#also ''not your salvation not you protector''

[master-missysversion]

I love this exchange, it took me so long to realise that Clara was saying vastra was lying here. And I love how Clara was so certain that the doctor was kind, that he would help her out of kindness. It leads nicely into the doctor saying in the series 10 finale that he helps people out of kindness. She knew him so well right from the very start

[magnoliasandarson]

gods of gotham- ares

Even at the temples and shrines, the enigmatic duality of Ares was always present. Some saw him as a villain, consumed by bloodlust and unbridled rage. Others revered him as a patron, a protector, a guardian. Yet, a singular truth persisted —Ares wielded not just a sword, but also a shield. 

While the nobility were too good to pray to him, there were still the faithful who kept his fires burning on altars. Those who were not long for the earth, destined for the fields of war and the honor of death in battle. Those who marched under the flags of men who would never see combat. Those who were afraid and needed courage. Ares watched solemnly as they marched, guiding their blades and guarding their spirits. 

The helm of Ares was a symbol not only for soldiers but also for those seeking justice for the wronged. Women and children found sanctuary in the shadow of his violence. The red plume signified the blood he willingly spilled, for Ares’ purview did not end outside the battlefield; no—any who fought belonged in the protection of the god. And the punishment for harming those in Ares' refuge was death. Perhaps he was not loved amongst the gods or the affluent, but he was worshipped nonetheless.

In Gotham, the Red Hood was a figure of stark contrast: to some, he was needlessly cruel and brutal, while to others, he was an avenging angel. But to the Red Hood, these labels were inconsequential. The central truth of his mythos was clear-he was not just a butcher, but a steadfast defender, a protector of those in need. 

While the wealthy and prosperous of Gotham may have been too proud to call him a hero, there were still those who painted his symbol across the city. Those who were destined to be unfortunate casualties in wars they had no part in. Those who were forced to fight for survival under the shadow of skyscrapers built by philanthropists. Those who were afraid and needed courage. The Red Hood, ever vigilant, watched from the rooftops, guarding those who needed his protection and ending those who would harm others. Perhaps he was not loved amongst the heroes or the rich, but he was revered nonetheless.

The helmet of the Red Hood was a symbol not only to those fighting in the alleys but also to the working girls and children; he was divine retribution. Anyone who laid hands on a child would no longer have hands. Any that would take what was not given would find themselves bleeding out in the dark. Those who didn’t need a comforting word but a permanent justice. The Red Hood was a killer, but he was also a shield for those in need.

Welcome back, Ares- your people have missed you. 

In Greece and Gotham, when screams echoed through the air and the warriors and wounded alike prayed for salvation, a blood-colored helm appeared in the darkness. Those safe in their towers may have sneered at the gore and turned up their noses at the violence, but those who had been saved praised their savior until their dying breaths.

[mylight-png]

I just got a stupid reblog saying that "Hamas doesn't want to kill Jews it wants to get rid of colonialist Zionists" and shit. I've already addressed that, being indigenous to Israel, we literally cannot be colonists there, and the history confirms this. That is not the point of this post, however.

If the antisemites will not take my word for it, maybe they will listen to their beloved "resistance group" Hamas and when they are clear about their goals.

So, with that being said, let's take a look at their founding charter, shall we?

"The Prophet, Allah bless him and grant him salvation, has said:

'The Day of Judgement will not come about until Moslems fight the Jews (killing the Jews), when the Jew will hide behind stones and trees. The stones and trees will say O Moslems, O Abdulla, there is a Jew behind me, come and kill him. Only the Gharkad tree, (evidently a certain kind of tree) would not do that because it is one of the trees of the Jews.' (related by al-Bukhari and Moslem)."

Hmmm. Yes, they definitely only want to get rid of Zionists. For sure. That's why the word "Zionist" was mentioned so many times in this statement of genocidal intent. For sure. (Sarcasm, by the way.)

Let's take a look at another part, hm?

"Our struggle against the Jews is very great and very serious. It needs all sincere efforts. It is a step that inevitably should be followed by other steps."

Right yes, their struggle is against the Zionists. Not the Jews. For sure. How could I not have seen this before? (Again, sarcasm. Obviously.)

They also mention Jews in addition to Israelis and Zionists as a group of the people they don't like, as well as Christians, such as here:

"'But the Jews will not be pleased with thee, neither the Christians, until thou follow their religion; say, The direction of Allah is the true direction. And verily if thou follow their desires, after the knowledge which hath been given thee, thou shalt find no patron or protector against Allah.'"

Uh. Who is gonna tell them that Jews do not seek to convert anyone? (They might just be referring to Christians, I'll give them that.) However, they still do very clearly vilify those who do not subscribe to their beliefs, and it almost seems as if they wish to violently convert them. Y'know, with the "thou shalt find no patron or protector against Allah". Just saying.

So yeah. Hamas aren't your "freedom fighter" heroes. They are a terrorist group based in genocidal intent.

If you ignore this and fail to condemn them, maybe you just hate Jews. Just saying.

I feel like I'm being a lot more... Not blunt, but I suppose more sassy? With my tone? If that makes sense? But you know what, I'm so fed up with these people not bothering to read a document that is incredibly easy to find online. How can you support something you know nothing about?

So yeah. Hamas's original founding document says it all.

The Antizionism movement is founded, steeped, and marinated in antisemitism.

[mako-neexu]

WHA THTEYFUJCCK WHA. THT HELL WHAT. WHAT???? ISTFGKLNDFKJSDN MAN. edguda is like. yeah prison tower gave edmond the opportunity to be like a light, be like someone's abbe faria, guda got to live but in turn it also damned him to a hell of poison called LOVE. i literally cannot do this. hoyl shit. they are each others' poison, each others' damnation and salvation istfg. istfg!!!!!!!! this edguda prison is a mad house now for me. ritsuka being who they are, is accepting of a person even as fucked up as the summoned Avenger that was originally there to kill them under the orders of a mastermind. ritsuka didnt try or do anything to enforce a 'cure' or a kind of holy salvation upon him and just allowed him to be who he is. a chaotic evil Avenger class Servant with a history of being betrayed. but guda is someone who will stay by someone's side even until their deathbed. as for the count of monte cristo, the very man who made it out of the hell on earth prison tower alive where madmen are put together with other madmen, he is guda's dream guardian and protector as well as someone who whispers words of encouragement, a man with steel of determination who will always pull them up again and again from the sheer anguish they've faced- poison in and of itself.

where, in the face of madness, in the face of boundless despair and hopelessness, remaining human, continuing to be normal, continuing to move forward despite it all is in itself a form of abnormal. dantes has damned them as well by the simple act of caring and protecting their body and soul as they traverse through this perilous journey-making them last longer when they couldve been killed anytime (when they couldve had the release of death, their suffering no more as their soul is lost to the world).... it also doesnt help with the irony of both of them having poison resistance wha yghyfujcjckckkkk.

guda, you totally ruined the count of monte cristo... im horrified and in awe. look at this man broken and helpless from love, his flames burning far brighter, far darker as fires of poison that consumed every part of his body, burning himself away for your sake, every crack and crevice of his body bleeding out just for you, just for your sake, just so you could have a path to walk on, for his fate, his light, his beloved accomplice, his star who has both saved him and damned him into a new kind of prison in this second life of his... where he calls it "paradis chateau d'lf"

[the-ninja-legacy-whip]

.:The Legend of the Green Ninja Lives:.

Chapter 2: Welcome to the Next Normal

“Pardon the interruption, fair citizens of Ninjago City!” A loud voice echoes abruptly through the alleys, blared through a comically oversized speaker. Lloyd traces the source to the giant Shark Mech positioned in uptown, with Olivia herself now perched at the top. She flicks her arm out, causing her fin-shaped cape to wave dramatically behind her. "I, your benevolent General Number One, once more come bearing the demands of Lord Garmadon, slayer of the Great Devourer! All he asks for in return for such a dedicated service…is the immediate return of the four Golden Weapons he used to do so! We don’t like being so forceful…but the only thing stopping your city from receiving its well-due salvation is the insistent opposition of Secret Ninja Force! What kind of heroes are they, to be the protectors of a problem they caused themselves…?!” She throws her head back with a maniacal cackle, just as the rest of the Shark Squad members pull up behind her. Admiral Jelly leads Colonel Crusty and Private Puffer in their Jelly Subs, while Lieutenant Lobby follows with Angler Goon and Four-Eyes in the Manta Ray Bombers. A few foot soldiers surround them from the ground, each one carrying various amounts of sea-themed weapons in hand.   "Can you hear me, Ninja?! This can all go away with a single choice!" Olivia smirks to herself. "Are you willing to subject your precious city to yet another day of needless torment?! Or will you quietly hand over the answer to all our problems?! Of course, you could also surrender the Green Ninja and yourselves instead, and I might just consider—” "Oh, bla bla bla! By the Master, do you EVER stop talking?!"

… 

Read the rest of the chapter right here! Or, start from the beginning!

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Awaiting the Dawn: Insights from Isaiah's Watchman

What challenges do we face in our faith journey today? How prepared are we to face spiritual adversity? What is the current state of our faith community? When do we expect the dawn, the arrival of God's salvation?

This is the burden against Dumah: One calls to me from Seir, “Watchman, what is left of the night? Watchman, what is left of the night?” — Isaiah 21:11

It seems we often find ourselves asking, "Watchman, what is left of the night?" What dangers lurk in the darkness? Errors multiply, and new ones appear every moment. Against what misconceptions must we stand guard?

Sins emerge from their hiding places in the darkness; we ourselves must ascend the watchtower and remain vigilant in prayer. Our Heavenly Protector anticipates all attacks against us. Even when the intended harm is only a glimmer in the enemy's eye, He prays for us, ensuring our faith does not fail when we are tried and tested. Continue, O Gracious Watchman, to warn us of our adversaries, and for the sake of Zion, remain not silent!

"Watchman, what is left of the night?" What is the forecast for the Church? Are storm clouds gathering, or is the sky clear and calm? We must be deeply concerned for the Church of God; as threats of misunderstanding and disbelief loom, let us discern the signs of the times and prepare for battle.

"Watchman, what is left of the night?" What stars shine brightly? Which divine promises speak to our present circumstances? Though you raise the alarm, also provide us with comfort. Christ, our guiding star, remains steadfast in His place, and all stars are safe in the right hand of their Lord.

But Watchman, when will morning come? The Bridegroom delays. Are there not signs of His rising as the Sun of Righteousness? Has not the morning star risen as a promise of the coming day? When will the day break, and the shadows recede?

Lord Jesus, guide us through our darkest hour. May we discern Your radiant promises in our lives. Awaiting the dawn, may we find comfort in Your presence. Come quickly, O Lord, according to Your Word.

Questions for Reflection

What challenges do you currently face in your faith journey and how are you dealing with them?

How can you prepare yourself to face spiritual adversity?

What is the current state of your faith community? How can you contribute to its growth and stability?

How well do you understand God's promises? Can you recall a promise that has been fulfilled in your life?

What signs do you see in your life that God's salvation is near?

What "night" are you experiencing in your spiritual life right now? How can you better guard against spiritual errors and sins?

How do you react to threats against your faith, such as misunderstandings or disbelief?

Can you identify any "stars" or divine promises that shine brightly in your current circumstances?

How can you be a beacon of comfort and guidance to others in your faith community?

In what ways have you experienced the steadfastness of Christ in your life?

What signs of the "coming morning" or God's deliverance do you see in your life or in the world today?

How can you invite Jesus to come quickly into your current circumstances, according to His word?

Supporting Scriptures

Genesis 19:1: Now the two angels arrived at Sodom in the evening, and Lot was sitting in the gateway of the city. When Lot saw them, he got up to meet them, bowed facedown,

Exodus 12:42: Because the LORD kept a vigil that night to bring them out of the land of Egypt, this same night is to be a vigil to the LORD, to be observed by all the Israelites for the generations to come.

Judges 7:19: Gideon and the hundred men with him reached the outskirts of the camp at the beginning of the middle watch, just after the changing of the guard. They blew their horns and broke the jars that were in their hands.

Psalm 63:6: When I remember You on my bed, I think of You through the watches of the night.

Matthew 25:6: At midnight the cry rang out: ‘Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him!’

Mark 13:35: Therefore keep watch, because you do not know when the master of the house will return—whether in the evening, at midnight, when the rooster crows, or in the morning.

Luke 12:38: Even if he comes in the second or third watch of the night and finds them alert, those servants will be blessed.

[orthodoxadventure]

You are in my prayers, would you mind also praying for me?

Thank you, I greatly appreciate your prayers. It means a lot to me. And of course! May God bless, guide, and comfort you and those that you care about <3

Two prayers for the self that you might find beneficial:

Orthodox Prayer for the Self

Lord, into the hands of Thy great mercy I commend my body and soul, thoughts and acts, desires and intentions, needs of my body and soul, arrival and departure, my faith and hope. To Thee I commend the end of my life, the day and hour of my expiration, the repose of my soul and the resurrection of my body. Do Thou, O Most Merciful God, O gentle Lord, Whose clemency is ever unconquered by the sins of the world, take me, who am more sinful than all others, under the wings of Thy protection, and deliver me from all evil. Cleanse the great multitude of my iniquities, grant the reformation of my wicked and hardened life, and ever defend me against approaching evil transgressions, that I in no manner ever anger Thee. Shelter my weakness from passion and evil men; guard me against visible and invisible enemies, lead me on the road to salvation and to Thyself, Who art my harbor and the heaven of my desires. Grant me a shameless, peaceful Christian death, protect me from evil spirits, be merciful to me, Thy servant, on Thy last judgment, and number me among the blessed flock on Thy right, that together with them I may glorify Thee, my Creator, forever. Amen.

Orthodox Prayer for Mental Health

O Master, Lord my God, in Whose hands is my destiny: Help me according to Thy mercy, and leave me not to perish in my transgressions, nor allow me to follow them who place desires of the flesh over those of the spirit. I am Thy creation; disdain not the work of Thy hands. Turn not away; be compassionate and humiliate me not, neither scorn me, O Lord, as I am weak. I have fled unto Thee as my Protector and God. Heal my soul, for I have sinned against Thee. Save me for Thy mercy's sake, for I have cleaved unto Thee from my youth; let me who seeks Thee not be put to shame by being rejected by Thee for mine unclean actions, unseemly thoughts, and unprofitable remembrances. Drive away from me every filthy thing and excess of evil. For Thou alone art holy, alone mighty, and alone immortal, in all things having unexcelled might, which, through Thee, is given to all that strive against the devil and the might of his armies. For unto Thee is due all glory, honor and worship: To the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, now and ever, and unto ages of ages. Amen.

[thefaithbroken]

A dissertation about Zevlor that I've been meaning to write and post for some time…

Some of this is from my bio for him and some I will elaborate further upon than I do there, but here we go. // @thefaithbroken

Zevlor has been through hell, figurative and literal. A protector by nature, it was as obvious an action as breathing to become a paladin of Helm, to become a Hellrider. His strong sense of justice and his drive to defend those who could not defend themselves had him rise quickly in the ranks. It was not long before he earned the title Commander.

For a time, all was well. He was proud of his work, of his calling, of the good that he did.

And then Elturel fell.

You remember the shattered windows of Elturel's High Cathedral, the burning black sky of Avernus beyond.

In its horror, the Blood War unites you. Tiefling, dwarf, and elf alike huddle behind the shields of your paladin order, waiting for salvation. But when it comes… disunity.

The returned city casts you out, the devils who dragged them down to hell. In the end, it is not your paladin oath that is broken: It is your Faith itself.

Those of his order stood together, united in the face of possible enslavement or annihilation… until the danger had past and there was time for such ugly things as resentment, fear, hatred, and racism.

After all they had endured, after how they all had stood together and defended their home, after they had all placed their own lives in peril to defend those who needed their aid—just as Zevlor always had believed should be done—to be cast out… broke both his faith and, in many ways, him.

He was weary, wartorn, betrayed. But his people, the frightened Tiefling refugees also cast out, needed him, looked to him to guide them through the perils of the Wilds and to Baldur's Gate. He was the one with the most experience, the most authority of the lot. They looked to him and he set aside his own pain and brokenness in order to do what he could for them, so little as it might be. Older than most there, powerless with his faith left in shambles, a greater ruin even than Elturel, still he agreed to lead them. Who else was there to whom they might turn? Most of them had never held a sword, perhaps never even ventured outside of their city, in all of their lives.

Yet, even despite his knowledge and his experience, they lost many along the roads, to all manner of dangers and threats. Their numbers had substantially dwindled even before the gnoll attack… and he set each one like a mark against his very own soul, the burden of his failures, the reasons for the guilt that hunched once strong shoulders. He was not worthy to lead them. He had failed them at every turn. Without his abilities as a paladin, with his faith shattered as it was, what use has he been to them? If he has done anything at all worth note, he cannot see it. Yet, he does not ask for them to take up arms as well. Does not demand of these survivors to become soldiers. He assures the ones who wish to help, tries to encourage them even when he would have given up from the moment the order to leave was given if it hadn't been for this duty. He asks nothing of them, and takes everything upon himself, weary as he is.

That is where the story begins anew though, isn't it? Gnolls and goblins and brave, heroic adventurers, some small spark of hope rekindled at last… How surprised he is at every turn when the leader of the adventurers not only agrees to help, but even offers, does so without asking anything in return. It shocks him every time and you can hear it in the breathless, stunned quiet, particularly if the leader of the adventurers doesn't take the payment he collected from the refugees for their help in ridding them of the goblin threat. He even gives the leader his own Helm-blessed gauntlets if the player sorted Kagha. Every time he is met with kindness and aid, he is left stunned and perhaps even a bit verklempt because Elturel had shaken him so much, had broken him so much, had left him hopeless.

But these adventurers who owe them nothing had done everything in their power to help him and the other refugees, perfect strangers to them, simply because it was the right thing to do. It isn't much in the grand scheme of the world turning, but it means everything to him, which is exactly what Cerys says when you meet her at Last Light.

"The way Zevlor talked about you, I'd thought you would be ten feet tall." [ Potentially paraphrasing as I can't remember the exact wording, but that's the gist. ]

He hadn't stopped talking about the leader, about the one who returned at least some hope to him, not from the moment they left the Grove. It was the first time since Elturel fell that he felt a spark of something again that didn't feel like loss or suffering.

If only he had known how it would go from there…

What hope had been rekindled by the travelers was challenged by the Shadows as fear and uncertainty once more gripped him. Were these shadows not the same that Halsin had warned the travelers about? And yet, Cerys assured him it was only a quick detour to avoid an owlbear on the road. If his scout was so certain, then perhaps it was, in fact, the best path.

Except that it wasn't.

Not far from a place that could have been their safehaven from the shadows, it fell upon them: the might of the Absolute.

Enthralled and dominated by a being of god-like power, his brokenness, his vulnerability, his self-doubt and his guilt are what the Absolute sees and what it uses. What is it that captures him? The thought of having his power restored to him, not for his own gain… but that he might at last truly protect his people, might prevent the loss of any more lives, might at last be able to live up to all that they had asked of him when he, in his mind, had failed them so many times along this journey. The Absolute singled him out as the threat, as the one who would cause the most trouble if he was aware at the time of the ambush, and it made certain that it wouldn't be, showing him exactly what he wanted to see: him able to keep his people safe…

As they were slaughtered around him, or blindly fled into the darkness.

And by the time he can snap out of it, there's nothing he can do. It's too late. Asharak, Ikaron, Memnos, and others — dead. It's his fault. It's his fault that he was too weak. It was some personal failing of his that lead to this, clearly.

So he goes with the cultists. Lets them take him away to Moonrise.

So much for hope. So much for heroes. What a fool he had been.

There was only him and his weakness and his failure… and the dead…

Yet, upon being freed in the Mindflayer Colony by the leader of the adventurers, he fights like a madman, helps to clear the room of any and all threats, offering a glimpse at the warrior he was and still is beneath the grief. And then you can speak with him.

For this, I will use my paladin, Thraeya and the dialogue options she chose.

Zevlor: Hells, I didn't think I was going to make it… Thank you. I… I owe you an explanation. Much more than that. But first, please… The others. The ambush — tell me they survived.

Thraeya: They found refuge. But what the hells happened out there, Zevlor?

Zevlor: You've heard some of it, I'm sure. That I froze, or broke, or some other lie that is kinder than the truth. We were ambushed by cultists, yes. And then I heard… her. Their false god, whispering promises in my mind. I would be a paladin again — with a god's purpose, a god's power. Everything I needed to protect my people. And all the while, the cult tortured them. They fought, and ran, and died around me, while I imagined myself their saviour. By the time I regained my sense, it was too late. I did not just surrender to the Absolute. For a moment, I welcomed it.

Thraeya: It sounds like you were being enthralled. It's not your fault.

Zevlor: It would be nice to think so. But whatever these monsters twist us into… I believe that it begins in us. I won't make excuses. I can't make amends. But I know something of what you came to do — I want to help, i- if you'll let me. Ketheric is below. He thinks you are no longer a menace. Descend and show him how wrong he is. If there are any more survivors to be found, I'll find them and lead them out of this place.

Thraeya: Find your people. They need you.

Zevlor: They have you… Go, my friend. Please. Let me do this much.

--------

As an aside, most of the responses you can choose are less than understanding. Several of them are outright condemning, much as the tone I dislike that has been taken with the writing in answers to Gale. And, honestly, the way Zevlor talks about himself also reminds me quite a bit of how Gale talks about himself. As though he has no worth or value beyond what he can do for others—right from when you first meet him in the Grove and he says that he'll repay your kindness—as well as for feeling that there is no way he can redeem himself, no way to make amends, no way to atone. There is something inherently wrong with him.

It frustrates me to no end that the game and its writing team have chosen to treat a character like Zevlor in this manner, as though the very narrative condemns him for something utterly beyond his control. As many times as certain adventurers get charmed by harpies and Tasha's Hideous Laughter and Otto's Irresistible Dance cast by just regular, ordinary opponents, I find it a bit hypocritical to hold it against Zevlor that he gets dominated by a literal deity-level being.

We give Minthara a second chance when we recruit her despite how many deaths she's either responsible for under orders of the Absolute or would have been responsible for under the Absolute, nevermind anything she might have done or been part of as a Lolth-sworn drow.

We don't hold all of Astarion's past against him, despite all the lives it affected forever.

We don't condemn Shadowheart for being part of Shar's cult despite all of the destruction wrought.

We don't blame Lae'zel for her people literally being willing to go wipeout whoever stands in their way — including an entire monastery as well as the Flaming Fist and the tiefling scout.

We don't fault Karlach for not helping the people of Elturel while she was in the hells because she was focused on doing whatever it took to survive.

We don't hold it against Wyll that he made a bad decision because he wanted to save his city.

We don't blame Halsin for the Curse falling and for his inability to fix it all this time, or even to keep the Grove in order and Kagha, his own student, on the right path.

We don't blame or condemn or ostracize any of them for their worst act or worst failing or worst decision or worst moment.

Yet the game seems to slant towards immediately writing off characters like:

Zevlor [ who was literally in the worst mental state possible while still trying to help others and was taken advantage of because of it and then subsequently blamed by the very people he strove to protect and had protected until that point even when he was struggling, to the extent of Cerys basically saying 'fuck him' despite the fact that SHE is the whole reason they ended up in the Curse anyway even if you explained to her what happened, and Zorru — who has exactly no right since he took off and abandoned the Tiefling who the Githyanki kill — basically says he better not see Zevlor or else. ]

Nere [ who is arguably in the same boat as Minthara, if not worse for having been a drow male in Lolth-sworn society, and if you converse with him after you convince him to free the gnomes, you can even actually see the shift in his demeanor and tone, to the extreme of going from talking in third person to talking in first, as well as him seeming almost addled and confused ]

Gale [ who much of the fandom makes no secret of saying that somehow Mystra was the real victim and Gale was the problem — thanks, Larian — despite the fact that even Minsc says that where he comes from, they teach their wizard boys to be silent lest Mystra steal them away, nevermind all of her canon behavior and atrocities outside of the game ].

On the whole, the fandom pardons almost all of the team characters in some manner or other, while condemning some of the very others whose stories are quite similar. Why is that? This game literally revolves around the concept of trauma and the fallout from it, and yet… apparently the effects of trauma should hold weight only for some characters? Is that the takeaway?

Zevlor should be condemned and ostracized because he was suffering, Nere should be killed and his head taken to the Myconids despite being a puppet under the Absolute, and Gale's best ending — according to some of the very people at Larian in charge of the stories — is to kill himself for the greater good because he wasn't ready before but he can do it now.

Wow.

--------

But, I digress, Zevlor is a good person who has been through literal and metaphorical hell while trying to help people who needed help, despite the fact that he didn't even feel like he could help himself. In a moment of weakness, he was taken advantage of and enthralled, and he blames himself for all that followed — and the narrative itself seems to blame him in turn.

Instead of pointing fingers, throwing blame, and directing venom at a man who already thinks he isn't worth the space he takes up, you should be able to sit him down in camp with a warm blanket and some food beside the campfire and reassure him — just as you do with all of your companions, each in turn — that he did what he could, that he isn't defined by his worst moment, and that the world is still better for him in it. What's the most important is what he does next. And you would see him absolutely crumble.

Zevlor deserves the world, and no one will ever convince me otherwise.

[childofchrist1983]

The LORD bless thee, and keep thee: The LORD make his face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee: The LORD lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee peace. - Numbers 6:24-26 KJV

Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ will never withhold a single good thing from His children – Those who believe in Him and His Gospel Truth and choose to walk with Him. He is the source of our peace and He is our savior and protector. He will keep us to the very end and beyond.

As you live your daily Christian life, be encouraged to know that your needs have been met and God is always with you and that will never change. Thank God for His light and love that allows us to find everything we need in Him. Our mind and heart is at rest, because we know that He is with us and He will never leave us nor forsake us. May God fill us with His Holy Spirit and guide us to making peace with one another, so we may be exceptional examples of His truth, compassion and love. May we always be willing to follow and serve God, never influenced or carried away by our sinful, selfish desires.

Everyday, we must remember to thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for the grace that He poured out for us on the cross at Calvary. He has freed us from the burdens of sin and guilt. May He help us to always walk in His grace and Holy Spirit, not by our own measure. May He give us the humble humility to know that our freedom and eternal salvation is found only in Him, so that His grace may sustain us, and we may never lose sight of His love and light and mercy. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for calling us to Him and to serve Him. May He equip us to do all that He has called us to do so that as He works through us, He may use us to produce fruit, to reach others, and to encourage all brothers and sisters in Christ. May He work all of these things in us and through us for His Kingdom and His glory. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for all His creation, for His miraculous ways and for everything He does and has done for us! Keep the faith and keep moving forward in your walk with Jesus!

Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for His Holy Word and for sending His Holy Spirit so that we might have His grace, not only to awaken us and transform our hearts in our spiritual rebirth and guarantee our eternity with Him, but to also call upon Him whenever we are in need. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for all the reminders of His love and mercy and faithfulness within His Holy Word. He is bigger than any challenge or circumstance in our lives. Knowing this within our minds and our hearts, nothing can deter our faith in Him and His Truth. May we all accept Him and His eternal gift of salvation and ask that He would transform our hearts and lives according to His will and ways. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for His Holy Spirit who saves, seals and leads us. May we always thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for His almighty power and saving grace. For He is our strength, and He alone is able to save us, forgive our sins and gift us eternal salvation and entry into His Kingdom of Heaven.

May we make sure that we give our hearts and lives to God and take time to seek and praise Him and share His Truth with the world daily. May the LORD our God and Father in Heaven help us to stay diligent and obedient and help us to guard our hearts in Him and His Holy Word daily. May He help us to remain faithful and full of excitement to do our duty to Him and for His glorious return and our reunion in Heaven as well as all that awaits us there. May we never forget to thank the LORD our God and our Creator and Father in Heaven for all this and everything He does and has done for us! May we never forget who He is, nor forget who we are in Christ and that God is always with us! What a mighty God we serve! What a Savior this is! What a wonderful LORD, God, Savior and King we have in Jesus Christ! What a loving Father we have found in Almighty God! What a wonderful God we serve! His will be done!

Thanks and glory be to God! Blessed be the name of the LORD! Hallelujah and Amen!

[wordynerdygurl]

Someone to Watch Over Me

Part 3: “He’s the One Affair I Cannot Forget”

Author’s Note:  Oh my lovelies!  Truth time- I almost didn’t post this... I reworked it and reworked it and walked away from it before remembering that I had come too far to turn back now.  So, with my humble thanks to @sweetsweetjellybean​ and @sammy-jo1977​ you now have Part 3!

My taglist is open and reblogs are encouraged!!

It’s filled to the brim, so enjoy!

If you need to catch up:  Part 1 - Love is Blind & Part 2 - Seek & You Will Find are here! Pairing:  Eddie Munson x Plus Sized OC Amanda Patterson Summary:  It’s love at first sound, pitch perfect and fated, everything in harmony.  If only life were a love song. Eddie and Amanda make their union physical, back in 1987.  What does 1990 have in store? Warnings:  There is SMUT ahead (minors DNI), first time with a new partner, and mentions of birth control.  Self depricating thoughts are discussed, some fat phobic ideas are expressed and there’s a passing mention of canon quality Chrissy’s passing.  Also, smoking, drinking and swearing. Happy Reading!

1990

“Well, I think we’ve got everything we need.  Thank you guys for your time.”  Chuck grinned slickly, offering a tepid handshake to all the guys in the group, “The tech team will edit the package together and get it over to your manager for final approval, but yea, this should be on the air in a week or two.  Exciting, right?”

The manufactured for the masses interviewer was looking directly at Eddie as he asked, clearly in need of approval or something less like open disdain from the front man and lead guitarist,  “Uh, yea.  Like, super exciting.  So, thank you?”  Gareth sniggered at his back.  It was becoming way too obvious that Eddie couldn't keep the charade up much longer.  Not when his head was like this- lost in the past but forced to work in the present.  But then salvation arrived at his side.  Maggie, savior, protector, liberator, bumped his shoulder and interrupted with a grave whisper, “Mr. Munson, I’m afraid it’s time.” Vague enough to sound serious, Eddie nodded his head solemnly, “Oh, yea, right.  Well, thanks again Chuck, but, alas, duty calls.”

“No, thank you Eddie-” He didn’t answer the host, having already turned away, hip to hip with Maggie, heads bowed together like naughty kids.  Waiting until they were out of earshot, she sighed deeply, “Ya know, that could've gone better, Emmy.” Eddie snorted at the nickname, his brown eyes rolling, “That guy sucked, Mags.  Forget being a tool, Chuck was an entire tool box.  A goddamned Harbor Freight of bullshit.” Sighing deeply, the sturdy woman fell in step beside him, “So fucking what?  MTV’s gonna be running that shit for days, weeks even.  The least you could do is be, I don’t know, polite?” He barreled through a swinging door back first, Maggie dogging his steps, as he sassed, “I was polite, Magdelena.  I answered his questions.  What else do you want from me?” Eddie nodded at one of the road guys as they passed, the lull in this particular conversation more than welcome.  But of the many reasons he loved Maggie so much, this right here was the kicker; her determination.  That it was also the worst thing about being her friend was one of those unsolved mysteries of life since this dominant personality trait meant that their little moving conversation wasn’t over.  Not by a long shot. Turning down a narrow hall, they pushed into the green room together as she shrugged, “Maybe a little less attitude.  Maybe a little more gratitude.” “Are you a greeting card now, Mags?”  Eddie had flopped onto a sagging gray monstrosity of a couch, his legs kicked up over the arm, his back flat against the indeterminately stained cushion.    Maggie wasn’t looking in his direction.  Instead she was peeking around the corner, checking the exit and generally ensuring that no immediate risks to Eddie’s safety could be seen.  When she was satisfied that a crazy fan was not about to jump out of his closet, she planted her feet and crossed her arms, staring down at Eddie with an affectionate scowl, “No, but I do like my paycheck, so I need you to stay employed.” “Ha!  Honey, the lead singer of Corroded Coffin ain’t goin’ nowhere!” She pulled a plastic backed chair closer, eyeing him from the shadow of her ever present hat’s bill, “Well, that’s not entirely true, now is it?” His eyebrow raised again, curiosity clear on Eddie’s face, “You know something I don’t?” “Aren’t we going back to Indiana?  That Battle of the Bands thing after New Year’s?”  Settling back against the flimsy seat, her legs opened wide, Maggie ran her hands over her thighs, the rolled sleeve of her shirt showcasing her own inky designs.  The caged bird on her forearm always drew Eddie’s attention and even now he caught himself staring at the intricate ink instead of answering his friend and protector’s question.  “Fuck.  I had almost forgotten.” “Bullshit.”  Squinting at him, the same look she gave to overeager fans who lined up alongside the tour bus, the one that made them piss their pants in fright, the one he cherished, Maggie now used on Eddie to get at the truth. Feigning affront, he sat up on his elbows, hair long enough now to get caught underneath his shoulder and pulling, “Excuse me?” “Bullshit you forgot.  You’re going to judge the Battle of the Bands in your home state and you fucking forgot?  Nope.  No way.  And what’s with the song you brought up?  Someone to Watch Over Me?  A little, I don’t know, soft for you, ain’t it?” The blush of honesty scorched through him so fast, Eddie flopped back to the sofa with a soft whoosh sending a swirl of dust out of the ancient furniture.  How many sweaty asses have sat here, he wondered quickly.  A hundred?  More?  Gross. But then Mags cleared her throat, unimpressed by his delay tactics.  It chafed her charge and since Eddie was already feeling some kind of way, more defensive than he meant to be, he huffed, “Yea?  So?  It’s- it’s a great song.”  There were not a lot of secrets between Edward Munson and Magdelena Rios but Mandy?  Yea, that was definitely, absolutely a secret he kept close.  So, of course his bodyguard slash bulldog wouldn’t know about his affinity for Gershwin songs when they were sung into a perfect Indiana sunset.  And she wouldn’t know about the ache in his chest whenever he looked up at the sky and found the silent, silver full moon staring back down him.  Judging him.  Reminding him of regrets that ran deep- goblin green and moss covered, growing mushrooms in the dark.  Clever and always on alert, Maggie saw something cross his face because she nodded and then tipped her chair onto two legs, “Uh huh.  Right.”  “What are you trying to say, my darling Magdelena?”  Swinging his big black boots forward, Eddie pushed up so he was sitting almost normally.  He let his clasped hands hang between his knees as he lifted baleful brown eyes to Maggie’s steely ones. “I’m trying to say that you’re not using your head.”  Her chair clanged as she lowered it too fast making Eddie flinch, “I am saying, flat out, that you got so pissy with Chuck the Tool Box because you were a little too honest today, even if I don’t get why.  I guess-” she leaned forward now, encroaching on the rockstar’s space with a soul deep exhale, “-I’m saying I’m worried about you, my friend.” Twisting his lips into a devilish smirk, Eddie reached over and flicked at the brim of her hat, “Honey, sweetie, darling, Maggie… you got nothing to worry about.  I’m fine.”

They both knew he was lying.

It was during their condensed pre-show warm up that Eddie realized he was in trouble.  Naturally, his fingers felt along the frets of his acoustic Gibson, a melody in calloused pads playing without a lot of thought.  Behind him the other members of Corroded Coffin fooled around, checking levels and making weird noises into the mics, generally acting like the assholes he knew and loved.  Normally he’d be the one leading the rabble, causing trouble and wreaking havoc for the venue staff but there was a riff stuck in his brain.

“Earth to Eddie!  Helllooooo?  Anybody home?”

Without looking up, he rumbled, “Fuck off Jeff, I’m working here.” “Hear that fellas?  Eddie’s working while we’re just lazing around.” Yea, this was definitely a song, he could feel it vibrating in his bones.  Excited now, he flashed wide eyes at the boys in the band, “Pen!  Paper!” The dumb fuckers looked at each other with varying degrees of confusion on their faces.  Gareth, the bravest, ventured, “Uh, wh- what man?” “Something to write with- On!  I gotta get it outta me, Gare!” There was a manic energy filling the spaces between microphone stands and amplifiers that made Eddie itchy under the skin.  When the muse came she would not be denied and holy shit but she was coming hard right now.  He knew the grateful smile he flashed at the poor roadie responsible for dropping off a mechanical pencil and three white paper plates must have been terrifying to see, but giving birth was a messy process no matter what form the new life took. Pencil clamped between his teeth like one of his cherished cigarettes, Eddie moved his hands down the neck of the guitar and back up, picking a string or two along the way.  Using a cab for a table, he scribbled, paused to hum, then broadly grinned.  It was over in a matter of minutes. “Here.  New tune.”  Breathing harder than a marathon runner, he shoved the scalloped edged plates covered in gray looping letters at his friends and bandmates. Jumping off a riser, Gareth looked over his oldest friend’s work and nodded slowly, “Uh, ok, Eddie.  What do you want us to, uh, ya know, do with this?” “Play it?  I mean, we are a band, right?  And we make music, don’t we?” “It’s gibberish, man.” “Fuck you!  It’s good.  Great even.  I know it.” Waving Eddie closer, Gareth handed off the hastily scribed song to Jeff, before wrapping an arm around their front man, “Eddie.  My friend.  My musical partner in crime.  I ask with all due respect-” they had been walking towards the wings of the stage, Eddie following where he was led, “- But what the fuck is going on with you today?” Pulling back hard, Eddie’s hair swung at the force of his movement, “What’s wrong with me?  What’s wrong with you, man?  I come to you with a- a new tune and you- you call me out like this?” Revved up and idling, Eddie was a race car in the red.  Gareth recognized all the signs despite it being a long while since this particular engine had been torqued so high.  With hands raised in surrender, the curly blond conceded, “Hey, no one is calling you out man.  I’m telling you that it’s, I don’t know, weird?” “Weird?  What the hell, man.  Just say what you want to say and let me get back to the music for fuck’s sake.”  “Ok.  Ok.”  Eddie had to watch as his buddy rolled his shoulders back before taking a big breath in, “You were an asshole to the MTV guy, which, I get it man.  Guy’s a dick but this is a big deal, Eddie.  I know you know that, deep down, but you’re not acting like you do.”  Dropping his voice lower, Gareth added, “And you talked about- well, her.” The extra emphasis wasn’t needed.  All it did was needle under the thin skin that Eddie was sporting today, a suit that didn’t fit quite right, and he didn’t know why.  But here was friend number two mentioning erratic behavior and well, that sucked to hear. Deflating visibly, his security hair strand pulled over his face, Eddie countered weakly, “I didn’t say her name.” “You didn’t have to, pal" and having the decency to look embarrassed, he added, “You called your new hit ‘Watching the Moon’.” Huffing out a strained laugh, Eddie met his friend’s kind gaze with a grimace, “Not very subtle, huh?” “Naw, not really" was the half chuckled reply. Stretching his neck out, chin to the auditorium’s ceiling, an unhinged note in his voice, Eddie felt obligated to apologize, “I’m sorry, Gare.  Don’t know why but I’m spinning out a bit.” Really ribbing him now, Gareth bumped into his buddy’s side, “You don’t know why?  Gee, let’s see, you have huge rock show tonight, had an interview with MTV today, you’re writing music, touring, and being away from home, from Wayne, from people you lov-” the face Eddie flashed was all the warning he was going to give his oldest friend, and Gareth adjusted accordingly, “-care about sucks.  It’s- it’s a lot, man and you’re allowed to be overwhelmed.  But you’re not allowed to blow it all up because you’re missing your ex.” There it was.  Too honest to be denied, Eddie was caught.  Trapped like a bird in a cage and held hostage by the golden bars of memory. He had moved it past it, past her.  Truly!  There had been groupies in spandex skirts with hair teased higher than Mount Rushmore who took care of Eddie Munson with a reverence he did not deserve.  An actress with a chest so big it frightened him, really.  Plus a model who had the exact opposite problem- all skin and bones with no meat to feast on.  Not his flavor by any stretch of the imagination. So, Eddie had skimmed the oil slicked surface of available tail and was happy for the opportunity.  Appreciated every lovely lady and that one very handsome fella who made him feel worthy again.  Each new conquest a fresh layer of sediment, burying the idea of Amanda further and further down in the rock formation of his heart.

It worked.  Eddie had been every inch the wild child rock singer of his high school daydreams, until the Battle of the Bands was brought up.

The label had it all planned out- two shows in Indianapolis a Thursday night and then again on Saturday.  In between, Corroded Coffin's lead singer would help choose the 1991 Battle Champion, awarding a cash prize and the chance to open the second date's concert.  It was a huge opportunity for some local metal group, a chance Eddie would have loved to take advantage of only a few short years ago, and he was looking forward to it.  Except-

Hidden in the haystack of going back to Indiana was the needle named Amanda Patterson.  The odds of finding that needle at a Corroded Coffin show considering how things ended between them was minimal at best, but it wasn’t zero.  It was that one in a million chance which buzzed boldly between Eddie’s ears, making him think about moonlit nights and vanilla milkshakes and promises whispered under overworn sheets. The tune he’d quickly crafted came back to him now, ‘Watching the Moon’, and of course it was about her.  Them.  All the things he didn’t say and all the things she wouldn’t allow him to. It was absolutely a hit, even though it hadn't been played once and wasn’t recorded yet.  It was a hit because it came from that same well inside of Eddie where love and passion and music all swam together.  A tall tower still ruled by Mandy, despite years and tears and stand-in people.  

He was going to make this song a number one, getting it played on every single radio station from here to Toronto, knowing that if Gareth could see through the title that his Moon Goddess would too.  Maybe, then, his needle would find him.  Maybe going back to Indiana wasn’t the worst idea his management team had cobbled together.  Maybe it was all going to be ok.

Eddie Munson had a plan.  A campaign to make things right.  A strategy that was coming together almost as quickly as his song for Amanda.

Feeling lighter than he had all day, he clapped Gareth on the back and, yea, there might have been a bit too much force in his playful shove but he didn’t regret it.  Gare could take it, it was why they were so close.  So he spouted at his best friend, “You’re just jealous because I have an ex.  There’s no one missing you but the blow up doll you keep in your bunk.” “Jesus!  Shut up, Eddie!”

Craziness crowded into the overly expressive eyes of Eddie Munson as he darted back towards the other guys in the band, “Hey, did Gareth ever tell you about his Lady Latex?” —

1987

They made it to the front door, finally, after agreeing to a truce.  No more touching.  No teasing.  Not until they were inside someplace that wasn’t on four wheels. Now though, they were stopped in front of said door, nervous giggles bubbling free like champagne uncorked.  Cheeks hot from kissing too closely in the heated shelter of Eddie’s van before braving the nighttime’s frosty temperatures, their breaths mixed, making wispy clouds with every panted exhale.  Try as she might, Amanda couldn’t keep the excited tremble from her hands as she struggled to fit the key into her lock. It certainly didn’t help that the overly eager rocker couldn’t seem to keep his lips or his hands or even his hips to himself, “Truce schmuce” was all he said before enveloping her in his embrace.  And he was everywhere- each time the notches of her house key caught the lock, he would nibble on the fleshiest part of her earlobe making her shudder, deadbolt be damned.  

He was distracting in the best and most frustrating way.  Because really, all she wanted to do was get inside where she could return his touch.  Tease him back.  Taste him.  And go on to do all of the other tantalizing things they had been thinking about since their first blissful kiss over vanilla milkshakes. Another miss as the lock continued to do its job in spite of her efforts and she pouted, unable to keep the needy whine out of her voice, “Eddie!  Come on!”  “What?  What’d I do?”  Oh, he feigned innocence, but he knew.  Eddie knew that every sloppy press of his lips to her delicate neck, every roll of his pelvis, every graze of his fingers over her own was making Amanda feverish.  Flustered.  It was also keeping the pair of them on the wrong side of the door. Dropping her frigid hands with a frustrated growl after another failed attempt, Amanda stomped her foot before reaching up to try again.  Shifting away from the long legged leviathan behind her, prompting his dulcet demand, “Quit wiggling and open the door!” “I’m trying but-” “But what, huh?”  Wrapping over her back, the sharp bone of his chin hooked over her shoulder to watch her progress as Eddie’s red, raw fingers dragged strands of unruly hair behind her ear.  Breathing hotly against the golden hoop hanging there, he husked hoarsely, “Need some, ah, help, Mandy?” “Please?”  

Caving into the warmth behind her, Amanda nodded, her head rolling back against the denim vest over his torso, hair catching on his WASP pin causing her to moan pitifully.  That it gave Eddie the chance to litter her neck with wet, open mouthed kisses, his palms squishing against her jacket as he tried to touch more and more of her was just an added bonus.  Arms, creaking leather encased arms, reached around her, crowding her snuggly between the unopened door and his chest as the keys were plucked free from her grip, “Lemme try.”  With her mind and hands free, Amanda’s own fingers could wander and they did.  Quickly finding the dangling chain of Eddie’s wallet, she used the steel links to pull him tighter, earning a stuttered “Fuck.” from the guy at her back.  Now she got to listen as her house keys jangled noisily while he attempted to do what she could not.  Work them into the lock and open the fucking door. “I thought you were- uh, I thought you were supposed to be helping, Ed.”  God, but she sounded wrecked already, her round bottom rubbing him through layers of distancing denim, the hard and firm evidence of the effect she was having making itself known.

And maybe it wasn’t fair of her to grind the curve of her ass into the sharp angles of Eddie’s hip bones while he fumbled to open her front door.  Maybe.  But when Amanda felt the firm length of him straining and stuck in his jeans she didn’t feel bad.  Not even a little bit because that was proof.  Evidence of just how much Eddie wanted her. It made her bold.  Kissing the underside of his stubbled jaw as her keychain jingled in his giant hands, her lips smacked rudely over the sensitive skin at his throat forcing a croak out of him, “Trying, honey, but you’re kinda, Jesus-” She sucked harshly at the divot below his chapped ear, “-you’re, uh, distracting- there it is!”  Triumphantly turning the knob, Eddie shuffled in short steps behind Amanda, tucking her close as they crossed the threshold.  

With a satisfying snap, the door was shut behind them to keep the world out.  But who could worry about something like an open door when there was kissing to be done?  The heated sort of kisses which didn’t stop when Amanda ripped down the zipper of her jacket, shrugging her arms free before flinging it away into the abyss of the living room.  Kisses that went melty in the middle, stretching and stretching but never breaking even when she forced her way under the shoulders of his leather, pushing it to the floor with a satisfying thump. Her hands wasted no time.  Palms flat over the planes of his chest, she marveled for a moment at the solid strength hidden in Eddie’s trim physique.  The muscles that lugging amplifiers and tossing truck tires created, buried beneath bravado and cotton and tattoos, only seen in glimpses now tense and tight and touchable. Fisting into the soft t-shirt he wore, a secretive smile spreading across her face, “Hi.” “Hi yourself, Miss Mandy.”  Eddie’s paws spanned her ample waist, forcing her closer, his fingers tapping out an unfamiliar rhythm on the small of her back.  With his curls brushing over her scalding cheeks, she licked her lips in anticipation, ready for the next press of his mouth to her own.  And following the flick of her tongue, a hungry, haunted look on his face, he gritted out, “Where- shit, where’s your bedroom, Mandy?” Wordlessly she linked their hands together.  A shiver that started in the sacred space below her navel raced through her blood, her body.  Had it ever been like this before?  As if her physical self was running a race that her heart and mind would follow to the finish? No.  Never.  Not once. Tugging against a hand heavy with silver rings, insistent and eager, she led the way and he followed.  It wasn’t far.  A few short steps down a shaggy carpeted hallway then through a door, partially opened already.  

The room, Amanda’s room, was made of comfort- a brown corduroy bean bag sagged next to a record player being held up by two plastic milk crates crammed full of way too many records.  A double tape deck had carved out its place on her desk, a stack of cassette cases leaning precariously, a few already having tumbled to the floor nearby.  Her tawny acoustic guitar leaned against the wall, sheet music and notebook paper scattered around as if it had all been abandoned mid-session, frozen in time but waiting for her return.  Pegged to her cork board was a calendar marking out her work days, school schedule and band rehearsals.  Textbooks for her classes were stuffed into an unzipped backpack, and while the main floor was clear, it was scattered with little things like pencils and hair ties and stuffed mice and take-out forks.

He spied a knitted afghan in garish colors folded lovingly over a quilted brocade comforter and a stack of pillows, each with their own unstained case, piled against the rattan headboard.  Her closet door was hastily shut but the tell-tale bulge of a lot of clothes crammed into not enough space was obvious.  Photos and posters decorated the walls.  It surprised him to see so many band names that he recognized mixed with 70s folk artists and new wave performers. Eclectic.  Varied.  The space was mis-matched but all the better for it.  Personality, Amanda’s personality, wafted from every corner. This was her little nest, snuggled safely between these four walls, burrowed in like a happy mouse.  Surrounded with all the comforts a soft, cozy creature could ever need: books and music and light and sweet things.  Fuck, Eddie loved it. Probably, deep down in the dusky depths of his grimy gargoyle brain, he figured he shouldn’t.  Shouldn’t love the sheer ruffled curtains parted down the middle so that starlight was visible over the neighboring houses, soft and serene.  Definitely shouldn’t stoke the soft fabric with tentative fingers, rubbing the pristine veil between inside and out with thoughtful touches, careful not to stain it.  It was all too nice, everything around him.  Too pretty.  Too put together for a guy who ate cereal over the sink and considered ketchup a vegetable. “This is a real nice place.”  God, he sounded so stupid.  But, like, it really was a nice place. Comfortable and clean.  And quiet.  No noisy neighbors shouting out their frustrations into the cold night air or barking dogs or backfiring cars with tires bouncing over pebbled dirt roads. “Uh, thanks but you haven’t even seen it with the lights on.”  With a click, Amanda turned on the small bedside lamp that filled her space with a golden glow all at once.  She wasn’t surprised to find that Eddie had strayed to her make-shift music station, his eyes lighting up at the variety of singers and bands and artists with what she hoped was appreciation.  Taking a tentative step in his direction, talking with her hands, she edged nearer to the record player.  Keeping her voice small, as though she was afraid of ruining the simple silence between them, “Is it cool if I put something on?” “Yea, yes.  Of course.  It’s your room, right?” “Well, yea, I guess it is.  Uh, just-” and she moved to duck in front of him, already knowing which album to spin.  But he was almost definitely purposefully standing exactly where she needed to get.  “-Maybe you could, uh, let me in here?” Devilish now, an impish grin made his dimples pop, “Oh, am I in the way, Mandy?  Sorry ‘bout that.”  Only he didn’t sound very sorry at all.  And as she shifted nearer, he held his ground, settling his weight in his heels, his arms crossed over his narrow chest.  If she wanted to put on a record, she was going to have to squeeze next to him to do it and boy, did that idea light him up. Eddie was absolutely pushing his luck.  He knew it, but couldn’t help himself.  Blocking her path, planting his feet, he took up as much room as possible.  Call him curious, but he wanted to see what she would do.  Push him aside?  Press those luscious curves in tight?  Go back to kissing him so hard he felt like he was coming unglued?  God he fucking hoped so. Watching her closely, he saw that tattle-tale tilt of her head, the eyes he couldn’t forget reflecting his own mischief making energy as Amanda dropped to her knees.  Her tongue darted out from between her pillowy lips, spreading sweet saliva, shiny and slick in its wake.  Rounding now, he was locked in on the circle of her pout, his body kicking up a gear at the sinful suggestion of what was sitting so prettily in front of him.  Amanda, she knew what she was doing.  When she peered up at him from the floor, raking her gaze over his towering figure through the veil of her lashes, she had a good idea that he was going to take the bait.  So she reached out, not for the trim waist at eye level or for the hands fisted against denim wrapped thighs, but for her worn copy of Led Zeppelin IV sticking out from the bottom bin.

On an exhale through clenched teeth, a curse caught in his bone dry throat, “Sweet Jesus-” “Here.”  Shocked into silence, she handed over the faded cardboard, nodding towards the record player, “Side two, if you don’t mind.”

It was enough to knock him over.  How Amanda looked so innocent while making demands on her knees in front of him, resting back on her heels demurely, was a seismic shock to his system.  It made Eddie’s head go fuzzy, ears full of feedback like when his guitar was too close to his amp with the knobs turned all the way up.  He felt as though he was turned all the way up, cranked as high as possible, crackling explosively, dangerously near the limits of his control. Tacky sweat made his t-shirt cling in the warmth of Amanda’s room.  And if her magnetic eyes weren’t boring into him, waiting him out, then he probably would have shucked the offending layer without question.  As it was, she was too damn cute and too damn close for him to do much beyond blink away this latest round of pulsing need, which was the real problem here.  Somehow he obliged when she raised a hand, asking oh so politely, “Do you mind?” before he gently helped her up to her feet. Puffing out his held breath with a wry chuckle, he smoothly slipped her chosen record onto the turntable and lowered the needle’s arm.  Raising a cocky eyebrow when “Misty Mountain Hop” began to tumble from the speakers at a reasonably low volume, his swagger returned, “Ya know-” he paused to clear his throat, his voice already sounding too blown out, too rough, even to his own ears, “-I’ve seen Fast Times like twenty times.  Harrington loves that movie, so I, uh, know what you’re up to.” “Really?”  Her sweet voice was angel light from over his shoulder, as she spied on him slowly dropping the clear plastic lid on her stereo, “And what is that, Mr. Munson?  What, exactly, am I up to?” “I think you’re trying to get into my pants, Miss Patterson.”

Shrugging, she denied him an answer, her eye contact direct and unwavering.  Color, dusty pink and warm, spread over Eddie’s sharp cheekbones and under the smattering of freckles across his nose.  He made a choked sound, as though something had stolen his breath at the last second, when she finally replied, “And?  So, uh, so what if I am?” She sounded so much braver than she actually felt.  Flirting was the easy part.  The words between them holding added weight, spoken as they were, in the protective yellow glow of her table lamp, a comforting heaviness that was familiar and made the teasing effortless.  Easy.  

Just another stop on the tour.  Because there was a map for this journey and she knew where they were headed.  The terrain was well traveled.  She wasn’t naive.  The road forward was as clearly marked as Main Street, Hawkins, USA.  

And tonight Eddie was going to learn all about the sloping curves and high density areas that she wouldn’t be able to hide behind well draped skirts or shapeless sweaters.  She silently hoped that this pretty man with his broad smile and cocoa colored eyes still wanted to take the drive because Amanda wasn’t sure she could turn back now, even if she might wish for it later.  

Together they had started this engine, all he had to do now was push down on the pedal and off they’d go.  When they ran out of gas, if they sputtered out on the side of the road, and all she gained was the last two wonderful weeks and one night of lusty loving, the emotional equivalent of a “I humped Eddie Munson and all I got was this lousy t-shirt” souvenir, well, then she would learn to live with that.  

Was it ideal?  No.  But then, things seldom were.   And even though those three magic words had been said, had been kissed into her lips so many times since making their mutual confessions in the underused alcove at Steve’s house, it was still freaking her out.  Because hadn’t this all happened before?  Hadn’t she given so much of herself, of her heart, time and again, thinking that her feelings were returned- that this time it would be different, only to wind up disappointed? Tonight though, that kind of thinking had to be pushed aside.  There was no more room to be bashful.  To worry about what came next.  Not when the guy in question was trembling from the task of keeping himself civil, the tense set of his jaw giving him away as he kept a respectful distance.  Even still, the base maleness of him thrummed, vibrating the way guitar strings do when a chord is struck, the energy shimmering into sound. And Amanda had a great ear for that sort of music, too. At her taunting words Eddie’s mouth pulled to the right, a half smile making itself known as he crossed his arms over chest, “Hey, I’m not complaining, Mandy.” “Oh?  Good.  Yea, that’s good.”  And she danced away from him, hips swaying in time with the driving beat.  She stopped, popping the button on her dungarees with intention before shimmying them down her thick thighs, delighted by the pinch of Eddie’s teeth as he bit into his bottom lip.  He was going to draw blood.  The sweater she wore barely covered the swell of her hips but if he squinted, he was certain he could see the elastic of her panties.  White?  No, heather gray and spun out cotton.  Simple, straightforward and charming as hell.

Swallowing over the hard knot of want that pushed against his Adam’s Apple, barely managing to keep his grunting in check, “Damn, Mandy.” “Hmm?”  When she kicked her pants to the side he had to look away - at the ceiling, her wall, the mossy colored floor or risk cumming in his blue jeans. He slammed his eyes shut at the image in front of him.  It didn’t help.  Imprinted on the insides of his eyelids he could still see her.  Bare legged, her supple skin nearly glowing, practically begging for his touch.  Too sweet.  Too fucking precious.  Shit.  Fuck.  He wasn’t going to survive.  So close to short circuiting, Eddie dragged a hand across the back of his neck, going so far as to squeeze the skin there, just to bring himself off the edge because, holy shit, there was no way that she knew what she was doing to him. The song shifted and Amanda sat herself down on the edge of her bed before leaning back on her hands.  This new position thrust her chest forward, those smooth legs barely parted but making his gargoyle mind wander just the same.  It wanted… to bite, to suck, to mark and mar.  His goblin wanted to claim the fair maiden then lock her in the tallest tower, far away from anything or anyone harmful, except him, of course.  His first step was cautious, feeling his way forward with only Amanda’s signals to light his path.  The pull between them was undeniably strong, had been from the beginning, but he didn’t want to screw anything up now by being overeager.  And he sure as fuck didn’t want to scare his girl away by coming on too strong or making a wrong move.  Not when Robert Plant was singing and the room smelled like Avon lotion and lavender flowers and fabric softener, the expensive kind.  Not when his pulse ticked wildly, darkening his eyes and steeling his resolve.  Not when he could see a similar something simmering in Amanda’s expressive eyes. “You- you’re fucking gorgeous, Amanda.” “Eddie-” She let her head fall back, the tight tendons of her neck stretching, her rushed breathing making her chest rise and fall rapidly, the sound of argument loaded and ready. But he cut her off, moving a leg between both of hers, palms hovering over the width of her dimpled thighs, “-I wanna touch you.  Wanna, wanna feel you.  Can I?” “Can I?”  she parrotted sweetly, upending his advancement, deflecting a little.  And he must have nodded because then she was leaning towards him, gentle hands smoothing over his quads, her stare trained on his rapidly reddening face.  Roving, she touched him lightly, delicately, over the clothes he was still wearing.  Butterfly wings brushing over a flower's petals, never lingering before spreading goosebumps somewhere else, testing the waters of his tenacity.  When her clever fingers found his handcuff belt buckle, he stopped her, gathering her hands in his own, “It, uh, it catches.  Hang on.” He put a fraction of space between them, moving faster than she would have thought possible to catch up to her state of undress.  He toed out of his sneakers, shunting them out of the way as he huffed out a laugh, wrestling with his belt, “Fucking thing, I don’t know why I even-” “I like it.” Popping his head up, Eddie caught sight of Amanda’s playful smirk, “You do, huh?” Raising her chin so that she could spy on him through the fringe of her lashes, she nodded with a chuckle, voice sounding like spun sugar, “Yea, of course I do.  Goes with your whole bad boy image, ya know?” His fingers paused, the curtain of curls swinging while he asked, “Is that why you’re with me?  Because I’m a bad boy?” “Nope.”  She answered plainly, her focus never shifting, even though her hips did, thighs stopped from providing relieving friction by his knee, “I’m with you because of how you look at me, Eddie.  Me.  Like I’m something- someone worth looking at.” Pants forgotten, he traced a finger over the sweep of her cheek, “I love looking at you, you know that right?  It’s like you’re the fucking moon, Mandy.  Bright and, and beautiful and when you shine your light on me-” shaking his hair off his back, tone too earnest, voice too honest, “-it makes me forget about my darkness.” At the admission Eddie’s eyes drifted shut, his chin tipped skyward as he struggled to compose himself.  There was uncertainty shadowing his words, in the shape his lips made while speaking, entirely unsure if his mouth should be trusted to relay all of the things his heart felt to be true.  Because when he actually thought about it, three weeks ago he hadn’t known that there was a person named Amanda Patterson who even existed in this world.  Now?  Well, now she kind of was his world. And his world was reaching forward with tender, impatient hands, sliding his broken down leather belt free from the beloved buckle easily.  Nimble fingers making quick work of the rivet fastening his pants closed but she stalled there, blinking up at him with confusion clear in her eyes, “Did you call me the moon?” A wide thumb hooked under her chin, lifting those thoughtful peepers to his own, “Yea, Mandy.  The moon.  Like when it’s full and round and close and you can’t believe that it’s real, looking down on you all lit up and so-” her touch was so so so close to his throbbing hardness he grunted, “-fucking hell.  So ca-captivating.  Can’t take my eyes off you.” It happened again.  That thing where the world narrowed anytime she was with him, a hyper-focused momentary shift of time and place that made Amanda’s heart flutter wildly, blood roaring in her ears.  A second when everything else around her faded into the background leaving no one else but her and Eddie.  Together.  Alone. So she didn’t laugh at his poetic confession or joke about his Shakespearean ideals.  Instead, her pretty lips parted, mewling musically as his tongue licked into the honeyed cavern of her mouth.  Sharing each inhale and exhale, pressing his advantage and Amanda higher up the bedspread until she was flat against the mattress, caged between strong tattooed forearms. Breathing heavily, sitting back with a sigh, he traced a hand over the fuzz of her sweater, “Can you- can I take this off you?” Something about being compared to the moon freed her from whatever worries she carried about herself, her body, to fade into the ether.  When he asked to see her- all of her, her answer was a demanding, “God yes.” Eddie’s mouth fell hungrily to the newly exposed skin on her collarbone, hot and wet and needy.  A tiny whimper tumbled out of her panting mouth when he slurped over the slope of her bra covered breasts, his hands politely cupping the cotton covered flesh.  Desperately, her own hands clawed at his head, keeping his pursed lips tight to her body as he devoted himself to devouring her in bite-sized pieces. “Shit, h-hold on f’me.”  Stuttering, sitting up on his knees, Eddie took a second to rip his own shirt off, tossing it behind him without a second look.  His jeans were open, belt dangling loosely from the loops, the elastic waistband of his boxers low enough to display the cut of his hip bones.  There were silvery scars in concentric circles that didn’t look as purposeful as the tattoos she’d been dying to see, and before she could be told not to, she was tracing over the slightly raised skin with her index finger. Eddie let her touch.  Explore.  The graze of her hands was intentional, not teasing and not pitying either.  He would know because he’d been on the receiving end of both before.  More than that, he appreciated that she asked no questions about what had created the mottled pattern on his abdominals, just accepted that they existed and were part of him. If he wasn’t already in love with her, that alone would have surely cemented his fate.  Surging in his system like the first inhale of that kind bud Rick got from Canada, he relaxed into the feeling, letting it blossom while sampling the sensitive stretch of her neck, the ball of her shoulder, the space between her breasts.  A starving man facing a Golden Corral buffet table wouldn’t have sounded happier than he did at that moment. “God, look at you, Mandy.”  He hummed as he worked his way over her ribs,  “Moon goddess.  My moon goddess.”  Writhing beneath him, she folded towards him at the praise, little huffing sounds pushing over her lips, “You look so good right now.  So sweet.  So goddamn sweet for me.”  The words were honey hot, warm and sticky, and they chafed like his denim covered legs. rubbing deliciously against her naked ones.  The friction too much and not nearly enough for the pleasure taking root in the warm, moist soil of her center.  Even touch drunk on Eddie she bucked at the sentiment, practically pouting, “Hmm, I’m not-” she scrunched her eyes shut, tossing her head weakly against the blanket, “-I’m not that sweet.” Dropping down to his forearms, his nose nuzzled into hers as he chided tartly, “Maybe I should taste you again then and make sure?  Gonna let me?  Let me taste you and touch you and make you feel good?”   Nodding from beneath him, keen eyes locked on his, “Hmm- Yes, yes, uh huh.  I want that.  So bad.  Want you so bad.”  Shutting her eyes at the sensation, his calloused fingertips slid up the satin of her outer thighs, leaving shivery bumps in his wake .  He dug his fingertips into the pillowy softness there, loving the feel of her flesh under his touch, “I’m gonna give you everything you want, Mandy, don’t worry.  Gonna make you mine.  Keep you in bed until the sun don’t shine.” A sound then, half groan half giggle, floated between them, Amanda sighing through a playful smile, “Eddie Munson’s a- a poet.  Who knew?” “Credit where credit’s due, babe.  I’m a songwriter.  A lyricist, ya know?  Whoa!”  His answer was smug but faded fast when she yanked down on his jeans before brushing the pads of her fingers over the newly exposed tattoo on Eddie’s right hip.  

It was beautiful; a snake in black and gray, coiled around itself, the wide fanged mouth biting into the tail in an unending loop.  This piece was big.  Artistic and finely detailed.  Her open palm barely covered half of it when she reverently pressed against the permanent artwork.  “And, uh you just bring it out in me- Jesus Christ!  Your hands are freezing!” “Are they?”  with a tone turned thick with teasing, she widened her smirk before those frigid digits were skating over his pecs and poking into his ribs.  Like a startled grasshopper, he jumped back far enough to catch her tickling fingers, the grip on her wrists keeping her from reaching his more sensitive areas despite her wiggling attempts to get free. Leaning in closer, loopy laughing aside, he tsked, “Oh, bad move, Mandy!”  “Ah!  No, Eddie, please!  I’m really ticklish- Ah!”  She started to scoot away, further up the bed, side to side, trying to shimmy out of his hold, laughing the whole time.  Loudly.  Happy to be caught.  Using his teeth, feral and frolicking, Eddie bit into the roundness of Amanda’s shoulder, the small sharp pain widening her eyes, “Did you just bite me?” Flashing her his lady-killing grin, he clicked his tongue, “Told you I had to know how sweet you were, Mandy.  And-” settling his hips between her parted thighs, “-I gotta say, you’re pretty damn tasty.” An answering hum of appreciation met her ears as Eddie continued lower.  Without question or qualm, he nuzzled and nipped at her abundant flesh, his happy hands squeezing indulgently whenever she sighed out encouragement.  And all Amanda could manage was a continuous begging cry of “Please, please Eddie, don’t, don’t stop, ok?”  

Why would he?  There was some addictive element, a chemical, an additive that laid across every inch of her body and he craved it.  Couldn’t get enough.  Landing somewhere between cinnamon sugar coating and honeyed dust, the flavor of her skin was exactly the thing he had been ravenous for his whole life long.  There was no way in hell he’d stop searching it out, not when he found the source, “Not a chance, Mandy.” She felt his grip on the flimsy fabric of her panties, tense and twitchy.  Hands slipped under the legband, cupping the expanse of her bottom in two palms before digging into the meat of her ass as Eddie’s nose pressed against the soaking gusset.  His moan was the kind that shook mountains to their foundation.  It created tidal waves that ravaged cities.  For Amanda it twisted the knot of her need tight enough to snap, her thighs wanting desperately to slide shut, but falling further apart shamelessly, instead. There was no trepidation to the touches now.  With a rough pull the cheap drug store underwear disintegrated, the scraps unneeded and unwanted any longer.  Amanda didn’t have time to bother about it because Eddie’s hard working hands were parting her legs, holding her open and on display with the weight of his body. Chest heaving, he called to her, “Hey, look at me, baby.  At me, Mandy.” “Yea?”  She was a mess of lavender and lilac stains, streaked with spit and red wine colored bruises.  But she was smiling, half-cocked, when her stare met his blown out pupils. “If you want me to uh, to stop, you gotta say it now.” Amanda did not.  What she did was whine, low in her throat, as her cleft clenched around nothing, “Don’t stop.” “Just remember that I love you, yea?” Licking over her dry lips, rolling her hips under his strong hold, she nodded, “Love you too.  Only you-”

The rest of her sentence remained unsaid as Eddie’s tongue licked right over her juicy center, circling the swollen firmness of her clit with expert precision.  He wrapped his arms around her legs from beneath, keeping her parted for his pleasure as he lapped at the drooling opening between her lower lips.  He wasn’t gentle as he moved Amanda’s thicker body closer, jerking her down and onto his waiting tongue over and over and over again.    It was maddening to be pummeled by the slick wetness of his textured tongue, only deep enough to create more wanting, before he would flick the tip higher, aiming for the bull’s eye of her clitoris.  Sloppy from excitement he swapped light licks for sucking.  Drawing her pulsing pearl between his slick lips, eyes closed, enjoying the softer than silk sensation of her sweaty self, bow tight and at his mercy. He didn’t let up.  Couldn’t.  And when he felt the shaking in her muscles, Eddie took it as the invitation is it was, gliding two fingers into the pulsing tunnel of Amanda’s willing body.

She contracted around the invasion, her hands seeking a hold and finding it in the flowing strands of his mane.  Wrenching him snuggly between her parted knees, she was dangerously close to losing control.  Could already feel the tell-tale concentration of her energy drawing inward.  The wetness that sluiced down the crack of her ass, the hummingbird fluttering of the muscles in her pelvis, the sticky press of Eddie’s cheek to her inner thigh.  All of it webbing together, a thread winding tighter and tighter and tighter. And the rough texture of his fingers grazed her front wall exactly the right way.  And he hummed out a laugh which puffed over her swollen lips exactly the right way.  And the strings of her satisfaction snapped under the burden of his ceaseless passion. She must have made noise.  Had to have, since her mouth moved at least.  Falling open as the first flush of her orgasm gave way to a rolling tide of pleasure that broke through her in waves but she didn’t hear anything beyond the crashing pounding of her pulse.  Fists full of Eddie’s hair fell away as all of Amanda’s bones turned to jelly, her tendons to jam, while she melted into the bed beneath. Pulling away from her, panting hotly into her dampness, through slick shiny cheeks he grinned cockily, “Sweeter than candy, Mandy.  I knew you would be, fuck, and you-” he stopped talking to watch the way she accepted his intruding digits as deep as possible, bucking into the touch he offered wantonly despite just cumming, “-you just want more, don’t ya?” “Hmm, yea.  Want wha-whatever you’ll give me.”  Leaning up on her elbows she caught him licking her spend from his fingers before dipping right back into her, a devilish glint in his eyes. “Whatever I’ll give you, huh?”  Eddie curled his fingers inside of her quivering core, stretching apart, taking up space, as his smoky voice purred, “You asked for it.” There was a flurry of sudden movement; he stood up fast, wiggling his hips until the heavy denim of his jeans hit the floor with a satisfying thump.  His boxers dropped free in a flash.  The bed dipped under his weight and before she could react, Eddie clasped a firm hand around each ankle and forced her knees back, nearly bending her in half. For him, the view was spectacular.  The cro-magnon part of his brain flipped on, wanting only to take.  Conquer.  Consume. Who could blame him when he had his dream woman, his Moon Goddess, his Mandy, slick and spread out for him to feast on?  The now painful stiffness of his hard on trembled at the sight.  A patch of dark curls matted with pre-cum dotted his navel as the prolonged anticipation became too much to bear.  Gripping himself, squeezing really, Eddie stroked over his cock, trembling as he asked, “Do you have a- a rubber?” Tossing her head, hair in tangles around her face, Amanda reached for him, “I’m on the pill.” For a second the heat abated and Eddie met her eyes, “Yea?  That’s great fucking news.” “Have to be- Oh my GOD!”  Rubbing the head of his dick between her folds, he slapped it into her overstimulated clit, cackling at her startled reaction, “Aw sweetheart, you don’t have to call me God.  I’ll always answer to Ed-” But he bit off his sentence when he felt her hand glide over his shaft.  If he was going to tease, so was she, “Fine, Ed- don’t keep me waiting, alright?” “Wouldn’t dream of it, baby.  Wouldn’t dream of it.”  Amanda’s back arched violently as her tender flesh parted around the thickness of Eddie’s erection.  He notched into her slowly, rasping through held breaths, “You- you doing ok, Mandy?” Nodding was the only response she could give considering the ripples of pleasure already bubbling through her, but he pinched at the fat of her hip, “Need you to say it, Amanda.  Tell me.  Yea?” 

And the last note was pleading, tender, which brought her back into herself long enough to whimper, “I’m doing ok, Eddie.  Are- are you?”

He was struggling to be a gentleman, that was certainly true, and his gargoyle brain wanted to run amok but, “Yea, I’m fucking fantastic.” Laying her head back, exposing her neck, she managed to smile before sighing, “Good.  That’s so good.” He groaned then, deep and rumbling, before rocking his hips forward.  Seating himself down to the root, Amanda took everything he had inside her quaking core and damn, it was exquisite.  To be surrounded by the yielding silver softness of her body, cool and clean, when his own was made of hard angles and rigid lines made Eddie want to howl.  Wasn’t that what a wolf would do under the light of the full moon?    And what of the moon?  Did she reply to the lovesick creature, crying to the heavens?  

Digging her heels into the beloved bed clothes for more traction, driving herself along his length so that he could know just how incredible it felt to be joined with him in this way, Amanda met him thrust for thrust.  Ratcheting her own hips eagerly, moaning brokenly through every inhale, “More.  I can take it.  Please?  Please.”

Her wolfman didn’t need to be asked twice.  A hand palmed her thick ass, grinding her bones against his without withdrawing, seeking the untouched places deep inside with wet and warm and wild abandon.  Dropping over her, he used his tongue to find her nipple, sucking harshly as if there was a way to taste her heart, her veins, her muscle and fascia.  Lewdly.  Rudely.  

And she didn’t hold back.  Her nails, sharper and painted a rosy color, scratched along his forearms, his shoulders, his back.  Anywhere that could be reached, touched, marked as ruined by her hands as she struggled to hold fast through the pummeling, punishing pushes. Bejeweled rings snagged her hair as his hand curled around the nape of her neck, dragging his mouth to hers.  Their tongues mimicked the movement of their lower halves; pushing, pulling, tangling together.  And when the kiss became too much, the threatening rasp of teeth nipped at the bulge of his Adam’s Apple, his exposed throat too great a temptation to ignore.

For her effort, his moon was serenaded by a ceaseless chant of words such as “want” and “love” and “forever”.  That his every uttered syllable was met with the sounds of her surrender; of her body, her mind, her soul, was not lost in translation.  Eddie recognized what each utterance meant, a natural interpreter of the noises she emitted, and thought that a recording of her sexy sounds had the potential to climb the charts.  Top 100 for sure- if he was even remotely willing to let anyone else hear the concert of their lovemaking.  He wasn’t though.  Not just because of the intimate nature of this particular show but because he was a selfish, selfish man.  No one else should be allowed to hear the symphony that was their ode to an evening.     She was beaming, could feel the radiant heat off of her own skin in the swell of her cheeks and burning through in patches where a bite mark or bruise might show in tomorrow’s light.  Biting into her lip with a hum, she grinned, giddy and glowing under all the tender affection of being loved so well by Eddie.  He was thorough, kissing and clinging in random places at random moments and her sex drunk brain couldn’t be bothered to keep up.   Already pliant, no longer entirely in control of her movements, when the muscles of her right thigh let go, she didn’t fight it.  Catching on the jutting crest of his hip like it belonged there, curled naturally around his waist, it trapped him tightly to her.  The change in position was ruinous.  Overwrought and overworked, she was going to cum again, and harder than the first time.  When she spoke the words, punctuated by his quickening thrusts, his smile grew wolfishly wide.  Gleeful at her stuttered announcement, praising her, “You feel so good, M-Mandy.  S’ perfect.”

Amanda’s eyes rolled back in her skull, the powerful release pulling her under as her muscles stiffened, fighting against the rising tide before dropping into the pocket, waves of pleasure lapping against each other.  Gasping, his name the only sound filling the still of the night, an incantation recited over and over again until her lungs burned from want of oxygen.  Her’s wasn’t the scream of a porno actress from a secretly rented video, over dramatic and purposefully false.  And maybe that’s why it hit Eddie right in the darkest depth of his heart.  She wasn’t acting out her ecstasy.  She couldn’t be faking the erratic pulsing rhythm of her orgasm as it spurred on his own. Slippery.  Constricting.  Lake bottom deep, he sunk himself further into her silk and let go with a moan, “Amanda-” Her arms wrapped around him.  Legs too.  And as he shuddered, a ragged breath blowing the sweat stuck strands of hair off his forehead, he felt the smallest nudge along his jaw.  Tiny presses of her mouth, little mini kisses to his bicep, over his collar bone, and down the proud slope of his nose. “Hey you.” Giggling at the gangly guy situated between her knees, she bit her bottom lip, tilting her head in her signature sassy way, “Hey yourself.” Wiggling his hips slowly, still incredibly hard, he flashed Amanda a sheepish grin, “I’m almost afraid to, ya know, pull out.  I think I- I made a mess.” Now she was outright laughing, “Oh really?  You think so, huh?” “Shit, you have to stop that!”  His jaw was clenched tight despite the lighthearted way he spoke.  Every nerve ending was raw, receiving too much stimuli, but he wasn’t ready for it to end.  Didn’t really want to separate and go back to being two people, two bodies, two hearts.

Innocently asked, Amanda’s eyebrows crinkled in confusion, “What?” “Laughing!  You’re still- ah!  You’re still squeezing me!” But that only made her laugh harder, “I’m so sorry!  But, you’re pretty fucking funny after sex!” “Is that so, little missy?”  And that’s when Eddie leaned up, making to kiss her, but licking a thick stripe up her cheek at the last second that made her squirm and squeal in mock disgust.  Easing himself free, a trickle of wetness following, Eddie pressed his forehead to hers, “If I’m pretty fucking funny then you’re just fucking pretty.” If it hadn’t struck her before, it hit her with the force of a baseball bat now; her lover was beautiful.  Even with limited light illuminating his sweaty skin, he was glowing and her heart thumped at the image before her.  Eddie, her Eddie, with his bangs sticking to his forehead, tacky with sweat from the exertion of fucking her so hard, happy and melty at the edges like a really good grilled cheese sandwich. “I love you.” Laying his head on her chest, sighing like a young girl with a crush, he answered, “I love you.” He didn’t say “I love you, too.”  There was no “too” about it.  He knew how he felt, in his heart, in his body, in his mind.  And even with the cloudiness of a great orgasm hazing his thoughts, Eddie felt the truth in it. Groaning in protest, she made to move to get up, to leave the bed, but he stopped her, “Tell me where I can get a towel, alright?” “I can get up, Eddie.”

He shook his head sending his sweat soaked waves into the air, “Yea, you can, but I don’t want you to, ok?  So, bathroom?  Where can I find it?” She extended her hand lazily, pointing, “First door on the right.  It has a toilet and a tub, so you know, can’t miss it.” Pushing up on his hands and knees, Eddie thudded to the floor on heavy feet.  Turning to bow, naked as the day he was born, using a put on cockney accent, “Yes m’lady!  Right away!  Your faithful servant won’t let you down!” Her sparkling laugh chased him down the hallway.

Not much later, when water had been shared from a jelly glass with Tom & Jerry running around the rim and the damp, once warm towel used for cleaning up had been chucked into the hamper, Eddie thumped his head back against the headboard.  His body lax as he drew Amanda closer, “I gotta say, Mandy.  Thought you said you were new to all this, had me thinking I was going to need to show you how it’s done, but you just, ya know, rocked my world.”  His kiss was affectionate, playful even, without the fevered heat of desire burning it to ash.  Shifting up to her elbow, head in her hand, eyes heavy but watchful, “I’m not a virgin.  I’ve, ya know, had sex before.” That was news to him.  Not that he would stake his life on it, but there had been a conversation about experience over patty melts and paper napkins.  About newness.  About being without skill or practice.  “But-” Flopping forward, her head laid on his sweat cooled chest, cheek squished against his zombie tattoo, “I wasn’t lying to you, if that’s what you think.  I just- I haven’t dated much but, this-” she waved a hand taking in the bed, the room, the nakedness, “-I’ve done this a few times before.” He rolled onto his side, scooching lower so he could see her better, his warm hand finding a home along the expanse of Amanda’s ribs and rubbing continuously, “I know my head is still a little fuzzy after all the great lovin’ and all but, uh, I’m not sure I’m following.” Blowing out a breath that sounded something like frustration, she shrugged, “Guys take me to bed but not to dinner.  I’m not, ya know, girlfriend material, I suppose.  It’s like, I’m good enough to make out with, especially if it makes some other, prettier, thinner girl jealous.”  Her mouth twisted up, not really a frown but a far cry from the sweet smile Eddie had come to appreciate.  She was staring through him, seeing images made of memory, “Good enough to- to fool around with in the dark.  Places where no one would see, like under the bleachers or behind a dumpster.  But take me to a restaurant?  A movie?  Out with friends or family?  No way.  “And I’m always so-” she rolled her eyes, trying to find the right word, “-I don’t know, needy?  Desperate maybe?  That a guy pretending to be interested could offer me kisses in corners or bathroom stalls where no one would ever think to look and I do it.  Gladly.  Because even their half assed affection is better than nothing, right?”  But Amanda didn’t wait for Eddie to answer, carrying on with an edge in her voice, “If I touch them, let them touch me, then they’ll give me what I want.  Flowers and romance and, and-” he heard the way her throat caught, a strangled sound shaking through her as she finished, “-love.” Tossing her head, she banished a wayward tear, smiling thinly at her man’s silhouette in the muted light, “Now though, I’m here, with you.  A guy who sees me, all of me.  You see me and you don’t make me feel bad about who I am.  How I look.  You see me, and, and you like me even in broad daylight.  And no one’s ever done that before.  I mean, you already brought me around your friends.  Your family.”  Her emphasis on the last word not lost on him and neither was the twinge of pride in her voice at how she said it.  “Amanda-”  He wanted to reach out, reassure her, but she shook him off. There was more to say, more to tell and for the first time in a long time, she wanted to share her thoughts with someone.  Not someone.  Eddie.  

Swallowing, she looked up at him, comfortable and relaxed under her threadbare bedsheet, “You wanted to know what happened tonight?  When I was at practice?” Maybe there was something in her voice that gave her away.  He could tell that this was uncharted territory for his Moon woman, taking her out of her depth, a thing difficult to share.  Maybe he also realized that something was shifting, something important, so he bobbed his head, locking her fingers with his, “Yea, but only if you wanna tell me.  There’s no pressure, you know that, right?” Nodding, Amanda sat up now, pinning the sheet under her arms so that it covered most of her breasts.  Her hair was a knotted mess, wild and untamed, but she was lit from within.  Eddie felt as though she was worthy of sculpture, ready to be captured for all time in alabaster stone or graying quartz.  Some Italian master should be committing the image before him into marble.  The combination of fragility and strength on display was overwhelming even if the underlying hurt etched in her face made Eddie’s chest ache. “I know and that’s kind of why I want to tell you.”  It was an admission of trust, of respect, and another stunning example of how strong her feelings truly were.  With a small gesture encouraging her to go on, Amanda inhaled sharply, “Right.  So, tonight, at rehearsal?  Mark, you know my drummer- uh, the drummer?  He was being the biggest asshole.  To everyone, not just me.  Really picking on us all, which was weird.  ‘Cause normally he’s kinda, well-” Stepping on her sentence, Eddie finished with a shit eating grin, “Steady?”  “Oh, that was bad, even for you.”  She groaned at the ill timed, but sort of hilarious drumming joke.  Lifting his hands, signaling his apology, she tilted her head thoughtfully, “Anway, he said some stuff and-” That made Eddie sit up too, his legs folding and taking the blankets with them, “Wait, he said something about you or about me?” “Um-” her fingers fiddled with the fabric, eyes avoiding his baleful brown orbs for the first time all night.  Not a great sign. “If it’s about me, no problem.  I can handle that, Mandy.  Hell, I’ve been handling that shit my whole life.  But you?  Baby-” Eddie cupped her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him, “-You don’t deserve that shit.” “About us both, I guess.”  Her shoulders lifted in a shrug, “Mark was, well, he was angry.  At me.  Said that I sounded ‘desperate’ when I was singing the other night, that I was ‘begging for a man’ like- like some kind of tramp or something when I was singing to you.” Holy shit, was he struggling right now.  With every other word Amanda uttered, Eddie’s blood ran like frigid November rain, in icy sheets that burned or in magma hot lava-like flows that scorched his heart from rage.  Luckily he was hiding it well.  

Going for cool, casual even, he cast about asking, “So, uh, what else did Mark have to say?” With a guilty gulp, she went on, “A lot.  And he kept running his mouth so much, too much, really.  It’s just- I thought he was my friend, you know?”  And honest to god, her chin shook as she held back the tears her emotional meridian begged to release, her voice going warbly with the effort, “But in the end, he was just like the guys at school, the boys back home.  Wanted the- the thrill of being with a girl like me, a big girl, and thought I should be-” in a barely heard whisper she trailed off,  “-grateful for his attention.” Now, young Mr. Munson had spent time as an angry juvenile.  The world and the way it worked had done its level best to beat him down over and over again.  Before the interdimensional trauma that left him scarred and scared, he had trained himself to live and let live, a philosophy that he was pretty certain had saved his life on more than one occasion. But hearing the way she spoke about Mark, a dude she knew and trusted, filled him with a furious anger so white hot that he almost could not believe that smoke wasn’t spilling out of his ears like in a Bugs Bunny cartoon.  It didn’t seem like the darling at his side noticed when his unoccupied hand closed in a tight fist that he was currently imagining ramming right through the skin of a bass drum directly into the sternum of Mark, as if he might bend the laws of physics and somehow be able to beat the shit out of this asshole from the safety of Amanda’s bed.  

Because, like, who the fuck did this guy think he was? She wasn’t crying, not outright, but was sad about the circumstances all the same.  And from the pure desire to make his woman feel better, he snorted hotly, “Fucking dipshit.  He’s the one that should be grateful.” “What?” “I said, this Mark person, he’s the one that should be grateful to even, ya know, know you” he added, tugging that self protective strand of hair down and over his mouth.  Starting at a mumble that grew stronger the longer he talked, Eddie’s stare locked on Amanda’s, “Look, I already told you how I feel.  And, even if we weren’t, ya know, together, I’d still be thankful that you’re in my life.  You are something special, Amanda Patterson.  Something-” and then he couldn’t resist any longer, dragging a finger down her cheek until he could tip her chin up, those bright eyes searching his own, “-out of this world.  A treasure.” Rewarded with a wry shake of head and rolled wet eyes, Eddie carried on, “Honestly, thank fuck.” She sniffled a bit, asking through a thick throat, “What’s that supposed to mean?” His pink lips screwed up in a crooked smirk that scrunched his nose cutely, “It means, sweetheart, that those-” rings glinting the gloom, his hand flailed dramatically, “-dumbasses didn’t know they had struck gold when they met you.  Lucky for you, I know the good shit when I see it.” Deflating visibly, she huffed, “Gold plated is probably more accurate.”  It was meant to be lighthearted.  A little self deprecating, sure, but wasn’t it easier to make the joke then become one? “Hey, don’t do that.”  He caught her cheeks in a grip which was firm while his voice cotton soft, “I’m not joking around.  Not about this.  Not about you.” She didn’t move, frozen in place by the sincerity he was forcing her to accept.  Whispering into the quiet night, a hardly spoken rush of words, but he heard them all the same, “I’m nothing special, Eddie.” A fever of frustration climbed through him at that midnight confession.  The worst part was how truly she believed what she said, that there was nothing special about her, no reason for Mark’s misplaced interest or his own adoration.  That somehow she didn’t deserve Eddie’s praise, his attention, even his love, was all layered into that one sentence. “Mandy, don’t you ever talk that way about the person I love.  Never again.”  It was his gently uttered warning. “But, Eddie-”  she wanted to argue the point, make a case for being less than. Shifting quickly, he caught her around the bare expanse of her shoulders, “If I have to say it everyday, for the rest of your life, I will Mandy.  You’re amazing.”  A kiss, hungry and scalding, melded their mouths together, “You are so fucking sexy.”  Lips traced the line of her jaw, moving upward, “And I haven’t felt, well, whatever this is, ever before.” Even if her mind wasn’t quite convinced, Eddie’s nearness coupled with the sultry kisses and his heartfelt words had made her body a believer.  She smoothed a hand along his straight spine, her forehead tapping his own, “I imagine you say that to all the ladies you take to bed.” A warm, happy laugh rumbled through Eddie at her smart ass comment.  Pulling back, needing to see her eyes, “I’m going to be real honest with you, alright?  Put it all on the line, k?”  When she agreed with a short nod, he continued, “You may think that I do this sorta thing all the time- pick up chicks and service them until the sun comes up, until they uh, scream my name into the night- but I don’t.”  Tilting her head, really looking him over, she shook her own, her teasing edged with something harder, “You’re telling me that you don’t seduce the housewives who bring their cars in for oil changes?  Or, or, um, bang groupies after a good show at The Hideout?” “Me?  No way.  Not a chance.  Reputation ruiner, remember?  So I can tell you with 100 percent certainty that you are in my, my top 3, all time.  Easy.”  Mindlessly, Eddie started tracing stars into the skin of her thighs, consciously avoiding her piercing stare. But now she was curious, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, her eyebrows lifted, “Out of how many?” Yanking his hair forward, Eddie snickered, still bashful, “Um, out of three.  But, uh, out of those three, you’re my number one.  No question about it.”  The grin he flashed her was so deep, his cheeks aching from smiling so widely, that Amanda had no choice but to giggle too, “Number one, you said?” Reaching for her hand, linking their fingers together before nudging her closer, he corrected her gently, “Uh huh, you’re my number one.  Best I ever had.”  

“What are you doing to me, Eddie Munson?”  It was rhetorical, obviously, but it had to be asked even if she was unable to keep the tendril of truth out of her voice.  Because this conversation was powerful enough to capsize her, she realized too late to stop it from happening.  If he was going to sink her ship, she was going to have to grow gills or drown trying.  Otherwise she was never going to survive being cared for by the romantic rockstar in training who was taking up half her bedspread. Scrunching his eyes as he bit into his bottom lip, Eddie hemmed, “I’m uh, watching out for you.  Tryin’ to be a knight or a, a paladin.”  Rubbing his thumb in patient circles against the back of her hand, a little lost in his thoughts, “Want to be who and what you need, Mandy, because, yea, you deserve that.” “And what do you deserve?”  That drew him up short as she freed her hands so she could skate them over his exposed chest, “‘Cause I think you deserve things too.  Like someone to love you back.  Someone who hears you-” rising to her knees, she scooted a leg over his waist, bracketing his body between her dimpled thighs, “-and your terrible jokes but still laughs anyway.  Someone who appreciates you for all the wonderful and wild things that make you, well, you.”  She punctuated her sentence with a bop on the tip of his broad nose. His mouth was dry but his betraying eyes were damp as he cleared his throat roughly, hands already resting on the full rise of her hips, “Is uh, is that so, Miss Mandy?” “Totally.”  She pulled one of his hands away, the lined and creased side facing her before pressing her lips to its very center.  Covering it with her own she held it against the smooth expanse of her sternum, directly on top of her beating heart. Swallowing thickly, unable to look away, he asked, “Maybe I’ve found her?”  Bare and unashamed, leaning into his space, her sleek slit skimming his slowly solidifying length made his cheeks burn hotly as she rocked her hips back.  Nodding, she looked down at him, purring, “Maybe you have.”  Grinding down, her full weight holding him to the mattress, to the earth, he thanked whatever deity was closest for this brilliant, beautiful creature with the enchanting voice and bewitching eyes full of shining devotion.  Whatever she was before didn’t matter to him or the gargoyle who guarded his own thumping mess of a heart in its crumbling tower.  Amanda Patterson was his now, and he’d be damned before letting her go.  

—

1990 - Fall

“Let’s hear it once again for Mandy and the Maniacs!” All around her the crowd went ballistic.  Shouting, screaming, stomping, clapping noise filled the bar where the band, her band had taken the stage with the hope of making it through one more round.  One step closer to fortune and fame and everything that goes with it.  Based on the deafening roar of this particular crowd, Amanda had high hopes.  Fuck, but she wanted to win 1991’s Battle of the Bands.  Prove that she was good enough to make it on the strength of her own abilities, on the unflagging determination of her dream to sing for a living, and do it on her own. So she was smiling through the tears of happiness that filled her eyes, blinking rapidly as she committed the raucous riotous scene below her into her memory banks as the emcee was thrusting a plastic trophy complete with a fake gold guitar glued to the top into her sweaty hand, “Congratulations to our winners!  And don’t forget that you can see Mandy and the band here at Stingers every Friday night.  Doors open at 10pm!”

— “Good show tonight, Mandy.  You know, you guys are really going places.” Amanda toweled off the grimy sweat from being under too hot stage lights and the melted mascara that always found a way to slip down her face after a show, grinning broadly, “Thanks Davey.  We all appreciate your hosting and, of course, having us back week after week.” “Can’t have a rock bar with no music, that’d be like having a peanut butter sandwich without jelly.  Just doesn’t taste right, ya know?” Laughing politely, she nodded, “I think I get what you mean.”  And before he could ask again, Carly slid up to her side, “Ready to load in the gear?” A thankful expression crossed her face as she looked at her friend, still sweaty and streaked herself, “Yes ma’am.  Hey-” leaning in to shake Davey’s hand, Amanda’s black mesh fingerless glove pressing designs into his palm as she added, “-again, thank you for tonight.” “It’s always a pleasure, Mandy.  Uh, is there any chance you might wanna grab a dri-” Swinging a microphone case onto her shoulder, her back to the bar’s owner, Amanda answered swiftly, “Have a good night, Davey.” When they were in the chilly night air, sans jackets or even clothes that were close to appropriate for the weather in Indiana during an early cold snap, Carly lit up a cigarette, smirking, “He asked you again, huh?” Taking the flaming stick of death from her friend, Amanda took one, tiny puff, the smallest possible because her voice was still her best instrument, and lifted her heavily made-up eyes, “Was trying to, I think.” “Could it hurt?”  Carly ashed the butt quickly, staring at the bumper of the broken-in mini-van that they used to lug amps and instruments in, purposefully avoiding Amanda’s bewildered look. Toeing at the slushy puddle that gathered around the back tire, her big black boots with neon laces keeping her away from the muck, she considered it.  Would it hurt to let Davey buy her a drink?  No, probably not.  As a general rule, a single drink was not enough to hurt someone, but it was what came after that stalled her in her tracks. From under a jagged line of self cut bangs, Amanda tilted her head at her friend, one eye squeezed shut while the other stared dead on, “Eventually, yea.  Yes it could.  And not for nothing but I’m too toxic for anyone right now.” “That’s horseshit and you know it.”  Carly flicked the used filter of her cigarette with a flourish, her shirt sleeves swinging at the effort. Laying back against the frozen metal of the van, Amanda shivered, “Come on, don’t fuck with me, ok?  It’s been a good night.  Great even.  Let’s not fight about Davey and drinks that I’m not going to let him buy.” Kicking at the rims now, Carly grumbled, “You need to get laid.” “Fuck you, I do not!” This time her friend’s pretty pouting face found hers under the parking lot’s hazy yellow lights, “You do and so goddamn badly.  It’s been what, like two years since Ed-” “Don’t say it.” Exhaling wickedly, anger heating up her sigh, Carly jumped right into her diatribe, “I can’t even say his name, Amanda.  What is that about?  Are you ever gonna, I don’t know, get over him?  Go out with someone else?  Let another person stick their fucking tongue down your fucking throat?”  And when she didn’t reply, Carly pressed on, ranting into the empty night air, “Or are you going to die on this hill?  Because ‘I once loved Ed-” she shifted her focus to Amanda before softening up, “-a, a future rockstar who broke my heart when he left this town and me behind’ is not going to fit on your tombstone, sis.” Toying with the van keys, their metal ring going cold in her hands, Amanda shrugged.  She was tired all the way down to her soul.  Tired of being tired.  Tired of grinding so hard for the things she wanted.  Tired of Carly being mostly, sort of, almost totally right.  Tired of being alone.  Tired of missing a man with a name she couldn’t bear to hear. And yea, ok, she would absolutely own that her sad sack routine was going stale.  She bored herself most days, honestly.  But what was the point in letting Davey or any other person buy her a drink and think they stood any kind of chance when Amanda Patterson no longer had a heart to give? Nope.  Like the Tin-Man, she was kept alive by electrical impulses managed by some other organ because she’d lost her heart in 1988.  The year Corroded Coffin was discovered through Carly’s college radio station connections.  The same year a mid-western county fair tour was planned.  The year that took him away for the big life he was always supposed to lead.  The year that took her heart and never looked back. “Hell.  Give me a smoke, would ya?”

“‘Manda. You don’t like cigarettes.” Carly taunted in a sing-song voice. Shrugging, sad and cold, she waved her friend on with a uselessly gloved hand, “Maybe I do now.”  And when she took her first full inhalation a thought moved through the neural pathways of her brain.  It might kill her, in the end, smoking, drinking or whatever, but she then, had been dead inside for a lot longer.  Besides, there was no one watching out for her now.  No one to disappoint.  No one to worry.

Her lungs burned and the back of her throat protested, but Amanda smiled warmly in the cold night, “Thanks Carly.” Blowing out a held breath, the shorter girl rolled her eyes, “Fuck, you’re dramatic.  Just like him.  You know that right?” Her chuckle was hollow, raspy because of the smoking, “Uh huh.  I do.”  Dropping the burnt paper to the ground she stomped on it with the toe of her boot, unlocking the car, “Wanna get the fuck outta here?” “Yea.  Let’s go home.”

—

1987

Morning light cast the entire room in a golden glow that was entirely too ethereal to be real.  Only it was.  It had to be, because Amanda was laying on her side, the plush padding of her bum tucked against Eddie’s bare pelvis, as she slept peacefully in his arms.

Now that his eyes were open there were things he needed to do: take a piss, take a shower, get some food in his body that did not come out of a cardboard box and get to work.  Except he’d be  leaving this downy nest of a bed and the warmth of a very willing body to do any of it.  So, yea, Eddie didn’t want to do that, not even a little bit.

The alarm clock said seven thirty six, and if his bedtime math was accurate, he could stay until 8 o’clock.  Any later and he’d be in deep shit with, well, virtually everyone.  Why did it have to be Friday morning?  How come he had bedded his dream woman on a Thursday night, mid-week, knowing there were still responsibilities on the horizon?

As if she could sense that he was awake, she shifted her figure flush with his, and there was no way to hide his morning wood.  There was also no way she could not feel it pressing insistently at the small of her back.  He swallowed his spit, curling Amanda closer, and shut his eyes.  Eddie could manage the morning after.  He absolutely could.

“Mmm, morning.”  

Sleep stained and supple, Amanda started to roll his way but he stopped her with a kiss to her shoulder blade, “Uh, maybe don’t.” “Wha?  Oh.  Oh.”  And saucy minx that she was, she stretched her body so that his erection rubbed over the silken skin of her bottom. Groaning from way down deep in his chest, Eddie chided, “You’re a tease.” “You’re too easy.”   She was on her back now, head turned his way, outlined in the pale yellow rays of morning light.  His heartbeat sped up at the coy look she flashed from under her lashes.  Amanda wanted Eddie and in spite of the hard work he’d put in last night, he wanted her again too.  Dipping a hand under the filmy sheet, his fingernails scraped the swell of her hip, when the alarm clock clicked to 7:45 and began buzzing obnoxiously. “Shit!”  Scrambling up, Amanda hit the digital display’s off button, silencing the sound.  Slumping into herself, she looked his way with a frowny face, “I have class at 9.” “I’ve got work, myself.”  It was a guilty admission, no matter how true. Nodding, Amanda bit into her bottom lip, “Then I guess-” “We both have to go?”  They spoke over each other.  Whatever easy energy they had shared was taut now, stressed and strained but neither one moved.  Neither one really wanted to. Except a new day was started, one with expectations for Amanda and Eddie alone.  Still, she had to ask, hand twisting in the stray strands of her hair, “Will I, uh- um, maybe you can-” So Eddie took pity on his girl, lifting her hand to his lips chastely, “Are you trying to say that you wanna see me again?  Like, tonight?” “Do- uh, do you want that?”  She was barely suppressing her hope, struggling to keep her expectations of Eddie in check, regardless of all his pretty words when the lights were low. Thrusting out his little finger, Eddie wiggled it quickly, “Well, yea, of course I do.  Promise.” Linking them together, a chuffed out giggle escaped her pouty lips when he swung their hands like that, childlike and silly.  He used his leverage to drag her to his chest, a kiss landing on her nose, on each cheek, and finally her parted mouth.  They let go reluctantly when her alarm rang again, this time marking the hour as 8. “Shit.  I really, really, have to go.”  Eddie swung his leg over the side of the bed giving Amanda  a phenomenal view of his bare ass as he crisscrossed the room searching out his clothes.  Too easily the boy stepped into his jeans, forgoing his underwear, she noticed, and shrugging back into his tee. Hugging her knees, she could only watch, conflicting thoughts filling her head.  Her body was sore in the best possible way because of all that they had gotten up to last night.  She knew she’d be thinking of him all day, anytime she shifted in her seat or caught sight of the purple markings that littered her neck and chest. And she definitely wanted to do this- do him, again.  Without question, Eddie Munson was phenomenal in the sack.  But now he was leaving, and she understood it, alright?  She had shit to do herself.  Because it was a weekday and she paid so much for school and the music shop was letting her pick up a shift… Only, she wanted to linger in bed with her very cute and very sexy lover at her side.  Maybe get to lick his hardest parts, or, his softest.  Maybe get him to lick her again and again and again. “Don’t?”  Amanda hadn’t planned to say it out loud, but there it was, echoing around her quiet room.  A pleading question spoken from the depths of her heart, pushing pause on the guy in the middle of pulling up his socks, seated primly on the corner of her bed.  Shocked by her own actions, her eyes rounded as she backpedaled, “I mean, I know you have to and, and I have to, but that doesn’t mean I want you to- to go.  Ya know?  Last night was like-” she breathed out, willing herself not to get emotional even if she could feel the cold prickle of tears in the back of her throat, “-really special, for me at least.  And-” letting her eyes find Eddie’s coffee colored eyes, finished, “-I don’t want to say goodbye.” Blinking a couple of times, taking a beat, he wanted to get his answer right.  “Who says we have to say goodbye?” “You’re leaving.” Reaching for his boots, smile wide and shining under his mass of waves, “Uh huh.  But-” yanking the laces hard, he grinned her way, “-I’m coming back.”  “Are you though?”  

He cut off any other protests, standing quickly and walking around to her side of the bed.  Amanda had her feet planted on the floor, her sheet barely covering her most private of places, as she lifted her fretful face in his direction. Voice tighter than he wanted, shoulders tenser than they should be, Eddie looked down at this woman who had come to mean so much to him so quickly.  One ring clad finger tripped down the hill of her nose, “Shit, Mandy, I’m probably losing all my cool guy street credit when I say this, but, uh, this thing-” using his thumb under her chin, the skin there yielding to his even pressure, “-You and me?  This.  It fucking scares me-” She had the audacity to look surprised, those beguiling eyes going wide from the raw honesty he was showing, that tilt to her head more pronounced as she nervously whispered, “I- I scare you?” “No!  Shit, that’s not- I meant-” recovering quickly but feeling much shyer now, he tried to explain, “How I feel about you, I mean.  How much I care- it’s a lot.  For me, it’s everything.”  With the sound of knees cracking, he dropped into a squat so that he was looking up at Amanda’s face, not the other way around.   

“Oh.” her gaze softened shifting her focus until it landed on something far away, her mind working fast.  Loving her was already a burden.  Already too much to ask of a guy like Eddie, so wild and carefree.  And the realizations stung.  Maybe she didn't have a night to remember after all.  Maybe her knight in shining armor didn’t see her the way she imagined.  Maybe he wasn’t who she thought he was, after all. And her brain would have kept on running in ragged circles of self doubt if Eddie hadn’t nudged against her parted thighs, “Hey, Mandy?  Come back to me, yea?” “Sorry, I- uh-” steeling herself, her back stiffened, her smile slipping, “-Look.  We don’t have to do this.  I get it, Eddie.  And, ya know-” those eyes were back on him, sadder now, holding him still, “-we don’t have to do whatever this is.  Not now.  Not, ya know, ever.  I understand how this works, ok?” Despite his nearness she started to push off the mattress.  It was too difficult to sit there thinking he was afraid of her, of having feelings for her, of being with her.  Convinced that he probably wasn’t going to touch her again, that she couldn’t have him or his love for more than one night, no matter what he said or what promises were left unfulfilled was a punch in the gut- leveling.  

Shame burned through her because she should have known better.  It was all too good to be true like any other fairytale.  A story.  A fantasy. And she had to go, right now, because she wasn’t going to allow him to see so down and out.  Straightening her arms, rocking forward, she was ready to get away, to bolt.  But she didn’t get far.  Fingers dug into her leg, holding her fast, delaying her escape, “Damn it.  That isn’t- that isn’t what I said, Amanda.”  Eddie’s voice was pitched low- dark and rumbling like the growing thunder of a terrible storm.  It locked her in place even if she couldn’t bear to meet his eyes, terrified that she’d find pity or some other weakening emotion on his stupid, loving, handsome face.  A violent vermillion flash of fury surged through her, spewing caustic, cutting sarcasm from her pursed lips, “No?  Because that’s what I heard, Eddie.  I heard you say that you’re scared to- to, to be with me.” 

“Wrong.”  “Excuse me?” “I said that you’re wrong.  Even though you are so smart, right now?  Sweetheart, you are 100 percent, entirely and utterly wrong here.  What frightens me, Mandy-” his hands slipped around her waist as, falling to his knees in front of her, he carried on, “isn’t that I’m afraid to be with you.  I’m afraid to be without you.  I’m terrified that you won’t want to be with me.” Holding onto to her steely edge, glaring now, she swung another verbal dagger, “Why wouldn’t I want to be with you?” “Fuck, Mandy.  Take your pick-”  Counting on his fingers, the list started, “-former mega-nerd with a talent for collecting little lost souls and ensuring their survival through high school.”  A second finger went up, “Uh, lead singer of a regionally successful rock band full of said misfits that hasn’t had its big break yet.”   A third, “The best damn Dungeon Master in the state of Indiana, if I say so myself.”  Little finger, number four bent slightly, “Oh, not to mention I’m crisscrossed with scars from North to South no matter how great the tattys look and-” his thumb jumped, spreading his palm open wide, “-not that many years ago I watched a person I cared about get murdered which, ya know, messes a guy up pretty damn good. “On the plus side?  Let’s see, I’ve got great friends, my totally bitchin’ guitar, a halfway decent van, and I’ve finally met a girl that I fucking love.  But, shit, maybe she doesn’t feel like I do?”  And now he let his cinnamon eyes burn into hers, really revved up and showing no signs of stopping, “Maybe she just says pretty things when I’m making her cum and afterwards, well, she wants to be with some other dude.  Someone like Mark who’s gonna make something of himself?  Steady as fuck and boring to boot.  Someone who doesn’t love her like I do, because they don’t get it, they can’t love her like me.  How could they when they don’t get how my world spun off its axis when she jumped into my arms at the goddamned music shop.  Or how-” Her cheeks flushed at the memory, the moment when this love affair began, and she felt herself smiling wide, the momentary rage ebbing almost as quickly as it started.  Cutting him off, she cupped his jaw with firm fingers, “I do!  I promise you, I-I understand.  And, and I feel the same way.  Haven’t been able to get you out of my head since you seduced me into a dance in the sheet music aisle.”

“You’re the one who fell into me, Mandy.” Airy like a summer’s breeze, Amanda countered, “You tripped me.” Scoffing, he settled his weight on the balls of his feet, “So you do remember then?” “Of course I do.  And that’s why I didn’t want you to go.  If- if you leave today and never come back, what’ll I do, Eddie?”  She had nuzzled into the unshaven haven of his neck, just below his ear, and was keening like a fitful kitten, “Now that I have you, I don’t want anybody else.  I only want to be with you.  Only you.” Exhaling harshly, pulling her forehead to his, he husked, “Sad to say, darling, but you may be stuck with me.” Only he didn’t sound sad at all.  Neither did she when she moved a hand to either cheek, a dreamy smile on her face, “Yea?  You mean it?”  “Of fucking course I do.  And to prove it, come to my show tonight?” “Like, seriously?  Because I would really love to see you play.” The alarm toned again, 8:15am.  But fuck it, he could be late to the garage if meant seeing Amanda grin at him like this- all excited and eager, “Hell yea!  You can meet the guys and see what all the fuss is about when Corroded Coffin hits the stage.” Nerves jangled, she bit into her lip, worry creeping into her tone, “And you wouldn’t mind me being there?  Like, that wouldn’t be, I don’t know, embarrassing for you?”

His head fell back far enough for the tendons of his neck to stretch, the bulge of his Adam’s apple tantalizingly close, while his stare locked on hers, “Embarrassing?  No.  Hell no.  I’d be honored to have you there, cheering me on.”

“You’re not messing with me, are you?”  She raised her eyebrows playfully, giving him the out if he wanted to take it. And that same anger at Mark, at all the idiot guys who had hurt her flared up briefly, but he tramped it down like a lid on a grease fire, reassuring her again, “No way.  I want you there.  Need you there, Mandy.  Besides-” that impish grin was back, “-it’s only fair.  I saw you perform, now I get to return the favor.” Her mind was working, spinning his words around in her head faster than an unbalanced washing machine, as she processed what Eddie was saying.  When she finally came to a conclusion, Amanda nodded decisively, “Yea, ok.  I’ll come.  I-I’ll be there.” Pressing up to his feet, Eddie beamed down at her, “Sweet.  But, now I really gotta split, ok?”  She raised her chin, the permission for a kiss implicit in the action and he took advantage.  It was so easy to get lost in the flavor and feeling of her lips under his or the slide of his tongue over her own.  In the end, she had to push him away, breathless and begging, “Yea, go on.  Get lost, Munson.”

Groaning, he stomped towards her door, “Fine.  Fine.  I’m going.” Pleased and purring, Amanda stretched out along her bed, her head already thinking of the night to come when Eddie’s face appeared in her doorway again, “Oh, hey.  Don’t forget that you’re banging the lead guitarist and front man of the band, k?  You gotta look the part so uh-” he took in the room at a glance, “-no pretty flower prints or whatever.” “You came back just to tell me that?” His hands rested against the pale wooden door frame as he stepped back through it, “Yes.  And this-” it took three running steps before he launched himself onto the mattress and landed as gently as he could with her pinned underneath him.  Her hands caught on the tangles still knotting his hair, dragging his mouth to hers, whimpering into the wet cave of his mouth. So Eddie was an hour late to work and Amanda missed her first class.  Worse things had happened in the name of new love.

—

1990 - Winter

“Well, it was a great night!  To Mandy and the Maniacs-”  The ladies clinked their bottles together in celebration, stilted happiness filling the air around them.  The founding members of their female fronted metal band had come home exhilarated and exhausted, ready to unwind, share post-show snacks and celebrate their advancement to the Battle of the Bands finals.  It had been another grueling show but they had done what they meant to: melt the faces off the audience and get another step closer to that Big Win in the new year. 

MTV was on in the background, as it always was when they weren’t practicing or writing or recording, and the videos on Headbangers Ball were always welcome at the end of a long Saturday filled with rocking.  Rick Rachtman was talking about some up and coming band as Amanda crunched on a cheese ball, barely listening.  

If Carly was tired, Amanda was wired, her mind still on tonight’s crowd and what it was going to take to win it all in a few weeks.  Already she was in her head, planning what their set was going to be, which songs were the most likely to sway the ever growing swell of music lovers standing shoulder to shoulder when they played.  

That's when she heard a ghost, a breathing memory of the apparition who haunted her still.  His familiar cadence filtering through her television speakers jerked her from her thoughts, a voice she knew better than her own- “Holy shit.  Is that- Is that Eddie?  Your Eddie?”  Carly sat forward, the electric blue glow of the set outlining the surprise on her face.  The banishment of a certain man’s name forgotten in the excitement of said man’s picture on the television. Her beer bottle thunked to the table clumsily, “What?  Eddie?”  Amanda hadn’t said his name in over two years.  Around the time when the walls around her head and heart had gone up, and thankfully all of her friends knew better than to bring up that sensitive subject.  Or at least were willing to honor her wishes that the rocker in question never be spoken of in her presence. But fucking hell if Carly wasn’t right.  There on the illuminated idiot box that was her twenty inch screen was Eddie Fucking Munson himself and the rest of Corroded Coffin, talking to Chuck Stillman about their tour.  Answering questions for the fans to get to know them better and helping sell their metal image.  “Did you know about this?”  It was shock which filled Carly’s tone and Amanda felt a little bit guilty because of course she did.  She still talked to Steve, saw Robin from time to time, and even taught Mike Wheeler some guitar basics a year or so ago.  

When she didn’t answer, her very best good friend Carly leveled her with a sideways glance, “You did, didn’t you?” Shrugging, her go-to move these days, she grabbed the cable box’s remote and goosed up the volume.  It really fucking sucked to see how good Eddie looked, all in black leather and mesh lace, with his guitar pick necklace centered on his bare chest, tattoos barely visible but she knew they were there.  Could draw them from memory, if she really wanted to.  And his curls!  They were styled expertly, shiny and bouncy, making Amanda’s hands itch at the memory of them clutched between her fingers. Through the tinny speakers they heard Chuck’s question, “So, the people want to know, what is Eddie Munson’s favorite song?” There was a pause and if she didn’t know Eddie so well, she wouldn’t have seen it, but his eyes lost their twinkle for a second and his smile dropped the teensiest bit as he replied, “My favorite song?  That’s a great question, man.  And, uh, ya know, I wanna say something hard rocking and fast.  But honestly?  Someone to Watch Over Me by the Gershwin brothers.”

“SHUT UP!”  Carly smacked a hand into her arm, “He’s talking about you!  That night, in the park!  Holy shit, Eddie Munson, rock star rising, is talking about you, 'Manda!  On MTV!” And wouldn’t that be something, she thought, sinking back into her second hand sofa.  Him sparing the time to think about her at all these days seemed like such a shot in the dark, such a foreign concept, that she reckoned it wasn’t even a possibility.  There was no way he gave as much of his day to thoughts of her, to their time together as she did, right?  

No.  Not possible.  That he answered the basic question with the title of her favorite song, the song that meant so much to them both, didn’t mean a goddamned thing.  Not anymore. “I don’t think so, Carl.  I think you’re reading too much into things.” Sitting back, her own beer held tight, Carly rolled her eyes at friend, prickly at having her fun ruined, “What if he was?” “Huh?” “What if Eddie was thinking about you?  After these last couple of years, what if he- what if he misses you too?  It is possible.” Huffing out a derisive laugh, she tapped a finger against the nearly empty bottle of Budweiser, using the sassiest tone of voice she could wrangle when she answered, “Right.  He misses me when he’s out at nightclubs surrounded by strippers and groupies and backup dancers.  I’m sure all Eddie wonders about is little old me, back in Hawkins, when he’s walking red carpets and taking movie stars out to dinner in New York City and LA.” “You’re doing it again.”  Carly was focused on the screen but talking to Amanda, frustration thick in her tone. Equally riled up, Amanda chirped, “Yea?  What’s that?” Unblinking, Carly stared at her best friend, band mate, and roommate, “Selling yourself short.  You should really watch out for that.” Her friend meant well, she knew that, had proof of it all around her, but because her brain was fickle and memories were monsters, she found herself whispering, “Eddie said he would.  He promised me.  Said he was always gonna look out for me.” Staring down at her pinky finger, she would swear she felt his littlest digit wrapped around her own, the supposedly iron-clad arrangement made in a post-sex haze of brightly burning new love too long ago to hurt so freshly but so recently it still might bleed.  He had promised to watch over her, to change her mind and love her through it all. But when the man you loved had the chance to make his dreams a reality, you couldn’t stand in his way, right?  At least that was what she told herself late at night when sleep wouldn’t come and the moon was high above, laughing at her.  So, she watched, unflinching, as Eddie talked about burning grilled cheese sandwiches in a shitty hotel and the possibility of coming back to Indiana with the tour. She watched every shake of his head and every movement of his hands, taking them in like physical blows, wounds that would need cream and bandages and pain medication to heal up properly.  And she drank another beer, going silent since her mind refused to do the same, replaying the sentences from the tv interview on an endless looping track, trying to work out any hidden meaning that proved Carly right and her own sense of self wrong. When the programming shifted, some early morning sketch show or something, Carly said goodnight and moved off to her room but still Amanda sat there.  Was it fair to be so mad at Eddie?  Did she really have a right to the hurt and anger she was holding onto with an iron grip? As the sun climbed through the window above her record player, Armando the Wonder Cat jumped into her lap for pets.  Between scratching behind his pointy ears and patting down his back, she realized she was crying.  Sure, she was disappointed in Eddie.  In the promises he had never seen to fruition, but that wasn’t the only reason to be so upset. Because hadn’t she made promises too?  And hadn’t she broken them all?

---

Thank you for reading!  Part 4 is on the way!

Want to read more?  Please visit my Masterlist!

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[deanwinchesterswitch]

September 2022

I'm happy to say that there is a long list this month, and it includes several fandoms. Despite how busy the month was, I had a lot of time to read while riding in the car.

Enjoy!

Many of these blogs and fics are NSFW-18+. Please honor any requests from a blog regarding no minors. I am not responsible for the content you choose to consume; heed the warnings for each fic.

~Big Sky~

That Simple ~ @avanatural. Author's Summary: Beau goes to Y/N, a new friend of his, for some dating advice. Is the charming new Sherriff gonna get the date that he’s hoping for?

~Crossovers~

After Hours (Two-shot) ~ @smol-and-grumpy. Author's Summary: They’re just outside of Helena, Montana, when they get pulled over. Dean knew that nothing good can come out of letting Y/N behind the wheels of his Baby. Little does he know that it’s probably the best thing that could happen to them in months. That good thing comes in the form of a tall, green-eyed Sheriff.

~MCU~

After ~ @wkemeup. Author's Summary: The morning after confessions and years of self-imposed unrequited love, you and Bucky are finally together. Happy. Until a woman from Bucky’s past shows up and threatens everything. 

Dangerous Dance ~ @princessmisery666. Author's Summary: None

Would I Lie To You? ~ @cockslutpadalecki. Author's Summary: None (Mean!Steve x F!Hydra!Reader)

~RPF~

Last Night ~ @luci-in-trenchcoats. Author's Summary: The reader is in for a surprise when she finds out the guy from the bar last night shows up on stage at a convention…

Sexiest Bedroom Scene Ever ~ @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior. Author's Summary: Y/N is determined to make Jensen get some sleep, even if other ideas keep popping into her head. And his.

Showing You Off ~ @impala-dreamer. Author's Summary: A casual zoom call with his buddy is the perfect place for Jeff to show you off…

~The Sandman~

Mystical Tales ~ @lex-the-flex. Author's Summary: None (Drabble; Morpheus x reader)

No Title ~ @dreaming-about-fanfictions. Author's Summary: None (Drabble) (Morpheus x sick!reader)

No Title ~ @full-time-make-believer. Author's Summary: None (Morpheus x fae!wife)

~Supernatural~

Breathe Free Part One ~ @trektraveler. Author's Summary: You were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, thank you very much! Dean knew that, he also knew better. He’d seen you sick plenty of times in the past five years, but this was different. This was much more than a cold, but you were so stubborn about doctors! Dean Winchester isn’t about to let you slip away, even if it means going against your wishes. He only hopes he’s not too late!

Breathe Free Part Two ~ @trektraveler. Author's Summary: You were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, thank you very much! Dean knew that, he also knew better. He’d seen you sick plenty of times in the past five years, but this was different. This was much more than a cold, but you were so stubborn about doctors! Dean Winchester isn’t about to let you slip away, even if it means going against your wishes. He only hopes he’s not too late!

Could Have Been Me ~ @just-another-busy-fangirl. Author's Summary: TFW finally figures out how to defeat Lucifer, once and for all.  It doesn’t end well.

Her Protector ~ @deanwanddamons. Author's Summary: Y/N and Dean decide to have an evening watching horror films.

Impossible Choice ~ @girl-next-door-writes. Author's Summary: None (Drabble; Dean x reader)

In a Million Memories Chapter Four: Salvation ~ @deaneverafter. Author's Summary: 15 years ago...

In a Million Memories Chapter Five: Cosmic Love ~ @deaneverafter. Author's Summary: a glimpse of Dean's life in Rochester. But what are his dreams and the songs trying to tell him...?

In a Million Memories Chapter Six: The Wreck of Our Hearts ~ @deaneverafter. Author's Summary: Dean dreams more dreams he can't remember and stumbles closer to... something.

In A Million Memories Chapter Seven: I Made a Lovers Prayer ~ @deaneverafter. Author's Summary: Dean deals with a rainy day at the fire station, and ponders everything that's been happening.

Just A Stomach Bug ~ @avanatural. Author's Summary: Y/N, Dean’s girlfriend, suffers from a stomach bug. Dean suspects that she could be pregnant. Suddenly, he finds himself confronted with the idea of starting a family. Is he going to be a dad?

Midnight Things ~ @wayward-and-worn. Author's Summary: Some things can only be dealt with in the middle of the night.

Radio Lust ~ @cryptke. Author's Summary: surprise impala sex fic with dean

To Be Her Hero ~ @talesmaniac89. Author's Summary: Dean can’t fight the demons in his girlfriend’s mind. But he can still be there for her, comforting her.

~The Boys~

Good Girl ~ @wayward-and-worn. Author's Summary: Soldier Boy needs to blow off some steam upon his return to the right side of the pond.

Old Habits ~ @wayward-and-worn. Author's Summary: Butcher and Hughie have a stellar idea to get Soldier Boy to keep up his end of the deal. It goes to hell pretty fast.

~Top Gun: Maverick~

All Or Nothing Part 2-Plus One ~ @princessmisery666. Author's Summary: Keeping your promises to Jake may prove to be more challenging when a joyous occasion takes an unexpected turn.

All Or Nothing Part 3-Hand On You ~ @princessmisery666. Author's Summary: The fallout begins as the events of the previous night are revealed.

All Or Nothing Part 4-Broken Promises ~ @princessmisery666. Author's Summary: The broken promises have a devastating effect, causing painful decisions.

[xiakha]

FFXIVWrite2023 Prompt #9 - Fair

"Again."

A quick succession of blows followed.

"Third strike went wide. Again."

The same rhythmic pattern.

"Fifth strike was delayed. Again."

Nearly the same flurry of strikes of blunt metal on wood.

"Third strike. Again."

The rapid staccato of swipes and stabs continued.

"Nearly perfect, slow on the last strike. Again."

Minfilia threw the knives on the ground, "No! Not again!"

Thancred looked up from cleaning his gunblade, "Excuse me?"

Her blonde hair was a sweaty mess and she huffed with exertion and annoyance, "What's even the point of all this? Why must I suffer? Sin eaters aren't attacking anymore!"

Thancred frowned, "Sin eaters aren't attacking Eulmore only and just for now. I have some theories as to how Vauthry manages it, but I doubt it's a permanent arrangement. Besides, we can't stay in Eulmore."

"We? You can't stay in Eulmore because you kidnapped me!"

"And you were locked up in a cell you could barely lie down in!"

"Ran'jit said it was for my own safety! I was protected in Eulmore from forces that sought to break the hard-fought peace that we have today! He said times have changed! That I needn't risk my life anymore! That I could lay down my arms!"

"Minfilia... you know he spoke false."

She huffed some more but sank to the ground, "I know. I'm sorry for the outburst. I just... It's not fair. Why me?"

Thancred opened his mouth, but closed it again to choke back his first kneejerk response of "Life's not fair." Aye, she was "Minfilia" but she also was not the woman that Ascilia grew up into. She was no Ascilia either. His Minfilia saw the horrors of the world and decided to organize a group to guide the realm to salvation. This Minfilia was not up for anything, let alone organizing.

Then again, she was young. Not even 15 summers, or what passed as summers in the everlasting light, old and half of those were spent caged up like a particularly pathetic parrot.

Instead he said, "Aye, I wouldn't wish this upon you either, but we're here."

Minfilia hugged her knees, "I don't want to be here."

"Where would you want to be?"

"I don't know. All I've known as far back as I can remember is Eulmore. But I don't want to go back to the cell either."

"Then how would you like to travel the realm until we find somewhere that you do want to be?"

She thought a little, "...I suppose that would be the thing to do."

"And as you've seen, the sin eaters outside of the immediate region of Kholusia outside of Eulmore are rather less docile. Upon my word as your liberator, protector, and... kidnapper I suppose, keeping you from harm is my primary duty. However I may fall or fail, or we may become separated. What then?"

Minfilia didn't respond.

"Will you simply give in and give up, or will you go down fighting?"

She peered over her knees at Thancred with a pout, "You really want me to pick those knives up again, don't you?"

Thancred shrugged, but offered a smile, rarer on his face these days, "Mayhaps I have simply lived a life of strife and struggle, and I know naught but how to perpetuate it, but were I in your position, I would fight until my last gasp to find a place for myself in this realm."

"What if the Oracle of Light picked the wrong girl?"

His expression turned sour. His Minfilia would not make such a mistake, and he was loathe to doubt her himself.

Though there were times that he did doubt.

And then this Minfilia would get really quiet and Thancred would get annoyed but acting out (or trying not to act out) on his annoyance would just cause a feedback loop, a cycle of this Minfilia shirking instead of standing up to him, which would aggravate him more. Whether it was beaten out of her or if she never had the knack, she rarely stood up for herself, she rarely fought for herself. The fiery spirit that Thancred knew as Minfilia was missing, and nothing he did seemed to instill any sort of fight in her.

"Thancred?"

"Apologies, I was gathering my thoughts. Look, you are the Oracle of Light. Did you choose yourself? Would you not choose yourself?"

"It's just... when you look at me, it often seems like you're expecting someone else, that I should be someone else."

The words caught in his throat. He wanted to say it. But he couldn't.

"Even if somehow you were the 'wrong girl,' I still believe you deserve to find a place for yourself in this realm, and I've pledged myself to help you find it, not anyone else." He tried to smile in a comforting manner. "But you need to be ready to fight for your place in this realm. It may not be given to you easily."

Minfilia sighed, "And so I should continue to drill with knives." Her tone of voice made it clear how unconvinced she was by his words and his smile, but she did recognize how little choice she had in the matter.

Resigned to fighting was at least a step up from resigned to dying.

"Once you get the strike pattern down thrice in a row, we'll call it for now, and I'll see if we can't scrounge up a good meal."

Minfilia went back to striking and thrusting at the post with her blunt knives, trying not to picture the sin eater that the post was supposed to represent.

Thancred went back to gunblade maintenance, trying not to picture the daughter that Minfilia was supposed to be.

[thedeadthree]

back in your inbox again sorry lovely but 🖊🖊🖊 + illyria PEAS i rlly love her name 👁

HII AJ DEAR you are always more than welcome to pop into my inbox <3 WAHH ty ty her story, name and concept and design and everything of her means the world to mee!!!! ty ty for the ask!

SEND ME A 🖊 + I'LL GUSH ABOUT MY OCS

🖊 - oh the daughter of destiny my dear girl. her blood can be traced back to the time of the great empire of the dawn, as she is the descendant of the bloodstone emperor. the one who in belief was the bringer of the long night. so not absolutely not unas mother (and iovannas mother had foretold of her as well hehe <3) had seen of the birth of the child of prophecy, the eye of blood and the dragon of death, alluding to of course her heterochromia with one eye being a scarlet red matching her dragon ahzidal’s. And ahzidal having a dragons breath that was not of fire.... but a death miasma hence one of his names being the soulsiphon? her birth marked the summoning of the long winter, the death of the dragons.. and her and her descendants bearing the eye of blood will bring either salvation or ruin when the long night arrives.

🖊 - her mother iseul was the descendant of a scarlet emperor of the golden empire, who in the time of the valyrian freehold married a woman of an unknown house (that gives me IDEAS hehe <3 more ocs <3) and this is likely where illy had the natural inclination to be a dragonrider. her mom thwarted court life as long as possible taking to the seas under an assumed identity, which is where she would meet valarr. in seeing a prophecy, the same una and iovannas mothers foresaw, but with a sense it would be him to be the harbringer the father of this daughter of destiny. he uh..... annulled his marriage and left his wife and three children with a fourth on the way to fulfill the prophetic vision. for power or for reverence of prophecy or both who can say. after illy was born on lys, iseul sailed on her ship to vilemyr to the tower of myrwatch. the isle and seat of house ilmestys to hold a wedding for them (they had a wedding in lys but wished for one in westeros as well). UNFOORTUNATELY and much so, assassins attack the ship and she is fatally wounded. the ship is stranded outside of asshai by the shadow, and with her last breath she leaves the girl by the shore. illyria is found by nurellia and keeps a watchful eye on the girl until her mothers sworn protector, irus of norvos, finds the girl as this was her mothers dying wish. illy from there to age four would reside by the shadow. and strangely enough, not a soul bothered the girl! she would be found by irus at the side of her dragon ahzidal who would keep a watchful eye when the girl ventured into the corpse city. and that is how illy's origins began!

🖊 - following her harrowing-ish childhood, she was brought to vilemyr where she would be raised by irus and his wife (and valarr's older sister) vergelle. valarr was not to be revealed as the illy's dad for reasons reserved to be known by valarr alone ig nsakjns. and she was also brought to kings landing when vergelle was requested to teach the princess helaena how to understand dragon dreams (as she and her niece urgelle are both dragon dreamers!). she was childhood friends with aemond! illyria would leave westeros again at age six on the back of ahzidal. it is presumed that she sought out the three eyed raven if there was a three eyed raven that did exist in this time. when she returned to westeros in 129 ac she expected aemond to not remember her at all, and was surprised to learn he never did and in fact asked irus of her all the time when he and vergelle visited. they have been inseparable since. blah blah red string of fate blah blah twin flames and setting the world on fire for each other etc etc <3

[isaiah118]

The Sword of God's Glory Fights for You

"Gird your sword on your side, you mighty one; clothe yourself with splendor and majesty."  (Psalm 45:3)

Shalom!

Have you ever thought of God as a Sword?  Well, He is.

You might look at a sword as a tool for violence, wrath, and vengeance, and that might make you afraid to come to God as your loving, protective Father, who has great plans for you.

Don’t fear!

You will soon see how God does destroy, and He also protects, nourishes, and saves.

The Sword of His Glory

“Blessed are you, O Israel; Who is like you, a people saved by the LORD, Who is the Shield of your help and theSword [chereb] of your majesty [gaavah]!”  (Deuteronomy 33:29)

Not long before the Children of God would enter Canaan to conquer even giants, Moses reminded them that the LORD (YHVH) has been their protector (a shield) and their salvation (yasha), and one of the tools He has used to save them is His sword.

The Hebrew root for sword (chereb) is charab, meaning to make desolate, destroy, dry up (as in a drought).

The sword of Deuteronomy 33:29 is a sword of gaavah—glory, triumph, excellency, and majesty—a weapon used to defend and proclaim the name of the LORD (YHVH).

The people of Israel had already seen God's majestic warfare and salvation on their behalf.  Yet, He had an even greater goal in mind when He delivered them from slavery.

Between the destruction of boils and fiery hail that God brought against Egypt, He said to Pharaoh, “I have raised you up for this very purpose, that I might show you My power and that My name might be proclaimed in all the earth.”  (Exodus 9:16)

When nine plagues didn’t humble Pharaoh enough to let the Hebrew People go, God wielded His sword a final time to bring death upon the firstborn sons in the land of Egypt.

Yet, the firstborn of the Hebrew People were saved.  This salvation from the plague of death was not free.  It came upon the sacrifice of an innocent lamb:

Preparing for the Passing Over of the Angel of Death (1911), by Sylvanus Stall

“The blood [of the lamb on the doorposts] will be a sign for you on the houses where you are, and when I see the blood, I will pass over you.  No destructive plague will touch you when I strike Egypt.”  (Exodus 12:13)

After all that destruction, God proved His majesty and received all the glory for victoriously delivering His People out of slavery in Egypt and into His own arms.  And people of the nations noticed.

Moses’ father-in-law Jethro, a priest from the land of Midian, became a believer in the God of Israel, saying:

“Praise be to the LORD, who rescued you from the hand of the Egyptians and of Pharaoh, …  Now I know that the LORD is greater than all other gods, for He did this to those who had treated Israel arrogantly.”  (Exodus 18:10–11)

We Are Warriors, Too!

God does not keep His weapons all to Himself. He has given us His sword, and He expects us to use it!

The Apostle Paul tells us to gird ourselves with “the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God.”

Of all the pieces of armor that Paul describes in Ephesians 6:10–17, the Word of God is the only offensive weapon we have.

So powerful a weapon is it that Yeshua (Jesus) wielded this sword against Satan, quoting Scripture to overcome the adversary's offer to worship him:  “It is written:  ‘Worship the Lord your God and serve Him only.’”  (Luke 4:12, quoting Deuteronomy 6:13)

Even the greatest enemy of God could not withstand the truth and power of Holy Scripture:  “When the devil had finished all this tempting, he left [Yeshua] until an opportune time.”  (Luke 4:13)

God’s Word really is active, living, and sharper than any two-edged sword!

If it made Satan flee in the presence of the Son of God, it will also make Him flee in the presence of a Believer who has been given authority to do mighty deeds in the name of Yeshua (John 14:12)

How does this work?

When the father of lies (Satan) places thoughts in your mind like “You’re a loser, stupid, not worthy, etc.” take out your sword and destroy those lies with the truth of God’s Word, which says:

“I am fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14), the Temple of the Holy Spirit (1 Corinthians 6:19), a royal priesthood (1 Peter 2:9), and I have a wedding banquet waiting for me as the Bride of Messiah Himself” (Ephesians 5:25–27).

The sword of the Spirit is not only an offensive weapon against enemies of our mind and spirit, it washes our souls clean.  It pierces the darkness of our sin so that the Light of God can make us radiant in His glory and righteousness, if we let it.

“[The sword] penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.  Nothing in all creation is hidden from God’s sight.  Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of Him to whom we must give account.”  (Hebrews 4:12–13)

Only when our hearts are cleansed can we present ourselves to our Bridegroom “without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless.”  (Ephesians 5:27)

God has entrusted His sword to us so that we will defend and protect the many forms of His salvation that the enemy is constantly trying to steal away from us—physical, emotional, and spiritual salvation.

And we are to use His sword in offense, waging war against the principalities that keep the world in unbelief of the salvation message of Messiah Yeshua’s death (blood sacrifice) and resurrection power.

Fighting for the Final Frontier

The sword that demonstrates God's majesty, that overcomes all temptations and cleanses us from all iniquities appears again at the end of the age to save us once and for all from the tyranny of the nations who wage war against the LORD and all Believers:

“I saw heaven standing open and there before me was a white horse, whose rider is called Faithful and True.  With justice He judges and wages war.  His eyes are like blazing fire, and on his head are many crowns.  He has a name written on Him that no one knows but He Himself.  He is dressed in a robe dipped in blood, and His name is the Word of God.

“The armies of heaven were following Him, riding on white horses and dressed in fine linen, white and clean.  Coming out of His mouth is a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations. ‘He will rule them with an iron scepter.’  He treads the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God Almighty.  On His robe and on His thigh He has this name written:  KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS.”  (Revelation 19:11–16)

And forevermore, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords will receive all glory and honor and praise:

“Hallelujah! Salvation and glory and power belong to our God, for true and just are His judgments. …

“Hallelujah! For our Lord God Almighty reigns.  Let us rejoice and be glad and give Him glory!” (Revelation 19:1-2, 6-7)

Messianic Bible Bibles For Israel P.O. Box 8900 Pueblo, CO 81008

[minervacasterly]

On Saturday, on the eve of his coronation on October 29, 1485, Henry VII, traveled from the Tower to Westminster Hall.

He was accompanied by his uncle, the newly created Duke of Bedford Jasper Tudor, his stepfather Thomas Stanley Earl of Derby, Richard Fox his secretary, Christopher Urswick his almoner, the mayor of London and other courtiers. Henry was bare-headed "clad in a long gown of purple velvet edged with ermine and a rich baldric, under a royal canopy supported by four knights on foot". The following day he would be crowned king of England and the ceremony was met with a lot of rejoice from the people. Mary's grandfather has enjoyed the negative propaganda that she posthumously did when he was turned from the great savior of England to the villain of the wars of the roses, and his mother has fared no better since. Yet, let's face the facts here. When Henry took possession of the tower he was met with great pageantry as was expected; his coronation had been planned since his day of triumph in late August. Crowds of people lined up to see their new king and when he took possession of the tower two days before, he was met with great acclaim. Two days before his coronation he restored the lands and title taken from his uncle, and made him a Duke. He also made his stepfather Thomas Stanley and earl and rewarded the earl of Oxford -his great experience and tactics made all the difference at the battle at Ambion Hill- and his other supporters (including his Welsh supporters) handsomely.

Henry's actions with Richard's body have been decried and portrayed in recent fiction as barbaric and though they seem that way to us, they were very common in this period. Edward IV did the same thing to Warwick who was his cousin, and with him were George and Richard who displayed their cousin's naked body for everyone to see that he was really dead and that no rumors would arise (as had arisen before with powerful nobles or kings like Edward II and Richard II) that he wasn't really dead. Henry VII did the same thing, displaying Richard's naked body to the public and then moved his body to the resting place of the Lancastrian kings, until he was laid to rest at Greyfriars where his skeleton was discovered two years ago. Originally there was an alabaster monument and epitaph marking his burial. It was commissioned by Henry in 1495. The epitaph pays homage to Richard while at the same time has him saying he admits defeat and accepts Henry as his new king:

"I, here, whom the earth encloses under ostentatious marble

Was justly called Richard the Third.

I was Protector of my country, an uncle ruling on behalf of his nephew.

I held the British kingdoms in trust, although they were disunited.

And two summers, I held my sceptres.

Fighting bravely in war, deserted by the English,

I succumbed to you, King Henry VII.

But you yourself, piteously, at your expense, thus honoured my bones.

And caused a former king to be revered with the honour of a king

When in twice five years less four

Three hundred five-year periods of our salvation had passed.

And eleven days before the Kalends of September

I surrendered to the red rose the power it desired.

Whoever you are, pray for my offences,

That my punishment may be lessened by your prayers."

The red rose as many historians, among them Leanda de Lisle, Chris Skidmore and more recently, Dan Jones in his book Wars of the Roses: The fall of the Plantagenets and Rise of the Tudors was never among the heraldic badges of the Lancastrian dynasty. They used panther, ostrich feathers, swans and other beasts. The white rose while being one of the many badges of the Yorks, it wasn't the only one and it was only favored by Edward IV. Richard III preferred the white boar which symbolized his loyalty to the North where he had formed his power base. Henry VII's actions mirror those of Richard and his predecessor, Edward IV. They also did everything they could to discredit the previous dynasty by spreading all kinds of rumors and going after everyone whom they suspected supported them, or could be turned against them. Yet what made Henry's actions more controversial was that he rewrote history in a way it hadn't been done before.

In spite of this, Richard was allowed to rest in peace from this point on wards until the dissolution of the monasteries that was the real culprit behind the poor state they found Richard's body.

According to Chris Skidmore in his recent book Rise of the Tudors:

"John Speed in his 'History of Great Britain', published in 1611, stated that at the suppression of Greyfriars' monastery, Richard's tomb was 'pulled down and utterly defaced, since when the grave overgrown with the nettles and weed is very obscure and not to be found.'"

The reason for their negative portrayals was largely owed to the shift in religious thought. Henry VII and especially his mother, like his great-granddaughter Queen Mary, represented the last connection to England's Catholic past and Margaret's piety was no longer see as something to admire but something to loath. Henry in turn was seen as a cold, emotionless being who was incapable of loving his children, much less his wife.

Henry VII and devoted husband and father and it showed by the letters he sent to Margaret and vice-verse when Margaret told him how much she missed him and he replied that he missed her the most and she had to be strong for both of them. Her namesake, Margaret Beaufort had married Edmund Tudor, Earl of Richmond when she was only twelve and gave birth to Henry when she was thirteen and the event scarred her. She was unable to have anymore children, yet her second marriage was a happy one and during Edward IV and Richard's time, she did everything she could to ingratiate herself with the Yorkist regime and far from being the fanatic, calculated schemer of the white queen and in other popular fiction, she was a pious, devoted matron who did everything she could to make sure her son would be returned from his long exile in Brittany and knowing it was likely he wouldn't get his lands back, she made provisions drafting up a will so he would inherit all the lands and states she had acquired through her three marriages and her family's inheritance. When her son became king she became 'femme sole', and it is a common misconception that she signed her letters as Margaret Regina. Her signature was Margaret R and the R likely stood for Richmond. Like her great-granddaughter Mary, she founded and re-founded universities and was a patron of scholars.

When her son was crowned, Bishop Fisher wrote that she cried and her tears were no tears of joy but of fear because she knew that was the target now and he and his family would never be safe.

So villain or hero, Henry VII was neither, he was a man of his times who was the founder of the Tudor dynasty, who was pious, cautious, and far from the miser of later life, he loved to play sports, gamble and spend time with his family. The same goes for Richard.

"This hysterical desire that people have for reasons either to exonerate him or villanize him and make him a sort of demon person. It’s just so unhelpful to understanding this period because if you truly follow the sort of arch of Richard III, it’s a very interesting life: What you have is a very loyal brother, a very capable military leader. A fixer. A real fixer and a hard, hard man.who’s there and he’s loyal to his brother and ends up in another one of these situations like his father, like his brother having to make difficult decisions very quickly with disastrous consequences. His decision to usurp the throne leads inevitably into the decision to whack the princes in the tower, whoever did it and more or less directly towards Bosworth and this sort of terrible period of three years of unintended and absolutely disastrous consequences puts Richard down. That’s life, it’s complicated but people don’t want to look at Richard III in those ways. There seems to be this desire either to exonerate him or to heap blame on him. It’s just so unhelpful and pointless."

- Dan Jones

Sources:

Henry VII by SB Chrimes

Richard III: the road to Leicester by Amy Licence

Wars of the Roses: Fall of the Plantagenets and Rise of the Tudors by Dan Jones

Rise of the Tudors by Chris Skidmore.

[munitumaltare]

moderation:  praying  to  xōchiquetzal

pilar  makes  sure  that  no  one  is  by  the  temples  when  he  goes  out  the  next  time.  he  grabs  his  incense  chamber  along  with  a  couple  of  candles,  anointed  oils,  bowl,  and  gold  rings.  he  heads  on  over  to  the  mountains  and  then  finds  xōchiquetzal's  statue.  at  first,  he's  silent  while  he  looks  up  at  her.  a  sense  of  power  radiates  from  it  that  he  doesn't  know  if  he's  the  only  one  that  can  feel  it. 

first  he  rubs  the  oils  onto  the  candle  and  make  sure  that  they  burn  long  enough.  then,  he  drops  the  rings  into  the  bowl.  he  also  sets  the  candles  into  the  bowl,  letting  the  wax  travel  down  to  the  rings.  he  turns  on  the  incense  chamber  and  traps  it  in  a  force  field  for  a  brief  moment.  even  though  he  wants  to  make  sure  that  the  smoke  cleanses  the  area,  he  needs  to  set  his  intention  first.

“mother,  protector  of  women  and  patroness  of  beauty,  love,  childbirth,  amongst  other  things.  i  call  onto  thee,  seek  thy  power  in  the  midst  of  the  night.”  finally,  he  lets  the  force  field  go  from  the  smoke  that's  pooling.  he  hopes  the  heat  in  the  bowl  is  enough  to  start  melting  the  jewelry.  “take  this  gold,  these  candles,  and  the  oil  as  a  humble  offering.”  pilar  takes  out  a  small  handheld  mirror  and  tosses  it  into  the  bowl  as  well.  “things  that  have  made  me  feel  beautiful,  protected,  or  both.” 

he  takes  in  a  deep  breath  and  holds  it  for  four  seconds.  then  he  exhales,  opening  his  eyes  to  look  up  at  the  resemblance  of  his  mother.  “i  call  out  to  thee  in  the  greatest  of  respect.  as  someone  who  comes  from  faith,  led  others  to  their  own  salvation,  i  want  to  be  your  vessel  on  this  land.  let  me  protect  those  that  cannot  protect  themselves  as  you  do.  please,  xōchiquetzal,  grant  me  the  power  to  help  them  bring  in  new  generations.  people  cannot  keep  dying  like  this.  they  need  your  help,  my  help,  our  help.” 

soon  enough,  he'll  turn  everything  off  /  put  everything  out  and  head  back  to  his  lodge.