#i never miss a beat when he learn the new speak

[pinkrelish]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

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.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader #mechanic!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson smut #the yes policy

[mysacredmuse]

hello!! can i req some hcs w aventurine?

ykw how his eyes are so bright n pretty? imagine s/o just staring into them and admiring them instead of harassing him n stuff... i think its so cute

his eyes are so captivating!!! s/o just grabbing his face and staring at his eyes silently LMAO, n hes just like ??? what

i'd imagine s/o rambling about the colours of it n everything, esp as an artist myself haha im literally in love w them

hello there !!! of course you can, I absolutely love this request :) as soon as I saw him, his eyes caught my attention, such a beautiful design !! I am not an artist, so I wish you can forgive me if I describe something poorly, but I hope it will be enjoyable for you regardless :) <3

soft bf! aventurine and admiring his pretty eyes <3, written with gender neutral reader in mind, fluff ! :)

dividers by @/cafekitsune :)

he doesn't get it at first. You constantly ask him to widen his eyes at you, staring at them with a soft smile on your face. Anytime you take a picture of him or a picture together, you just zoom into his eyes and stare for literal minutes, without uttering a word. Sometimes he teases you, asking is that the only quality of his that you like, as if he doesn't have so much more beauty to offer. He will buy a new outfit, showing it off to you and all you say is how the light blue really gives a captivating effect to his eyes?

when you go to sleep, he stares into your lips in order to give you a hint that he wants a kiss while you keep staring into his eyes. He jokingly tells you that they aren't worth anything if your plan is to sell them, little creep. You just reply how they are worthy everything to you, tone quite offended which turns into an endless ramble of yours :3

you begin explaining to him how his eyes are the most unique thing you have ever seen, how the contrast of pink and blue never looks as good as it does in his eyes. You explain how pink resembles softness, warmth, femininity, romance and tenderness, while the blue contrasts it with depth, light, slight masculinity, firmness, yet safety and comfort

you continue explaining to him that the pink could easily represent a soft sunset, while the blue contains freedom and beauty of an ocean, so anytime he misses any of those - all he has to do is look into his own eyes. You explain that the colors in his eyes are quite literal epitome of love which proves that he was made out of deep love and his existence is a proof of love itself <3

he just smiles awkwardly, his heart softening from your words, but he urges you to go to sleep as you are speaking "nonesense" 😒

he finds you getting lost in his eyes all the time, sometimes having to snap his fingers in order to gain your attention. A secret he won't tell you is that sometimes he lets it go on for as long as possible as he never had anyone look into his eyes so lovingly, praise them so wholeheartedly and find beauty in them :)

you also grow a habit to squish his cheeks, enjoying how his pretty eyes widen at you from suddeness. He often acts like it's annoying him that you do that only because he gets so flustered, heart beating so fast as you stare so tenderly into his eyes <3

anytime he wears sunglasses of any kind, you immediately remove them, just blankly staring into his eyes and scolding him for hiding them away from you. You also grow a habit to point at a pink sunset that arises while mixing with blue sky at places and tell him that those are his eyes, trying to make him understand their beauty :3

through you, he learns to love his own eyes more and find pride in them. He used to avoid his own gaze in the mirror, wear sunglasses as his eyes often inviting rude comments, humiliation and overall hatred, whether it was his own or from other people. You taught him to love himself more and now he finds himself looking for clothes that put an accent on his eyes, just to hear more of your loving praises and compliments :)

#aventurine x reader fluff #aventurine x reader #aventurine fluff #aventurine x yn #aventurine x you #hsr x you #hsr fluff #hsr imagines #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr x y/n #hsr x reader #muse's writings

[rosemaze-reveries]

During an interview, the manor guests suddenly get a question about you.

this is def an experimental format!! i got this idea while reading the character letters. in the POV of an unknown interviewer (not reader). reader uses they/them.

🔗⚰️📰🔮❤️‍🩹💉🌪️✂️🍀🩰🔫🪡🤹🧲🦋🐍

Q. Could you describe your relationship with (Y/N)?

🔗 Ada - "Yes, that's my lover. I would say our relationship falls within the typical scope of that sort of thing. Of course, I believe we share something special, but everyone does when they're in love, don't they?" She covers all her bases in one decisive breath, leaving little room for me to comment.

⚰️ Aesop sits perfectly upright, fingers threaded at his knees. His eyes drift to the side and he seems to begin speaking mid-thought. "I had... cautioned myself not to upset their perception of me," he explains. "But they pried, and stayed, regardless of what they found... For that, I'm grateful."

📰 Alice has kept a sharp eye on me the entire time, but it's at this question that she drops the formalities. "I wasn't aware you would be prying into my personal affairs. Where did you learn that name?" Her frankness pins me in place. For some reason, I end up apologizing.

🔮 Eli can't help a sheepish smile from blooming across his face. "Well, truthfully... I don't use this term lightly, but they might be the love of my life." He has been consistently grounded with his responses, so I'm surprised to catch him flustered, however subtle it is. Personally, I'm touched.

❤️‍🩹 Emil considers for a moment. He doesn't meet me in the eye, instead pinning his gaze on nowhere in particular. A faint smile ghosts his lips. After a while, he answers, simply, "Safe."

💉 Emily's hands are folded neatly on her lap. At the mention of that name, her shoulders tense, but she otherwise maintains her composure. "Someone I trust." Her answer is vague and cautious, but acceptable. I'll try to uncover a deeper meaning behind that 'trust'.

🌪️ Ithaqua - "Mine." He is curt and to the point. Yours? I echo, hoping he'll elaborate. His head tilts to the side, and while I can't see the face behind his mask, a sense of dread suddenly overcomes me. I decide not to press further.

✂️ Jack stretches out his hand of blades, flexing each finger in front of him. I can't deny the cold sweat that drips down my spine just by being in his presence. "May I respond with a question of my own?" he says to me. "Suppose a butterfly loses its way, and winds up caught in a spider's web. Wouldn't you agree that the more it writhes and struggles, the more exhilarated the spider becomes?" I don't have the courage to hear out the rest of this analogy.

🍀 Lucky - "I've always been known as a pretty lucky guy, but the luckiest day of my life was when I met them! I remember it was the—" He drags me down a long-winded story about their life together. I get the idea. Eventually I'm forced to cut him off.

🩰 Margaretha twirls a curl of hair, a meek blush dusting her cheeks. "Have you ever been in love before? You're never prepared for the magic of it all. I feel a new rush with them everyday. I know, realistically, all good things come to an end, so I tried to remind myself to expect the worst, but they've proven over and over that... I'll never feel safer than in their arms." After rambling for some time, a look of surprise flashes across her face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to go off like that. Oh, but I've just never met someone who feels so much like true love before."

🔫 Martha doesn't miss a beat. "Sorry, I don't know anyone by that name." I look down to double-check the name written in her file. Her watchful gaze follows my line of sight. Are you sure? I try. "Must've been some confusion somewhere," she insists. The next day, I realize all my files on her and (Y/N) have gone missing.

🪡 Matthias - "Wh-What?" he starts, but keeps going before I can repeat the question. "Oh, uh, an ally, I guess." Well, I gathered that much. When I press for more details, his head sinks low, fingers grasping at the armrest. "I don't know what they saw in me. Was it out of pity?"

🤹 Mike's eyes light up and he blinds me with a contagious smile. "(Y/N)'s a sneaky one, and I mean it—they've got me under the trickiest spell of all. Guess what happens every time I think about them?" Egged on by his grin, I take the bait. You get lovesick? I guess. Suddenly, he tosses a handful of butterfly glitter in my face. "I get butterflies!" Very funny, I sigh, exasperated with these carnies. Why did he have that on hand in the first place?

🧲 Norton leans back in his chair, scowling. "What's that got to do with anything?" He snaps a couple times in my face, urging me to "stay on topic." It's hard to say if this question struck a nerve, as he's been uncooperative for most of this interview, but my suspicions point me to prod further. After all, it'd have been much easier if he just said he didn't know them.

🦋 Vera's face contorts into a leery, hostile glower. "Why do you ask that?" Before I can say anything to mitigate the rising tension, she catches herself, and her expression softens slightly. "I'm sorry. That's... someone quite dear to me, so your question took me by surprise."

🐍 Yidhra's follower goes pale, clearly unnerved. "She won't answer that," she tells me through shallow breaths. "Th-This isn't my place to say, but I'd advise you not to involve yourself with that person." As if on cue, I get a sensation I can only describe as a hand slowly wrapping around my neck. It disappears when I move to scratch it. Must've been my imagination.

Part 2

#again this is super experimental but U__U im interested in doing the rest of the cast maybe #identity v #idv x reader #identity v x reader #norton campbell x reader #ithaqua x reader #eli clark x reader #matthias czernin x reader #mike morton x reader #vera nair x reader #martha behamfil x reader #margaretha zelle x reader #aesop carl x reader #yidhra x reader #jack x reader #emily dyer x reader #lucky guy x reader #emil x reader #alice deross x reader #ada mesmer x reader

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

So i hope its okay... Can i request arven penny nemona and kieran Meeting a pokemon Trainer that is basiclly Pokemon sword/shield MC and maybe hop or marni come to visit? Or it can just be Just the Trainer i wouldn't mind anyway here's the team

A inteleon is kinda like a big brother to the team but still is Sometimes mischevous

Zamazenta who May look cold but is essentialy a big puppy

Gerdevoir who kinda has a sibling like rivaly with with salazle on who's stronger

Salazle who is a little diva but both her or gardevoir will beat you up if you insult the other

And a sylveon and glaceon who are like peas in a pod and will go out to defend the other if something happend

Anyway you don't have to write it if you don't want to since its kinda long and have a good day/night 💜💛

Arven

Apparently saving a region from an ecological crisis wasn't your first rodeo..as you've done this in Galar too.

After sharing stories of how you became champion, prevented Chairman Rose from causing a second "Darkest Day" with Eternatus, revived the Hero Duo (with Zamazenta being living proof), etc...Arven's fully convinced you need a vacation.

Funny enough, Paldea was meant to be your fresh start and a way to begin your studies like a normal kid.

But of course that didn't happen.

Facing the Titan Pokémon together reminds you of the Dynamaxed ones, but you thanked Arceus they weren't that gigantic nor have any brutal G-Max moves.

When it comes to food, Arven learns you can make a mean curry dish, often trading each other recipes.

In fact, you've made so many types that your team is just happy to eat whatever you've cooked up.

Speaking of which..your current team is the same one from Galar. You decided they were ready for a new adventure in a new region by your side.

Inteleon, once a timid Sobble, tended to sneak bites of curry/sandwiches from the others, but otherwise acts like a cool older brother to your team.

His Snipe Shot is deadly and he lowkey missed being able to Gigantamax, although he likes how flashy he becomes when terastalized.

Zamazenta actually enjoys belly rubs, discovering this only after witnessing Arven give Mabosstiff pets on the stomach.

Gardevoir and Salazzle have been rivals since they were a Ralts and Salandit, having a few sparring matches during camps/picnics.

But trust they will BOTH go on the offense if anyone dared hurt the other. Arven witnessed this firsthand down in Area Zero when an Iron Hands attacked Salazzle with a ground move, and Gardevoir's Moonblast absolutely destroyed it.

Finally, Sylveon and Glaceon were two inseparable Eevees. You couldn't catch one without taking the other with you, and ever since then they've stuck together like glue, even evolving at the same time.

When Hop and Marni visited you in Paldea (whether to just travel or study abroad), Arven gets a little jealous that they were your friends before he was..but learns to get along with them.

Penny

Assuming she was studying abroad in Galar (after ditching Team Star) when the events of SWSH took place, she definitely would have seen your face around social media and on nearly ever TV station.

She knew you defeated Leon in the championship.

But she NEVER would've guessed it was you who also stopped the second Darkest Day from happening--and quelled Eternatus, of all things.

It was like you were the protagonist of some epic anime, doing all this heroic stuff yet being so casual when talking about it to her, Arven, and Nemona.

But she wants to hear all about your adventures!

Even though she was a little jealous you did all these cool things while she had to continue her studies.

She's thrilled to meet your Sylveon and Glaceon, finding their strong bond to be sweet and similar to her own Eeveelutions.

If you went to Crown Tundra, she immediately asks if you met her father and apologizes on his behalf if he was too overbearing.

But you amuse her with the story of how Calyrex kept temporarily possessing his body to speak to you.

The first time you brought out Zamazenta, Penny was a little intimidated by the way it looked at her menacingly...

Until it does the same thing Miraidon/Koraidon did to her during Operation Starfall:

And that is tackle her in kisses and icky wolf slobber.

She wonders why all your Legendaries do this to her..

Underneath the gruff, tough, and battle-hardened appearance, it turns out that it's really just a giant puppy longing to be spoiled like a Growlithe.

Nemona

Right from the get-go, she knew you were Galar's most recent champion and wanted to see how you fight.

Of course, that meant you had to adapt from the Dynamaxed battles you were so accustomed to and get used to Terastalized battles instead.

But you're a quick learner.

In fact your Inteleon, despite being at a disadvantage against her Pawmot, still managed to sweep half her team.

Sometimes you'll have your Paldea starter in your party in place of Zamazenta, but when you brought the shield wolf out for the first time during a picnic...Nemona was in awe.

"So THIS is one of the legendary heroes that Ms. Raifort taught us about????" She gawks, especially as you bring out the rusted shield and let it transform.

Penny made a good point: you may as well be a modern-day hero of Galar yourself!

She also wanted to hear all about your trials and tribulations with the gym challenge, having seen your battle on television and how Leon congratulated you for winning the championship.

Ngl it made her tear up the first time she rewatches it with you, proud of how you were still eager to finish it even though the Second Darkest Day interrupted the match and almost destroyed the whole region.

It lowkey made her feel bad when you, her, and the others had to go down to Area Zero and prevent another disaster that would've also unleashed dangerous Pokémon all across the region...

Yeah, you definitely needed a break and a chance to feel like a normal trainer.

And what better way to do that than to battle Nemona again and again?

Kieran

When you first met in Kitakami, you never struck him as the type to be Galar's Champion (as well as its savior from the second Darkest Day--the first one being an event he read about in books).

It's not something you liked to brag about anyways. So you downplayed your experiences while talking to him during the signboard project.

All he knew was that you lived in Galar and participated in the gym challenge. That's it.

Only when you show up to BB Academy does he overhear people talking about you like you're some celebrity, and he realizes you've been keeping even more secrets from him...

"Did you hear?? The Galar Champion is joining the league club!"

"I heard they reawakened Zacian and Zamazenta! They brought the heroes of Galar back to life!"

He refuses to believe it up until the moment you two battle, where Gardevoir and Salazzle worked incredibly well together, before you sent out Zamazenta near the very end.

Ofc Kieran is FURIOUS, screaming about how you lied to him yet again and "never changed".

"You told me you were just a normal kid from Galar...WHAT ELSE HAVE YOU BEEN KEEPING FROM ME?!!"

It's so unfair. You're hailed as a hero in a different region, you held two (and eventually three) champion titles, AND you have Zamazenta on your side...while he's a nobody from Kitakami who gave up so much and worked so hard--only to realize he'll never be even half as great as you.

How could he ever be like you with so many achievements under your belt?

But after you two become friends again (with you apologizing for not fully telling him the truth about yourself), Hop called you in hopes of visiting the academy's Terarium to research the Pokémon there.

You introduce him to Kieran, and they have a long chat about their rivalry with you.

Things get a little awkward when Hop rambles about his constant losses against you and his desires to become stronger (plus his struggle to step out of Leon's shadow), only to find his true calling as a professor in the end.....before asking Kieran how he coped.

"...oh um...I-I didn't really cope that well. I got jealous and bitter and..let's just say I wasn't very nice to [y/n]." He mutters, feeling ashamed.

"Awh really? But you seem like a nice chap now!" Your Galarian rival/friend tries cheering him up, although he understood his pain and felt that same humiliation several times before.

But Kieran did learn a thing or two from him, just like he did from Nemona. Battling was still his calling, but he forgot how to have fun with it, and he needed that reminder.

He mentions trading you an Applin, and Hop does a spit-take, asking if he knew what that meant (or if you told him).

If so, then he congratulates you both on your new relationship.

If not, then you let Kieran google it on your rotomphone...

Before he buries his face into Zamazenta's fur a few seconds later, trying to hide his worsening blush while you and Hop just laugh.

#clanask #pokemon x reader #pokemon sv x reader #pokemon scarlet x reader #pokemon violet x reader #pokemon arven #pokemon penny #pokemon nemona #pokemon kieran #pokemon hop #pokemon swsh x reader #headcanons

[veltana]

Groupie - Avengers!Bucky Barnes/Fan!Reader

✦ Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader ✦ Word count: ~3,6k ✦ Rating: Explicit ✦ Warnings: Avenger!Bucky, Avenger!Fan!Reader, secret crush, secret hero, fluff, smut, the tiniest bit of angst, misunderstandings, piv sex, breeding kink (I'm not messing around with this one), talk of getting reader pregnant, pet name (Bunny), dirty talk, sex with feelings, multiple orgasms (for both), unprotected sex, creampie. ✦ Summary: Since joining the Avengers you've been avoiding Bucky Barnes, afraid of what would happen if he ever learned the truth. ✦ Note: I have no idea how to tag this, so if I missed something please let me know. I don't know where this came from so just... it is what it is! This is also posted on AO3.

Masterlist | AO3

Stark called a meeting at the workshop in the evening to show off one of his new inventions that could aid them in the field. As you stand in the back and watch, Bucky comes up beside you, and just as always you discreetly take a small step to the side. Everyone, including Bucky, assumes you dislike him, and you are happy to keep up that front since admitting to the truth would be unprofessional and cause a lot more trouble than avoiding him.

He gives you a sideways glance but doesn’t mention it, he’s used to it by now. Unfortunately, you are still close enough to smell his cologne and it makes your pulse pick up. Unbidden images of being under him, smelling his sweat mixed with the perfume while he takes you apart appear inside your mind. Stark says something but you can’t concentrate with Bucky so close. Shifting even further to the side, he glances at you again and his brows draw together.

"I can go stand somewhere else if it bothers you so much," his tone is annoyed but low, to not disturb the demonstration. "No, it's fine," you mumble. "You forget I can hear your heart beating,” he points out. “And it sounds like a bunny rabbit backed into a corner by a wolf." That doesn't make you any calmer. If he can hear that, can he smell how aroused he makes you every time he gets close? "Sorry, I-" but your mouth has turned dry as a desert. You avoid speaking to Bucky as much as possible because you fear you will just make a fool out of yourself. As you’re doing right now.

"I never understood what you have against me," he crosses his arms, eyes on Stark's display. "Did I hurt someone close to you back in the day or are you afraid I'll revert and start killing again?" Shame fills your chest. You want to turn to him and hug him, explain that it’s not in any way like that. For years you have admired Bucky and when you had gotten the promotion to work with the Avengers your friends had teased you mercilessly about finally meeting your idol, but when you did and you realized that he was everything you had ever dreamed of you got scared. If he knew your secret he would most likely never speak to you again.

"It's not like that," you whisper, finally daring a look at him, but regretting it right away. His beautiful blue eyes are watching you. Quickly you avert your gaze. "You can't even look at me." And that is true. You always look at something else when Bucky is in the same room as you. The only time you allow yourself to admire him is when he's caught up in something else when there is no chance his attention will shift to you.

Just the small amount of it he is giving you right now is almost unbearable. You want to climb him, wrap your legs around his waist, grab his hair, and crush your lips to his. It's dangerous to be so close to him so you do the only thing you can. "I should go, I'm sorry," you mumble and turn on your heel, quickly exiting the workshop and heading for the elevators.

When you're inside your room you breathe a sigh of relief. That had been a close call. Your insides feel like melted ice cream and your knees get weak at remembering how he watched you. The only problem is that maybe you aren’t as smooth at avoiding him as you think, since he had noticed. You'd have to fix that somehow.

Kneeling at the side of your bed you reach in under it to pull out the box. It's discreet and if someone else found it they would probably assume it would be full of sex toys and the like. But a box full of toys would be mildly embarrassing compared to the actual content of the box.

Inside is a big photo book. Leaning against the bed frame you place it on your lap, opening it to the first page. You've tried to keep it in chronological order over the years and the first page contains a few news articles from the war where either the Howling Commandos or Bucky himself appear. You love to see how it starts with small mentions but then the articles grow bigger and bigger. It had been hard to track down some full spreads, not to mention expensive as fuck, and some things you were still saving up for.

Then there are the articles about the Winter Soldier. They needed to be in there, but you never read them. It was before anyone knew the truth about the mind control and the years of torture. The text described him as a killing machine with no morals, not caring who he hurt to get to his price. You quickly skip past those pages.

Your favorite part is the last bit of the album. Recent interviews and photoshoots with the super soldier, talking about his life and his struggles. Not to mention the stylists always made sure to show off his physic, be it suits or sportswear.

Inside the box are also a replica of his dog tags and the hat he'd worn with his uniform. Putting the tags over your head you play with them between your fingers, remembering how they look around his neck. In your previous apartment, they'd been hanging on the wall and your friends had joked about it being a shrine. Now you are too scared to have it on display. If someone sees it they will think you are insane.

You're startled from your musings by a knock on the door and without much thinking you put the book on the bed before opening it.

Bucky is standing on the other side. The demonstration must have ended. "What is your problem with me?" The words fail you as your heart starts hammering. He is too close, but if you back away he will probably take it as an invitation to come in and that would be disastrous. "I have barely spoken to you since you got here but you've managed to make it very clear how much you detest me. I just want to know why." He's annoyed and desperate at the same time. "Can I do something to fix it? I can't have a team member be afraid of me when we go out into the field and I… are those my dog tags?"

Ice rushes into your veins as you realize you forgot to take them off and you quickly cover them with your hand. "No," you lie. "They have my name on them." "No, they don't." "Are you serious?” Now he’s looking more mad. “Tell me what the fuck is going on right now."

You fucked up. You could keep on lying, close the door in his face, and never speak to him again. Ask for a transfer. Or you could show him. And then ask for a transfer. Because whatever you did you would not keep your job after this.

With trembling hands you open the door, releasing your hold on the dog tags and gesturing for him to come inside. "Sit," you murmur and when he does you place the book in his lap. He glances at you and for the first time you hold his gaze. This might be the last time you see him so you might as well take advantage of the moment. It will never happen again. "Open it."

As he hesitantly opens the first page you slip off the dog tags and place them into the box before sitting down too, with a decent amount of space between the two of you.

While he's occupied you study his face and try to commit it to memory. Bucky Barnes, in your room, on your bed, reading your album. It's a dream come true. Though you had hoped it would be after sex while you were still naked in bed, and you could take it out and show him. But this works too.

"This is extensive,” he sounds impressed and you hope he is. You wouldn’t say it’s your life's work but it’s something you worked hard on and is proud of. "I know." "When did you do this?" He looks at you. You shrug in response, "Over the years." "Years?" "I started it when I was in my early twenties.” "How did you find everything?" "The internet can be a wonderful place with like-minded people." "I can't imagine what it could have cost you." "I prefer not to think about it," you laugh.

He glances down into the box and then bends down to pick up the hat. "Please tell me this isn't the original one." "Oh god no, it's a replica!" "Can I try it?" "Please do!" Bucky puts the hat on, tips it to the side, and turns to you with a smile. It's impossible to not smile back when he looks so handsome. "Still fits you." "Feels odd. We used to wear them all the time, but I guess I've gotten used to a life without hats." He removes it and puts it back into the box before picking up the dog tags.

"I have a feeling you don't have these things because you hate me." "I don't hate you, it's quite the opposite." "Then why keep avoiding me?" You twist in your spot uncomfortably, not knowing what to say. "It's embarrassing. I never thought I would actually get to meet you when I started this collection." "I honestly feel honored. I'm not usually the person people think it's worth remembering." You tilt your head, "I do." "I can see that."

For a moment you look at each other and you get to experience what it feels like to drown in his eyes. Those blue magical pools that you've only ever studied on printed paper or through a screen. It could never compare to the real thing. Fearing you're going to say something more stupid you take the book from him. "So now you know," you say. "If you want me to transfer I'll happily put in a request. You were never meant to see it and I understand if it makes you uncomfortable around me." "No, that won't be necessary," he assures you. "But there is one thing I still don't get."

When you look up from your lap he's moved much closer. Too close again. His presence fills your senses in a way no one else has ever done. "What?" your voice almost cracks. "Why do you move away as soon as I get close?" His voice is low, as if not to scare you. With a wobbly laugh, you put the book down in between you and Bucky, scooting a bit away, studying the bedsheets.

"As you're doing now." "It's just, I like my personal space," you explain. "And you won't look at me." A single finger lands under your chin and tilt your head towards him. He's touching you. Bucky Barnes is touching you.

"Are you sure you aren't scared, Bunny?" "Ye-yeah," you swallow. "Because I think your heart is about to burst out of your chest." He moves the book out of the way and slides right up to you, until his leg is pressed against yours. The finger is still holding you in place, craning your neck to look at him. Your body flushes with heat. Now he's really touching you. "So what is it then?" There is a teasing in his voice, as if he knows but he wants to hear you say it.

Your tongue wet your dry lips and his focus shifts to that for a second. Opening your mouth to give him an answer, nothing comes out, not even the truth. "Bunny, you better answer me."

Finally, you find your voice. "I'm scared I won't be able to control myself," you confess. "And what would happen if you lost control?"

You close your eyes. You can't look at him when you speak. "I'll drop to my knees and beg to suck your cock." Bucky inhales sharply. "Or climb into your lap and beg you to fuck me. I'd let you do anything to me just to get a small taste. I'd ask you to use my body as you wanted and I won't need anything in return." "Fuck, Bunny. You have a dirty mind." "Sorry, I can't help that you smell so good and look so hot, it's too much."

His finger on your chin changes to a grip and you open your eyes, meeting his. They're filled with greed for something you don't understand. "You'd let me fuck you?" "Yes" "How about coming inside you?" "God yes!" "When was the last time you had tests done?" "Maybe a month ago? They were clean." "Any partner since then? Are you on birth control?" You hesitate for a moment. "Bunny?" "No… to both" Bucky laughs. "You would let me breed you, Bunny? Fuck you raw until you're bursting with my cum?"

The moan slips out unbidden. Just the thought of his raw dick inside you. Playing pregnancy roulette. It makes you so hot. "Yes, I would Bucky."

"Take off your clothes, lay on your back." You stare at him. "Is something unclear?" "You? And me? You want to have sex with me?" Something crosses over Bucky's face. "You don't have to." He reassures you. "No! I want to! I just… I never thought you'd want to. With me." "Well, you're wrong. And if you want to with me you better do as you're told."

Scrambling to take off your clothes you watch Bucky as he stands up and slowly starts doing the same. He's only gotten his shirt off by the time you're naked. "Spread your legs, let me see."

You pull your knees up and let them fall to the side. The stickiness from your arousal has already coated the inside of your thighs. You're sure you've never been this wet before in your life.

"Bunny's got a cute little pussy on her." Bucky's smile is predatory like he is an actual white wolf stalking its prey. He's down to his boxers now, his erection outlined through the cotton. It's big. "Don't look scared, we'll make it fit, I promise."

When his boxers are off too you can't help but stare but you’re more excited than anything else. The pulse in your cunt doesn't care if it’s going to hurt, there is only one thing on your mind. "I want your cock Bucky," you tell him. "Don't worry, you'll get it." He crawls on top of you, keeping his weight on his forearms and his body off of yours. "But I'm going to kiss you first."

His lips are soft but his kiss is demanding. It leaves no room for hesitation that he doesn't want you. Quickly he works your mouth open and moans when his tongue finds yours. You put your hands in his hair, guiding him to where you want his mouth. Then he descends your body, nipping at your jaw, sucking on your neck before finding your breasts. One hand is warm and the other is cold as he presses them together, caressing the nipples with his thumbs, making you keen and shudder. He uses his mouth to pull more sounds from you, licking, sucking, and dragging his teeth lightly against the stiff peaks, until your naked pelvis bucks up against his upper body, trying to find friction for the need he causes in you.

"You need something, Bunny?" "I need you to fuck me!" "It would be better for you if you come first." "No, I need it now! Stretch me with your cock Bucky, please I need it so bad!"

In a second he's kissing you again, feverishly, and this time he lets his body sink down on yours, his thick shaft brushing your wet center, making both of you shudder. Bucky reaches down and uses his hand to guide the tip to your opening. "Tell me if it hurts and we'll stop." "Promise." You relax into the bed, spreading your legs, and watch Bucky's face as he pushes into you.

He's big, but you're also incredibly wet. Your body slowly gives for his intrusion. There is a slight sting but it quickly turns into pleasure as he fills you. "So big!" you moan and experimentally move against him. "Fuck, Bunny, this is the tightest pussy I fucking ever felt. You're going to be the death of me." "Make me come first, then you can die." With a grunt, he pulls back and pushes in, carefully to get you used to him, but it’s not what you want or need.

"Move, please move. Fuck me Bucky!" you beg and he does. Not in your wildest fantasies could you predict this sensation. So full. So good. Bucky groaning above you. His warm skin under the palms of your hands. The sound of your arousal mixing with the sound of skin meeting skin.

"I'm already leaking into your cunt Bunny. It feels so good." "Yes, Bucky!" "Did you know I have almost zero recovery time? I just need a quick breather after coming before I can go again." With a moan, you wrap your legs around him. "I'm going to fill you with so much cum you'll be drunk on it." He leans down until he's right by your ear.

"I'll breed you all night long. And I'll continue to do it every night until you're pregnant." "Bucky!" "You fucking like that, I can feel how tight you get!"

Shaking your head you try to deny it, but carrying his baby would be the ultimate fantasy. "Please make me full of you! I want a baby Bucky. Make me fucking pregnant with our child!"

"Dirty! Fucking! Mind!" He says through gritted teeth, punctuating every word with a particularly hard thrust. "More!" You cry as the pressure inside you builds. Bucky quickly sits up on his knees, grabbing your hips, pulling you onto his dick as he thrusts inside you. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" you chant. "Make me come, Bucky! Please! More!"

"Bunny!" he warns. "You better fucking come before me, I can't hold it with your tight cunt squeezing me like that!" Desperately you start rubbing your clit and a moment later everything explodes through your body. With an unearthly wail, you find your release and Bucky quickly follows, cursing and roaring while he pumps you full.

The world is unsteady for a moment but then it rights itself. Bucky's head is thrown back as he heaves in lungfuls of air and you're no better where you're lying. He's not soft inside you yet and maybe he won't even go down.

"That was…" you begin but then shake your head with a stupid smile on your lips. "Better than you thought it would be?" He asks. "A million times better." "Good because we're not done." He releases your hips to once again lean down over you, kissing you much softer this time, moving his hips slower. It makes you keen into his mouth with the delicious stretch and the wetness of his release adding to the feeling. It leaks onto the sheets as he fucks you but you don't mind. At the end of all this, your sheets will probably need to be burned.

"Bunny, fuck, Bunny, look at me," Bucky demands and you do. He's close enough that you share a breath. "So fucking pretty. My little groupie." Despite the situation you laugh. "Aren't you?" "Absolutely Bucky, I'm your groupie." "Only mine?" "Of course! I don't have any more boxes under the bed." "Good." He rests his head at the crook of your neck, his hot breath ticking your skin and you close your eyes and enjoy the feeling of him surrounding you. Soon another orgasm works its way through your body. You don't scream this time, instead, you whisper in his ear how fucking good it feels, how he's filling you so well, and how you want him to breed you.

Moments later Bucky bursts inside you for the second time. He takes a minute before he rolls the two of you over so you're on top. The strength in your body is nearly gone but Bucky's serum keeps him going. And he keeps his promise. All through the night, he fills you and by the time the sun starts rising, he pulls one last weak orgasm from you before stopping.

"So fucking pretty," he muses as he spreads you open to watch the cum run out of you, before pushing some of it back in with his fingers, making you whine. With a chuckle, he wipes it off on the sheets, and then looks around. "I don't think we can sleep in this bed, Bunny. Where's your pajamas?" It's a miracle you're still awake but you point to the clothes on the chair. Bucky finds you some underwear and dresses you, before carrying you to his room. There he makes you take a shower but afterward, he doesn't let you get dressed again. "I need your skin against mine," he says as he spoons you.

Several hours later you wake up, sore but in the best way. The bed is empty and you must have slept through Bucky waking up. With a giggle, you roll onto your back and that's when you feel something around your neck. Confused, you look down and find his dog tags against your bare skin. The smile on your face must be really stupid as you fiddle with them between your fingers. Who could have known meeting your hero would turn out like this?

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #avengers!bucky barnes #avengers!bucky barnes x avengers!reader #veltana writes

[etheries1015]

Communication Chaos

Featuring: Isekei! (Kind of not really.) Reader x Tighnari

TW: none that I am aware of, but please do let me know if I missed any I will gladly update this section.

PT2: Cyno, Wanderer, Alhaitham, Kaveh

INTRO: 

You wake up one day sitting on the bed of a small hut-looking building in Gandharva Ville after being found unconscious by the forest ranger known all around as Tighnari. The moment you opened your eyes and met the gaze of the multi-colored-eyed male, you felt a warm tingle of excitement and confusion fill your chest...however the moment he opened his mouth to greet you, your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach.

You can’t understand a single word he just said. 

Your excitement and curiosity are what caused him to fall for you, over time, of course. 

When you awoke and sat up in the bed he had given you to rest, he walked towards you with a bowl of medicine. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, “Any pain from the injuries sustained? I wrapped your forearm in bandages and put together a concoction of medicine utilizing-” He stopped speaking mid-explanation when he noticed you stared at him wide-eyed, mouth open agape, similar signs of someone who hadn’t understood what was being said to them. He took this as a sign that he had to slow down his form of speech, thus he continued with that in mind.

“U-uh...” you interrupted him, using your hands signaling he should stop by waving them around in front of you apprehensively. You weren’t sure what you could possibly say, standing in front of you was THE Tighnari of the video game “Genshin Impact” you played in the comforts of your homeland, yet he seemed to speak none of the languages you were remotely accustomed to hearing. You looked around for any form of a hint of what language he spoke so you could attempt to communicate, however, It was at that moment that you realized it must have been Teyvats natural language by the writing on the pile of papers that sit on the desk next to the bed graciously given to you by Tighnari. He cocked his head to the side and ear twitched, waiting for you to speak as you had stopped him from talking previously. 

“I...don’t understand what you’re saying, I’m...sorry...” You trailed off as you noticed Tighnari holding perhaps even a more shocked expression than you at the language difference. He had of course been a graduate of the Akedemiya, a place in which learning many different languages was a must prior to graduation, yet you were there speaking in a language he had never remotely heard of. Coming to terms with this, he nodded slowly before continuing with his previous actions. Taking the bowl of medicine and a wooden spoon, he scooped it up and urged it towards you, inviting you to try it. You hesitated for a moment, looking from the spoon, and up to his gentle gaze before leaning forward to take a bite. He smiled and nodded satisfied with this. Once you had finished the medicine you felt yourself become drowsy, feeling yourself sway slightly as he took the back of your head to lean you back onto the bed. You were soon sleeping soundly once again, not noticing the slight look of worry that was still upon the fennecs features. 

Time had passed, your injuries were fully healed. Chalking it up to amnesia, Tighnari had decided to take care of you while you were in an unfamiliar place and unable to communicate where exactly you should have been. He started to teach you a bit about the language in teyvat by simply pointing to things and slowly emphasizing how they were said, and encouraging you to say certain phrases such as “I’m hungry” before giving you food. You were eager to learn, and he began to feel his heart beat slightly faster at every smile, every giggle, and every little phrase you had learned. He tried to convince himself that he had only felt the affection of a teacher for a student, but he couldn’t quite place why you felt different than when he had taught Collei new things. 

“By the way, (y/n),” Tighnari said while mixing up a new batch of herbs, “How old are you?” This sentence was a bit more complex, however, you could tell he had used your name (it had taken him some time to properly pronounce it, you had to emphasize the letters frequently and he had to be reminded multiple times how to properly pronounce it), and had some form of a question by the upward connotation he had used. You replied with a light hum and a tilt of your head. He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms, thinking about how to go about this question, before perking up and rushing outside. You furrowed your eyebrows, looking slightly puzzled at his sudden disappearance. He quickly returned with what looked like an arm full of small rocks, sitting on the ground before arranging them in a manner that was organized with lines of rocks. He then began to point to one rock at a time and say a word each time he pointed, which you could make out to be counting in his language, before pointing to himself once finishing counting the rocks he lay out. You were slightly confused until he did it again and pointed to himself more aggressively to try and get the point across.

“Ohhh! Your age? you’re asking me how old I am?” You asked, smiling brightly and giggling. You noticed his cheeks beam a light shade of pink as you did this, however, you didn’t pay too much attention to the meaning behind it as you started to count back the rocks he had placed in your own native language. 

“You’re (his age)? Huh. Well..” You began to rework the rocks to the number of your own age, to which he responded with a smile as he began to count...in YOUR language. He was attempting to repeat the same way you counted, however, he fell apart slightly after getting to the number seven. Your eyes widened, as you realized he hadn’t attempted to speak your language whatsoever since you came before. You stood up, jumping up and down out of joy and giggling slightly. “oh my goodness! Tighnari!” You beamed, running over to him and gently grabbing his hands and shaking them up and down with carefulness. Just another thing he noticed he liked about you, you respected the fact that he seemed to not enjoy loud noises, and always touched him with care and made sure to watch his mannerisms in order not to offend him. You were never too much for him, you had always respected his boundaries even when he could not explicitly state so. 

You tried to urge him to get up and move to the other side of the room, where on the wall lay a tapestry he had obtained for you that was covered in different flowers and animals. You then pointed to a butterfly that was sewn into the tapestry, looking at him with the pure excitement of learning and experiencing. He chuckled slightly, gaze looking down at you with pure affection before you both shared your way of saying words such as “butterfly” and “flower.” You were learning each other’s languages together, and he had felt a warm tingling in his heart with every smile, with everything you pointed to, with the way you had been quick to learn something new with an open mind and determination.

His feelings only grew from there, Only solidifying as time spent with you went on and you had taken the time and energy to learn all sorts of things, he had deeply admired the fact you paid close attention to him while he was speaking, even when you hadn’t fully understood the context of his words. He felt as if he could rant to you about anything and everything, no language barrier could break apart the feelings that began to harbor in his heart for the person that had stumbled upon his life and taken time to learn from him, about him, and look at the world with such...beauty, interest, and curiosity. Even though there were times of frustration when neither of you could figure out what was trying to be said, you always seemed to hold your head high and not falter, those moments of annoyance seeming to become fuel for your determination to work through the issues you had with a level head and motivate you to become better than you had been before. 

He hadn’t meant to confess so soon, however, the comment seemed to have come out nonchalantly. Even a scholar cannot help but make a fool of himself sometimes when it comes to falling in love, a feeling of which he had not fully convinced himself by the time he admitted it to you. You were helping him take his rounds in the forest, though he made it a point to avoid dangerous withering zones for your sake. He had noticed you stopped following next to him, instead, you had gotten distracted by a specific flower that lay on the ground next to a particularly large tree.

“Sumeru rose,” He said slowly, kneeling next to you. You nodded and looked at the flower with such gentleness, innocence, and love.

“Sumeru rose...I love it,” You said, petting the soft purple petals with your hand. He had heard you use this phrase often when talking about things that lit your face up with joy, such as food he had cooked you, little trinkets he had brought to you to learn from, certain words that you seemed to like...he didn’t need a translation to tell that you were using that phrase to express deep likeliness for something. in a moment of overwhelming love and affection, Tighnari picked up the flower from its stem to remove it from the ground it had to lay in before using his other hand to gently grasp your cheek and turn your gaze towards his own, tucking the purple bloom behind your ear and repeating your phrase,

“I love it.”

He had said this with such gentleness, a slight accent that you found adorable, and with the perfect amount of emotion and overwhelming endearment.  

Silence rang between the two of you, your face gradually growing a deep shade of red, standing up in a rush before quickening your pace. 

“Yes, oh look, a pretty butterfly!” You tried to take his attention off of yourself by pointing and excitingly ready to learn as usual, as if he hadn’t just confessed something which you were not even certain he meant. You hadn’t noticed that his gaze had not left you, yet you refused to look back and let him see how much you were red-faced and smiling right now. 

“L-let’s keep going! come on!” You told Tighnari, not bringing yourself to turn to look at him. 

“Ah-!” He stood up with an equal amount of panic, his face also turning a shade of red. He quickly caught up to you, “Are you okay?” He asked in his own language, you had indeed understood this phrase this time around after your time of studying with the forest ranger, however, your answer came out in a rush while trying to deflect the conversation.

Perhaps some more time will grant both of you to finally come to terms with the new idea of “love,” And you could learn to properly communicate this feeling one day in confidence with words, rather than uncertainty. 

#Tighnari #Tighnari X reader #Tighnari Genshin Impact #Genshin impact imagines #Genshinimpact fanfic #Tighnari fanfic #Tighnari Genshin X reader #Tighnari Gesnhin Impact X reader #Genshin impact X reader #Genshin X reader

[smoft-demons]

MC gets turned into a tiefling

I have had an idea!! Imagine,, MC gets into some magic bs, touches a cursed book Satan left lying around or trips over Solomon mid-experiment or some shit, and gets turned (temporarily) into a D&D tiefling. (Not using strict D&D rules, this is mostly just vibes. This setting doesn’t super work with D&D, as we all probably know)

You’ve got horns and a tail! Your teeth are sharper, your pupils are slit like Levi’s, you’ve got some sharpened senses and boosted magic and fire resistance. Maybe you even automatically know infernal now.

All that’s very cool, but it wouldn’t take long for the dumb baby tief shit to start happening. You’re a human, you’re not used to being shaped like this!

I’m imagining Lucifer, going just a bit broody over their human. Lucifer’s hand shooting out to catch your horn before it slams into a door frame. Lucifer sighing exasperatedly, suppressing laughter with all his willpower as you get tangled up in fabric as you try to put a hoodie on, because you’re not used to making normal clothes work properly with horns. He’d help you sort it out. He’d fuss over you like the mother hen he’d never admit he is.

Then Mammon, outright laughing at you when you step on your own tail or close a door on it—laughing at you, but still not hesitating for a moment to help. Tending to your injuries, checking you over and reassuring you without missing a beat. Being the very good (and a bit annoying) big brother that he is. He’s had lots of practise at this—5 little brothers worth of practice. Your tail lashing in agitation if Mammon doesn’t quit making fun of you, and Mammon softening, because that’s such baby Satan behaviour and he can’t help but melt about it.

Your body language mirroring Levi’s even more than before, and Levi sometimes having to turn around and stuff his fist into his mouth so he doesn’t scream about how endearing that is. Levi, adjusting the way your headphones sit on your head to accommodate for the new horns. You and Levi watching an anime together, both your pupils blown wide open in excitement. Your tails are swooshing happily in sync. (Beel was coming to collect you two for a snack run, but he just HAS to film this)

Beel, giving you satisfying stuff to bite, listening patiently as you screw up speaking in a new way, because your teeth are suddenly longer and sharper. He’d be reassuring and non-judgemental about that learning curve. About all the times you’d inevitably end up cutting your own lip or tongue on those new sharp teeth, too. It’s mildly embarrassing, but he would remain chill. He’s nice like that.

Asmo would help you maintain your new horns. He’d have all the products needed to keep them as pretty as possible. He’d want to take over styling your hair (because you can’t do it the same as usual now! There are horns in the way!) at first, out of both novelty and caring for you, and then he’d teach you how to do it yourself. He’ll still wanna do it for you sometimes though. You know Asmo, he can’t resist spoiling his MC. He’d be one to fuss over minor injuries… but he’d ALSO be one to want to test your new (slightly) increased resilience with products that were just a little too strong for you as a human. Like, a face mask with fire salamander ingredients that WOULD burn a human’s skin, but not a demon’s. Someone would have to step in to remind him that there still might be risk. Tiefling =/= high demon lord!

I imagine Asmo probably gossips with Mammon and Satan in infernal, about whoever they don’t like from RAD or wherever. I imagine the twins probably use infernal together too, just for minor references and things that are not worth the time to explain to you. I imagine they’d all be in the habit of using it for things they don’t want you to hear, like if they’re planing to surprise you. Imagine the surprise for all of them when they comment among themselves in infernal and suddenly their human (who is shaped like a tiefling) replies!

Satan would, upon learning that you know infernal now, make you read every untranslated story he has that he thinks you’d like. He’d get excited about experimenting with your boosted magic. He’d understand when you lose control, like if you hurt yourself while cooking and then instinctively react with hellish rebuke, setting the whole stove on fire by accident. He gets it! Imagine you and him doing the synchronized tail swoosh too.

Belphie would put pool noodles on your horns like a baby goat so they don’t accidentally stab him. Again. Belphie would tangle his tail up with yours, maybe to be annoying, maybe to be affectionate. Who knows with him tbh, it’s probably both. Belphie would be one to make fun of you for getting stuff tangled up in your horns, or stepping on your own tail, dumb baby tief stuff like that. He’s used to being the weakest, babiest demon in that house! But, since it’s you, he’d probably find some enjoyment in getting to baby (and make fun of) a younger, smaller demon (or rather, human newly shaped like a demon) in the family. Just because it’s you, I imagine he’d enjoy taking the role of older sibling for once. Just because it’s you.

(Should I make a proper headcanons/oneshot post about this?)

#dumb baby tief stuff #idk I think this would be cute #obey me found family #obey me! shall we date? #obey me #obey me platonic #my writing #obey me fic #obey me imagines #obey me fluff #obey me mc #obey me lucifer #mammon obey me #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #satan obey me #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me headcanons #obey me brothers #Adhara’s brainrot

[jupitercomet]

Leave a Mark

summary - Jake broke your heart when he left you behind. All that remained of him were the memories of when you were in love—and the phone number he never picks up. Now he's back, ready to claim his title. And you think that that's all he wants, that he's completely forgotten about everything you were together, until he tries to fight for you too. But, this time, will you finally be worth more to him than the glory?

warnings - DARK THEMES, boxer au, violence, language, no use of y/n, brief mention of blood, brief use of painkillers, mentions of physical assault, mentions of injury, Jake is 6′5″ because I said so, brief mentions of stalking, mentions of a knife, mentions of drugs and drug use, mentions of steroids, brief talk of parental death

this blog is 18+, minors please do not interact

word count - 4.3k

one new voicemail masterlist

There’s a moment—the briefest of seconds—that you wake up and forget the events of the day before. A moment where Harley’s soft fur under your fingers hasn’t entirely set in and the smell on Jake’s sheets—or the fact they’re Jake’s at all—still feels like it’s just part of your dreams. For a moment, you wake up feeling more rested than you have in weeks. And then you remember.

“Hey, hey,” Jake pushes through the door, quickly setting down the tray of breakfast he’s holding and rushing over to you, a slight look of panic overtaking his face. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

His hands cup your face and, though you find solace in them, you have to push them away quickly. “Don’t— Please— I need you to not touch me right now.” You scoot away from him, narrowly missing the look of hurt that flashes through his eyes as Harley comes to comfort you with a small whine.

“Yeah, of course. Sorry,”  Jake swallows, sitting at the end of the bed to give you some space.

It’s silent for a moment as you stroke Harley’s head, quieting the dog with gentle pets as you stare at the wall in thought. Your head hurts—your injuries still tender—but that’s not what you can focus on right now. You’re trying to stay calm and collected, Dr. Elsher is always reminding you to not jump to conclusions.

“How many?” You ask suddenly.

“What?”

You turn to look at Jake. “How many of my voicemails did you listen to?”

Jake looks down at his fingers. It’s silent for several beats. “All of them.”

Though you were positive hearing those words would send you into a panic, you aren’t nearly as frightened as you thought you’d be. You chalk it up to the vast amount of feelings you’ve gone through in the past 24 hours. Compared to being assaulted by two large men in an alley, learning that your ex boyfriend knows that you’re still very much in love with him doesn’t seem that bad.

“Why?”

Jake furrows his brows slowly. “What do you mean ‘why’?”

“You clearly had no intention of calling me back.” Under your gaze, Jake shifts uncomfortably. “So why did you listen to them?”

Jake still can’t meet your eye, scratching the back of his neck. “I, um, I don’t—”

“Was it an ego boost?” You’re not sure if it should scare you that you sound so numb, so indifferent. “To know that I’m still in love with you while you were off doing whatever you wanted?”

“I wasn’t— I wasn’t doing whatever I wanted…” His words are feeble at best, but almost like you’re speaking into a voicemail, you continue to treat Jake the same way you have for the past year. By telling him everything.

“I didn’t think you were listening to them. I thought I was deleting them before you could— I guess that sounds stupid when I say it out loud. But I told you a lot of things, Jake, a lot of things that deserved a response. You knew I needed you and you did nothing. So if you don’t care about me, why did you listen to them?”

“I do care about you,” Jake’s eyes snap up to you suddenly, his jaw set. “Don’t say that I don’t care about you, I do.”

You purse your lips slowly. “But it doesn’t feel that way to me, Jake. You left me, and said our relationship wasn’t serious, and let me cry over you and beg you to come back without ever saying anything. Where in all of that am I supposed to see that you care about me?” 

Jake winces at your words and Harley gets his front paws comfortable in your lap. “I— How can I fix that? What do I have to do to make you believe me?”

Whatever he’s about to say is probably going to hurt you, you know that. But you also know that you can’t keep doing this with him anymore. You need closure. You need Jake to tell you that you never mattered to him, not the way you want to, and that he can’t keep being the person you turn to for everything. “Tell me the truth.”

“Okay,” Jake nods slowly. “I can do that.”

Your fingers tense slightly in Harley’s fur as Jake stares at you. In a weird way, you feel almost proud. If this conversation had happened even a couple months ago, you would have run away. You probably wouldn’t have said anything at all. But now it’s different, now you’re brave enough to be honest and you know you deserve an explanation. It settles over you almost like a blanket. Jake is going to break your heart, and it’s going to hurt for a while, but then you’ll be okay.

“I’m still in love with you.”

The hand petting Harley falters and you suck in a breath. For a second, you think you imagined the words, that you were desperate enough to put them in his mouth. But Jake keeps talking.

“And it’s fucked that it took this much for me to tell you, I know. But… it sucked having to watch you go to that stupid, fucking diner you hate and feel like I was just sitting there. If I went to Texas, I could do something, you know? I wouldn’t just be some deadbeat,” Jake swallows, keeping his eyes trained on Harley who is starting to fall asleep in your lap. “I always— I don’t know. I always kind of felt like you were with me because you’d just gotten used to it. When we broke up, I just wanted you to argue with me. I should have just told you, I know, but I was—” He closes his eyes and takes a breath. “I was scared that maybe you didn’t think we were serious enough to figure Texas out together. And then you agreed. I said our relationship wasn't serious because I wanted you to tell me I was wrong. But you didn’t, so I left…”

Harley lets out a light breath in your lap and it alerts you to the fact that you’re holding your own.

“Then you started leaving me voicemails and I couldn’t— I thought, if I ever called you back, then I’d be forced to find out that I fucked everything up so badly that I couldn’t fix it.” Finally Jake lifts his gaze to you, his eyes pleading and soft. “So… I listened to your voicemails because I’m in love with you.”

You shake your head slowly. “That’s not— That’s not fair, Jake.”

“Angel, please, I—” 

“I would have gone to Texas with you, if you asked me. I would have gone.” The words spill out of you before you fully think them through. Because you need Jake to know how wrong he had been. Part of it was your fault, you know that. You needed him so much that you could never truly be honest around him. You were scared he’d know how much he mattered to you and use it against you. Now you want him to know.

“You are the first person I’ve ever loved— The only person. And that matters to me, a lot. But I’ve grown. I— I’m getting better at being honest, and having healthy expectations for people. I can finally give away shoes that make my feet bleed.” You feel silly tearing up, but you sniff it back and dab at your eyes. “I’ve grown. All I need is to know that you have too.”

To your surprise, Jake smiles.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he shakes his head. “Nothing. It’s just—” He cuts himself off when he notices you wince, a dull throb lighting up your temple. He gets up, grabbing the tray of breakfast from the nightstand. “Here. You should eat first, and take some medicine, we can talk after.”

Harley’s still in your lap and Jake looks like he’s trying to figure out what to do with the tray because of it. Obviously, you know what the simplest solution would be, but Jake seems hesitant and you realize he’s trying to respect your boundaries. Wordlessly, you pat the spot next to you. Jake sits down, quickly setting the tray on his lap.

“I didn’t know you knew how to cook.” It slips out before you can stop it as you look down at the omelet and toast sitting on a plate.

Jake chuckles, scratching at the back of his head. “I don’t really. But I picked up a few things.”

He cuts up the omelet for you before handing you the plate as Harley is now out cold on your lap. You sit in silence as you eat, occasionally Jake would swap out your plate for a sip of orange juice or the tylenol he brought for your head. You offer him some of your omelet which he accepts with a small smile and it occurs to you then that, before, you and Jake had never really been the couple to sit and have breakfast together. There was always a morning shift or trip to the gym that got into the way. You wonder if, had you both had breakfast together, things would have gone differently.

“Do you have work today?”

You nod, swallowing. “In the afternoon. I get off at 5:00.” 

Honestly, after everything that happened yesterday, you just want to call in sick, but you know that Tracy’s already called out and so it’s not really an option anymore. Jake clears his throat next to you.

“I’m still gonna take you… if that’s okay?” He takes your plate from you and trades it for the glass of orange juice. 

“Will you pick me up too?”

“Of course I will, angel.” Like he doesn’t even have to think about it, Jake wipes a crumb of toast from the corner of your mouth. “That was already nonnegotiable, sweetheart.” 

“Okay.” You aren’t sure how to feel about Jake—and the multiple confessions he made in the past 24 hours—but he’s one of the few people you feel safe with, one of the few people you have. And, as much as a part of you wants to be away from him to just think, a much larger part of you is still quite shaken. You just want to feel safe again.

“Okay,” Jake repeats, moving the tray back to the nightstand before gently moving Harley off your lap. Harley grumbles in protest, but Jake just laughs at him, holding a hand out for you with a smile. “Come on, Nurse Jake needs to make sure everything’s healing okay.”

Despite everything, you laugh.

The bell to Knockouts rings to alert everyone that someone has entered the building, though there’s really no reason for it, two men well over 6 feet are hard to miss. Jake leads Bradley to where he knows your section is, sitting down at one of the booths wordlessly as the other man glances around. 

“We’re doing this here?”

“Yes,” Jake grits, part of him is still mad that Bradley had dodged him when he tried to punch him in the face. Adler kicked them both out of the gym, giving Bradley an unreadable look as he did so, and told them to figure their shit out before they came back.

Bradley sits down. Jake honestly can’t remember the last time he talked to Bradley. He’s seen him around Mav’s since he’s been back, but the brunet has always been a man of little words anyway, so Jake hardly counts it. They were somewhat closer back when they were both rookies. It’s honestly nostalgic to think about, given both their success now. But Jake doesn’t care about that right now. Right now, he just wants to punch Bradley in the face.

“Hi, can I get you two drinks—” Your eyes widen in surprise when you realize it’s Jake at your table, your menus almost slipping from your grip.

“Yeah, actually.” Looking up at you, Jake can’t help but grin, his anger at the man across from him all but forgotten. “Do y’all have mango smoothies, angel?”

Jake hears Bradley let out a small scoff.

The trace of a smile is playing on your lips as you contemplate your next words slightly unsurely. “We do… And, um, we also have milkshakes.”

“Oh, I can’t stand milkshakes, sweetheart.” Jake lights up at your words, though he tries to keep up the appearance that he’s anything but delighted. “They’re just Big Milk’s way to covertly infiltrate the life of the average consumer,” he wrinkles his nose in mock disgust. The expression drops quickly when he hears you trying to stifle a giggle.

Bradley abruptly ruins the moment by grunting out that he’ll take a water, but there’s still a small smile on your face as you jot down their drink orders. “I’ll have those right out for you then.”

Jake’s met with Bradley’s glare when his gaze stops following you to the kitchen and the brunet rolls his eyes. “Can you not flirt with our waitress? Or is it too difficult to control yourself around any woman that moves?”

“Wait,” Jake furrows his brows. “You don’t know her?”

“No, she’s just been my waitress a couple times.”

Jake pauses as he looks at Bradley in thought. “Did you come here yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Bradley answers.

“And she was your waitress, right?— Wait, did you eat alone?”

“No,” Bradley looks at him suspiciously. When Jake raises his brows expectantly, Bradley reluctantly continues. “I was with Adler’s daughter.”

Jake’s eyebrows jump to his forehead. “Why were you with Adler’s daughter?”

“Why are you asking?” Bradley’s eyes narrow. “You still haven’t told me what the fuck this is about, Hangman.”

“Right, fine. My girl got attacked last night and the only thing they wanted was to leave a message for you. I wanna know what the fuck you just dragged her into.”

Bradley glances at the kitchen door, brows furrowed as if trying to remember you as anything more than a waitress. “What did they say?”

“They just said to leave it alone if you know what’s good for you,” Jake recites, keeping his voice low if only to control his anger. “But they called you ‘Rooster’ and she didn’t recognize it. She doesn’t even seem to know you anyway, so why would they think she does, Rooster?”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Bradley sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jake scoffs, rage bubbling in his stomach, and now he really wishes he punched Bradley in the face. “Is the fact that you almost got my girl murdered an inconvenience for you, Bradshaw?”

Bradley rolls his eyes. “No, so you can cool it with the whole guard dog shit.” He glances around the diner, before dropping his voice. “Look, you wanna know what’s going on? I’ll tell you, but it’s some shady fucking shit, Hangman—”

“Sorry about that,” you rush back over to the table, looking quite frazzled as you set down a mango smoothie and a glass of water. “Can I, um, can I get you anything else?”

“We’re fine,” Bradley answers.

You nod, looking somewhat relieved, but Jake’s catching your hand before you can walk away. “What happened to your finger?”

He’s holding the digit tenderly, inspecting the slice in your skin with worried eyes. You swallow shakily, looking at him like a deer in the headlights as you catch your breath. “I— I was washing out the blender and someone put a knife in the sink. I’m fine though—”

“You have a band-aid?” Jake asks, his gaze still trained on your injured finger.

You pull one out of your apron pocket and Jake takes it from you, only dropping your finger to open the wrapping. You watch silently as his large fingers delicately wrap the latex around your wound. He lets his thumb smooth out the padded square of your band-aid before he looks up at you.

“There,” he smiles softly.

You swallow. “Thank you.”

You walk away from the table after your gaze lingers for just a second and Jake watches you leave. Bradley looks at him flatly.

“I wish you would have just punched me in the face.”

“That can still be arranged, dipshit,” Jake growls, his gentle demeanor dropping. “Now start talking.”

And Bradley does. He explains how a poorly timed photograph resulted in Razor thinking that Bradley was in a relationship with Coach Adler’s daughter. Razor, Jake remembers—unlike most of the other boxers he’s come home to—he and Bradley had started their rivalry fairly quickly in their careers and Jake had never liked him all that much either. Razor then started stalking Adler’s daughter, causing her to move in with Bradley for protection. The young woman is more than friendly, having, on numerous occasions, started very affable conversations with you. Bradley just happened to be there for all of them.

Jake let out an incredulous laugh. “Jesus Christ, Rooster! Do you even talk to women?”

“Fuck off,” Bradley grunts. “You wanna know what’s going on or what?”

Jake holds his hands up in mock surrender.

“I’ve been looking for Razor, but not even Natasha has seen him. She told me he’s been on drugs, which I thought was bullshit.” Jake nods in agreement. Boxers in both Mav’s gym and Abnesti’s—where Razor fights—get drug tested every two weeks. There’s no way Razor could be on drugs and still fighting. “But she sent me to this address he sent her once… You ever heard of gephorce?”

“Gephorce?”

Bradley nods. “I picked it up from this random, sketchy ass dry cleaners. Here,” he pulls his phone out to show Jake a picture.

It’s of two glass bottles, no taller than a nail polish, both filled with clear liquid, as well as a pack of needles. Jake zooms in on the picture with furrowed brows. “Dude, those are steroids.”

“What?”

“I knew a few guys in Texas who used them,” Jake explains, handing Bradley back his phone. “Those are fucking steroids.” 

“What kind of steroids can pass a drug test undetected?”

Jake shrugs. “Hell if I know. That seems like the sketchy shit Mav’s into.”

“I’ve been trying to drop them off at the gym, but I haven’t been able to because I don’t want to leave—” Bradley almost seems to falter, which is unusual for Bradley, but he clears his throat. “I just haven’t.” He pauses, eyes snapping to Jake suddenly. “But you could.”

“Absolutely not.” Jake shakes his head. “There’s no way I’m getting involved in this shit,” he says firmly.

Bradley purses his lips. “I’m not asking you to. I’m just asking you to drop something off at Mav’s for me.”

“Do you fucking hear yourself? With your track record, in the amount of time we’ve been talking, these people must think we’re married with a baby on the way!” 

Jake takes a deep breath, letting his eyes land on your profile, taking in your soft smile and kind eyes. He knew he loved you almost the second he stepped foot in Texas and when he listened to your voicemails that should have been his chance. But he still wasn’t the person he wanted to be yet and what was he even supposed to do? Call you and admit that he had been scared?

But then something happened to you, something happened because he hadn’t been there. He should have been, but he wasn’t. And all he could think about was the fact that he could have lost you forever. No more running into you in public, no more voicemails. Even the little part of you he had, this little piece of something that mattered, would have been ripped away from him. Again.

Jake didn’t like to think about his mom that often—at least, not her death anyway. It had been a few years ago and Jake thinks he’s come to terms with it fairly well. He knows at the time he threw himself into boxing and neglected most of his relationships, even yours, but he likes to think that he’s gotten better. But you had been the one to help him through it, you had been the one to give him some meaning again. And the thought that he almost lost you too terrified him.

He’s sure Javy would laugh in his face—if the situation wasn’t so serious—at how, practically overnight, Jake had made this complete turn around. But in the morning, when Jake had expected you to yell at him, or leave, or never let him near you again, all you asked was that he tell you the truth. And he realized that the person he thought he had to be for you was never the one you wanted anyway. You’re giving Jake another chance, a chance to love you like he always should have, and Jake is going to make up for every second that he should have been there while you were shivering in that alley. He’s going to make up for every second he should have been there for the past year and a half.

“Look, I’m sorry man, but you didn’t see her, okay? It was— Whoever these people are, they’re dangerous. I can’t let something like that happen to her again. I won’t.” He looks for you again and, just like that day in the butterfly pavilion, it’s like suddenly all he knows how to do is look at you. “I won’t.”

“You really don’t have to keep waiting there for me to finish my shifts. You can always go do something else,” you try to assure Jake as he takes his helmet off your head.

“Yes, I do,” he smiles softly. “And what else would I do, angel?”

After each of your shifts ends, Jake gives you the option of either going to his house or your apartment. You know you should probably ask for him to take you home—you need time to think about everything. But then that would mean you were thinking about everything, and that wasn’t something you really wanted to do alone. Besides, he’d given you the bedroom while he slept on the couch, which means you had plenty of time to think anyway.

“You could go to the gym or something. I don’t want you to think that I expect you to just wait for me.” You trail after him as he starts heading to his front door.

“I don’t think that, angel,” Jake turns so he can look you directly in the eye. “I feel better knowing that I know where you are and what’s going on. ‘Sides, I get to stare at you for hours and I love doing that.” Your lips part in surprise, your cheeks burning, and Jake grins, opening the door. “This honesty thing is fun.”

That was another thing Jake had started doing. Ever since you asked him to tell you the truth, he started taking it upon himself to do that all the time. It was mostly an excuse to flirt with you, but he also compliments you a lot more genuinely or asks if you want to do things together more often. It’s nice.

Harley greets you at the door, completely sidestepping Jake, and the man looks down at him in exaggerated offense. You giggle as you reach down to scratch Harley’s head and the dog wags his stubby tail excitedly.

“Unbelievable,” Jake throws his hands up dramatically. “You don’t even say hi to me anymore?”

Harley turns to look at his owner, giving him the most unimpressed look a dog can manage, before looking back at you. You can’t help but laugh at Jake’s expression.

“Yeah, alright, jerk. I like her more than you too,” Jake scoffs, putting his shoes away before he glances at your temple and his eyes soften. “Let me look at your head again, sweetheart.”

When Jake finds himself turning over on the couch for the fourth time in two minutes, he sits up with a sigh. It’s a little after midnight and, though you both had gone to bed hours ago, he can’t seem to fall asleep. Getting up, he pads out of the living room quietly, walking over to the door frame of his bedroom and peeking inside.

You’d been leaving the door open for Harley’s sake, though the dog hardly leaves your side so Jake knows there’s really no reason to. Still, it allows him to check on you when he needs to.

You’re asleep in the middle of the bed, Harley stretched out next to you as one of your arms is thrown around him. Moonlight casts in through the room’s sliding glass door and it shines gently on your features. Jake watches you carefully, taking in your peaceful expression for any sign of distress, but doesn’t find any. He knows you are scared though, it’s the reason you came out with a suitcase when you both stopped at your apartment to grab some things this morning.

Jake’s jaw clenches at the thought. Though he’s been trying to ignore them, Bradley’s words have been playing in his head in a constant loop. He meant it when he said that he wasn’t going to do anything to bring you into whatever Bradley has found himself in. But maybe the damage had already been done. Clearly Bradley has no plans to just forget about whatever he’s found—not until he’s figured it out—and if these people already think you’re some kind of leverage against him, what’s to stop them from hurting you again? The only way Jake would know for certain that you were safe is if he makes sure they can never hurt you himself.

It takes one more look at you sleeping soundly in his bed, your chest rising and falling rhythmically, for Jake to take his phone out from his pocket. He clicks on Bradley’s contact.

Alright

I’m in

join my Jake Seresin taglist here or follow my library @jupitercometgold

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! thank you for reading!

Jake taglist:

@dempy 

@kmc1989 

@s-u-t 

@lonelywitchv2 

@cottagecori 

@avengersgirllorianna 

@under-the-seas 

@auroraacrane 

@olivia21blunt 

@dreamlandcreations 

@blue-aconite 

@averyhotchner 

@sgt-barnesveins 

@lillunna 

@mamachasesmayhem 

@appledressing 

@bradswolfe 

@lynnevanss 

@babyyy2020 

@thekebs 

@deliriousfangirl61 

@callsign-cacti 

@yoonbutterfly 

@liliana234567 

@uniquedreamlandcheesecake 

@redbarn1995 

@wishingwell-2 

@justenoughmadness 

@petemitchells 

@hookslove1592 

@pietrothemovie 

@tiredqueen73 

@linkpk88 

@daddymack01 

@smallishbook 

@cheesecakeinahole 

@berryjuicyy 

@ohsolvingaddiction 

@takemetooneverlanddd 

@fangirling-4-ever 

@sveetnn 

@queerqueenlynn 

@yuckosworld 

@scoopsr0bin 

@bobgasm 

@sailor-aviator 

@agentorange9595 

@trickphotography2 

@lunamoonbby 

@valianttyrantexpert 

@katiedid-3

@beezusinc 

@loveofvernonslife 

@katima-silline 

@krispybearbouqeut 

@shadeds-library 

@rogersbarnesxx 

@et-homephone 

@fangirlvibez 

@lilacwh0re 

@moonlight-addisyn 

@alana4610 

@sanfransolomitatm 

@topnerd03 

@illicithallways 

@talktomegooseman 

@callsign-magnolia 

@shadowsndaisies 

@taytaylala12 

@blindedbyyourgrace17 

@formulapierre 

@shakespeareanwannabe 

@starswin 

@bloop-bleep-sheep 

@ephemeralninon 

@devil-angel-winchester 

@rosedurin 

@staringmoony 

@emma8895eb 

@parkerschurros 

@karsinner 

@rhettsluvr 

@crybaby-21 

@seresinslady 

@minejungwoo 

@tinka490 

@oscarisaacsleftknee 

@deliriousfangirl61

@pinewoodgatesfarm

@wren5650

@morpheusmybeloved

@shibble

@owenniasstars

#jake seresin imagine #jake seresin imagines #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin fic #hangman imagine #hangman imagines #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman fanfiction #hangman fic #top gun maverick imagines #top gun maverick fanfiction #x reader #one new voicemail #under the hard deck #buggy's got a pen

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

just some random prompts (up to you how you'll use it or not lol):

Din Djarin x forcesensitive/jedi!reader

Reader actually understands Mando'a, got flustered when Din calls her cyarika, mesh'la (maybe have the reader respond in Mando'a too and let's see how it goes from there)

Reader is some masked vigilante of some sort and has a bounty on her head, Din Djarin unmasked her during a fight and turns out she was also reported missing few years ago by her family (maybe make reader a noble-blood to sprinkle some drama)

I recommend the song Close to You by Neon Trees, maybe it's just me but it reminds me of your Din Djarin x Reader drabbles hehe

also, I love your writing so muuuuch. xx

Din Djarin x Female!Reader

Warnings: mild start to something smutty if you squint lol

Word Count: 1,049 (damn it i was so close to under 1k)

LANGUAGE BARRIER

a/n: i have din djarin brain rot smh. also, ngl, i did not proof read this with the intensity i usually try to so🤷🏻‍♀️ OH AND HEY IF YOU HAVEN'T VOTED IN MY POLL YET GO DO SO, IT'S ON MY MASTERLIST.

Mando’a was an interesting language. It was different. That’s what initially drew you to it. Unlike the other languages you studied, Mando’a texts were hard to find. For a while, you had to make do with just scraps of information. That almost made learning it so much more satisfying though. Then, while at University, you met an elder who had grown up adopted by Mandalorians. He had never taken the Creed, drifted away from the culture, but not without becoming fluent in Mando’a. He was the reason the holes in your education were filled, and that meant he was also the reason you could enjoy Din Djarin’s mumbling.

Over the year you traveled with him, he became more and more comfortable with your presence⏤ at least, that’s what you assumed the reasoning was for him becoming more vocal. They were little statements at first. Din would be clearing out his weapon locker, run into a problem, and spit out a string of curses. Peli had once told him that the Razor Crest would be grounded for at least a week and you hung onto every word of Mando’a of the rant he spiraled into about the last quarry who had caused the damage. You had planned on telling him you knew Mando’a⏤ you were going to casually mention it.

Then, he called you mesh’la.

A nickname you hadn’t expected.

Din had a habit of using a lot of nicknames that you’d never expect from him. Cyar’ika. Ner sarad. Cyare. Senaar’ika. Each new, adoring nickname would bring warmth to your face, but you had missed the normal window of opportunity to mention to him that you spoke his language. Especially when, in a panic, he had referred to you as ‘cyar’ika’ for the first time and you asked him what it meant. Din had answered in a simple way, giving you the definition without missing a beat, as if it were a casual thing. For a while, you thought that meant there was no significant weight behind those words.

Your theory of the nicknames just being for fun was shot in the face when you nearly got shot yourself. While out in a city, you had gotten caught in the crossfire. The quarry himself had spotted you and with a sickening grin turned to put you down. Luckily, he had missed⏤ it only clipped you in the arm⏤ but the rampage that Din had gone into was shocking. Not nearly as shocking as when you heard him speak to the quarry after pummeling his face beyond recognition: ‘I’ll bring you in cold for that, bastard. I don’t show mercy to those who target what’s mine’. For the rest of the night, you convinced yourself that it wasn’t what you thought. Sure, the two of you shared lingering touches and the tension had grown since you came aboard, but it had to be something else. 

Weeks later, while waiting in a cantina for Din to return from obtaining new pucks, a Twi’lek man had saddled up beside you. Despite making it clear you had no interest, the man continued to invade your space. That is, until Din stepped up to your other side and pulled you into his side. The Twi’lek had abandoned his goal very quickly and the words that left Din’s lips stayed with you for weeks on end. ‘Should've known better than to leave someone as beautiful as you alone at the bar’. Still, no matter how badly you wanted to just jump him, you convinced yourself he didn’t want you. He was a friend. That was all.

Until seconds ago. You sat on one of the crates in the Razor Crest’s cargo hold as Din applied a bacta patch to the claw marks across your calf. A run in with a Trandoshan gone wrong. He had pulled off his gloves to provide the care, not something out of the ordinary, but the feel of his fingertips against your skin was not a sensation you’d ever get used to. Din set his entire hand against the upper half of your calf and his thumb caressed the skin there. Without looking up, he murmured, “I will know you forever.”

You fully understood the weight of his words. Din rose to stand and began to walk away to put away the first aid kit. The words fell out of your mouth before you could consider any of the consequences, “I can speak Mando’a, and I am so sorry I didn’t tell you earlier but I panicked.” In the most uncharacteristic move you had seen from him, Din tripped over some of the gear he had been passing in the rush to spin and look back at you. The Mandalorian caught himself before he could do more than stumble. You offered him a sheepish smile, “Sorry. Again.”

“You speak Mando’a?” Din asked in his language. 

“A little.” You nodded then shook your head. “Actually, a lot. I’m⏤ I’m fluent.”

“This entire time?” Din slowly crept back towards you. You nodded. He continued on until he stood between your legs. Din’s hands settled on his hip and you were forced to lean back a bit to keep your nose from being pressed against his chest.

You scrunched your nose in concern, “Are you mad?”

“No. Of course not, my love.” Din replied, his voice low. Din’s bare hand lifted to cup the side of your face. His thumb caressing the side of it. Din pressed in closer again so you were forced to tilt your head up to meet his hidden gaze as he stared down at you. His touch trailed away from your cheek, and he let the pad of his thumb ghost over the outline of your lips⏤ your breath hitched in your throat, heart beating wildly in your chest. Din pressed his thumb against your already parted lips more firmly, the tip of it brushing against your tongue, before he dragged it down further to open your mouth even wider. “But you are in trouble. Are you going to accept your punishment with grace?” Your lips twitched up in a smile as an ache of desire ran down your spine and straight to your core. You leaned in just enough to fully wrap your lips around his thumb. Din chuckled. “Good girl.”

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando #mando x you #mando x reader #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian fanfic

[illwritethanks]

Freedom -Part 2

Pairing- Sully family x niece!reader

WC- 1,194

Genre- FLUFF

Warnings- Jake and Norm co-parenting, Jake being daddy :>, y/n being a brat just like her father, other than that none <3

A/N- this was a little longer than the other chapter, if you’re wonder why this is a little different to how the other chapter was written it’s because I trying think how a five year old would speak :’) also I’m going to write some more chapters like this before the actual story begins because I want people to know what the reader is like and why she’s like that. Again this is not proof read

Quick info: (Y/n)- 5 years old, Neteyam- 3 years old, Kiri- 2 years old and Lo’ak- 2 years old

Her heart beat was thumping in her ears, her breath coming out slow as her finger nails clawed into the earth. Her tail making sharp flicks as her eyes zoned into her prey, ears twitching as she listened for any sudden movement. The back was facing her, rocking sided to side as they hummed a tune, the preys eyes locked onto a small figure in front of it as they played in the small pond.

Creeping forward she made sure to stay light on her hands and feet as she pushed the leaves away. She placed her hand on a branch causing it to snap underneath her. The preys ear flinched towards her as it turned its head slightly.

Now. She thought.

Running out underneath the bushes, y/n jumped onto the preys back, her arms wrapping around her neck.

Netyiri laughed out, “your getting much better, y/n, but why do you still choose to hunt like a Palulkan?”

Y/n giggled as she looked down into netyiri’s arms, her younger brother and sister, Lo’ak and Kiri, sleeping in her arms while Neteyam played in the pool of water in front of them, she sighed.

“What is it, my child?” Netyiri asked as y/n came to sit next to her.

Y/n huffed out, “when can they play with me?” she picked at the grass next to her.

The older na’vi let out a small sigh, “they are too young to play.” Y/n hummed not paying attention finding the grass much more interesting then what she is saying.

She just didn’t understand it. Yes, Neteyam couldn’t really talk yet but he could walk and run, Kiri not far behind, but not as fast as her though. She felt like they was miss out and because she is five and was learning new things everyday she just wanted to teach them as well so they could play together.

She grunted. Her thoughts clear as day on her face.

Netyiri smiled at the young girl, “don’t worry, you will all be able to play together soon.” All she got as a reply was a small grunt and frown across her face. Netyiri’s smile got wider, this small child in front of her was so much like her father and mother she couldn’t believe it.

Leaves rustling behind them caught their attention, y/n quickly moved in front of Netyiri and her sibling, ears pinned back, hissing at the figure coming closer.

Jake quickly emerged from the foliage, hands raised, “whoa, whoa. Calm down fire cracker.”

He came closer picking up the young girl in his arms, the frown still plastered across her face.

“Is it time?” Netyiri asked, to which Jake nodded in response. Y/n tilted her head, ‘time for what?’.

Jake emerged from the jungle towards a metal box, while y/n sat on his shoulders, she tilted her head, she could hear something like talking and laughing but she couldn’t understand it.

When Jake got closer he removed her off his shoulders and placed her in front of him. He kneeled down looking her in the eyes, “now listen, kid. When we enter don’t leave my side, and do not touch anything.” She nodded in reply, giving him a salute, “yes, sir.”

He rolled his eyes as he gently grabbed her hand and leaded her into the building. Y/n was instantly hit with a weird smell that she couldn’t describe. She’s never smelt something like this, it felt like her nose was burning.

She looked around, everything was white with the occasional blue here and there. Large glass tubes that was filled with water and Na’vi looking people floating in them. It was unsettling. Seeing grown adult Na’vi’s looking so… weak. She scooted closer to Jake.

And that was when she saw them. Sky people. Her heart was pounding against her rib cage. How could it not? She maybe young but she’s heard tales of the sky people from the elders of her clan and what they did to Pandora.

What they did to her Mother and Father.

She hissed when one of them got closer than she liked, she had to get out of here. She had to protect Jake.

“Jake! We need to go.” She whispered to him, tugging at his hand as her eyes bolted around.

Jake smiled, “it’s fine, they will not hurt us. They are our allies.”

What? He must be joking right? Sky people… as our allies?

Just then a small pink man approached them, his arms wide and a smile spread across his face, his voice loud hurting her ears. Jake returned this, smiling. ‘What is happening? Has he gone mad?’ She thought.

After they finished hugging the pink man turned to her, bending down to her his smile getting wider, his mouth was moving and sound was coming out but she had not a clue what this Tspìng looking man was saying to her. Feeling threatened she moved closer to Jake, bearing her fangs at the unknown man, to which he jolted back in surprise.

“Whoa, calm down, y/n! He’s not a threat.” Jake said, placing his hand on top of her head to sooth her. “What are we doing here, Jake.” Y/n asked.

He smiled at her, trying to realise the tension building up in her small body, “we’re just going to be having some lesson with, Norm. Okay?”

She didn’t like this not one bit.

And she was right. For the last couple of months Jake had been taking her to meet with Norm to have English lessons in the metal box. She had no clue why. Why would she learn the language of demons? The same people who hurt her family and tried to destroy their planet! No matter what Jake and Norm tried to bribe her with she will never speak the foul language. Never.

“Please, y/n. Just learn a little, that’s all I’m asking.” Norm pleaded with her in Na’vi, his head pressed against the table they was sitting at.

“No.” She simply replied, her small arms crossed against her chest as she looked around the room she was being held hostage in.

Jake let out a loud sigh. Kneeling on the floor (due to the fact that he couldn’t fit in a chair anymore) he looked y/n in the eyes, “y/n just learn a little so you can communicate with Norm. That’s all I’m asking. If something happens to you and Netyiri or I are not with you, you will be able to talk to and understand Norm.”

This made her pause, if something had happened to her in which she couldn’t get back to her family and clan then the next best option would be these people. As much as y/n didn’t want to agree with it, it was the truth. She grunted, “okay.” To which the two men sighed out in relief.

But that didn’t last long, because soon Neteyam, Kiri and Lo’ak was walking, running and talking! All her time was spent with her younger siblings. Being the oldest she had to look after them and make sure they wasn’t getting into trouble.

She would do anything for her siblings.

Taglist: @bubble-blu

#avatar fanfiction #avatar way of water #avatar x reader #jake sully x reader #jake sully x daughter!reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam fanfiction #lo’ak fanfic #lo’ak x reader #netyiri x reader #Kiri #kiri sully #tukitrey #sully family x niece!reader #sully family x reader #avatar way of water x reader #avatar x you #avatar x y/n

[piratefishmama]

Forgiven Not Forgotten | Part 2

Out of the estimated 10 to 15,000 people in Hawkins Indiana, several hundred left just after the earthquake, a handful of families left during the serial killings to protect their families, and the rest?

Those remaining amounted up to about three hospitals worth. Four maximum. Whatever terrors had wrought through Hawkins during those two years of radio silence… had decimated the population.

So when the Harringtons got the call, when Steve’s croaky voice filled that speaker, and told them exactly where he was, which hospital they’d been taken to, they hadn’t wasted a single second, they jumped into the car, and broke several speed laws to get there.

The sight that greeted them on the other side of those double doors would be forever seared into their minds.

Families they’d known, broken, missing members neither Lynda or John wanted to assume about, were they alive, being treated in one of the rooms, or were they lost, neither wanted to know, so they pushed through, eyes roaming those waiting to be seen or waiting for news on friends and family until someone familiar appeared.

Lynda spotted her first, her legs pulled up on the chair, arms tucked around her knees, surrounded by a small hoard of younger teens, all supporting various non-life threatening injuries and scars they probably didn’t want to speak about.

It was like they’d come from a warzone, clothes torn, patched up by rags tied in places to cover skin, dirty skin, hair matted, clinging to each other, haunted. Nothing life threatening, it looked like they were all just… waiting.

Waiting for people who knew them to turn up for them.

“Robin!!” Lynda gasped, loud enough to catch the girls attention, her head snapping up, eyes wide as the parents rushed forward, Robin rose to her feet, stumbled almost just in time to be gathered up into Lynda’s arms, much to her surprise. She didn’t fight it though, no… instead she melted into it, as though it was the first physical contact she’d had that didn’t involve fighting for her life in two whole years. “Where—where are your parents, Robin?”

“T-They… I don’t know, they got out… I think… but I—I haven’t seen them, I think people are still learning that they can come back, if they even want to come back, I mean… there isn’t much left back there for anyone to come back to—Steve! Steve you want—you want Steve right?” The other kids seemed to have perked up, watching the interaction in confusion.

“Where is he, Robin?” Robin looked to John, her gaze a mixture of uncertainty and hesitance. “Please… we know he’s here, he called us, sounded—”

“He’s been in and out, worlds best babysitter took a beating from something… big, protecting these idiots.” They hadn’t been made to sign anything yet, but it was hard to explain what exactly had come for them in the end without sounding like she should be in a hug me jacket getting thrown into a rubber room. “C’mon, I’ll take you to him.”

“Robin? Who’s—” one of the kids started to rise from his seat, or… not a kid, probably closer to a young adult at that point, forced to grow up far too quickly.

“Steve’s parents.”

“Holy shit, they exist?” Both parents cast similar frowns in the boys direction for that little quip “—sorry It’s just… I’ve known him for years and never met you, doesn’t even—”

“That’s enough Dustin” Robin cut him off, sharply but not unkindly. “You don’t know everything, just drop it. C’mon, this way.” She seemed to be walking on a limp, but she was walking, leading them down a corridor until she made it to a door left slightly ajar, the one opposite it flanked on either side by a pair of soldiers. The Harringtons assumed she’d be leading them to the other. But no. She stopped outside of the one closed too and looked at the pair like they’d personally offended her.

They didn’t even try and stop her when she grabbed the handle, instead stepping a little further apart to allow her and her guests to enter with her, John closed the door behind him.

The room was quiet, mostly, save for a radio playing quietly by the window, a genre that no-one would ever assume could be played quietly, and the steady beep of life saving machines. It wasn’t a large room, only big enough for a single bed, the machines, some room to walk around, and a couple of chairs, private, but it housed two people anyway. One on the bed, hooked up to all those machines, skin pale, scarred, his hair long and messy in a way Lynda would probably guess he’d had curls at one point.

Not anymore, it was just a matted mess by that point, one of his hands resting in the linens, handcuffs on his wrist linking him to the bed, the other wrapped in someone else’s grip.

That someone else… the other—

“Steven?” His head snapped up at his father’s voice, hand swiftly withdrawing from the man’s in the bed, his hair had been cut short, possibly to the scalp for convenience, the lengths seemingly only just growing back, he had scars around his neck from what looked like barbs, scars down his arms, both old and new, bruising, treated injuries that'd likely looked way worse when he was admitted.

another round of injuries his parents figured he'd struggle to tell them about.

He rose to his feet, he looked… thin beneath the hospital garbs they’d put him in. Thinner than he should have been, he’d always been broad but now… it was as though he hadn’t had a decent meal in two years. Likely living off of whatever they could scrounge together.

“Stevie, my baby…” Lynda’s voice sounded more like a pained whine, but it was the only warning Steve got before his mother lurched forward and wrapped him up in a fierce hug, adjusting only when her son winced and hissed in pain “you—you were s-supposed to—you were supposed to call to—to contact us, you—”

“I know… I know I—we got cut off, that call, it was the last one any of us could make, those bastards cut us off when they realised it wasn’t gonna be like the times before.” It wasn’t going to be a quick one and done. That the thing they were dealing with was much bigger than just one evil.

It was a whole hoard of evil. Not just Henry. Henry had back up in the form of a gigantic evil cloud, monsters of all shapes and sizes, and an arsenal of loved ones to use as his own personal puppets to terrorize and destroy the people left behind. Eddie being the only one actually there.

“The times before?” John’s voice had his son looking up from the hug his mother had trapped him in. His eyes seemed to dip “Steven… please…”

Steve shook his head, he couldn’t, not there anyway. “I’m fine though,” he’d change the subject instead, a regular instance in the Harrington household, hide the truth and mask it with an “I‘m fine” “bit banged up, but I’ll live…” he released the hold on his mother, even if she didn’t want to let go just yet.

“Who’s this…?” And they let it happen. Every time they let it happen, let the subject go, let it switch to something new, John would allow it for now, but… once out of there, once the dust settled, they’d be having that talk. For now, he was okay with letting the subject change. Aiming it instead at the elephant in the room.

The unconscious man in the bed his son had been holding onto moments ago. That ember, that tiny spark in his son, perhaps… perhaps it was still there.

“Eddie… he uh… he helped, at the end… he—we wouldn’t be alive without him… we thought—we thought he was dead for months but… he wasn’t.” Another touchy subject, but at least that one his son was willing to talk about.

“The handcuffs?”

“Police still think he killed a bunch of kids before the earthquake, the handcuffs are a ‘precaution’ apparently, as if he’s going anywhere.” The serial killer. Eddie Munson. Lynda’s head snapped to the man, eyes wide “he didn’t!” Steve was quick to assure her “It looked bad, it did, it looked like he did it, but he didn’t, he wouldn’t he—he’s good… he’s good. He saved us.”

“Saved you? How?”

“It’s hard to explain…”

Robin on the other hand, didn’t care quite as much as their son did when it came to hiding the facts. “Evil guy, Henry Creel, actual culprit in the Creel murders of ’59 and actual serial killer, we thought Eddie died before the earthquake cause he basically got ate alive by a bunch of evil bats, but Henry was using him as a henchman of sorts, kept him alive to use against us cause we all felt guilty over it which… y’know, fair, he didn’t have to stay involved but he did, and he got ate of course, we felt guilty. I dunno how, but he snapped out of it at like… the last minute, and bought us enough time to take him down, now he’s just…” she motioned to the bed, the steady beep of the monitor going off rhythmically. “We got him out this time though.”

“…What?” Both Harringtons asked in unison.

“Robin” Steve hissed.

“What? Jeez, they haven’t made us sign anything yet.”

“…Sign something? What do you mean sign something?” Lynda looked between them, the two young adults clearly exhausted. “Steven? What have you signed?”

“NDA’s mom, each time, they’ve forced us to sign these Non-Disclosur—”

“Who?”

“Y’know… the government?”

There was something distinctly satisfying about watching a 5’4" woman demolishing a government agent. Something almost the entirety of the Party managed to witness when someone from said government finally decided to grace them with their presence to sign those pretty shut your mouth documents they were so fond of dolling out.

John Harrington watched with what could only be described as a dopey grin on his face as he leaned in to whoever was closest, this being one very tired Mike Wheeler, to say “You know she majored in Contract Law back in the day? Minor in Ethics too. God look at her go.” Totally and completely smitten over his own wife’s rage.

Apparently forcing minors to sign NDA’s, while technically legal for them to scribble on the dotted line, couldn’t actually be held up anywhere in court due to age and how dare they force children, not just her OWN but other children to sign that shit without a parent or legal guardian present.

It ended with her loudly declaring that “NOBODY in this hallway will be signing your goddamn papers, and as for the previous ones? You’ll be hearing from our lawyers.” Then, on her heel she turned, and returned to the group, leaving a stunned government agent floundering in the hallway having clearly expected an easy ride. “Everyone, get your things, you’re coming home with us.” Too revved up to stop just yet.

“Excuse me, why would we go with you? Ain’t you ever heard of stranger danger, ma’am?”

“Erica Sinclair, I held you when you were just 3 months old and I bought you and your brother your first strollers, now get your backside out to that car this instant.” Erica shut up, momentarily subdued, but she did have to wonder when exactly her parents had met the Harringtons, later, questions for later. Maybe when she and her brother found their parents. “We have a house with two bathrooms and enough food to feed an army, let’s go.” Not quite the six bathroom four bedroom estate they’d had in Hawkins but…

They weren’t going back there. Nobody was going back there.

The modest two bed close by would do as home base for now, even if it wasn’t quite big enough to hold everyone, they’d make do. John stepped forward to add, “we have a working phone too, get you in touch with the people you need to be in touch with, and we’ll let the front desk know to inform anyone who comes looking where you’ve gone. It’ll be okay, let’s get you out of here and cleaned up.”

“Mom… I’m not leaving Eddie, we’re not… not again, he’s—he’s all on his own I—I can’t.”

“Honey…” Lynda started, but… that little boy they’d long since watched withdraw into himself, he was just… there, for the briefest of moments, showing himself, his emotions, raw, and tired, but it was enough, her son was in there, clawing back to the surface, she wasn’t about to ruin it now. “How about we go home, we get you all cleaned up, get you something to eat, and then we come back and figure out what to do about Eddie, how’s that sound?”

“We have plenty of world class lawyers on our side, Son, we’ll get him out of here in no time, just… let’s get you cleaned up first, Okay? The house is only half an hour away.” Close, they’d be close, the hesitation on all of their faces though, this poor boy, whoever he was… they all hesitated to leave him, there was a lot of love in that hallway, each one as determined as the last to stay with their friend.

“…Alright shitheads, to the car.” Not a single one of those kids argued, Steve was in charge, but Mike and Lucas both hung back.

“I’m gonna stay with the Byers, Nance, Holly, and my mom are with them so—”

“An I’m gonna stick with Max until her mom gets here.” Doctors said she could wake up at any time after her brain activity kicked back up when the dust settled… when Henry died. He wanted to be there when she did. “I’ll be fine though, promise.”

And when Lynda stepped forward to hand Mike a little card with a number scribbled on it, saying “This is our home number, If anything changes with your friend, Eddie while we’re gone, call us, okay? We’ll be right back here in a flash.” She caught the faint smile on her sons face in her peripheral vision.

Baby steps.

Part 4

#PirateWrites #ForgivenNotForgottenFiclet #Steddie #Post!S5 #Mentions of Kas Eddie #Hurt/Comfort #Miscommunication

[weirdmorefics]

bridgerton sister ran away just before the beginning of her season and discovered by Colin in St Petersburg under a fake identity and bought back home

The Familiar Barmaid

x bridgerton!sister

Pronouns- She/her

Warning- Mother issues

Word Count- 933

Summary- The reader wants to be an author, but unfortunately, she has a season to get back to.

Y/n Bridgerton had never dreamed of being married like her other sisters (Eloise excluded). Y/n loved reading, she imagined her own stories and stashed her written stories under her bed. She craved to be an author like the ones who made the books she admired. Her mother however had other plans for her since day one; come out, become the diamond of the season, and be courted by a handsome gentleman I loved who hopefully had an amazing title. I never craved that life I much preferred to live in the fantasy worlds I created in my head. This leads us to my escape from the Bridgerton household the night before my season.

I had packed the most important things to me; my writings, my favorite books, and the leftover money I had been saving from my gown fittings. I quietly took my horse out of the stable at night and rode the horse to a place no one would know Y/n Bridgerton.

I rode my horse for as far as she could go taking breaks in dingy inns that my Mother wouldn't dare to step foot in. By the time I was in St Petersburg, I was already short on funds. It was a better place to settle than most it had gorgeous views and so many new things to write about. As luck would have it the bar in town was looking for a barmaid. Unfortunately, the bar owner could tell very easily that I had no experience. Shockingly he gave me a chance! He said I reminded him of his daughter who recently married so her room above the bar was also available. It felt like fate like I had been sucked into my very own fantasy book.

I spent my days writing in the nearby park and the nights dealing with town drunks. Honestly, they weren't too bad just demanding their drinks. I learned quickly and I became their favorite barmaid only because I made the drinks the fastest but it still made me feel accomplished. It was a bittersweet feeling to have the town drunks appreciate me more than my mother but at least I was appreciated.

I felt true relief once the season was over no longer worried they would find me and make me a last-minute entry. The bar was just closing and I was washing the grimy tables when the chime of the door startled me. The man was bundled his scarf nearly covering his whole face.

I turned to him and frowned politely "I am so sorry sir we are just closing."

The man gasps once he hears me speak "Y/N?"

I quickly back up accidentally sending a chair to the ground with a loud thud, "I think you have the wrong woman sir."

My boss exits the backroom at the commotion, "This fella bothering you Rose?"

"Are you serious Y/n? Rose? Be a little more original," the man unwraps his scarf and my fists immediately tighten.

"Colin, what are you doing here?" I practically growl.

"You know this man Rose? Seems a little too uptight for you, but I am not here to judge your taste in suitors." My boss chuckles finding his comment hilarious.

Colin gags, "That is my little sister I'll have you know! And I am bringing you right home Mother has been worried sick about you!"

I roll my eyes "She probably did not even know about my absence until Lady Whistledown announced it. How did she cover it up? Am I in the States visiting my cousins?"Colin's face turns beat red which tells me I am right.

Colin tries to change the subject, "Your sisters miss you dearly, Daphne was devasted you were not there for her wedding."

I gasped, "Daphne is already married! The season just ended!"

Colin rubbed his arm, "There were a lot of issues with this season Y/n… honestly we all could have used some of that Y/n wisdom. I especially could have used some of that wisdom." He mumbled the last part seeming very embarrassed to admit it.

"Oh, Colin… I am so sorry. I miss my siblings all dearly but I am not meant for the home carer life. I am meant to be out there writing about anything I can get my hands on." I gesture to the world around me.

"That is one good thing about your departure, no one thinks you are Lady WhistleDown anymore," He smirks.

"Oh what a pity I did like causing fear and scaring the men off with the promise to write about them," I smile.

Colin sighs, "I will make you a deal Y/n, travel with me during my studies. You can explore the world that way, but you must write to Mother and the rest of your siblings and let them know you are safe."

"You know she or Anthony will just drag me back home," I frown.

"Not with me by your side, I am sure I can convince Anthony and she can convince Mama." He smiles as the plan begins to form in his head.

I smiley widely, "You have yourself a deal Colin Bridgerton."

He smiles back as my boss lets out a few stray tears, "You truly are just like my daughter, just as stubborn and hot-headed. Be sure to visit your welcome back anytime."

I gave him a side hug, "Oh boss you big old softie."

Colin laughs, "Y/n you are truly something."

"Why thank you," I take a bow. "Shall we take our leave?"

"We shall," Colin smiles.

#bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x sister reader #bridgerton request #bridgerton reader insert #colin bridgerton x you #colin bridgerton x reader

[floralcavern]

This fandom seriously just… frustrates me to the point where I’m writing this rant. 

This fandom does not understand flawed and complex characters. 

And, uh. Let’s talk about that. 

How they treat David and Exer:

The amount of bias this fandom holds for Exer and David is astounding. “Oh, the gay boys! They’re so sweet and wouldn’t hurt anyone!” (Paraphrasing, obviously, but this fandom does seriously put them on a pedestal)

When David and Exer were introduced, from very early on, they were shown to be heavily flawed characters. 

Exer is responsible for the entire story. He tricked Jackson to going to the girl’s changing room, which is what kicked off everything. Jackson getting bullied and harassed, Jackson eventually having his name cleared, Jackson not trusting the REDs, Jackson eventually learning about Exer’s powers, Exer having his powers found out, etc. This all started because Exer fucked with Jackson. He gaslit him to hell and back, he harassed him, he was jealous that Jackson was getting close with Brenda, his ex who he felt very possessive over. 

And David? David is a follower. He hears people saying “Jackson did something bad” and he immediately turned on Jackson, not hearing him out. Gossiping about him, talking shit to his face, letting people bully and harass him. And I understand that it was his sister, so he’s bound to feel more protective. But what happens when he learns it was actually Pamela who was ‘harassed’ by Jackson? He doesn’t care. 

And that moves me to David and Exer’s treatment of Pamela. Exer, like with Jackson, gaslit the shit out of her. He bullied her, called her a witch, called her creepy and a stalker and a liar. And he did this even though he knew she was right. He let people bully this poor girl to the point where she’s a loner with no friends and is picked on every day. 

I’m not saying Exer isn’t a good character. He actually has one of my favorite character arcs! But quit putting David and Exer on pedestals. Quit acting like they didn’t have any of the bad shit Jackson’s did to them coming. 

Speaking of Jackson…:

 Holy shit. This fandom is ruthless to Jackson Smith. And for no gosh damn reason. 

“He’s mean to Exer and David!”

Did you miss the whole ‘Exer and David harassing him in the same way they did to Pamela’ thing? They literally ruined all of his friendships and his social status. Jackson was just the new kid trying to fit in and they never gave him that chance. 

“He’s so emo and cringe!”

He is literally so depressed that he has to go to therapy. Exer and David bullied him so he is constantly guarded and has serious trust issues since they were his friends. 

“He’s using the diary to control Exer’s life and ruin it!”

Season 3 premier shows otherwise. He’s only testing out the diary to see what it can do. You telling me that if you didn’t have a magical diary that can control the universe centered around someone, you wouldn’t test it out? Don’t you lie to me. And he hasn’t even done anything horrible. In fact, he uses the diary as a way to try and help Exer and David after William kicked David out of the house. He may not like Exer, but he has good morals. He’s not going to let someone who is suffering be open to any harm. That’s why he used the diary to try and protect them both. And when it backfired, he decided to stop using the diary. He didn’t want anyone to get hurt or for anything bad to happen. 

“He beat up David!”

There we go again, putting Exer and David on pedestals. Guys, you’re blowing it way outta proportion. Jackson was in a fist fight with Exer, David tried to intervene and got kicked in the face. You know how people tell you don’t try to stop two dogs fighting unless you want to get bit? That’s what happened here. 

Jackson is literally just a traumatized kid. He lost his mom at a young age g age and moved to a new place and was hoping to make some new friends. His ‘friends’ immediately turn their backs on him and harass him. He learns one of them is behind everything that caused this? Ya, don’t tell me you wouldn’t be fucking pissed either. 

We are the audience. We have more insight to these character’s mind and situations than Jackson does. Put yourself into his perspective. 

Anyways, thank you for coming to my TED Talk. Make sure to pet Lucy-furr on your way out. 

#Jackson’s diary #Jackson smith #exer campbell #david miller #pamela lopez #Rant #fandom rant

[dycefic]

The Strange Case Of The Amateur Detective

At some point, surely someone must notice the pattern... right? Note: Beginning slightly edited for clarity.

##

It took a while, but I’ve convinced Maggie to tell me when she goes out of town. I’ll feel better, I say, if I know for sure where she is when a body makes the news.

Which is true, of course. The sheer frequency with which that little lunatic does it keeps me awake at nights. But it also enables me to take certain precautions.

Like this one.

“Hello, Branford County Police Station, Constable Ford speaking.”

“Hello, Constable Ford, this is Detective Inspector Winsbury. I’m going to need to speak to whoever is in charge there about a possible murder.”

As usual, there was some back and forth at that point, but eventually I got through to an Inspector. “What do you mean, a possible murder?!” he asked, irritated.

“Just what I said. Tell me, Inspector, have you ever had dealings with an amateur detective? The real thing, I mean. The genuine Carrion Crow.”

His tone went from hostile to guarded. “I’ve… heard some things. Never met one.”

“You’re about to. Mine’s visiting Branford, ostensibly to see an old school friend, and I wouldn’t bet you the price of a beer that she’s not going to show up to report a murder within a few days.”

“You can’t possibly - “

“Her count’s at fourteen, to my certain knowledge.”

“And you’re sure she’s not just a very clever serial killer?”

They usually ask that. It’s understandable, if a bit annoying. “Not only have I been physically with her at the time three of the murders were committed, two were committed before she was born. That’d be pretty damned clever, don’t you think?”

“Oh, hell.”

“Yes. If you’ve got any old missing persons cases, or unsolved murders, get the files out and refresh your memory. I’d go back at least fifty years, if I were you. Focus on anything mysterious or that got covered up.”

“She’s likely to find a fifty-year-old corpse?!”

“I was standing right there when she found a hundred-and-nine year old set of remains in the walls of an old church she was helping to renovate, less than five minutes into the renovations.”

He let out a heartfelt groan. “Oh no.”

“It’s not so bad,” I said encouragingly. “Maggie’s better than a cadaver dog for finding remains, although even she doesn’t know how she does it, and even better at putting together evidence. She’s got a knack for seeing patterns where nobody else does. Whatever case she turns up, she’ll help you solve it within… oh, probably a few days, a week at most.”

“Really?” The Inspector sounded like he was wavering between skepticism and hope. “I’ve heard stories about Carrion Crows and their closure rate, but I can’t say I ever believed them.”

“Believe them. The longest it’s ever taken her was a month, and that was because she spent two weeks in hospital in the middle of it, and there was a delay on some of the evidence.” I leaned back in my chair, putting my feet up on my desk. “She’s pretty cooperative, as a rule. Not one of those ones who wants to beat the police - she’ll work with you if you let her. If you don’t, she’ll solve it anyway and make you look like a real chump, so let her. Stay on her, though, because she’s got a bit of an impulse control problem when she’s on a scent.”

“She’s likely to run into danger?”

“Mmm, no, not often - she’s just turned fifty, she’s slowing down a bit - but keeping her from touching the evidence can be a problem. She knows not to, but sometimes in the heat of the moment she forgets.”

“Ah. Yes, I see.”

“If you’ve got any strapping young lads or lasses who show some promise, assign one to her. She’s usually pretty nice to anyone under thirty if they make a mistake, but she gets snippy at someone she thinks is old enough to know better. They’ll learn a lot.”

“And she won’t ditch them?”

“Almost never if they’re polite, especially if you ask her to keep an eye on them. Just make sure they don’t argue with her too much, or scoff at her deductions, or she will absolutely ditch them and they will never know how she did it. Even I don’t know, and we’ve been working together for years.”

“I see.” He sighed, and the faint rasping was probably a hand rubbing over his chin. “A real Carrion Crow. Does she know… why?”

“What made her Death’s favourite girl? No. They usually don’t. I know there’s always stories about the murder of a loved one setting them on the path, but that’s actually pretty rare.” I’d done a lot of research, after I realized what Maggie was. “Most Carrion Crows have no idea why they start finding bodies. There’s no consistent trigger for it.”

“No kind of pattern at all?”

“Well, no, I didn’t say that. There’s no consistency about trigger events, but Carrion Crows themselves do tend to conform to a certain type. They’re usually very detail-oriented, and good at analyzing patterns. They’re always curious. If presented with half a story, they can’t resist finding the other half. They’re usually self-employed, or retired on a moderate income, or in a job that allows them a lot of snooping time, like a reporter or researcher.”

“That makes sense,” he said slowly. “The… gift, or whatever it is, comes to people who have the time and ability to use it.”

“Almost invariably.” I examined the scuffed toe of one of my boots. “And they care about people. They’re compassionate. I’ve never encountered or heard of a real Carrion Crow who was selfish.”

“Carrion Crows are always good people?” Now he just sounded confused.

“That depends on your definition of good. Criminals have been Crows in the past. One of the earliest confirmed cases of a Carrion Crow was a young pickpocket in London in the 1820s. But they’re people who care about other people. It’s one of the reasons they find out so much more than we do - people under pressure respond to kindness and compassion. It makes them want to confide.”

“Ahhhh.” He sounded enlightened. “That I understand. I have a sergeant like that. Got a face like a gargoyle, but everyone loves him because he’s just… kind, to everyone. People tell him all sorts of things.”

“Maybe don’t pair him up with Maggie, or they might achieve some sort of critical mass. A tea-party could spontaneously form around them.” I laughed at that mental image. “Anyway, if a tiny little middle-aged lady with big brown eyes and a horrible cardigan shows up and tells you there’s been a murder, take her seriously.”

“Will do. Thanks for the warning.”

I left my name and number, in case they needed more help, then hung up.

Nobody knows what causes a person to become a Carrion Crow. They’re not common, and you can spend a whole career in law enforcement without meeting one. But sometimes, for reasons nobody’s ever been able to explain, a hitherto perfectly ordinary person turns into a magnet for murder. It’s as if Death itself just taps them on the shoulder and says ‘you’. As if Death itself wants murders to be solved, the lost dead found, the unknown dead named, and their killers brought to justice.

Who knows? Maybe it does. All I know is, they need a close eye kept on them. A lot of Crows wind up murdered themselves, by someone desperate not to be caught. That’s why I call ahead every time Maggie leaves town. Why I’ll even follow her, if I can’t get the local police to listen to me.

Maggie cares about people, living and dead. And I care about Maggie. Anyone trying to kill her is going to have to get past me.

#original fiction #short story #surely in a universe in which this can happen #it doesn't only happen once #and sooner or later #people will notice

[jacks347]

(Is this stupid enough to be considered a crack fic?? Idk, we're going with it)

To say Hipswitch was surprised to see a woman sitting in his base next to Albus would be an overstatement.

Now, to say he was surprised to see said woman be so...dressed while sipping a cup of tea, that was accurate.

He'd never seen the demon bring back anyone who wore so many layers. Hell, now that he was really thinking about it, he hadn't really seen Albus bring back anyone at all. From the headscarf covering her hair to the skirt that brushed at her ankles and all the fabric and layerage of jewelry in-between, Hipswitch was getting warm just watching her.

The woman turned, smiling politely at him. She was rather pretty, warm brown skin with dark green eyes. Not necessarily someone he'd consider Albus’s type but everyone had their exceptions. "Hello there. You must be Hipswitch." Her voice was quiet and flowed like honey. She reminded Hipswitch of the ladies of the church in town, always speaking softly with inviting smiles. Definitely not Albus’s usual type. What, had he really gotten that bored?

"That I am. And who might you be?" Hipswitch took a seat across from the odd duo, eyes darting between the two in bewilderment. Albus huffed out a laugh, wrapping an arm around the woman's shoulders. "This is Faith. She a, ah, friend of mine." The woman, Faith, rolled her eyes with a small chuckle. "Mm, sure, friend. Let's go with that." She hummed as she took a sip of her tea.

Hipswitch nodded slowly, still going back and forth between them. It was very strange but he couldn't say he didn't appreciate the change. Hell, he welcomed it. Faith was polite, she was far more dressed than he expected, and she seemed very sweet. It almost brought a tear to Hipswitch's eye. "Well it's very nice to meet you. I've gotta say Albus, she's certainly a might better for you than the others from the whore house."

There was an audible beat of silence before it was broken by both a roar of laughter from Albus and a rather impressive spit take from Faith who was now coughing like mad as she tried to regain her composure while Albus was nearly doubled over in hysterics. Hipswitch was left rather confused, not exactly understanding why what he said had caused such a visceral reaction. "Did I say something wrong?"

The statement only made Albus laugh harder as Faith finally recovered, her cheeks flaming red and her face a heavy mask of embarrassment before kicking Albus in the shin. "Stop laughing! I've never been so mortified in all my life." She dropped her face into her hands, shaking her head before pulling herself back up. "How do I put this lightly..." Faith mumbled as Albus’s laughter finally petered off. "Oh Switchy, Faith is a sister paladin." He corrected, making Hipswitch raise an eyebrow in confusion. "A what?"

"A nun." Came a surprised voice, making Hipswitch jump as he turned to find the source of it. "Hey Doc, how long have you been standing there? Almost gave me a heart attack. And how do you know that?" The doctor leaned against the doorframe, staring at Hipswitch with a wide-eyed expression between shock and horror. "When Albus came on I decided to do some research on the medical practices of New Tennessee. Maybe there would be something there to help better treat Albus if I needed to. And well, most of the information was from or about the sister paladins. They're the main form of healthcare, they're essentially priestesses who learn medicine to take of the knight paladins. But they're known to treat anyone who comes to their temples." The realization slowly dawned on Hipswitch, his eyes widening as it did. No wonder she reminded him so much of the women of the church, she was one of them! Oh he fucked up. He fucked up bad.

"So, in case you missed it in that grand fucking speech, you just called a nun a hooker directly to her face." Albus clarified, though he really didn't need to. Faith sighed, the initial embarrassment fading into a kind of indignant rage. "Can I slap him?" Albus snorted a laugh, flashing a sly grin at Hipswitch. "Oo, watch out there Switchy. She's got a mean backhand and I'm almost willing to let her do it. You kind of deserve it." Hipswitch wished he could disappear. "I-I am so sorry ma'am! I would never think of implying you would be that kind of woman, I just assumed-" He spluttered an embarrassed apology, making Albus burst into another round of hysterical laughter as Faith cut him off with a shake of her head. "Don't apologize, I know you didn't mean it. You worked with what you knew, I can't blame you for that. Though I do still want to slap you. And you do kind of deserve it."

Faith got to her feet stiffly, fixing the layers of her outfit and narrowing her eyes at a still laughing Albus. "I think I've seen enough of Maya for one day. I've got to pick Kerano up from school." She leaned down to poke a finger into the warrior's chest. "Don't make me come back out here to check up on you. Had me worried sick for nothing." Albus’s laughter faded as he lightly smacked her hand away. "Gods, yes, I know. I won't, I promise." She nodded with a satisfied huff before turning to the doctor. "I'm glad I could help with your research, you know how to reach me if you have any more questions." "Of course! Thank you again, Sister. It's been very insightful having you here. I should go continue to look over those notes." He turned and headed back into his office as Faith turned to Hipswitch. "And you." Hipswitch gulped, expecting the worst. Maybe that slap Albus had warned him about. "Maybe actually talk to someone before assuming they're some kind of common hooker. I take my faith very seriously and even if I didn't, I'd be far outside of his price range." She smiled warmly before turning on her heel and heading for the door. "See you again boys!"

Albus’s head dropped back onto the couch with a snort. "Outside my price range, she's crazy." He muttered. Hipswitch quietly got up and moved closer to punch Albus in the chest, making the demon wheeze out a breath as his head snapped up to glare at him. "Fucking hell, what was that for?" "For not warning me! I made a damn fool of myself in front of a nun because of you!" "Well, she's not really a nun, she's a priestess." "Regardless! She's a woman of faith and I disrespected her in the worst way possible!" Albus waved his concerns off. "Ah don't sweat it. Give it a week, she'll be laughing over it. It was damn funny." "You're actually the worst, you know that?" "Oh I am well aware Switchy. You're not the first to notice." Hipswitch could only roll his eyes. Why did he have to care about this idiot so much? "Okay but tell me one thing." "Whatcha got Switchy?" "Have you actually slept with her?" "Would you be jealous if I said yes?" "Albus..." Albus chuckled lowly, shaking his head. "Sorry Switchy, this is one time I don't kiss and tell. That's up to you to figure out." He confessed with a shrug. "Out of all the escapades you've rambled on about, this is the one you keep quiet about?" "Faith is different, okay? She...she deserves to not have her story told. So I won't." He defended. Hipswitch sighed in defeat, stepping back. "I'll never understand how your head works." "Good, I don't either. So looks like we'll both be confused."

(...idfk how to end this so this is what you get. Yes I made this entire thing because there is a non-zero chance that Hipswitch would assume Faith is a hooker the first time he met her and that was so damn funny to me)

#its 3am #can you tell #im very tired #but this had to be done #before it drove me insane #so here we are #im going to bed now #goodnight #i think too much #asmr roleplay #good boy audios #gba bastards vs zombies #gba bastard warrior #gba albus #gba faithful #gba hipswitch #gba mahatma #fanfic #fanfic writing #crack fic #fluff

[mageknight14]

The Dangers and Flaws of Idolization: A NEO TWEWY analysis post

Transplanting and expanding on a thread I made on Twitter to fit within a Tumblr format.

One of the most interesting aspects I see in NEO TWEWY that I don’t see many people touch upon is the commonality between Rindo, Fret, and Shoka in how they look up to others as role models while simultaneously being blind to their flaws/who they actually are up to the end and how the game's themes are reflected in those relationships and today, I'd like to showcase why.

First, we have Rindo and Motoi. With that relationship, the game makes it pretty clear that Rindo looked up to Motoi as An0ther and used his words as encouragement to get through his own daily life and anxiety. The kid could barely decide what he could even eat for dinner before he had come across the account, so if you thought his current indecisiveness nature was bad, he was even worse before the events of the game.

However, what I find interesting is that even though he constantly spouts An0ther's sayings in an attempt to try and steel himself for the challenges he faces, he thoughtlessly does so and only lives by the sayings half-heartedly, since his indecisive nature and fear of responsibility prevent him from committing all the way. I think it's telling that despite claiming that "don't miss your chance to make a friend" is one of his favorite quotes, he's constantly at odds with the idea of bringing potentially new players on board the team even before he gets the chance to properly know/meet them and grimaces at the thought of the structure of the old Reaper's Game in the original.

Keep in mind that Beat saved Rindo's life at the hands of Susukichi at least two whole days ago before this occurrence.

Nagi’s Dive into his head on W1D3 actually does a LOT to reveal aspects of his character: he puts other people at arm’s length (besides Swallow due to their online anonymity) because he’s afraid of the fallout of what would to happen if he got involved with them.

"What if I end up taking on more than I can handle? What if other people end up dragging me down with them? If I just stay at the sidelines and shift the blame onto others, I won’t get into trouble for this."

"I'm in a group project; everybody is contributing and making decisions about how we should go about doing things. I keep my mouth shut and refrain from pitching in despite maybe thinking some of their ideas misses the point of the assignment, because God forbid my ideas could be helpful (or maybe they won't; that's life, but I won't know unless i speak up). We end up handing in our project and whoops, we got a C-. I guess I'm not responsible for receiving that grade because I never made a decision, therefore I shouldn't be accountable for my lack of contribution. It just makes sense."

If you've known/are a person that have had similar thoughts to this mindset, then congrats; you know/are a Rindo Kanade in real life.

This culminates into him latching onto others he finds capable and taking the relationships around him for granted, tying other people's worth to their prowess in might or influence. After all, why bother relying on yourself and others when you can just rely on someone else for you to solve your problems? Especially since it means that if everything goes south, YOU won’t take the fallout for it. After all, they’re clearly much more capable than you are.

To get back to his dynamic with Motoi, Rindo looks up to him immensely after finding out that he was his idol an0ther and came to value his input regarding matters within the Game. So when he eventually finds out the truth and is forced to confront the fact that his hero was nothing more than a content thief and a schemer who would trample over others just to survive, he’s understandably heartbroken.

However, instead of just leaving it there, the game decides to flip the script and have Motoi legitimately apologize to Rindo for his actions, leading to the lad in question learning to recognize that Motoi is ultimately an incredibly flawed human being instead of just writing him off entirely, (even giving him another chance!) and is, in many ways, a mirror to Rindo. Like Rindo, Motoi was deathly afraid of responsibility and the fallout of letting other people down, leading to him copying and pasting other people's quotes so that he wouldn't have to face that possibility. This aspect of himself only got worse when he got trapped in the Reaper's Game for multiple loops on end, forcing him to become a worse version of himself, lying, cheating, and backstabbing just to survive and even looking towards becoming part of the Reapers, the same group that trapped him there in the first place, just so he wouldn't have to be Erased, un a manner that's eerily reminiscent to how Rindo would took towards overly relying on others so that he would make it out okay. In that sense, Motoi is a look at what a grown-up Rindo would look like if he didn't take the lessons he learned within the Game to heart, which is part of why the latter decides to take Motoi’s copypasted quotes and apply them to his life in a positive way, deriving his own meaning from them so that in a way that contrasts him following them in a shallow manner from before.

Next up, we have Fret and Kanon, who form a interesting parallel to Rindo and Motoi's dynamic. Whereas Motoi is a look at one of the worst possible paths that Rindo could take if he didn't learn how to properly deal with his flaws, Kanon actually tries to coach Fret into becoming more true to and genuine with his actual self. She also shows herself to be a genuinely affable and honorable person even in spite of the bad first impression that she had given at the beginning of the game by stealing Rindo and Fret's pin for herself.

However, that's only the surface level stuff, as the game actually goes deeper with her character. While Kanon at first seems to be true to herself and genuine at her core in a way that Fret isn’t, we can see from the Dive into her head on W3D3 that she’s holding back a LOT underneath the surface.

"You always did have a way of destroying things" tends to get glossed over by some and for those who do look at the words, they seemingly come out of nowhere and can be seemingly brushed off as her just being under the influence of the Plague Noise. However , when you look back at some of Kanon’s actions and her words towards the Twisters (accusing the Twisters of sabotaging Fuya and making Motoi drop out of the Scramble Slam against his will, her mood changing when she finds out about Fuya challenging the Ruinbringers in one timeline as opposed to her more cheerful attitude towards Fret when she didn't find that out just yet, her acting suspicious towards the Twisters regarding their prowess as a team, etc), the implication is that she doesn’t just resent the game as a whole but also secretly the Twisters as well.

The thing about the Player teams is that they have formed an unspoken agreement where the top 3 teams (sans Ruinbringers of course) keep their footing by sending new players and other teams to last place, which the Wicked Twisters screw up just by existing. Their synergy and impressive Imagination powers (well, Fret, Nagi, and Sho’s at least) threaten the balance the teams have struggled to keep up for so long, hence why Kanon initially just sees them as another team to point snipe before she changes her mind on them. And while the Twisters do almost bring about change by beating the Ruinbringers, it ultimately doesn’t even matter in the long-run due to how incredibly rigged the Shinjuku game is and as a result, the DRS are eliminated, getting rid of Kanon’s and Motoi’s safety net.

Imagine this from the players’ perspective: you’re stuck in essentially what is a never-ending death game but you’ve got a system going where you can at least stave off your deaths for a bit longer. Then a couple of kids come around and throw that whole system entirely out of whack. And you think, "well, at least they can take out the top team and give us a fighting chance, right?" Only for those hopes to also get dashed because the rules are just that rigged. Like Kubo said, life ain’t fair and the afterlife sure as hell ain’t either. W1D5 and W2D4 are excellent explorations of this kind of mindset as it showcases the player teams falling victim to their desires and abusing their powers as a result of being stuck in an endless loop of playing the Game over and over again with no hope of escaping, as well as highlights paints certain comments made by the leaders in an even darker light.

With all of this in mind, it’s honestly no wonder that Kanon resents the Twisters but what’s interesting is that she tries to keep this resentment under wraps because she knows that it isn’t fair to them. They’re just kids after all who would have no idea about all of that. Hence why she admonishes herself in her Dive for wishing that they had just wipe out the Reapers altogether and why Fret is shown to be hurt hearing her inner thoughts about the Twisters in a way that’s pretty reminiscent of Rindo’s reaction when he found out about Motoi.

And finally, we have Shoka and Ayano. While it’s pretty clear that the two do genuinely care for one another, it’s a relationship that’s been tragically scarred by the events surrounding Shinjuku and the Reapers in general, resulting in a mutually unhealthy dynamic. 

What I find interesting about the relationship is that while Shoka gets pissed whenever Rindo insinuates that Ayano must’ve treated her badly, she sadly realizes in another convo that she doesn’t know much about Ayano on a personal level or what her interests even are.

In spite of how close they are and how much they mean to each other, Ayano still put up emotional walls and closed herself off, never allowing herself to be on equal footing to Shoka and instead just be someone who guides and mentors her over the 4 years they were together.

This is due to her feeling betrayed by Shiba/others while simultaneously using Shoka as her one stable point in life regardless because everything is going up into chaos surrounding the Shinjuku Reapers and she finds herself unable to trust anyone around her anymore. And Shoka herself doesn't even realize this until the end when it’s too late because she was just happy to simply have Ayano by her side without thinking deeper about her and their relationship as a whole due to her own emotional issues and troubled past.

When it comes to children from broken homes, they are prone to imprinting on any adult figure that interacts positively with them and in Shoka's case, this is exactly what she did with the Shinjuku Reapers, especially Ayano.

A running theme throughout all of these instances is how they all involve the younger generation looking up to the adults in their lives as idols as opposed to just role models and thus fail to see them for who they are as actual human beings. And by the time they that finally do, it's too late for the adults.

You also see nods towards this theme via the Shinjuku Reapers and their relationship with Shiba or Shiba’s (who himself is parallel to Rindo if his tendency to subconsciously take on the values of others and mistake his as his own was twisted into the worst possible outcome) relationship with Kubo, with Hishima even flat out stating as such. "You fell at the feet of an idol like an utter fool", indeed.

And this all fits, as well, into NEO's larger theme that even as a 'follower', you have to question the 'leader'. Role models aren't bad -- but idols and failing to recognize their limits/flaws/toxicity are and will end up screwing you over in the long run if you aren’t careful. And I think NEO did an excellent job at exploring the little nuances that come with that, from Kanon’s internal resentment she knew wasn’t fair to the unseen distance between Ayano and Shoka to Motoi being a complete deconstruction of it all. It shows the good and the bad of idolizing someone too much. It shows how you can see the real them and turn the image you liked into something more with Rindo, or how to hold them in your heart while moving on like Shoka. It's okay to acknowledge the flaws and shortcomings of the people you look up to. Hell, it’s probably healthy to do that in some ways. As long as they’re still a good person or even helped you grow, you can still celebrate the good they brought

#neo twewy #twewy #the world ends with you #neo the world ends with you #analysis post #rindo kanade #shoka sakurane #tosai furesawa #fret furesawa #kanon tachibana #motoi anazawa #ayano kamachi #ntwewy