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#and the sharpening wheel
markantonys · 6 months
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THE WHEEL OF TIME Season 2 Behind the Scenes: "The Tower of Falme"
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hcmoeroticisms · 7 months
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Natasha O'Keeffe as Lanfear/Selene in Wheel of Time
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Every time someone asserts that this is a bad adaptation I’m like. Did they not see the first one. Did they not see the original adaptation in fucking 2015 that only made it to a pilot episode because it was so fucking bad. It was utterly unrecognizable and frankly insulting. The winter dragon pilot didn’t even have rand in it! It was 30 minutes of bullshit quarter-assing Lews Therin and Nothing Else.
THAT was a bad adaptation. THIS???? This is fucking GOLD in comparison to that travesty.
I have waited over a decade for a good wot adaptation!!! I will not accept this fucking slander!
Wot on prime is a GODDAMN GIFT everybody shut up and say thank you rafe for the food
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agent-jaselin · 5 months
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Companion L'Calem's tent is like a magpie nest exploded. Lots of shiny things of varying worth dangling off the awning and in the interior canopy reflecting light, and roughly a thousand pillows and blankets and rugs of different colors. Also a hammock he can be found lounging in and reading from in idle animations. (His other one is batting at a bird. bit like Shadowheart messing with the cube but more catty)
He mostly reads nonfiction books about how Faerun works, so that's how he knows some things like what Shar is.
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tspultradeluxe · 2 years
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Oh I get the pencil sharpener on 432 desk. They HAVE to keep the wheel turning
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godddamnbranman · 1 year
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please pardon while I heal, from the thrills..
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simplyghosting · 1 year
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Who would win?
Prismacolor, X-acto, General’s, or any other name brand sharpeners?
Or my die-cut novelty train-shaped sharpener from a railroad tourist shop?
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reginaofdoctorwho · 1 year
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gotta make a list of stuff to look for next time i go to antique stores. if i had one of those blacklight flashlights i'd put uranium dishware on it but alas, i don't and can't test any.
anything anyone wants me to try to get pictures of?
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sungoldgroup · 1 year
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Get the best Scissors Sharpening Machine with Diamond Wheel online
For the past 20 years, Scissors Sharpening Machine with Diamond Wheel has been produced for sharpening industrial cutting tools and scissors. This multifunctional tool, which weighs roughly 12 lbs, is a must-have sharpening tool for a wide range of cutting instruments.
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pinkrelish · 10 months
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𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.
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singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader
✶What happens when Eddie tries to hide the less-than-fun side of being a single parent from you, and you discover Miss Mouse can't always save the day?✶
NSFW — angst with a happy ending, reader wears eddie's hoodie, comfort, kissing, 18+ overall for smut, drug/alcohol mention/use
chapter: 11/20 [wc: 14.2k]
↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12
AO3
Chapter 11: In the Beginning...
——Then——
In the beginning…
It was January 31st, 1988, and Wayne had come in to check on him again. And maybe he had a reason to when Eddie continued to stare at the pockmarked ceiling, dressed in the same clothes as three days prior, laying on the same bedsheets last washed by well-meaning, pre-aged, liver-spotted, wrinkled hands gnarled from factory work after being tanned on a big rig’s steering wheel for decades.
No music played from the stereo record player; The Doors still sat with the album art turned, stopped mid-spin. The paperback on the nightstand remained unfinished, its dog-eared page trapped as a placeholder from New Year’s Eve. Dust and cigarette ash clung to the room as if saving it in a time capsule of the morning he was arrested, and any movement would disturb the illusion.
“Eddie?” Wayne called out to him with his Free name; one that shouldn’t hold a stigma, because Eddie was a free man, wasn’t he? He was innocent. Even if they hadn’t caught the other guy yet. “You okay if I go?”
Tracing the bumpy lines of the most recent tattoo on his stomach, he answered, “Yeah, I’m fine,” and his uncle breathed as he usually did when he was wringing his mouth with indecision.
Wayne twisted the doorknob, uncertain. “If you’re sure.. And, uh, I’ll stop by the hardware store and pick up somethin’ for the spray paint on the trailer if the cookin’ oil trick doesn’t work, don’t you worry about it.”
Whatever rude thing someone wrote this time, Eddie hadn’t gone outside in days to know.
After a long silence, Wayne cleared his throat and gave a gruff, “I’ll see ya after work,” and left, as foretold by his rackety truck fading further into the night, and the deadness of winter taking over. A staleness of midnight inactivity in the crisp air invading the guitars and amps and magazines Eddie never touched anymore; the ceramic of his bedside lamp, the model car next to his lighter, the binders stacked on his desk with a pencil he hadn’t sharpened since it broke six weeks ago. He didn't get much relief from his routine of ignoring, shutting down, isolating, and desperately trying to get tears to form when he had none left to give, so he wept agape and dry, spiraling downward.
The phone rang.
He wasn’t going to answer—he hadn’t since December unless under obligation—but in case it was Wayne, he did.
“Hello?” The other end of the line was equally hesitant to answer his unrecognizable voice, gone hoarse from disuse. “Hello?” he repeated.
“Eddie?” A beat. “I guess I’ll get this over with. Look, uh, do you remember selling to a girl at Brad’s party a couple months back? Not the Halloween one,” they said, definitely a young woman’s voice, but with each word spoken she lost her fluttery nervous edge and replaced it with a direct tone, leaving no time for him to dawdle.
He hurled his mind into searching his memories before the ones made in the weeks prior, only grazing past the details which haunted him, and registering the question he was asked. “Uh, yeah, yeah I think so. Ah, Sarah? Something generic like that. Sold to her a couple times before. Why?”
Her severe silence loaded the chamber. His forthcoming nature pulled the trigger, never learning when to shut his mouth and keep information to himself. There was no telling who he was speaking to, or what happened to the girl he sold to, or why he was the subject of interest. His stomach clenched in knots at the whiff of gunpowder. He was too relaxed at the prospect of a normal conversation. He said too much. It was happening again. The police sirens would wail any minute now. Whatever happened to Sarah—or whoever—was bad, and he incriminated himself. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
But it was her next words that fired the shot. Rang in his ears. And he knew then, as the cold sweat took over his body and bile stung his throat quicker than his heart leapt black spots to his vision, life as he knew it was over.
“I’m pregnant, and it’s yours.”
————
In the beginning…
It was March 7th, 1988, and Eddie walked out.
It was better than listening to Wayne blame himself for not doing enough, or being involved enough, or whateverthefuck he was saying about failing Eddie, because soon those judgments would turn into nags about how Eddie’s irresponsibility got himself into this mess, and those arguments would become shouting matches about his lack of preparedness for raising a baby, and Eddie would end the fight with his fist through the hallway closet door, where his piece of shit father’s jacket swung on the hanger and fell to the floor.
Following the Munson name.
————
In the beginning…
It was April 29th, 1988, and Eddie left his motel room to drive forty-five minutes outside of Hawkins to sit across from a woman in a dimly lit restaurant with her hand laid atop her round belly, and his cold chicken alfredo. The cheese in his oval shaped dish had coagulated, but he wasn’t hungry anyway.
The entire time his mouth ran sentences, he kept his gaze focused on a crumb dirtying the white tablecloth as the candle flickered shadows through their untouched water glasses. Yet, his tone remained animated and optimistic, though a bit hollow. “—So, uh, with the money from workin’ at the gas station, and what I have saved from that graveyard shift I picked up at the laundromat, I can afford the crib no problem. Maybe you could, ah, come with me to pick it out! I don’t really know what I’m supposed to be looking for, but whatever you want, you got it. And—And I’ll start stocking up on diapers, and stuff. Y’know, different sizes. Some clothes. Could even get a nice baby blanket, or somethin’. I guess cribs have those teeny mattresses, so we’ll need sheets for that, too. Um, one of those, y’know, things that hangs over it and spins, puts them to sleep.” His lips hinted at his first smile in weeks at his dumb explanation for a mobile. “And with your job, you have health insurance, don’t you? That’ll.. That’ll really help us out,” he emphasized by bugging his eyes, and nodding. “There’s a position open at an auto shop in town that I’m gonna apply for, but I don’t think insurance will kick in until I work there for a certain number of days. Sucks, but it’s decent money. Better than what I make now, anyway. Um..” Thinking, he sorted through his plan for the future in his head, making sure he didn’t forget anything important—
That’s when he made the mistake of looking up, and a different type of heartache wrung his chest.
Indifference powdered her shimmery beige eyelids, darkening to smoky apathy at the outer corners with a touch of heavy mascara weighing her eyes half-closed. She appeared bored—he wished she appeared bored—but in the eternity he glanced at her, she resembled a loaded chamber moments from cutting him off.
Continuing, he said, “I can also handle the small stuff like bottles, and bibs, and pacifiers. Depending on how much the crib is, I can probably swing the carseat too, just gotta sell my other guitar, and—”
“Eddie,” she stated. He winced.
There was no trace of his smile left on his lips; trembling and licking at the sore metallic-tasting spot he bit out of habit. The first sign of rejection welled behind his eyes. A sense of shame clogged his throat, but he tried, “Are people still bothering you about me?” he asked, so meek and defeated.
Her words were a merciless killing, “Does it matter?” He shrugged, running the side of his hand along the table’s edge, concentrating on the crumb. “And don’t bother buying anything.”
“Why not?” he faltered. “I’m not gonna be some deadbeat who doesn’t provide, okay? I’m good on my word.”
“You know why.”
The cruelty, the truth he denied, struck him.
“You don’t want to try?” His voice went watery, and the candles swam in his vision. “We’re having a baby together, and you don’t want to try and work something out between us?” There was a reason he avoided addressing where the crib would go, or what the arrangement was after coming home from the hospital. In the first few calls they had, she seemed interested when he rattled off the list of cheap apartments he found around Hawkins scribbled into his notebook, and when he lightened the bleak mood with a joke, she laughed, sort of.
Though, he was always the one to call her, and her answers were refined to short words such as yeah, or no. And she did pick up the phone less often, but she was busy with University or her career or there was a family thing that had come up or she was just headed out the door, so he stuck with planning their future by himself, aware of the ugly reality twisting his stomach with dread.
Maybe he was being naive, but he thought she’d come around by now. See how responsible he was being, and maybe.. maybe..
“I’m not interested,” she dismissed him in monotonously stern frankness.
“I thought you said you liked me,” he reminded her, on the verge of something pathetic, “at the party.”
The corner of her jaw twitched from an emotion she ground between her teeth.
That was the final straw.
She swung her gaze around the restaurant, releasing a hard sigh of frustration, and shaking her head. Dropping her hand to the bottom of her belly, she leaned forward, and eviscerated any hope he had for them being together. “I’m not interested,” she hissed under the susurration of nearby tables, “in raising a baby with someone whose reputation is for giving girls discounts when they flirt with him.”
Eddie shrunk into himself, not expecting the hit below the belt.
“You’re just the loser dealer that all the guys send their girls to because they know you’re too lonely to turn them down. I wish I stuck with flirting, because let me tell you, having a couple of smarties to get me through last semester wasn’t fucking worth it.” She motioned at her stomach, he assumed. “I almost missed my finals because I couldn’t stop puking.”
Fat drops wobbled his vision. Anxious sweat from holding his breath prickled his hot face. His knuckles hurt from clacking them against one another, punching bone-on-bone in his lap to distract himself from letting the venom win. Biting impressions of his teeth into tongue from the weight of his one chance at normalcy slipping through his fingers.
The ache of deep-seated rejection stung worse, built worse, escalated worse with every heartbeat echoing in his head: not even someone who’s having your kid wants to be with you.
Chairs skid across the tiles behind him, and a family stood to leave. Eddie faced the stained glass window as they passed, pretending to admire the intricate details while warm tears spilled over the dam, and onto his cheeks in steady drops like rain. Drip, drop, drip, drop..
Embarrassment, failure, freak..
Even before he was wrongfully arrested, his reputation was trash.
Pathetic loser not good enough for his dad, his uncle. Can’t pass fucking high school, or get a girl to stick around for more than a few weeks; just long enough to feel the safety of attachment, learn their likes and dislikes, what their favorite flowers were, and then they’d leave too..
“Doesn’t matter,” she exhaled. One, two—she took two calming breaths through her nose while his was running, and he was trying to not sniffle through the grossness of crying.
Composed and diplomatic, she sat up, smoothed the buttons of her burgundy maternity blouse stretched across her swollen middle, and informed him “I’m giving her up for adoption.”
Eddie froze.
Her.
Tiny tines of salad forks ceased clinking on plates. Silly dull knives unworthy of much else sank into whipped butter, and stopped. Pretty laughter faded, leaving red lipstick kisses staining the rims of wine glasses.
Her.
He froze. A strange cliche to explain how his body reacted. How his heart pounded, and tears splashed onto his clenched fists. How his brain latched onto one word, one word only, and the blood drained from his cheeks to pool liquid rage in his empty belly. How his temper surged like a wave, and crashed, again and again on the shore of fate. How he was thinking sharper, seeing clearer, smelling the raw flame of the candle being snuffed out from his sudden movement.
The tableware rattled when he planted his elbow next to his forgotten dinner, and pointed a stern finger at her stomach. “That’s my daughter, and you will not—”
“C’mon, Ed—”
“No,” he cut her off. He didn’t give a damn if another tear rolled from his wide eyes when he said it, he put conviction behind his voice even when it cracked, “That’s my daughter, and you are not giving her up for adoption.”
“Be serious,” she spat back. “You don’t have the means to take care of a baby. I’m doing this as a favor for the both of us. Mostly for you.”
Eddie sucked his bottom lip inward and chewed the flesh. Shivers of indignation trembled his body, and his nostrils flared from the absolute power he invoked to rein his voice from the snap, bite, snarl his upper lip suggested. “I don’t care what you think is best,” he maintained through the viscous tar coating his refusal in the abhorrence she deserved. “That baby.. She’s mine.” He nodded until the motion was ingrained, and her expression changed. Pointing to himself, now. “She’s mine, and I want her.”
There wasn’t much thought put behind his decision. It was done. It was innate. It was automatic, and her soft warning—”You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,”—was as heeded as the candle’s flame.
He paid for the date. It cost five hours of his minimum wage. That was all his money. He was hungry when he got back to his shitty motel; opening the door to darkness, and a suitcase of dirty clothes he’d need to sort before going to work at the gas station at the edge of town where his boss cut his hours last week because it was making customers uncomfortable to see a criminal serve them at the till, and a new sound replaced the ding of the cash register: loser, loser, loser..
Already, he couldn’t afford diapers.
Already, he failed.
Already, he was worthless.
Already, he was alone.
Not even the woman he was having a baby with wanted to be with him.
——Now——
Eddie hung up the phone, and you watched his shoulders rise and fall for long moments, listening to the rain pattern shift above. The storm spilled its sorrows on the tin roof, uncaring if the structure could handle the stress of another trial when it was weak and susceptible. It poured, and poured. Ruthless. Vicious and brutal as nature could be, targeting the vulnerable and strong alike.
His back broadened with a breath, and finally, he dropped his hand from the yellowed plastic, staring at the dial pad as his arm went limp at his side. Absorbed by his thoughts as the old night rolled into another low growl of thunder, and whatever was on his mind reflected heavily in his vacant appearance.
“Ed?” You waited for him with a kind lift to your brows, but as soon as his glance landed, your chest tightened.
The emotion in Eddie’s eyes was heavily guarded, communicating little as to what caused the tenseness in his jaw when he averted his gaze to the floor, walking fast and purposefully away from you standing half-dressed in his kitchen, and stopping at the front door with his head down. Going through the motions of buttoning his pants, and buckling his belt, rigid and rough, snapping the leather against itself.
“Is Adrie okay?” you asked, voice coming out painfully shallow, like when you were using it to diffuse a customer service issue with the breeze of happiness and a plastered smile.
Leaned over, he shoved his feet into his boots, and began lacing. “She’s fine.”
Blunt, and closed off. Not like your Eddie from an hour ago. And you didn’t know how to navigate asking him what was wrong, and easing him into opening up to you, coaxing him back to that place of union and understanding.
Left feeling confused, you gleaned that this wasn’t the time to bother him about it, and mumbled, “Okay,” and assumed the rest. You dragged the whispery ends of the blanket across the floor, and picked your sweater off the carpet, having that particular sense of embarrassment as if you’d missed a cue, and should’ve read the room sooner, and been clothed and leaving without him asking.
You dressed in silence, doing up the buttons on the cardigan he so skillfully slipped you out of. Treading over linoleum to wash the evening off your hands and mouth. Making yourself small to fit next to him in the entryway, and putting on your shoes in a state of quiet obedience, missing the warmth of his hands and the comfort of his lovesick grin. Wilting under the coldness of his attitude, and wanting nothing more than to reach out, and soothe that bit of regret knotted between his eyebrows.
He regarded the exposed skin of your upper chest, and handed you his black hoodie from where it hung next to his canvas work jacket. “Here.”
Here wasn’t much of a break in the distance he resurrected between you, but you pulled the heavy scent of cigarettes and cologne over your head, and he almost found himself braving eye contact to tell you, “I’m dropping you off first.”
“What? No,” you blurted, “I’m going with you to pick her up. She’s just scared of thunderstorms, right? No big deal, you can drop me off after.” Which seemed like the right thing to say; that you were fine with Adrie crying, but when he set his gaze on you, a small image of yourself swam in his endless pupils, and your stomach clenched at the animal warning in his unbreakable stare.
Eddie shook his head an imperceptible amount, only enough to loosen the curtain of curls tucked beneath his jacket’s collar, and shift the lamp’s glare at the edge of his bitter coffee eyes. It was a threat to back off. Leave well enough alone. Stop encroaching on the parts of his life he hid, and keep the illusion intact.
“I wanna go,” you assured gently.
However, your support fell short when challenged against the aggressive shine swallowing you whole. He looked at you. Really looked at you with the same intensity as when his hands were on your hips and you rocked yourself in his lap, chests flush together with a lazy prayer of your name on his tongue; when nothing mattered more than honoring each other with lips and teeth, tasting sweat on necks and sucking bruises until moans were spilled from heads thrown back. But instead of unraveling you in shocks of pleasure, the ignorance of your child-free lifestyle softened the harsh lines of his face, and slowly, slowly, the shine dulled. The fight left him.
He saved his apology until his back was turned, and the squeaky doorknob gave under his heavy palm—turning it with too much force—and he cracked open the world beyond the two of you, dousing the lingering tenderness of your affection on his skin with frigid mist. “Sorry tonight ended this way.” The door banged open on the rusted iron handrail, caught on a gust.
The trailer park was bright with daylight. Flash, after flash.
Eddie’s silhouette eclipsed the doorway, outlined in lightning. He stood impossibly taller—like the animal threat still lurked within his structure, and caution stayed within your subconscious, altering how you perceived his lanky frame into something more imposing. His shoulders carried many burdens, bulked from five years of hard labor, possessing strengths you couldn’t imagine. He stepped to the side, insisting the door stay open with the spread of five fingers only, and his body no longer shielded you. You were exposed to the cold splash of rain on your shins. His palm was firm at your lower back, and you peered up at the hard set of his jaw feathering the muscle at the corner, sweeping the bone in a mature edge of stubble. Strands of his frizzy hair whipped in the wind. Droplets speckled his nose like freckles. His gaze, anchored on his car through the downpour, brewed with resentment.
His deep timber resonated in your chest beneath the safety of his hoodie, “Car door’s open, I’ll lock up behind you.”
And you were pushed.
Beaten down to a hunch, you took careful strides in your heeled shoes down the concrete steps and into the soft mud, covering your head as best you could from the cloud’s assault, and flinching at the closeness of the strikes darting around the boundary of treetops surrounding the trailer park. You tried the handle, and the car welcomed you into its dry insides. Guilt followed your tracks of caked on mud, leaves, and dead weeds on his nice red interior, but when you shivered to the bone, you didn’t care as much. Curled in on yourself, you spied Eddie’s vague shape through the waterfall blurring the windshield, and listened to his heavy boots trudge up to the door, and soon, the car sank with his weight too.
The engine roared to life. Heat wouldn’t come from the tiny AC units for some time, but the promise of such gave you hope. Eddie, beside you, drenched beyond measure, did not match your enthusiasm. Shadowed streams snaked across his pinched expression, swimming down his heavy brow, and splitting his raw lips. His bangs stuck to his forehead, and his cheeks trembled from his clacking teeth.
Soft music played from the radio station.
Riders on the Storm.
Two booms of thunder ended your small attempt at a smile from the timing.
Leftover adrenaline pulsed in your veins, fumbling your grip on the seatbelt. Wet earth and unease stroked your skin like skeletal hands, muddying your tights, and soaking his hoodie, weighing it down to your crushed sweater beneath. You wanted to speak; to poke, to prod, to press him to talk to you. The questions were there. On your tongue. At the ready; inviting him to tell you why his mood soured over a situation out of his control, other than the obvious weather.
But Eddie’s face was carved with irritation, baring his teeth as he attempted to buff circles into the icy fog on the windshield, only for it to cloud over in an instant. “C’mon..”
The wipers couldn’t keep up with the powerful current, and the tires struggled to find traction. “Fucking—damnit,” he said, interrupted by him slapping the steering wheel, cascading water off his work jacket, and onto every surface around him.
You twisted your hands in your lap at his mild slip in temper.
Now was not the time to bother him.
In a lurch, your shoulder bumped the door, and your head rocked side to side from the car backing over the swell of mud behind the tires. With another frustrated stomp on the gas, it evened out on paved road, and though the visibility was low, you were off towards the nicer side of Hawkins.
For once, he drove responsibly. Street signs could be read before he passed them. Fallen limbs in the road could be avoided, not ran over. His rings tinked off the glass when he rubbed at the thin fog, and the music was dialed to a somber ambiance behind the deep sighs through his nose. Dark stretches of treetops bent to the wind’s will. Short buildings sat so dim beyond the faint streetlights, they might as well have been deserted. Each red light was a necessary break for him to shove his fingers in the air vents to thaw them.
He never spoke. Never looked at you. He kept himself busy with tasks, and when those tasks were over and his hands were defrosted and the windshield was mostly clear, he regressed within himself. Unnervingly quiet. Turning onto streets with heavier regrets sagging his features the longer he crawled in front of white picket fence houses, and stopped.
The two story home was lit beautifully by the ornate sconces placed on either side of the doorway. Their lawn was manicured, and the sidewalk was free of weeds. No cars were at the mercy of the storm, they were parked inside the two-door garages. There was activity behind the embossed curtains hung in the living room of the residence. Presumably, the biggest shape was the father who called over the phone.
Someone who wore a business suit to the preschool’s Thanksgiving play lived here.
Eddie stalled. He remained seated forward, hands gripped at 10 and 2, squeezing the steering wheel as rain echoed in the belly of the car, battering the roof inches above your damp hair. There was a pause in his movements, his breathing. An awareness in his silence at the questions you didn’t ask. Tension in his pursed lips, rubbing them together as he surveyed the street.
He opened his mouth. Then, he thought better of it, and got out.
Your earnest call of his name was swallowed by the sea cleansing his body of your night together.
Leaping up the bullnose brick stairs, Eddie raised his hand, but before he could knock, the artisanal stained glass shimmered with movement. The immaculate door opened to a winced face. The man’s glasses were askew on his aged eyes, and his peppered hair hung over his eyebrows, no longer gelled back. He exchanged a few tight words with Eddie as Adrie was handed over, and Eddie, of course, shuffled into a meek posture, dipping his head, apologizing profusely. Almost bowing to this man dressed in matching pajamas and a robe. In horror, you watched the door close during one such apology. You could tell it happened in the middle of him speaking, because you had to sit through the agony of Eddie animatedly explaining something only for him to look up, straighten at the realization, and stand there for a few more seconds until the sconces dimmed off.
Worse, still, he cowered in the nook as cruel rain belted his back, doing his best to bundle Adrie in her tattered quilt and securing her on his hip, keeping all of her dry except her little legs wrapped around his middle. She buried her face in his neck, and he hesitated on the balls of his feet, judging the distance between the house and the car. His large palm covered the blanket over her head. All he had was his jacket.
Lightning revealed his weary frown.
At the clap of thunder, he sprinted.
Back in New York, at the going away party your friends threw in your and Robin’s honor, they warned you about moving to the Tornado Alley, and what to look for if one were to appear—green skies and all—but most importantly, they told you an incoming tornado sounded like a train. Being city dwellers, they wouldn’t actually know, but Robin confirmed it. And now you could too, because the piercing wail coming towards you could only belong to a natural disaster, not a four-year-old girl.
Murky water flooded to Eddie’s ankles from where it rushed against the sidewalk, sloshing in with his boot stomped to the floorboard for balance as he ducked inside amidst the fuss. He got Adrie into her carseat as quickly as possible. In the chaos, her overnight backpack fell somewhere in the dark, her quilt was chucked aside, and he cursed when the buckle bit into his thumb. She had a fistful of his hair, tangling it, making it harder to see what he was doing. He may have even threatened her full name to let go. It was hard to hear on account of the shrieking.
“Daddy!” The vowels were elongated, broken by hiccups. He shut the door, and in the small space with no escape, her big emotions rang louder. “Daddy!” Again, the y was screamed with the full power of her lungs, which would be impressive for their tiny size if it wasn’t for the pounding in your skull. She hollered louder when he sat heavily behind the wheel, “Daddy!” He didn’t shush her fourth tantrum spilt on his name; he accepted it, knowing it was futile.
It took all your strength to blink. Sat half-turned in your seat, frozen, gaze unfocused, marveling at your brain’s ability to function. You shifted your attention to Eddie’s face, a surprising few inches from yours.
The heat of his concentration scorched shame to your cheeks.
Avoidant no longer, your reaction to Adrie’s meltdown was the sole subject of his interest. Zeroed in on, dissected, and picked apart by just his eyes alone. Didn’t matter which eye you shied from, you were pinned in both, your discomfort blatant for him to witness. Your clamped mouth, your apologetic withdrawal, your fidgety fingers on your skirt; all of it. All of it was captured in his periphery because he didn’t dare break sight as he turned the key in the ignition, and started a raucous engine you couldn’t remember being turned off.
Humbled by the girl assaulting your senses, your questions were answered.
This was why he didn’t want you to come. This was why he slighted you with a pointed look from the recesses of his annoyance when you trivialized his daughter’s behavior as ‘No big deal.’ This was why he kept you separate from his parental sphere where everything wasn’t made of sunshine and rainbows. This—coming to terms with your inexperience staining each uncontrollable contortion of your unprepared expression—was why he never let anyone near his heart.
Adrie could no longer form his name through her open-mouthed cries, resorting to plain, wet screams which trilled past your eardrums, resulting in a throbbing headache.
At that, he grasped the gear shift, put his boot to the gas, and cut fat lines through the river overflowing the pampered neighborhood streets.
Eddie’s anger was a presence. His embarrassment, too. Just like at the auto shop when problems stacked and stacked into an unbearable weight on top of his sleepless nights and long mornings, he turned inward to delay his outburst. To feel everything so fully in his fists wringing the leather covered steering wheel until it creaked, and teeth gritted until they begged no more. Just that one second to release his frustration, and then it was suppressed from sight. But you felt it. His ire rested below your braced muscles, beneath your clammy palms and in your shallow breath. It invaded the tidy home you kept behind your ribs, taking up residence in your hammering heart.
The humiliation of having the date end when it did paid its dues in his bad mood. Disappointment radiated off his narrowed eyes, and slack frown. “Adrie,” he warned in a low tone.
She bawled louder, shriller than the crack of lightning.
The immense pressure to adapt was upon you. There was no sense in parsing what he expected you to do in this situation, it was clear he was soured by your ineptitude the moment you let it show on your face, but.. Only two short weeks ago, he relied on you to divert Adrie’s meltdown before DND night. And sure, she had already stopped crying by the time you got there, but you could come to his rescue again, couldn’t you?
You twisted around in your seat, proud of yourself for thinking of a solution, and showed him you could handle a modicum of parenthood. “Adrie, look!” you tamped down your children’s television host voice to a delightful, excited cheer, “I’m here. Miss Mouse is—!” Shocked with your hand reaching towards her, shooting pain traveled up your arm from her swift kick to your wrist. You recoiled, rubbing at your forearm without blame. It wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t even looking at you. Her fit was directed at the window she couldn’t peel her attention from, dropping tear after tear from her swollen eyes at the thunder shaking the car. “Adrie?” you tried softer, but she beat her hands on the carseat harder. Wailed until you were defeated to a wince. Yelled until you accepted a unique heartbreak you weren’t prepared for.
Miss Mouse couldn’t always save the day.
Acute twists of rejection wrung your chest. Eddie wasn’t the type to say I told you so, he wasn’t mean like that, but when you sat forward and your gazes moved past one another, never quite meeting, you knew what he was thinking.
Little else stung worse than his obvious cynicism at how this date was concluding.
Exacerbating the issue, Adrie escalated to screeching her distress. Every open sob of hers pulled your focus, invaded your brainspace, overpowered any thought before it began, and set your teeth on edge from the high-pitched squeals you swore vibrated in your bones. Her behavior seeped into your nerves, winding them up, scratching them with the very tip of a brittle nail, inciting a riot. The need to flee crawled under your skin. Breathing was uncomfortable. Your ankle hurt. There was to break in between the blinding pulses of your headache. The car was too hot, too cold, too swerving from the high winds buffeting it sideways. Your tights were too tight. His hoodie too stifling. Itchy yarn from your sweater chafed your damp neck. Alarms of panic battled inside. Louder, louder, louder—Adrie cried louder. Eddie’s lips tugged down at the corners, chin wrinkled, tensing his face from a sadder response. Your lashes fluttered from the chokehold his frown had on you. Fingernails bit your palms. You tried to bide your time, to resist snapping. Dug down deep for something, something you could do, something.. innate. Some answer within you to fix it all. To get her to stop. To get him to relax. Something, something, something—instinctual.
“Pull over!” you barked; Eddie had every right to whip his head around at your sudden demand, but in your panicked state you only cared about the road ahead. “Ju-Just—just—” You scanned the dark parking lot outside the hardware store, and stabbed your finger on the cold window, pointing past it. “The gas station! Under the roof-thing.”
When it wasn’t clear he heard you, you turned towards him at the same time he leaned forward to catch your eye. Justifiable skepticism burdened his brow, tightening the edges of his crow’s feet. His lips hung parted with a confirmation hesitating between them; however, it was silenced after you maintained your need, and the fight against the wind won.
Soppy pebbles scraped wet asphalt, muddied in the bump and grind from Eddie turning too sharply into the sloped driveway, banging into a pothole, and rattling the innards of his already rocky cargo. He careened towards the closed convenience store with its row of dim fluorescent lights inside. Pulling up alongside the gas pumps, he slammed the breaks. A second later, he slapped the windshield wipers OFF, violently shushing their grating squeak.
His patience strained thinner. Working through the sensory overload festering like infected wounds on blistered skin, he rumbled a shallow apology past his aching teeth. Quickly, it devolved into a barrage of doubt. “Look, I’m sorry she—Wait, where’re you—?” The instant fear of rejection shot past his octave. “Wait! Please don’t—”
Cruelly, he thought; heartlessly, he knew; the sun-faded black cotton draped about your shoulders was the last image his adrenaline latched onto, playing it over, and over, door slam and all. He wasn’t parked for more than a clock tick, and you hurled yourself out into the storm, leaving him behind. His first assumption was gentle. Kind whispers stroked the angst in his chest, telling him you needed a break from the noise, that was all. Then the hatred of abandonment gutted his center.
“Giving up already?” he asked aloud in a conclusion only meant to hurt himself when no one was there to answer.
As if sensing his hopelessness, Adrie sniffled into the worst of her hyperventilated cries. Broken disjointed things. Sinking him deeper, deeper into his seat, crossing his arms over his caved chest, shuddering at the hot sting wobbling his vision at his own inadequacy.
Never good enough for anyone to stay.
Tremors of repressed memories wakened the churn of nausea making him sick.
“Baby, baby, it’s okay,” soothed a voice behind him, trickling in with the splash of faraway drops. “It’s okay, sweet baby, I’m here. I’ve got you. I’m here.”
Eddie jerked his chin up and stretched his neck to see into the rearview mirror. The wall of water teetering on his lash line made everything blur, so he tugged down the slick skin beneath his eyes to suck back the tears, and almost allowed them to spill at the scene behind him anyway.
In the reflection, you crawled across the backseat and unbuckled Adrie’s carseat, learning how to maneuver the straps from watching him. She reached for you, your hair, your clothes; small fists belying their strength. You didn’t care. You calmed her struggles with pretty words. “It’s okay, yeah, you can hold on to me, baby. Let’s get you wrapped up nice and warm. There we go.” Shhh. “Let me see your face, so I can clean you up.” Shhh.
“M–M-Mizz Mou—se,” Adrie got out between body-wracked sobs.
“Mhm, I’m here.” Shhh. “Miss Mouse is here.”
—Oh.
“Baby..” So modest was his whisper when so resolute was his yearn.
He leapt into motion, flushed with adrenaline.
The ripple effect of your actions caused tidal waves to swell and crash over him; body hitched in the place where his past convinced him he lost it all, only to collapse into a stuttered exhale of acceptance, understanding there was someone out there who cared about him to this degree; throat constricting with gratitude he could only express by stumbling out into the foggy cold, throwing open the door, and sliding into the backseat with you.
His fingers grazed the baby hairs at your nape on their way to the side of your head, using his wide palm which took up too much room to cradle you steady with a gentleness unknown to his tough skin. He trusted you to forgive him for how hard he knocked his forehead to your temple, and smashed his nose to the soft of your cheek. He need not worry. Beautifully, you adjusted to the bulky arm behind your neck, leaned into the crook of his body he hollowed out for you, and filled the familiar place at his side. You worked diligently to clear his daughter’s face while he passed a strong hand over her back and dropped it to shape his grip at the end of your thigh, curving his fingers in and slotting them to the underside, behind your knee.
“S’okay, Adrie,” you cooed, wiping at the sticky grossness clinging to her nose. “I’ve got you,” you continued the mantra, albeit with a lapse in motherly tenderness as a result of trying not to gag too hard.
Outside the car, the gas station’s tall canopy provided enough coverage to stop the rain from pounding the roof. Harsh winds howled past, encouraging the woeful sobs dropped onto your breasts, but the lightning stayed within the clouds, and the thunder faded in the distance. “Look at me,” you guided, sweeping the hoodie’s cuff over her puffy cheeks glowing splotchy red from the neon beer signs in the postered up convenience store windows. “We’ve got you. Nothing bad can happen when we’re here.”
Eddie lips pulled thin against your skin, breath stuttering damp and thick on your neck like a smothered cry.
“Nothing bad can happen when we’re here, okay?” Repeating the union of you and him, you went on, “We’ve got you. You’re safe with us. Nothing bad can happen when we’re here. Right, sweet bean?” You tucked the quilt around her feet, and held her close. “We won’t let anything bad happen to you, ever.”
With her hands latched into the folds of fabric around your neck—cotton, yarn, and canvas—her big coughs were cushioned by your arms snuggling her to your front while Eddie’s chest was at her back, embracing her between your two bodies converging to protect her in a toasty nest. Warm air hummed from the vents, shooing off the stale chill clinging to the backseat, now disturbed by activity and plucky guitar strings playing over the radio.
Across the Universe.
Undertaking the complexities of the man rubbing his forehead into your hair with the same sort of neediness as his little girl wringing your clothes, you assumed the responsibility of consoling them both. “Nothings gonna change my world,” you mumbled the lyrics into the patchwork quilt covering Adrie’s curls. “Nothings gonna change my world,” you sang to Eddie, face tipped up and eyes falling closed, seeking out his nose to trace the tip of yours along the soft bumps in a devoted offering after the turbulent events causing you both inner strife.
His fingertips became an imposing force spread across the scope of your cheek, turning you toward him, capturing you in a deeper kiss than you were ready for. It was demanding, hard with desperation, misaligned and urgent. Born out of necessity in the moment. He kissed you in front of his daughter, where she could see if she picked her face up from your chest, and a dart of surprise lit your heart at the recklessness. You kept a level hand atop her head in case he’d come to regret the decision, but he didn’t seem to notice, or care. He sighed into a second helping, and at the sound of the wet smack, she stirred.
Adrienne hooked her fingers into your collar and sniffled hard, soothing herself from further cries by hugging you tight, huddling into your comfort, oblivious to what was happening around her.
Easily, you fell into the third kiss. Became what he needed, mouths mashing together at the odd angle, your lower lip plush between his. Dizzying amounts of reverence manifested in his spontaneity. He packed a lifetime’s worth of bottled up feelings into the affection he was privileged to. Giving, and taking. But his impulses were still a puzzle. When he’d drank his fill, he squeezed your leg, broke apart from your lips in a silent slick slide, and drew a deserved breath.
“Sorry, no one’s ever just.. done that for me before.” He shrugged his hand off your thigh at the poor summary of the millions of things on his mind, and left it at that.
Spurred by the praise, you seized the opportunity for communication. “Remember how before we played DND that night, I told you to call me first next time you needed help?” you reminded him, and something vulnerable, maybe even pleadful, entered your tone. “I want to be someone you can rely on, Eddie.”
An unfortunate amount of complicated emotions passed in his eyes. There wasn’t much to garner from them, nor his soft grunt when he dropped his nose to the column of your neck, above Adrie’s head, and regressed into his quiet self. Reserved. Hard to decipher. He did speak up once to warn you she would fall asleep with how you were holding her—same as he did most nights on the couch while Late Night with David Letterman aired—and you embellished your promise to him with a kiss to the stringy curls frizzing at his scalp, “That’s okay.”
And it was okay, truly, when the storm raged heaves of rain against the car, spraying the windows with shocks of water. You dabbed Adrie’s cheeks. Wiped her nose. Rocked her in the same tempo as the backs of Eddie’s fingers stroking your cheekbone, flexed bicep behind your neck. Thunder occurred. Lightning happened. But with your quick thinking, lulling gestures, and genuine effort to speak past the fondness clogging your throat, you calmed her. Calmed her so well, in fact, her hands went limp and her body relaxed, fatigue claiming her victim to the numbered sheep hopping over fences in her dreams. After her tantrums, she was taxed out. Drained.
Stuck in the cramped middle between Eddie and the carseat, you rearranged your legs before they went tingly numb from her weight on your lap, and shifted the pressure off your heels. It was sweet having her fall asleep on you. Her slow breaths filled your arms as a reward for your efforts to hush her. The quilt smelled of their home, cozying itself in your lungs and sweeping you in a sense of longing for the humidity in his kitchen after making soup.
Though, as much as you thrived on the temporary role you played as parent—taking over for Eddie and dwelling on the fact Adrie slept propped on your chest like the many times she napped on his stained coveralls—you could do without the additional pain of him leaning on you too.
You groaned at the sharp twinge in your spine from slouching sideways, and conveniently, your movement roused his consciousness. He launched into a sleepy inhale. Robust, filling his lungs to the brim, too loud, too silly and sweet. He primed you for a solid press of the bridge of his nose to your jaw by thumbing you towards him, after which he pulled away, separating himself from you fully.
Eddie rolled his shoulders, stretching out from the uncomfortable position, and faced the window. He commented in a sincere tone, “You’re good with kids.”
“I know how to entertain kids,” you corrected him. “I don’t know how to do any of the hard shit you do.”
The streetlights painted strokes of dotted orange on his complexion cast in shadow. He played with the tips of his fingers, squishing each one in a line as he ruminated, staring elsewhere, perspiration blurring the outerworld, sealing yourselves in this crowded car together. “You do a good job,” he reassured, petering out in a hoarse whisper.
Ceaseless nerves gnawed at his absent-minded ring spinning. Not a big production like when he wrung his hands or bit his nails, but enough to show he was getting anxious. You’d expected his leg to be bouncing by now, but it was laying softly against yours. Something big was on his mind.
You bumped your knee into his. “Talk to me.”
Talk to me. Yes, you asked the world of him. You knew it, too. Encouraging his gaze to flick to Adrie bundled in your arms, and back to the window. His eyes weren’t wide with fear, just larger than normal at the subtle confrontation. It was time he opened up to you. There wasn’t a concrete ultimatum if he didn’t, but there was a mutual understanding that if this were to continue, he needed to trust you to be there for him. No more reluctance.
He extended his hand towards your knee, patting twice before claiming it in the great breadth of his palm, stroking his thumb over the thin pantyhose; bridging the gap from his earlier behavior, but not yet apologizing for the soreness he caused.
Sorting his thoughts, his throat bobbed twice on the swallow.
And of all the questions he could ask, of all things he could say, of all the topics he could choose, he picked, “Did you ever want kids?”
Heat swam to your cheeks, blood rushed to your ears. Buds of true belonging bloomed at the question, adorning stems of untended longing first planted during the Christmas party at work, ever growing. Your heart pumped faster at the inherent past and implied future of the subject. His curiosity was a mild prod, perhaps not meant to encourage these leaps in logic considering he announced it in the same buckled cadence of someone who was asking about the weather—and yet, the hold it had on you was impossible to deny. A blend of you, Adrie, and him, just like now, but in different contexts—different meanings other than sitting in the back of his car—something domestic, like being piled together on the couch watching Disney movies; that’s what was pushed to the forefront of your mind.
But, despite those instantaneous fantasies, this was a place for honesty, and the significance of your pause between his question and yours was an entity of its own, stiff like his posture.
“Are you ready for this conversation?” you checked. He fostered an anxious glance and nod. “Having kids is not something I ever saw for myself, no.”  The consequence of your answer marked his immediate dropped eye contact, but ever patient with him, you continued strongly, “With how I dated and moved around, I didn’t think it was for me, that sort of lifestyle. It’s just not something I put a lot of thought into except when my friends were having kids, and really, they kinda turned me off of the idea. Pregnancy sounds.. daunting. Or—you know—really fucking scary. They’d always talk about how awful it is, all the complications you could have, the risks, the near death experience in one case,” you broke off in a squirm. “And then you don’t even get the relief once the baby comes. Like, seriously, taking care of a newborn sounds straight up terrifying.”
Eddie cracked. His hiss of laughter was a welcomed reprieve, especially when it sank to his chest, gripping his shoulders in a hearty shake. “Y-Yeah,” he got out, face crinkled in all the ways you adored, “it is straight up terrifying.”
You giggled in the softest way, careful to not disturb Adrie’s shallow breaths, and careful to not swoon too head-over-heels over the image of him rocking a baby. “It seems easier when they’re older, though,” you said, broaching the real crux of the conversation with your chin dipped to the top of her head. “Like it’s not as bad when they can actually communicate why they’re crying, or tell you what’s bothering them.”
“Not necessarily easier, just different,” he clarified. “It’s less about making sure this little tiny thing that can choke on its own snot survives the night, and more about the emotionally draining problems like her telling you about her day at preschool, explaining a situation where a group of kids kept giving her tasks to do that sent her away, and she’s smiling so big when she’s telling you, thinking it was a game, but deep down you’re just waiting for the heartbreak years down the line when she realizes they gave her errands to run because they were excluding her, and the reason they were laughing every time she came back was because they took joy in being mean to her.”
Wilt tinted your faint, “Oh..”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He upped the pressure he used to pat and rub your knee. “S’part of life.”
Consumed by his side profile, you studied the scope of his impassive expression set on the premature lines edging his face. The urge to find the right thing to say amidst the convoluted churn of anger on his behalf, and sadness on Adrie’s, itched something fierce beneath your skin. Ultimately, no words of inspiration came.
Eddie took an anticipatory breath.
The radio garbled advertisements for the station’s sponsors.
“Still wouldn’t trade it for those first months when she was a newborn, though.” Pursing his mouth thin, he rolled his lips inward with a hardened brow, releasing and scrunching tension around his nose as he shook his head slowly, addressing the memories of those days with a shine of pain to his eyes, and a loud smack of his tongue. “The moment I found out Adrie’s mom was pregnant, I wanted to do the right thing—y’know?” He took his hand off your leg to demonstrate the narrow path he followed. “Kept my head down, stayed focused, didn’t bother anybody, got a real job, and kept my mouth shut. Lotta places didn’t wanna hire me, obviously, but I applied anywhere I could, and when I got the job, I’d go get another one on a different shift, and another one on a graveyard shift. Sold whatever I had—guitars, ‘nd shit—bought what I could with the money. I wanted to be a good man. Be a provider. Be worth something.” Scrubbing his shaky fingers over the stubble on his chin, he aimed to calm himself, but when bringing up the Hell he went through during those times, there was little to stop his pitch from wavering. “Still wasn’t good enough.”
A verdict aimed at him flippantly, yet the impact on his self-esteem was immeasurable.
Gathering himself, he licked the inside of his cheek, and explained, “In the beginning, when Adrie was born, I tried to make it on my own. Locked in this little motel room with a crying baby. Couldn’t go to work. Didn’t have anyone to call to watch her for me, y’know, didn’t.. didn’t have anyone to rely on after walking out on my uncle, and isolating myself from my friends. The people at the bullshit resource center said I wasn’t eligible for benefits because they were for single moms, not dads. And child support was taking too long to kick in. Not like it mattered when it couldn’t pay for a single canister of Similac. I didn’t have fucking anything. Or know anything.”
His shame was only beginning to unravel.
“There were these free classes at a clinic for expecting parents, but I..” He dropped his knuckles to his thigh and fed them along the coarse cotton, using the friction to burn away the guilt. “I-I didn’t go. I didn’t want to go alone. Be the only guy there, by myself. Have all these people w-who might know who I am fucking.. fucking staring at me.” With how he was looking down at his lap, rocking slightly with his movement, he stood no chance against the wall of tears damming at his lashes. “I didn’t want to go because of my sense of pride, and my baby suffered because of it.”
“Eddie, that’s not true—” you stepped in.
Three effective beats of his fist on his leg, and you were left to witness his face crumple from the utter contempt he had for himself.
“It is true,” his volume fluctuated in jumps. “She wouldn’t eat. She wouldn’t fucking eat and keep it down.” Droplets splashed his jeans in unyielding splats. Drip, drop, drip, drop.. They slipped and spread in splotches of salty remorse he couldn’t wipe away quick enough. “Nothing worked. Couldn’t get her to latch onto a bottle, and, and—I didn’t know, I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to microwave the formula, but she wouldn’t take it room temp, so if it was too hot she’d just scream at me until it wasn’t, and I–I just—I was having these breakdowns, I don’t know. I blacked out, and next thing I knew, I was at Harrington’s, and Nancy was taking care of her for me.” The emphasis alluded to much, though the fact their son was only a year older, and Nancy would still be producing milk said it all. 
Frantic breaths which wouldn’t catch were pulled past grimaced lips parted on the unrefined sob his confession emerged on. “I never wanted to be with Adrie’s mom, but proving what she said was right, th-that I was a fucking loser who didn’t know what he was doing, it-it-it.” In a desperate flourish, he pointed at his temple, It lives in here, and another tear clung to the tip of his nose, smeared by the back of his wrist.
Stunned useless by the suffocating urge to help him, you blanked. Sat still while your favorite mechanic reduced himself to the wrong opinion of others; the same person who showed his gentle nature by picking worms out of the garage after a heavy rain so they didn’t dry out. Remaining frozen while silent pain wracked your friend’s held breath, heaved and shuddered out as a cough into the same palm he used to catch your ankle when he challenged you to a race on the creepers, and he had to cheat to win before you beat him to the service door. Saying, “Baby, no,” to the man who snuck a smirk over his daughter’s head when he caught you doting over her as she sat on his hip, and the smell of Christmas potluck embedded itself into the memory of Eddie’s eyes hinting at a deeper glint than the tease on his grin.
“I am a fucking failure,” he seeped out his regret. “C-Couldn’t give her what she needed. I still can’t. Still can’t give her what she wants, ever. T-T-Tellin’ her I can’t get her something when she asks for it—and the disappointment. Just a piece of shit who disappoints her. Never good enough—” There was another high-pitched stutter, but it was muffled behind his trembling hands covering his face, and smothered by your intervention.
“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” you shot out, hand and voice working together to untangle the trauma his knotted fingers attempted to hide. “Listen to me.” No please, but no lack of kindness, either. “You are not a disappointment. Not then, not now, not ever. Do you hear me? You’re not any of those things.” You tugged at the canvas jacket around his stiff arms tucked tight to his body, and rocked him away from his huddle against the door.
In the aftermath of your scramble to comfort him, Adrienne startled awake. Her soft hmm? became a grunty whine when the sensation of slipping backwards disoriented her. “Daddy?” One of her fists found your hoodie for balance, but her groggy curiosity dealt a heartbreaking blow.
She traced the wet trail on his cheek, encountered a tear in its path, and broke the droplet’s surface tension on her finger, wondering aloud, “Why’s Daddy crying?”
Thinking quickly, you used your muscles earned through unloading car parts from delivery trucks, and scooped her from your lap onto his, diverting the nuance of grown-up-problems by fumbling out, “Daddies cry sometimes, too. Have you told him you love him today? Can you tell him? It’ll make him feel better. Please, Miss Adrie?” Whether or not it was the perfect phrasing wasn’t important. What mattered was the unsuspecting gratitude laden at the base of his frown.
“I love you, Daddy,” Adrie said, latching her arms around his neck. “I love you.”
“You’re a good man,” you added, and rolled onto your hip, fitting your body to his side. You nosed through his long, frazzly curls, and spoke earnestly, but softly into his ear, “You’re a good man, Eddie. Look at how well you take care of her. Look at how well fed, clothed, and happy she is. You make her so happy.. You make me happy, too. You’re the best dad I’ve ever met. No one else compares.”
He dragged a sniffle from his last sob into an unintelligible mumble.
“I’m here.” Shh. “I’m here.” You included Adrie in your hug as you brought your hand up to the other side of his flustered hot face, blending your fingers through the hair stuck to the sweat and stubble on his jaw. “We’re here for you. We’ve got you. Nothing bad can happen when we’re here.” Sweet with conviction, “It’s okay, handsome, I’ve got you.”
Overwhelmed by the small I love you, Daddy, on one side, followed by You’re a good man, on the other, his inhale shivered, and he cuddled Adrie to him for a watery, “I love you, too.” Croaky and real, and mouth agape on an ugly cry he let you witness until his needy reach cupped the back of your head, and smushed you to his wet cheek, scratching the same sentiment into your nape, just like you were rubbing it into his scalp, exchanging the affection without words.
Us and Them funneled through the car, mellowing the heightened emotions with its dreamy saxophone opener.
“I’m so glad to have met you,” you prized in tender sweeps of whispers and thumbs. “I actually look forward to coming into work because of you, even when you hide my pen cup, and tickle me when I go to reach for it on top of the Coke machine. Which is unfair, by the way.”
“Yeah?” he asked for dear reassurance, and distraction.
Humming against the intimate corner of his jaw, you nudged the prickly scruff, and melted into his uncoordinated pets over your ear. “I see your sacrifices, and trust me, Eddie, you’re doing a great job at raising your daughter. Stuff like buying her toys, or cookies, or whatever doesn’t matter. The love you show her is better than any of that. She’s so lucky to have you.”
Another tear dropped to the tattered quilt. Another, another dropped. He squeezed his eyes shut and more fell. Hindered breaths let go in stuttered huffs shook his chest, swayed his damp hair. You circled your thumb over the rivers on his sensitive skin, and found a dry section of your sleeve to clean the price he paid for being a good father without the proper support he needed. Soothing him with fond shushes and feather touches. Forming a ball of comfort around him: cramped in the tiny car, a cast of solid fog on the windows for privacy, Adrie’s blanket draped about your jumbled legs, and her lanky arms wrapped around his neck where precious words were stoked from the embers of a fire which he built. “I wanna color with you to-mah-rrow,” she pronounced. “You can have the dinosaur book, because I want the kitty cats. Deal?” Deal, he nodded.
Your bottom lip introduced a blessing at his sideburn, “You deserve to see yourself how we see you.”
Recovering from the unbearable throb his stuffed sinuses drove to his headache, he tried—“Thank you, baby,”—though the letters were mashed together, and further pulped by the thickness in his throat. Loud, however, was his hug. Crushing you both to him with honed strength; flexed forearms demonstrating the power lying dormant in the track of muscle he snaked around your waist. Groans were earned from his expertise. Bones protested the gesture, begging to be released. It took several seconds of your heartbeat pumping visibly at the edge of your vision, but he let go. Afterall, there was no praise to be had by flattened lungs.
“That hurt,” Adrie complained.
“Ow,” you agreed.
“Sorry,” he said in non-apology.
At a change in tone, you fawned, “But that was a nice hug.”
Adrie rated it, “An 8 out of 10.”
Crowded together, the bond was unmatched. His arms were spread like a greedy dragon hoarding its wealth. Chest open, collecting his most remarkable treasures to the roaring furnace locked within the confines of his body, ready to share the warmth to those who could appreciate its value. Clasped in your hand was Adrie’s ankle, gaining squirmy kicks for each smile and giggle traded under Eddie’s chin. Dressed in his well-loved hoodie, the crook of his elbow fit to your figure, and the backs of his fingers strummed your bicep in a trained motion. None of it was perfect, no. The hoodie could smell less like cigarettes, his forearm stuffed behind you meant you couldn’t recline comfortably, and when he patted your hip, he awakened the dull throb of the bruising grip he left during earlier events.
Those weren’t bad things, though. They were as real as human flaws. Accepted as such, too.
“Are you feeling better?”
Sporting a grin favoring one cheek more than the other, Eddie’s eyes were framed by clumped together lashes after being stripped to his barest self and given the grace he needed. “Yeah,” he answered Adrie in fondness, “I’m feeling better now.” Not forever. He wasn’t cured. But with time, he guided his gaze to the velcro shoe you were wiggling back and forth onto her heel, and climbed his soft study up to the plump concentration on your bottom lip after you released it from between your teeth.
Perceiving his attention, you clocked him with a sneaky grin. “We’re a sardine family.” Brightening at the bewildered noise he made, you tapped Adrie’s knee, and imparted your wisdom as if he should know it too. “Yeah, you know, you, me, and Adrie. Jammed packed back here like a tin of sardines. All squished together.”
They blinked at you. You blinked back.
“And I thought I was supposed to be the one with bad jokes,” Eddie offered after some thought. You cut him a look. “But I like the image,” he amended.
“I like sardines,” Adrie chimed. She didn’t know what sardines were, but you appreciated her enthusiasm.
The conversation waned from there. Drowsiness from the old night seeped into your collective huddle, slouching you all towards one another. Heavy limbs went boneless. Tender brushes of thumbs came to an end. The sound of deep breaths were heard between the local ads for Indiana’s finest antique mall and an uptick in the rain smacking the paved street. Near the edge of sleep, you convinced yourself to get Adrie up and into her carseat. Eddie sat back and watched you go through the steps of buckling her in, listening to her plea for Fluff in her backpack, tucking the quilt around her just right, and hitting your head on the roof in pursuit of making her happy. Taking care of his kid. You collapsed beside him, far closer than would be proper for coworkers, and basked in his approval, noting the pride in his charged gaze. The emotional rollercoaster of the evening took its toll on his swollen face—nevertheless, romance novels could learn a thing or two from the way his stare rendered you weak.
“Should get you home before the storm gets worse,” he warned in an attractive thrum of sternness. He might call you lil’ lady next. Or remind you he promised your father he’d have you back on time.
Floating in the fizzy pool of your crush's attention, you nodded your dizzy head, and observed without need, “Yeah, should get home before it gets worse.”
He laughed. You swam in his laugh, in the instinctual desire based in his mood after watching someone nurture his young. A silly thing to rock you into a sultry sweat considering the outcome of your second date. Luckily, when you stepped out of the car, the frigid mist stole your focus, hosing you down and keeping you from reading too much into the odd chemical imbalance that must be happening in your brain.
The night was really fucking long.
Driving with the radio on low, Eddie drifted his ringed fingers over your forearm whenever they weren’t being used on the stick shift. A small gesture letting you know he was thinking about you when there wasn’t anything to talk about, not that it was needed. The calm was nice. The storm behaved en route to the Buckley’s, avoiding the occasional tree limb blocking a lane. He removed his touch from your person, and with a glance, you were assured it wasn’t the last.
“You didn’t have to walk me to my door,” you gasped, posing with your arms stuck out, useless against mother nature sagging your soaked clothes.
A puddle formed on the wood planks where he wrung his hair. “And make you do this run all by yourself? C’mon, sweet stuff. I’m a gentleman.”
Shivering on the covered porch, your shoes were partially to blame for the slipping incident(s) in the muddy driveway. The lack of the house lights on was another, slowing down your sprint into a crawl. A yellow cast from a lamp in the back room lit the hallway, but other than its soft glow, that was it. Clearly, no one expected you to come home.
“Is it okay if, uh,” you began, “Is it okay if we kiss in front of Adrie?” Oh, how your awkward pointing from yourself to the car came to a charming halt, fingers caught in the stiff fabric of his jacket, under his spell.
Plush pink lips warmed by vented heat promised your worries away.
“I think she’s asleep anyway.” His voice was playful, tugging syllables in the way his lopsided grin ought. “But,” he softened, “yeah, we can kiss in front of her.”
The permission washed over you. Weeks and months in the making. Brewing tension under the surface in your daily interactions—and now? You kissed him. Just for fun, just to show off. You kissed him again. Gentle, pretty brushes. Tame, refined, and for the sake of exploring the lack of boundary before saying goodbye.
Working man arms defined your waist.
Fingers calloused from gripping pens grazed his steady throat.
He swallowed, and spoke endearments with his busy mouth, “Could kiss you all day, baby.” Your lips kicked into a smile which he devoured, kiss after kiss. Neat little things. Virtues, maybe.
“Could’ve kissed me since the day we met,” you answered, feeling the squeeze around your back when his belly pressed you into his embrace. Though, his dismissive snort caused you to frown. “I’m serious. Coulda had me back then. Or at least you could’ve kissed me when we were slow dancing in the garage, or standing under the mistletoe at the Christmas party. Like, seriously, way to make me feel rejected.”
His wide passionate eyes shared common ground with his genuine smirk at your feigned agony. “Excuse you, but I am not having our first kiss be at work.”
“Then why not at DND when everyone left?”
“Because, sweetheart,“ his cadence loved those two words most of all, “I knew I only had a few minutes with you. And I needed a helluva lot more than a few minutes with you.”
“Or, what about when—”
Crazy how you strove to be silenced by his mouth. Craved it like no other, provoking him into eager unions, fulfilling the itch and providing the scratch with your bottom lip between his, just how he liked.
You shifted. Your inner thighs rubbed through your ripped tights. The untimely circumstances bringing you to Robin’s door lived on the surface of your chilly skin; ushering you to reality, and he as well.
“I’m sorry for how all this turned out.” Eddie’s sincere apology pitched his voice to something sorrowful, something deeper, and maybe you underestimated how much the night ending when it did upset him as a man.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about.”
He shuffled his stance, scraping his boots in dissatisfaction. “Baby, you didn’t even get anything,” and you knew what he meant. And it annoyed you he’d even brought it up.
Combing your fingers up from his nape through his hair, you drove him into you, chasing the molten ooze pooling at your center in effort to shut him up. Wet, hard, nipping kisses at his plump lips until they were raw like his tear-stained cheeks. You forwent air. Mouths melding as one, then apart as two, then one, then a set of awake eyes boring into his drunk ones. “Our date was perfect. We needed this.” The trust, the experience, the uncomfortable glimpse into his life and how you handled it. His breakdown, his shame, his face when he finally let go and ugly cried in front of you. “I don’t regret how our night turned out.”
Nodding into a nudge of his nose stroking the side of yours, he was honest with himself, “I don’t regret it, either.”
“Well, you might regret it in the next half-hour if this storm keeps up, and you’re stranded with Adrie in the car because a tree fell across the road.”
“Shit.” Indeed, the weather was turning again. If luck were on his side, he could deal with the high winds and sheets of rain until he got home, but, more likely, he drained his luck over the course of the date, and lightning was about to start again.
Eyeing the sky with hesitance, he asked, “Can I call you tomorrow? Or—today?”
“I’d be upset if you didn’t.” Acting as an endorsement to get going before things worsened, thick forest branches creaked in the distance, popping like warnings. You followed it with snappier affections doled between your palms fitted to his jaw. “Please be safe, Eddie.”
“I will, I will. Kay?” Urgency swept him from kiss to kiss—needy, and intense, treating them as the last. “I adore you, baby. Tell me you adore me.”
Mushy under his tender affirmations, your body went pliant and he accepted your weighty lean on his chest, making it harder than it already was for him to leave his sweetheart behind. “—dore you too, handsome,” you moaned into his mouth, sending him off on a proper goodbye.
“Jesus Christ, woman.”
Ever the lovestruck fool, he stayed rooted on the porch watching your figure move from shadow to light within the home, eyes glued to sways and curves as you met the hallway and bent to peep inside Robin’s room. It was the single lamp being turned off which broke his greedy gaze, and ended his fun. Oh well. His Monday morning was booked with penciled in meetings for his admiration and your assets.
Eddie spun on his heel and stopped stalling. He didn’t bother throwing his arms over his head, he accepted his fate, and ran. Sloshing through puddles, slipping in mud. He wrenched open the door, and fell inside the car. The heater made him sticky warm in the gross way, so he turned it down, and got comfortable behind the wheel, adjusting, adjusting.
Pulling oxygen into his outkissed lungs, he heaved a solid breath, and sank into his seat, unable to comprehend the recent events carving out a new path for him to consider where there wasn’t one before.
——Then——
In the beginning…
Summer died to autumn, and it was time to move on from Steve's. Eddie tried to make it on his own in the motel room over the three day weekend break from work, but his wallet was empty, his baby was dressed in another family's blue sailboat onesie, and come Tuesday morning at 7AM, he needed someone to watch Adrie who wasn't an overworked Nancy Harrington.
Infant in hand, pride left behind in his boyhood, Eddie knocked on his uncle's door, and in Wayne's usual manner, he answered by clearing his throat when neither words nor greetings failed to repair the strained relationship.
“Can I live with you?”
Taking in the marks of fatigue under his nephew's averted eyes, Wayne said, “Of course, son,” and welcomed him inside with a swung gesture.
The walk to the single bedroom humbled what spirit Eddie had remaining. Or, crushed what was left of it. He passed by the kitchen table which still had his chair cocked out, noticed the patched-up hole in the closet door, and flicked on the lightswitch, grazing the curled edge of a poster he hung over a decade ago. His stomach sank at the familiarity.
Blazed by the ornate lamp hung in the corner, standing out like a behemoth beside his white desk, was the crib he was never able to afford.
Adrie grunted awake in her carseat. Looking down at her would spill his tears, so he cranked his head back to stare at the ceiling, steeling himself after spotting the new bedsheets stretched across his mattress, and he knew—he knew—if he turned around, the pullout bed in the living room would still be set up.
His uncle never took his room back.
Defeated by the routine pang of worthlessness, impressed to have any self-esteem left to be stolen from him at the point, Eddie sank to his childhood mattress with his three-month-old daughter at his feet, undressed himself from his boots, and made a clear spot for them both on the bed, away from blankets or pillows. He laid on his side, legs crossed and knees bent with an arm beneath his head. Same position he assumed on the motel’s carpeted floor yesterday when Adrie experienced a milestone: rolling over. Not from her back to her stomach, she wasn’t coordinated enough for that yet, but with enough powerful kicks and wiggling, his paranoia coaxed his other arm around her.
He molded himself to be her protector. Chest sunken on a shallow breath, forearm spooned to her side closest to the edge, and gaze trained on her chubby cheek. Her babbly noise of happiness brought him a sense of reward, and though the newborn smell had faded in the weeks where motor oil stung his nostrils, he put his nose to the top of her head for a whiff of a sweet scent that wasn’t there, and felt the peace it brought him anyway.
Wayne shuffled into the room with a sizable stack of chunky hardcover books between his hands. “I, uh, checked these out from the library. Been doin’ some readin’ while you were gone.” He set them down on the bedside table, and pointed at a few of them. “Learned a lot from the one on the bottom, but they were all, ah, educational, I s’pose.. Some lean more religious than others,” he grumbled. “But, uhm..”
The expectant pause in his uncle’s speech drew Eddie’s awareness.
“Can I hold her?” Wayne asked.
“Yeah.” He almost had the strength to clear the rasp from his throat. “You can hold her.”
Putting his new knowledge to good use, Wayne first worked his palm under Adrie’s head before scooping her into his folded arms. Eddie took his shame in small doses, glancing at his uncle meeting his grandchild for the first time, and looking away when he cooed over her. Three months and his only family member had yet to meet his baby. Three months spent avoiding this trailer, and depriving his uncle from making these memories.
Self-loathing boiled under Eddie’s skin, and still, there was a fleeting desire to brag about Adrie’s neck strength, and how it wasn’t so necessary to be wary of her head falling back.
But he stayed quiet. He pushed his overgrown bangs out of his eyes, and read the book’s titles, wondering what sparked enough interest for Wayne to stuff receipts between the pages, or mark them with paper clips if they were particularly interesting.
Speaking in his gruff smoker’s voice with an edge of seldom heard unease, Wayne introduced a conversation, “I read in that yellow book there that babies shouldn’t sleep in the same bed as the parent. Dangerous, with how tired you are, ‘nd all. Should I put her in the crib?”
As gingerly and delicately as one could be when discussing the reality of a child suffocating to a parent who was well aware of the risks, Eddie regarded him with an annoyed expression, and Wayne shut his mouth in apology.
“I’ve gotta do her night routine again, so I’ll be up for a bit.”
“Yep.” A solid statement, and conclusion, to the conversation.
Bending down, Wayne positioned Adrie in the hollow Eddie created for her, and mentioned there were leftovers in the fridge on his way out. He shut the door behind him. It didn’t take long for tiny fists and tinier fingers to find a lock of his hair, and pull it into a drooly mouth. Didn’t take long, either, for his exhaustion to kick in and for the emotions to crash through his walls.
Tears slipped sideways along his features. Cresting over the bridge of his nose, colliding with his other eye, and joining the wetness at his hairline, dotting the bedsheet. He pressed his face to his baby who was too innocent for this world. “Daddy loves you,” he whispered, tasting the word for the first time. Daddy. It didn’t feel right when Steve stepped in as a father figure, but he could acknowledge it now. He was a dad. A momentous occasion followed by, “I’m so sorry you’re mine.” An apology uttered on a wet hiccup—borderline unintelligible—but after coming back to this trailer, and enduring his memories trapped between its thin walls, he promised, words slurring to a constricted squeak in his throat, “Daddy’s gonna get us a nice house, okay? Your own room. Your own bed. Daddy’s gonna do it. Just give me some time, okay? I’ll do it, I swear. Daddy loves you so much. So fucking much.” The promises bred dread even then, living in the pit of his stomach as future disappointments, knowing he would fail.
Perhaps sensing his distress, his little girl used the last of her energy to kick his arm in a fair warning before her face scrunched, and the wet coughs preluding her wail for food began.
He dried his face on the bedsheet. In this moment, it was hard to continue crying when he had another human relying on him. It was time to move on. Time to bury the pain, and move on. Time to neglect himself, and move on. Time to give up, and move on. Kiss her chubby cheeks so fucking much he feared he’d never be able to stop, and move on.
——Now——
Now, he checked the rearview mirror and Adrie was looking back at him, possessing a curious pinch between her brows at his reflection.
“You were kissing Miss Mouse,” she accused and questioned.
“I was,” he confirmed.
“What does that mean?”
“It means, ah,” he filled the pause with another ah while he searched, “It means we’ll be seeing more of each other. She’ll be coming around more, and stuff. Hanging out with us.”
Ever ponderous, ever candid, ever blunt, she asked, “Does that mean she’s my–”
Crazy Little Thing Called Love blasted their eardrums.
Eddie’s fingers slipped over the volume dial by accident—totally by accident—as he reached for the stick shift, turning the music on high and drowning out the last word of her sentence.
—Mom.
No way in hell was he ready for that conversation after the emotionally grueling night he’d had.
“Whoops,” he pretended, “Sorry, couldn’t hear you—but, uh! Hey, do you wanna start our bedtime story early? Should I go with the princess one, or the Sesame Street gang running their own bakery? Hmm.." He drew out his hum until he was in the clear of the Buckley's mailbox, swearing he wasn't the reason it was laying flat in a ditch. "How about we pick up where the princess one left off? So! The firbolgs have declared alliances with Toadstool Kingdom, and.." Throwing it into first gear, Eddie raced home as quickly, but responsibly, as possible, talking non-stop. His parched throat begged for a drink by the time he pulled into the trailer park—a scratchy pain made worse by his nervous chatter in the elusive quiet of his parked car.
He wrapped Adrie in her quilt as best he could while securing her on his hip and booked it through the rain, unlocking the front door and ducking inside right as an unlucky flash of lightning came.
And when nature’s nightlight died, he blinked and blinked at the spots in his vision.
It was unfathomably dark in his living room.
Stumbling over a small shoe in his way, he patted the wall for the lightswitch, and flipped it. And flipped it again. And harassed it some more. Sighing heavily in defeat, he grabbed the giant flashlight on the kitchen counter, and lit the way. "Looks like we're camping tonight." (Their codeword for when the power was knocked out.)
"Okie dokie," she said, ignorant to the cruel world of no pancakes for Sunday breakfast when the electric stovetop was out of commission.
In the meantime, he got them both ready for bed with the added pain of doing it by a single wobbly light source, ready to pass out the second his body sank to the mattress and his head hit the flat pillow—
But of course, Adrie rocked his shoulder incessantly, goading him into giving her attention at her whim, sanity be damned. "Mm?" he grunted, coating the noise in mild annoyance.
"Daddy?" she checked.
The wait for her question grew excruciatingly long.
He almost wasted an eye roll. "Yes, my child?"
"I wish Miss Mouse was here."
Surprised more so by his yawn than the request itself—and then surprised again when his heartbeat remained calm when confronted with the reality of Adrie noticing too much—he struggled to stay awake in his best interest, perhaps giving an inappropriate answer, and unwittingly feeding into her inner wishes, "I do too." He was fading, and quick. The hard rain had returned, droning white noise on the roof, soothing his eyelids closed over the dry sting they drew. Rolling, fighting the stiff sheets tucked around them both, he threw an arm over her before the doom-roll of thunder came. Sweet dreams greeted him in a pair of tiny arms folded to his chest. Brain shutting down. Night, night. Asleep.
"I wish she was my mom."
"Goodnight, Adrie," he stressed.
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m-imprefect · 2 years
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soulessjourney · 2 months
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Sick
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Paring: Astarion x fem!DurgTavReader
Word count: 766
Summary: The moment you let out a cough in camp Astarion turns to his necormancy book for answers.
Warnings: OOC Astarion, Humor, Astarion doesn't know how to comfort sick Tav, Astarion believes Tav is dying, fluff
A/N: This one is just a tiny little humorus work that I had sitting here in my drafts, I thought the idea was cute as we apprach out spring months.
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The changing of seasons was the one time you dreaded being alive. Transitioning from winter to spring meant a massive shift in temperature, often resulting in catching a cold due to the sudden change. Seated on the ground between Shadowheart and Halsin, you observed as he taught you the art of carving a small wooden duck. A few feet away, Astarion was engaged in a lively argument with Gale about who knows what, while Lae’zel tirelessly sharpened her sword against the stone wheel for the fifth time that day.
“Gently slide the dagger over this portion of the wood; the trick here is to apply pressure and scrape for a smooth outcome. Now, give it a try,” he instructed, handing the small wooden figure to Shadowheart.
Pulling your knees to your chest, you watched her work, following Halsin's guidance. Her tongue poked out from the corner of her mouth, a sign of her focused concentration. An itch filled your throat, and you cleared it a few times to relieve the sensation. A cough escaped you, catching Astarion's attention as he turned to look at you. “What was that?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.
Raising a brow in confusion, you glanced at the others, only to receive shrugs in response. “What was what?” you asked, shifting on the ground. Another cough slipped past you, and Astarion quickly approached, shoving his finger in your face.
“That! You never cough, Darling. Are you dying?” A laugh sounded from Shadowheart, and Halsin shot Astarion a confused glance before looking at you. A fit of coughs overtook you, causing you to lean over in an attempt to stop them. “You are dying. Out of everything we have been through, I cannot let this be the one thing to take you out,” Astarion declared, rushing towards his tent.
Once your coughing fit ceased, you followed his movements, watching as he tore apart his tent in search of something. Shadowheart leaned over and nudged you gently. “Who's going to tell him that you simply have a cold?” she whispered, keeping her eyes focused on him. Halsin, from the other side, laughed and took the dagger and wooden duck from Shadowheart.
“I've never seen Astarion care so much. What is he looking for, anyway? If you were dying, I could've simply helped you,” Halsin remarked, shrugging. Everyone turned their attention to Halsin, nodding in agreement.
Just a few moments later, a loud ‘Ahah!’ echoed through the camp, and everyone's heads snapped towards Astarion, their eyes widening. Gale stepped forward, holding out his hand. “Now, why did you pull that out? She's not dead, Astarion. There is no need to bring out the necromancy book,” Gale said, eyeing the book in Astarion's hands as the stone placed in the center of the cover glowed brightly.
Astarion scoffed as Gale continued trying to convince him to hand over the book. “I know she’s not dead, but if by chance she does die, I can simply bring her back,” he stated, flashing Gale a confident smile before shifting his gaze to you. “Don’t worry, my sweet. I would love you even if you were undead.” Your jaw dropped open as you shot to your feet, placing your hands on your hips.
“My gods, Astarion, I’m not dying. Put the damn book down; I just have a cold,” you snapped, narrowing your eyes as you met his stare. “If I were dying, I don’t think I would be standing right now.” Shadowheart stood, sensing a shift within you. Whether it was from standing too quickly, being sick, or both, black dots filled your vision, and you felt yourself collapse to the ground. Shadowheart dove to catch you, breaking your fall.
Astarion looked between the group of your friends before flipping to a page in the book and beginning to read a spell from its contents. A chorus of “No” echoed from the group as everyone lunged to tackle Astarion, preventing him from reading any further.
Karlach walked up to the camp, a deer hanging over her shoulder, observing her groupmates tackling Astarion, Gale prying the book away from him, and you lying on the ground a few feet away from everyone. Dropping the deer to the ground beside her, she caught the group’s attention. “What in the nine hells is going on?” she shouted, her eyes staying trained on you. “Well, don’t stand there; bring her back!”
The group groaned as they scrambled to keep Astarion from grabbing the book again. “She’s not dead!” they simultaneously yelled, the sound of their voices bouncing off the rocks around them.
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natsaffection · 1 month
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hey my love, happy valentines 😻 can i make a request?
it's actually kind of based of a fic that i saw a few days ago but it was for wanda, where reader tries to be dominant with her just to prove she can, but then reader eventually gets lost and gives in because she wants her mommy to take care of her. could you do that with sugar mommy nat please? i would love that 🩷
Control | N. R
Sugar!Mommy Natasha x Sugar!Baby Reader
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MINORS DNI 18+!
Warnings: Age gap (Natasha is 37 and reader is 21), oral (n receiving), subspace, strap on (r receiving), begging, Mommy kink, choking
Word count: 1,4K words
A/n: Thank you Anon for this request, I really enjoyed writing this <3
Natasha and you lay tangled in bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting shadows across the room. Natasha's fingers traced lazy patterns down your arm as you both enjoyed the afterglow of your lovemaking.
Suddenly you changed, a determined look in your eyes. “N-Nat?,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the gentle hum of the night. "I want to try something...different tonight."
Natasha raised an eyebrow and her lips curled into a playful smile. "Oh? And what did you have in mind?"
Your cheeks flushed as you gathered your courage. “I..want to be in control tonight,” you admitted, your voice shaking slightly.
Natasha's expression softened as she thought about your request. “I’m not sure, darling,” she began intravenously. "It might feel...unfamiliar."
But you're not deterred, your eyes begging Natasha to give it a chance. “Please, Natasha,” you pleaded, your voice filled with new determination. “I want to show you how much I trust you, how much I love you.”
Something flickered in Natasha's eyes as she looked at you, a mix of surprise and admiration. She gave in with a sigh, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. “Okay,” she murmured, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your forehead. “Then show what you’re made of.”
Your heart raced with anticipation. You leaned closer to Natasha, your lips touching her ear and whispered, “Trust me, Mommy. I will make it unforgettable.” You learned from the best
Holding back her grin so as not to unsettle you, Natasha leaned further against the bed and nodded, allowing you to take the lead.
With renewed determination, kisses trailed down Natasha's neck, eliciting a soft sigh from her lips. You caress her skin with gentle touches, exploring every inch of her with reverence.
With a tender kiss you began to explore Natasha's most intimate parts, your movements slow and deliberate.
Natasha gasped as waves of pleasure washed over her, her fingers gently tangling in your hair as she gave in to the feeling. Despite your initial reservations, she felt lost in the moment, consumed by the raw passion you ignited within her.
However, you hadn't realized how much input you had to put into the whole thing. Why hasn't she come yet? Why does it always happen so quickly for you? All the hustle and bustle, your wetness and the great passion were a bit too much for you. You slip deeper and deeper into subspace and lose control of your surroundings and your own desires. Your breathing became ragged, your heart racing as you teetered on the edge of an overwhelming sensation.
As Natasha sensed your descent into subspace, her instincts sharpened. With a firm but gentle touch, she recognized the change in your dynamic, gaining control and guiding you back from the brink of insecurity.
"Stay with me, darling," Natasha whispered, her voice a firm anchor in the whirlwind of emotions. "I have you."
As Natasha took the wheel, her dominance was unwavering, guiding you both back to the peak of pleasure with masterful precision.
She shove two fingers straight into your pussy and twist them so your eyes roll back in your head. Natasha grins at you. “Do you have anything left for me?”
“Yes,” you gasp, “Yes.. anytime..Please..”
Natasha’s fingers push in, push up. Meanwhile, she rubs your clit so hard that you gasp for air. “Come on,” Natasha growls. “Ask for it, Y/n.”
“please..,” you force out, “please, please, just, do something, please..”
Natasha’s eyes narrow and she lets her hand slide back; you feel empty, exhausted and empty, and you swallow, your eyes burning and your chest tight. But Natasha wasn't going anywhere, or, more accurately, she was going exactly where you want her. She grabs your wrists and squeezes them tightly, and once you're pinned down, once Natasha's sure you can't go anywhere, she takes one hand back, adjusts her fake cock, and starts thrusting in slowly.
When she's fully inside you, you quiver beneath her, trembling, and Natasha places her hands on your wrists again. “Again,” Natasha growls down at you.
And you know what she wants to hear, you know that growl inside and out by now. "M-Mommy..please! Make me cum.."
“Mine,” she whispers. “I fucking own you and you know it, you want it, you fucking get it.”
“yes! yes..” you close your eyes and grit your teeth; With Natasha inside you, with Natasha growling at you and telling you to beg her for it, how the hell are you supposed to hold back? “You are my little toy, and don’t forget that.”
You could barely get the words out. However, inside you were in ecstasy. Trying to speak and keep your eyes open while your whole body vibrated took all your concentration. She rammed into you again. "Oh yeah. So tight, so wet. God, Y/n..” she had no rhythm left, thrusting randomly into you and feeling her own orgasm coming slowly and steadily
“You’re doing so good,” she breathed as your eyes opened and locked on hers, “so I’m going to reward you. Do you want to cum?”
“Y-Yes!”you gasp, so turned on that you didn’t care about anything other than finding a way to cum.
"Good girl," she whispered, taking up temp. You kept your eyes open as she wrapped her hand around your neck, constricting your airway just enough for the intensity to increase. Your mouth was open, but no sound came out. Everything stopped and all you could see were her eyes looking at you transfixed as you cum.
“Oh, Y/n, oh fuck…” As she came, she made a noise, like a moan, but cut into little pieces, like confetti. Her eyes remained on yours, but she looked through you unfocused. Then she collapsed onto you, releasing her hold and exhaling loudly.
"Are you all right?" She was panting, her mouth just over yours, your lips brushing against hers with every breath. “I didn’t think it would be so tiring.”
Natasha noticed your disappointment, “Detka, it was your first time and you did very well for it...still,” Natasha hugged you and pulled you closer to her, “I'm responsible for everything in bed, do not forget that."
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scarletttries · 1 month
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How The Straw Hats Keep You Company on the Night Shift... (One Piece Live Action Request)
Pairings: Luffy x Reader, Zoro x Reader, Sanji x Reader, Nami x Reader, Usopp x Reader
Author's Note: I am well and truly in my One Piece obsession here so keep the requests coming! 🥰
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Monkey D. Luffy
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- While the rest of the crew moan and gripe when it's their turn to take the night shift, tasked with keeping the boat on course and an eye out for anything dangerous, you never seem to mind when your turn rolls around again. Instead of eight hours of monotonous boredom, your shift is always passed in the supervision of the ship's jovial captain, your sweet, loving Luffy.
- You always start by insisting he should get some sleep. Everyone has to take a watch on their own, you should too, right? But Monkey insists he'd be a terrible captain to leave you out on your own all night, the unspoken truth simmering just below the surface; he's forgotten how to fall asleep without his arms around you and can't bear waiting until morning to see you again.
- As you keep one hand on the ship's giant wooden wheel, Luffy captures the other, interlacing his fingers with yours as he moves behind you, the warmth emanating from his body keeping you safe and comfortable against the night air. His free hand wraps around your waist so he can pull your back flush against his chest, your needy boyfriend making the most of the private moment to express all his affection the way he knows best. Unwilling to let go of you for even a second, his nose nuzzles against your neck, shifting your hair to the side so he can pepper the exposed skin with gentle kisses, feeling you wriggle against him at the sensation and only spurring him on more.
- In a fit of giggles you momentarily release the wheel to capture his face with the hand he hasn't claimed yet, giving him the chance to spin you around to face him, drinking in the sight of your beauty lit only by the stars and the brightly shining moon.
"You know, you're somehow extra pretty up close." He whispers the words less than an inch from your lips, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath before the intensity in his eyes shifts and his lips crash down against yours. He has to pull away every few seconds just to let the smile you bring out of him blossom on his face before diving straight back in for the most addictive thing he's ever tasted.
- Every time you turn ever so slightly to get a hand back on the wheel, he only clings more, pressing closer to you, or grabbing the wheel himself so both your arms can be wrapped around him where they belong. You continue this carefully choreographed dance half the night, the two of you giggling as you twirl around each other and keep the ship on its course, completely intertwined until finally an exhausted Luffy starts to drift off, slumped against your back, clutching you like the life preserver you are in the vast ocean of his affections.
Zoro
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- It doesn't matter how long the two of you have been dating, or whatever you want to call the arrangement you and Zoro seem to have so effortlessly fallen into, Zoro will deny he's there to keep you company: He's just happens to be sharpening his swords at that hour, and it's too cramped to do it in his room. He couldn't sleep. He thought he heard something and he wants to make sure it's gone. Every week the excuses get thinner, but you still humour him for the sake of his good company.
- He always starts sitting on the other side of the deck. He likes to think he's completely in control of his emotions, and playing it very cool, despite his obvious inability to resist the magnetic effect you seem to have on him. As the moon charts its own path through the sky he inches closer and closer, responding to your nonchalant observations like it's a weighty task. Finally, about half way through your watch, he's sat with his back to the ship's wheel, leaning gently against your leg where you stand, still not acknowledging his actions, even as you let one hand drop by your waist and he reaches up instantly to hold it.
- He'll trace his thumb slowly over the back of your hand, taking his time before finally he looks up at you, seeming so much smaller than he does when he's charging into battle weidling his collection of swords. He'll bring your palm to his lips and then give you a gentle tug, pleading silently for you to sit with him for a moment, to escape everything else and just be two people in love without any of their history behind them.
- And so you do, sinking to the floor until your thigh presses against his, Zoro still clinging to your hand like a lost child in the vast night, but finding endless comfort in your presence. In the quietest moments like this he can finally be vulnerable, whispering his softer thoughts as you run your fingers through his hair, offering the warm embrace he's been searching his whole life without ever realising it was missing.
- When the first rays of morning light start to dance on the ocean's surface, he'll plant a soft kiss on your forehead and then slink back to his hammock, ready to pretend he didn't spend all night falling deeper and deeper in love.
Sanji
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- Sanji actively looks forward to the nights you have command of the ship, so he can finally have you all to himself and not have to worry about Luffy barging in on the two of you like he manages to every time Sanji gets his hands on you in the kitchen.
- Of course this man prepares a picnic for you, all your favourite cakes and pastries, lovingly made by his own adoring hands and tasting all the better for the amount of infatuation baked into them. He'll get to the deck an hour before you do, laying out a sea of blankets and cushions for the two of you to lounge on as you pass the night in each other's sweet company.
- Sanji is nothing if not open with his undying love for you, and it's more than a little fun to see just how dramatically this man will fawn over you. The way he gawps open-mouthed as you lick sweet frosting off the tip of a teaspoon while staring deeply into his eyes, watching his adam's apple bob as he gulps in anticipation, every ounce of self control holding his hands neatly by his side. Every happy hum and complement to his cooking only makes his heartbeat faster, the arm supporting his lounging frame scooting closer to you until he can almost rest his head on your shoulder.
- If there's one thing Sanji loves more than cooking for you, it's literally feeding you. He'll slowly raise a chocolate-covered strawberry to your lips, eyes growing wide as your lips graze his thumb when you take a bite, yours fluttering shut as you hum in appreciation. In an instant the rest of the berry is thrown haphazardly over his shoulder as he lunges towards you, bright smile across his face as he pushes you onto your back, his legs quickly straddling your hips to keep you pinned under him. He's practically trembling with excitement as his hands grab onto your waist, then run up your side until finally they capture your face, his lips crashing down on yours until he can taste your sweet kiss, mixed with chocolate and strawberry of course. Your back arches up to press against him, practically feeling his heart swelling in his chest as he squeezes you tighter, not sure he's ever going to be able let you go if you keep treating him quite so kindly.
- Every so often you have to pry him off of you to actually keep a little bit of a watch, but it doesn't take long until Sanji is scooping you up in his arms against, spinning you in circles, or pressing your back against the nearest surface until your legs wrap around his waist and your hands bury themselves in his blonde locks, surrendering yourself to his insatiable need for you. The morning can't come soon enough so Sanji can finally drag you back to his room and do exactly what you've had him dreaming of all night.
Nami
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- The sneakiest cat burglar in the business, Nami takes pleasure in making you jump when she appears behind you an hour into your night shift. No matter how often she comes to join you, you never hear her coming, the rush of your nervous heartbeat not slowing when she gives you that wicked grin.
"Did you miss me already?"
- Nami doesn't have the patience for watching the horizon with you, after spending most of her day manning the wheel as well, so she quickly finds other ways to entertain herself. She'll start by placing a constellation of glistening wet kisses along your shoulder, nipping and sucking more intently as she reaches your neck, waiting until your eyes flutter closed and a small sigh escapes your lips to pull away.
"Eyes open pirate, you don't want to steer us off course." Her smirk spells trouble and you can only gulp as she starts toying with the hem of your skirt, stepping in front of you before sinking slowly to her knees. She never breaks eye contact as she nuzzles her nose against the inside of your thigh, devilish grin spreading across her cheeks. "You better concentrate. If you get us lost our navigator will probably have to punish you."
- Her lips replace her nose as she starts licking and kissing higher up your thighs, watching your chest rise and fall and your breathing gets more laboured. Concentrating on anything other than the featherlight touch of her fingers climbing the soft flesh of your inner thigh becomes almost impossible, and as they reach the edge of panties you have to bite down on your lip to stifle a moan you're sure would wake the rest of the crew.
"Let's see how much fun I can have before the sun comes up." She purrs as her fingers brush over the thin fabric she's sure will be soaked through and thrown overboard in no time.
Usopp
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- This sweetheart is more than happy to spend a night in your company, feeling a little bit jealous whenever he has to share you with the rest of the crew, preferring to be the centre of your undivided attention.
- Usopp will start by putting on a one man show of some of 'his' greatest adventures, and acting out every single role in each of the tales. Every so often he'll start clamouring about the action of his great battles, and you'll have to interrupt him with a kiss just to make him stop talking, so you can remind him to keep his voice down so the rest of the crew can sleep. He'll quickly get distracted by the sweet, soft touch of your kiss, chasing that high again and again until he can't remember which story he was telling and he has to start over from the beginning.
- The minute he sees you fighting a yawn though, suddenly his action packed tale becomes much more soothing. He tells you gentle stories of a peaceful village life, the kind of life he hopes to have with you one day, when you've had all your adventures but you still can't bear to be apart from eachother. He stands facing you, running his fingers through your hair, drawing soft circles on your back, his voice gently drifting on the wind like a lullaby. He guides your head to land safely on his shoulder and holds your weight against his chest, until your eyes flutter shut and he can hear your breathing grow slow and shallow.
- With one hand holding you, the other will take the wheel, scanning the horizon with his whole world right in front of him. He always worries about you not getting enough rest, so he'll happily take your watch every chance he gets if it means he gets to feel you wrap your arms around him and melt against his chest, feeling safe in the company of your brave captain Usopp.
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gigabyte-flare · 9 months
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Insatiable (Part 3) [FINALE]
Part 1 Part 2
Summary: The hunt is on. How far can you run?
Word Count: 2.7k
Pairing: yandere plagas!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.
Warnings: Extreme violence and gore, biting, dubcon, forced breeding, gross las plagas-y things, death, mentions of un-aliving. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.
A/N: I present the thrilling conclusion to this greatly anticipated part! I want to thank everyone for their support: for reading, liking and reblogging! I never expected this series to blow up at all. While, yes, this is the conclusion, I absolutely plan on revisiting yandere plagas!Leon, he was so much fun to write. I hope this part meets everyone's expectations! I also want to take a moment to showcase another one of @chanif-art's Yandere Plagas!Leon pieces, I love the way they portray him!
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"Baby, I'm preying on you tonight, hunt you down, eat you alive. Just like animals, animals, like animals, —mals. Maybe you think that you can hide, I can smell your scent from miles. Just like animals, animals, like animals, —mals."
You run as fast as your legs allow you into the parking garage, opting for the stairs instead of the elevator. You take two steps at a time to get yourself up to where you parked your car faster. You don’t dare look back, you know Leon is hot on your trail. You can hear gunfire, screaming and the sounds of death from whence you came. 
Getting onto the third floor of the parking garage, you spot your car on the far side and you sprint, practically throwing yourself at your car once you get there. You rip open the driver’s side door and climb inside, immediately locking the doors when you get in. Fishing your keys out of your pocket, you accidentally drop them onto the floor.
“Fuck!”
You bend down at an awkward angle to pick them up, hooking your finger around the keyring and sitting back up where you are met with Leon staring at you, his clawed hands pressed against the glass of your driver’s side window. You suck in a breath, your eyes locked onto his blood red eyes.
“Found you!” he says, a sadistic grin forming on his face.
You see his sharpened canine teeth once he fully grins; he opens his mouth and you watch as a set of mandibles come out from inside his mouth, a low guttural growling sound coming out of him. This is nothing like the nightmare you had.
This is a thousand times worse.
You let out a blood curdling scream before you turn your attention back to starting your car, shoving your key into the ignition and turning the car over. The car roars to life, you immediately throw it in drive and slam your foot on the gas, launching forward as you turn the wheel to the left, drifting around the bend to go down the ramp to get out of the parking garage. 
You get to the bottom, busting through the barrier to get onto the street. You swerve through traffic, trying to get onto the interstate as quickly as possible. However, the gridlock traffic on the on ramp makes that impossible, so you continue to swerve through traffic in the heart of the city. You look in your rear view mirror, your stomach sinking at the sight of Leon keeping up with you, jumping on and over cars as he chases after you. 
You make a split second decision to turn left down an alleyway and you gun it, the tires squealing on the pavement. However, you slam on the breaks when you see that Leon stands in your way. Your hands white knuckling on the steering wheel as the two of you stare at each other. You furrow your brows and scream in rage as you slam your foot onto the gas pedal, hoping you can take him out with your car.
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Oh, sweetheart, that is a big mistake.
He grins, holding his hands out in front of him to catch your car. His clawed hands leave indents in the front of your car as he plants his feet into the ground as your wheels spin and spin and spin until one of them finally bursts into pieces. Your vehicle now severely crippled, he walks over to the driver’s side, ripping the door clean off the car. He watches as you try to cower to the passenger’s side.
It’s futile. He reaches in, grabbing you and pulling you out of the car. He wraps his arms around you as if you were a long lost lover, one of his hands gripping the back of your head as he embeds his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply like you were a drug. You smell absolutely divine.
“Leon Kennedy!” he hears a man shout from one of the ends of the alleyway. 
Leon turns his head, seeing a large group of men with guns pointed at him. Leon turns his head the other way, seeing they’ve completely blocked him in the alley.
“Let the girl go, Leon!”
Leon looks back over at the man, his tail whipping back and forth as a low growl emanates from his throat.
“No,” Leon says, narrowing his eyes, “she’s mine.”
“Don’t do this Leon! Let her go and we can end this peacefully!”
He feels you trembling in his embrace, too stunned to fight back or even scream. Grinning at the man threatening him, he bares his fangs, a low growl coming from the back of his throat. Then he looks down at you, your terrified gaze looking back up at him. Grabbing your face, he forces your mouth open. You start screaming when his mandibles come out of his mouth again. His mouth latches onto yours, his mandibles clawed into the sides of your face, preventing you from pulling away. His eyes roll into the back of his head as his body convulses before a Plagas egg slips inside of your mouth, causing you to gag. Releasing his mouth from yours, his mandibles retracting back into his mouth, he leans back as you cough profusely.
“Swallow. It.” he growls at you.
You have no choice but to swallow, otherwise you would have likely choked. The stress from this whole ordeal must have been too much because you faint in Leon’s arms afterwards. Leon throws you over his shoulder and jumps straight up into the air. A flurry of bullets shoot around him as he lands on the roof of the building, running across it at a terrifying speed. He leaps from rooftop to rooftop with the grace and agility of a jaguar; his pursuers found it impossible to keep up with him. 
There’s an abandoned factory on the outskirts of the city, a perfect place for Leon to settle down and enjoy his mate. Landing nimbly onto the ground in front of the factory, he struts inside with his prize still unconscious over his shoulder. 
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Your eyes snap open and you sit up; your whole body trembling as you start violently coughing into your hands. You look down, your eyes widening when you see that your hands are covered in your blood; you feel it trickle down your bottom lip and chin. Suddenly, it came back to you, Leon had infected you. You start hyperventilating, your eyes wide, darting around to your surroundings. You deduce that you’re in some kind of large abandoned building, the rays of the sun at dusk fracturing through the decaying structure. 
You turn around, sucking in a breath when you see Leon sitting nonchalantly about an arm’s length away from you with a smirk on his lips and a look on his eyes that could only be described as lustful. 
“How are you feeling, love?” Leon asks before he emits a low, almost purr like sound from his throat. 
“Where the fuck did you bring me?”
He furrows his eyebrows at you, “somewhere safe until I can find us a place for you to safely give birth to our offspring.”
“Excuse me?!” You say with a gasp, pushing yourself away from him.
“Calm down,” he growls, “I haven’t done anything to you, yet. It’s not fun to copulate when my mate is unconscious.”
“I am not your mate!”
He begins to chuckle, shaking his head before locking his red eyes onto yours, “I wouldn’t be so sure, I should bet money on how long it’ll take for me to make you scream my name.”
“Oh hell no!” you say as you scramble to your feet and start to run.
You don’t get very far, however, as you feel something coil around your leg and pull you back onto the ground. Within moments, Leon pounces on top of you, pressing himself into your back, pinning you to the ground. You realize it was his tail that had coiled around your leg. His clawed hands pin your arms to the ground.
“Don’t you dare run,” he purrs, bringing his lips up to your ear, “I don’t like to chase.”
You feel his hardening member pressing up against your bottom as he grinds his hips into you. He buries his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply before trailing kisses from your head to your shoulder before sinking his sharp teeth into your skin. You scream, your body tensing up against the excruciating pain in your shoulder. 
He unlatches himself from your shoulder, letting out a lust filled growl before climbing off you. You try to crawl away, but he grabs you by the hips, flipping you over onto your back. He sits up on his haunches, breathing heavily as he looks down at you, his eyes filled with desire. You watch his tail move back and forth and his back claws flex, ready to strike at you if you try to run again. 
You watch as he grabs his shirt with both hands, ripping it apart to expose his chest. Even his chest is covered in those dark veins; you suspect his whole body is. Still staring down at you, he undoes his belt before he stands up to discard his pants and underwear. You can’t help but stare up at him in awe, feeling your skin crawl as you stare.
“Feel that?” he says, climbing back on top of you, slipping his hands under your shirt to pull it off over your head, “do you feel the pull between us? We were made for each other, love.”
There’s a sudden ear piercing ringing in your ears, causing you to wince and whimper as you grasp the sides of your head.
Give in to me.
Your eyes widen when you hear Leon speak inside your mind. This has to be a side effect of the Plagas, you had read reports of its mind controlling abilities; you never thought in a million years you’d experience it first hand. 
I will make you love me.
The ringing finally stops; you hesitantly lower your hands away from your face, his face hovering just above yours. He presses his lips against yours, kissing you aggressively as his hands work to remove your pants. Once he gets your pants off, he sits back up on his haunches before spreading your legs apart. He licks his lips upon seeing the dark wet spot on your underwear.
“Oh, sweetheart…” he says, a purring sound emanating from him before he continues, “so nice and wet for me.”
He leans forward, grabbing the hem of your underwear with his teeth and dragging them slowly off your body. Once your underwear is off, he practically launches himself between your legs, his face buried in your folds as he inhales deeply before running his tongue over your slit. He props your legs over his shoulders as he starts to fuck you with his tongue, which almost seems longer than a normal tongue would be as his nose rubs into your clit.
You let out a moan as you throw your head back, your fingers digging into the ground as your legs squeeze against his shoulders. You cry out when you start to hear the painful ringing again.
That's it, cum for me. Cum on my tongue.
Leon growls, the vibration shooting through your entire body. You are driven so close to the edge, causing tears to flow from your eyes. 
“Oh… oh god… oh fuck… L-Leon!” you scream, “I’m… I’m gonna cum…!”
You feel Leon smile into your folds, his tongue still buried in your cunt.
What a good girl you are! Didn’t I tell you I’d have you screaming my name? 
He lets out another growl, this time it’s enough to make you fall apart on his tongue. He moans, lapping up your juices as they flow out of you. He pulls his tongue out of your leaking hole, his mouth soaked in your orgasm. He licks his lips clean before he climbs back on top of you, his throbbing cock pressing against your slit.
“It’s time to breed this beautiful pussy.” he says with a sinister smile.
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Leon looks directly into your eyes as he pushes himself into your body, watching as you squirm beneath him as he fills you. When his hips and yours meet, he stays still for a moment admiring the sight of your two bodies together as one. He cages your body with his arms and back claws, thrusting in you at a steady but powerful pace. His eyes trail down your body, taking in the sight of your breasts bouncing in your bra with each thrust. He reaches with one hand, grasping your bra and ripping it clean off. He sits up and grasps your thighs, pushing you back into a mating press and quickening his thrusts inside you, eliciting loud, desperate moans out of you. 
“That’s it,” he says, his voice breathy as he fucks you ruthlessly, “such a good girl for me.”
“Oh god… shi-- L-Leon!” you moan, running your fingers through your own hair as you throw your head back, already on the edge of another orgasm.
His pupils dilate as he stares at you and to his pleasure, watches as black veins start appearing on your body; you are transforming quickly. He attributed that to being in your presence, since he is your mate. He can feel himself getting close; he leans down, latching his mouth onto one of your breasts, making a purring sound as he sucks on you hard. He reaches down to your clit, rubbing it with the pad of his thumb as his other hand grabs your other breast, squeezing hard.
The sounds of your screams, whimpers and moans is music to Leon’s ears as he marks your breasts with bruises and bite marks. He feels you tug on his hair gently and he looks up at you, only to find you staring at him, your eyes gazed over in lust, your pupils now touched with red like his own. Seeing you like this sends him over the edge.
“You’re so beautiful,” Leon growls, moving back up to you to kiss you deeply.
He feels your pussy clench around his cock, sending him over the edge as he pushes impossibly deep into you, shooting his load into you as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into an embrace as you moan his name over and over.
At that moment, a set of doors bursts open on the other side of the room, and Leon watches as a flood of men with guns rushes in, taking aim at him. Leon holds you against him with one arm, the other propping him up as he glares at the men, a low, menacing growl coming out of him. Your arms and legs instinctively wrap around him as he starts to stand up, his member still twitching inside of you.
“Put her down, Leon,” says the man that originally threatened him in the alley; Leon concluded that he is probably the squad leader.
“You’re too late,” Leon says with a grin, “her transformation is nearly complete and I’ve claimed her with my seed.”
He pulls himself out of you and holds you bridal style. He can feel you trembling, but you’re trembling from your orgasm, your breaths slow and heavy as you nuzzle in his embrace.
“You bastard!” the squad leader shouts, firing his gun at Leon.
Leon is too fast, however, he sidesteps the gunfire and rushes at the group of men, his tail thrusting forward, impaling the squad leader before whipping around, decapitating several men in a single swing. The rest of them stand there stunned for a moment before opening fire. Leon, while still holding you in his arms, moves gracefully in the midst of the bullets, impaling a few more of the men easily with his tail. What’s left of the men quickly lose morale, dropping their guns and rushing out of the abandoned factory. 
Leon watches the men flee, a look of content on his face as he looks down at you. Leon turns, approaching a forest that lies beyond the abandoned factory. With a single, graceful jump, he lands in the trees, disappearing into the night.
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thesirencult · 4 months
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PAC : 2024. HOW WILL IT TRANSFORM YOU ?
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This time of the year our spiritual senses are heightened. Possibilities, the past and the future, for a few nanoseconds we are in the in between. Throughout 2024 we will all be transformed. In this reading I will go over which parts of your psyche will be touched by the year that holds the meaning of number 8, transformative and abundant.
"New Year" readings ar available for 25€. If you are interested just shoot me a private message.
Hope you enjoy this general reading and may your soul find the guidance it has a thirst for... S
PILE 1
“The psyches and souls of women also have their own cycles and seasons of doing and solitude, running and staying, being involved and being removed, questing and resting, creating and incubating, being of the world and returning to the soul-place.”
― Clarissa Pinkola Estés, quote from Women Who Run With the Wolves
Dear Pile 1,
2024 will transform the way you see change . Up until now you may have been resistant to changing certain aspects of your life. This could have something to do with your childhood and the way you, transforming and letting your emotions and intuitive sparks control, got you shamed and alienated.
This year you will learn the power rebranding has. It is never ever too late to change our direction and to let our instincts take the wheel for a change.
You will be transformed and blessed through the need for constant change and movement this next year and your ability to adapt will be sharpened.
At the end of the year, you will no longer see change as something that cause insecurity and fear. You will see it as the catalyst of the process of creating, YOU.
I know that right now you might be scoffing 1. Getting out of your safe zone is not easy for you. You may have prominent cancer on your chart, Saturn touching your moon or a strong moon placement.
Trust the process and let your soul go through the movements and cycles of transformation. Growing pains.
PILE 2
“Asking the proper question is the central action of transformation- in fairy tales, in analysis, and in individuation. The key question causes germination of consciousness. The properly shaped question always emanates from an essential curiosity about what stands behind. Questions are the keys that cause the secret doors of the psyche to swing open.”
― Clarissa Pinkola Estés, quote from Women Who Run With the Wolves
Pile 2, we are all in this together.
I picked this pile too and I want to tell you how this energy makes me feel. Everything is possible, until you ask the question you want to ask and make your choice. Let me break it down for you.
We are in need of a deep self-searching period. For the next few days, until December 31st take your time to ask the right questions. First and foremost ask yourself "What do I really want and need?"
2024 will transform us because it will make us ask questions. Question everything and everyone. Having questions is not bad. Be humble. We don't have to know it all. This makes me feel like we are going to be learning something new this year that will put us in the position of "the student".
This year you will come closer to your inner child because, guess what? Children ask a lot of questions and they are the OG philosophers.
This is how philosophy and science came to be in our world, per Plato and Aristotle. Because humans dared to ask questions.
This year will transform you to your core. Be delusional.
The key theme here : This year will transform the prism through which we look at life. We will realise that it is much better to guide ourselves as a student and look at life as a big wonderful world. Believe in the impossible. Curiosity killed the cat but WISDOM brought it back to life. Take good care fellow Plutonians 🫡.
PILE 3
“When a woman is frozen of feeling, when she can no longer feel herself, when her blood, her passion, no longer reach the extremities of her psyche, when she is desperate; then a fantasy life is far more pleasurable than anything else she can set her sights upon. Her little match lights, because they have no wood to burn, instead burn up the psyche as though it were a big dry log. The psyche begins to play tricks on itself; it lives now in the fantasy fire of all yearning fulfilled. This kind of fantasizing is like a lie: If you tell it often enough, you begin to believe it.”
― Clarissa Pinkola Estés, quote from Women Who Run With the Wolves
This is your fake it till you make it year. Big imposter syndrome vibes will follow you around like a rainy cloud.
"Do I deserve all the good things which are happening for me?", you ask. The question you should be asking yourself is "Should I read Pile 2, too?" 😂. All jokes aside learn to question that voice that says that you don't deserve as seat on the table.
You are a master at setting the table, now it is your time to sit on your lil chair and relax while others bring you the food.
2024 will put you in a position of authority. You hold the wheel now so do what you gotta do and don't blame your little self (are you a Virgo/Scorpio/Capricorn?) for not getting all the way there. Little by little the castle gets built 🏰.
Disclaimer :
Tarot readings are for entertainment purposes only.
Tarot readings are subject to interpretation and should not be taken as absolute. A tarot reading is never 100% accurate. All tarot readings given by me are for entertainment purposes only, and no guarantee can be given as to the accuracy of a reading. A tarot reading does not replace professional medical/legal/business opinion and advice. It will not force you to follow a particular course of action, or attempt to exert any form of control over your free-will and common sense. The contents of a tarot reading are not legally binding. Any decisions made, or actions taken by you as a result of your tarot reading are your sole responsibility and have not been forced upon you, by me, your tarot reader. I assume no legal liability for any damages, losses, or other consequences of any client decisions, subsequent to, or based on, my tarot readings. Please use your own common sense and judgment at all times. Tarot readings are also copyrighted and their creative content belongs to the creator.
As always, you CONTROL your life.
You have FREE WILL.
Freedom comes with RESPONSIBILITY.
Anyone that tells you otherwise doesn't have your best interest in mind.
Lots of love and kisses xoxo ❤️
TheSirenCult
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