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pedgito · 2 years

Note

Okay here me out!! Eddie and bestfriend reader are hanging out just chilling in his room like any other day but our back is killing us so he's on top of us giving our back a massage. Our shirt rides up so now he's massaging bare skin and listening to our goans of satisfaction. He obviously pops a boner and you know one thing leads to the other very nsfw in the same position tho us on our tummy him on top SOUNDS LIKE FUN!!!

author’s note: this is uh…yeah. just purely self indulgent smut so pls enjoy my nsfw ramblings mwah. if there's typos in this, no there's not. it's 11pm and i'm exhausted.

cw: 18+ (minors dni), fem!reader, mentions of smoking and being high, steamy sex, they’re both two consenting adults don’t worry, sex from behind, dirty talk, slight hair pulling, fingering, ect. let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 2.5k

It doesn’t take any persuading to get Eddie in the position he is now, knees settled on either side of you, sat perfectly against your thighs, hands resting in the dip just above your ass, the tiniest shorts in existence doing nothing to block the heat of Eddie’s hands as his fingers dug into the skin. If Wayne were to chance walking in, you both wouldn’t hear the end of it.

Eddie’s heavy above you, no other option to lay there and enjoy the magic that were his fingers; knowing his way around a guitar and a few taut muscles. It almost hurts, the way his fingers dig into the skin—but the relief, the literal unwinding of your tense back muscles has you moaning out against your pillow, where your head rested.

Eddie snorts in laughter, “Like that?” He teases, voice flirtatious out of habit. It wasn’t strange for him to act this way, it came with the package of knowing Eddie; he was so naturally charming that he couldn’t help it. You feel your heart flutter at the words, smiling into your forearm.

“Mhm,” You hum, nodding your head gently. He watches the back of your head bob, spreading the length of his hands over the sides of your waist, digging into the flesh there, leaning forward slightly to apply pressure, absently rubbing the front of his jeans against the curve of your ass.

He doesn’t say anything, almost like he can’t be bothered to notice. The assault of his hands continue, too fucking satisfying to ask him to stop now; you wouldn’t even if you needed to. He was a fucking smoke show, despite his constant denial, you knew exactly what Eddie was all about.

Selfless but selfish, indulging in the things he cared about but always worrying about the feelings of others. So undoubtedly considerate in his relationship with others, he was the kind of person you could rely on, love, see yourself spending the rest of your life with—romantically or platonically. It didn’t matter to you.

But with his hands on you now, one blunt into the night, that haze in your brain was pointing all signs of ‘god, i’m so fucking horny right now’ and you’ll be damned if you have to starve yourself of that feeling. Eddie feels it too, with how eagerly he jumped at the chance to touch your bare skin, dig his fingers into the soft, meaty flesh—that, and it gave the perfect view of your ass.

And you’re not sure when his hands stop, the only real contact he was making was the shallow thrust of his hips against your backside, far enough away that it wasn’t at all satisfying. It was torture.

He’s lost his train of thought, eyes nearly shut as his hands linger but never move, he doesn’t even feel in control of his own body.

“Eddie,” You speak softly, head turned back to look at him, though the angle was strained. He gives a small ‘huh’, eyes half lidded as he finally makes eye contact with you, “still with me?”

“Sorry,” He says, clearing his throat of the muck the smoke had left behind, his high peaking at this point, having been a while since you’d both finished off the joint, “you know how it gets when we smoke, sometimes.”

You know all too well; the exploring hands, kisses stolen in-between shared thoughts and words, the way Eddie would beg and beg to have his head between your thighs, just to get a small taste of you—the mix of weed and whatever ecstasy Eddie was trying to taste as he devour your cunt, greedily licking up every last drop of you.

You two never talked about it. It just was.

He enjoyed the way you’d take him in his mouth, almost lazily, still showing just how good it could feel outside the boundaries of his own hands, letting him fuck into your mouth earnestly.

It never got the point of fucking, though, ever.

It was the one boundary you both knew came with consequences, small or large, that needed to be talked about. But right now, you couldn’t be bothered to care, seeing the desperate expression on his face.

He’s never wanted to fuck someone so badly.

“I’m so fucking hard right now,” Eddie says honestly, chancing a glance down at the zipper of his jeans, his dick straining uncomfortably against the constricting material, “don’t mean to be, sweetheart.”

“What do you want, Eddie?” You ask gently, voice soft as his hands rise higher, almost touching the underside of your breasts where they’re pressed against the mattress.

“You.” He sighs openly, leaning his body over the expanse of yours, covering your back like a blanket. He’s so drunk off his own desperate need to for release that he’s grinding against your ass, harsher this time. The thick material of his jeans is uncomfortable against the silk of your shorts and if he really wanted to do this, he was going to do it correctly, that way it was enjoyable for both of you.

“Take your pants off.” You urge—and you can’t believe the speed at which he races to discard of the unnecessary clothing. You make an attempt to turn, but you’re stopped by the touch of his palm, pressed against the middle of your back.

“No, like this,” He insists, adjusting your ass until it’s positioned where he likes, cover bunched up underneath you for support. Despite his hazy brain, he still had the sense to be sweet, “you look so pretty like this.”

And he’s speaking nonsense, you think.

“Such a cute little ass.” He smiles satedly, hands gripping at the flesh gently, the front of his boxers pressing against you, the hard line of his dick was a shock to your system, despite being ready for it.

And you want to tilt your hips, assist in the grind of his dick against the clothed curve of your ass, help him reach whatever release he was after.

Sometimes he wanted quick and fast; the senseless type of orgasm that left you both gasping for breath after. Other times it was slow, moaning into each other’s mouths as you found that ecstasy together.

He grunts softly, almost frustrated. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” You ask, your hand gliding against the outside of his palm where it had a steady grip on your hip.

“Not enough,” He pouts dismally, movements stopping slightly, “God, I just wanna—“ He takes a deep breath through his nose, eyes falling closed as he thinks on his next words, “I really wanna fuck you, sweetheart.”

And the words are like a weight lifted off your shoulders, like hearing him say it made the decision so much easier; not afraid to cross that boundary anymore. You wanted it just as much as he did.

“Okay,” You nod slowly, turned slightly to look back at him, and he looks so fucking sweet, the way his eyes soften at the sight of you, “yeah, if you really want to.”

Eddie doesn’t waste much time, pulling at the thin material of your shorts and panties in one go, lingering on the sight of your bare ass, “Even better like this.” He says, admiring the way your neck blushed at the comment.

“Condom, Eddie.” You remind him, high but not high enough to remember that you definitely did not need the aspect of any unnecessary and unwanted surprises showing up in your life. He fetches the small foil wrapper from his bedside table, you try to ignore the jumbo size box stuffed in there.

That was a question for another time.

Eddie doesn’t spend time trying to strip any further, leaving you naked from the waist down, and pulling his boxers down just enough so they’re tucked under his balls, enough room to allow him to get where he needed.

He’s eager with how quickly his fingers slip through your folds, gathering up the embarrassing amount of slick against his fingers, making a small noise of acknowledgment before saying, “Always so fucking wet, aren’t you?”

Normally, you could keep it together, comeback something with a bit more snark, but you could only offer a small ‘uh huh’, letting one of his thick digits sink inside of you, so deprived of anything inside you for the past few months that your pussy squeezes around his finger greedily.

He sets a gentle pace, curling his finger as he went, a consistent pump in and out of you, before he’s slipping in another finger—it’s a beautiful stretch, causing you to gasp out, keening back against his hand. “Fuck, those fingers—“

“Made for you,” He comments absently, fingers working you open so easily, like this was normal for the both of you; and while some of it was, this was still all so new, “always so greedy, yeah?”

And you’re not sure if he’s talking to you directly, but you answer a weak ‘yes’ anyways.

He works you over until you’re panting, begging for him to put you out of your misery, feeling deplorable with how much he enjoyed teasing you.

“Just fuck me already, please.” You snark impatiently, throwing the wrapper back at him.

He quickly rips it open with his teeth, removing and rolling the thin latex over himself, adjusting most of his weight on one arm as he uses the tip of his cock to glide through your folds, not wasting any time as he slides in, almost buried to the hilt.

If you weren’t so blasted out of your mind, you would’ve fought him over it, but you could sense how eager he was to be buried inside of you.

He groans loudly, the grasp on your hips tighter than before, nearly bruising. He rocks his hips testingly, listening closely to the small gasps that escape your lips, almost too quiet—he can’t have that, he wants to hear you fall apart so badly.

“Never thought it would be this good, sweetheart.” He says honestly, the slow and steady rock of his hips leaving you grasping at the downy comforter, face shoved into the blanket to stifle your moans. “I mean, that pussy’s always been sweet—but it just takes me so well.”

“Yeah?” You answer pathetically, a small hiccup as he thrusts into you particularly rough.

“Wish you could see it,” He says, watching the way your cunt swallows him up, so mesmerized by what the fuck was happening that he has to take a moment, eyes rolling back into his head as he sits with the feeling, your soft moans like music to his ears, “taking me so well, baby.”

And that really shouldn’t affect you the way it does, but your pussy clenches around him at the endearment, causing Eddie to curse out, delivering another rough thrust into you.

“So good,” He murmurs, body now leaned over you almost completely, fucking into you with earnest, the slide of his body against yours, warm and sticky skin against yours—it was overwhelming in all the best ways.

You reach behind you, desperate to hold onto a piece of him; anything. Your hand finds his hair, grabbing loosely on a handful of strands, his mouth ghosting over the back of your neck as he groans, his hands digging into the pillow on either side of your head.

You never had any exceptions on what it would be like to be fucked by Eddie, sober or not—but it’s indescribable, so many emotions hitting you all at once, and you want to cry from the absolute sheer amount of pleasure you’re body was taking, but also because Eddie was so fucking soft, while still managing that primal need he had.

“Always dreamt of fucking you.” He says without thinking.

And maybe that could ruin your friendship. But, maybe it wouldn’t. You answer with a pathetic moan, another broken sob. “Yeah?” You force out, “Just like this?”

“Every way,” He admits, hand sneaking around to your front, over the sensitive bud of your clit. It’s the first time he’s showed it any attention all night, but you can’t find it in you to complain, gasping at the quick, tight circles he makes, “any way.”

“I’m close, Eddie—“ You warn, hips bucking desperately against his hand as he continues to fuck into you, hips quick and sloppy, on the precipice of his own orgasm.

“Yeah? Gonna come with me, sweetheart?” It isn’t meant to sound like a challenge, but you take it that way, nodding quickly.

His thrusts are wild, pounding into you so relentlessly that you don’t even have time to catch your breath, the two fingers pressed against your clit, quick and precise motions—that’s what sends you over the edge.

“Fuck,” Eddie swears, the last clench of your walls against his cock was all he needed, spilling into the condom, still buried inside you. He holds you close, letting you ride the wave of your own orgasm, nearly in tears by how hard it hits you.

“I’m okay.” You let him know, once you’ve sufficiently recovered, groaning in protest at the feeling of him slipping out of you, discarded the condom in the trash at the corner of his room.

You reach for you shorts, ready to hightail it out of there and get home, much like you usually did after these situations. But, Eddie wasn’t going to let that happen. Not this time.

He shakes his head, making a soft noise as he grabs into your wrist, motioning for you to lay back down, finding your way into the nook of his arm, settled closely against his clothed chest.

“You’re not getting away that quickly,” He complains, kicking his blanket up until it’s covering you both, “I still want to hang out.”

It sounds ridiculous in retrospect, the concept of hanging out now completely out the window, at least it seemed that way. But again, Eddie didn’t care—carrying on with conversation like normal, like he hadn’t just fully wrecked every thought process you’d had, body so fucked out that all you could was lay there, pliant to him.

“We gotta smoke like that more often.” You joke, giggling softly, eyes glancing up to stare into his own deep, brown ones.

“Sweetheart, I can fuck you like that whenever you want—I don’t need to be high.” He points out and you could almost kiss him. Almost.

“We’ll see about.” You reply back coyly, fingers dancing up the side expanse of his chest, thumb catching at the bottom of his lip, which he bites teasingly.

It only takes about a half hour before Eddie has you spread out over his lap, fucking up into you lazily.

“I gotta ask,” You say, breaking the blanket of silence, “Why do you have so many condoms?”

Not to say that Eddie wasn’t pulling—he had to be, but it seemed like overkill.

“Wayne really hates the idea of kids. He just wants me to be safe.”

You snort, and somehow that still doesn’t kill the mood, only sending you into a short fit of laughter. Eddie quickly fucks it out of you though, sending you down the path of your second orgasm that night.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #my writing #1kfic #5kfic

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octopiys · 10 months

Text

Some incorrect quotes and scenes for the pies

Roach: *Screams*

Ghost: *Screams louder to establish dominance*

Capt. MacTavish: Should we do something?

Capt. Price: No, I want to see who wins.

Alejandro: You lying, cheating, piece of shit!

Valeria: Oh yeah? You’re the idiot who thinks you can get away with everything you do. WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD

Alejandro: I’m leaving you, and I’M TAKING RODOLFO WITH ME

Rodolfo, picking up the monopoly board: I think we’re gonna stop playing now.

Price: You know, not every problem can be solved with a knife.

Ghost: That's why I carry two knives.

Soap: I made tea.

Ghost: I don’t want tea.

Soap: ....I did not make tea for you. This is my tea.

Ghost: Then why are you telling me?

Soap: It is a conversation starter.

Ghost: That’s a lousy conversation starter.

Soap: Oh, is it? We are conversing. Checkmate.

Gaz: Is letting someone win at chess sapiosexual bottoming

Price, putting his head in his hands: Does anyone in this goddamn team ever think before they speak-

Graves: Must be hard not being able to laugh

Alejandro: I do have a sense of humor you know

Graves: I’ve never heard you laugh before

Alejandro: I’ve never heard you say anything funny

Graves:

Graves: fuck you

Alejandro: fuck you

Soap, motioning to a Halloween display: All these ghosts! All these ghosts! I still can’t find a boo.

Ghost:

Ghost: is it because I said I didn't want your tea-

Soap: YES ITS BECAUSE YOU SAID YOU DIDNT WANT MY TEA

Ghost: Schrödinger’s cat is overrated. If you wanna see something that’s both dead and alive you can talk to me any time of the day.

Gaz, just finding out that Ghost is legally dead:

Gaz: Why isn’t the statue smirking at me?

Price: It isn’t smirking at anyone, they’re all just imagining it.

Soap: Three of us saw it, Cap. How do you explain that?

Price: *points at Soap* Sleep deprivation. *points at König* Paranoia. *points at Ghost* Delusional personality disorder.

Gaz:

Gaz: damn.

Roze: What’s something you guys are better than Horangi at?

Hutch: Mario Kart.

O'Conor: Yeah, video games.

König: Emotional vulnerability

Graves: *Gets down on one knee*

Alejandro: Oh my god, it’s finally happening.

Graves: *Falls over*

Alejandro: The poison is kicking in.

Gaz, after falling out of a heli for the third time: Do you take constructive criticism?

Nikolai: I only take cash or credit.

Soap: Can you keep a secret?

Ghost: Do you know anything about my life?

Soap: No I do not. Good point.

Gaz: Hey heads up if you try to make a candle with food coloring, the food coloring will just sink to the bottom of the glass, and when the flame eventually reaches the bottom all the food coloring will catch fire and become one giant tall flame that you cannot possibly blow out and the glass will start to crack and then you'll throw your tea on it in a panic and then the extremely hot food coloring will boil and sizzle horribly and then the glass will shatter. Please take my word on this haha-

Roach: What did you-?

Gaz: A MISTAKE WAS MADE

I just wanna say thank you all sm for 300 followers! You all r loved and I'm not good with responses but I appreciate them all so muck, thank u again :DDDDD

#call of duty #cod mw2 #modern warfare 2 #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #incorrect quotes #captain john price #alejandro vargas #alerudy #rodolfo parra #kyle gaz garrick #gary roach sanderson #könig modern warfare #horangi #nikolai cod #phillip graves #valeria garza

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queers-gambit · 2 months

Text

Now and at the Hour of His Death

prompt: any who say, "it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all," were never loved by him.

pairing: Osferth x female!pregnant!wife!reader

fandom: The Last Kingdom

word count: 6.1k+

note: fuck you, Netflix.

warnings: you already know - author needs therapy, projects hard, pregnant wife, Lord’s name in vain, Christianity (obviously), and a fuck ton of fucking ANGST because fuck your feelings. hurt NO comfort, drama, oneshot, cursing, canon-typical violence, injury, and blood. character death and spoilers - yeah, i'm giving you THAT scene. requires maturity and caution. good luck.

also please note: NO, i do not age Osferth to be 16 - that's just a reference age for when he eventually runs away from the monastery.

again, you are missing nothing if this upsets or triggers you and you choose to skip. value your wellbeing, my angels. author is not responsible for the media YOU choose consume, but still, as usual, MDNI

"You should not be doing this sort of work," Ingrith's voice scolded you, and when you turned, you saw the blonde woman standing with her hip cocked and a stern expression. "It's bad for your health to be in such filth, we've stable boys for this sort of chore."

"I do not mind," you sniffled in the brisk air, shoveling the horse shit of the stable into a muck bucket to be dumped into the fields later. "It keeps me busy," you grunted lightly, sure to bend your knees when lifting the pitchfork, "keeps me humble," you listed, dumping the waste to grin at your friend, "and keeps me young."

"In what way?"

"Reminds me of my childhood," you eased, continuing your work. "I slept in a stable from the ages of 4 to... Oh, shit, I guess I was about 16 before I left The Loft."

"What?" She breathed in confusion. "Never knew that."

"Yeah, yeah, true story," you beamed at her, still shoveling shit. "I slept in the stalls with the horses, sometimes in the grain rooms - basically anywhere I could since my work didn't include official room and board, so, I had to make do with what was available. Then, one day when I was about ten, Old Man Rivers said I could use the hay loft if I cleared it out, fixed the rotten planks. Stayed up there till I was about 16, and after that, I kinda ran away."

"Old Man Rivers?"

You nodded, "My mother lived on his homestead, but she was real sick, you see. So, he kinda took me in without assuming responsibility for me," you cleared your throat, shrugging, "let me stay in his barn if I worked with the horses and livestock for him."

"Why would you want to be reminded of that?"

"Seems simpler when I look back."

Ingrith sighed, "C'mon, put the pitchfork down. Come help me prepare the rabbits. The scouts say the men aren't too far off, they'll want a hot meal."

You chuckled with ease and set your pitchfork aside, giving a hearty pat to one of the horse's necks as you passed by to exit the stable. Ingrith made sure you washed up before you were both mounting rabbits on the rack to start skinning them.

"Could I ask something?" She wondered after a time.

"Anything you'd like."

"Why'd you run away? From Old Man Rivers?"

You laughed, "I was in love."

"Oh, you and Baby Monk go that far back, huh?"

"Try even farther," you teased. "Our mothers were friends, and when I worked in the stable, he was in the monastery, but when he came to me, saying he couldn't do it any longer, I couldn't let him go alone. Life was supposed to offer more than what we were given, so, we set out to find the legendary barbarian, The Dane Slayer," you teased, both giggling, "our Lord, the legendary, Uhtred of Bebbanburg."

"And all this time...?" She smiled, watching you shuck hide like you've done it your whole life. Ingrith inferred you probably did.

"Yeah," you eased, "all this time, he's been by my side. Kept me close, never left me behind. The others weren't too sure about me on account of being a woman, they told us to piss off a few times - but they came around after Osferth refused to send me away."

"He's a good lad, Osferth," she nodded.

"Arguably one of the best ones," you agreed, nudging her arm gently, "but look who I'm telling, right?"

"Oh!" She giggled, swatting at you loosely before going back to your work for a moment. Suddenly, the townspeople of Rumcofa stirred to life, and over the voices, you heard them announcing their Lord's return - which meant all of your men were home. You both grinned and breathlessly left your post, Ingrith pausing a young lad to ask, "How many return to us?"

"Does it matter? Come, c'mon, let us see ourselves!" You all but squealed, overwhelmed with excitment; eager for your own reunion with the man you've loved since you were a young lass.

"Warn the alehouse!" Finan was heard shouting. "Osferth's thirsty!"

"Jesus," you laughed, dodging around the procession of people waiting to greet their warriors on their return home so you could approach the white gelding your husband rode.

His face was absolutely priceless when he caught sight of you. As Osferth eagerly dismounted, your hands smoothed over the small swell of your belly - purposefully wearing a dress that accentuated your ever-changing figure. "Am I dreaming?" He laughed, a stablehand taking hold of his horse so his hands were free to caress your belly. "Oh, my God, I'm not, 's real, oh, God," he beamed, laughing with you. "You're pregnant? Truly? Yes? I-I am not - I am not being deceived?"

"No, my love, I guess our prayers were finally heard."

"OH-HOOOO!" You heard Finan holler as Osferth finally pulled you in for a sweet kiss; both ignoring the Irishman. "Lord! LORD! Uhtred! Hey! Did you hear!? Baby Monk's got some spunk in 'im afta all!"

"Oh, God," you laughed against Osferth's lips, but he was quick to shush you with another breath-stealing kiss.

"A baby Baby Monk! AHA!" Finan was still laughing, your husband's hands caressing both your cheeks when he pulled back just in time for Finan to descend. You grunted lightly when his heavy arms dropped over both yours and Osferth's shoulders, his laugh still booming as he gave a squeeze and cooed, "Oh, congratulations, yah two love birds! Wasn't sure you had it innyah, boy!"

"Don't be so rough with her, Finan, for God's sake," Osferth scolded, nudging his friend to get out from under his arm.

"What?" Finan looked at you gobsmacked. "Sayin' I gotta treat yah different now or somethin'?"

"I didn't say that," you told him prettily with fluttering lashes, fist quickly balling up to jab him in the weak spot of his armor - making him grunt and wheeze. "Aht-aht!" You warned with a pointed finger when he flinched as if to retaliate, "Can't hit a pregnant woman."

"Oh, yeh li'l shite," Finan laughed, Osferth pushing him towards his wife so he could stand in front of you and command all attention.

Osferth took a moment to simply look at you; thumbs gently tracing over your cheeks in sweeping motions, a slow grin breaking across his lips. "This almost doesn't feel real... But how I have to praise God for this blessing. A baby," he breathed.

"A little you and me," you agreed softly. "Sound okay to you?"

"More than okay," he chuckled, pecking your lips, "sounds like a lifetime together."

"Good by me." His nose nuzzled up yours, the sweet moment broken when he sighed sadly; eyes shut and smile dropping. "What is it? What's wrong, love?" You asked, stepping into his embrace so you were nuzzled into his neck and his arms were wrapped around your form in a vice.

"Uhtred means to move us again," he whispered in your ear. "Brida, she... She's got Father Pyrlig, and - "

"What!?" You snapped, rearing back slightly to pin him under your hardened glare. Pregnancy hormones would surely give Osferth whiplash.

"My love, I did not - "

"Brida's got Pyrlig? Fuck are we standin' here for, let's go!" You reached for his hand, ready to march off.

"Uh, no, no, no, no," he pulled you back to him; anchoring his hands on your hips so you could not escape. "You are not going anywhere. Not now - especially now," he glanced at your still-growing bump. "The men will go, you know we will return, but you have this new responsibility, and that's keeping this little one safe. For us," he smiled at you.

You huffed, "I'm not unfit to do what needs done, Osferth."

"I did not say you were unfit, but look at the timing of it," he frowned. "I should've been here when you learned, but I was not, and I am truly so sorry for it. Look, I do not know how long this venture will be, but you know I will return. We've waited for our family for far too long, I will not jeopardize this - so I will return. If you go with us, and something were to happen," he shook his head, "my angel, I would never forgive myself. So I need you to stay here, stay safe, if for nothing else but for me."

"But Pyrlig - "

"Will be saved," he assured.

"And Brida - "

"Will be dealt with," he eased, chuckling lightly. "My angel, you worry too much about everyone and yet never about yourself."

You pouted, "Well, why is it just me meant to stay back? This is your child, too, Osferth, and should have the right to meet them! You can't always control what happens, accidents are real, what if you don't return - "

"Don't think like that - "

"But it's a real threat to us - "

He agreed, "Of course, but - "

"Yeah, I know," you nodded, cutting him off, "we serve Lord Uhtred. This comes first, and I'm not - "

"I've made a vow to him."

"You made one to me, too, you know."

"Angel, please, don't do this. Do not ask me to choose," he begged with a frown, and you caved.

So, with a sigh, you nuzzled into his embrace and relented, "All right, yes, fine, go after Brida and Pyrlig. And when you find them, tell him I am waiting for his safe return, he is dearly missed. Ideally, I'd have him birth our child."

"Of course," he breathed, finding a small reprieve of relief that you did not fight him further about leaving - about choosing which vow to fulfill: the one to his Lord Uhtred or the one to his wife.

Both made to God.

Luckily, Osferth married his best friend and you were never one to pick fights with him. You liked the harmony you had; the peaceful environment you had both cultivated to preserve the trust and love you built through the years. He was genuinely one of a kind; a man who walked many lines between faith, humanity, right, wrong. He was the voice of reason, constantly striving to do better than he did before, learning all he could as if a rag soaking in water. For all he was, Osferth has always been enough for you, and for that reason alone, you never felt the need to argue.

To fight. To voice contempt.

"Question," you perked up, smirking at him as your pregnancy symptoms ran a little wild, "think we've time to, you know, really give our thanks?"

"Angel - "

"What?" You grinned. "You fucked me on the alter all those weeks ago and look - your seed stuck. We might as well go give thanks in the same manner, just to really show God how thankful we are for this blessing he's given us."

"Think the Devil's gotten into you," he laughed.

"Or your child is ruining my hormones," you countered, his lips meeting yours in another passionate display of his excitement.

"C'mon," he whispered, taking your hand, and leading you to the chapel - thinking you were being sneaky, but your matching giggles made Ingrith and Finan beam at each other.

"He does know she can't get more pregnant, right?" Finan teased, flinching when Ingrith smacked his upper arm.

"WHY!?"

"My angel, please - "

"What the fuck is going on, Osferth!?"

"I'm trying to explain - "

"The Queen? The fucking Queen is dead in our village! How can that possibly be explained!?" When Osferth didn't answer, just sat in the wooden chair before the shared hearth of your humble home, you snapped, "Well!?"

"Are you finished? May I speak now?"

With a huff, you nodded and gestured for him to speak; arms crossing around your swollen tits. He explained to you the reason for Haesten's arrival, the wagon his men toted, and why he brought the Queen's dead body to the settlement of Rumcofa. He told you Haesten wanted to keep the peace when King Edward found out, claiming Uhtred's son-in-law, Stiorra's husband, Sigtryggr, had ordered this death - thinking war would surely roll over his lands.

You never knew Haesten to be a generous man, nor much of an honest one, but it seemed the severity of the situation made everyone eerily on-edge. Uhtred dispatched his men; leaving Finan and Osferth in the village with you, developing a plan that would save both Saxon and Danish life. And yet, it was all futile when evil forces worked against good.

You didn't feel safe in Rumcofa anymore, there was a stench in the air; tension that mounted to embrace all residents with discomfort. Something was about to happen, but nobody knew what. You didn't claim or pretend to know what was happening, but Haesten's abrupt appearance spelled danger for everyone involved. So, as a security measure, you kept a long sword buckled around your swelling waist and a dagger strapped under your skirts. With Lord Uhtred gone, there was no invisible fence protecting Rumcofa - leaving it up to you, Osferth, Finan, and Cynleaf to pose as guard.

Yet you'd never be enough.

Like the surf over sand, a group of angered men descended on Rumcofa. "Who's men are yah?" Finan asked, you lingering at Osferth's side to watch the interaction from a short distance.

"We come from the King," a burly Saxon replied, your head cocking in interest - swearing you've seen him before. "Dane murderers are hiding here and you must hand them over."

"You're mistaken, sir," you kindly offered, the man's eyes shifting over you, "because we live in peace. Any murderers have surely moved on from here. We do not host them."

The man growled, "Don't think that's true, love."

Finan held a hand back at you, meeting your eyes and nodding simply. He turned back for the man in fur, diverting, "Of course, my men will attend to it."

Finan turned from the group, his eyes connecting with yours as he passed by. There was urgency, a quickened pace he adopted; having no intention to hand anyone over, wanting to remove these men without bloodshed. However, that was a distant thought because Father Benedict tried to assure the Saxon leader that nobody in Rumcofa would murder Queen Aelflaed.

You wanted to step in when the Saxon evidently didn't know about the Queen's demise - getting in Benedict's face and demanding to see what he spoke of.

"No, no, no," you muttered nervously, "he can't see the body, love, no, no, no, this is bad. Very bad."

"We can't stop Father Benedict without altercation," Osferth whispered back, keeping a tight hold of your hand, just watching the group. "If something happens, you need to get yourself safe."

"How do we truly know they're from Edward? What credentials do they have?" When Osferth shook his head, you worried, "Got a bad feeling 'bout this, angel."

Then the violence began.

The strange men took charge when their leader walked away, starting to physically harass the citizens; making both you and Osferth step in to try and diffuse the tension. You pushed men off unarmed women, got in between them and the children, did what you could without drawing a weapon.

When a man shoved you away from him, Finan wrangled him away, sneering, "Get yer hands off of her!" He kept the violent men at bay for a moment, telling you, "You need to go, darling - "

"Not now, Fin, look around us! We need to contain the situation, you'll need all hands you can get," You snapped, the two of you forced to part way.

Osferth panted nervously and looked left and right, turning to meet the Saxon and demand, "Tell your men to stand down!" But then, his eyes squinted when you joined his side to pull him back a step or two, recognizing him just as you did.

"I don't think they're here for the Queen, love," you heaved for breath in warning, still backing him up. "They've planned this."

"Finan!" Osferth barked, "These men have been here before!"

The Saxon roared over the fray, "Danes of Rumcofa have murdered our Queen!" His men jeered in anger, making Finan brandish both swords and for Osferth to push you back further from the attention. "Do your duty and rid the cockles from the wheat!"

You were left no choice. Osferth and you both armed yourselves, starting to fight off the Saxons as their leader demanded Danes and Christians be separated. You were unable to help, engaged in battle, but Young Uhtred gathered the Danes and begged Father Benedict to declare the church a sanctuary - thinking it would save lives.

It was only leading the Danes to slaughter.

The Saxon, Bresal, punched Father Benedict when he tried to stand in the way; his men holding Young Uhtred in the doorway to let their men enter the church the Danes were gathered in. They forced Young Uhtred to watch the massacre - men, women, and Danish children all slaughtered with no escape. No hope. No answer to a single prayer. Nobody to stop this bloody situation.

You fought on, Osferth, Finan, and Cynleaf doing their best to protect you by keeping you in the middle of their wee group. But you still got plenty of action.

"This is madness!" You cried out, slicing a man's throat open. "We need aid! We need more men!"

"This way!" Finan encouraged, "We must cut a path for Ingrith! Check the docks! Check the docks!"

You and Osferth ran towards the water, Cynleaf not far away. You searched for Ingrith, but you had no time to linger; engaged one-on-one again, forced to protect yourself and unborn baby. Not a minute later, you saw Ingrith on horseback, being stalled by a Saxon and for your husband to rush to her aid. He punched the man away from the horse, you hacking at another enemy, in time to see Osferth engaging with two Saxons - one being the leader, Bresal.

It all happened so fast.

You were already racing towards them when the unexpected. Osferth was battling on two fronts, holding Bresal at bay, fending off the other Saxon, screaming for Ingrith, who only managed a few paces before the Saxon's dogs spooked her horse. The noise was deafening; people screaming, crying, dogs barking, horses whinnying, swords singing as they clashed.

You watched it happen in slow motion.

You sprinted faster than ever before.

"INGRITH!" Osferth bellowed in worry when her horse reared back and dropped her to the dirt. It left an opening for Bresal to stab his dagger into Osferth's lung - freezing time and wrecking your world.

"NO!" You screamed, Bresal smirking at you and yanking his dagger free. Osferth wobbled, eyes wide as he met yours, the Saxon walking away as Osferth dropped to his knees. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no! Oh, God, no, no, you can't take him - not yet! Please, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no," You repeated, sliding on your knees in the dirt to catch him. "No, no, oh, my God, no, Osferth, no, please! Not now, not now, please, no, God, no! Don't do this! Please, please, please," you rambled, readjusting to better hold him, hearing Cynleaf and Finan yell for Baby Monk, too. You raged at God, "You can't take him yet! You can't have him! He's mine!"

But you heard nothing except your husband's labored breathing.

"An-Angel, angel, my angel," Osferth choked, wheezing and crying as he couldn't hold himself up and completely slumped back into your body. He pawed at your arms in an attempt to get closer.

"No, no, no, you're all right, you're okay, you're okay, my sweet love, you're all right," you insisted, hands stained in his blood as it poured from his wound. You knew it was essential to add pressure to a wound, but also, that this was all futile. Yet you needed to try. "Hey, hey, hey, look at me, just look at me, sweetheart, please, only look at me, nothing else matters," you pleaded with him in a rush, the lads sprinting to where you held your husband to your lap.

Nobody interrupted you.

"Where's the wound?" Osferth sobbed, trembling, blood spurting from his mouth; going paler by the minute. "Angel, please, the wound? Where's the wound?"

"No, no, no, don't worry 'bout that, hey? Don't you worry, you just keep looking at me," you sobbed, holding his neck and cradling him to your swollen belly. "Just at me, my love, okay? Just look at me - don't look anywhere else, okay? Nothing else matters."

"H-How bad? How ba-ba-bad-bad is i-it?"

"You're going to be all right," you lied to Osferth for the first time.

"Oh, my God, oh, my God," Osferth repeated through his tears and fears, "I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die."

He held onto you desperately, sobbing, you slowly rocking. "No, you're all right, Osferth, it's okay, just look at me." You caressed his cheek, smearing blood, but locking eyes. "My love," you whispered, "listen to me - "

"I don't wanna die, please, please, angel, my love, please," he coughed, holding your arm tightly as if it would give him life. "Don't let me die," he wheezed, "don't let me die, my love, please, please. Don't let me die, I don't wanna die. I-I wanna meet our baby, please, I want to meet our baby, I want to be a father. Don't let me die, love, please, I-I wanna be your husband longer - "

"You'll never not be my husband and you'll never not be a father, hear me?" You sniffled, trying to smile at him. "Don't you worry, you're gonna be okay, you're okay, Osferth. You'll always be my husband, nothing will change that - I swear."

Blood pumped with each beat of his frantic heart, making it gush over your fingers. You didn't even feel it.

"Please," he choked, more blood bubbling from his lips, "don't let me die, I don't wanna die. Don't let me die, please, not now, not when our baby isn't here yet, please, I just wanna meet 'em, be a family, I wanna stay with you, don't let me go. Please, don't let me go, I don't want t'go! Don't let me - "

"Shh, it's okay, you're okay. I'm here with you. I'm right here, Osferth, you're not alone, you're never alone. I'm here. I've got you. I'll always have you, I won't ever let you go. Never."

He sobbed harder. "I don't wanna leave you. Please, I don't wanna go, I don't wanna be without you - " But the words choked him, a splatter spraying across your face when he coughed; you didn't even flinch.

"Listen to me," you begged, "I commend you, my dear, sweet husband, to Almighty God, and entrust you to your Creator."

Finan was heard behind you, retching jarring sobs as you read Osferth his death rite prayer. "Don't let me die," Osferth begged still, as if you held that power.

He had always looked at you as if you hung the sun and stars, and now, as if you were his very reason for living. You hated God in that moment for forcing you two through this.

"May you return to Him who formed you from the dust of the earth. May Holy Mary, the angels," now, you choked on your words, emotion clawing your throat, but still continued, "and all the saints come to meet you as you go forth from this life. May Christ who was crucified for you bring you freedom and peace." You sobbed, "May Christ who died for you admit you into His garden of paradise. May Christ, the true Shepherd, acknowledge you as one of His flock. May He forgive all your sins, and set you among those He has chosen. Amen. Please, please, say amen, Osferth, say it, please!"

"A-Amen - Amen!" He coughed, trying to get closer to you, nestling into your warmth as he felt impossibly cold. "Don't leave me, don't leave me, please, please, I don't wanna go, I don't wanna be alone. I can't go without you, please, don't let me go - don't let me die, angel, please, I can't go without you. I-I’ve never been without you my whole life, I don’t wish to start now. I love you. I-I love you, please, don't let me go, I love you. I need you."

"You'll never be without me," you promised, face coated in blood, grime, dirt, and ash; all streaked with your tear tracks. "You will always be my husband, hey? Hear me? You're always gonna be with me, I will never be apart from you. I'll love you forever, Osferth, I won't ever stop." You felt your chest cave in as you sobbed, "Please, don't you leave me - "

But Osferth was wheezing and panting, only staring up at you. "I only need you," he whimpered, "I've only ever needed you, I can't do this without you. Please, I can't - I can't go without you. I don't want to leave you, I can't leave you, please!'

"So don't leave me," you sobbed, him still clawing at you in desperation. "I love you more than life, Osferth, please, don't leave me, okay? Don't go. I love you so much. Being loved by you was my greatest pleasure in this life, I want our child to know your love, too, Osferth, please, don't go."

"I-I wanna meet our baby, I wanna hold 'em, love 'em," he repeated. "Please, this can't be the end, don't let this be the end. W-We have so much more - we were supposed to have eternity together, my love, my angel, please! This isn't the end, I can't - I can't go without you!"

"You're okay," you soothed uselessly, rocking more prominently. "Just stay with me, my love, okay? Stay with me. Don't go. Only look at me, all right? You hear me?" You sniffled, caressing his cheek. "You're the best thing in my life, Osferth, yeah? Understand me? Where you're going, y-you'll be welcomed a hero, with open arms. You'll be my own angel. My real angel. The reason I keep going for our child. An-And you'll stay there just for a little while until I join you, okay? You'll watch over us, me and the baby, right? Our own angel? Hey? 'Cause you'll never be part from us - you'll never be apart from me. You and I are a forever sorta thing, we'll never be apart, we'll always be part of each other no matter what."

Osferth lost his words, eyes widening and pulling you closer.

You just soothed, "I'm here with you, my love. I'm here, I've got you. You're not alone, I'm right here, I have you. I've got you. I love you. I love you so fucking much, Osferth, okay? I love you more than anything, you're my everything. I love you," you sniffled, breaking down in worse sobs, repeating, "I love you, I love you, I love you so much, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry I wasn't faster, I love you, this shouldn't be happening. I'm so sorry, I should've come faster! I love you, I'm so sorry."

With his last breath, Osferth choked, "L-Love y-y-you."

"I love you," you hushed, bending at the waist to rest your forehead on his, "I love you so much. You're gonna be okay, you're gonna be all right, you'll be safe - where you're going, you'll be safe. I'm so sorry, my love... I'm so sorry."

You felt him go still. You felt the last of his breath exhale, his body deflate. You felt his soul detach from his body.

You froze.

"Oh, my God," you breathed, pulling back to look down at his petrified features. "Oh, my God, no, no, no. God, please, please, give him back," you sobbed, "give him back to me! Do not take him! It's not his time, you selfish cunt! Give him back! It wasn't supposed to end like this! Give him back to me, please! Please! This isn't how this was supposed to happen! We promised eternity together, please! Let us have that! Let us be together, give him back to me! I need him!"

Your shrill hysterics were heard all over Rumcofa.

Finan sobbed into his wife's arms behind you, Cynleaf knelt to slowly extend his hand onto your shoulder. "I'm so sorry," he offered, but you pushed him away harshly; knocking him into the dirt.

"No! I don't want your fucking condolences!" You snapped, holding Osferth tighter, "I want my husband! I want my husband back! Can you give him to me? Can you, Cynleaf? Can you give him back to me!?"

"No - "

"Then you have nothing to offer me! I want nothing else, nothing from you! I only want him!" You looked away from the young lad, finding Osferth's wide open eyes staring up at you. You whimpered, "I only need him, so, please. Please, give him back to me. Please. I need him, I need him, I can't do this without him, please, God, don't do this. You take so many lives, why add him to the mix!? Give him back! C'mon," you begged the cooling body, "c'mon, love, get up. Get up for me, please, just wake up. Come back to me, get up... Get up, Osferth, get up! Please! WAKE UP!"

But Osferth never moved. Never blinked. Never drew breath. And God never answered your pleas. Your dress was saturated in your husband's blood; a pooling puddle seeping into your knees, bodice drenched, his baby moving in your belly. You wailed into the still air, holding your husband tight to your chest; mouth agape to release the terrible screams of anguish, tears never ending, rocking on your knees. You didn't know what to feel... But devastation was prominent.

You wept until your throat went raw, jaw tender from your open mouth. "I'm so sorry!" You repeated, "I should've been quicker! I should've been at your side! You shouldn't have been alone! This is my fault! This is all my fault, I shouldn't have been away from you. I should've been with you, you did not deserve this end. Please! Forgive me, wherever you are, forgive me, I did not intend for this, I shouldn't have left you, I should've been at your side, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault, I'm so sorry."

"No," Ingrith whispered, "no, do not say this is your fault, you did nothing - "

"Exactly!" You snapped at her, eyes ablaze, her husband silent. "I did nothing, I wasn't with him! I wasn't where I was supposed to be! And he was stabbed because of you!"

Finan whispered your name in reprimand.

"No! How many times have you rode a fucking horse, Ingrith!? And now, today, the time it truly matters, you fall; you posed distraction," you sobbed, crumpling in on yourself. "He was distracted by your fall... This shouldn't've happened, this is all wrong!"

The trio just watched you, knowing your emotions were raw and unwavering, that your words did not have meaning because your husband had just died in your arms. Hours passed, you did not move. Hours passed, your husband did not return. Hours passed, and your heart shattered with each passing breath you selfishly drew.

Because living felt selfish now without Osferth.

"Sweet one," Finan whispered, the sun setting, "we should move him. Bring him to the church so Benedict can pray."

Your head shook, "No."

"Darlin', we have to - "

"No," you whimpered, "because if you take him to Benedict, it's real. If we move, he's truly gone... He can't be gone, Finan," you sobbed, meeting your friend's eyes. "If you move him, he's gone, I'm not ready to say goodbye, please. Please, don't take him from me."

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, "but he should be laid to rest."

"Don't take him from me," you begged, a new wave of tears starting. "I just - we were supposed to be a family. We were supposed to have this baby, and now, it's just me? This cannot be, so please, don't take him from me, I only need him back. Give him back to me, Finan, please, I can't be without him."

"I know," he nodded, gently encouraging you into his embrace. It meant you had to let go of Osferth, something you did slowly and gradually, leaning into the Irishman's chest. "All right, I got yah," he whispered, looking to his wife. "C'mon, stand with Ingrith. I'll carry him."

"Be gentle," you sobbed, feeling Ingrith grip your arms to help heave you to your feet; watching Finan scoop Osferth over his shoulder. The change of position made more blood splatter to the dirt, your heart stalling in your chest when you heard the mess.

You felt your soul shriveled and hidden somewhere deep in your chest, following as if in a trance. You watched Finan and Cynleaf slowly lower Osferth to the ground with the other dead Danes, feeling yourself drop to the ground in shock.

Seeing Osferth amongst the dead made it so much more real.

"It's all my fault," you sobbed, Finan moving to your side, "it's all my fault, I got him killed. I should've been quicker. This is my fault, my fault, I did this, 's my fault."

Finan knelt beside you, bringing your foreheads together to hold you tightly and let you sob into his embrace. "You didn't do this," he promised, "you did nothing wrong. You are not at fault. Do not carry this guilt."

You sobbed without reprieve.

Young Uhtred halted Father Benedict from praying over the Danes, telling the older man they had different customs, but looked back at you. He asked your name softly, wondering, "Do you wish for a prayer for... Him?"

Even Young Uhtred couldn't stomach the truth, avoiding using Osferth's name out of sheer disbelief.

"That'd be nice," Finan agreed, turning to sit beside you and hold you under his arm. You leaned into his embrace, head to his shoulder. "She read him his death rites when... It happened."

Young Uhtred nodded, bowing his head, leading, "Our Father, Who art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name. Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done, On earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread, And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

Then, you joined from under Finan's heavy arm, sobbing through your words, "Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now, and at the hour of our death."

Benedict finished, "Glory Be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end."

Together, you, Ingrith, Young Uhtred, Benedict, Finan, and even Cynleaf ended, "Amen."

Feeling the most level-headed, Ingrith stepped in and directed the men; informing that Young Uhtred should lead the remaining Danes to Daneland, Finan and Cynleaf would meet Uhtred on the road, and she would accompany you to Wessex - where Osferth could be laid to rest at the place of his birth. Then, the people mourned together for their fallen.

Finan disagreed initially, telling his wife you were his responsibility now that Osferth was passed. But there was no way you could continue with the company, not in your pregnant state. Finan didn't like the idea of you being without him, considering you close to a sister; something of a best mate, someone he couldn't turn his back on - no matter the situation. However, he understood the predicament and finally agreed to part ways, but not before he untied Osferth's crucifix and latched it around your neck. At the gates of Rumcofa, before separating, Finan gifted you his rosary; thinking it might bring comfort in his physical absence.

Years from then, you would bring up a single son named Gabriel (a name your husband favored, a name benefitting an Angel) under Lord Uhtred in his birthplace of Bebbanburg. You never remarried. You never even so much as looked after another man with lust. Gabriel would grow into a handsome warrior and a devoted man of God, satisfied on tales about his father; being painted as a man of honor, integrity, and bravery. Osferth, too, was a man of God, a man of the sword, and a man of his word... Until the very end. And when your time came, you were brought back to Wessex to be laid to rest with your husband; your son having a son, naming him Osferth, and knowing, both his parents shined down on him in pride.

It was a comfort for everyone to know, somewhere in the afterlife, in God's warmth, you and Osferth were reunited; looking just as you did the day you parted from one another.

requesting rules and masterlist

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chaifighter · 6 months

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Rewatched Pacific Rim Uprising the other day with my sister and god. Just. What a masterpiece of funnybad cinema. Mako’s never-mentioned-before brother is the main character alongside a girlboss teenager whose homemade jaeger curls up in a ball and rolls like Sonic. Mako dresses like a flight attendant now. Drift compatibility is no longer a measure of your connection to another person, instead it’s something you’re ‘good at’ or not. Raleigh died offscreen of cancer years before the movie but this is only addressed in the novels so when you’re watching pru you’re just wondering why no one even mentions him. (There’s a moment after Mako’s death (she died bc her never-mentioned-before brother’s jaeger fumbled the pass on her helicopter lmaooo) where you see a memorial with her, Stacker, and… one of the Russians? Not Raleigh? Why did they not put Raleigh’s face there to at least communicate that he’s dead?) The Jaeger program inexplicably still exists even though there are no kaiju. The government was trying to defund Jaegers in favor of the sea wall even when the kaiju were still around and tearing through the wall like tissue paper on a weekly basis, why are they still funding them when the only demonstrated use case is as oversized cops that can barely navigate a city street. Anathema Device is there just to be the pivot in the world’s blandest love triangle (semi resolved by a winky implication of a polycule? Okay sure I guess). There’s an evil black Jaeger which exists for no reason conceivable outside of Doylist apologia. One of the Cool New Toys Jaegers is just a normal big robot with a spike ball on one arm it looks so fucking stupid. Charlie Day is eating up every scene he’s in and Burn Gorman is having the time of his life elbow deep in kaiju guts. (The two of them and their scenes are genuinely great zero complaints but they’re living in a different movie than the rest of the characters.) (Okay for real I have to address it Newt and Hermann are genuinely so good in this movie 1) for what and 2) fucking how? Why is Hermann mucking around in kaiju entrails He Would Not Fucking Do That but Burn is having so much fun it works somehow. Newt’s wretched fashion sense bad mandarin and shitty plastic sunglasses have bewitched me utterly I need to study him. Elevator cane beatdown. Hermann they’re in my head. The breathless little smile on Newt’s face when he sees Kaiju Voltron (yeah three kaiju turn into one bigger kaiju. Like Voltron. Don’t worry about it).) The monster is trying to blow up the earth by throwing itself into Mount Fuji???

#pacific rim #pacific rim uprising

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saintsenara · 1 month

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you said “the eleven-year-old riddle, for example, is written in a way which suggests he has an accent and uses words and expression which would be understood as working class”. Can you elaborate on what you mean? I love your meta btw. You are brilliant

thank you for two tmr-related follow-up questions to the slughorn/snape bonanza meta, anons!

[and thank you for calling me "brilliant", anon no. 1. picture me kicking my little feet in the air and chirping like a cat which has just seen a bird outside.]

how is the eleven-year-old riddle shown to be common as muck?

besides the fact he lives in an orphanage.

it's things like this:

“You can’t kid me! The asylum, that’s where you’re from, isn’t it? ‘Professor,’ yes, of course — well, I’m not going, see? That old cat’s the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they’ll tell you!”

while none of this is in a demonstrably non-standard dialect of british english [i.e. riddle doesn't use contractions like "ain't" or "innit", or say "i never did nothing to little amy benson..."] it's definitely a way of phrasing his speech - especially when coupled with the fact that this quote reads like he's speaking really quickly, and he's described as looking "furious" - which would be considered uncouth, especially in the 1930s. [not big fans of emotional volatility, the posh].

his refusal to speak deferentially to dumbledore - and the fact that when he's eventually induced to call him sir he is described as being "unrecognisably polite" - is a similar indication that he doesn't exist as a child in the sort of context where he's forced to perform more refined manners in order to get what he wants.

[the sixteen-year-old riddle is considerably more obsequious, because he recognises that the way to get things out of e.g. slughorn is to comport himself like his upper-class peers.]

and he also - which is iconic of him - calls mrs cole a bitch here. "cat" is a slang term for a gossipy or meddling woman - and while it doesn't quite have the full heft of "bitch" [you find it used with impunity by middle-class women in pretty much every piece of literature written pre-1950...], it's incredibly rude for a child to say it to a stranger who he assumes is a doctor.

riddle does also use non-standard english - for example, when he says of dumbledore's wand:

“Where can I get one of them?”

[the correct form would be "one of those".]

it's this which really hammers home - beyond the ways in which it can be inferred from the context of the setting and the scansion of his [and mrs cole's, they speak fairly similarly] speech - that he has a london accent which would be understood, especially when combined with his second-hand possessions and his general rowdiness, as working-class by the sort of people who otherwise seem to end up in slytherin.

exactly what accent this would be depends on where we think the orphanage is. the closest we come to locating it in canon is that riddle buys [or, let's be real, steals] his diary from a shop on "vauxhall road". this isn't a real place, but vauxhall is an area of south london.

but most people - including me - usually place it in east london [i like, as i've said elsewhere, to put it on dorset street in spitalfields, which is the site of one of jack the ripper's most brutal murders]. this would have him born within the sound of bow bells, meaning he'd have every right to call himself a cockney and would undoubtedly speak with a cockney accent.

the south london and east london accents are recognisably distinct from one another [and from north and west london accents], but they would both be understood as common in the time period, when both anyone born into an upper-class or upper-middle-class background and anyone who aspired to be thought of as having done so would speak with [something as close as they could to] received pronunciation.

why do i think slughorn remains chill until after riddle refuses his job offers?

riddle's conversation with slughorn about horcruxes happens at some point in his sixth year - the academic year 1943-1944. we know this because he's a prefect - but not yet head boy, because he's killed his father [his second victim - the riddles are killed in the summer of 1943, after myrtle is killed at the end of the 1942-1943 school year], and because it just makes sense from a narrative standpoint for this pivotal moment in his life to take place at the same time harry's own life is transforming.

my presumption is that the chat happens during the first term, and that riddle doesn't actually create the diary horcrux until afterwards - so let's say the conversation happens c. november 1943 [when riddle would still be sixteen - the age the diary tells us he is]. slughorn then spends a full eighteen months continuing to support and favour him - advocating for him to be head boy, attempting to set him up in prestigious jobs, presumably being willing to support his application to teach defence against the dark arts - after he's aware that he's not opposed to a bit of splitting the soul.

i don't imagine for a second slughorn would ever have turned him in - he is, after all, fundamentally a coward, and he's clearly worried that he'd get in trouble himself for discussing horcruxes with a pupil - but if he were properly troubled by the discussion i think his behaviour would resemble how he treats harry while he's trying to collect the memory: unfailingly polite and unflappably jolly, but still mysteriously unable to be cornered alone.

and - actually - i think this is the specific source of slughorn's shame over the incident, and it's why i really don't like the memory acquisition scene - "you have no idea how frightening he was" - in the half-blood prince film. slughorn is clearly rattled by the conversation, but he then seems to manage to convince himself that everything's fine and riddle was just being a teen show-off with a morbid streak.

[and the adult voldemort - for his part - evidently has no suspicion at all that slughorn took the conversation seriously enough to waver in his cowardice and admit what he'd told him.]

but riddle refusing to accept his help in securing a job - and, therefore, refusing to enter into the sort of patron-client relationship slughorn canonically establishes with pupils from non-elite backgrounds - is riddle indicating that he refuses to be restrained by the norms of wizarding society.

it's a big "fuck you" to slughorn from the perspective of social convention notwithstanding the other context - a presumed-to-be-muggleborn orphan asserting that he can make it in the world on his own terms without tugging his forelock to the pureblood elite - but it's also evidence that he has no intention of finding himself in a situation where slughorn can control him personally.

it means that slughorn finds himself in a position in which he can't dangle the threat of reporting him to the aurors for [conspiracy to commit] murder/taking an interest in dark magic we can presume is illegal unless riddle does something he wants. and it makes it impossible for slughorn to continue convincing himself their conversation was purely macabre curiosity.

slughorn can convince himself that the eighteen-year-old riddle - the polite and brilliant head boy who undoubtedly continued to attend slug club meetings without incident in the period 1943-1945 [since him being barred from such occasions would have tipped him off that slughorn was worried] - can still be treated in a way which has served him well since he started teaching, and can have his... odder aspects constrained by the pressure of wizarding social convention.

the twenty-year-old riddle - on his own in his knockturn alley shop, with its dark reputation, and apparently uninterested in settling down nicely under the thumb of a respectable patron - cannot be.

and slughorn is terrified of this - and the repercussions it has the potential to bring upon him - but he's also going to be offended by it -and i think it's really interesting to skewer his canonical dislike of being associated with death eaters a little by playing with that offence: i.e. that he's not only unimpressed because lucius malfoy's in azkaban, but because of the whole bending-and-scraping-and-saying-my-lord act.

#asks answered #asenora meta #tom riddle #lord voldemort #surprise! it's the class system!

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yanderemommabean · 1 year

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Southern yandere being raised on those good morals and Christian values until they meet reader. Being the apple of the towns eye and everyone’s favorite golden boy turned into a savage mess when anyone dares to mess with his darling! Perverted once he see’s reader in revealing clothes for the summer (to beat that southern heat!). Suddenly he has to pray more often since only not so sacred thoughts come to mind when he thinks of you (which is ALL the time). The polite manners being CRANKED UP when they are in ur vicinity. The oh so bold flirting! BEING COURTED by the most desired guy in TOWN. And no one would help u girl, u think THE (his name) would bother stalking YOU? How pretentious. Knows how to court a lady but if you keep on playing hard to get he’ll just have to show you he’s the BEST and ONLY option for you.

“Well hello there August!” You say with a sweet smile, fanning yourself by tugging at your shirt as sweat seeps into the fabric. “What brings you by? Needing more chicken eggs?” you ask, used to the man asking for one or more things he could buy from you or help you out with. Always so courteous and gentlemen like, even when you insist he doesn’t have to be.

It’s sweet, you’ll admit. He’s been trying his best to be sweet and kind to you, even the town is beginning to think you’re all he worries about anymore. His duties often get neglected when you’re on his mind, which seems to be every hour of the day.

“No, no, I was just comin by to see why you’re working in heat like this. You could get killed if you aint careful y’know? Jesse nearly had a heat stroke a few days ago ‘cause he thought he could handle the stables all by himself”

You snort, dusting your hands off on your jeans “Well, I ain’t Jesse. Jesse needs to learn a thing or two about asking for help when he needs it too, I learned that lesson the hard way”. August laughs at that, tipping his hat as he does so. “Yeah, boy aint the brightest. I’ll give you that. You wouldn’t mind taking a break for sweet tea or anything would ya? I’d love to waste your time for a bit”.

Nodding, you begin to walk into your house, heading to the sink to wash your hands from the dirt and muck covering them from the chores. “I’ll make ya a glass in just a sec, let me get a bit cleaned up. You get your things done today? Pastor told me to yell at you a bit if you lagged behind one more time. Think he meant it too, ‘is face was redder than hell”.

August comes up from behind, wrapping his arms around you as you stand at the sink. Your face dusts pink as he lays his head on your shoulder, his breath right on your ear as he gruffly says “Don’t worry about what he says. I know what I’m doing, and how I’m gonna do it. Anyone gives you more trouble you come to me alright?”

The sudden playful mood felt more tense, his arms squeezing you tight against him as your voice struggled to come out. “You’re like a hen, I swear. I'm not some dainty little belle, I can tell a pastor off if I need to. Now sit down, I’ll make you a glass”.

You two sit and chat for a while, August giving you stares that you couldn’t quite read from time to time as you mention how your life here was going. He was a real sweetheart, a man of manners and good values, it’s no wonder the whole town loves him. But there's something there, stirring and growing, you just don’t know it yet.

It’s a dark, unleashed beast of a thing for sure.

-------------

Six months have passed since you’ve moved down here, and the winter seems awfully brutal. Your house is refusing to stay warm lately, and as much as you hate to admit it, you’re terrible with a wood cutting axe. Never could get the aim right.

As if on cue, the towns most beloved bachelor comes driving into your yard in his truck, practically leaping out as he runs to you with a worried and dare you say frustrated appearance. “What on earth has gotten into you? Put me down!” you hollered, being lifted up over his shoulder with ease as he carries you inside without so much as a hello.

“Me? What’s gotten into you? It’s below freezing and you’re out there trying to cut wet wood that won’t burn! You’re gonna get frost bite, and momma won’t let me hear the end of it if I let you get hurt!”

“For your information I was doing just fine!” you scold, being dropped down gently onto your couch as he stands over you, arms crossed over his chest. “...I ain’t moving until you promise me you won’t go back out there in weather like this”

“Unfair game to me. Seeing as alls I gotta do is tickle you in the right spot to get you out of my way”

“Dangerous game to play to me, seeing as your touch would do a bit more than tickle me” he says with a seductive tint to his voice, his face coming down to meet yours as you become more flustered “A touch from a sexy thing like you, wouldn’t make me move out of the way. It’d make me pick you up and show you how I wanna touch you too”

You both stay there for a minute, your eyes becoming playful and your tone more flirty as you lean closer, daring to kiss his lips. “Hmm. And what would your momma think if something happened before marriage?”

“Who says I can’t make you say my name without breaking that rule?”

“Oh now you’re just being a mean old flirt. Is this your way of warming me up? Cause as much as I like it, I do need to get work done”

August doesn’t budge. If anything, he seems determined to tower over you like this, keeping you in place. “I think you’d be better off at my house for a few days. Especially since the holidays are coming up and the weather is only gonna get worse” he says as if he didn’t just act like he would go a few rounds in the bedroom with you.

“We’ve talked about this-”

“I know. You’re worried about the animals and such. Never said I wouldn’t let you come by to do your stuff, I just think you need a place with actual heat since this place is clearly in need of more repair than we thought. It ain’t gotta be a month or nothing, just til we get it fixed”

You worry your lip, unsure and not exactly comfortable with just staying a few nights at his house. “The town will think we’re being a bit-”

“The town also thinks aunt Susie's pie is the best, but they ain’t right in that regard either�� he cuts you off, taking your cold hand and kissing your fingertips softly “I won’t do nothing, I promise. I’ll even let the church and every gossiper in town have a piece of my mind if they start making you upset. Just please, let me keep you warm. It’ll break my heart if I know you’re suffering like this any longer”

His eyes are so sweet as they plead, and how he holds and warms your hands makes this deal all the more enticing. What can you say? You really have no other choice, and you’re so lucky to have him here for you like this. “A-alright, August. Just until we figure out why my heat aint working. No more than that”

Oh, just knowing you’d come willingly at all is more than he could’ve asked for. He hates having to force his hand in these situations, but it’s needed! That’s why he had to ruin your heating system, to show you that he’d be the better option in the long run and he could get you out of that shithole house faster.

But he won’t tell his little secret. The plan is to get you in his home, then in his bed, and in his arms. Town can think whatever they want, but no one would suspect him of sabotage and stalking. He plays his role very well, knows how to manipulate anyone who tries and ruin his chance with you. If they push too hard for you to leave, he might just stage another accident or two.

Whatever it takes to keep you with him and him only.

((HI! I hope this didn’t go too off the rails, I really enjoyed it! I hope you did too! -Mommabean))

#yandere male #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #mommabean #southern yandere #August my oc #my ocs

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 2 years

Text

Younger Gods: III

Younger Gods Master List Dream x fem!reader

Chapter 2

Dangerous magic and old friends lay the foundation of a fate foretold, and Morpheus spends too much time in the library.

Warnings: language, briefly referenced suicidal ideation, self-neglect/harm, extreme sleep deprivation, Dream is still his own damn warning

A/N: First - THANK YOU ALL. Seriously. You're amazing, I love you, and I'm working on catching up on comments. Now for the bad news. Ya'll broke chapter 2. Like, literally. I went to edit the tags list and Tumblr said nope. Imagine a small, family car with dozens of people stacked inside and hanging off the roof. It just won't go. The chapter also didn't show up in the story tags, at least whenever I checked. So...

*The taglist is officially discontinued*

I am making that up with something special, though, so make sure to read the A/N at the end!

Chapter 3: Darker Fates

“Gracious, darling, you look dreadful.”

She collapsed into the rickety café chair. Across the laminate table sat her oldest friend. Her one friend. And she immediately wondered how much to tell him. Only two days stood between her and her involuntary trip down memory lane, between her and the Sandman. She’d seen dark birds from the corner of her eye once or twice, but they always turned out to be crows and magpies. That didn’t mean Matthew wasn’t following her, of course.

She hadn’t escaped the consequences of her actions yet, and she didn’t want to drag one of the precious few people she cared about into the muck.

“What happened to your courtly manners?”

“What happened to your face?” He shuddered delicately, burying the real concern she caught in his sharp grey eyes with dramatics. Signaling the waitress behind the counter, he added, “We’ll need another pot of tea, please.”

The woman blushed and hurried off to fill the order. Doubtless, he’d been flirting while he waited. Damn silver fox. Although he was over one thousand years old, he wore it well. His greying curls and tidy beard looked playful rather than unkempt.

“Do you have what I need?”

He nodded. “Tea’s on it’s way.”

“Not the damn tea, Taliesin.”

The twice-born bard sucked on his teeth, glancing from the front windows to the back counter. Only spilled coffee stains and a sticky smear of jam occupied the other tables. He acted like this kind of deal might draw attention, and he had good reason to think twice about handling magical items in public, but no one cared what two people meeting up at two in the afternoon in a cheap café shared over a cup of tea.

He slipped his hand into his coat pocket and retrieved a small, stoppered bottle. The liquid inside moved like tar, oozing up the side of the glass as Taliesin angled it in the light. Even caution couldn’t banish his instincts as a showman.

“Understand.” He looked her in the eye, his scintillating smile packed away for a stone glower. “This is a cruelty, not a blessing. Now, I won’t ask why you need it. I wouldn’t insult you like that. But it’s my responsibility to tell you this is a bad idea.”

She could think of worse.

Before she could explain herself, the waitress pranced over with the tea. She set the pot between them and provided a fresh cup and saucer. Taliesin grinned, winked, and sent her on her way again with a word of thanks.

“One day your philandering will get you into trouble, old man.”

He sniffed and poured the tea, adding the slightest splash of milk, just the way she liked it. “I never begin something from which I cannot safely extricate myself. And, besides, a little teasing will make her day.”

He slid the cup across the table, and she wrapped her hands around the porcelain to drink in the heat through her chilly palms. She couldn’t seem to stay warm these past few weeks. Anyway, tea wasn’t what she’d come to drink.

“Will it keep me awake forever?”

“Nothing is forever. Nothing you can taste, touch, or smell.” He sounded both chiding and nostalgic. “But this will last seven years and seven days.”

“Good enough. What do you want in exchange?”

Tutting, he tucked the potion back in his jacket, and she sagged in her seat. “Tea first. I have grand and patronizing cautions to give.”

She lifted the cup, maintaining eye contact as she took the biggest, loudest slurp she could manage. It tasted nice, and its warmth felt even better in her stomach and throat than it had on her skin. Why did the bastard have to be right about everything?

The twinkle in his eye suggested he knew what station the train of her thoughts had left, and he slurped from his own cup in merry retaliation.

“First,” he licked a drip from his mustache, “and foremost: this is vile magic. It doesn’t gift wakefulness – it steals rest. The fae designed it with little prisoners like you in mind, to be taken in spaces where time melts and enchanted food will cheat the body’s need for sleep. Since – I dare presume – you do not have those safeguards, this could kill you.”

He left the words to sink in, trying to scare her off the purchase. When she reached out to see if he knew someone willing to make this potion, he’d leapt at the opportunity himself. It was his way of protecting her, and it gave him a chance to interfere with what he clearly saw as self-harm.

Since she wasn’t sure she could survive another nightmare like the one Dream hauled her through, she’d take her chances with death by her own hand.

“Consider me warned, but it doesn’t change anything.”

Taliesin bowed his head over his teacup, groaning. Any fantasies that he could talk her off her current path finally cracked. “You really are stubborn, rain cloud.”

“I learned from the best.”

“Oh, no. That you found all your own.” His smile grew back, wan but alive. His hand settled on the table, palm up, and she abandoned her tea to settle her hand over his.

“Just promise,” he said with a gentle squeeze, “that if you feel anything going off, if you even suspect something’s wrong, you’ll call your old friend Taliesin. Okay?”

She squeezed back, trying to smile for him, but she was too tired to make the expression stick. “Okay.”

Nodding to himself, he echoed the agreement again, “Okay,” and reached into his pocket. He slipped the bottle between their joined hands, and she pulled away to put it in her sweater.

“What do you want in return?”

“Well!” He smacked the table with both hands, grinning in a way that promised trouble. “I thought long and hard about it, but rather than jewels, or secrets, or power, I think what I would most like from a lovely young storm god is…” He paused, glancing meaningfully out the window at the dreary, grey-yellow afternoon. “A walk in the rain with my favorite little cloud.”

He sounded so damn happy about it he infected her with the feeling. It was nice to be needed. Wanted. Even if she’d just lied to his face.

A friendly rain gathered and fell as Taliesin got up to pay the bill. He left the waitress looking pleased with herself – and probably a generous tip. Then he came to meet his rain cloud at the door. An umbrella appeared from some hidden pocket and he grinned, holding out his elbow for her to link arms with him.

“I always come prepared,” he bragged as they stepped out into the shower.

“You say that like you don’t live in Wales.”

“I never said you were the only thing I came prepared for.”

----------------------------------------------

Given the mother’s name to track, Lucienne did eventually find the record of the little storm god’s dreams, but they were useless to Morpheus. He studied the handful of pages warped by the curse she wore around her neck with mounting frustration. Apart from reports of which nightmares feasted on her pain during her brief, forced rests, they gave him nothing.

Her mother’s dreams proved more illuminating. They, at least, gave him a line of inquiry to follow.

The woman dreamed about her child from the moment it was born, from the minute the father tore her away to trade. The mother wandered endless rooms, following a crying child’s voice while she slept. She dreamed of little coffins and wailing infants she couldn’t find in nurseries dripping with gore.

Arcane shapes and dead languages shadowed her sleeping hours as she learned magic. In the waking world, she became a capable witch. There, as in the Dreaming, every hope and wish bent to finding her baby.

She never gave up her pursuit.

But in the end, it was the daughter who found the mother.

Her favorite dream grew out of a memory. A rainy afternoon, a crack of lightning, and a knock on the door. A painfully thin teenager stood on the steps, dripping in a thunderstorm, looking up with wondering eyes. If Morpheus had any doubts as to the girl’s identity, the scars around her neck put them to rest. She still had blood in her hair, rusty smudges caught in the grooves of old scars, fresh hurts and healed wounds calling to the mother’s instinct to protect and care for.

Although she had plenty of nightmares about losing her daughter again – finding her bed empty, losing her in a crowd – the nature of her somnolescent musings shifted. Softened.

And a familiar face came to call. The Welsh bard, Taliesin, whom the demi-god child kept safe at the cost of her hands, brought little gifts to the old woman and her young daughter. His winks brought warm flushes to the mother’s dreams, and she rested easier at night knowing that her little girl would not be entirely alone in the end.

She had sacrificed ten years of her life to a fairy bargain that won her nothing but a hand-sized portrait of her baby girl during her long search. By the time the child returned, her mother had grown old. They only had twelve years together before the lost child lost her mother.

The woman died. The record ended. But Dream knew where to look next.

Abandoning his throne for the library, he wrestled against a growing sense that he was running out of time. Time for what? Time for whom?

He was still Dream of the Endless. He still had a realm and billions of dreamers to manage. The puzzle of the storm god who brought home his raven lingered like a toothache, but he could not abandon his responsibilities. Determined as he may be to remove the golden collar from both the Dreaming and the dreamer, the curse had lingered for decades without disturbing anything significant.

It had been months since he picked through her dreaming mind to discover more about her – more about the curse. Only now, as the things settled back into a comfortable kind of order, could he indulge his curiosity, his side-quest as Death mockingly called his interests. And he was more than interested. The longer the questions lingered, the more of his attention they consumed.

Perhaps it was the crossroads. The Fates said he’d already pushed the storm god towards a darker fate, but they never said it was too late to change that course, and the three often left the most important truths unsaid.

If only he knew what to look for. Perhaps that was why he spent so much time and energy researching the collar. It gave him a target. Without it, he felt like a dreamer caught in a pitch-black nightmare, groping blindly for anything with which to reclaim the light.

But he did not have to search alone.

“Lucienne.”

His librarian looked up from a stack of new, peering over the rim of her spectacles. “Did the mother’s dreams help you find what you needed, my lord?”

“In part. Though I need another volume.” He handed over the two records, the mother’s dreams and the storm god’s. Lucienne set down her tower of work and went to shelve the two immediately. They slotted beside each other, the mother’s name in curling script, the daughter’s blank.

“You know,” Lucienne said, “I only found the nameless one’s record because the mother’s kept reshelving itself with the daughter’s book. I fixed it twice before I realized. It’s rather sweet.” She sighed. “If vexing. What volume do you require, my lord?”

Morpheus spared the books another glance, wondering how much of the mother’s arcane studies had influenced her history of dreams. But she’d given him all she could, and now he must turn to the living for answers. “The bard Taliesin’s records, and anything else we have on his history.”

“That is more a section than a collection, lord.”

“Yes.” It wasn’t his first time encountering the bard. “I may need to speak with him, but he will be loathe to leave a story once he is introduced. I’d prefer to find answers in the records. Will you help me?”

“Of course. Give me a moment.” Lucienne paused. “Give me several moments, please, my lord.”

On Lucienne’s first trip, she retrieved the official record of Taliesin’s dreams. He’d lived a long life, and he dreamed vibrantly. The tome was several feet thick, and the library echoed when the librarian set it on the table.

“Thank you, Lucienne.”

“I’ll fetch the rest, sir.”

Taliesin’s early works, recorded on parchment and scrolls, sat between books published under a dozen nom de plumes in later centuries. When the librarian returned with a cart stacked high with history books referencing and theorizing over the man and his myth, Morpheus excused her.

“These should suffice, Lucienne. I will let you know if I do not find my answers here.”

“Of course, sir.” She brushed dust from her immaculate coat, checking the sleeves, before folding her hands neatly behind her back. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Already buried in the works of Taliesin’s unconscious mind, he shook his head. “Not at this time.”

She bowed and left. The library would be chaos without her. He could remember when it was. It was no mean feat, organizing a universe of stories. It made her wise in ways he had only just begun to appreciate.

The man whose dreams he searched enjoyed other kinds of wisdom. He’d gained a third of the world’s knowledge by accident, but he’d spent the better part of his life learning the other two thirds by choice. Advisor to kings, story-weaver, and a natural mage, he had the wisdom and craft to recognize some of the magic wrought into the storm god’s collar. He’d tried to take it off when they first met, and he studied for a means to free her after his escape.

Morpheus wanted to know what the bard found.

However, though his dreams in the past few decades often welcomed a shade of the storm god to play out adventures and tragedies as part of a colorful cast, Taliesin’s attention did not linger on the curse. It was little more than a bright shadow that pricked his conscience.

He sat back in the chair, glowering at the books that had failed him.

It seemed every whisper of progress led to more questions in this riddle, and not for the first time, he wished the library could offer more insight to the happenings of the waking world. He should not need to ask for help so often.

At least, unlike the storm god, the bard embraced his dreams. Like all great storytellers, he had explored his fantasies and fears ravenously. When he next slept, Morpheus would pry loose some answers. It shouldn’t be difficult. The bard dearly loved the sound of his own voice.

----------------------------------------------

Taliesin presided over a court of housecats.

He was aware enough to know the royal courtiers of Edward II did not, originally, have literal claws, but it made perfect sense in the moment. Edward and Gaveston were in the corner, playfully wrestling – maybe – while Isabella stalked closer with murder in her vertical pupils.

“This is not the way,” he huffed, plucking a kitten from the mob joining ranks behind Isabella, a gorgeous tortoise-shell with no interest in his opinion. The kitten sprang spread-eagle back to the floor.

Chaos. Absolute chaos.

His favorite idiot, his little rain cloud, curled under the steps to the dais. She’d found herself, once again, where she did not belong, and if her eyes didn’t reflect the torches set around the room, he never would’ve known she was there. It was the wrong court altogether, but she had a talent for trouble and a gift for surprises.

Dropping to his knees, he reached under the wooden platform to coax her out. She’d become a fetching little half munchkin, half Norwegian forest cat caught in the lanky middle ground between kitten and grown cat. A menace, to be sure, but too cute to ignore.

“Come out and play with your friends,” he said as she wriggled even farther out of reach. “It isn’t good to hide all the time. You need to do some seeking, too, lovee.”

But she was very determined and his arms just weren’t long enough, so he manifested a trail of nibbles to catch her attention. He could be patient. He could be tricksy. Good friends, he firmly believed, should be both, because sometimes people were just too stupid or too stubborn to accept the help they obviously needed.

He sat up to kneel below the empty thrones and clapped his hands on his thighs.

Well. He’d done what he could for now. Across the room, poor Gaveston was learning the price of being a king’s favorite. The yowls and cries almost distracted him to the point he didn’t see the massive black Maine Coon stalk into the throne room. The cat’s eyes glowed, both literally and metaphorically. In his kneeling position, Taliesin actually had to look up to see those eyes, and he gulped, wondering if he was about to be eaten.

“I have questions for you, bard.” The cat spoke with authority in a voice like honeyed night.

Taliesin recognized it, though it hadn’t come from a cat before, and he dismissed all thought of stupid whot, why, what, how demands.

It may be his imagination at work, but it was not his realm.

“Dream King.” He bowed. Then he remembered he was dreaming and squinted at the cacophonous mess of the long-dead king’s feline transformation. “Ah. This makes so much more sense.”

The cats blinked out of existence, or at least out of his dream, and he sat back on his heels. The stone chamber grew quiet. A plaintive meow from beside the stops, however, proved not all the cats had gone. The junior cat approached and let him sweep her into his arms, even purring when he scratched under her chin.

Still aware of the Endless – no longer in cat-form – Taliesin allowed himself a moment to enjoy this imagined pleasure. The little storm god made an adorable ball of fur. “You’d never make this so easy in the waking world, would you?”

She sized his finger with claws and teeth to prove she wasn’t easy in any world.

“There is unwelcome magic in the Dreaming.” The Nightmare King didn’t wait for Taliesin’s focus, confident as any monarch that his words would be heard, that the listener would take note and action. “You have studied it.”

Taliesin nodded, taking his word for it and stroking his friend the kitten as he picked through his long memory for anything of interest to the King of Dreams. “I have studied many shapes of magic, lord.”

“This one is close to you.”

Some darker note in the Dream King’s voice snagged Taliesin’s ear, and he looked away from the cat to study his face. Lips bent in a frown, brows pinched, the king had his starry eyes pinned to the creature in the bard’s arms. Taliesin looked back down to see a phantom of the collar growing around the kitten’s neck. She writhed against it, mewling in pain, staring up at him like he could do anything to help her.

He’d tried, and he’d tried again. He still hadn’t given up entirely.

Couldn’t the poor thing’s shade at least find relief in his dream?

She scratched him in her fit, and he bundled her closer, pinning her fast and safe as he’d failed to do when she was small and alone and willing to suffer in his stead. Even if he couldn’t free her, he’d never abandon her.

The truth of the matter struck him. He felt the cat shudder against his heart when she’d been so calm and accepting a moment ago, and he knew.

“So, you’ve met my favorite idiot.”

“Yes.”

The word betrayed nothing, not how they met, not how he felt. But he wanted to banish the collar once and for all, and Taliesin could get on board with that.

“It’s fairy-make,” he said. “Broken in the waking world, but still manifests in the Dreaming.”

“I know. What I do not know is why. What terms closed the circle around her neck? It appeared to suppress her godly half in life.”

Taliesin tried to cradle the cat even closer without suffocating her. “If you do not mind my asking, lord, how do you know even that much?”

“I saw it,” the king said, casually, like it wasn’t one of the worst things the bard had ever heard, “in her dreams, in her recollection of the past.”

Closing his eyes, the bard took a deep, deep breath in through his nose. He had to hold it for a minute, because it desperately wanted to leave his throat with a string of curses Dream of the Endless would not enjoy. When he was sure he could exhale without heaping abuse on the dolt’s head, he let the breath go. He did it all one more time, and then he said, “I think I understand why she wanted to stay awake.”

Eyes still shut, he murmured to himself, “Why didn’t she tell me? Self-destructive little –”

When he finally looked, the world had changed. Gone was the castle, the throne, and the sweet little cat from his arms. He’d imagined a cheap bedsit in Cardiff, the kind of place the little storm god may stay on the run – and she was definitely on the run, from nightmares if nothing else.

The young woman lay sprawled in a puddle of moonlight, half dead, and fading fast. Her skin clung to her bones, eyes sunken, old wounds open and bleeding from malnutrition and scurvy.

The empty potion bottle sat on the windowsill.

Dream of the Endless studied the scene with clear interest, and Taliesin beat down his protective urges in the name of pragmatism. If she was running from Lord Morpheus, she wouldn’t turn to Taliesin for help when the potion dragged her to the brink of death. It wouldn’t be a life lesson she could grow through. It would be a life ended.

“She came to me a few months ago,” he said, hoping the Endless would care enough about the woman shackled to the curse to consider her in his grand schemes. “She wanted a potion to stave off sleep. I told her it was dangerous, and I thought she’d come to me for help soon, that I could teach her something, but –”

The body on the floor laid so still. How many months had it been? How close was this nightmare to reality?

“I said her dreams would be kinder when she next slept,” the king murmured.

He didn’t have to say he didn’t understand.

Taliesin crossed his arms and cleared his throat. Someone, at least, would learn something this night. “Well, she’s a storm, isn’t she? She isn’t capable of moderation. When she’s happy, she’s ecstatic. When she’s angry she’s electric. When she’s afraid she is very, very afraid. And she’s terrified of you.”

Dream looked over his shoulder at the bard, still looming beside the dying phantom.

“I neither wish nor intend her harm.”

“You don’t have to intend harm to hurt her.”

The Endless fully turned to him, and the bard spoke with all the confidence of being truly heard. Just as the king did upon entering this dream. “You, I presume, dug very deep in a very dark place. That hurt her. Frightened her. If you push her far enough she’ll chew off her own leg to get away, or didn’t you see the part where she nearly decapitated herself to escape the damn collar?”

Silence filled the room. An ugly, cheap place to die. Taliesin wondered how long it would take to find her if she really had gone to ground. He couldn’t trust the King of Dreams to care about anything beyond the Dreaming’s borders, and he wouldn’t trust her health with the one who pushed her to ruin in.

He had spells to find her, but he wasn’t sure he could hold her if she went into a panic.

In the stillness, they could hear her death rattle.

“What will your potion do to her?”

His potion. Yes, he supposed it was his fault. The girl really was like a stray cat, hiding under porches to die quietly rather than let someone help. He should’ve known.

“It keeps her awake. Eventually, she’ll feel too ill to eat. She may hallucinate. Her heart will fall out of rhythm and she’ll waste away until her body doesn’t remember how to function.” He smacked his head back into the wall, wanting punishment, hoping to jog some inspired idea free. “I warned her.”

Of all the Endless, and he’d met quite a few, Dream was the most inscrutable. Cold and detached, but prone to dangerous spikes of interest that spiraled into nearly obsessive passion. His vengeance came swiftly and his affection grew slow. But Dream was, usually, just. He didn’t enjoy undeserved suffering, and Taliesin had to hope that after walking through the little storm god’s dreams, he’d understand she’d earned none of her pain.

It wasn’t too late. He’d lost track of time, but a tableau this desperate wouldn’t come to pass for at least a year.

“If you are of a mind to assist, Dream Lord…” He pushed off the wall, suddenly and entirely desperate to move. “I have an idea.”

----------------------------------------------

Her fear grew bitter as her strength waned. She could taste it when she struggled to eat, and when she gave up meals, it poisoned the water she drank. Terror tasted like blood from bitten lips and dust on her dry tongue. Her hands shook, and her throat burned from stomach acid, but it wasn’t bad enough to call on Taliesin again. She knew what he’d say.

Whatever happened, she would not fall asleep.

Besides, she wasn’t dying yet. She was only sick. If the Dream Lord pulled through her bloody history again, she wouldn’t survive. If she had a choice, she’d pick a death in the waking world, free of the collar and safe from the Dream Lord who dragged her through horrors so callously.

She wasn’t convinced he believed in her innocence, either. If he knew he’d threatened someone trying to rescue his damn raven, surely he would’ve apologized.

Better to stay awake and ignore the cramps in her belly.

The rain soothed her. Fitful storms plagued the town she’d chosen as a hiding place, and the old folks grumbled to each other at the grocery store about the weather. Maybe they’d gotten used to it in the past few months. She hadn’t been out in a while.

She didn’t sleep, but she still rested. Her eyelids didn’t grow heavy when she sat by the window and watched the drops racing down the pane. She remained awake, aware, and as close to peace as her racing thoughts allowed.

The window became her favorite pastime, and she spent days studying the changing clouds as angry squalls rolled up the coast, how the grey sky trapped the light during gentler showers.

And she grew weaker. Quietly flirting with the line between sick and deathly ill.

She saw impossible things beyond the glass. It took her a few days to realize they were hallucinations, not a fae spell or some petty apocalypse.

When his reflection appeared behind her in the window, she thought she was seeing things again. And then he spoke.

“You are killing yourself.”

She jerked around, stumbling on numb feet to face the monster. The Nightmare King. Her hand wandered her neck, looking for the collar to prove this was a dream, but she found her scarf instead.

“You are in the waking world,” he confirmed. “You hid yourself well.”

He took a step towards her, and she lunged back. The same game in the wrong realm.

“You still think I’m some kind of threat?”

Another step towards her, another step back – she nearly tripped on the leg of a chair, but she refused to look away for an instant, even to save the scraps of her dignity.

“No.”

He moved the way he spoke, aware of every nuance, every shift, slowly drawing closer. Sure and smooth as a stormfront.

What did he want? She abandoned her home, gave up the precious little sleep she could tolerate, and he still pressed her. He didn’t look angry and cold, like he did on the beach. Something sharp glittered in his eyes, though, a keen edge ready to cut her.

They passed through the living room, through the kitchen, and she only had a few more steps before this slow chase met an abrupt end.

“I’m running out of ground to give, Dream Lord.”

“Good.”

A final step, and her heel met the wall. He closed the distance, keeping the same predator’s pace as she pressed herself flat against the peeling wallpaper.

“Do you want me to fight?” Her growing storm raged. Lightning sheered over the sleepy town, turning the evening bright as noon. Thunder rattled the windows, but the Dream Lord didn’t so much as flinch. “Do you want an excuse to hurt me?”

He stood inches away, eating up her personal space until she felt his shadow had already swallowed her.

“No.”

“Then what do you want?” A whisper with the desperation of a scream.

His razor eyes cut deep, and she quaked in place, afraid to move but wishing she could shrink, become so small he wouldn’t notice her.

“To turn you from a darker fate.”

He raised a hand, and she cowered from the expected blow. When none fell, she peeped at him sidelong. His palm hovered between them, like he was holding up a gift.

“Sleep.”

Stooping ever so slightly, he blew over his hand, sending a gust of sand into her face. She bucked against him, flinging one arm up to cover her face, the other to shove at his chest. But it was no good. By the time he curled his fingers back, she could feel her grip on the world slipping away.

“Poor little storm god.”

Her knees buckled, and she slid down the wall, losing herself by inches to the inescapable lure of the Dreaming and its master.

She slept.

Chapter 4 A/N: I've never done prompt requests, but I've never had 500 FOLLOWERS EITHER (holy shit). I'm celebrating, and you're invited. The rules are a little convoluted, I won't be able to do ALL the things, but you'll all get a say in what makes the cut by voting. To join the fun and check out the rules, go here. Even if you don't join in, there will be one-shots aplenty for you to browse.

I'll be working on a chapter each for my other two active fics while I wait for replies, so you may not see another Younger Gods chapter til next week. For those clamoring for more interaction between the reader and Morpheus, it will be well worth the wait.

#morpheus x reader #dream x reader #sandman x reader #morpheus fanfiction #YoungerGods

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evolutionsvoid · 2 months

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I think it is safe to say that swamps, to most people, are one of the "spookiest" ecosystems out there. You very rarely hear any happy tales set in one, and any legends attached to them tend to be dark and grim. It's a place that outsiders never want to visit, and if you tried inviting them to a swamp, they would instantly assume the worst. Don't you know what lives in those things?! Ghosts, eerie lights, shapeless mud creatures, foul witches, alluring voices spoken from slimy throats, the clawing rotting arms of the drowned! The stories and monstrosities are endless! Which I find kind of funny for a few reasons. One is that swamps are like any other biome, but gets a bad reputation because it is slightly soggier and the vegetation doesn't look as pretty. The other reason I find this all amusing is because swamps do hold dangers and beasts, yet the scary stories don't bother with them! You have real living breathing creatures that could star in many a cautionary tale, but instead we shove them aside to make up our own monsters! It's almost insulting! The wompogo work hard to be stealthy haunting predators of the cypress swamps, only to be ignored in favor of imaginary spirits and seductive leech women! If you want some real scary encounters in the swamps, then talk to folk who live in them. They will tell you of places in the muck and weeds where few dare travel. Is it because of strange disappearances? Odd lights and whispering voices? No, it is because of the hulking mud-covered beasts who are capable of biting a canoe in half.

Is this dangerous brute I speak of some kind of swamp dragon, or magic-born monstrosity weaved from mud, reeds and corpses? No, it's a mammal, but one that is big and very irritable. The creature I am talking about is the hippalus, a relative of the hippopotamus who lives exclusively in swamps and marshes. They like it wet and muddy, where they are surrounding by soggy vegetation and soft earth. Though they share their love of water with their hippo cousins, one can clearly see that there are some physical differences between the two. One that really stands out is a long flattened tail, often announcing its presence with a loud slap against the water and muck. Then there is the massive hump on their back, which is pure muscle meant to help power its large head. The hippalus has the same impressive maw as other hippos, but its teeth jut out in different ways. Its lower incisors emerge straight out of the jaw, while a curved set of tusks are brandished like deadly blades. There is a pair of hardened growths upon their snout, which some like to call "horns" (even though they are very much not). Their head also has a bowed part on the upper jaw, almost like a horse saddle. Take all this, and then consider their sheer size! A height of over seven feet at the hump, and a length of eighteen to twenty! There is no denying who the powerhouse of the swamp is!

The hippalus are absolute behemoths, and their power is openly flaunted. While other creatures of the swamp may swim or slither through the water and muck, the hippalus plows through anything in its path. When it comes to identifying their tracks, you aren't looking for footprints, but rather deep ruts carving straight through the whole ecosystem. Their sheer size and weight is part of the reason, because you can't exactly walk on top of mud when you weigh over four thousand pounds. So they sink in deep and simply tear their way through the swampy gunk in front of them. Their strangely shaped head and powerful muscles is what comes into play here! Their whole skull is like an organic shovel and plow, designed for cutting through the mud and flinging it away with a whip of their neck. Their lower teeth help dig through and move earth, while their scooped skull is able to collect a whole load of mud and reeds and send it all flying! The muscular flat tail behind them also aids in propelling them forward, undulating as their powerful legs push them forwards. It should be mentioned that while it looks like hippalus swim through the swamps, they can't actually swim. They don't float, they sink. What you see is instead them walking or "galloping" underwater, only sticking their snouts out to breathe from time to time. What helps with the illusion of them floating or swimming is the fact that they are so big, that they tend to stick out of the water without any real effort. They just stand there in the swampy gunk, and it looks like they are floating with ease.

All of these powerful adaptations, however, are not just for traveling! As any local would know, hippalus are famed for their construction work (and a lot of destruction work as well). This species is a solitary one, not living in herds or "bloats" like their cousins. A single hippalus will claim a large chunk of territory and make sure no one ever forgets it. Their powerful jaws and scooping heads tear up mud and vegetation, dropping dead trees and ripping sunken stumps from the murky bottom. Tangles of torn weeds and branches are left near the edges of their territory and given a musky coating of urine and feces to let people know who lives here. In the heart of their realm is their home, a lair built from mud, vegetation and woody parts, like the world's biggest beaver lodge. This construction is possible with the help of their strong jaws and head to carry materials, while their flattened tail pats it all into place. The lodges of these beasts are half sunken, and less like a roomy mud cave and more like a sopping wet burrow for them to park their massive bodies. Part of the support for these dwellings is their own bodies, wedging themselves inside and holding it all upon their backs. These lairs are important for when they have young, as it is where their babies hide during their vulnerable stages. If their mother has to leave them behind to forage or defend her territory, they will remain hidden in this den. When they venture outside to learn the ropes, she will be close by to make sure no predators get any funny ideas. Young hippalus can indeed be on the menu for the likes of wompogo or swamp basilisks, but a full grown adult is avoided by all. I don't think you need me to explain why. Lets just say that a healthy adult hippalus is a creature that does what it wants wherever it wants, and woe be to any who try to say different.

As for diet, hippalus are herbivores, dining upon the various water-logged plants found in the swamp. Like many plant eaters, they won't say no to a free meal if they find a random carcass. While others may nibble upon bones or pick at scraps, a hippalus will take the body in a single bite, crushing it to a bloody, ruined pulp. When it comes to plants, their horned nose is good for digging up ones buried in the muck, and their teeth scrap away at bark and hardened exteriors. When they aren't eating or building, they are resting, as such a huge body uses a lot of energy to work. Best to spend some hours lazing about and grazing upon the weeds.

I mentioned before that locals steer clear of areas where hippalus are active, and hopefully now you see why! It should be said that this species has a temper and are quite territorial. One can be seen sleeping in the muck without a worry in the world, but a split second later they are barreling towards you with jaws agape. Another thing to be said is that they are faster than they look! Yes, they are hulking and huge while stuck in deep mud, but when they want to move THEY MOVE. You would think a mudslide is headed your way, with their massive weight charging through the muck and sending gunk flying everywhere. With this speed and their sheer power, hippalus tend to be avoided at all costs. Locals don't even try hunting them, because it is way too dangerous. What weapons they carry when entering hippalus territory is meant to slow the beasts down, not kill them. Their thick muscles make it difficult to do any real damage, thus resulting in most attacks being annoying rather than dangerous to them. In areas where civilization and hippalus territory overlap, you will find specimens with various weapons poking out of their hide. These are reminders of run ins they had with people, and trophies from failed hunts. "But wait, Chlora" you may ask. "I thought you said people don't hunt them?" That is correct, I said locals don't hunt them, as it is simply not worth it. So if the natives of the region don't do it, then there can only be one other answer of who! You all know it, so say it with me: Rich Idiots With Dumb Hobbies!

Yes indeed, the wealthy nobility love showing off by killing large dangerous beasts and sticking them in their parlors. With their sheer size and power, any person with too much money and a poor definition of confidence gets the idea that they would make a fetching trophy. They take a whole hunting party out to try and down one of these behemoths, so that their head may be hung above the fireplace. Needless to say, plenty of people get killed trying to do this, and sadly the rich idiot isn't always the one. Turns out when you are the first to flee at the sight of danger and you use your guides like meat shields, you tend to survive. Then they go home and craft fanciful stories about their bravery and perilous escape, while the poor folk they hired for chump change to carry their bags are left dead in the mud. I swear, can't these people find better hobbies? Why do you have to kill things for showmanship and bragging points? Bird watching lets you see the wildlife without any harm, and it is just as rewarding! And if you have to just kill something for a trophy, why not bug collecting? There are plenty of those and it isn't nearly as dangerous! But then again, I am sure dumb nobles would find a way to make that hobby absolutely destructive. Only choose to pin endangered species or something. I don't think there is a winning option here. Like so much of their ill gotten gains, they thrive on misery! Aaaaaand this part is getting cut! I already know it, so don't bother writing it, Eucella!

Chlora Myron

Dryad Natural Historian

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"Hippalus"

#monster #creature #hippo #hippopotamus #swamp monster #art #drawing

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lackadaisicallizard · 8 months

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Monologues

James didn’t choose to do Drama.

He got put into it because he missed the deadline for subject selection and so he basically treats it as an excuse to muck around and mess with the props he’s been told time and time again to leave alone.

So actually, he spends a large majority of his time not in Drama class, but standing outside it because “if you aren’t going to respect the space then you won’t be in it.”

James doesn’t see the problem in his actions. What’s the point in doing Drama if he can’t have any fun?

That question results in a stern glare from his teacher. Apparently James’ commitment to the character born from the clown mask he found in the costume cupboard ‘wasn’t appropriate for their unit on post-war German theatre’ and had ‘ruined the entire exercise’.

The lesson following that one starts with a serious talk from his teacher about being on his best behaviour because they are being joined by the Drama class from the year below for a workshop with an industry professional and it is not an excuse for him to ‘act the clown’.

“I thought you liked my performance yesterday, Miss.”

“Do you want to spend the lesson in the front office?”

“Not particularly.”

“Then pack it in.”

And while he tells his teacher that he will sit quietly and pay attention, not one person in the room believes him, including James himself. He is not at all invested in the workshop because he is not at all invested in the subject.

“Is anyone feeling brave enough to have a go at the monologue we just broke down?” The guy running the workshop asks about twenty minutes in. James is on his third and final warning.

“No.” James knows who his teacher’s comment is directed at even without her having to look at him. He settles back down in his chair with a huff.

There’s silence from the room as they wait for an alternative volunteer. Eventually a voice speaks up. “I’ll do it.”

James watches as a figure stands up and makes his way to the front.

Regulus Black.

He had no idea that Sirius’ brother was in this class, had no idea that he had any interest in Drama, even, and James doesn’t at all know what to expect from the boy who was similar and yet vastly different from his best friend.

And then he begins.

“That day we walked right through town. Past the donut shop, past the miniature gold course, past the Chevron station. And he opened the bottle up and offered it to me.”

And James watches.

Oh, he watches.

“We walked until we drank the whole thing dry. And we never said a word the whole time.”

Regulus doesn’t rush the words. He takes his time, like he knows every person in that room will hang on to every single one.

He’s right.

“We walked right up to the front porch and he rang the bell and I remember getting real nervous because I wasn’t expecting to visit anybody.”

His tone is natural and his facial expressions soft. James’ mind captures each one as he talks, Regulus’ eyes flickering from one person to the next, like he’s having a conversation.

It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful.

“And then through the doorway, behind them both, I see this girl.”

His eyes still. They happen to be on James. James is fairly sure this is the longest he’s ever gone without talking. His teacher must be very suspicious.

Regulus pauses. “She just appears. She’s just standing there, staring at me and we can’t take our eyes off each other.”

James knows the feeling.

“It was like we knew each other from somewhere but we couldn’t place where. But the second we saw each other, that very second, we knew we’d never stop being in love.”

The final word falls into the silence of the room. A pin drop could be heard.

And just like that James is invested in Drama. He finally sees the purpose.

It’s for moments like this.

And for the moment that he fell in love.

#marauders #james potter #jegulus #regulus black #I’m really in my theatre era #James would be a pain to have in class #regulus would slay dramatic monologues #the play it’s from is fools for love by sam shepard

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blueberry-ovaries · 4 months

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EASY MEN AS QUOTES FROM MY FRIENDS

quotes taken straight from my quote book, except i assign the easy men as some of the quotes

Dick Winters: i like the thrill of premarital eye contact though

Lewis Nixon: you white mans whore

Carwood Lipton: macarena through the pain

Ronald Spiers: i love war crimes

Harry Welsh: someone messaged me and said “when i think about you i think about weasels”

Joe Liebgott: i love milfs, they have a special place in my heart

Joe Toye: i’m going to grind ur kneecaps into a powder and snort it of a homeless mans ass

Bill Guarnere: i would 100% throw hands with a toddler

George Luz: i don’t have a brain

Skip Muck: that’s not very fergalicious

Don Malarkey: bitch ass gangly ranga

Frank Perconte: yeah and what about it, i’ll bite you, chomp chomp bitch

Babe Heffron: do you guys ever look at rocks and think “i really wanna eat that” or is it just me, like some rocks just look good to eat

Bull Randleman: wait i thought south america was florida? what do you mean brazil is in south america isn’t it in like europe

Skinny Sisk: are ponies real?

David Webster: state of denial? i’ve never been to egypt though

Shifty Powers: when people talk about how they have a baby ,,they preach they’ve done the funky,,, congrats ur not a virgin

Johnny Martin: let me read your palm… yep it’s says you’re a dumb bitch

Chuck Grant: ur the pee to my pants

Floyd Talbert: like what DO you say after sex? do you just fall asleep NAKED?!

Eugene Roe: looks like a bitch is depressed, it’s me, im bitch

Pat Christensen: can’t believe i almost called Jesus a dilf

Buck Compton: ass so fat it cause mass genocide

#madsthoughts #madsrambles #bluerambles #blue thoughts #band of brothers #babe heffron #ronald speirs #bandofbrothers #dick winters #eugene roe #george luz #hbowar #band of brothers #donald malarkey

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footprintsinthesxnd · 5 months

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In Your Arms

So this fic has been a long time coming as @sweetxvanixlla will tell you. I promised her this fic ages ago, I’m sorry it took so long Vee. Pairings: George Luz x f!reader

The hall was packed, a sea of bodies with women in different coloured dresses, their hair pinned neatly into curls and the men, mainly in uniforms, dancing around them. There were more than just the 506 there, boys from the 82nd were there too, along with a few RAF pilots, Rangers and an Armoured Division.

“I guess dances in Swindon are pretty popular,” George remarked, his hand resting firmly on her hip as he guided Y/n through the crowds of people to where a group of their friends stood by the bar.

“LUZ! Y/L/N!” Skip called out, waving them over to him. He was standing with Malarkey, Hoobler and Penkala, all of whom were nursing their warm pints of beer.

“We were starting to think you two weren’t coming,” Malarkey spoke, taking a long swig of his beer, a small smirk dancing across his lips as he watched Y/n cheeks beat up.

“Sorry, George was waiting for me to get ready. It’s been so long since I’ve had to do anything with my hair…” Y/n began but George just placed his arm reassuringly around her shoulders.

“It’s the price of beauty, boys, and isn’t she a stunner?”

Y/n blushed further, her cheeks a dark crimson and she suddenly felt very hot.

“Hey, come on, you’re embarrassing her,” Skip protested, shoving George playfully out of the way and embracing her. “Well I for one think you look stunning,” Skip smiled and Y/n couldn’t help returning it. Skip Muck’s smile was infectious and anyone who couldn’t smile with him had clearly never experienced real joy.

“Thank you, Skip. At least I can trust one gentleman to appreciate the time I put in.”

“Hey, I never said I didn’t appreciate it,” George protested, “I appreciate it very much.”

Y/n could feel George’s hand slipping a little lower on her back and she sent him a warning glare but he just grinned back at her innocently.

“Well, we're at a dance aren't we so why are none of you dancing.”

“Oh we’re just umm…”

“Well you know…”

“It's just that…”

Y/n cut off the others' excuses by grabbing George’s hand and dragging him in the direction of the dance floor, ignoring the ‘whoops’ and congratulations from his fellow paratroopers.

The dance floor was packed and it was a tight squeeze to get any room without having elbows thrust at them but Y/n and George found some room and then found themselves pressed rather close together.

“It's nice and cozy here, isn't it?” George mused, his thumb rubbing affectionate circles against the lacy back of her dress.

“Yes, it is rather close and personal,” Y/n agreed, spinning slowly in George’s arms before they returned to hold.

“So what’s life like back home? What’s your family like?” This was a question that few people asked Y/n. Being the only female member of Easy Company was both a trial and a pleasure and often enough they were too busy asking her if she had a boyfriend to care about the rest of her family.

“Home is simple really. I live with my parents and my two sisters. We also have a dog…”

“Really! I love dogs,” George interrupted, a childlike glee on his face at the mention of your pet dog.

“Yeah, she’s a good girl. I’ve always had dogs growing up. I miss not having one now,” Y/n smiled sadly at the thought of not having a little ball of fur at the end of her bed, or having to hunt for her shoes that mysteriously disappeared, or to have a furry shoulder to bury her head into after a long day.

George could sense something was wrong and stopped swaying before his face lit up.

“How about we get out of here? There’s something I want to show you.”

“But George we only just got here. At least let’s have a few dances first,” Y/n protested, watching sadly as George’s face fell. “Let me have three dances and then we can go.” She promised, pleased when George nodded enthusiastically.

The next dance Skip came swooping in, enveloping her in his arms and grinning wildly the whole time. It was beautiful and Y/n face ached by the end of the dance from where her face had been stuck in a permanent smile.

The next dance Y/n managed to wrangle Webster onto the dance floor, despite his protests and it turned out that Webster was a very good dancer. Y/n could feel herself becoming a little lightheaded under his intense gaze and just as she felt as though she would melt in his arms, George’s hand was pulling her away.

“Sorry Web, I’m going to steal my girl back now,” George glared at Webster and Webster glared back but a small smirk appeared on his face when Y/n retorted, “I’m not his girl.”

“Come on Y/n, I have a surprise for you and you promised only three dances.”

They waved goodbye to Webster and George dragged a very confused Y/n out into the night.

“Christ, I thought you were trying to get into Webster pants,” George coughed as a hand came into contact with the back of his head.

“So what if I was,” Y/n retorted, striding ahead of George as if she was annoyed by his comment, she wasn’t but George didn’t need to know that.

The footsteps quickened behind and soon George was by her side, falling into step again.

“Well, I just assumed you had better taste but I know a girls got needs. But Webster really?”

“Webster is a perfectly fine young man. He’s handsome and kind and intelligent and he’s an excellent dancer.”

“Bla bla bla. God I’m going to be sick if I have to hear any more of this mush,” George joked and noticing the sideways glare Y/n was sending him he relented. “Okay back to my exciting surprise.” George thrust his arm through Y/n crossed ones, forcing her to hold his hand which she relented to willingly, enjoying the comforting touch of her friend as they hurried through the night.

The bus ride back to Aldbourne was quiet, George spoke occasionally but the other people who frequented the bus gave them sour looks that eve made George fall silent.

Once they arrived in Aldbourne, George’s hand found his way to Y/n and he dragged her hurriedly towards the house he was billeted at.

“The family are away for the weekend so we have the house to ourselves,” George wiggled his eyebrows suggestive and Y/n snorted.

“In your dreams, Luz.”

“You bet it is,” he laughed, throwing the door open and stepping inside, showing Y/n through to the quaint living room. That was when Y/n felt something brush against her leg and she all but flew into George’s arms. As the light flickered on, Y/n found herself relax as the big brown eyes of a little black spaniel stared back at her.

“Oh George, she’s adorable.” Y/n knelt down to pet the little dog, who soon hurried over to her, tail wagging frantically.

“This is Dolly. The family asked me to look after her while their away. I figured she’d be a good substitute.” George crouched down giving the dog a quick scratch behind her ear. “She is a doozy.”

“She is beautiful, George. Thank you for sharing her with me.” Y/n threw her arms around George’s neck, sending him to the floor with Y/n lead in top of him. Now that she was lead on top of him, Y/n couldn’t help but notice the flecks of green dotted between the brown in his eyes, or the way his lips turned up at the corners as he smirked or the way her skin burned under his touch as his hands rested on the small of her back.

“George…” A long pink tongue whipped across her face and Y/n squealed as Dolly continued her onslaught of washing the pair, her tail whipping back and forth with excitement.

“First Webster and now Dolly. I think the universe is trying to tell me something,” George muttered, pushing Y/n off his lap so he could sit up, his head resting tiredly against the armchair.

Y/n shuffled towards him, plinking herself down into his lap and watching as the pink flushed across his cheeks. “Y/n? W-what are you doing?”

“Not letting anything stop me.” Y/n pressed her lips firmly against George’s, relishing in the taste of Lucky Strikes and the beer he’d been drinking earlier, mixed with the fragrance of the expensive aftershave that he’d purchased on Easy Company’s trip to London.

The kiss was over too soon and as Y/n pulled away George stared up at her wordlessly. After a few moments, he plucked up the courage to speak, “I’ve waited a long time to do that,” he admitted, winding his fingers into a few strands of her hair absentmindedly.

“Well don’t wait so long next time,” Y/n laughed and George could help the growing smile on his face.

“Oh don’t worry. I don’t plan on it.”

Tags: @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @lieutenant-speirs @sharpshootershifty @liberteuniteegalite @msmercury84 @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @mads-weasley @docroesmorphine @liptonsbabe @ronald-speirs @sweetxvanixlla @hesbuckcompton-baby @ronsparky @mutantmanifesto @malarkgirlypop @bucky32557038ww2 @panzershrike-pretz @whollyjoly @xxluckystrike

#George Luz #band of brothers #george luz x reader #band of brothers fic

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ithinkabouttzu · 7 months

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Would they love you if you were a worm? (Easy co. addition)

genre: romance (i guess)

warnings: being a fucking worm

a/n: this is a very random idea and i’m kinda late to the trend but i thought it would be cute so here ya go 😭

Dick Winters: - Yes

- would probably be the best person to take care of you

- Would build you a little garden for you to live in probably

Lewis Nixon: - Doesn’t answer the question because “it would never happen”

- When he does give you an answer it’s a no.

- he would accidentally step on you

Carwood Lipton: - says yes

- but in reality he would probably forget to feed you or something 😭

- would definitely forget about you and then freak out when he can’t find you LOL

Joe Toye: - Tells you no

- but he would actually take care of you surprisingly

- He’d put you in a jar with some dirt and call it a day.

Joe Liebgott: - Tells you that he would love you no matter what

- but he would lose you so quick it’s not even funny

- And when he does find you he’d probably accidentally step on you 😭

Bill Guarnere: - He doesn’t understand the question at all

-“Why would you ever be a worm?” “What kind of stupid question is that?”

- Tells you that he would throw you out to the backyard if you became a worm.

George Luz: - “Probably?”

- He’d be the worst care taker ever

- a bird would probably swoop in and take you bc he wasn’t looking 😭

Bull Randleman: - Tells you no straight up

- “I’d feed you to the chickens” LOL

- Probably would use you as bait to go fishing or sum

Eugene Roe: - he has a hard time imagining you as a worm but when he gets the question he says he would love you either way.

- he’d do something cute like make a little terrarium for you

- If you died he would make you a miniature little grave and bury you ☹️

Floyd Talbert: - Tells you no, then proceeds to ask you the same question

- Then gets surprised when you say no

-“You wouldn’t love ME if i was a worm?” 😟

Skip Muck: - Tells you no, but in a super nice way LOL

- “I’m sorry babe, but I just couldn’t deal with you sliming up the place”

- Would probably still love you though in all honesty

Don Malarkey: -Tells you “sure why not”

- but if the chance came up, he’s using you as fish bait for sureee

- Or he’d accidentally step or sit on you 💀

Babe Heffron: - “i’d stomp on you if you were a worm”

- Has no chill about it, acts like he would hate you if you were a worm 😭

- But in all seriousness he would probably still love and take care of you

Shifty Powers: - Tells you that he’d still love you

- he’d try his best to take care of you

- but he’d probably end up taking you out to the forest and letting you live there instead :(

Frank Perconte: - “no. Immediately no”

- tells you to stop asking him weird questions.

- After some real convincing, he comes to the conclusion that he would put you in a jar with some holes at the top like you would for a firefly 😭

Again i’m sorry if this sucks but i thought it’d be cute 💀 if you liked this make sure to reblog or like! 🤍

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bengiyo · 1 month

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Get to Know Me Tag :)

I was tagged by @telomeke and shaded by @lurkingshan.

do you make your bed?

Not usually, but I don't have a partner right now. I find that I'm actually really good at cleanliness when I have people in my space regularly. I am better about taking care of things when I'm doing them for the ease of others.

what's your favourite number?

14, but I couldn't tell you why. I think it has something to do with a girl named Ciara who I sat behind in elementary school.

what is your job?

I fix things for a government agency.

if you could go back to school, would you?

Probably. I didn't really know what I wanted to do when I went to college, and was far too much a mess at the time to study what I really should have. If I could do it and maintain my expenses, I'd retrain for my preferred profession.

can you parallel park?

Yes. I am the gay who drives.

a job you had that would surprise people?

I was paid for over two years to be really good at D&D.

do you think aliens are real?

So... I gotta be honest... I hate this question. This feels as loaded as the "Do you believe in God?" question. We are not aware of the existence of life on other planets, let alone sentient life. There is nothing for me to believe in. Do I hope that there are other intelligent beings out there? Yes. I think it would be really cool to engage in communication with a species that also crawled their way out of the muck and made it to space. I think there's much we could learn from each other about life and the universe itself. But belief is such a loaded term for me as a lapsed Catholic. I do not believe in aliens, but I hope that we'll get to meet some in the future.

can you drive a manual car?

Nope! Never needed to learn.

what's your guilty pleasure?

Hmm... Nothing really anymore?

tattoos?

Nah, I've always worked in the public sector in a way that hasn't made it an advisable choice, and I've rarely cared enough about something to mark my body with it.

favorite color?

Purple most of the time, but my wardrobe would say I'm in my green era.

favorite type of music?

I'm a soft rock 90s kid who embraced a lot of 2000s and later alternative. I've been on a huge synthwave kick lately. However, because I grew up in the 90s and remember the era of radio, I have a deep affection for Soul and R&B, classic rock, and pop.

do you like puzzles?

Yes? But not in a way that makes me yearn for them.

any phobias?

Probably falling, but that seems like a normal one for survival purposes.

favorite childhood sport?

Baseball! I was a shortstop.

do you talk to yourself?

Not often. I don't actually have an internal monologue, so I don't need to talk to myself often to get through it.

what movies do you adore?

This is...so difficult. I'm just going to name a ton of films: Pooh's Grand Adventure: The Search for Christopher Robin, Pacific Rim, Ghost Dog, Master and Commander, The Man From Earth, The Sum of Us, Big Eden, Kill Bill 1 and 2, Knives Out, Muppet Treasure Island, Gattaca, C.R.A.Z.Y., Weekend, First Blood, Robocop, Starship Troopers, Drive My Car, Nine Days, Really Love, Set it Off, Make the Yuletide Gay, Shelter, Pig, Kiki's Delivery Service, The Digimon Movie, Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, Star Wars IV and V, Isa Pa With Feelings, The Way He Looks... and probably many more.

coffee or tea?

Coffee. Tea does so little for me.

first thing you wanted to be growing up?

A train conductor or an astronaut! Trains are so cool, and space is the final frontier! We have to boldly go where no one has gone before!

I'll tag @shortpplfedup, @negrowhat, @chicademartinica, @so-much-yet-to-learn and @happypotato48

#tag game #tag meme #about me

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agirlwholovesrockstars · 1 month

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smile idiot, I love you

☆ EDDIE MUNSON'S MASTERLIST ☆

❣ AGATHA'S MAIN PAGE ❣

• Summary : you called Eddie because you've been so down lately nothing brightens you up whatever you try to do but he only leads you to disappointment

• Word Count : mini fics for a reason hehe

• Warnings : 18+ Bestfriend!Eddie Munson x FEM!reader, cursing, reader and Eddie are both (20), use of y/n, self-doubt, overthinking, worrying about the future, just a dash of personal family problems, slight allusions to su*cide, not feeling good enough, Eddie can be a real idiot on this lol, reader is just really having a bad week and she needs someone to comfort her, that's it

• What to Expect : friends to lovers, angst and fluff

• Note To Reader : I'm trying to write more as I can here! so, I hope you'll appreciate it! 🥺🫶🏻✨ also I kinda projecting myself on this fic :')) I just wish there's someone like Eddie in my highschool life, but the problem is I am Eddie in highschool 😭

• Author Note : actually, the fic title itself has a history on my middle school days, it's what I quote to my crush for over (10 years 👀) HELP HAHAHA yeah I still do have a crush on that specific person until now anyways enough about me, I just realized that little phrase is so perfect for Eddie hehe

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You're now entering adulthood

Well, a young adult

Sooner or later, you'll be 21 and feeling like you haven't accomplished anything yet

You feel young but also at the same time you feel old

You know it is wrong to be worrying about your future because you're ignoring what you're having right now

You can't lie to yourself for it, you're grateful and thankful for all the blessings that come into your life

You got healed by all of things that scarred and traumatized you, the things that made you feel insecure about your looks and from all of the people who betrayed you before?

Your past self will still be self-loathing, low-esteem and still keep holding grudges

But now, you made peace with that like truthfully

You have never been more so comfortable and confident in your whole life after all of the things that happened back in when you we're 14

You seriously just can't help that you're like stuck in the middle didn't know which road or path that you will take over

Many people say that is okay if you don't have anything yet, is it that much more exciting?

But sometimes the fear comes first on you like you think about it a lot

What if this is it?

What if this is who you will be with all of your life?

College life, finding and looking for a job, trying anything you possibly can to earn money for your needs

It's all coming too fast it's like what they say, "Take a good care of treasuring your moments while still in your teens because time moves speedily"

It's true, you feel like you just had your 18 birthday yesterday and now all of the sudden you woke up and now you're 20

You're reaching your 20's and can't help but also worrying about your relationship status

Your family and everyone who is close to you are expecting you to be married

"Snap out of it!" You vocally told yourself to shut up your running mind

You close the door behind you

But before you take the stairs heading to your bedroom, you want to talk about how you feel with your parents

The moment you're about to open the sliding doors in the backyard, you overheard your parents arguing with each other

You frown and slumped your shoulders

You decided against it, so, you grip tightly on your bag and walk upstairs to your bedroom

You closed the door, you pressed your back on it and sliding down to sit on the carpeted floors of your bedroom and then threw your bag on your chair and you deeply sighed

You facepalmed yourself as your mind goes running a muck

You glanced at the telephone on your bedside table

Should you call Eddie?

Nah, he doesn't even want to be a part of your problem, you don't want to be a burden

The time when you get comfortable around Eddie, it feels like you can tell many things to him and he won't even judge you for it

The thing is that, you both haven't crossed that line in the level of friendship

You haven't showed your side of vulnerability and of course, he hasn't seen you sad like this

There's a splash of embarrassing feeling that is crawling under your skin and also you know you will regret opening up to him because you aren't used to it anymore

You used to be vocal about how you really feel to some of your friends

But since one of them betrayed you

Used your personal problems against you and shamed you for it, told somebody else about it and it saddens you and angers you

It changed everything, now, it's so hard to trust everybody for you

Ever since you and Eddie started your friendship, you've been itching to give him a glimpse of you that sometimes your life isn't happy-go-lucky most of the time

You can keep it to yourself, you know sometimes it isn't right to cling on somebody if you feel like this, you need to help yourself too

But now, you need it, you need someone else to listen

The muffled noises outside of your room, you could them more clearly behind the closed door, they still have the same heated argument, you think they went inside now

Your stomach grumbles, you really don't want to go down there while they're still having a fit but you sigh as you stand up and twist the doorknob open

They're in the living room as you headed towards the kitchen

You saw the plate that your mom prepared for you, you take it and grab a bottle of apple juice as you went back to your room quietly

"Hey, young lady!" Your dad shouted out to you as he loudly stomps, you flinched on the middle of the stairs

"Just leave her alone!"

"Why do you go to your room all the time, huh?!? Why don't you just eat in the dining table where you supposed to be?!?"

You hang your head low, you didn't speak but you can feel your heart racing

"Look at your kid! Our child is misbehaving and treating a lot of matters with disrespect"

"She is not acting like that-"

"She doesn't even talk to her parents!"

You still went on your bedroom finally but your tears are now clouding your vision as you placed your food at the small table in front of your bed

You glanced at the phone again and this time you didn't even hesitated, you dialed his telephone number as you collected yourself first and keep your breathing lowly

You're still sniffling and your tears still running down on your cheeks

You're too overwhelmed with everything

Your heart is about to explode of how much is going on right now, you feel like he doesn't gonna pick up the phone until few minutes later

"Hello?"

His voice lightens you up the moment you heard it

You cleared your throat "Eddie?" Your winced at your voice croaked

"Hey there, sweetheart!" He doesn't even notice how small your voice is

You mustered up and plastered a fake smile as if he can see you behind the phone

"Uh- I'm good, Eddie"

You can see him how he nods behind the phone as he spoke again "I miss you by the way"

Your eyes went wide to his words despite at how disastrous you look, your cheeks bloom in red

He missed you like a friend, right? Not the other way around?

"W-what?!?"

"I said I miss you!" He chuckles and it shoots more butterflies into your stomach at the sound of it

You squeezed your shut as your lips tug into a small smile as you wipe the residue tears from your face as you take a deep breath

You ignore the thrilling feeling that you're having right now as you ask him straight away

"Can you come over?" Your voice cracks as your eyes start to dart everywhere and hoping that he'll do it

You didn't even care if you sounded so weak at this point

You could hear him shuffling and making rustling sounds

You furrow your brows "Eddie, what are you doing?"

"I'm getting ready to come over" you can hear the keys to his van jingling

But before you can protest he said before he hanged up

"See you later, sweetheart"

"Are you sure-" the line went off as you stare at the phone with excited smile on your face

You freshen up and went in with your comfy sleepwear, you wore a strapped lavender top and short as you pull a cream cardigan sweater

You saw him parked in front of your house as you jogged towards the front door

Thank goodness, your parents are asleep they would never hear him coming

You unlocked and swing the door open before he can ring the doorbell

Your favorite smile of his appears as he saw you, he didn't even think twice of you hugging you

He also didn't noticed your lost eyes and your feeling blue expression

He lets himself inside as you manage to give him a smile

You told him to keep his voice low as you tell him your parents are asleep but he does his antics as always as you let out a genuine giggle

His eyes softens as he heard that a lot of times you hang out together

You both sat down on the couch as goes on with his usual rambling about his band and his D&D campaign

It's almost 8pm and you haven't told him what's the reason why he is here

Maybe, he thought that you called him to catch up with the things that you both missed out on for not bonding for the last 2 weeks

"E-Eddie" you tried to get his attention

But he still so very phased with his story to you

"The crowd goes crazy-"

"Eddie!"

He abruptly stops when your voice gets higher than before as you throw your hands up

His eyes goes a lot more bigger to your unusual behavior as he started to shift on his seat

"I'm sorry" you softly say as you look at him briefly on his eyes

"Eddie, I need to talk to you"

"Yeah, we're doing it aren't we? and you just rudely interrupted me"

"That's not-"

He cuts you off and you really don't want to get mad on you only one bestfriend who seems oblivious to what are you dealing now

"Can you recall of what I just said?" He exaggerated his words and becomes more dramatic

"You aren't even listening!" He runs his palms down playfully on his face

You're in disbelief

You tried to mask your shocked expression as you tried to chuckle

Does he even see the longing and need in your eyes?

Does he even know how low you are at the moment?

Or are you maybe picked the wrong person to talk to?

Maybe, you should've asked Max to come over instead of him

He feels that you're oddly quiet as he stopped talking again as he looked at you

He saw an unreadable expression on your face as he tries to understand it

That's the only time when he feels like something is wrong and off about this

He can feel how the atmosphere changed seconds later, he can feel the tension rising up in the air

You start to twiddle with your thumbs as you look down again

"Eddie, I called you to come over because I really need to talk to you"

"Yeah, we haven't seen each other for 2 weeks"

He's right at some points at that but not tonight, you incredulously laugh at him

"I-Isn't that the reason why I am in here?" He is confused as he tries to search for your face as you raised your head slowly

You look right back at him and that's where it hit him

The unreadable expression that he saw earlier, he can see it clearly now

He can see how hurt you look and how upset you are, his words caught up in his throat

That's where he finally realized that you're not doing any good ever since the call that you both had earlier

He feels like he's about to puke from his dumb actions

He can feel the bile forming up on his esophagus as he breath suddenly shudders at the sight of you

"I asked you to come here because I thought you will listen" you paused as you smile sadly at him

"It turns you're insensitive" you scoff as you went in the front door

He wants to hold your hand and ask for forgiveness but you ignore his words as you push him not too hard only for him to get him out of your house

Not giving him another word or a chance to let him talk as you already slammed the door closed as you start running up at the stairs as you let the tears fall

The phone rings is what made Eddie wake up

He groaned and he saw what time it is and now his head is like about to pop how achy it is

He only slept for 2 in a half hours

Did he ruin the friendship?

Is it over?

Did he lost the potential to have something more than friends with you?

His eyes went glassy as the events of last night replays back on his head as he massages his forehead as he picks up the phone

"Hello?" He sounds groggy but the person behind the other line is getting impatient with him

"It's about damn time!" Max's voice made him winced at it

"O-Oh hey, red- what-"

"Eddie, I think you need to check on her"

"Why?"

"Don't ask me questions just get in here!"

"That's my fault-"

"I knew it that you're the cause of it-" she takes a deep breath to calm down

"I-I'm just worried for her, Eddie- she isn't like this, she would've picked up the phone right now but she didn't, I can't contact her and I am literally here on her porch and I feel like she's keeping me away and ignoring me"

Eddie feels like a shit, there's this huge mega ton of weight fell down to his chest as he couldn't even take the guilt of his chest

"So, please, come here and I think you're the only one who can get to her"

"What makes you say that"

"Because, Eddie she has feelings for you"

He frozed and look back at the telephone as if she can see his reaction but he felt the eye roll that she did when Eddie went silent for a bit

"Oh, don't celebrate yet, you haven't talked to her"

"She may not say it to me but I can tell how the way she acts around you, you made her feel welcomed and that's hard for her, Eddie so don't take it by the heart if she goes sometimes harsh on you"

"Nah, red, thanks- I think I deserved the words that she thrown at me last night"

"What's the update?" He says as he watches the red headed girl getting panicked

Max paced back and forth on your front porch with her arms crossed

"There's none and I'm starting to feel unwell now"

Eddie stares at your front door as he thinks "Did you try to open the door?"

She shakes her head "No, I haven't- and also how can you be so calm?!?"

Eddie shushes her "Just be cool"

"I can't be cool" Max whisper-shouts at him as they quietly went inside

They call your name but no response and they look at each other with such suspense in the room and the fear of your state as the longer the silent increases

They climb up the stairs heading towards your bedroom

Eddie pressed the side of his face on the closed door and he hears a faint sound of a running water like a shower is open on your bathroom

He swivel his head quickly at Max as he told him what he heard and Max tenses as she tries to not jump into conclusions

Eddie opens the door to your bedroom only to find your bed is empty and hasn't properly placed back on its order

Your blinds are slightly open, the bathroom door is not fully closed and the light is on

They're starting to get nervous

Eddie spoke your name quietly again as he places his palms against the door as he pushes it further to open it

Max's heart breaks into half when she saw you sitting in the corner of your shower, you're still in your pajamas and it's now wet from the running water while you're crying horribly but the sight of you being somehow okay gives her a relief

She travels her eyes to your sink bunch of tissues everywhere and the weight is off with her chest as you didn't try to do anything

She knew that you have tendencies to do that and she always looks out for you even though you only give her an idea of what you truly felt, you don't elaborate it that much but just by one word, she knows

She just knows

You saw them both together standing in front of your bathroom doorframe that made you cover your face with your hands

Eddie is much more disheartened than last night seeing you like that is a punch to the gut

"I'll leave you to it, I'll stay downstairs" Max whispers to him as she gave him an encouraging smile as she left you both together as he closes the bedroom door

Eddie is determined to fix everything that he should've done last night

He makes his way over to you, you haven't seen him yet when he crouches down to hold you by his side, you flinched and gasp by his touch

Your knit your brows together at him as you eyes went everywhere on his face, he smiles at you and you mirrored his small gesture as he opens his arms as you went with it

He didn't even care if he gets wet like you

The water is now seeping through his clothes and his hair is getting damp but still he doesn't care

You hold onto to him like it was your last breath and that drives him to held you close to him

He rests his chin on the top of your head as you breathe heavily against his chest

"I'm so sorry" He says as his voice wavered as you pulled your brows together as you remove yourself off of him as you look at him in the eyes

"What- Eddie? I should be the one who is sorry because that is so selfish of me, I spoiled the night, you we're excited to tell me everything what I've missed from last 2 weeks and I'm just so self-centered not thinking about you first-"

He shook his head at you as he holds your hand you let him intertwined your fingers to him

"No, don't blame yourself, sweetheart- it's me, I am truly sorry about last night, I wish I could go back and redo the shitty thing that I did to you because I should've known, I should've known because I'm your bestfriend but I wanted to let you know that I do care about you so much, so much that I didn't get to sleep enough today I always think about you and please, please don't ever have doubts talking to me about the stuff that it's nagging with you because you can always be real to me"

You swallow the lump in your throat as you stare at him completely appalled to his words

His chest tightens, is he forgiven or not?

You watch how the water falls to him so perfectly and it's tempting to place your lips onto his, you didn't even thinking about it anymore

You already did

You breath hitches of your sudden action, the cold water seems to be so cold to you as you watch his cheeks turns to a tinge pink

He gave you a look that you don't seem to understand as he cups your cheeks as he returns the kiss

You yelp on the bathroom floor as you both started making out with each other with ragged breaths

He deepens it as he hold you by the waist as you held the back of his neck to pull him much more closer if that's possible

He felt your lips stopped moving as he looks back at you

Are you thinking that this is a mistake?

"Did I do something wrong?" It's a comedy to watch his face turns pale when you suddenly become quiet

"Smile idiot, I love you" you chuckle at him as you saw his shoulders relaxed as he takes a double look at you and what you just said to him

"You love me?!" He points to himself

You nod at him excitedly as you sheepishly smile

"Aww, I love you too, sweetheart- I can't fucking believe this" you giggled when he pulled you to give you another kiss

Max bangs the door that you two stop at what you're both doing

"You two better not get hanky panky in there!"

You both get dried up as you let him use your dad's old clothes

While Max is ordering pizza for lunch, you and Eddie are on the sofa, he's sitting while you're resting on his lap as he drew relaxing circles on your legs as his another hand caressing your head as you continue talking to him

He is attentive and looking at you intently

You told him everything and you see the way his shoulders slump and his eyes flashes with sympathy

"You're the strongest person that I know and I am proud of you, I really do" he kisses your cheek and you smile

"But you gotta remember that life isn't a race, this is not about who is going to be first one to be successful, there are a lot of people who don't know what their plans for their life yet and that is okay, don't you ever worry for the future and we are still young, there's so so sooooo many things to look forward to, there's so many great memories that haven't happened yet, just enjoy life and I swear on my Munson's doctrine that I don't care about what other people think of me and I'm just going to do what I want, what I love and enjoy and importantly what I like to do the most"

You giggled to his antics that never fails to make you feel happy and he soothes him

"I just get so overwhelmed with everything sometimes" you say as you avert gaze somewhere else

"That's normal, darling, because you're a human and you're not a robot" he boops your nose as you giggled again

"Do you think that I could do anything?"

"I think you're able to do amazing things and just set your mind to it"

"Thank you" you say to him, you feel a lot more better now

"Just trust me, you'll be fine" he says as he gently pats your thigh

"Okay, I started to get feel sick here because you two won't stop getting off with your hands with each other" she playfully throws up as you and Eddie both laugh

Eddie's eyes sparks mischief as he fires back at Max "Oh, she told me that you harboring feelings on me"

You cheeks went rosy as you glare at her, Eddie laughs at the look of betrayal in your expression

"Max!"

The doorbell rings as she ignores your imply as you she claps her hands together "Pizza!"

Eddie carefully removes your legs as he starts to help Max with the pizza

You watch them both as they get excited to bring everything at the coffee table and searching for a good film VHS

See, this is what you wanted

This is what you needed

Eddie is right, you'll be okay

As long as you have them and you evaluating your mentality and your physicality as you grew older and learn from every eventful happenings of your life and breaking free through your fears and letting yourself out there in your comfort zone, you will be proud of yourself more than ever

Because you know your story is not over

It's only just the beginning

#eddie munson #stranger things 4 #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson supremacy #agirwholovesrockstarsfics

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