You have barely eaten, you can not go to bed.”

“I’m not bloody hungry.” You snap

“Stop being difficult.” Eddie huffs.

You manage to tune out the noise of Eddie cutting and eating his food, paying no mind as you begin to undo the laces of your dress. You focus on untying your dress, becoming frustrated when the intricate lacing does not bend to your will because— god, the dressmaker really loves to make your gowns extravagant and storytelling, but it is times like these when you curse him for such talent.

And in the frustration of your dress and your situation, you must’ve missed the tapping of Eddie’s boots on the hardwood floor, only realizing his presence when it’s too late and he presses a warm hand to your arm.

You jolt with a breath, body colliding with Eddie’s hard chest. “Let me,” He says. You shrug yourself away from him, elbow digging into his chest as you huff and continue twisting and prodding at the strings, “I don’t need your help.” You sneer.

Eddie’s hands are firm this time when he touches you, steady and demanding, and flashes of last night roll behind your eyes. “You’ll hurt yourself.” He grumbles, gentle but annoyed as he pushes your hands away. 

You give in, seeing as he is your best way out of this damned dress, and neither of you say anything as he weaves the strings in and out of one another.

His touch is a path of fire, knuckles brushing down the middle of your back, shivers splitting like roots through your bones when you feel the cool air of his breath.

So gentle and affirming, much like the touch you knew just hours ago. As quick as it comes, it goes, and the cracking sound of silence is gone with the clearing of Eddie’s throat.

“It gets cold at sea.”

You clench your jaw, teeth-gritting against one another as you step out of your dress, a loose slip keeping you modest. “Do you think I have never sailed before?”

You glance at Eddie, raising an eyebrow as you neatly fold your dress. Eddie says nothing, jaw clenching as his fingers curl towards his palm for a moment. He paces back behind his desk and sits, ignoring you as you move about the room and he continues eating. You get into the bed— it’s stiff and hard, and the sheets are nothing like the sheets you have at home— but there’s no point in complaining, is there?

You turn your back to Eddie, shutting your eyes in defiance as you try to force yourself to sleep. But… that noise. That constant noise of chewing and utensils clicking, jesus christ— “Could you eat in a quiet manner?” You snap.

You don’t turn to look at Eddie, your body still facing the wooden wall that lines your side of the bed— but you can feel his stare. It burns against your shoulders and spine, heat trickling up the back of your neck despite the cool temperatures of the room.

“This is as quiet as I can be.” He finally responds.

And god, he’s such an asshole.

“Then you’re an imbecile.” You grumble back.

Eddie hums, dragging in a breath as he continues to eat, “Not far off from you then, princess. You’re going to freeze.” He says, an etch of annoyance dancing around the edges of his voice.

You roll your eyes, though he can’t see, “I’d rather freeze to death than be stuck here with you.” You respond. 

And when you expect to get some annoying and rude response, you only get a huff of a laugh and more clinking of plates and forks. As if he doesn’t care that you’d just implied death is more welcoming than the thought of being with him. Though you can’t see him and refuse to turn to do so, you imagine a pained expression on his face— or maybe an angry one— either way, the picture paints in your mind beautifully and you let it dance there behind your eyelids until you fall into a deep sleep.

The room is dark when your eyes flutter, barely able to fully open.

It is still night, the moon bright in the window above the sofa. Eddie is gone, his desk clear of dinner and replaced with his usual stack of scrolls and books. He is not beside you; and though the extra heat would’ve been pleasant, you don’t mind his absence. The boat softly groans against the small waves, the sound pulling you back under the arms of sleep.

And just before you feel the weight of sleep covering you again, you glance down at the bed you are laying in, more blankets spread over you than you remember there being when you fell asleep. You don’t have the time to feel your face warm before your eyes shut and your body falls limp once again.

And in the morning, you refuse to eat breakfast at the table.

When Eddie was a boy, his mother drowned at sea.

He doesn’t remember much of his mother, but from the tall portraits that hang in the vast castle halls, he knows she was beautiful. 

At night, when Eddie feels the most restless, he walks the gallery and studies his mother's portraits, tries to commit as much as he can to memory, and cling to it as if she’s still here. A part of him feels guilty for forgetting his mother; what her voice sounded like, what she smelled like, what she hated, and what she loved. He remembers none of it.

Some parts of Eddie he likes to believe came from his mother. There are the physical parts; her curly hair, her brown eyes, her sharp structure. And there are the other parts, the parts from within; his intelligence, his stubbornness, his strong-willed nature. Eddie inherited them all from her.

At the passing of his mother, Eddie loathed the sea for its treacherous waters that took her from him, and he swore to always carry the resentment in him. But it is hard.

It’s hard when you spend most days of the year bending to its will. It’s hard when the sound of her swishing waves lulls him to sleep most nights. It’s hard to hate the sea when the sea is what knows him best.

He can not sleep tonight. His mind is busy with a whirlwind of thoughts; tasks that need him, things he left unfinished back home, people he needs to see, and— you. It always swings back to you.

He’s been pacing on the deck for nearly an hour now. Trekking to one side of the boat to gaze at the still and dark waters before growing bored and switching sides.

Robin interrupts his silent storm, raspy voice nearly causing him to jump when she speaks, “You do know there are people sleeping below deck, yes?”

Eddie glances over his shoulder, stares wide-eyed as if seeing a ghost, and almost believes he is considering Robin's white gown. He clears his throat, looking away and clenching his grasp on the ship's rails, “Sorry. I did not think I was loud.”

Robin huffs out a laugh, stepping up to the rails, a good distance between them but enough for him to hear over the roar of the waters, “It’s wood. Sound travels. I would assume you, as a sailor, would surely know this.”

He does, though he does not care to point it out or pay mind— again, too busy with other things.

“What troubles you?”

Eddie glances at the woman, scoffs a laugh, and shakes his head, “Nothing you could fix.”

The wind whips around them, wisps of hair brushing across Eddie’s face, salt filling his lungs. Robin hums, “Sometimes it’s nice to talk…”

Eddie thinks for a moment. Considers the waves below him, sees his mother's face in them, catches a glimpse of the rippling moon, and sees you. Hears you. Almost thinks he can feel you. He clears his throat, looking at the sky for a moment, “There’s a losing war I’m joining,” He starts, “Ironhold is starving, I owe debts I don’t think I can ever repay, and my wife— she hates me.”

It’s been six days now. Six days since you and Eddie joined hands, and you just can’t seem to see eye-to-eye. One would think with the sex being as good as it is, the resentment would lessen tenfold— but no. Days go by where you don’t even say a word to Eddie. You refuse to eat with him, you grumble when you have to sleep next to him, and on the days that you do speak to him, it’s never a kind word. 

But Eddie isn’t innocent either. He plays your game just as dirty; says sly and mean things to you, and only ever really tolerates you during the few times you’re on top or below him— hell, most hours he even goes the extra mile to make himself busy with tasks that are usually left for his crew just so he can avoid you. It’s not ideal, but it’s the only way either of you can exist without wanting to fling the other overboard.

“You avoid her.”

“There’s work to be done around here.”

Robin scoffs a laugh, “I’ve sailed many times in my life, and never once have I seen a captain scrub the deck.” She points out. “How will you get to know her when you can hardly spend a day with her?”

Eddie clenches his jaw, frustration bubbling in his chest, “I don’t want to know her. It’s better this way. Easier.” Which is true. Eddie may come off as cruel, but he’s doing this for the both of you. Keeping you at arm's length, in the long run, will make life easier for both of you.

“It doesn’t seem easier from this point of view.”

Eddie drags in a deep breath, turning to Robin, “It doesn’t matter what it looks like to you. Our marriage is political, it doesn’t have to be anything more and it never will be. For the sake of peace, don’t encourage it to be something bigger.”

Robin looks at Eddie as if she can see right through him. Sear the skin off his bones and see to his heart, the true and devastating foundations of Eddie Munson. 

Eddie hates it.

Robin takes a short breath, shifts on her feet and tips her head, “You can learn to co-exist, you know?”

Eddie nearly forgot Robin was even there. He glances at her, freckled face and soft eyes watching him, picking him apart. 

“It doesn’t have to be a beautiful harmony, but… you both know the circumstances of your marriage, I'm sure you could both come to an understanding if you just… talked.”

Eddie looks away and grunts in response, fingers curling over the railing. “She is smarter than you think.” She adds.

“I don’t underestimate her wit.” Eddie quickly corrects. “She hates me.”

“She doesn’t know you.”

“She shouldn’t want to.”

“So you expect her to happily lie with a stranger? Protect a stranger? Risk her cause for a stranger?” Robin challenges. “She lost more than you see. She’s grieving.”

Grieving. What could you possibly know about grieving? A noble woman who’s only ever known sunshine and the riches of your father’s work. If anything, Eddie just feels sorry that he’s ripped you from the luxury he’s always wanted.

Eddie grips the railing, leaning forward slightly, annoyance bubbling through him as he acknowledges Robin's words. At the very least, Eddie should make sure you don’t hate his entire being. You carry his name now. You hold the title of his home— his people will look to you as an emblem. Having this division between you two— it’s not only putting your image at stake, but his as well.

You swore a promise to the council, a promise to your father and your people and despite the tensions between you and the world you’ve grown to detest, you’ve done a damn good job at never losing sight of your duty— no matter how much you despise it.

But how long until you grow tired of him? How long until you destroy him for all his worth? How long until you realize you and Eddie will never be the same? You are like oil and water.

Eddie can admit you're good for the game you were forced to play a hand in. You have the strength to withstand any obstacle thrown your way. He just can’t say he’s all that happy to play a part in it— not when half of his name resides on your shoulders.

“She can not read your mind. Talk to her.”

Eddie glances towards Robin again, watching as she turns and walks away, back to sleep he supposes. And Eddie is left with this new task of having to figure this out— figure out what is best for the stability of this union in the eyes of the crown and his home. 

Eddie hates to admit it, but Robin is right. He will have to set aside his pride and meet you in the middle, no matter how much it pains him.

part two.

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a/n: OH EM GEEEE, guys this has been in my google docs for over a year LMAOO, I'm SHOCKED she's seeing the light of day honestly. if you've made it to the end of this chapter, thank you so much for reading and i hope you enjoy the ride if you choose to stick around !!!

as always, thank u for reading and being here, ily and love appreciate any form of feedback <3 THERE'S MORE TO COME, ILY MWAH <3

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cutesy lil royal taglist: @munson-blurbs @ali-r3n @rogueinmymind @pretty-vulture @jasminelafleur @georgeweasleyslostearhq @emxxblog @3rd-conchord @leelei1980 @t00thfairy20 @bl00d-puppy @hereforshmut

@sst0txx @mdurdenpitt @stylesxmunson @l1ving-d3ad-girl-69 @chaoticgood-munson @sirensleepingsoundly @missjadesfics @awkward00noodle @darknesseddiem

[ricky-mortis]

Howdy hello- guess who made a wings au :)

More to come with this eventually- I’m working on my designs for other characters at the moment, but for now we’ve got Red-Tailed Hawk for Curt and Eagle Owl for Owen.

For DMA I had Barn Owl wings because a) Barn Owls are beautiful and I wanted to draw the wings for them, and more importantly, b) Owen would probably want to disguise his wings, and it would make sense if it was as a different type of owl. I just assume he’d dye his feathers in some way or another. Look- just don’t think about it too much.

[paesagex]

AU idea: "Deepest empathy"

Tenko gets his chance at becoming a hero, but not the kind you’d expect.

I guess this would happen if Afo haf been killed while Nao was pregnant. *This was born out of the fact that I hated that Tenko’s original Quirk was float, because come on, give that poor child some personality that doesn’t involve Nana. And being all pure and perfect. Gross. Also, in case it doesn’t become obvious, I’m a sucker for the interpretation of the Shimura household being a microcosm of Hero Academia society.

Enjoy!

Tenko Shimura is a middle school kid who wants to be a hero, like many others. He is fifteen years old, and is soon to be enrolled in highschool. He wishes to go to UA, the top hero school of the country.

However, odds are against him. Not only does his father, Koutaro, hate heroes with a passion, but Tenko’s quirk seems to be absolutely unsuitable for his dream.

Tenko inherited a weaker version of his mother’s and grandparents’ Quirk, “deepest empathy”. While it allows the older carriers to not only be perceptive of a person’s suffering, but also to be a soothing presence, Tenko’s Quirk is exclusively passive. He can perceive, but not influence. The Quirk allows him to tell when a person is feeling certain things, but more often than not it is just a muddy vision, as emotions have a tendency to be complicated and nuanced. His “vision” improves if he spends a lot of time with the person whose feelings he’s perceiving.

So his Quirk is especially weak, unreliable and not suited for hero work, not in fighting nor saving. At five, he was still believed to be quirkless, until finally he’s taken to a specialist who runs a DNA test. Turns out, as we said before, that his quirk is just weak, so weak that the moment it manifested itself first went unnoticed.

Tenko has a large family. An older sister, Hana, who inherited “float”, their father’s Quirk, then there’s his mother and grandparents who live with them in a big, fancy house.

The Shimuras are rich, Koutaro is one of the founders of a company focused on the construction business, and this house is amongst their commissions.

Koutaro is a strict man, who got everything he owns with nobody’s help. As a child, he was abandoned by his mother, Nana Shimura, an almost unknown Hero who left to fight a mysterious Villain, just to never come back. From there on, Koutaro had been on his own, fighting to build himself the normal life his mother, for no specified reason, decided to deny him. And he managed. He now has a home, a loving family, and financial security. He’s safe.

Tenko and his father do not get along. Koutaro hates heroes, and of course doesn’t want his children to have anything to do with them. In that house, Koutaro’s main rule amongst many, “No Heroes”, dominated. Every time a hero appeared on the news, the channel was changed. No cartoons with heroes involved allowed. No toys, no cards, no clothes, nothing that involved heroes or would have profited to a stupid hero-merchandise company could enter that household.

As small children, both Tenko and Hana wanted to be heroes (like all children in this world, after all). Hana is older and was able to adapt, lying to her parents about her true inspirations and pretending to be the perfect child. Tenko, other than being younger, is more direct by nature. Unable to hide anything that he’s feeling, he’s an open book, and his struggle to hide his wish to be a Hero and help others puts him in trouble with his father often.

Koutaro is very strict with his rules, and punishes Tenko by throwing him into the backyard for hours at a time, sometimes without eating and until it is dark.

Tenko develops a mysterious rash around his eyes. The adults think it is an allergy, not understanding that the fact that the rash itches only at home is a sign of psychosomatic stress.

Tenko loves his family very much. He just wishes they took his side, for once.

One day, Hana, sneaking into her father’s study, found a picture of her grandma Nana in hero costume, and, ecstatic to have a hero in the family, tells Tenko. But Koutaro finds out about the picture, and triggered, furious, demands to know who dared to sneak into his study. Hana, scared, blames Tenko.

This is the one time Koutaro’s strictness arises to violence, where he slaps Tenko twice, hard enough to knock the five year old to the ground, while the rest of the family watches, unable to take a side.

To Tenko, this event is traumatic. From that day on, the faces of the rest of his family standing there and watching as his father hurts him will haunt him, and stay an unspoken resentment forever.

He promised himself he will never become like them. He’ll never ignore a person in need of help.

The other adults of the family confront Koutaro and make him promise to never hit the children again. But they keep following the rules, and they keep making sure the children respect their father’s will. It’s best for everyone this way.

Hana apologizes, but Tenko doesn’t speak to her for days.

He only forgives her when Hana, knowing by now the stakes, takes a risk. She goes into a second-hand shop and buys in secret a tiny All Might keychain with her savings, which then she gifts to Tenko with her name written on it. “This way, if dad finds out, he won’t hurt you!” She says. Tenko still keeps it, ruined and with the name all smudged. It is an irreplaceable treasure.

Back to the present. The story starts with the day Tenko’s perspective was changed forever, and he was forced to reflect on what his dream entails.

He’s going back home from school after he hung out with his friends. Tenko is pretty closed off, he doesn’t like most of the kids in his school. It is a prestigious middle school, and he finds the competitive and snobbish environment obnoxious. To his father’s displeasure, he’s not interested in making contacts, and mostly just hangs out with other outcasts with weird, or weak quirks, the ones who are usually left out. Both from his school and others. His quirk is very useful to find people like that, and Tenko uses it often.

Hana is the popular sibling. He's going to the same school she went to, and comparison between the two siblings comes in often. Hana was and still is popular and smart, while Tenko is often considered too blunt and brooding. He doesn’t know it, but he has his own charm with outcasts.

As he’s walking towards the metro, he’s caught in a Villain fight. Heroes are fighting, and a crowd gathers to watch in awe, as it often happens.

Tenko can’t believe he’s got the chance to watch this, he’d never be allowed with another member of his family that isn’t his sister around. And she’d still be uncomfortable.

However, this is where things change, because Tenko’s quirk senses something weird. The heroes keep screaming to the villain about justice and how they’ll stop him from terrorizing the city. Weirdly, though, none of the civilians around are scared. The area is surrounded by heroes who cooperate and are focused, and soon will overpower the Villain.

The villain, who has been caught going on a rampage using his quirk, is the only scared person around. And he’s terrified to death.

The man is a heteromorph and has a size enhancing Quirk, his eyes wide and crazed.

Tenko suddenly isn’t so happy anymore. The Villain is eventually captured, and Tenko watches him being taken away, the guy’s face expressionless, stunned by the amount of hits.

He thinks that the Villain looks like the loneliest person in the world.

Tenko goes home quietly not long after that, deep in thought. He had never seen a villain fight before, despite there being plenty of crazy fanboys on the internet that signal them like shows to watch.

He comes home too late, and misses dinner. His father is expecting him to talk. In his study.

Tenko’s and Koutaro’s relationship has just kept going downhill, and Tenko’s rash is still visible around his eyes, and, recently, his neck. To Tenko, Koutaro’s presence is like a dark cloud that poisons the house. Despite having everything he ever wanted, Koutaro isn’t happy. His abandonment issues never healed, and the rest of the family treat those negative feelings like they’re a bomb they must not disturb in any way.

There are four people with empathy Quirks in the house who perceive this dysfunction, and three of them are convinced that it’s best to pretend it’s not there. Not Tenko though.

Tenko is stubborn and wouldn’t be able to hide any of his emotions even if he wanted to. So he fights with Koutaro often.

Koutaro loves Tenko, like all parents do, but there are moments where he can’t help his wounds take the best of him. Therefore he ends up treating Tenko like a scapegoat to his unhappiness, as if his rebellious behavior was a cog not working in what would otherwise be a perfectly realized dream. A perfect family.

Koutaro wants to know who Tenko was with today, and why he’s late. Tenko tells him he was with his usual friends. Koutaro wants to know if he was hanging out with a homeless man Tenko knows, whom he doesn’t like. Tenko, still confused from what he saw today and having no desire to tell lies his father would definitely see through anyway, deviates the questions by asking him why he cares.

“Tenko, you know I don’t like him.”

“Yeah, well, he’s my friend, so I’m the one who’s supposed to like him.”

“Stop joking around Tenko, you know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t father, what is the problem?”

“Quit the sarcasm. You shouldn’t hang out with certain people, he’s a grown man. God knows how he ended up there.”

“Jin is not going to hurt me.”

“You can’t know that!”

“Father, for real, I wasn’t even with him today, I don’t get what’s the big deal-”

Koutaro hits his hand against his desk, and Tenko jumps. “Because I care about you, and I care about the image you give of yourself, and of this family! Think, for once, of someone else that isn’t you, Tenko! What if he hurt you, did you think of how scared we’d be? And what if he commits some crime, and that affects your image? Or your sister’s? Have you thought about that? Your sister is going to be applying for university soon, she can’t have a single smudge on her record, and neither can you. You can’t ruin your future out of a stupid decision. You can’t go out with certain people, I forbid it.”

“But-”

“No but. Your family should always come first, Tenko. Always. Quit playing hero and grow up for once.”

They keep fighting, eventually Tenko snaps and tells him that his friend’s “bad influence” isn’t the reason he’s late, it’s because he stopped to watch a Hero fight. “There, you happy now?!”

Koutaro, furious, but cold, orders Tenko to go out. Tenko storms out and leaves, knowing fully well what those words mean. He passes through the living room, where the rest of the family watches him with resignation and sorry looks, his mother smiling encouragingly. Tenko exits in the backyard, their old dog, Mon, following him with habit, and slams the sliding door shut into the dark night, stomach still empty.

He sits on the porch, his back to the glass door. He can hear the evening progressing, the rest of the family watching TV, Koutaro joining them and chatting quietly, Hana’s chirp comments, his mother’s and grandparents’ gentle voices.

Mon’s head on his lap, he caresses the old dog’s fur absently, scratching his neck with his other hand. “Always stuck here, uh, Mon? I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Tenko can, more or less, perceive animals’ feelings, even though in their case it is more like a vibe. Despite being weaker, it is a much cleaner feeling to perceive, and the dog’s serene vibes console Tenko’s frustrated heart.

Eventually, the rest of the family heads to bed. He can hear his mother asking quietly if she can let him in, but he hears his father refusing. He messed up big by telling him about the hero fight. Likely, as it had started to happen more often lately, Koutaro himself will come downstairs later in the night to allow his son in.

The night comes down, and Tenko warms his hands on Mon’s fluffy fur.

Eventually, he hears a soft thump, and he turns to see his older sister, now almost eighteen, landing elegantly from a jump out her bedroom window thanks to the help of “float”, carrying a sandwich and with a consoling smile on her face. Her long black hair is loose, shining to the moonlight.

“My god Tenko, you really suck at keeping secrets.”

“Shut up Hana.”

“Yeah yeah, eat, you must be starving. You should be grateful, I snatched this as soon as you two started shouting.”

Tenko eats ravenously, and Hana asks him about that fight he apparently saw.

Tenko suddenly looks thoughtful again, remembering the bad feeling he felt coming from the Villain. Where was he now? Likely in a prison, waiting to be convicted.

He shares his doubts with his sister, but she looks unimpressed.

“Tenko, of course that guy was scared, don’t think too much about it! You don’t know what he did, you should be happy they got him.” Hana pulls out a pack of cigarettes from her jeans pocket, another thing carefully hidden from everyone in the house but Tenko, and asks: “Was it a cool fight? What heroes have you seen?”

Hana looks enthusiastic as Tenko shares the details. By now, she had already given up her old dream, having decided to respect her father’s wishes and go to a normal, prestigious highschool. However, she still liked heroes. She was just good at hiding it.

“Look, Tenko, I found another one in the school library!” She pulls out her phone, and shows him a picture of an old newspaper. On it is a small article next to a picture, a beautiful, dark haired woman smiling radiantly in it, hero costume worn proudly. “When I found it I couldn’t believe it! Our grandma seemed to avoid the TV and the internet at all costs, but there are still some papers about her by the time of her debut!”

Tenko looks at the picture. Nana Shimura was still like an idol to Hana, while Tenko can’t help but tie her face to the memory of their father beating him, a long time ago. He still remembers Koutaro’s feelings in that moment. So confused, so many, and so… threatening.

However, he smiles at Hana. He can tell she’s sincerely happy to be discovering things about her. The woman was incredibly secretive for being a hero. She was older than All might though, from an era before heroes turned into celebrities. He looks at her cigarette.

“When will you let me try?”

“When you grow out of your diapers.”

“As if you weren’t younger than me when you started!”

“I was younger and smarter.”

“Hey!”

“Come on, Tenko, you know you can’t hide a thing. You’re too honest.”

“I’m not!”

“You are, and it’s not a bad thing. You’re…”

Hana looks at a loss of words for a moment. “What you did with dad earlier was stupid but… I must admit that you got some crazy guts.”

(Hana found out the day of the picture that she’s not as selfless as she’d like. She’s convinced herself that she’s better at lying than being herself in front of others, and so keeps preserving her image of perfection in front of her family and at school. However, she vowed the day she bought that keychain for Tenko, she promised herself that she’d protect him, at least, at all costs. His will, his impulsiveness. His honesty.)

She ruffles his hair. “Stay my stupid brave little brother forever, okay?”

Tenko pouts. Then asks “So you’ll never tell mom and dad that you smoke?”

“No way, not even when I’m older.” She smiles at him.

They hear steps from the stairs. Hana quickly gets up and flies up to her window, and Tenko is finally let in at 1 am in the morning.

He gets to bed still fully dressed, too tired to change. He stares at the ceiling for a while, until he pulls out something from under his mattress. A UA flyer bent and wrinkled from being hidden all the time and so often.

He looks at it absently.

“I want to be a hero who never looks away at someone’s pain…” He thinks to himself. The image of the Villain from today, his crazed, desperate eyes as he ran and used his quirk to hit and destroy anything he could, like a savage animal, and that terror as the heroes attacked him, came to mind.

“...But what does that mean?”

Tenko wakes up on Saturday feeling like shit, still dressed. It is way too early, the sun has just started to rise.

Slowly, he gets up, changes quietly, and gets out of the house.

He needs to clear his head, he barely slept thinking about what he saw yesterday. From the nice neighbourhood he lives in, he takes the less polished streets, until he reaches a small park filled with homeless people, looking for Jin.

Jin (Twice, even though Tenko doesn’t know that. He has no idea Jin is a Villain.) is there, warming up to the morning’s chill close to a firepit, his clones all around, busy putting away a tent.

When Jin sees him, he smiles welcomingly.

“Aren’t brats supposed to be home at this hour?”

“Welcome!” “Go away!”

As usual, the clones always give different opinions than the original Jin. Tenko is welcomed to sit next to the firepit.

“Are you guys leaving?”

“Yeah, we weren’t planning on staying long anyway. It was nice though, you’re good company.”

“Wasn’t I a brat just a moment ago?”

“Hah! Of course you are, but my standards for conversation are pretty low, I don’t know if you understand.” He says, pointing at his very annoyed copies. Jin’s copies were so weird to Tenko, somehow their auras all felt like Jin’s, yet they all had their own individual perspectives and reactions.

“However, what brings you here? I thought your old man didn’t like me. Did he throw you out the whole night?”

“Not yet. Where are you going next?”

“A man ought to have his secrets, kid.”

“Fine. I’ll miss you.”

“You knew me for about a month.”

“Yeah, and it was a nice month.”

Jin is quiet after that, busy eating from a can with a spoon. His expression is serious.

“Listen kid, you’re going to high school next year, right?”

“Yup. Why?”

“Any plans in particular?”

“... I was thinking about trying with UA.”

Jin rolls his eyes. “Of course you are. Kids are all the same.”

“Why do you ask?”

“...Shimura, why do you want to be a hero?”

“Huh?”

“Doesn’t that father of yours hate their guts?”

Tenko is quiet for a while. “...I don’t know. I just… I just really hate when people suffer and nobody does anything, you know? I wish I could make someone feel like their suffering matters.”

“...”

“...You know, I saw my first Villain yesterday.”

At that, Jin raises his eyes, eyebrows high. He gives Tenko a sardonic smile. “Really? Was it what you expected?”

“...No. It was so weird, you know? Everyone was staring like they were in a movie theater, cheering and all, it didn’t feel like there was any real danger. The heroes arrived so fast, guy was surrounded in a moment. I felt sad, he looked so… overpowered. Like he had no hope to begin with.”

Jin has an uncharacteristically serious expression. Suddenly, he speaks again. “In this world, only the righteous and well meaning have a right to be saved. You’re a good kid. I don’t know what your father’s deal is, also because he kind of sounds like an asshole, but I think he’s right. Trust me, with a dream like that, you’re no good in a hero school.”

“Why would you say that? You don’t think I could make it?”

“I don’t know if you could, but I know you won’t fulfill your wish that way.”

“...”

Jin laughs. “Look at me, talking all serious as if thinking was my strong suit! Eheh…”

“Do you think I’m being a hypocrite?” Tenko suddenly asks.

“Huh?”

“Do you think it’s hypocritical of me to want to be a hero if it’d make my dad suffer?”

“How would I know? Ask your mom.” He gets up. “Well. We ought to go. Glad I saw you one last time, kid. Now go home, wouldn’t want you to get in trouble.”

Not knowing what to do, he does go to his mother. He doesn’t exactly tell her that his view of heroes is starting to change and he’s not sure he knows what his childhood dream entails anymore. But she gets him, more or less. She’s an empath too, she doesn’t need to know everything to know he’s struggling. Just being with her (he offers to help with chores to have an excuse to talk to her), comforts him. Not just because of her Quirk.

She, of course, thinks the problem is yesterday’s fight with Koutarou. So she kindly tells her son that maybe seeing things from another perspective may help get a better grasp at his own.

Tenko knows what she means, and scoffs. “He never tries to look at mine, why should I be the one who does?”

His mother ruffles his hair and smiles kindly.

“Your father loves you more than anything, Tenko. You’re more alike than you think. You didn’t inherit that stubborn head of yours from me!”

“Tenko, what I’m trying to say is not that you’ll change your mind… just that things might appear a little clearer if you give your father a chance.”

“Mh”

Nao gives his grumbling son a kiss on the head.

Tenko thinks about this. And when the school term finishes, he decides.

He’s going to try to challenge his views on Heroes by knowing his father better. So he accepts an internship at the family company for the summer (Koutaro’s been trying to convince him to come for years). Koutaro is happy that Tenko finally accepted his guidance.

The weeks of summer pass. Koutaro and Tenko end up spending pretty much every day together. Koutaro is not much of a chatterbox, but neither is Tenko, really. They spend their lunch breaks together. Koutaro hands Tenko the newspaper pages he’s done with while they eat.

For once, Koutaro is proud of him. Tenko can feel it irradiating from him. It’s nice. This is the calmest, most peaceful period of the Shimura household.

Spending so much time with Koutaro, Tenko does, in the end, develop a new understanding for his father. Tenko’s Quirk works so that the more he knows a person, the better he can read their feelings. Slowly, the ball of poison in his father’s heart starts to unravel, and Tenko understands the depth of his father’s fear of being alone. Tenko gets that. Yeah, it sucks when you feel like you’re alone. Father must have suffered so much when his mom abandoned him.

When he indulges in Hana’s recounting of her secret research on their grandma in her room, he’s left with a bad taste in his mouth.

He gains a new appreciation for his family, and by working with him at the company also of the sacrifices Koutaro made for them.

The itch though won’t go away. It burns back any time he feels like talking to his father about his dream, how it’s changing, about his thoughts, about how annoying and snobbish the sons of his colleagues are, every time he feels like he can’t explain to him why he likes his own friends better. Any time he feels like telling him the truth, but knows this peace they achieved doesn’t feel safe enough to do so.

Deep down, he doesn’t want to ruin this.

At night, Tenko keeps doing secret research on the system. He finds out that it pretty much self feeds the conflict between heroes and villains without really investing in preventing crime, or rehabilitation. Once you’re a Villain, you’re a Villain forever, and many just go back to do crime once their sentence is finished. Not that social stigma gave them much choice. He investigates propaganda and its mechanics, on the HPSC. He starts to gather all the articles he can find on Villains.

Koutaro eventually finds his material, UA flyer included, and accuses him of lying to him. Of “betrayal” if you will.

“I thought you were finally listening, I thought I finally got you to understand, and yet here you are-“

Tenko comes back home to find, horrified, all his stuff waiting for him on the dining room table, his father furious. The rest of the family has faces that vary from resignation to compassion for Tenko, to a little bit of fear.

“I am understanding dad, I really am- I know you suffered. I want to make you justice. I’m seeing you. Please, please, you have to trust me!”

Tenko decides he might as well come clean. He’s not lying. Maybe he can make him understand. He took the first step after all, right? He’s desperate to be understood.

“Let me be a hero. I’ll be better than them. I’ll make it better. I promise.”

Despite his newfound distaste for the system, Tenko still hasn’t given up on the world. He’s seen it, with his friends at school, sometimes all it takes is giving people a space where they can be themselves. Where they feel seen for who they are. He knows it now.

That’s the kind of Hero he wants to be.

For everyone. For his father too.

Koutaro doesn’t accept this, the fight escalates.

Koutaro eventually loses control and slaps Tenko again. Hard.

The kid hits his face against the edge of a table and his lip breaks, bleeding profusely. (like the scar he has in canon). It falls on his chin, stains his shirt and hands.

They are both stunned, and everything is silent.

Everyone in the house is watching.

The whole of the family, Hana included, is petrified by surprise and terror.

To Tenko’s Quirk, everything feels so confused, so overwhelming. His heart is like a lump in his chest, heavy and filled with everyone’s fear. His father’s anger. His own.

His own resentment. Nothing changed. Hana’s looking at him from the other side of the room, petrified, in tears. So do the others. His mom looks so sorry.

Tenko has had it.

He snaps. And it all finally comes in the open. Fuck compassion, fuck understanding, fuck living under rules that protect everyone but him.

He yells at Koutaro he’s nothing but a selfish man who pretends to be doing everything for them, when in reality all he does is protect himself. He says he wants what’s best for them, he wants them happy, well guess what, we’re all miserable, “and it’s your fault!”

Tenko turns to the rest of the family. They are silent. He turns back to his father, who’s speechless.

Koutaro breaks the silence, and tells him that if he doesn’t like his rules he’s free to go.

How funny. Like Tenko didn’t know that that would be the worst thing he could do to Koutaro.

Abandon him.

The rest of the family is still quiet. The lump in Tenko’s heart is growing heavier.

“Then I’ll go.”

And he starts walking.

As he’s about to cross the door, Koutaro seems to realize that he’s serious, and suddenly grabs him by the shoulder. It is a strong grip, and Tenko suddenly feels with his Quirk a deep, childish desperation that the man behind him refuses to voice. Coming straight from that poisonous stain in his heart.

He can’t stand being under that tempest anymore. He can’t stand having to bear its weight anymore.

He turns, and fully knowing what he’s doing, tells him that he hates him, and that he’d gladly be anywhere else than under the same roof as him.

Koutaro is deeply hurt and angry, so is Tenko. He’s let go and told not to come back.

The rest of the family finally acts and tries to stop them, but Tenko is already out. And doesn’t turn around.

From here on, Tenko is by himself on the streets. A school dropout, struggling to survive, feeling useless. He couldn’t save anyone. He was nothing but a hypocrite.

he had used his quirk to hurt someone, his own father. In his most vulnerable spot, nonetheless. He has hurt everyone. He won’t dare show his face back again.

It was him. It was always him.

The broken cog, his father was right. He’s the cause of all trouble. He was selfish and stupid.

How could he think himself so special he’d be the Hero who never ignores someone else’s pain, he couldn’t even respect his own father’s.

He won’t go back.

(Despite blaming himself, he still really wishes the rest of the family would have helped.)

*Of course his family is crushed, they try to get him back, they call the police and everything. Eventually they hear from Tenko who communicates to them that he has no intention of coming back. And that he’s sorry.

But if they won’t help him, then he has to find his own way. (He doesn’t tell them that he secretly feels they’d be better off without him. After all, the period of time where he stopped being himself was when the house’s aura was calmer. His itch was his own, always had been.)

During his years alone in the streets, he lets go of the ideal of the lone, inspiring hero he’s been taught in school.

He takes a good look at himself. At all the privileges he always had, safety, people who would protect him, status, and fully learns what life is like without these things. How hard it is to get support outside of family and connections.

A long time passes.

He slowly builds something for himself. He knows many villains and outcasts in his time as homeless, he makes friends who help him out.

He finds work in an illegal bar, gains enough money to manage to join a programming course. He gets his hands dirty, sometimes has to do things he’s not proud of to survive.

In his twenties, he gets back in contact with Hana, his mom and grandparents, but with his father things are still complicated. Koutaro won’t forgive him for leaving. Tenko isn’t proud of the intentions he did so either, but refuses to be the one who takes the first step again.

Maturing, he’s learned that having access to people’s most intimate feelings means nothing, in the end. It’s people’s trust, their desire to share with you, and the fact that people are willing to listen, that really shows change. That really helps. And to do that, people must feel like they’re all on the same level. Like they are respected and acknowledged. Like what they feel and say matters to the one they’re speaking with.

But that takes time. It can’t be done on the battlefield.

He has many contacts in the underworld, and works as a freelance journalist to share stories of isolation, discrimination, poverty that lead to villainy. He also takes programming commissions and such. Sometimes streams, cuz why not. It all helps gaining influence.

So he becomes the kind of hero he wants to be: not a fighter, not a saviour, just the kind of guy who speaks when he sees bullshit, who’s always there for you even at your lowest point, who won’t judge and will offer you company without invasive questions.

He’s not pure, his actions (the people he doesn’t report, or sometimes even hides) are not fully lawful, or absolutely right. But his work is meaningful, even if it means being hated by the public.

He’s starting to gain people’s attention due to his disrespectful attitude and characteristic dry sarcasm.

“Where there’s a rash, let them scratch”

[ria-starstruck]

wanted 2 take a stab at akizet design...tis mentioned that obesk have chitin + are not so expressive as humans ? so taking those 2 bits of info i ran w em....segmented face n hands etc etc. idk what exactly to do for her receptors but theyre there. thumbs up emote

[yumemiruuuu]

Shi Qingxuan: Turn that frown upside down, bestie! 😊😊😊

Ming Yi: … I will end your fucking life.

[kenmaiii]

looking back at all my past sonas and im kinda goated for reusing the same main colors and still making them distinct enough

[verdantglow]

Guys. Guys the smalletho brain rot is ramping up again. I spent the last two weeks in a flare from hell & have been listening to my Spotify Wrapped Top 100 almost every day & a solid SIXTY-FOUR of the tracks on there are just my Life Series smalletho playlist & my Retail Purgatory AU smalletho playlist & I have been semi-consciously rotating them in my mind, day after day, & I just. I need to start actually navigating the line between 'want to keep details of RPAU to myself so they are surprising in fic' & 'I want to post every single detail I've decided so far just so I can at least scream them into the tumblr void instead of inside my mind.'

I think I should probably just stick that line along whether or not things are actually part of the plot of the fic or just things that come up, because, honestly, I know so many things about this AU. So many.

Like.

Joel is tumblr famous. He's been on the site for ages & his blog consists of a combination of shitposting, clapbacks, & the most absurdly artistic photos of his excruciatingly well crafted models of mini scenes.

No one online knows who runs the blog & no one IRL knows that Joel has a massive online following & is actually a big name artist in the mini scene modeling sphere. Ren & Martyn actually both follow him & straight up do not know it's him. Like. They don't even know that's a hobby Joel has.

Grain & Jimmy both vaguely know that Joel does some kind of mini making & posts about it online & people seem to give him money for it sometimes??? (He sells most of the models he makes online & also has a semi-lucrative Patreon.) Grian's never cared to dig further into that aspect of Joel's life. Jimmy tried to find Joel's tumblr years ago, but got so overwhelmed trying to figure tumblr out & saw so many things he very much did not understand nor particularly need to know existed that he never tried to find it again.

Scott knows about Joel's tumblr. Joel does not know that Scott knows.

At some point along the timeline of the fic/post-fic, Etho accidentally reveals Joel's secret tumblr life to some of their friends, not realizing it was so much of a secret.

Joel is ranting to Scott & Lizzie about this & Scott is just like, "Oh, was that a secret?"

"YOU KNEW?!"

"Yeah, for a while. Joel, your hands are in every one of your videos."

"But you've never mentioned it!"

"I thought you just didn't like to talk about it."

"...Do you at least follow me?"

"Mmmm, no. I get plenty of your belligerent humor in person, thank you."

Guys. I know the tiers in Joel's Patreon. I know the costs & rewards for all four of them. I have multiple pages written about all the Apple Geniuses & what their alignments as Geniuses are & what having them help you in an appointment is like. I know what stores characters that aren't in the Life Series & might Never Appear in this fic work at. I know what sort of video games Etho & Joel play in this AU. I know the layout of Etho's apartment. I know what's in the medicine cabinet at Etho's apartment.

I need to start sharing some of this or I am legit going to explode.

[vikvampir3]

Tfw when I realize I’ve known this whole time my dazai and general bsd hyperfixation was self destructive and I kinda don’t care

[benanazauce]

mention of rashes/eczema, may be disturbing

i wonder if mild rusting feels like eczema/rashes to cybertronians? like it must be irritating and dry in some way for sure. I feel like it would be itchy,,,,,, imagine that though cybertronians with rust ointment?? I just think it’s a neat concept kinda sorta????????????? ya dig????

[prosebushpatch]

*Gnawing on the bars of my cage because a totk roleswap au between Link and Zelda writes itself exhibit A*

Now that he needed her, could she be as fearless? No. She shook her head. Link wasn’t fearless. She knew better than anyone how much he feared letting others down. It was so severe that, way back before the Calamity, he would always eat the rock roast Daruk handed him. Though it had always given him horrid stomach aches and jaw pain, he couldn’t find it in his heart to decline Daruk’s offer, not wanting to hurt his feelings. Everyone else saw it as boldly stepping up to any challenge, but Zelda knew how much compassion and anxiety was twisted up behind Link’s motivation to swallow literal rocks. The point was, Link was not fearless. But his heart gave him the courage to overcome whatever challenge came his way.

[sysig]

Hi there! As a requestober request could you please draw something cute with Mob? I'm planning on rewatching Mob Psycho 100 and it would be great to see fanart of him in your style! :D

Day 17 - She loves me, she loves me not...

[koytix]

Can we please bring literate (fandom) RP back… I want to write characters so bad. But no one is ever in my FANDOMS !!!

[doomed-era]

I keep having brief SCP phases and then forgetting about it completely but just so you know. SCP-378 is my child my blorbo bleebus my everything

[rosieredsims]

!!!New Simblr!!!

Well- Kinda~

Hi! My name is Rose!

I used to be apart of simblr years ago - but I'm back now! Excited to jump back into the legacies, challenges, and game play!

Never stopped playing sims, just stopped posting about 'em, honestly. Either way! I'm happy to follow anyone and everyone and start posting my own little dolls soon!

I'm still prettying up the place, but don't hesitate to pop in and say hi~

I'll always be happy to meet you!

[yoccu]

Castrel…! To accompany the previous Lanio piece

Gonna take a few days off from drawing bc I’ve been noticing my wrists and arms hurting at night. With my new brand of chronic pain I’m not sure when the warning signs become significant, so I’m hitting the brakes earlier than I even want. A couple extra frames done quicker will not finish the whole project considerably sooner, after all. Now I just have to find literally anything interesting enough to distract me for that long LOL

[honeyboyfelix]

suddenly wanted to make a little character profile for my dnd character yesterday... then i remembered im horrible at graphic design and everyone should shield their eyes 🙃