#miles abaddon

[hailstormingsworld]

Hey Tumblr guys, have a peek to an animation for yt ♥️

I love this song guys u have no clue

[r0-boat]

Whb Omegaverse AU headcanons

Reader is an omega for this specific post! Because all of you are bottoms/j

Nsfw

Cw: dubcon heavy dubcon, implications of noncon, Omegaverse dynamics.

Oh no

Being an omega in whb is something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. You already need demon cum to survive now you just need demon dick to survive your heat. I don't think all devils and hell are just not going to take advantage of you during your heat where your vulnerable and wanting.

Devils are in a weird middle ground where they are neither Alpha, Omega nor Beta But the same time all of them. It's weird because they have a completely different scent that feels like an alpha however can also have a calming scent as an omega. They have Alpha ruts and Omega heats. And they can mark anyone as their mate as they please. They can have multiple mates but a lot of devils only choose one.

To prevent you from getting mated you have to put on a indestructible bite proof collar. It has the power to withstand Lucifer with his vampiric teeth so I think you're safe. Especially because demons have sharper teeth.

Fear for your safety in Abaddon. Like never go outside without your heat suppressants it's not like that will really work because devils will still smell you even with suppressants. And only Kings can withstand the scent of a delicious human in heat. Other devils even sometimes nobles are weak to the scent. Good luck protecting yourself when one of them is in that rut. I guess you're only other option is just always have a trusted devil with you when you go outside.

By the way demon ruts are far more intense than human Alpha. Like I'm talking fighting in the street. Starting brawls in Bars. Yes Kings can hold back when they can smell you in heat but that doesn't mean they do. They're demons, and that means extra devil energy for you. :) You're done for.

Demons from Abyssos and Abaddon are the only exceptions if they sense that you're in heat they becomes a feral animal, hell bent on marking you. You better run from Beel and Bael

Bael is an interesting case. To appear kingly he tries so hard to reject the animalistic drive to pounce on you. And he actually tries to avoid you. Until he can't take the tightness in his pants anymore.

Beel will break into your room through the window to have his way with you like the creature of the night he is.

The Kings start a passive aggressive war on each other by scenting. At first it was just a way to protect you and ward off angels. Then Levi the last meeting scent it you right in front of Satan Even though he just did that, Levi even went the extra mile making sure he covered up every spot Satan scented. The next time you ever visit him he will make sure you REEK of his scent.

On a lighter note I'm pretty sure everything would be so endearing to you when you're starting to nest. Demons would send you gifts of the finest material to make into your nest. To any devil it would be an honor to add his clothing into your nest because you just simply think They smell good. Even though you'll try to nest and secluded spot You're a little nesting spot will be found out and protected like their lives depended on it. Driving away any other devils that are too persistent or angels also drawn to your scent.

Devils with strong provider instinct like mammon would be worsen during the heat. These devils are the ones giving you gifts. Especially food.

Satan is growling and barking being your little guard dog. Anyone touches you They are dead. He inspects any gifts you are given. Beel it's already in your nest (He's ready when you are) Levi is about to bust a blood vessel just about to throw all these demons out. He knows that you need to be alone and only you can decide who can come in to your own nest (a rare moment of clarity for Levi?!)

Lucifer is trying so hard to hold back to your pheromones. Angels can smell them but they cannot feel the pull of your irresistible scent. Now that he has a fallen angel and the devil He is not quite used to smelling you. And he is trying to resist.

Minhyeok is an alpha, and he's been getting by on his ruts by just running into the stuff that smells like you, your underwear your dirty clothes, That damn chair. Now that you're gone he's starting to go through shampoo and lotion you use. Ruts are getting harder and harder to go through and he needs you so bad. Before you were taken to hell He always subconsciously thought you were his omega even though he hasn't mated you yet. Since you always smelled like him which he liked because deterred alphas.

[sulumuns-dootah]

What WHB characters would wear in the human world: Abaddon

⟡ Masterlist ⟡ 

A/N: The future of this game is uncertain, but I still want to finish my ongoing series ^^ (Lucifer and Belphie NSFW alphabet coming soon?)

Since in Abaddon most demons already get to choose what to wear, Ronove doesn't see why should pick something else when he knows how good he looks in suit

The lace blindfold and ballgag however...

Some matching sunglasses and a facemask will have to do

Also wears a lot of harnesses

    ༺☆༻

Going with the theme of looking as vulnerable as possible, Dantalian joins Sitri in the soft boi™  aesthetic

Except that Danta goes the extra mile and goes full on femboy/catboy with cat ears and all

And yes, he will try to wear maid outfit out in public every time

    ༺☆༻

This poor demon isn't allowed outside given their state :(

But it's the lesser evil out of the two

If they went outside, they'd have to change into new clothes all the time from seeing so much different sizes and types of people

The good thing is, however, that at home they can wear anything that makes them feel bonita ^^

(/ couldn't find any guys wearing lingerie that were tumblr safe :/)

[between-the-realms]

@scarred-by-monsters

It had been a long trek for Abaddon and the rest of the crusaders. They were to make their way from the capital of Sunray Province to the east until they hit ocean. They were meant to find and conquer more land for the province. So they can expand their farmlands. Is the explanation they got from the arch bishop. Abaddon didn't question it. If he did he'd go insane trying to comprehend their actions. Better to be a loyal soldier now while he's young, so his family can be provided and cared for.

Night was beginning to fall, and the soldiers set up a camp not even a mile from a small village, almost at the border of their territory. Usually, when they had to set up camp this close to a village, the traders would slowly come out, attempting to sell their wares to the traveling soldiers. "A gift for the wife while you're far away? Don't you want something for her to remember you buy?" That was usually the line they used. The prostitutes that came to invite them to their brothel were more honest than the traders, almost all the soldiers would indulge in the working women that came to their tents. Abaddon only once indulged himself in that way.

Abaddon sat by his tent, watching the village entrance to see who came to their camp first.

[manicpixiedreamcurl]

The More You Give ❧ (Part V)

Pairing | Eddie x reader

Warnings | 18+ minors and blank blogs don’t interact, bullying, friendship comes and goes, discussions of anxiety, discussions of virginity, discussions of sex shaming, frottage (PUSSYJOB), everyone’s very vulnerable.

Word count | ~11,800

A/N | Oooh, mama. It’s been a while. I hope most of the people who like this fic are still around.

Taglist

Previous Chapter

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You like calling Eddie, the sound of his voice over the phone. The way he answers it differently each time:

“This is Eddie Munson, lead guitarist of Corroded Coffin; available for christenings, bar mitzvahs and weddings.”

“Munson residence. The old guy’s out so if you’re looking to buy a collection of novelty mugs now’s the time.”

“You’ve reached the church of Satan; Abaddon the Destroyer speaking. For your free introductory handbook on summoning circles just dial six-six-six.”

And then there’s the happy rise in his tone when he hears it’s you on the other side, the surprised laugh at the sound of your soft hi, Eddie even when he’d asked you to call. The crackle of his breath through the receiver, the way conversations with him are easy however they happen. With anyone else, phone calls feel stilted and awkward, but Eddie talks as if you’re sitting right in front of him. 

It makes you warm all over to think about. Eddie wants to see you and kiss you and touch you, but he’s also happy to sit on his couch miles away and speak to you, listen in return to everything you can bring yourself to say.

You have taken to dragging a chair from the kitchen and sitting by the hallway table to talk to him like this whenever you don’t see him in the evening. You spend an hour or two at a time smiling at your mom’s address book, twirling the coiled cord of the phone around your finger while Eddie talks about this day, asks about yours, explains why he’s really into this new Swedish black metal band he’s discovered, checks what you’re reading, shares an idea he has for Hellfire, plans your next date.

Today is no exception. Your dad has walked past muttering about the phone bill twice. Your mom, as usual, has stationed herself in the kitchen within earshot, but what exactly she gets out of hearing the low buzz of Eddie’s voice and your laughter, you don’t know.

"And you're sure you don't wanna come, sweet girl?" 

"Yeah, I-" You hesitate, playing with a rose petal from the bowl of potpourri that sits by the phone. "I think I should stay here. Just in case." 

In truth, you don't have much hope that May will call, but imagining that she does and you aren’t here to receive it fills you with worry. The last thing you want is to make things any worse between you after you messed up so badly. 

It’s not unusual for you to feel this type of regret. When overthinking something delays your actions until it’s too late. You worried so much about how to tell May about Eddie that you left it too long. You should have told her the day you kissed him, should have phoned when you got back from your first date. Instead, you spent your time imagining the conversation, and let your best friend find out something important through somebody else. 

You hurt her. She is wounded enough that she really has given up defending you. When Caroline remarks on your silence now, May doesn't attempt to fill the emptiness your lumping throat leaves. 

"She's just shy," May used to say, waving her hand. Her embarrassment over your stumbled words and fidgeting hands was clear, then, but you knew she felt for you, even if she didn't understand why she had to. Now she just looks at you expectedly like everyone else, pulls awkward, embarrassed faces when you stumble and fidget through a non-answer.

You had taken to spending more of your lunches helping Heather with her new responsibilities as class president, sitting quietly at debate club and nodding along to her speeches, taking the role of a small country at her model UN meetings. But you are starting to feel her frustration with you, too. 

“You don’t have to come to every meeting if you don’t enjoy it.” She said to you after the last UN encounter you’d sat through without uttering a word.

“It’s just, I don’t really know much about Anguilla. But I like hearing you speak.”

Heather smiled with her lips closed. “That’s not what it’s for, though. I think maybe you’d prefer having lunch with May and the cheerleading girls again.”

You felt your cheeks burning, pulled the sleeves of your cardigan down over your hands and fiddled with the woollen edges. “Oh. Okay. Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Sometimes you think about sitting at Eddie’s table instead. To have another hour of him every day. The picture is nice on its own. Talking to him, to Jeff, even the freshmen Eddie has adopted since the beginning of the year. But then the image zooms out; you at the Hellfire table, May with the cheerleaders, Heather at her clubs, and your chest aches. You don’t know when it happened, when you had to start holding on this tight, digging your nails into them. You only know you’ll leave claw marks on your friendship before you let it go easy.

And while you can never get enough Eddie, you aren’t normally deprived of him outside of the school walls. With anyone else, you might have worried about suffocating him, being clingy. But Eddie makes it clear at every turn how much he wants to be around you. His grin in the mornings when you climb into his van. The way he leans into your space, hair tickling your cheeks, and asks all soft and earnest if you want to go home with him. Some days, he invites you into the trailer to touch and taste you. Others, to sit on his couch or his bed and talk. Or to just spend hours just breathing the same air as him, listening to him scribble in his D&D notebook or strum at his guitar while you read or do your homework. 

But you won't see him tonight. Eddie is going to see Fright Night with most of the boys in his club, and it's all he's talked about the past week. He'd asked you to come, all wide brown eyes and dimples, and your stomach had twisted. 

"Normally May and I do something around this time each month." You hadn't been able to look him in the eye when you said it, fiddling with his hands instead. You'd rubbed the softness of your thumb over the callused pads of his fingers, knowing he had that look he'd been getting whenever you found yourself bringing your friend up. A little sad, guilt he shouldn't be feeling. Irritation, at you or at her you're not brave enough to ask. 

"You sure?" He asks over the phone now. "It'd be pretty easy for me to pick you up. I'm giving Wheeler a ride. He's just down the street from your place." 

You feel a wave of fondness for him, for the lie he’s just told. He isn’t aware that you know exactly where Mike Wheeler lives. You’ve babysat Holly since you were sixteen, and the route to her home takes half an hour in your dad's car. 

"I'm sure," you say, trying to sound firm. "But I hope you like the movie."

"If it's good, maybe we can see it together another time." 

"You wouldn't mind going twice?" 

"I'd watch the same movie twenty times in a row if you promised to come to the last one." He laughs, sounding enough like he means it that your smile hurts your cheeks. 

"That might be a touch excessive," you murmur. "Twice sounds like enough."

"How about tomorrow? We could get dinner first, make a real date out of it." 

Your face heats up like the first time Eddie asked you out. You touch your toe to your ankle, winding the cord of the phone tight around your finger. You whisper. "Okay."

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." You press your knees together. "That sounds nice."

"Unless the movie's shit, then we'll have to call the whole thing off." You laugh down the phone, imagining the tease in Eddie’s smile. "I'll have a review for you by tomorrow, sweet thing."

"Okay, Eddie."

"And I'm not leaving for another ten minutes. If you change your mind, just call, okay?"

"Okay, Eddie," you repeat. "Have a nice time."

"See you soon, beautiful." 

Your toes curl. "See you soon." 

When he's gone and the phone is back in its holder, you have to sit tense and still for a second to avoid making some kind of happy squeal, settling for curling your fingers into your skirt and tapping your heels wildly against the floor. 

You still feel a little dizzy with the thought of him when you pull the chair back into the kitchen, enough that you jump when your mom speaks. "That Eddie on the phone?" 

You fix her with a look, because she knows exactly who you were talking to, and she gives you a mock innocent smile that shifts into a real one. 

“You were laughing a lot.”

Her hands drip soapy water from the kitchen sink, finishing up the dishes that would have been done ten minutes ago if she hadn't dragged it out for an excuse to stay where she could hear you. You chew the inside of your lip while you take the next freshly cleaned plate from her. Grabbing a dry dish cloth to drag across the ceramic, you shrug one shoulder. 

“He’s funny.”

“And you like that about him?”

“Mom.”

“Just a question!” She says, holding her hands up, before grabbing the dish towel from you to wipe her wet hands. “You talk more, when it’s him on the phone. Did you know that?”

“You listen to all my conversations?”

“I’m your mother,” she laughs, bumping your hip with hers. “And I’ve never heard you so chatty.” You give her another look and she reconsiders. "Chatty for you. There's been times I've rounded that corner surprised you were even on the phone, you're so quiet. I mean, with that last boy-” She hums a disapproving tone, reaches out to fix the collar of your cardigan. "I swear you'd sit there and not say anything at all."

“It's easier to talk to Eddie,” you admit, thinking about how pleased he looks when you ramble about what you're reading, the last kid you babysat, even the new eyeshadow palette you’d saved up for and felt a touch immature being so excited about. All his encouraging nods, all the questions and affirmations afterwards. "He's…" 

He’s a million good things. Too many to name, too many to put in order. You glance at her to the side, raising one shoulder. 

"I like him," she declares. "I think he's good for you." 

Your face is hot and uncomfortable, but it still feels nice to agree. "I think so, too." 

When the dishes are away and your mom is settled on the couch with your dad watching Quincy reruns, you walk slowly upstairs, hoping that the phone will ring again before your door closes. 

You make a bet with yourself in your head. If it rings before I get to my room, it’ll be May. It’ll be May and she’ll want to be friends again and everything will be alright. You reach the top, spy the door the end of the hall. Any time after, it’ll be somebody else; a sales call, a chatty relative. 

All you hear as you pad across the landing is your parents laughing at the TV. 

With your door closed, your heart sore, you glance at your desk on the other side of the room, the cork pin board behind it decorated with memories. There is your first concert ticket, next to a postcard from the first time you left this country by plane. An askew origami frog that a boy you used to babysit made for you. A pom-pom that detached from the winter hat you wore from October to March three years running in middle school. 

There is Heather. One photo as she is now, smiling at you over a yellow smoothie. Another couple from your first years together, at the edge of womanhood. Her in braces and her mother's lipstick, the aquamarine taffeta dress she wore to your first high school prom. 

And there is May. She is everywhere, over and over again, in all the stages of her life since you met. She is in pigtails, her small hand in yours, her gap toothed grin next to your close lipped smile. She is in this room, with sparkling eyelids, the earliest and most keen model for your interest. She is at the Spring fair of 1979, holding cotton candy you'd shared soon after the photo was taken. She is at that first concert, decked out in Wham! merchandise. Swim meets and cheer competitions. A line of photo booth strips. You are there with her; both giggling, eyes crossed and tongues rolled. 

May has been a constant in your life, but now your life has shifted. Maybe you have to accept that she doesn’t want to shift with it. 

The phone rings downstairs. 

You hear your dad huff, the sound of your mom rising from the couch and heading through the hall. You hold your breath, listen to the buzz of her landline specific voice, all breezy politeness. Then she calls your name.

You practically throw yourself down the stairs, slipping at the last couple in your socks. You have to hold yourself back from grabbing the phone from her. Taking just a second to glance over your shoulder to check that she's actually walking away, you whisper into the phone. “Hello?”

"Where are you? I rented Footloose." Tears prick in your eyes at the sound of May’s voice. You look up to the ceiling, silent for too long. “You still there?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

“Where are you?” She repeats. “Second Friday of the month. It’s movie night.”

“I didn’t-” You swallow, blinking tears away as they rise and trying not to sniffle. “I thought maybe you didn’t want to see me.”

"Of course I want to see you,” she answers. “You're my best friend."

You feel your bottom lip shaking, can’t fight the sniffles this time. You drag the sleeve of your cardigan across your eyes, voice cracking when you speak next. "You really mean it, May?"

"I’m inviting you round, aren’t I?” She says, sharp tone softened by a sigh crackling in your ear through the receiver. “Of course I mean it.” You hum a high sound, a stifled sob of relief, eyes squeezed shut. “Now, come watch Kevin Bacon shake his ass with me." 

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You are warm under the silken soft quilt pulled from May’s bed. Your stomach is heavy with buttered popcorn and gummy worms. Your skin is soft from the homemade face masks you made in her kitchen, singing along to Cyndi Lauper and listening to May read the recipe aloud from the newest YM magazine dropped on her doorstep just this morning.

Stirring oatmeal and yoghurt together like a potion, you felt a pang of nostalgia. For a second, you were seven years old, standing with May over a muddy puddle, your makeshift cauldron brimming with gathered leaves, stones, and red berries. You’d mix it up with long, gnarled twigs and cackle together like the witches. The mucky water wasn’t just mud, then. It was poison, it was love potion. It was magic, made together. 

Today, at eighteen, you glanced up at May’s concentrated face while she attempted to separate egg whites from yolks, and let yourself be soothed by the thought that maybe some things are still as they were. 

Footloose was abandoned after Kevin Bacon finished throwing himself rhythmically around an empty warehouse, May’s interest in it vanishing swiftly after that. You found yourself on the couch talking while the film played on in the background until the popcorn was finished and the oats could be washed from your face. 

Then May led you up to her room, almost as familiar to you as your own. 

The cream lambskin rug, still matted and stained in one corner from that time you’d spilt nail polish over it. Terrified you might not be allowed to come over anymore, May told her mom it was her, and she was grounded for a week. 

You bought her those fairy lights, the ones that hang above her bed. Last year, you wrapped them in pink tissue paper, felt the satisfying swell of a present well chosen when she’d hugged you tight with the box still in her hand. 

May has her own cork board. Amongst plastic medals and concert tickets, there is you at that fair, you and Heather at prom, the second strip from the photo booth. 

“And it’s like, when was it decided that we had to pick our whole future at eighteen, anyway?” May asks, eyebrows twitching like she wants to furrow them. She fights through it, keeping them high on her forehead to let you smooth powder over her lids. “Here I am, barely out of the cradle!” You snort, and her mouth tilts a touch. “Feels like I started walking last week, and now it’s all, what do you mean you don’t have a clue what you want to do with your life? It just feels crazy to me.”

“It is.” You shift forward on the soft shag carpet, your knees bumping hers under the throw keeping your legs warm. 

“Right? I mean, you know that your brain doesn’t even really mature until you’re, like, twenty-five? So I am close enough to a child that I really shouldn’t have this responsibility.”

Humming in agreement, you rub your thumb at the corner of her eye, smudging the edge of the lilac eyeshadow there. 

“At least I have an idea where I’m going. Indiana State, here I come. You’re still applying for NYU, right?”

“Mm. Maybe,”

“Oh, come on, you have to apply at least!” She insists, eyelids twitching. “It’s the place to be, for your poetry, right?”

You hum. “I might still do Chemistry.”

“Chemis- absolutely not!” Her eyes fly open, and you make a noise of protest.

“I’m not done!”

“You are not doing Chemistry.” May says, a comic picture with one eye bordered by soft pastel tones, the other bare of colour, while she looks at you sternly. “You don’t enjoy it!”

“But I could get a job at the end,” you reason. 

May snorts, eyes closing gently, chin peaking out to let you get back into it as though she’s already won the argument. “Job schmob,” she says. “When you’re in New York, you can find a rich man to worry about that.” You frown, and like she senses it, the eye you’re not working on opens again. “Or find a rich man for me. He has to be really rolling in it though, so he can look after us both.”

You hear Eddie’s voice in your ear like he’s in the room with you. Just wait, I’ll look after you. 

“Think you can do that?” May asks. “Keep an eye out for me, when you’re making all your arty, interesting friends in New York?”

You swallow, tuning back into the conversation. “I don’t think really want me to find you a man.”

“Mmph. The way my love life is going, I’ll need whatever help I can get.” She moves a little then, a slight tilt of her head that would be imperceptible to anyone but you, who's seen every degree of emotion on May’s face. You know she’s going to drop something serious before she even opens her mouth. “I saw Liam last week.”

You fight through the temptation to stop blending the eyeshadow on her lids, keeping your tone as even as possible. “Oh?”

“When I was in Indianapolis with the girls?” Those trips with the cheerleaders you avoid desperately. The thought of being stuck in a car with Caroline on the way there and back can make you break out in a cold sweat. “He was at one of the bars. He apologised, said he wanted to maybe go out again.”

“Mm.”

“Oh, don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything-”

“That was your judgy mmmh,” she says, batting your hand away from her face to look at you straight. “Last time I heard it was when I showed you that top I bought last month.”

Despite yourself, you crack at the memory of the flouncy pink thing she’d shown you with an awkward, self-aware smile. You’d been working out how to gently tell her to burn it when she’d figured out the tone of your hum and thrown it off in front of you with a whispered, “what was I thinking?” 

Now, your tilted lips turn down at May’s solemn expression, her eyes shiny. 

You shuffle closer, tucking the blanket around the both of you gently, cocooning your legs in together. “He hurt you, last time. Used you.” 

She chews her lip. “That’s what boys do.”

“May-”

“I know you think what happened with Andy was bad, but you’ll learn, that’s just how they are. They need a little more forgiveness than girls, and some of them are worth it.”

You feel the beginning of the argument she might not be quite past. “Andy didn’t really like me, May. He only wanted-”

“The same thing they all want. The only thing they all want.”

Your heart aches for her. “That’s not true.”

“You think it’s not true right now, but when you hold out on Munson the way you did with Andy, you’ll see that it is.”

You fiddle with your fingers then, wondering if you should tell her. The guilt of not sharing that you’d started seeing Eddie prickles along the back of your neck. Your knee starts to bounce, and May blinks at you, just as attune to the meaning of your expressions. “Well, with Eddie-”

“Please, please, tell me you haven’t fucked Eddie Munson.”

“No. I mean, not yet but,” you begin, fiddling with your skirt. “Like, we’ve done, y’know, other stuff.” You glance at her shocked face, worry rising. “Don’t tell anyone. Please.”

“Why would I tell anyone something that would literally ruin what’s little is left of your reputation? You wouldn’t let Andy do anything but you’ve been seeing the freak for a few weeks and you’re, what, sitting in his dirty van giving him hand jobs?”

“Oh my god, May!”

“What? What am I supposed to think?”

You shake your head, tense your hands in your clothes. “It’s not like that with Eddie.” Your mind is awash with shiny brown eyes, soft pink cheeks, Eddie’s voice tickling your neck. “I don’t worry about anything, with him. It’s fun.”

“It’s fun.”

“It’s like, I thought sex was something a boy would do to me, something I’d have to let him do. With Andy, it was like if he took me on dates, it was what he would get in return,” you say, fiddling with the blanket. “But with Eddie it’s like,” you hum, hating how awkward this all sounds, so unused to talking about sex yourself, so used to hearing it from other, experienced, confident people. “We go on dates together, and talk together. And then with the, y’know, sexual stuff, we’re doing it…together.”

“But not really doing it, right?”

“No. But my point is,” you continue, grabbing her hand, clasping it in both of yours. “I know I don’t really know anything about boys, and I know you’re not Eddie’s biggest fan. But even though it’s not been long, I think he’s proof that, maybe, sometimes, boys aren’t what either of us thought. And if you really like Liam, then maybe he deserves your forgiveness. But I really, really don’t think he does if he hasn’t made you think twice about what all boys want. And maybe if you found somebody like Eddie-” She makes a face, but you ignore it. “I mean, somebody who doesn’t ask you to forgive them all the time. I think that would be better.”

“Well, I can tell you right now, I don’t want an Eddie.” You press your lips together, listen to her sigh. “But you’re also…probably, maybe right about Liam.”

“He doesn’t deserve you, May. I mean, to apologise when you happened to be at the same bar! If he was really sorry, he should have come to see you with flowers and everything. He probably just saw you, all pretty, and realised what a dunce he’d been.”

She smiles a little at the vitriol in your voice, usually so soft and quiet. “I missed you.”

You almost flinch. “I’ve been here.”

“You stopped sitting with me at lunch.” 

“I…” You close your mouth, shrug instead. 

“I know it’s partly my fault. I was angry, so I stopped defending you. But then, I mean, you just gave up.” 

“I just- Some of the cheer girls are so intimidating, I never know what to say to them.”

“But you don’t try.” Your heart is sore, the guilt of knowing you’ve made life a little more difficult for her. “Listen, if you want to date Eddie Munson, I can be okay with that. I am okay with that.” She nods, seemingly trying to convince herself. “But will you just try, a little more, with the cheer girls? You don’t have to defend your relationship all the time, but maybe just try talking to them about something else? You could come on our next trip!” 

Your toes curl at the thought. “I don’t know.” 

“Please? We can’t let a boy come between us.” You wonder what she’d say if she knew how hard Eddie seems to try not to come between you. “I like Heather, even though she abandoned us. And I like the cheer girls. But I love you. You’re my best friend.”

“I love you, May. It won’t change.”

“So you’ll try?”

You chew the inside of your lip, give her a little nod that has her breaking out into a smile. “Okay. Okay, great.”

You try not to think about exactly what you’ve just compromised on while you finish her make up. May sits, silent and smiling while you sweep dark eyeliner across her lids, brush mascara over her long lashes.

“There, all done.” You love this bit. May turns to the floor length mirror beside you and grins at her reflection, her pretty eyes bordered by soft pastels from your new palette. It sends a warmth through you that you’d never admit to. Knowing you’re good at this, that even the cheer girls who think you’re weird admire the way you’ll do their make up at competitions. “It’s cool, right?”

“I love it,” she breathes, shifting closer to the mirror enough that the warm throw pulls from the tops of your legs, leaving your thighs chilly. “Just one last question. You’re not gonna play that Satanist game, right?”

Your brain short circuits, having thought you’d just agreed that you wouldn’t have to explain yourself. “Um, It’s really not what you think.” 

The scene plays out in your mind. Eddie, his lips on yours, your hands tangled in his hair, letting you tilt your hips to rub yourself over his thigh, suddenly pulled away from you with a gasp. He’d thrown himself from the bed dramatically, holding his open jeans up by the waistband. You’d watched him, breathless and warm, while he scrambled for a pen before writing in his D&D notebook and looking up at you in excitement. “I just thought of a really cool way to lure them into this whole cave thing I’ve been planning. Shit. They’re so fucked.” Before you could consider being offended that that’s what he’d been thinking about while kissing you, your legs were over his shoulders, his lips were smiling at your thigh. 

You can’t help your fond laugh. “Eddie’s such a dork about it. Last week-” You pause at her expression, realising that May probably doesn’t want to hear that story. You clear your throat. “They just pretend to be fantasy characters.” Witches over a cauldron, Princesses sharing a Kingdom. “Like we used to do, sorta.”

“Yeah, when we were kids.”

You have to swallow the lump that brings up to your throat. To hear her dismissal of the time you’ve been daydreaming about since you walked through her front door. “It’s not Satanist.”

“But you’re still not going to play it, right?”

“No,” you say, feeling cold. “I don’t think I’d be very good at it, anyway.”

She watches you for a second, but says nothing before grabbing the eyeshadow palette from the floor beside you. “Let me try, then. Get you all glammed up for making s’mores later.”

You smile with closed lips, let your eyes fall shut. You have to ignore the pang in your heart, the reminder that some things are entirely different from when you were seven. 

❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦

“You know, I kinda thought there’d be more trembling.” Eddie’s breath tickles your ear as he whispers, again when he blows cool air on your neck just to see you wriggle a little while you look up at him, wide eyed. His pale face is illuminated only by the screen at the front of the room, but you can still see the mischief in his eyes, in the barely there turn of his smile. “I was told that taking a pretty girl to a scary movie would have you grabbing my thigh in pure terror. That you’d need me to comfort you with my masculinity.” 

You just about fight off the laugh, still glad that you are sequestered together in the back row when a soft amused noise escapes your throat. On screen, the newly transformed and aptly named Evil Ed laughs maniacally. The special effects and practical make up are impressive, but the whole thing has enough of a teen movie vibe that you’ve been about as scared as you were watching Kevin Bacon stuck on a tractor yesterday. 

“You and your masculinity should have picked a scarier movie.” You feel the flutter of nerves that accompanies teasing Eddie back, still always a little worried that it will come out wrong. The answer of Eddie stifling his laughter, eyes crinkling at the sides, has the butterflies scattering. 

“Noted,” Eddie whispers, cheeks dimpled. It strikes you how close he is now, his breath spreading over your cheeks. He leans down more, his nose at your temple, his lips pressing soft to the skin beside your eye. You shut both, breath shaking as Eddie’s mouth leaves a handful of kisses down your cheek to the corner of your mouth. There, he feels you twitch, and his eyes open to find you tense in your seat, fingers curled in your sleeves. 

You are fighting the urge to turn and check the rest of the row, the whole room, to make sure nobody is watching. The image of an attendant appearing with a flashlight taunts you, the thought of being escorted out of the theatre in shame. You open your mouth, trying to work out what to say, but Eddie just smiles at you. His hand finds yours, fingers tangling together in a gentle squeeze. 

“Sorry,” he whispers, licking his lips quickly. “M’sorry, baby.” 

You watch him lean back in his seat, face set in contentment to be sitting with you and feeling your palm against his. You’d been worried for a second there, that he might be angry with you, or that you might have to explain your worries until he understood. But it’s Eddie. 

You stare at his profile, the soft curls the brush his face, his pouty lips, and find you really, really want to kiss him, here and now. Eddie’s your boyfriend, you remind yourself with a shiver of happiness. Teenage girls have been kissing their boyfriends in the backs of movie theatres since the projector was invented, so why, why, shouldn’t you kiss yours?

You rub at the sleeve of your cardigan with your free hand, letting yourself have the comfort of looking around you quickly to make sure there really isn’t anyone else in this row, or even the one in front. With your eyes closed tight, you remind yourself that the boy who ripped your tickets looked about fifteen, not quite dedicated enough to this job to search the rows looking for kissing teenagers with an invasive flashlight. 

Pressing your knees together, you cuddle into Eddie’s side, smell his two-in-one shampoo and his aftershave and his skin. You press a kiss to his cheek, feel a little scratch of early stubble against your lips. His head turns, eyes scanning over your face. “We don’t have to, sweet thing.”

“I know.” You nod, tilting your chin up in petition. “Please?”

Eddie watches you for a second, giving you time to back out before he leans down to press his lips to yours. It’s a chaste thing; so quick that he has your mouth following him when he pulls away to make sure you’re still happy to kiss him here. Eddie breathes a soft laugh that has your stomach twisting, then his hand is covering your cheek. You feel his breath, your eyes close, and he’s kissing you. 

Eddie’s mouth is warm, but it tastes like blue raspberry slushy; sweet and sharp. At the first lick of his tongue against your lips, you feel a soft noise wanting to escape your throat, but it’s beaten back swiftly by the remaining fear that has your heart racing even as Eddie’s thumb smooths a gentle caress over your cheek. Underneath that is a new giddiness. The feeling that you’ve pushed past something, overcome a fear, however small. And to be doing this, making out with your boyfriend at the back of a movie theatre, like other girls have done.

Your arms find his shoulders, hands clasped together behind him, and Eddie smiles to your lips, just barely pulls away. His thumb stretches to rub your swollen bottom lip. “My brave girl.”

You shiver when he kisses you again, your toes curling in your sneakers. You think you could live on Eddie’s praise. Every pretty girl, smart girl, good girl he gives feels like it’s designed to leave you wanting to crawl onto his thighs, or else sit between them. Eddie’s mouth, intent on yours, wet enough that it feels like the start of something he definitely won’t finish in the back row of screen three, has you remembering how free he can be with his praise when your mouth is on him.

You weren’t expecting to like it so much, but thinking about the weight and taste of him in your mouth makes you squirm as much as the thought of his own tongue where you are most sensitive. You’ve enjoyed it every time since the first moment you spent looking up at him from between his thighs. Watching Eddie fight to keep his eyes on you, mess his own hair up when he forces himself not to take yours in his fist and push you down. His voice, desperate and breathy, coaxing you to try and take him just a little deeper, sweet thing. The quick hot flash of degradation when he taps his cock against your cheek or your tongue before pressing inside.

There is even something pleasant about the lasting ache in your jaw afterwards. The feeling that you’re willing and wanting to do something that hurts to make Eddie feel good is a sick satisfaction you're not yet used to.  

Cinema speakers fill the room with a swelling, dramatic soundtrack. A girl screams, a monster cries out in pain, no doubt making everyone else in the room jump in terror and shake with anticipation for how the whole thing will end. You can hear it, but only just, so firmly in the world of Eddie-Eddie-Eddie. 

Eddie has the beats of the movie memorised already, pulling away from you with a soft gasp just as the opening notes of the music over the end credits begin, a little line of spit connecting your lips until Eddie makes one last move to lick it away. 

The lights come up seconds later, the first groups of people standing to leave. They walk past you and Eddie, both breathless and dishevelled, without a second glance. Under the new lighting, Eddie’s cheeks are now clearly pink. It warms you from the inside out to know that you did that.

You feel the need to be close to Eddie as you leave, grasping onto his hand with both of yours when your jackets are on and he’s guiding you from the theatre. “How’d you like the movie?” He asks in the parking lot, dimples deep in his cheeks.

You hide your face in his arm, feeling that strange new embarrassment crawling up your spine. You mumble into the leather of his sleeve. “I hope nobody asks me how it ends.”

“Yeah, hadn’t thought about that.” Eddie opens the door to his van, holding your hand to help you up until you’re settled in the front seat. He leans in through the door with wide eyes. “Hey, maybe we could see it again next weekend?” 

You chew the inside of your lip. “Would I really see the end if we did?” 

His head falls forward, hair following in a wave. When his head tilts back up, one of his eyes is closed. “You figured me out that easy, huh?”

You smile at each other, Eddie looking over your face as you look over his. His big eyes, dark eyelashes, light freckles, sweet nose, plush pink lips. You’ve never seen another boy you could so comfortably describe as pretty.

You think he might walk round to his side, but instead you feel Eddie’s palm, warm at your knee. “So, uh, the thing is,” he rubs a circle with his thumb at the bottom of your thigh. “It’s Wayne’s day off, and most likely if we go to my place he’ll be in the living room watching MacGyver.”

“Oh.”

You feel guilty for being disappointed. Wayne is always polite, never breathes a word of complaint at the fact you seem to be in his home most days. The only inkling of irritation you get is never at you or Eddie. Instead, there is something in the way he drags himself from the trailer every evening, ready to stay up all night at the factory. When you’d asked where he slept, realising that the only bedroom in the trailer was the one decked out with posters and amps, Eddie had shown you the fold out bed in the living room with a close lipped smile. 

He is, more than anyone, due a day off. But you were gearing yourself up for being in Eddie’s bed tonight, trying to prepare the least awkward way of asking him. 

“And I’m happy to just hang out with you, sweet thing, you know that.” His hand squeezes, even the metal of his rings warm from his skin. “So we can go back to mine and watch MacGyver with the old man, or I could try to teach you some guitar again?” 

That’s tempting, certainly. You doubt sitting between Eddie’s legs with his arms around you, guiding your hands over his acoustic guitar was the most effective teaching method, but you certainly preferred it to any alternative. 

“But if you wanted,” Eddie continues. “Only if you wanted, I could maybe drive us to the quarry or something?” Eddie blinks, tucks some of his hair behind his ear with his free hand. “It’s, uh, quiet.”

Your heart beats a little faster, you can hear the sudden rush of it in your ears. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He asks, in that sweet way of his, wanting to make sure you’re not just acquiescing to everything he suggests. 

“Sounds good, I mean.”

“Okay,” he nods. “Belt on, sweet thing.” He gives your knee one last squeeze while you pull the belt over your front, then pushes away from the frame of the door. He taps a quick rhythm under the window when it’s closed, grins at you through the glass. You watch him jog round to the other side, hair flying out behind him, and wonder if every single thing he does will make you want him more. 

You sit in companionable silence while Eddie drives, feeling that soft comfort you only get with a few people, knowing that he’s not waiting for you to speak. You look out the window, watch the shops and gas stations disperse into houses which in turn give way to trees. All of them appear more as streaks of colour than clear pictures with the way Eddie drives, like he’s being judged on time. 

“Hey, can I play you something?” 

You turn from the window, taking a second to fully register the question before you hum a positive noise. Eddie’s right hand reaches out to turn on the stereo, the sudden attack to your ears of wailing guitar making you jump until he turns it down all the way with a sheepish smile, a murmured, “sorry.”

You watch Eddie’s hand, pale and lithe, as he skips through tracks. The metal chain that adorns his wrist is twisted a little at the leather clasp, and you reach to straighten it out with your thumb and first finger. When he’s found the right track, he turns it back up a touch, wiggles his fingers until you grab his hand. An urgent rhythm fills the van, the tell-tale guitars of all Eddie’s music, and he sighs, leaning back into his seat with a grin. 

“Hear the rime of the ancient mariner, see his eye as he stops one of three, mesmerises one of the wedding guests. Stay here and listen to the nightmares of the sea.”

Something clicks.

“Oh, that’s a Coleridge poem!” You lean forward to turn it up further with your free hand, trying to concentrate on the words. It tells the whole story from the lyrical poem you’ve had a copy of since you took an interest in the romantics when you were fifteen; a mariner who kills an albatross and is blamed for the resulting misfortune by everyone on his ship. 

“I knew you’d know it. My smart girl.” Eddie is the picture of pride, eyes crinkled at the sides. “I was reading a Steve Harris interview - he, uh, writes most of Iron Maiden’s songs? And he mentioned the reference and I just thought, you know, you might think it was cool.”

“I do.” You picture Eddie, soft and comfy in his bed, flicking through a magazine. You imagine him reading about his favourite thing, and a spark lighting in his head relating to you. Something that made him excited to share it with you. “Thank you, Eddie.”

He shrugs, like it doesn’t mean anything, but his cheeks are blooming with pink. You can’t say anything else, for fear of blurting out every thought running through your head. 

You listen in silence, trying to decide how you want to ask him. Every way to say it feels awkward and wrong. Fuck me, take me, have sex with me. You picture asking Eddie to make love and feel a mix of yearning and nausea. By the time you reach the quarry, you have been playing with the ring on Eddie’s right hand, feeling the smooth stone, twisting it round his finger, for a good five minutes.

Eddie steals his hand from you while he parks by the trees opposite the quarry, pulling the keys from the ignition and throwing them on the dashboard before reaching out to let you take hold of his hand again. The easy quiet is gone. You can feel him waiting for you to speak. Your mind screams at you to remain silent, hating the thought that you might risk humiliation with Eddie. 

“Will you look at me, baby?” Eddie pulls your hands from between you. You follow it with your gaze, watch him press a kiss to your knuckles before you meet his eyes. "I really didn't mean to, you know, imply anything by bringing you here."

You shake your head emphatically. “I know. You’d never.”

Eddie breathes a little sigh from his nose, looking relieved. You think he has to be the sweetest boy ever born, and then you can’t help yourself. Eddie makes a soft happy noise when you bring your face to his, lets you kiss his soft bottom lip. He licks softly at yours, so you open your mouth to let him in, holding back a whine and reaching up to play with the collar of his denim vest; the material rough and familiar in your fingers. 

Eddie pulls from you, licks his lips, and breathes, "I can't get enough of that." 

"Mm?"

"The way you grab at me when you get a little shy."

Your eyes widen, processing the reminder that your silly little habits are not as inconspicuous as you might wish to believe. Of course Eddie has noticed the way you fiddle with his hands, his rings, his hair, his clothes, the second you feel an uptick in the pace of your heart. But then, Eddie just said he likes it. 

"S'not annoying?" 

“Not for me! They call me Eddie the stress toy, you know. People used to come for miles around to give me a squeeze."

You laugh at his attempt at an earnest face. "Used to?" 

"Yeah, well, you got exclusive rights, these days." Eddie says, tilting his head with a touch of endearing shyness. “What kinda idiot would I have to be, not to like my girl touching me all over?”

You want him, want him, want him.

You press your heated face to his shoulder, still playing with the frayed denim of his collar while you mumble into the vest. “Eddie?” You feel the vibration of his answering hum against your cheek. “I want-” You shake your head, as if you could bury yourself into his clothes. “Can we-” You turn your face, looking at the seat behind, all the space there. 

Eddie strokes at your waist. “You wanna, uh, get in the back?”

At your quick nod, Eddie clasps your cheek with his warm hand. He tilts your head, kisses you soundly. “Stay right there.” 

Eddie jumps from the van, legs swinging, and jogs round to your side to open the door for you. “Princess,” he says, offering you his hand with a flourish. You giggle, jumping down towards him and letting him lead you round to the back of his van like a gentleman. Still keeping up the routine, he opens the back door and gestures with a bow before helping you up. 

The back is a scene of amps and wires, a bass drum with CORRODED COFFIN scrawled over the skin. Luckily there is space enough for the two of you, so you settle yourself in the middle, surrounded by enough little pieces of Eddie that the back of this van feels a little like home. When you look up, Eddie’s still outside, staring in at you.  

You press your knees together, turn them to the side. “Eddie?”

“Yeah-” his voice breaks. He tries to hide it with a cough, clearing his throat and giving his chest a couple taps with the side of his fist. “Yeah,” he repeats, deeper now, as he climbs up after you. When the doors are closed, Eddie shuffles towards you, half squatting. “So, you’re happy with the carriage, Princess?” You nod, throat tight when Eddie kneels down in front of you. “That’s good.” Something in his face changes, a spark of excitement in his dark eyes. “You wanna lay back for me?” 

The space between your legs pulses. “Mm.”

“Here,” he says, pulling off his jacket and rolling it up into a makeshift pillow. You lean back and he leans in to place it below your head, face above yours while you settle into the soft leather. His hair tickles your cheeks until he tucks it back, staring down at you. Your heart, your body, screams at you, ask him, ask him, ask him. Eddie kisses your neck quickly, shakes his head like he’s emptying out a thought. “Fuck, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had this dream.”

Again, ask him, ask him, ask him.

“Eddie,” you start, mind caught between the worry of how this will go and giving in to the gentle fuzziness of Eddie’s hands rubbing gently at your waist. You swallow, look to his eyes, then his forehead. “Will you-” The words catch, leaving you with a warm face and eyes squeezed closed in embarrassment. 

Eddie hums, gifts your cheeks his lips. His nose brushes the side of your face, and he murmurs. “Anything you want, pretty. Let me hear it, mm? ”

It’s Eddie, you tell yourself. From the first time you spoke to him, he’s never judged you for anything. He won’t judge you now. It’s Eddie, you repeat in your head. My Eddie. 

“I’ve never, um-” Your toes curl at the clear nerves in your voice, the beating of your heart that you swear he must be able to hear. “Nobody’s ever- Mmh.” 

“It’s just me,” Eddie says, thumb at your cheek. “It’s only me, sweet girl. Wanna know what you’re thinking.”

“I think,” you sigh, let some of the nerves out with it. “I think you’re beautiful, Eddie.” He blinks, surprised, but gives you a sweet smile when you touch gently at his pink cheek, feel the beginning of bristle under your finger. “And I want you. I mean, I want you to be first.” And second, and third, and every time after.

You stare at each other, breath heavy in your chest. Eddie’s eyes shine until he blinks it away. “Come- come here,” Even though he says it, he’s the one to lean down to you, giving you a chaste kiss that turns desperate when you reach up to play with his curls. 

Your head swims, relief and anticipation swirling together. A quiet moan escapes you when Eddie’s mouth moves to your jaw, down your neck. “Do you, um, have, like, protection?”

Eddie freezes. His face comes into view, brows furrowed. “Wait. You want me to fuck you right now?”

Oh. You hear the rush of blood in your ears, a ringing noise. You pull your hands from his hair, fingers curling, hands tucked to your chest. You suddenly wish he wasn’t on top of you, wish you could hide your face from him. Your head starts working overtime, supplying all the things he’s no doubt thinking about you now. You think of Erin, writing on the bathroom wall. Slut. Desperate. Whore.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft. Eddie presses his pointer finger to your temple, gives it a playful rub. “Are you doing that thing you said you do? Lying there convincing yourself you’ve fucked something up?”

A little part of you resents that he nailed it down so quickly, but you nod, blinking away the first bubbling tears, staring at the collar of his Metallica shirt rather than his face. “I just thought you’d want to.”

Eddie makes a soft noise at the back of his throat. “C’mere.” He pushes himself up from the floor of the van, grabs your hand to pull you with him. You end up curled at his side, knees just resting on the side of his thigh, his arm tucked around your shoulder as he leans you both against the back of the seats. You pull your sleeves over your hands, fidgety even as Eddie is rubbing at your shoulder softly. 

“Course I want to,” he says, leaning into you. “I wanted you on that picnic table. I want you all the time.”

That soothes you a little, enough that your right hand peeks out from your sleeve to play with the hem of his shirt. But your sensitive heart still throbs, tentative and sore. “So, why…?”

“I- Shit. Give me a minute.” Eddie hugs you tight for a second, then shuffles across the floor of the van, practically launching himself out of the back doors with a practised ease that makes you smile despite yourself. You can’t see him from here, but you hear him outside, the passenger door opening and closing behind you. When he returns, he’s got that metal lunch box he carries around with him. A different kind of confusion blooms when he sits next to you and opens it, rummaging through the little plastic bags of illicit substances. He pulls out a wad of rolled bills, a little chunkier than when you’d bought weed from him in the woods that first day.

“Wanna know what this is for?” Eddie asks, looking unusually serious when you glance at him. He opens his mouth then closes it again, eyes fixing on where he is thumbing at the band holding the bills together. “I thought you might ask me, eventually. Hoped you would, at least.” He breathes a laugh, pings the elastic. “So I’ve been saving up, you know?”

“Saving up?”

Eddie nods, turns his wide gaze to you with a tilted head. “Wanted to take you somewhere nice. Buy you dinner, something other than a burger or a pizza slice. Get a room at a hotel, with a big comfy bed. Thought I could show you-” He twitches, eyes flickering away from your face and back again. He swallows, shrugs. “S’like I said. I wanna deserve you.”

Your tense shoulders slump. Your chest aches. “Eddie,” you whisper, shaking your head. Trying again to blink away tears, you grab the roll of dollars from him, throw it back into that dumb obvious lunchbox. You climb up into his lap and wrap your arms around his shoulders. Your wet eyes meet his. “You don’t have to prove anything. You deserve-” Me, whatever you want, everything. Your fingers twitch. You close your eyes tight, ashamed you can’t look at him when you say it. “I think, all the time, about how much I wish I knew you earlier. It’s like, before, I just spent the whole time missing you.” You find it in you to look at him then, gaze at his pretty face; pink, lightly freckled, shiny under his eyes. “I want you, Eddie. I want to be with you wherever you are.”

You stare at each other, listening to the steady rhythm of your breaths until they move in sequence, chests expanding and contracting together. You get that same feeling you got when Eddie held your hand after touching you for the first time, how he listened when you told him about how you blow out of proportion in your head, the way he was angry for you when you recounted how Andy treated you. When Eddie told you that he couldn’t understand you liking him, that people have held him at arm's length for being too much, that he refuses to give up on school, believes wholeheartedly in his dreams. One moment at a time, you are peeling back layers, exposing soft tissue. You are offering each other all your hidden parts, whispering, please look after this with every squeezed hand and kissed cheek. 

Eddie sniffs, wipes his eyes. Seeing his shaky smile, hearing his wet laugh, is better than any soft bed in any hotel.

“That’s good, cause, uh, I really hadn’t saved that much.” You giggle together through lumped throats. “At the rate I was going, you were gonna be waiting till you were forty-five.” You shake your head at him fondly, reaching up to play with the feathers of hair that brush the side of his face. Eddie pulls you in closer, ducks his chin. “But I still can’t take your virginity in the back of my van, sweet thing,” he says. “It just wouldn’t be right. You should be in a bed, at least. And if you’re happy for it to be mine? I’ll just make sure my sheets are washed.”

You rub the soft ends of his hair between your fingers. “That sounds nice.”

“Yeah?” His hand comes to your cheek, helping you look at him. He must be able to feel the warmth of your face in his hand, but you lean into his palm anyway. When Eddie kisses you, it’s a gentle thing, a promise. 

When his tongue peeks out to lick into your mouth, it’s a request you’re happy to fulfil. Eddie groans at the taste of you, the sound of it registering across your whole body. Your hips roll subtly, and you feel the quirk of his lips. 

Eddie sighs into your mouth. “My pretty girl wants me to fuck her in my bed, mm?” 

The increasingly familiar zing of pleasurable shame zips up your spine. The air around you shifts, crackling like the split second of awareness before an electric shock. “Yeah, Eddie.” 

“But you need to be touched right now. So desperate,” he murmurs, the word that had mocked you minutes ago, now a warm tease. “So desperate you wanted to take my cock for the first time right here. In my van, parked by the side of the road.”

You shake your head, because you’re not really at the side of the road. Eddie was right when he said it’s quiet; nobody comes here. You’re about as likely to be found by the quarry as you are in his room. Eddie’s eyes light up with dark amusement, his hand drifting to the back of your neck. The pressure of his fingers there makes your hips twitch, your body recognising the signs, the promise of what’s to come when Eddie’s palm starts holding your head up. 

“No?” He asks, tilting his head, a teasing pout finding his pink lips. “You sayin’ I didn’t hear your right?”

Your toes curl. “No.”

The lines that run from the sides of Eddie’s nose to the corners of his lips deepen. “No, I did hear you right?”

“Eddie,”

“Ahh, yeah,” he breathes, wrapping an arm around your waist to help you lie back. He reaches out for his jacket, still rolled up on the floor, and places it back under your head. “That’s the good stuff.” You open your legs for him, let him settle his body on top of you, feeling the hardening length of him through denim and cotton at the apex of your thighs. Eddie licks his lips, tucks his hair back with a breathy laugh. “Shit. You got me thinking about it, now.”

Eddie sinks his face to your neck, the warm sting of his tongue making the mess between your legs increasingly hard to ignore. His big hand pulls at the hem of your skirt, lifting it up to your tummy. He glances down your body, eyes closing tight at the pale blue cotton cupping your mound, dark and sticky where it’s soaked up your wetness. “Wanna feel your little pussy on my cock so fucking bad. I can’t tell you how-” He cuts off a groan at the first run of his fingers over the wet material. “Christ. How many times I’ve thought about it.” 

You blink at him slowly, mind drifting into the calm of knowing Eddie’s going to make sure you both feel good. Your hips tilt naturally, helping him rub the curve of his finger over your clit through soaked cotton, then wiggling to help him more when his fingers hook into the elastic to pull them down your legs. Once they’re past your sneakers, he holds them in his hand for a second, rubbing his thumb along their centre. When you tilt your hips, pussy barely catching the rough denim over his crotch, his nostrils flare. “Don’t distract me, I’m holding precious cargo.”

He seems to settle on where to put them, draping the cotton over the top of one of the amps rather than letting them touch the floor. You giggle at his careful consideration, and Eddie’s dimples press into flushed cheeks. 

“You thought about it?” Eddie asks, watching your face when his thumb sweeps over your clit, noting the sensitivity before he starts up with tight circles that have you keening. “Thought about me inside you?”

He has to feel the new wetness between your legs that comes with your desperate nod. In truth, you’ve thought about it almost endlessly. You know it can hurt, have heard enough stories of virginity loss from the girls at the cheer table to know that it probably will. But when you imagine being close to Eddie that way, the only thing you can conjure up is the feeling of his fingers inside, how much further you’d have to stretch to take Eddie’s cock, the one that makes your jaw ache. Maybe the prospect should give you pause, but thinking about how Eddie would guide you through it sends excited shivers down your spine.

“Yes, Eddie.”

“You wanna feel my cock now?” He breathes, watching confusion flicker over your blissed face. “Know you like riding your pillow, sweet thing,” he says, your face hot at the memory of telling him how you masturbate. “But I think you might like rubbing up on me a little better.” 

Your clit twitches. You clench inside. Eddie either feels or sees the reaction of your body because he’s humming in excitement the next second, leaning down to kiss you, press his tongue to yours until you’re groaning into his mouth. He looks a little manic when he pulls away, hands scrambling with his belt when he throws himself to the side, lying on his back, ready for you to climb up on him. 

Without thinking, your hands catch his, stopping him from pulling at the loop. You squeeze his palms. “Let me?”

In answer, he moves his hands from his jeans, letting them rest flat across his stomach. You bite your lip, fighting the urge to sit on his thigh and grind against the denim just to get some instant relief. You reach out to the side of his head, grab his jacket and slide it to the back of his head. Eddie tilts his head up, lets you position it just so. You check, “comfy?” and he nods. 

Satisfied, you return to Eddie’s belt. The action of pulling at the leather is excitingly familiar to you now. The button of his jeans comes next, then his zip humming as you pull it down. His boxers are a soft check, the waistband positioned just under the first tufts of dark hair that lead to where Eddie is filling out the material. You think about his hands teasing your clit through your panties, mimicking him by brushing a knuckle over the mound peeking out from his zipper. It’s enough to make Eddie’s eyes squeeze shut, his fingers twitch. 

You hook your fingers into the elastic, start pulling them down. Eddie sighs in relief when his cock meets the air, hard enough to rise from his underwear the second he’s free. You imagine the stretch of him again, and clench down on emptiness. Eddie’s cock is a pretty pink all over. The furled skin at the top is a little shiny, and you know if you grasped his cock and pulled that skin back, his head would be wet with excitement. 

The thought strikes to just lean down and take him in your mouth, surprised to find that that’s already something of a comfort zone for you. But your clit throbs like it’s protesting, so you shuffle on your knees, feeling the sticky spread of your cunt when you open your legs to bracket his hips. You reach down, let yourself stroke Eddie’s cock just to hear the soft noise it draws out from his throat. You rub your thumb over that sensitive spot below his head, press his cock down until his length rests over the hair above it and the bottom of his soft tummy. 

With your free hand, you drift your hand between your legs, letting your fingers drift over your clit. You make a V with your fingers at the top, splitting your cunt open for him and feel a bone deep certainty that Eddie is the only person who could watch you doing this without real shame casting its shadow. 

“C’mon,” Eddie says, getting impatient. “Sit on it, use my cock how you want, just let me feel you.” 

Nodding, body instinctively wanting to follow his direction, you settle yourself on his cock. Eddie groans at the warm slick that surrounds him, hands immediately moving to your hips to help guide you. Your entrance flexes at the base of him, and he tries to pull you straight down like he could find more space between your lips for his girth. “Jesus Chri-”

Eddie’s words cut off with a choke when you glide yourself forward, hearing your wetness spread along his dick. You whine at the feeling, Eddie’s cock stimulating not just your twitchy button but your soft, clenching hole. Shifting back, your legs twitch when his head, exposed as the surrounding skin is pulled back by the clasp of your lips, catches just right against your clit. A few more blissful drags, and you are whining, hands flat against Eddie’s chest, fingers pulling at the softness of his shirt. 

You wiggle your hips, close to hysteria at how good it feels to have Eddie this close. Eddie grins up at you, the pride on his face making you all the more desperate. He looks overwhelmingly pretty like this, hair fanned out across his jacket, lips wet and swollen from his constant licking and your own kisses. His neck, as blushed as his face and his cock, is exposed and tense. His dark eyelashes that flutter every time his head drags over your clit and emerges from between your lips. His eyes, dark in the centre where his pupils have swallowed up mahogany, flicker back and forth between your face and where his cock vanishes and appears again, enveloped and released by the wet split of your pussy.

“You feel me now, mm?” He says, sounding hurried like he’s trying to get it out before his voice is swallowed up by groans. “Haven’t even taken three of my fingers, but you thought you could just lie back and take my cock?” You bounce a little when his head flicks your clit this time, torturing the swollen button with him a little longer. “Couldn’t’ve done it right, not how my desperate girl needs it. Just wanna make you feel good, you know?” 

“Feels good,” you murmur, wiggling your hips to feel his cock flex and shift over all the tender skin where you are most sensitive. “You always feel so good, Eddie.”

“Yeah? That’s it, that’s it.” Eddie’s fingers dig into your hips, no doubt leaving you with marks that will be satisfyingly tender by morning. “Fuck. Fuck, baby, I love you-r pretty voice.” He swallows, eyes now fixed on your pleasured face. “Love when you talk to me.” 

“Eddie, m’gonna-” You start to shake, and his hands grab at your hips, helping you keep moving along him even as the stimulation edges towards painful. 

“That’s it, cum on me. Let me feel it.”

Your body spasms, letting yourself move only with Eddie’s pushing and pulling as the throb of your clit spreads through your body, sends tingles up your spine. You feel your clit numb for a second, know enough now about your own body what that means for the intensity of your orgasm. You sit on that precipice, gasping in air. 

Pleasure bursts, has you shaking and moaning and, unbeknownst to you, repeating, “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” while the boy beneath you chases his own high, wanting to finish before you’re too oversensitive to keep your perfect warm pussy on him. 

Bending his knees, he grinds up into you, helping you slide along him. When he pulls your hips just so, and the tip of him barely catches the soft entrance of your cunt, Eddie finally cries out beneath you. The almost violent twitch of his cock between your legs makes you squirm, picturing that happening inside you. Eddie’s cum, thick and white, lands across his stomach in droplets, the last rope clinging to the tip of his cock in a way that, shamefully, makes your mouth water.

Sensitive, twitching, you rise from his body. Your shaking thighs fail you almost immediately, and you fall back on your butt between his open legs, a hand coming to cover your stimulated pussy like it needs protection. Eddie sits up, wipes his own hand across his stomach and draws his cum into his mouth with an ease that might surprise you if you hadn’t seen Eddie casually taste his own cum just about every time he’s orgasmed in front of you. 

This is what you meant, when you told May that being with Eddie is fun. Sex has always been something with disclaimers attached. Something to be enjoyed, but not too much. Something to get lost in, but not enough that you cross the line into acting slutty. It seemed to you like a tightrope nobody had shown you how to walk. 

And then there’s Eddie, who just watched you cum so hard on top of him that you immediately fell on your ass, and he’s grinning at you like he’s never been so proud of anyone in his life. “Now tell me that wasn’t way better than your pillow.” He reaches out for you, and you let him pull you into his arms, rest your head against his chest. You watch, warm in your face, while he tucks his softening cock, still covered in you, back into his boxers. “You feel okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, tracing the blue lines of lightning on his shirt with your finger. Your thighs twitch again, and you laugh together, soft and breathless. You settle into that post high afterglow, letting yourself be comforted by how surrounded by Eddie you are. His arm around you, his chest under your head. You can hear the way his heartbeat shifts from an intense rhythm to a steady beat under your ear. There’s another sudden uptick just before he speaks.

“I was missing you, too.”

You shift, look up at him from his chest, find him staring at the ceiling. 

“Sometimes my life has felt like being dealt one bad hand after another.” His gaze shifts then, eyes finding yours. “Now, I think, maybe I was saving up for something really good without realising.” 

Eddie Munson; town freak, rumoured Satanist, bad news for sweet girls like you, on the floor of his van, arms wrapped tight around you, says; “You’re a lifetime of good luck, sweetheart.”

And then you know. 

Next Part

[niqhtlord01]

The Great Git Hunt Part 1: The Death of a Legend

During the turning of the 42nd millennia the universe was to see many upheavals of a galactic nature.

 The 13th Black Crusade finally shattered Cadia and opened the great rift, sundering the universe in two and unleashing innumerable demonic incursions into real space. Tyranid Hive Fleets began appearing more frequently along the entire eastern fringe devouring innumerable worlds and forcing the Imperium to fight tooth and nail for every world to slow the tide of chitin.The Tau launched the Fifth Sphere Expansion while the Imperium’s attention elsewhere and sought to steal several dozen worlds from Imperial control and integrate their populations in the name of the greater good.

Yet the most perplexing, if not confounding, event was to pit two of the greatest warhosts against each other all over the death of one elderly man.

That man was Commissar Sebastian Yarrick.

Dying at the age of roughly 153, the energetic Commissar Yarrick made a name for himself by leading the Imperial resistance against Ork Warlord Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka on the world of Armageddon. Taking for himself the severed arm of an ork warchief he slew in combat to replace the arm he lost, Yarrick would become a nay mythical figure amongst Ork culture and the primary rival of Ghazghkull himself. It was said that the warboss only ever cursed Yarrick; an honor amongst orks for sure. Their rivalry would span nearly a century as the two would fight again during the third war for Armageddon and then far afterwards as Yarrick chased the warboss half way across the universe seeking to end the green threat once and for all.

Many would be safe to assume that with a rivalry so deep between two titans of their peoples that their stories would end with a climatic clash of arms where one would lay dead at the others feet. Yet fate sought to intervene in the cruelest of manners.

While pursuing his eternal foe with a fleet of Black Templar space marines, Imperial Guard, and several warships of the Imperial Navy; Commissar Yarrick was set upon by the newly reformed World Eaters chaos space marines legion led by their demonic primarch Angron.

With the opening of the great rift Angron emerged from the Eye of Terror at the head of the largest force of Khorne worshipers the universe had seen since the Horus Heresy. Angron was not content to follow Abaddon and his mongrels, so set out on his own to leave a path of devastation and slaughter spanning several sectors. Each world his followers set foot upon they would leave in fire with nothing but the hollow skulls of its former inhabitants piled in mile high mounds to watch over them. It was in fact the most recent slaughter on the planet Mori that reverberated throughout the warp so strongly it incapacitated the navigators of Yarrick’s fleet and pulled them out of the warp.

Angron was surprised at the sudden appearance of an Imperial war fleet, but welcomed the new challengers with great relish. The Khorne warships descended upon the imperial fleet like carrion fiends and began pulling it apart piece by piece. The navy fought back with great ferocity but the troop transports were left to fend for themselves as hordes of boarding craft were launched at them, each packed with world eater space marines churning for the coming bloodbath.

With their escape routes blocked and the transport ships in danger, Yarrick ordered the ground forces to land on Mori. It was only on the surface of the planet could the imperial force bring to bear their full might. The landing was hounded the entire way by the ever pressing chaos war fleet with many ships never making the journey, but by the grace of the emperor several made it to the surface and disembarked their forces.

Never one to back down from a massacre, Angron landed on the planet once more and led his legion against the now dug-in imperial forces. Under the leadership of Yarrick, the guard and space marine forces held the unending horde back for seven days and seven nights. Yet by the dawn of the 8th day only Yarrick and a handful of guardsman remained. Angron himself took to the field for the final slaughter and slew the guardsman with ease until only Yarrick stood against him.

Power claw met demonic axe as the elderly commissar matched blow for blow. So assured of his victory, the inability to shatter the crude ork weapon infuriated Angron and his rage furthered him to unleash a flurry of blows. One snuck past Yarrick’s guard and violently severed the commissar’s right arm at the shoulder.

As the arm and power claw fell to the ground Yarrick staggered backwards. His remaining hand tightened around his bolt pistol as blood began flowing from the wound. He looked up and saw the demon primarch looking down at him; mangled and jagged teeth grinning as Angron looked down at him. No doubt the monster expected him to beg for his life, but Yarrick would not.

Spitting out a glob of blood at the traitor, Yarrick brought up his bolt pistol and roared “FOR THE EMPEROR!” one final time and pulled the trigger. A single bolt left the weapon before Angron swung his axe and decapitated the commissar. The bolt struck home against one of the skulls hanging from the primarch’s neck and shattered it; a prized treasure as it had belonged to one of his close comrades back when the primarch had been mortal and a slave in the fighting pits of his homeworld. The primarch took up the severed head of Yarrick and put it in its place around his neck; a sign of honor for a great warrior while the rest of the skulls of the dead imperials were collected and offered to Khorne.

News of this massacre did not reach the wider galaxy for several months until a passing merchant ship picked up the distress signals of the imperial navy that still echoed in the warp. They soon found the lifeless husks of imperial ships floating above the planet of Mori and when they descended to the surface found the remains of the imperial’s last stand as well as a lone ork power claw still stained with demonic blood.

When the merchant ship reported their findings to nearby Imperial authorities an investigation force was dispatched by inquisitorial agents which further discovered the truth of the situation and the death of Yarrick.

Initially, there was hesitance with releasing the information regarding Yarrick. In a time of such chaos, the death of such a notable figure if reported to the wider imperium could trigger further outbreaks of panic. In a rare show of defiance however, the Astra Militarum insisted that it be made public and a large scale military funeral be held and broadcasted imperium wide to turn Yarrick into a martyr and potentially Imperial Saint stating that he chose to die fighting the forces of chaos then be cowed into submission.

Had the Astra Militarum made such demands a few generations earlier the Inquisition would have purged their ranks for such brazen defiance; but since the great rift’s opening they found their position had weakened and they needed the legions of Imperial Guard standing with them than against them. So, the Inquisition relented and the military funeral was held on Yarrick’s homeworld. Despite the great dangers of warp travel, several high lords of Terra made the journey to pay their respects as well as countless Imperial Guard regiments, space marine contingents, mechanicus forces, and even a rare Imperial Class Titan joined the funeral procession.

It was during this period of mourning as news of Yarrick’s death was spread throughout the imperium that it also trickled into the hands of the Imperium’s enemies as well.

Ork freebooters hijacking Imperial ships learned of the news while having fun with their human prisoners. There wasn’t an ork alive that didn’t know of the legend of “Old Bale Eye” and the impressive ork body count he had amassed over the century of fighting. News of his death spread even faster amongst orks than it had with imperials until finally words reached the green prophet himself, Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka.

At first, Ghazghkull refused to believe that anyone but him could have done in his oldest rival. He had fought Yarrick too long and knew that the wily hummie wouldn’t go down so easily. But when a squad of his handpicked Kommandos came back from Mori and presented him with Yarrick’s severed power claw, the green prophet flew into a rage.

The roar let out was so powerful that it reverberated in the warp, silencing nearby warp storms and sending countless ships of all affiliations from the astral tides of the warp back into real space. Not since the war of the beast was an ork roar heard so strongly in the warp from so far away that even the navigators on holy terra itself could hear the anger of Ghazghkull.

From that moment on the greatest warboss of orks the universe had ever seen had a new mission. He would take every ship in his fleet, every gargant and war machine his boy’z made, and every ork boi in his waaagh and he would not stop until he had the head of the one who done in Old Bale Eye and mounted it to the front of his flagship.

The Great Git Hunt, had begun.  

[apocalypseornaw]

Truths

You and Dean finally tell Sam the entire truth.

Part 2 to Secrets

Warnings: cursing, mention of ending a pregnancy. Yall this is Angsty

Everything had calmed down, for the moment anyways. Gadreel as it turns out had been the angel's name had been evicted from Sam's head thanks to Crowley of all people. The hunt for a way to kill Abaddon was ramping up but that was a worry for a different day. You'd take the wins you could.

You weren't surprised to find the other side of your bed empty. You suspected Sam hadn't even been sleeping in the same room with you at all. It hardly felt like you were a couple any more. You wanted to talk to him, to be completely honest but how the hell did you approach the subject?

Sam stopped at the lake that was about five miles from the bunker. He'd gone out on an early morning run, not sleeping next to you meant he barely slept anymore.

You had stayed through what happened with Gadreel, losing Kevin... when he pushed you away you stayed. He still wasn't sure what was going on between the two of you. It had been weeks since you let him touch you, he missed you. He missed having you in his arms. He missed you talking to him about little things. He missed the way things were before he tackled the trials.

---------

The problem? He didn't know how to get it back. The bond between you and Dean hadn't faltered any. There were still times he'd walk into a room to you and Dean cutting off mid conversation. The two of you had even gone on a few solo hunts. Dean citing you needed to clear your head and he didn't want you alone.

He loved Dean. He'd been a mother and a father to him despite there only being a four year age difference. He owed a lot to Dean but you were his heart. He'd never loved anyone the way he loved you.

The day he realized he had fallen in love with you a part of him had felt guilty thinking of Jess but Dean had been the one to remind him she'd want him to be happy and loved.

He didn't hate either of you for what was clearly going on. How could he? You were the most important people on earth to him and it would hurt like hell but he'd prefer the truth to whatever was going on. The problem remained if you would barely talk to him how could he ask you something as heavy as he needed to? How could he ask when you'd fallen out of love with him and in love with Dean?

You sat across from Dean staring down at the coffee cup in your hand. "How did the doctor appointment go?:" he asked and you nodded slightly "She said it all looked good. I'm thankful to Bess for getting me in with her doctor"

He cut his eyes up then glanced down towards your stomach "So the healing process?" You shrugged one shoulder "She was amazed at how fast I healed and the minimal scarring. Amazing what having an angel and the king of hell on your side can do for a girl"

He laughed slightly then his face sobered "How are you doing? The last few months have been a lot for us all, you and Sam especially" you shrugged "Some days are better than others. I want to talk to him so bad and tell him what happened but how do I tell the man I love that?"

"I'm sorry again sweetheart. I never for something like that to happen" you reached across to take Dean's hand "Wasn't like you're the only one who was there to make that choice"

----------

A sound in the hallway made you both jump up, Dean instinctively stepping in front of you until Sam walked in "Sammy? What's wrong?"

The first thing you noticed beyond the anger simmering off of Sam was the tears in his eyes. He looked from Dean to you "How long?" You and Dean exchanged a look of confusion "How long what baby?" You asked and he laughed humorlessly "How long have you two been sleeping together?"

"What?" "Oh C'mon man!" You and Dean were speaking over each other. Anger at the accusation mixed with the guilt of what the two of you had kept from him.

"The dropped conversations. The solo hunts. The spending time together then Dean not meaning for something to happen and you saying he didn't make that choice alone?" Sam's eyes were on you. "Sam it's not like that" Dean tried, reaching out for Sam's arm and having to duck when Sam swung on him.

"I'm not a fucking idiot Dean!" You jumped between the two of them without thinking. Yeah standing between two men with tempers like theirs and as strong as they were both was probably a dumb idea but no matter the accusations swarming you were confident neither would ever intentionally hurt you.

---------

You cut your eyes up at Dean when he spoke your name "It's time to tell him" you nodded. "Tell me what?" Sam asked and you saw the slightly tremor to his hand.

You took a deep breath "We've been hiding something Sam. Well the two of us and Cas, Crowley, Garth and Bess" he laughed "So damn near everyone we know besides me, the man you claim to love?"

"Ease up on her Sam" Dean warned stepping closer to your back. Sam watched the movment with hurt in his eyes "I'm sorry Y/N. I shouldn't have said that but for I've watched the woman I love get closer and closer to my brother. You barely let me touch you anymore I just want to know the truth, please"

You took another deep breath "I had to have an abortion Sam"

---------

He felt all the air leave his lungs like if he'd gotten punched in the chest. You'd been pregnant. "Was it mine?" He asked and when you shook your head he felt his heart crumble "Was it yours?" He asked Dean who shook his head "God no. She'd never cheat on you and I'd never hurt you like that"

Sam's head was spinning. If it wasn't his and you weren't sleeping with Dean and hadn't cheated on him...it was a Nephilim. "It was Gadreel's" he spoke in all but a whisper. You nodded feeling tears spring from your eyes. "Crowley and Cas helped heal her up" Dean explained but Sam's eyes were solely on you. That was why you'd pulled away, why you'd been leaning so heavily on Dean. You hadn't wanted to put anymore on him.

"C'mere baby. I am so sorry" he pulled you into his arms and for once you let him. You laid your head over on his chest "I love you Sam with all my heart" "I know baby I know. I love you too" he wrapped both arms around you. Dean motioned to the doorway before walking out to give the two of you alone time.

----------

"What now?" You and Sam had ended up taking a walk through the woods that surrounded the bunker. He turned to face you "I wish you would've told me. I would've been there for you" "I had hoped it was yours" you whispered looking up at him. He pushed your hair back from your eyes "I never should've doubted you"

"Are you mad at Dean?" You asked and he shook his head "For protecting you? Never" you pulled him into a hug and he wrapped his arms around you tightly. It wouldn't be easy, there'd been a lot of secrets being hidden amongst the three of you but maybe now all of you could truly start to heal before the next catastrophe landed.

[nateconnolly]

I made a Patreon lol.

Here's the free sample post:

THE CREATION MYTH OF KILL 6 BILLION DEMONS

INTRODUCTION

I love fantasy religions. I love it when fictional humans try to understand worlds like Brandon Sanderson’s Cosmere and Tolkein’s Middle Earth through a religious lens—especially because in those books and in many others, the fantasy religions are somewhat true, and somewhat false. It’s really fun to look at a fictional universe through the eyes of a character who might not see things objectively. Religion usually plays a role in that. But, if I’m being honest, a lot of fantasy religions are just Christianity wearing a fun hat. Don’t get me wrong, I am fascinated by Chrisitianity, and I really enjoy a lot of fantasy versions of Christianity. But it’s a great special treat when a fantasy story goes the extra mile and portrays another concept of the divine. That’s one of many reasons that I love the webcomic Kill 6 Billion Demons. The webcomic’s fictional religion Atru has parallels to Taoism, Gnosticism, Advaita Vedanta, theothanatology, Biblical divine nomenclature, the list goes on. I just threw a lot of big scary words at you, but I promise, this is a beginner level essay. I’ll break everything down into bite-sized pieces. I just wanted to list out some of K6BD’s religious influences to show that they are complicated, and diverse.

This is specifically a essay about the creation narratives. K6BD is an amazing comic—later on, it tackles questions about time, free will, and optimistic nihilism, but I won’t dig into that stuff here. Those things would require their own essays. Here, I’m going to try to explain how the seven-part world came to be. More specifically, I’ll examine the stories that White Chain, Cio, Michael, and the old devil’s tale tell us; then I’ll look at fictional holy texts found in the Concordance.

I’ll also compare and contrast with a lot of real world religion and philosophy. I want to be clear that the creator Abaddon and I have never spoken. I don’t know where he got most of his inspiration. I’m not revealing any information that wasn’t already available, I’m just compiling it and offering my own thoughts. Unless I specifically quote Abaddon, assume that I’m not even talking about his inspirations. I’m drawing parallels because it’s fun, even though it probably won’t give us new insight into how the text was created.

I promise I’m not trying to convert you! I genuinely don’t want to make other people believe the religion that I believe—or any religion at all. I’m just trying to show you how understanding some real world religious and philosophical concepts can deepen your appreciation of K6BD. Obviously, there will be tons of spoilers, so go read the webcomic if you haven’t already. It’s absolutely genius.

Lastly, I want to say I will discuss suicide and murder.

Ok, let’s get started.

PART ONE: THE FIRST AND GREATEST DIVISION

Let There Be No Genesis

White Chain begins the history of the universe with the words, “Let there be no Genesis,” closely echoing the in-universe fictional Psalm I. “For indeed, there was [no Genesis]. God has always existed and has never existed.” As White Chain tells her story, we are shown the god YISUN. This figure is sometimes described with it/its or she/her pronouns, but for the sake of simplicity, I’m going to follow the example of the fictional Psalm I, and use he/him. I might call him “YISUN” or “God” with a capital G depending on the context.

YISUN was eternal, and the “undisputed master of the entire omniverse.” He predates everything else, and without him, nothing would exist.

YISUN has at least twelve bodies, probably more. Some are smiling, some look mad; some resemble insects or animals; most hold weapons; and all are different colors. The central white body has four arms. Abaddon has said that YISUN’s appearance is directly inspired by the Hindu god Vishvarupa.  Hindu gods are frequently depicted with multiple body parts, an artistic tradition that Doris Srinivasan calls “the multiplicity convention.” She explains some of the religious and artistic reasons that many Indian gods have multiple body parts in her book “Many Heads, Arms, and Eyes: Origin, Meaning, and Form of Multiplicity in Indian Art.” The tradition of Hinduism is long, and diverse, so the multiple limbs in one text can mean something very different from the multiple limbs elsewhere. Srinivasan closely examines a vast expanse of Indian history, and I don’t have time to present all her ideas. I would like to specifically focus on the interpretation that multiple limbs represent the manifestations of a singular godhead.

Srinivasan writes that “Multiple versions of a myth are facilitated by the idea that there exists multiple aspects or manifestations of a godhead.” Think of the difference between Greek and Hindu goddesses. Bruno Snell suggests “that these four women signalize the four aspects of all womanhood,” but Srinivasan qualifies his interpretation. The Olympian women “are not multiple forms of [one] Divine Woman, as is the case in Hinduism.” Artemis and Athena are different people who are both women, plural. Parvati, Sati, and Uma together are Woman, singular. Zeus, Demeter, and Poseidon are gods, plural. Shiva, Vishnu, and Krishna are God, singular. That’s not how all Hindus see things, but it is one Hindu perspective that I find especially comparable to K6BD.

Similarly, the multiple bodies are only manifestations of a single God: YISUN. All of his bodies are a single person. In Hinduism, the plurality of the divine can be seen as empowering and liberating. Multiple body parts signify that the god is a well-rounded entity. But Abaddon makes it look like a curse. He turns the artistic convention around. Using the same symbolism and metaphysics, he tells a radically different story. As White Chain says, “Being was only circular.” “YISUN had no equal… It was a wretched life, without meaning or perception. Imagine infinite stories to tell… and nobody to tell them to.” Perfection is lonely. At this point, YISUN is the only thing that exists, and that can’t be fun. All those arms and heads cannot satisfy YISUN’s need for companionship. It’s fascinating to me that when White Chain says YISUN had no one to whom it could tell its stories, Abaddon chose to illustrate multiple heads right next to each other. Even if those heads told each other stories, the speaker and the listener would still be the same person. Dissatisfaction with isolation is why YISUN created the world.

Although not all Hindus follow the school of Advaita Vedanta, in this case, I think it will be helpful to compare and contrast with Advaita. As Ram Shanker Misra writes in “The Integral Advaitism of Sri Aurobindo,” “Brahman [ is] perfect, absolute, infinite, need[s] nothing, [and] desir[es] nothing…” Brahman is full of all perfections. And to say that Brahman has some purpose in creating the world will mean that [Brahman] wants to attain through the process of creation something which it has not. And that is impossible.”

But that’s exactly why YISUN created this world. He wants to gain something that he does not have: companionship.The universe is God’s escape from himself. There was no Genesis, but there was “the first and greatest division: division of self”: “God committed holy suicide.”

2. The Divine Suicide

White Chain’s story is similar to Friedrich Nietzsche’s famous claim that “God is dead,” but Nietzsche did not mean God was a real entity that had literally died. He meant that intellectually, it was impossible to continue believing in God, and that all intellectual achievements founded on belief in Him had to be abandoned. Nietzsche’s claim is a famous example of a philosophical school of thought called death of God theology, also called “theothanatology,” which means “the study of God’s death” in Greek.

“Death” can mean a lot of different things in this context. Sometimes it’s metaphorical, sometimes it’s literal, and usually, it’s a very confusing mixture of both.

Nietzsche proposed the death of God as a social claim about humans. He’s talking about what we can believe, what we should do, and what we need to accept. God never really existed, but as religion loses followers and influence, even the idea of God has begun to “die” because it no longer has power over the real world.

“Death” can also mean God exists, but in a way radically different from what people usually mean when they say “God.” The Rabbi and philosopher Richard L. Rubenstein thought God exists as a “ground of being,” but not as a supernatural entity that made a covenant with Abraham. Rubenstein proposed the death of God as an intellectual change in what humans think the word “God” means.

And, finally, “death” can just literally mean “death.” The Protestant theologian Thomas J.J. Altizer wrote “we shall understand the death of God as an historical event: God has died in our time, in

our history, in our existence.” This isn’t a social claim about humans—it’s a metaphysical claim about God.

Death of God theologians usually mean more than one thing when they say God is dead. Nietzsche wasn’t just trying to convince Christians to become atheists; he was also trying to convince many atheists that they disbelieved in God in the wrong way. Altizer had radical thoughts about what human beings are able to believe.

White Chain means that God is dead in the literal sense. She is proposing a metaphysical belief that God, as a historical figure, chose to actually kill himself. White Chain is not rejecting or critiquing religion—she’s asserting that her religion, in which God has died, is fact.

You can see slight parallels to Nietzsche, Rubenstein, Altizer, Hegel, Zizek, and Blake in White Chain’s version of the fictional religion Atru. But there is no better comparison than the king of sad philosophers Philipp Mainlander.

Mainlander was an atheist—but not in the sense that people usually mean when they say “atheist.” Mainlander believed that there was a God at some time, but that time is now over. There isn’t a God anymore. Mainlander is pretty unique among death of God theologians because he explicitly describes God’s death as a suicide. Whittaker explains that Mainlander thought “[a]ll things have their origin in what may be called… the ‘will’ of the absolute being… to annihilate itself.” Essentially, the cause of the universe is God’s suicidal desires.

God was a “real unity,” but his death caused a “collective unity”—that’s the universe where we live now. God had been a total and undivided One, but now the universe is made of distinct parts. God cut himself apart into the pieces of the universe. God created the world by becoming it, and he became the world by dying.

Mainlander said “the knowledge that life is worthless is the flower of all human knowledge.” He thought suicide was desirable, and ultimately, he put his money where his mouth was. The biggest difference between Mainlander and White Chain is that she doesn’t seem to think ordinary people such as herself should follow God’s suicidal example. Even beyond the views of a specific character, the story of Kill 6 Billion Demons reads as an affirmation of life’s beauty and value.

But the webcomic clearly argues that making a better world is a bloody project. So it should come as no surprise that making the world itself involved bloodshed. First and foremost, the blood of God. What’s so interesting to me is that both White Chain and Mainlander equate God’s suicide to the creation of the world. Our life comes from God’s death. Creation and destruction aren’t opposites—they’re different ways of looking at the same process. At the end of Book 2, Allison destroys Mottom’s evil tree and a lot of her palace—but this destruction is also part of the creation of a more just and free world.

So, what did God’s destruction create? What came after YISUN?

3. The Duality of Un and Yis

The destruction of the total unity creates duality. I know that’s a little confusing because YISUN had many faces, but remember that behind all of those faces was one God, and only one. Not anymore. “From division was birthed duality. White Un, Lord of empty and still places, master of all that is not. Black Yis, infinite mother of the rampant flame. Master of all that is''

I cannot avoid comparing the White and Black gods to the Yin and Yang—a spinning black and white symbol usually associated with the religion Taoism. Yin and Yang represent a cosmic duality. Yin is associated with femininity, darkness, passivity, and even numbers, among other things. Yang is associated with masculinity, light, activity, and odd numbers, among other things. Mainstream Taoist philosophy asserts that the universe can be understood through duality. So, why are these pairs important? And why do things get paired together in the first place?

As is written in the foundational Taoist text the Tao Te Ching, “Being and non-being create each other. Difficult and easy support each other. Long and short define each other. High and low depend on each other. Before and after follow each other.” What’s so interesting about the pairs is they “create,” “support,” “define,” and “depend on” each other. Black can’t exist without white, and white cannot exist without black.

As the Encyclopedia of Philosophy puts it, “...yinyang is emblematic of valuational equality rooted in the unified, dynamic, and harmonized structure of the cosmos. As such, it has served as a heuristic mechanism for formulating a coherent view of the world…” Essentially, neither of these opposites are “dominant” or “truer.” Choosing one side won’t help you understand the universe because the universe is their partnership. Their equality gives “structure to the cosmos.” That structure is order, not chaos, but it is differentiated. There are two different things: Yin and Yang. They contradict each other, but at the same time, they make the universe. Yin and Yang are a productive paradox.

I’d like to return to the notion that “being and non-being create each other.” At this stage of creation in K6BD, UN and YIS could not exist without each other. Their very existence is the fact that they are not a unity. If there was only one of them, then there wouldn’t have been a division—and they are nothing more than the product of division. Just like how being and non-being create each other, the Master of All That Is and the Master of All That Is Not create each other. YISUN was characterized by his totality—he was the total sum of the omniverse, there was nothing else. After the division, Un and Yis experience otherness. The first otherness in the omniverse. It’s difficult for them to find balance—in fact, they immediately went to war for seven years. At the end of their seven-year war, Un and Yis made love for seven days.

I want to be very clear that this is not a depiction of actual Taoism. Yin and Yang are not gods with faces and minds. Notably, the Tao Te Ching asserts that yin and yang are “older than God.” so make of that what you will. But I think Taoism is thematically relevant to this era. Two opposites have to come into balance with each other. The whole universe is a duality of interconnected forces.

K6BD repeatedly emphasizes the need for community. As Allison says at the end of King of Swords, “I couldn’t have done this without any of you… We make mistakes. We learn from each other. We all still have so much to learn. Once I saw that as a weakness, now I’m certain it’s not. Someone who lives still thinking like that… struggling to do everything themselves… I can’t help but think how alone they must be.”

YISUN had to do everything all by himself, and we saw that Allison was right—isolation was a struggle, even for God. But the struggle is over, and in its place is duality. Partnership. The first community.

These are the first four parts of a fourteen-part critical essay. You can read the rest here.

Bibliography is on the free Patreon post.

[sirpuddingcup]

Before I get into it

SPOILERS FOR THE END AND THE DEATH VOLUME 3

Holy shit this book is great! It genuinely is everything I wanted and more. Volume 3 ties everything up so well that even though I knew the plot outline already just from lore it had me gripped from cover to cover. An emotional and bloody ending to the to the galaxy spanning series.

First off I really enjoyed getting the little updates on what some of the other players are doing while it all goes down. Bobby G and his endless strategy meetings as he tries to figure out how to get to Terra. Lorgar pulling a jonestown as he arrogantly misinterprets prophecies. Perturabo wallowing in self pity as he destroys his room like an angry teenager (the image of him pouting in his broken chair as the room lies devastated around him gives me life). Finally Eldrad and the others arguing over shoulda woulda coulda as they realize this is way worse than they thought. It was nice to check in with everyone before we dive into the trauma of it all.

Speaking of trauma let's talk about the black rage! We see sanguineous's mangled corpse in the lupercal court as the psychic shock sends the entire ninth legion (minus Zephon) into a berserk rage. I really can't think of a better word for it than traumatic. After all they've been through together during the siege to have the blood angels turn into actual monsters against their will is just twisting the knife for the loyalists. From Rans desperate fight for survival against a man he idolizes to Amit waking up dazed and confused at the end of a trail of corpses ("why do the bodys end here?" "That's as far as you got" kills me), it's safe to say nobody is having a good time.

Scratch that you know who is having a pretty good time? Rogal Dorn. Fresh out of the desert of endless boredom Rogal finally gets to let loose a little as he fights his way to Valdor. I love their dynamic and I wish we got more of them hanging out("damn you!"(frustrated) "damn you too."(affectionate)).

We check in with Fo and the genocide crew which ends predictably. I saw him completing the Terminus sanction then getting killed trying to escape a mile away. I did not see him making a fucking clone body and replace Xanthus! I love me a devious old scientist causing problems on purpose! I really hope he comes back in a big way.

The library crew didn't do a whole lot other than Ariman being a creepy magic man. It is buck wild that the archivist turned out to be Lilean Chase at the beginning of her career she goes on to found the fucking Cognitae so get it girl I guess.

The did my boy Loken so dirty in the end but fuck me was it good. They planted seeds earlier on talking about how a demon is made, a reaction in the warp to a traumatic event in real space, how in the warp effect can come before cause. But fuck me I wasn't expecting this. After the dust settles and Loken almost convinces Abaddon to give reconciliation a chance Erebus (fuck Erebus) stabs him in the back dooming the galaxy to endless civil war. And why did he do this? Because Samus is the man beside you, Samus right behind you, Samus is the guy she told you not to worry about, look out it's fucking Samus! The abrupt murder of Loken gives birth to the Demon Samus kicking all of this shit into motion. It truly is all Erebus's fault.

I saved the best for last. The showdown on the vengeful spirit. This is where Horus really gets tho shine. I haven't loved his character like this since the first couple of books. He's a fucking mess and I love it this is the man who's daddy issues burned the galaxy to the ground, and as someone who has a difficult relationship with my father fuck me I get it. Dan Abnet is so good at making fights feel intimate, Horus isn't a one dimensional avatar of evil hes a son confronting his abusive father. Horus doesn't want to kill his father he wants to be better than him, and not just stronger but a better person. He needs the Emperor to acknowledge that he had hurt Horus. Horus loved his father and wanted to reach out him on an emotional level so badly, but the Emperor was simply no longer able to do that. When the Emperor purged himself of the infant god the dark king his kindness and empathy went with it ( going on to create the star child). This emperor is nothing but power and cold fury. He enters the room having already written Horus off as dead. It's such a tragedy from top to bottom because we know from Malcador in his all knowing position on the golden throne, that there is a version of this confrontation where they both walk out alive. That does not happen.

The actual physical fight is nothing to write home about besides the fact that different people see it happening in different ways Dusk sees it as a clumsy slugfest between two lumbering giants while LE2 saw it as the greatest display of skill he had ever seen. In truth it was both. The psychic battle had them tossing each other across time and space and fighting through the sites of each other's greatest sins. They use the settings to try and undermine each other emotionally holy shit. Then the do the next logical step AND HAVE A FUCKING TAROT DECK YU-GI-OH DUEL! I need an imperial tarot card game right now GW take my fucking money. It ends with the cards predicting the fall of cadia (the despoiler unlocking the silver door) and the emperor loses. It has become obvious by this point that the Emperor can't beat Horus. Horus outclasses him in every way but Horus doesn't want to kill his father he wants acknowledgement. So what we get is several desperate attempts by the emperor and several others to fight back as Horus beats his father bloody. But nothing works until Oll and John show up having magically teleported much closer than they ment to. They stand right in front of Horus. Horus is bemused at best giving John just enough time to use the word he learned from the tower of Babel directly in Horus's smug face. The resulting blast nearly kills everyone in the room, but it's the first thing so far to actually damage Horus. While her recovers John makes a run for it but Oll goes to the Emperor gives him the athame (stone knife used to commit the first murder) and tries to wake him up. Only for Horus to wake up first and turn poor Oll to a fine red mist.

Finally Horus stands there triumphant and who is there but his own favorite son Loken. Loken is the only one who tries to reason with Horus to make him see the the chaos gods are using and manipulating him. It was a great touch to frame Horus pov in 2nd person as if someone is telling Horus his thoughts. Loken convinces Horus that he's not really in control anymore and the only way Horus can take back control is to give up the power that the gods gave him. The moment he does back on Terra Keeler uses the power of millions of praying souls to relight the astronomicon and and give the Emperor a font of power to tap into. The emperor rises as if from the dead. Horus at first tries to pull the power back but the gods hold onto it as punishment for spurning them. Then Horus looks at the Emperor empowered as an avatar of humanities faith and he finally understands. The gods panic and try to force their power back into him and Horus begs his father to kill him now while he can resist. Then it happens a father murders his son. The emperor tells Horus "I forgive you and I'll wait for you". Excuse me Dan Abnet what exactly does that mean? Horus returned? Ghost Horus? Reincarnated? What the fuck? From there it's mostly just wrapping up they teleport home and we get the last gasp of Malcador as they place the Emperor on the golden throne.

If you read this thank you this was mostly for me because I needed an outlet for my feelings and I don't want to bother my friends to much with Warhammer. It's been a wild ride and I can't wait to see where it goes from here (especially the third Bequin book).

[chugginandsippinartist]

"Name means destruction and doom. In the Hebrew Bible, Abaddon is a place and also an angel. Wild right"?

That line is from one of my absolute fav Moon Knight fanfics, "Miles From Nowhere" by fishtrombone and when Jake delivered that line I just couldn't get that reference and image of him being the angel of destruction out of my head so obviously I had to draw it out!

I've been re-reading that story every other week cause its just still hits me! It is still on going so PLEASE READ IT!! So so worth it and definitely worth the wait when they get the new chapter up!

Miles From Nowhere link!

also posted on Twitter and Bluesky

[randomperson99sworld]

Ruffled Feathers 🪶

~ Part 27 ~

Summary: Julia Morgan, Bobby's niece, has always been a royal thorn in Dean Winchesters ass since the day they met 1 year ago at Bobby's memorial. She wants to be a hunter, he thinks she's a dumb kid playing dress up. Will she always be seen as an unwanted load in Dean's eyes or will he see something more?

Pairing: Dean x OC

Warnings: Age gap, language, sexual themes (used lightly), physical abuse (Not by Dean).

Word Count: 962

A/N: Stated as always this story is cross posted on Wattpad. Happy reading! ❤️

The bunker was eerily quiet, aside from the occasional sounds of Sam tapping away at his laptop. Dean sat at the table, staring blankly at the map in front of him, but his mind was miles away, still haunted by what happened with the First Blade and Abaddon. The Mark of Cain weighed heavy on him. It had changed him—he could feel it in his bones, and he hated it.

Julia watched him from across the room, her eyes filled with concern. She had seen Dean fight before, seen him at his worst, but this...this was something different. The way he had lost control when he killed Abaddon, the way the Mark had consumed him—it terrified her. She hadn't said anything, not yet, but she knew something was coming. Something worse.

Just then, Sam's voice broke the silence.

"Dean, I think I found something."

Dean snapped out of his thoughts and looked over at his brother. Sam turned the laptop toward him and Julia, showing them an article about a religious movement that had been spreading like wildfire. The leader was claiming to be a prophet, performing miracles, gathering followers, and speaking of divine judgment.

"That's Metatron," Dean muttered darkly.

Julia furrowed her brow. "Metatron? The scribe of God?"

"Yeah, and now he thinks he's God himself," Sam explained. "He's been using the Angel Tablet to boost his powers, and he's got Gadreel backing him up."

Dean clenched his jaw, the Mark pulsing beneath his skin. Metatron had already caused enough damage. He had manipulated Cas, killed Kevin, and now, he was rallying human followers like some sort of false messiah. It made Dean's blood boil.

"What about Cas?" Julia asked, leaning forward. "Where does he stand in all this?"

"Cas got his grace back," Sam replied. "But it's not enough. Metatron's got the Angel Tablet, and that makes him nearly unstoppable. We need to find him and take him down before things get worse."

Dean stood up, his fists clenched at his sides. "Then we go after him. I've had enough of Metatron's crap."

Before anyone could say more, the room filled with a soft flutter of wings, and Castiel appeared in front of them. He looked weary, but determined.

"Cas," Dean said, his voice laced with relief. "Good timing."

Cas gave a small nod, his blue eyes flickering between the three of them. "I've been following Metatron's movements. He's become more dangerous than ever, Dean. He's attempting to reshape the world in his image, using the Angel Tablet to turn himself into a god for mankind."

"We know," Sam said. "He's got a cult following, and he's been performing miracles. What's his endgame?"

"Metatron believes that if he can gather enough human worshipers, he can fully ascend and replace God," Cas explained. "He's delusional, but powerful. Gadreel is acting as his second-in-command, enforcing his will on the other angels who refuse to follow."

Julia stood, crossing her arms. "So, how do we stop him?"

Cas's expression hardened. "We need to destroy the Angel Tablet. Without it, Metatron will lose his power. But finding him won't be easy—he's fortified himself in a place where only his followers can reach him."

Dean let out a frustrated sigh. "Great. So we've got a wannabe god with an army of angels and humans. Awesome."

Cas stepped closer to Dean, his gaze somber. "Dean, the Mark of Cain...it's changing you. I can see it. You need to be careful."

Dean stiffened at the mention of the Mark, but he shrugged off Cas's concern. "I'm fine, Cas. Let's just focus on stopping Metatron."

Cas didn't seem convinced, but he let it go for now. There were bigger things at stake. "We need to move quickly. The longer Metatron has the Tablet, the more power he'll gain."

Dean nodded, but the Mark still throbbed beneath his skin, a constant reminder of the darkness inside him. He pushed it aside, focusing on the task ahead. They had to stop Metatron, no matter what it took.

As they prepared to head out, Julia watched Dean closely, worry etched on her face. She knew Dean was carrying more than he let on, and with the Mark eating away at him, she feared what might happen next.

But for now, they had a mission. And Julia wasn't about to let Dean face it alone.

Hours later, they tracked down one of Metatron's followers in an abandoned church, deep in the woods. It was cold and silent, the wind howling through the broken windows. Sam and Cas led the way, while Dean and Julia followed closely behind, their weapons drawn.

The air was thick with tension, and Julia couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible was about to happen.

"Stay close," Dean whispered to her, his eyes scanning the area. He was more protective of her now, more on edge since the fight with Abaddon. Julia could feel it in the way he stayed near her, the way his hand lingered on his weapon.

As they moved through the church, they found Metatron's follower—an angel with a crazed look in his eyes. He attacked without warning, but Dean was faster, the Mark lending him strength. He swung the First Blade, cutting through the angel with ease, his eyes darkening as the power surged through him.

The others watched, a mix of concern and awe, as Dean stood over the fallen angel, breathing heavily. The Mark had taken over again, but this time, Dean managed to pull himself back, dropping the Blade to the floor.

Julia placed a hand on his arm, her touch grounding him. "Dean?"

He looked at her, his eyes softening for a moment. "I'm okay."

But they both knew the truth.

[nerdylilpeebee]

So, I have this story idea. This is basically the summary of what will be the start of the story. I'd love any feedback. :)

The story follows the Half-demon, half-mortal Daughter of Bee-lzebub, the Demon Prince of Gluttony. This daughter, named Thalia, is an Esper, due mainly to her demonic/human blood mix. At her current stage, she can move things with her mind (including herself, allowing herself to fly basically) and create and control fire to a small degree.

Thalia is the only daughter of her mortal mother, a rich aristocrat in the Telen Empire, one of the many countries on the Planet Sera (an alternate Earth, basically). She lives with her mother and their fairly large staff of servants in a mansion a few miles outside of the city of Jula, one of the largest cities in the Empire. She's basically a bit of a shut-in, having rarely left the mansion's grounds, spending most of her time engrossed in books and researching the various artefacts her mother purchases to satisfy both her and Thalia's, well, gluttonous desire for forbidden knowledge. Particularly around demons.

One day, her Mother returns with an Urn. An artefact she claims Thalia's father had delivered to them. This immediately catches Thalia's interest and she gets to work researching the Urn. However, she doesn't find much about it. Too curious to stop tho, she decides to remove the Urn from the case it was delivered in, in order to see what might be inside. Upon touching the urn, her mind is immediately assaulted by images, Memories and information. So fast and so numerous she barely perceives them, and nearly falls unconscious.

Once she recovers from the daze this puts her in, she realizes she's still holding the Urn. It's just resting in her hands like she didn't fall to the ground, nearly unconscious. Her curiosity and interest is now through the roof. She looks inside the urn, finding it filled with Ashes. There doesn't appear to be anything beyond that, but as soon as she sees the ashes, she hears a voice.

It's a woman's voice, beautiful but reeking of danger. She introduced herself as "Abaddon," claiming she is the "Archangel of the Abyss." This sends Thalia's heart racing. She has a million questions, and immediately gets to work asking them. Abaddon is very happy to answer.

They spend hours talking. She learns that Abaddon is a demon, that she herself is part demon, that her father is one of the Demon Princes... But oddly, Abaddon refused to say which one, instead choosing to insist that someone like her should be able to figure that out on her own.

Suddenly tho, Abaddon herself asks a question. "Do you want to see me?"

Thalia of course, ecstatically answers "yes." One of the library shelves opens on it's own, revealing a long, dark hallway. Thalia briefly considers grabbing her mother or one of the servants, to help her carry anything interesting she finds inside (not a cautious bone in her body), but ultimately just enters alone, carrying the Urn.

She travels deep into the long hallway, ever beckoned to go deeper by both her curiosity and Abaddon's voice, which now echoes through the hall. When she finally reaches the end, it's just a wall. "Push on it" Abaddon tells her, and she does.

But on the other side is just... The library. Exactly where she left. The books she had scattered around her during her research were even still in the same spots. Only, strangely, everything feels colder, and the books are covered in dust. Abaddon chuckles as she looks around confused.

Thalia then begins calling out for her mother or the Servants. No one answers. She exits the library (leaving the Urn on the ground inside), expecting to find some servants cleaning in the hall like they usually are, rationalizing they maybe just didn't hear her. But as soon as she opens the door, she's hit with a blast of ice-cold air. It takes her a moment to recover from the shock, but when she looks out into the hall, it's empty. The windows are covered in ice, and the hall is dark and empty.

Fear finally begins to creep it's way into her. She begins frantically calling out for someone, anyone, rushing out into the rest of the mansion, but it's all empty. There is no one inside and the windows are frozen over.

Out of desperation, she returns to the library. Maybe this is some trick, or illusion, after all, and she can get back to the "real world" by travelling back through that hall. But when she gets there, the library shelf has closed itself already. She pushes on it, pulls, grabs all the books off the shelves... She tries everything to get it to move, even using her Esper abilities to try and knock it over or burn it. But all that does is show that... It's not a door. Behind the shelf is just a wall. Pushing on that doesn't even reveal it to be false.

Abaddon finally speaks again, beckoning her to go outside. Seeing no other options, she retrieves the Urn from where she left it, and goes to the entrance of the Mansion. She expects it to be frozen shut, but Abaddon assures her it will open. And it does, easily. Thalia is immediately blasted by even colder air, plus a mix of snow and ice. The world outside is covered in snow, and blizzard rages outside.

Thalia asks where she is. Abaddon tells her "don't worry, this is still your world. I have simply... Entered it."

Thalia asks what she means, and Abaddon responds, "oh my dear little half-breed, I must thank you. It's because of you that I was able to do this. It's because of you that I have returned."

Thalia's confusion just grows. What does she mean? She repeats her question, practically begging for clarity. Abaddon simply continues.

"Soon all will be me. Soon you will be too. Soon, I will be everywhere. Everyone. There are many with great power in this world, but all will fall to me. All will be Hive."

The fear Thalia feels grows exponentially. What did she do? What's going on? Where is her mother? Her butlers and maids? So many questions pass through her mind, but Abaddon interrupts them with a dark laugh, dragging her back to reality.

Then she simply says:

"Come and find me, my little Pandora. Let us see which one of us wins this little game we have started."

[gruesomejack]

A Very Self Indulgent Meme: Abaddon

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Nervous. If you've gotten that far with them, there's a chance you've already touched without a barrier and they'll be fretting and inspecting you and checking the length of your life.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Their hands are both their favorite and least favorite thing about themselves. All that power for both destruction and pleasure..

Abaddon is an ass man.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

They are VERY pro barriers of any kind, it's kind of a feat if you can actually,,, y'know get them close enough to it to do anything with it. If they're getting that open with another person, the liability of losing life is way up there,,,

Honestly. Sharing that with them would be very special.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

They know.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Through a glory hole, least likely scenario to accidentally touch each other. INCORRECT, SORRY. Anything facing away from a partner though, they really are worried about the touching.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It's hard to be when you're doing your best to keep your partner alive the entire time. Though I if they found someone they didn't have to worry about that with, they'd be very funny.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

They'll tailor themselves to the situation at hand and their partner.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Not something they're usually thinking about!! On occasion they'll indulge, but usually they're too busy for that.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Latex. ANOTHER JOKE. Edging. They like control.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Didn't I mention a glory hole? KIDDING. They like romance. I feel like anywhere secluded with the right atmosphere wpuld be a good option.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Touch!!! Over the clothes, tempting at barriers. Threaten them with a good time.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

They don't mind either way! Again, I have to mention the barriers--

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Gentle and careful. If they're in control of the situation, it will be as much relaxation as it is exertion.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

NOPE. That's too risky! It needs to be planned out and talked over and prepared for. Getting them to be spontaneous in that sort of situation would be hard.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Nope! Again, they're very careful. You can suggest things, but it would need to be thought all the way through first.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

They've got all the time in the world.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

YES ACTUALLY. One of the easiest ways to be intimate with them is just by letting them service you rather than go the full mile. Safer for you, still exciting for them, no skin to skin contact risked!

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

They're very slow. It's equally teasing as it is pure fascination.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Quiet, almost held back even?? Like they want to make noise, but they won't allow it. If given the chance to freely give in, it'd be quite a show.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

They've definitely killed a lover. 100% without a doubt.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Abaddon most resembles a FTM body type without surgical alterations? So shifted muscle mass and fat to a rectangular shape, but otherwise left alone.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

High yearning, low libido. It's tough to seek romance when a too long touch could send you to an early grave.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

Too busy fretting to sleep! Also they're very much the fuck and leave type, so they're actively running away after. "That was great, I gotta go-"

[pride-and-wrathfulness]

Everybody Wants to Rule The World || Abaddon and Moloch || Para

Moloch walked through the badlands of Hell. Here, there was no true 'domain' as it was elsewhere further through the circles. Where Kings resided, they had land in their ownership. Archdemons had much larger claims and special areas that was manifested by their particular powers. Lucifer owned all of Hell over any King and Archdemon, but had land specifically for himself along with a throne that looked over all of the dimension. This was the pinnacle of power, much like the capital, of the dimension. All beings here bowed to the power here, the whole landscape shifts to Lucifer's will.

The badlands were the outskirts where torture ran rampant, lesser demons filled the voids and strange, unique creatures roamed. If powers of the sins were orderly in the domains, the sins ran chaotically elsewhere. These areas differed much like one would expect on Earth. Darkness through miles, lakes of fires and brimstone through another area, Icey pits and acidic bogs- this created the fantastical demonics that resided here.

Dust kicked up with every step that the Wrath demon took across the dark desert. Above, the sky was pitched black much like the void that Adramelech controlled. Instead, the darkness was bending and folding as if alive. The air felt dry and intense here. A being on earth would last mere moments as no water existed, the area sucking moisture from a living being quickly. Sand was much like tiny diamonds, glittering in the dark light that emanated from itself- the only light in this land.

Moloch continued his trek, knowing where each place was in this world. Other demons hissed and attempted to mock, even attack, but they quickly backed away as they realized the demon walking among them. He needed to get his strength back fully, and this was the closest thing he could get without entering his domain. It wasn't the throne being occupied that wouldn't allow him passage- it was Adramelech who had locked him out with his great power that was bouncing him out. Moloch knew this, and it pissed him off even more.

In the distance, a building stood amongst the sand and rock. It was faintly lit by a disturbing blue hue that nearly matched the black of the shifting sky. Within moments, Moloch came up to the building, the air changing instantly when stepping up the obsidian steps. While it didn't seem tall from the outside, inside the spire appeared to be endless above. Chains clamored from hidden chambers, wailing and tortured scream vibrated through the floors. This was typical in every corner of Hell- souls being destroyed, tortured, consumed.

As Moloch thought of it, he appeared at the top of this building in front of a large offering area filled with deep knowledge demon sigils and ancient demon languages. There was a calming for Moloch here, ever fiber of his being understanding the knowledge and history here.

Speaking in abyssal, the winds picked up around him. Strange flames rose up from patterns in the floor and voices miles away could be heard echoing Moloch's words. His voice became more demonic and less used with the body as he continued the spell, summoning.

The ground quaked as the summoning was succeeded. The ground below him cracked and screams filled for hundreds of miles. There, standing in the middle of a demon sigil was Abaddon, her body taking on a soft, purple aura here. "Dad?"

"Abaddon..." Moloch stepped in to hug her, but found himself quickly pushed back as she crossed her arms and scowled at him.

"I have nothing to talk to you about."

Moloch knew she was a wild card. He never wanted the child, even if technically she was a heir. In fact, he was so prideful that he thought himself to be the last Wrath King on the throne for the rest of eternity, so having an heir was a moot point. "What the fuck, Abaddon? I haven't seen you in a few years and you push me away?"

"What the fuck did you do to piss off Adramelech? And what did you do to piss of Azazel?"

Confused, he tried to quickly think back to past events, only really coming up with the most recent where he was 'killed'. Shaking his head he replied, "They weren't pissed, they were using me to complete a ritual."

"Well that's not what my husband told me. They wanted to get rid of you." Abaddon looked very sure of this fact, and right now seeing Moloch- who seemed to care very little for her- solidified what she had been told.

"They did. If Adramelech had his way, I'd be cast out from Hell. Luckily, he's not in charge of Hell or me."

She was already impatient, upset she hadn't seen Azazel in weeks and getting lonely. "You just said they used you and weren't pissed. Which one is it?"

"What I'm trying to say is sure, I must have did something to upset them, but they used me to do the stupid ritual. Two birds, one stone. I just happened to be the one they needed for the ritual."

"Whatever. Why the fuck did you bring me to this... "her eyes looked around, finally rolling them, "stupid fucking place?"

"I need your help."

She partially laughed, "Of course you do."

"Wait, listen to me," he began to plead.

"No. I don't have to do a goddamn thing you tell me. You're a fucking loser, you're a fucking pawn, you couldn't get back by yourself after being killed, and now you're begging me for shit. Get bent." She turned and goes back to the middle of the sigil and waited, but stomps impatiently as she can't figure out how to unsummon herself in the moment.

Moloch himself looked completely offended by her words. What was Azazel and Adramelech feeding her? The rest of Hell was scared of him, but here was his daughter who witnessed some great things, calling him something much less than what he was. "Excuse me? Loser? Who the fuck is lying to you? Where the fuck are you getting this shit? "

"Just... shutup! Okay?"

The Demon King extended his hand, forcing her to turn to face him, pulling her close with his powers. While doing so, her eyes widened, not expecting Moloch to do something like this to her. His blue eyes stared back into her fear-filled ones as she tried to not look as scared as she felt inside. "I need something from my library. It's a spell book, bound in skin, black and sparkles. It will burn your mind if you open it because you're too feeble to understand the markings inside. You'll know it when you're hand passes over it because it will let you know it's beyond your comprehension. Grab it, don't open it, and bring it to me. Any questions?"

Abaddon stared at him for long moments, finally reaching out and slapping his face. The blow was strong, much stronger than Moloch was ever expecting as his head snapped to the side.

It was in this moment Moloch understood that there was a real loss in power here. What was he going to do? He needed that spellbook. He had looked at the spell several times, pulled others from Purgatory, pulled himself from Purgatory with help from Aaron who was alive at the time. But now he had to reverse all this, he needed the book himself, but he needed to communicate somehow with Aaron. He had done so from Purgatory with another ritual, but how was he going to do it from the earthan plane? More than anything, he needed to get into his library but Moloch needed that spell book. Now he knew why Adramelech made this a deal... It was very possible that Moloch would fail, giving the archdemon reason to get rid of him for good.

Moloch slowly looked back onto his daughter, his expression cold, his eyes restraining rage. This was HIS domain, HIS throne, HIS birthright and HIS book. He worked harder than any other demon for this, and he would be damned to let his own child take that away. She HAD a throne, a domain and a king to rule with. No one, not her, not Azazel, would keep him from it.

"Abaddon.... You will give me my book and anything else I want from MY domain, do you understand?"

"Or what?" She continued to defy him, for what reason he wouldn't know. Abaddon had grown to be like this, a spoiled brat. Especially after getting with Azazel.

"Don't try me. I'm not afraid of ending you if I had to."

Abaddon wasn't afraid of Moloch as others would advise her to be. She knew he was powerful, but she was full of herself and the power she gained. Along side Azazel, she felt unstoppable- even if it was wrongfully so. Her powers were utter ruin and destruction, it reached far and toppled any civilization. No one scared her now that she had untapped these talents, least of all her father.

"I'll tell you what, dad. You tell Azazel to get his ass back to me, and I'll hand over your stupid book."

Moloch seemed shocked by this little detail, unaware she was without Azazel at all. While this gave him leverage, he also could use it to his advantage. Abaddon wasn't whole without Azazel. "Azazel's missing? Where do you think he is?"

"I don't know! He went to Earth and he's been gone for a couple weeks now. He's not answering when I summon him. So when you see him, tell him his wife is mad."

"But you promise to give me my spellbook?"

She huffed, crossing her arms. Considering it again, she lied, "Yeah. As soon as he's with me, I'll grab it." Without giving him another chance to talk to her, she managed to return to the Wrath domain so he couldn't bother her.

Moloch cursed loudly, his roar carried across Hell- demons hiding and fleeing from his Wrath. He would have to go topside and hunt Azazel down to get any traction on this before he ran out of time.

[manicpixiedreamcurl]

WIP Game

Here is a baby chunk from the next chapter of The More You Give which is all I am currently working on because I like her despite her elusiveness.

❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦

You like calling Eddie, the sound of his voice over the phone. The way he answers it differently each time:

“This is Eddie Munson, lead guitarist of Corroded Coffin; available for christenings, bar mitzvahs and weddings.”

“Munson residence. The old guy’s out so if you’re looking to buy a collection of novelty mugs now’s the time.”

“You’ve reached the church of Satan; Abaddon the Destroyer speaking. For your free introductory handbook on summoning circles just dial six-six-six.”

And then there’s the happy rise in his tone when he hears it's you on the other side, the surprised laugh at the sound of your soft hi, Eddie even when he’d asked you to call. The crackle of his breath through the receiver, the way conversations with him are easy however they happen. With anyone else, phone calls feel stilted and awkward, but Eddie talks as if you’re sitting right in front of him. 

It makes you warm all over to think about. He wants to see you and kiss you and touch you, but he’s also happy to sit on his couch miles away and speak to you, listen in return to everything you can bring yourself to say.

You have taken to dragging a chair from the kitchen and sitting by the hallway table to talk to him like this whenever you don't see him in the evening. You spend an hour or two at a time smiling at your mom's address book, twirling the coiled cord of the phone around your finger while Eddie talks about this day, asks about yours, explains why he’s really into this new Swedish black metal band he’s discovered, checks what you’re reading, shares an idea he has for Hellfire, plans your next date.

Today is no exception. Your dad has walked past muttering about the phone bill twice. Your mom has stationed herself in the kitchen within earshot as usual, but what exactly she gets out of hearing the low buzz of Eddie's voice and your laughter, you don't know. 

Tagging lovely @eddies-ashtray @emotionalsupporteddie but no pressure no pressure

[ao3feed-moonknight]

Have you ever heard of Abaddon?

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/9xHTh8w by Clarissy Fanart of the Moon Knight fanfic "Miles From Nowhere" Words: 11, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Moon Knight (TV 2022) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Jake Lockley Additional Tags: Blood and Violence, Blood and Injury, biblical imagery, Jake Lockley Needs a Hug, feral jake lockley is my fav, love him covered in blood too read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/9xHTh8w