#i might continue dis lol

[snazzydwarf]

DP X DP Prompt: A White Robins Visage

We all know about the AUs of Danny being Jason's alternate version aye?

Well what about Danny being the ghost of Jason. More specifically the ghost of his Robin.

Picture this:

When Jason was killed at the hands of the joker he appeared within The Zone. Wearing his Robin uniform that was now covered in blood and soot. The greens barely seen underneath all the burgundy red.

However when he was revived/resurrected he wasn't quite... whole. Things of his past escaped him, almost as if the memories where covered in a thick fog.

It was assumed this was because of the pits. That it somehow scrambled his brain and caused not only the pit rage but also the slight memory loss and cloudyness.

However what no one knew was that when Jason left the zone to the mortal world. Something or rather someone was left behind.

Robin, now called Danny, has only ever known a life within the Ghost Zone. The small boy would be often caught running around with a large smile despite the large, gaping wound on his temple. Right bellow a large patch of black hair, the rest being stark white colour.

Somedays his form would flicker to that of someone older, in a brighter set of clothing. Almost of that you would see in a superhero movie, the once eyecatching colours have been speckled with blood. It's unknown if it came from his bleeding head or there was more injuries underneath his clothing, but no one had the heart to ask. Only Frostbite, the best healer in the Far Frozen knows the answers but refuses to speak of them. His eyes would sadden whenever it was asked, so the topic was dropped.

But one thing was certian. This boy had been so brutalized, so beaten and damaged it reflected in his ghost form. It's known that Ghosts can heal from almost anything given enough time and rest, but sometimes there where wounds that could never heal. Not unless you scared over those in your mind first.

An example of this would be Ember. The burns that once covered her body has slowly faded over time as she has come to terms with her own passing. Now only the ones on her back remain, the most important one as a flaming beam had fallen on her before she could escape the burning inferno. The smoke took her mind, but the fire took her body.

Seeing little Danny run around with the forever gushing laceration caused a grave sense of sadness to sweep those who saw him. How young, a little spark blown out before it had the time to be the light they all knew he would've became.

So it was rather a shock when one of the Bats saw the face of a younger Jason infrount of them. Sitting upon the grave of their brother humming a tune long forgotten by the older version, but forever remembered by the younger.

Flowers dropped from their hands as the second Robin turned around, domino mask wide beneath the white and black hair.

Wait... didn't they just see Jason a few days prior? Who is this? Who is wearing their brothers clothing that they swore was still displayed within the tube in the Batcave.

Their hands shook, and body trembled. Blood, oh oh god there was so much blood. The boy, Jason? was covered in it. What happened?

They knelt on the wet soil, plams held up and outwards towards the kid.

"Hey, are you oka-" right as they where about to place a hand of the child's shoulder it just... passed right through. A cold sensation washed over their body, their hand was through his shoulder but crimson stained their knees in the pool bellow them.

A voice whispered in their ear, light and airy, almost as if a passing breeze has blown through the graveyard.

"Who are you?"

#dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #tw: bruns #mentioned thou but just incase #tehe #danny is jasons ghost #danny is still in the robins costume #even when hes smaller #it's just become dull and washed out #the colours are reversed but no longer hold the shine they used too #you can choose which bat this is #could even be Jason if you wanna #writing idea #i might continue dis lol #SnazzyPrompts

[captainbuzzard]

was clearing out my phone's gallery and once again realized how much art i never posted here, so here's a stijn strongbody!

[ID: a digital line drawing of Stijn Strongbody, a middle aged Japanese man with four sheep's horns, and, barely visible before the canvas cuts off, four arms. he holds a pencil in one hand as he looks off to one side with a good-natured, contemplative expression.]

#q #blaseball #tokyo lift #never was a stijn fan per se but i always thought he was kinda fascinating. he definitely had Plans for the lift #the extent of which only started to be uncovered by his successors after his death. #it left yusef wondering how much he had actually predicted and planned for. how much the lift was continuing along a track he had set. #what were his plans? the only person who knew (original elwin) got alted and stijn never trusted the plans to another person afterwards #it's likely whatever plans he set failed anyways without having anyone to keep course after he died. but there's always that doubt. #did stijn know this would happen. did he predict the things that would happen. did he predict gerund's death #idk idk his death was just so neat because it left all these questions that could never be answered. #also he was Science Gay with a interdimensional fungus inhabiting a large dead bug until it used their joint research #to hop dimensions again without saying goodbye and pulled some unwilling alternate version of itself to take its place #so there's also that lol #my blaseball art #buzzart #anyways yeah might be posting some more old art

[bobzora]

i dont remember if i've ever mentioned my mew mew au lmao. but i drew some of that

#my art #p5 #persona 5 #the designs r just about as loose as this thing's 'lore' #i dont have mew form joker bc well this whole time ive just been drawing him in ichigos outfit.which i might theoretically want to change. #lol. #this has been a thing for a while #i thought it would be funny if haru and akechi had like a. rabbit/wolf thing.also obligatory cat/dog thing w joker #sorry for goro akechi midriff by theway. #i gave mew form ann low pigtails because i have low pigtail bias.its so hard to hide where the human ears would be for these guys LOL #w.akaba was a Mew Scientist before she died in a mysterious fire.now futaba is continuing the craft.or something. #(name censored bc shes not here btw lmao) #yusuke's not a scientist or anything hes just some guy who is there. #ryuji is also not a mewmew hes just a good pal. #morgana lost his memories also in that fire? at least thats what im going with for now. #i dont know if hes a robot...? or just a mew mew science talking cat or. something. this is literally so loose #dont even worry about it. #(full disclosure i havent actually seen that much tmm it was always my brother's thing. i just like it and think its cute :/ ) #'mew mew' is such a funny thing to say.

[deathchipz]

cuteness aggression [jinks belong to @hebezunet]

#vosideeposting at 2am lol #my pen died and i can't charge it right now. so have this #i love making lil guy completely unhinged. he might be a lil guy but let him be unhinged too!!!!!! #been making vosim unhinged since 2021. and i will continue to do that #hyperfixation station #lil guy artbox #deejink artbox #chipjinka artbox #chipjinkposting #chipspeech #plogue chipspeech #vosim #dee klatt #gijinka

[swordmaid]

i normally don’t like drawing full body but lately I’ve been enjoying them 😳 … think I’m getting more used to drawing on procreate lol

#think it’s the brush and glass surface… i was struggling with it before but now it’s weirdly satisfying to me idk #anyway im continuing the Cocteau batb inspired jb outfits from what little i can remember of it lool #i actually had jaime’s design all sketched out alas its part of the wips that died alongside my laptop 😭 #so now I gotta redesign it again … which is not a bad thing per say but id #prefer my og plan bc the idea was fresher u know #but anyway i think after im done w this commission batch i might open up a flash for full body drawings #bc I was drawing shri’iia earlier too and i was having fun w that as well lol

[cyberstabbing]

it's been nearly two years and i'm still mad about the time my grandmother forced me to debate lgbt rights at a family reunion lunch with her, her catholic husband and a catholic priest. i was just now in the shower and i kept imagining all the snarky comebacks i could have said. if i had chosen that moment to come out to my family (i don't know a single soul on that family tree who is out) it would have been a disaster but also such a fucking power move

#but i'm continuously suprised by my emotions #like why do i care so much??? #might be that my grandmother facetimes me two days ago and spoke of how proud of me she is and that she wishes i'd visit this summer #like goddamn talk about conditional love #she's made several queer students of her's go back into the closet #even converted a few to catholicism :( #no doubt in my mind that she'd try to convince me that this is the devil's (or swedish lib propaganda) work #but seriously it must have been obvious to anyone at that table that i cared a little Too Much for me to be just an ally #also had my first panic attack in years right after that convo 🥰 tnx gma #mine #she's the only grandparent i've had a relationship with though #granddad1: deadbeat+abusive+alcoholic+dead #grandma1:died before i was born #granddad2:quite honestly maybe a pedo. mom even recently confessed that's why she never left me alone with him #i love oversharing on tumblr lol

[satoruxx]

pairing: poly!sashisu x f!reader | 2k words summary: mentions of injuries, sashisu fluff, tiny bit of angst, pet names, shoko is literally wife, suguru is super touchy lol, satoru's a menace but he loves you, protective sashisu, extra protective satoru, shoko and satoru bicker for like half of this lol rheya’s note: offers you more of these three and runs away (sorry guys they literally won't leave my mind i swear they'd treat you so good)

one look at shoko’s frowning face and you’re already nervous, squirming in place as she leans in close to inspect your body. you have to take a deep breath—because while normally her close proximity makes you flush and stumble over words, this time you are anxiously silent.

because you can tell that she is anything but pleased. her eyes are narrow as they take in the wound on your stomach, lips pursed like she’s holding back a scolding.

which you know, you definitely deserve.

she scoots her stool closer to the examination table you’re sitting on, fingers coming up to undo the makeshift bandage you had tied around your torso in the midst of the mission.

you try to hold back your wince as she pulls away the fabric that sticks to your blood, but she catches it. she’s always been overly observant.

you shake your head at her when her gaze flickers up to assess your pain levels. “i’m fine.” you don’t mean for your voice to come out so hurried.

“looks like it.” her voice lacks the usual warmth, normally so sweet as she teases and dotes on you like you’re the only thing in her world. but this, this disappointment that she’s not good at hiding, has something in your chest tugging.

you think you might go crazy if she doesn’t smile at you in the next few minutes.

“oh c’mon,” you shrug, laughing carelessly because it’s not that bad. “it’s fine. besides i have a great doctor. i knew i’d be okay.”

shoko takes a deep breath, honey brown eyes boring into yours when she looks up again. “listen to me—” there is something odd about the way she’s speaking that has you sitting up a little straighter. “this is the one thing i hate doing for you.”

your mouth clamps shut, any trace of a smile gone.

“hell babe, i’d do anything for you,” she sighs, leaning closer to your face—so close you can see her dark lashes brush her cheeks when she blinks. “but i hate hearing that i have to come down here and heal you.”

the intensity of her gaze has you chewing on your lip again, an action that her eyes follow. but she doesn’t say anything else, leaning back to continue her work—though there is a freer air about her, like a pressure has been released.

you don’t say anything either, too focused on her and her pretty eyes and her warm hands and the way she loves you.

you hear the sliding door to the infirmary open, and immediately feel a familiar overwhelming presence worming its way into the room.

“you serious?” satoru’s voice goes high at the end of the question—barely concealed panic. “what the fuck happened?”

you hold back a grimace knowing that his focus is only trained on your wound. “it’s not as bad as it looks,” you offer weakly, but satoru is already in front of you, brows drawn tight in anger and something else.

“like hell,” he hisses, eyes darting between your face and body. “you almost died!”

“stop yelling at her.” suguru’s voice comes out exasperated as he enters, shooting satoru a weak glare—but you know him well enough to catch that he isn’t happy about this either. he takes a few steps until he’s directly in front of you, crouching next to shoko’s stool so that he’s in your line of sight. lavender eyes take you in, and you can see the the relief that seeps into them.

his palm comes up to gently hold your cheek. “okay baby?”

you’re nodding before he even finishes, doing your best to reassure because if there’s anything you hate it’s making him worry.

making them all worry.

suguru’s hand remains attached to your skin even as he turns to look at shoko. “how bad is it?”

shoko doesn’t look away, focusing on her hands as she sighs. ”it was deep. definitely could’ve been bad but…she’ll be fine.”

her eyes flicker up to yours, and you bite your lip nervously. you hear suguru inhale, fingers twitching against your cheek.

it is satoru who breaks the silence.

“what were you thinking?” he asks, low as he grits his teeth. there is a wild look in his eyes, cerulean glazed over with something you can’t quite place. the tone of his voice has shoko and suguru sharing a look, one that you don’t have the time to decipher because you’re too focused on the way satoru is clenching his fists.

your shoulders drop. “you’re mad.” it’s a statement, not a question, and you see the sharp look suguru sends satoru’s way.

“i’m not—” satoru inhales abruptly, interrupting his own words. “just—”

he stops speaking.

“he wants you to be more careful,” shoko fills the silence, still staring at your abdomen. “you can’t be careless like this.”

there’s a dip in her brows, one that matches the downward tilt of her lips. she doesn’t look at you, and you think you can feel the slight tremor of her hands as they press against your skin.

her expression has you unable to look away, feeling oh so cared for and protected under the warmth of her healing.

so you nod mutely, and almost cry in relief when you see the twitch of her lips as she finishes healing you. suguru chuckles under his breath, his empty hand lacing through your fingers and squeezing—a message that only you understand. “good,” he sighs, tilting his head fondly. “take care of yourself—at least for our sake, yeah sweetheart?”

shoko throws satoru a look even as he crosses his arms and glares at the wall, refusing to look at you. “that goes for you too, dummy!”

satoru’s head whips around to throw her an appalled glare. “i’m plenty careful!”

shoko wordlessly reaches out and tugs up his shirt, where you can see the faint remnants of a fresh battle scar. “didn’t i heal this for you not two days ago?” she rolls her eyes. “and the fact that you can heal it yourself is even worse.”

satoru pulls his shirt down and shoots her a glare that’s half a pout. “well maybe i wouldn’t be so bad at it if you were a better teacher!”

“like i’d spend my free time teaching you.”

“did you just wake up mean one day or were you born this way?”

“idiot. i told you—it’s fwoo, then hyoi!”

“what the hell does that mean, sho?!”

you watch the two bicker with a smile, and suguru looks down at you with a mirrored expression. “scared us a little there, baby.” he lowers his voice, palm sliding through your hair as he pushes a few strands back.

“didn’t mean to,” you grimace, leaning into his touch. “but it seriously wasn’t that bad.”

“i know,” he answers, eyes heavy with affection and fatigue and all the depth in the world. “we weren’t expecting it is all. we came back and nanami let us know what happened. satoru threw a fit y’know?”

you wince internally, knowing that it probably wasn’t very pleasant. “he did?”

“he’s an idiot but you should know he’s crazy about you, sweetheart.” suguru smothers an amused huff. “he stopped hearing anything after they said you were hurt.”

you don’t know what to say to that, but you don’t have to, because suguru’s smile widens like he understands. he always does.

“didn’t mean to make him worry,” you mumble, watching as shoko lazily punches at satoru’s gut, to which he dramatically groans even though he’s the one who had his infinity down for her.

“i know,” suguru grins, fingers brushing over your shoulder almost carefully. “he does too.”

you suppress a smile, feeling oddly grateful as you watch satoru whine and complain when shoko shoots sarcastic remarks at him.

something about all of this that makes you feel so blissfully comfortable.

“okay alright guys,” suguru finally sighs, shaking his head. there’s a tinge of amusement in his voice even as he shoots them an exasperated glare. “give it a rest.”

“she started it!” satoru says—indignant.

shoko huffs, rolling her eyes. “whatever.”

she turns back to you, gently cupping your cheek and rubbing her thumb over your bottom lip. “feeling okay, babe?”

“yeah,” you nod, feeling your skin warm under her touch. “feels a lot better.”

she stands up with a soft smile. “good. then you’re free to go.”

suguru exhales, his smile becoming a little more eased as he pushes your hair away from your neck. “that’s good. let’s go home then, yeah?”

you nod, starting to pull your shirt and uniform jacket back on. suguru steps away to give you room, standing next to shoko who nudges his shoulder affectionately.

“you know, i bet you do things recklessly just so that shoko can heal you,” suguru says to you—a teasing glint in his eyes.

you look up and grin, dramatically covering your mouth. “don’t expose me like that! i’ve been getting her attention like this for years!”

suguru laughs even as shoko shakes her head in amusement. “silly girl. you’re crazy.”

“you can’t blame me,” you shrug playfully, buttoning up your shirt. “it’s your fault for being such a good doctor.”

suguru squeezes shoko’s fingers in agreement, no doubt still lingering with the warmth of her technique. she laughs to herself, rolling her eyes fondly as she watches you finish getting dressed. “you should take a nice bath, babe.” she grins at you. “i can help you if the injury’s still a little sore.”

you nod and suguru smiles, slinging an arm around shoko’s shoulders. “good. then we’ll go back to the dorm and get it ready, yeah?”

you smile at them gratefully, no words needed, and they return the expression before heading out.

the echoing of the door sliding shut pierces the silence between you and the strongest. satoru is staring at the tiled floor like he’s about to kill it, shoulders drawn tight with tension.

you sigh, looking up at him almost meekly—so unlike your usual interactions. “you still angry at me, toru?”

you see the effort with which he exhales, glancing at you from the corner of his eyes just barely concealed by dark frames. he turns to take two full steps towards you, until he towers over your sitting form—and while most people would find it intimidating, you have always found satoru’s overwhelming presence to be a comfort.

his fingers reach up to push a strand of your hair away, deliberately tucking it behind your ear before his hand rests against your jaw. “‘course not,” he answers, voice low. his thumb traces over your jawline. “just panicked.”

“sorry.” you turn to press your lips against his palm, and you see his features soften.

he leans down to press a chaste kiss to your temple, an uncharacteristic softness that only you are privy to see. “‘s okay.”

“but you know i can take care of myself, right?” you ask him, almost imploringly because you have never wanted to look weak in front of someone who is so strong. satoru grins, eyes glinting with what almost seems like pride as he ruffles your hair.

“duh,” he laughs, taking your hands to pull you off the examination table. once you’re standing he slings an arm around your shoulders and presses his nose to your temple. “i’d be stupid not to. you’re crazy strong, y’know?”

you try to hide your pleased smile, even though you know that being acknowledged by him—by all three of them—will forever be what keeps you going.

“well at least you know,” you grin, and satoru rolls his eyes, fingers coming up to poke at your side.

“don’t get cocky.”

“look who’s talking!” you retort and he shakes his head, amused. satoru’s grip tightens imperceptibly, and you think yours does too, something telling you that you’ll never be able to let him go.

“c’mon sweets, let’s go get you that bath now, yeah? sho and suguru are probably waiting.”

you hum, a gentle smile tugging at your lips when you hear his words. you wrap your arm around his waist, leaning into him as he walks you back to the dorm—walks you home.

because that’s what the three of them are to you—home.

#POLY SASHISU!! #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #shoko ieiri x reader #sashisu x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fluff #gojo x reader #geto x reader #shoko x reader #sashisu #poly sashisu #gojo satoru x you #geto suguru x you #shoko ieiri x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader x geto #satoru gojo x you #getou suguru x reader #jjk angst #jjk drabbles #jjk headcanons

[shima-draws]

Tell us about the AU! I know you want to!!

WAUGHHH. AGHHH. OKAY. OKAY SO. I've been watching one of my favorite content creators play through the DLC. Early on in the playthrough he was tossing around theories and said "Maybe KIERAN is Ogerpon??" and that gave me a BRILLIANT THOUGHT.

Ogerpon Kieran AU.......

I've already thought of a very long and complex backstory for this LOL but to simplify it. Before the ogre and its human companion came to Kitakami, said companion was actually living a very happy life with his child. However, they were caught up in the midst of a great war that ended up taking the child's life. The man was so overcome with grief that it summoned a great being (I'm thinking Xerneas), who blessed his dead child with new life. And that child was reborn as Ogerpon!! So kinda like how children who get lost in the woods and die are reborn as Phantump.

Fast forward to many many years later. A long chain of events leads to Carmine's grandfather's...father (so, her great-grandpa?) meeting Ogerpon and vowing to make it a new mask, a mystical and powerful mask that could grant wishes. Sadly, Carmine's great-grandpa wasn't able to complete the mask before he died. This project was eventually picked up by Carmine's father (and I have a whole other thing about him but I'm not gonna get into it right now lol). Carmine's father forms a very close bond with Ogerpon as he continues to gather materials to finish the wish mask. He expresses his desire for Ogerpon to finally be able to walk among the villagers with its name cleared, and for Ogerpon to meet his only daughter. He leaves for a journey to find the last material for the mask...and never returns 😔

Carmine's grandfather has a whole complex about the wish mask, but after seeing both his father and his son dedicate so much time and care into completing it, he takes the last material, imbued with the hopes and dreams of his family, and finally finishes the mask. When he presents it to Ogerpon, Ogerpon dons the mask and its wish is granted...it becomes human :") So it becomes Kieran, basically!! Kieran's wish was to be able to say thank you to all of the generations of mask makers that had helped him, and. To be part of their family 🥺 What he doesn't know is that his wish to be human stems from the fact that he already was human, once. But he doesn't remember his life before he was reborn as a Pokemon.

So, Carmine's grandfather happily accepts Kieran and his desire, and takes him home to live with him and Carmine. Note that Kieran is probably around 5-6 at the time, so he's BABY. And Carmine is only about a year or two older. She isn't sure what to think about suddenly getting a new brother, but she's happy to have someone to boss around lmao.

And once a year, during the festival of masks, Kieran lets his facade fall and wanders around as Ogerpon again. Just to keep in touch with his roots haha

So obviously with Kieran being Ogerpon the events of the DLC will play out differently than canon. Kieran slyly compliments the ogre in front of the player and mentions that maybe it's just misunderstood. He's been trying for a while to change the villagers' minds about what happened to him and the Loyal Three all those years ago, but it hasn't been going...too well lol. So when the player shows up, and things start to shift, Kieran gets really excited bc he realizes he finally might be able to clear his name :")

Is this AU silly and dumb as hell? Yes. Does it not really make sense with canon and is full of plot holes? Yes. Am I brainrotting over it anyway? Also yes.

Take a little edit I did of Kieran's official art to fit what I had in mind for the AU ;) I wanted to draw it but I'm at work rn lmao RIP

ALSO LITTLE DOODLE OF THE BOY

ALSO bc of Ogerpon's original gender Kieran probably goes by he/they pronouns in the AU

#Listen I know this AU is stupid as hell but it means SO much to me #Shima answers questions #Pokemon #The Teal Mask #Pokemon Kieran #Pokemon Carmine #Ogerpon #Kieranpon AU #Shima's AUs #I'm brainrotting SO hard. HELP #Long post

[dhrubajjj]

twst pirate au!!

the theme/idea for their dorm was basically like the flying dutchman from pirates of the caribbean so idias job as the captain is to deliver lost souls that died in the ocean to safety.

idia - became the captain of the ship purely just so that his little brother wouldnt be wandering the ocean lost in death and now ortho travels w/ him so theyre never alone </3. the veil he wears is both to make him look scarier than he actually is + he doesnt actually have to look into anyones eyes which is a bonus for him.

ortho - he is dead (shocker), ortho died at sea and wandered the oceans until his brother found him and then he joined his brother. some parts of his body like his arms are just bare bones and sometimes they pop off. ortho does most of the speaking for idia whenever addressing the crew, idia just kind stands there lol

anyways very fun and if i do continue w/ this au i might also refer to it as the seven seas au since not everyone is technically gonna be pirates and some characters might get aged up. (p.s their bandanas on their waists r matching)

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst art #twst fanart #dhrubajj art #disney twst #idia #idia shroud #idia fanart #ortho #ortho shroud #ortho fanart #pirate au #seven seas au #twst au #twisted wonderland au #this was fun #pirates

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR FIVE

in which eddie munson and you absolutely hate each other's guts. what happens when your friends make a bet that you can't spend more than twenty four hours consecutively together?

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, harassment/cat calling, minors dni

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader

→ wc: 6.1k+

→ a/n: shout out to @abibliophobiaa for helping me figure this chapter out lol.

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

5:00 ───ㅇ─────────────── 24:00

HOUR FIVE - 8:00 PM

Civility. What a fragile construct. 

You and Eddie are hyper aware of its presence as the minutes pass. It’s a glass wall between the two of you, offering false security and fragile mediation. When he brings up dinner, and there’s no sign of agreement any time soon as he wants the opposite of every suggestion you make, you catch your reflection in it, reminding yourself to carefully think over your words. Every insult manages to catch in your throat, to simmer until softened to something appropriate. And you know he’s doing exactly the same thing as his pauses begin to drag out between replies, as you lose count of the number of times he’s opened his mouth only to immediately snap it shut. 

It works, though. Even with the weight of the agreement in the room, the wall takes the pressure in stride. There’s not a single crack emerging. 

Eddie still sits on the couch with you, this time the TV is turned on to some cable show rerun that has turned into background noise for the two of you. 

He never moved back to the opposite end of the couch. One wrong move, and your thigh could easily press into his, sink into the warmth that radiates from him. It’s all you can think about as he is trying to convince you that the Lord of the Rings books are worth reading, especially if you enjoy the movies. 

If it were any other day, you wouldn’t have noticed when he cuts off suddenly. You would have stopped listening long ago. Which is a shame, not that you’d admit it, because he actually had interesting points to make. 

“What?” you scrunch your nose as his stare hardens across the room, at something by the TV. Suddenly, the almost-glare blooms into delight, and you can’t breathe. 

“We’ve managed to be civil for a whole forty-five minutes.”

You finally follow his gaze and realize he had been looking at the small cable box, blinking blue numbers on the front screen reading the time. 

“Oh,” you say softly, fighting a grin to match his current one, “Yeah, we have been. That’s gotta be a new record.” 

It hadn’t been easy, but it had been doable. Maybe the hours could continue to be less doable. 

“You know, I thought you would have told me to shut up about my nerd shit by now,” he muses, bringing a hand up to carefully rub at his stubbled chin, legs spreading a bit further as he remains reclined into the cushions beside you. 

His knee brushes yours. You still haven’t found your breath that had escaped you from watching his eyes light up in realization. 

“I came pretty close,” you tease and nearly lean in, nearly pressing your knee harder into his. 

It was becoming too easy to act this way with him. You try to think of a time you’d ever given this such room to breathe. But you draw nothing but blanks, save for the first night you’d met Eddie. A night that had been blossoming with buds of hopefulness and blind optimism that had been cursed to die on the vine. 

Although, maybe not all of them had died. There might have been a few dwindlers, and they might have found themselves finally watered after such a harsh winter between the two of you in the revelation of fragile civility these last forty-five minutes. 

“Was it when I went on my ten minute rant about how cool it would have been to bring up werewolves in the movies? Or was it my passion for Samwise being a singer?” your head falls back in gentle laughter, closing your eyes for a second. He goes as far as to nudge your shoulder with his own, “Come on, I’m serious! I do hear myself sometimes, you know. I know when I’m being Lord of the Dorks over here.” 

Your shoulder burns where he had bumped it. Not from pain. 

Your eyes are still closed as you shake your head, “No, no. I think I actually agree with the werewolves, but I’m still on the fence about turning the movies into musicals.” 

When you finally do open your eyes, head rolling to face him and press your cheek atop your burning shoulder, you find him staring at you. Which would have been fine, no big deal, if he was still grinning vibrantly. 

He’s looking at you with an unfamiliar emotion, an emotion you’d not only never seen him look at you with, but any of your shared friends. It’s almost as if he’s no longer in the room with you.

You’re immediately worried you’ve offended him, “Oh, shit. Are you into musicals? I’m sorry, I tried to get into them, but I just-”

“I am,” the emotion drains from his eyes as he snaps back to reality, “I… But I mean, I get it. Not everyone is into musicals, I was just a theater kid.” 

“A theater kid?” your worry is long gone as you sit up, looking at him excitedly, “No way. I would have never guessed that you, Eddie Munson, the most dramatic person I know, were a theater kid.” 

He looks down bashfully, and his curls form a curtain around his face. His dimples are effectively hidden as he shyly smiles, and you’re kind of glad for it. “Shut up. Buckley’s more dramatic than I am. Have you ever heard her go off on one of her rabies rambles?” 

“Of course. She was also a theater kid.” 

“Oh, trust me - I know. We’ve bonded.” 

The conversation dwindles, but the ghost of the dimples don’t. He tucks some of the stray strands of the curtain behind his ear, and you start to regret ever noticing the damn things. 

“We never decided on dinner, you know,” you blurt out and change the topic, because you desperately need something to distract you right now. You’re starting to believe you might prefer arguing with him to whatever storm was building beneath the surface of civility.

“Oh, shit,” he gasps, turning to look at the clock again, “You’re right.” 

Never thought I’d hear you saying that to me of all people, you bite back from saying. 

“Most places are closing soon,” he murmurs, more to himself than you, surely thinking back on the way you couldn’t come to an agreement earlier. If you dived back into that, you’d probably spend the rest of the night bickering. But then he lights up again, just as he had when he’d realized your record-breaking streak of civility, “Say, you like bar food?” 

—

“Eddie, I really can’t afford overpriced bar food!” 

“And I already said I’d pay for you.”

“What about our photo proof? We were supposed to send it ten minutes ago.” 

“You texted them mentioning we’ll be a little late with it, right?” 

“Yeah, but-” 

“Then it’s fine.” 

The entire ten minute walk from Eddie’s apartment to what he claims is his favorite bar in town had been filled with the endless bickering, still managing to be lighthearted enough to not cause any cracks in the civility. 

He’d chastised you about making excuses, and you hated him, because he was right. Every issue you’d brought up about going to the bar with him had been easily solved with one of his solutions. You were grasping for straws at this point.

Because you were nervous. Nervous that civility wouldn’t hold up in public, nervous that if alcohol was added to the equation that tongues would get too loose. 

But none of it mattered. When Eddie initially suggested going to the bar, he’d caught your smile at the idea and realized you two had finally found common ground. He was now a man on a mission. 

“I really don’t want you paying for me,” you huff as he holds the door to the bar open for you, motioning for you to enter before him. 

“It’s really not that expensive, you can pay me back later if you really want,” he waves off, “Buy me a drink or something while we’re here, even.” 

You’d always witnessed Eddie being generous with your friends, always known that he was altruistic as he’d offer to pay for people. Half the time, he never made them pay him back. All he cared about when with friends was everyone having fun. And you’d never been on the receiving end of that — not until tonight. 

He bumps into you when you stop just a few steps into the bar’s entry, glancing around the small room. It wasn’t much, two pool tables set up on the far end of the building, a full bar taking up most of the space inside. You could see some sort of jukebox sitting unplugged in the corner and several booths were occupied with patrons already. 

It was cozy. It wasn’t going out of its way to impress anyone, and it’s probably why you’d never come inside before. From the outside, you hardly were able to decipher it was a bar, especially in the darkness of the night. 

“Sorry,” you turn to apologize, his hands feather light on your biceps to make sure you didn’t stumble from the force of his impact.

He waves it off just as he had waved off your concerns of him picking up the bill for the night, focusing instead on your reaction, “You like it?”

“It’s… nice,” you offer with a shrug as he guides you to the bar. There definitely weren’t any open tables; it was a Saturday night, and even if the place was capable of giving off quaint vibes, there was an abundance of college students who had the same idea as you and him had. 

None of them were locked into the same agreement as you two, though. You were sure of it.

The bartender greets Eddie by name, beaming as he promises he’ll come over with his usual soon. 

“Wow,” you laugh, lifting yourself onto a stool beside him, “You weren’t kidding about it being your usual hangout.”

“I swear I’m not an alcoholic or anything,” he rushes out, “I just… I dunno. Like you said, it’s nice here.” 

You couldn’t believe it. If you dared to look into his words further, you’d swear that Eddie was trying to avoid tarnishing your view of him. He’d never cared about that before.

“I wouldn’t judge you,” you say once the two of you have settled into your seats. Stools were never going to be more comfortable than a booth, but it would do for the next hour. “If you were an alcoholic. I mean, we’re college students. Kind of part of the whole gig,” He looks at you and quirks an eyebrow as he grabs one of the menus from the sticky wood surface in front of you two, “Every college student can be promised three things: unimaginable debt for a stupid piece of paper, the ability to run off of far less sleep than anyone ever should, and a terrible reliance on alcohol.” 

He rolls his eyes and mumbles, “You’re funny.” 

The surviving buds on the vine nearly prepare to bloom, just about ready to untuck themselves from your chest and press against the glass wall of civility. 

“Say it again.”

“What?”

“That I’m funny,” your biting grin is infectious, “Tell me again and stroke my ego, big boy.” 

He flushes pink on the apples of his cheeks, bright and furious even under the dim lighting of the bar, “Oh, fuck off. I’m never complimenting you again.” 

Your newest enemies, those fucking dimples, and the way the blush spreads as he glances down at the menu suddenly become too much. The combination has the ability to choke you, to possibly make your heart stop, if it isn’t for the bartender finally interrupting the moment. 

“Hey there, Eds,” the man not much older than the two of you greets, looking at you with unbridled curiosity, “And… lady friend of Eds.” 

You don’t know why, but you tell the stranger your name. Sweet and low, soft spoken compared to the way you had just been blatantly teasing the boy at your side. 

“Pretty name for a pretty girl,” he chimes with the type of charisma you’re familiar with when it comes to the food industry. You didn’t make tips if you weren’t kind, if you weren’t borderline flirting with nearly every customer by overflowing with friendliness and compliments, “So, I’ve got your regular here,” he places a glass in front of Eddie, something dark with a few sparse bubbles, “What can I get for you, though?” he turns to you. 

You glance over at the menu Eddie holds, and he shifts it so you can see it better. But as your eyes glance over the drink options, nothing grabs your attention. 

“Full bar, right?” you feel a bit foolish as the man waves behind at the large wall filled with bottles of a variety of alcohol. Duh. “You know how to make an amaretto sour?” 

The man grins widely, nodding enthusiastically before turning to Eddie, “She’s got good taste. I’ll be right back with it for you, hun.” 

The moment the bartender leaves, Eddie is leaning in closer to you, mimicking you in a falsetto, “Full bar, right?”

His cologne is nice. Something spicy, almost musky. Fitting for him.

You don’t hesitate to shove his shoulder, “Shut up. We’re supposed to be civil, remember?” 

“Ah, I see,” his eyes mischievously glint, enjoying this bout of satirizing far too much, “You can tease me, but I can’t tease you. That sound about right?” 

“Exactly,” you sigh jokingly, unable to look at him, already knowing the smile he’s wearing, “Sorry you didn’t get the first memo.” 

He finally, finally, stops leaning in towards you, and carries the scent of his cologne with him. You decide to lock away that detail of him into the same eternal prison of your brain with the dimples. Another thing about him you need to forget after the twenty fours end. 

“My bad, sweetheart. At least I’m up to date now.” 

You ignore the vine as it tightens at the casual use of the nickname again. There’s no need to dive deeper into that reaction. 

“What’s his name?” you finally look at him, eyes catching on the slope of his nose and sharp jaw in the smoky atmosphere. 

“Who? The bartender?” you nod, and he takes a sip of his drink, “Frank. He’s really nice, looks a lot younger than he is, lucky bastard.” 

“What, you don’t think you’ll age so gracefully?” you’re back to teasing Eddie, because God, is it easy. It’s a perfect medium between the two of you. Still biting, still a little mean, but not harmful. It’s innocent and refreshing, breathing a new wave of novelty into your relationship, wherever it may currently stand.

“Who’s not aging gracefully?” The bartender, Frank, questions as he places your amaretto sour in front of you. You mutter your thanks, “Because if you’re talking about Eds here, you’re right. Think this guy has aged ten years in the six months I’ve known him.” 

Six months? You don’t know why you’re so shocked, but part of you had just figured he’d been coming to this bar for as long as he’d lived in his apartment. Which, to be fair, you didn’t know how long he’d occupied that space, either. It had to have been at least a year. There’s been no mention of him moving the entire time you’ve known him. 

“I have not,” Eddie defends himself, hand gripping his drink. 

“Have too,” Frank ends the argument there, not giving Eddie a chance for rebuttal before he lets his gaze go back and forth between the two of you, “So, any food tonight, or just drinks?” 

“Could we actually get an order of garlic parmesan fries?” Eddie is surprisingly polite, and looks at you after he’s placed the order, “If that’s okay with you?” 

You blink, taken back by his consideration, “Um, yeah. That sounds good.” 

Frank nods, “Fries. Got it. Anything else?” 

Eddie is still looking at you, subtly moving the menu closer to you, as if urging you to help yourself. You pick up the laminated paper, and your knuckles brush against his before you’re glancing over your options.

You curse yourself as your hands shake. You’re not nervous – why are they shaking? 

“Are your mozzarella sticks any good?” you finally ask, peering up at Frank.

“They’re excellent. Also, not to brag, but our marinara is the best in town. I swear it.” 

You look to Eddie, as if seeking out permission, and he nods ever so slightly, “I’ll take your word for it. One order of those, please.” 

“Of course. One order of fries and one order of mozzarella sticks coming right up.” 

With that, Frank leaves you and Eddie on your own again, somehow feeling secluded and alone even on the edges of the bustling room. It’s as if there’s a bubble around the two of you, unbreachable by the strangers that surround you. 

Your phone buzzing in your pocket catches your attention, just as it had done numerous times thus far this night, and you pull it out to see two new notifications from Steve.

STEVE-O: photo. 

STEVE-O: now.

You don’t realize Eddie was reading the messages over your shoulder until he suddenly chuckles, “Jesus, when did Harrington become so demanding?” 

“He’s always been this way,” you mutter as you quickly open your phone, the camera app already being opened from your previously provided evidence, “Consider yourself lucky to not be in the groupchat. His attitude grows tenfold through texts.” 

“Clearly.” 

You turn the phone awkwardly in one hand, choosing to go for a wider shot that captures the bar setting behind you and Eddie. He grabs his glass, holding up his drink as if he’s cheersing the camera. 

You’re about to take the photo, when Eddie suddenly sighs, “Oh, come on. Don’t leave me hanging.” 

His free hand nudges your own drink into your hand, and you take it without complaint. 

You both hold up your glasses, forcing mimicry of annoyed expressions directed at the camera and not each other. 

The moment the click of the photo being taken is lost into the atmosphere of the bar, chatter of nearby strangers and clinking of beer bottles together, Eddie’s attention is fully on you.

“To civility,” he says, moving his glass in a grandiose gesture towards yours. 

You take a second before you register it. You’re too busy mapping out his face beyond the dimples, beyond the wild curls that catch the bar lighting just right, all the way up to the hiding freckle beneath his right eye and the cotton candy shade of pink of his pursed lips. It’s as if you’re pressing your cheeks into the wall of civility between you and letting the glass fog over with your breath. As if you’re just now seeing Eddie for the first time, no cloak of hatred or distortion of annoyance to keep you from his memorizing features. 

You shake your head, try to physically rid your head of the uncharted thoughts before you clink your glass to his, “To civility.” 

—

Maybe civility isn’t such a fragile concept. Maybe, just maybe, it’s a reasonable foundation for yours and Eddie’s night. 

Over garlic parmesan fries and mozzarella sticks, and several refills of your amaretto sour and his Jack & Coke (you’d found that out when you’d ask to try his drink, and had grimaced at the harsh whiskey), you two practice the act of it almost flawlessly. 

Eddie tells you a bit more about the first time he’d wandered across this bar, how he’d been kicked out of a different one earlier that night and simply wasn’t ready to go home yet. Somehow, after the story, once he’s shed his leather jacket to drape over the back of his seat and you find yourself angling your body towards him more fully, the attention focuses more on you meeting the group. 

You both have to lean in closer to each other, what at the beginning of the night should have been too close for comfort, as the bar grows busier. You tell him about freshman year of college, that wretched 8 AM math class that’s only redeeming quality was bringing you and Steve together. He was better at math than you, or at least taking notes on the subject. Somehow, the two of you had ended up in an agreement of being ‘study buddies’, as Steve had nicknamed it. Two years later, after several more deliberately shared classes, Steve had finally decided to introduce the girl he’d been ditching their Thursday movie nights for to the gang. It had started with Robin – she’d been in a Psychology class with you and Steve – and all the pieces fell together from there. 

“I still can’t believe you and Harrington never… you know….” Eddie trails off and downs the last of his third Jack & Coke. When Frank motions from across the bar if he’d like a refill, Eddie shakes his head and covers the top of his glass with his wide palm. 

His rings glinted in the low lights, and your stomach did flips. You blame it on the fourth amaretto sour you were nursing. 

“Oh, trust me,” the alcohol has your lips moving more loosely, giggling between your words, “We definitely thought about it. Even got wine drunk one night our sophomore year and tried it.” 

“What?” Eddie exclaims, leaning so far into your space now that his curls brush your bare shoulders, “No way. No fucking way.” 

“Yes way!” your face grows pink, more from laughter than embarrassment, “It was awful! I mean, in our defense we were both drunk, but still. I just…” you sigh out, and lean back in your stool without even noticing that Eddie has his arm draped over the back of it, “We both realized we were way better off friends. I’m a better wing-woman for him now than some fling.” 

“Don’t let Robin hear you,” Eddie chuckles, popping a fry in his mouth before he relaxes back as well. His arm is still on the back of your chair. “You know, he did talk you up a lot before he introduced you to everyone.” 

“Yeah?” you raise an eyebrow. 

Eddie’s brows furrow as he nods viciously, “Oh, God, yeah. Had us all thinking he was just in denial about having a thing for you.” 

“Well, that’s embarrassing.”

“Nah. Only good things. Besides, once Robin met you? It was game over,” if you had been watching Eddie more carefully, you would have seen that unrecognizable emotion crossing his face once more, glazing over his eyes rather than the alcohol he’d consumed, “They really do love you, y’know?” 

You don’t know. Which is a shame. Because on your good days, you’d usually tell yourself that they do enjoy your company, that you do fit into the group. But doubt had an easy job of having its way with you when Eddie existed, when Eddie seemingly loathes you. 

Your silence answers his rhetorical-turned-serious question, and he’s suddenly leaning forward to catch your gaze, “You do know that… right?” 

Your shrug makes his arm fall off of your chair, not intentionally so. It had simply gotten closer to your shoulders with the time passing, and the movement makes it fall limply to his side. 

“Sweetheart, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Eddie groans in what you’re realizing is his usual, playful demeanor, “The entire group loves you so much, it’s irritating. Never shut up about you, inviting you to plans, all that shit.”

“You don’t,” your voice is a whisper. 

It’s the first time that either of you had so much as knocked on the glass wall of civility. A gentle tap of your knuckles against an easily forgotten barrier, but a knock nonetheless. 

“What?” Eddie squints, and he’s leaning in closer, and you suddenly feel suffocated again. His cologne is in your nose, his faded dimples are in your vision. You could count his eyelashes if you spared him a quick glance. 

But you don’t. You can’t bear to look at him, because the entire moment is becoming far too vulnerable. 

You clear your throat, “The entire group, except you, loves me. Which, I mean, I get. Not everyone is going to like me, and I’ve sort of been a bitch to you-” 

“You haven’t-” 

“-and honestly, I’ve really played into the fact that I annoy you so much this entire time. You hate me, I hate you-”

“I don’t-”

“-it’s fine.” 

Despite Eddie’s attempted interruptions, you manage to finish your speech, chest heaving by the end of it. He’s stunned, mouth opening and closing multiple times before he finally seemingly collects his thoughts. 

“Look, I know I’ve been an asshole, but I don’t really-” he starts, but you’re quick to cut him off. Unlike when he’d interjected and you’d ignored him, he lets you speak. 

“Eddie, you said you’d celebrate my death,” you smile sheepishly at him, and you can feel that glass barrier shaking. Bringing up something awful, something terribly mean from mere hours ago isn’t a gentle knock on glass. It’s a slapping of a palm, a dare for cracks to start appearing. 

His entire expression falls, “I… That was stupid of me to say.” 

“It was,” you agree, because you’re not sure what else you could say, “It was, but I get it. The feeling’s mutual and all, right?” 

Eddie is quiet. You almost miss his voice, even with all the other tones of strangers bouncing around you. 

“Can I ask why you hate me, though?” you try to keep your tone as light as possible, to not let this moment get any worse. You try to keep your fists from pounding on the glass of civility, “We’ve never really talked about it before. I know you have your reasons – I’ve got mine.” 

His jaw clenches. You can physically see his thought process. He’s probably got a million reasons, and right now, he’s just thumbing through them, trying to find the one that won’t break your agreement of being kinder to each other. 

“You…” he starts, and the wheels are still turning in his head, eyes looking everywhere but you now, “I don’t know, you just seemed… s-selfish.” 

You almost don’t see it – the first crack in the glass, the first sign of civility crumbling. 

“Selfish?” you echo back, crestfallen, nearly wounded. You attempt to hide it, to not show him that his words affect you, because you’d asked for this. You’d asked the damn question, fueled by liquid confidence, and he was giving it to you. 

“Yeah, just… Full of yourself?” his voice jumps up an octave at the end of his sentence, as if he’s unsure, as if he’s asking you if that’s the right answer. The crack spreads, and begins to distort your vision of him, “I knew you had been sort of popular in high school, and you carried yourself like those popular kids I knew. And… and…” 

His eyes finally stop fleeting from yours. He meets your gaze, and you know you weren’t equipped with strong enough armor to hide the wounds he was inflicting. He could see the bruises as his hits landed, accidental or not. 

“I just thought you were everything I’d always hated. So I hated you.” 

The crack splinters, and hairline fractures split the image of Eddie into unrecognizable pieces. The boy you’d grown accustomed to thus far tonight, the boy you’d grown comfortable with, is gone in your eyes. 

“So,” your voice is tight, and you know you won’t be able to keep up with eye contact, not when it all starts to sting so ardently, “You judged a book by its cover, and decided I’m a royal, spoiled bitch. Isn’t that exactly what everyone in high school did to you?” 

“How did you-”

“Steve told me. He told me about your reputation, about being a freak, everything.” 

The splintering has spread to his side of the glass, clearly, as you say the word freak. 

“Is that why you hate me?” his tone hardens, gaze no longer sympathetic. Not that you see the change. “You decided I’m a freak, too?”

“I never said that-”

“No? Sorry, I thought we were just putting words into each other’s mouths.” 

The bar is busy, and you wonder if the bystanders can hear the wall of civility finally shattering. You have no idea if any of the shards hit Eddie, but you can feel them dig into your chest, your arms, your stomach. Shards that remind you of what could have been.

Shards that remind you of what was lost because Eddie Munson had decided he hated you long before he met you. 

“You’re the one who hated me before you even met me,” you scoff cruelly. 

“I never fucking said that-”

“You did, though,” you counter, crossing your arms over your chest protectively, “You said so yourself. Steve mentioned I was sort of popular in high school, and you just- you just decided to shove me into a box of what I would be. Some girl you didn’t even know.”

“Well, pardon me,” he snaps, “I didn’t exactly have the best experience with the popular kids, but you should know that since Stevie told you everything, right? Hell, he probably mentioned it over pillowtalk for your one night together, right?” 

You were an idiot. You had let yourself forget that Eddie is not normally kind, that Eddie is not normally so trustworthy as he’s been the last hour. You’d let your guard down, and now, the ramifications were staring you down right between the eyes. 

“Fuck you,” you angrily spit, moving to stand up, “I told you that in fucking confidence, because I thought… I thought…” 

“You thought..?” he presses as you turn to face him, shorter than him now that you weren’t both sitting in the stools, “What? That we were friends?” 

Yes. Because for a moment, I thought we were becoming friends, like a fucking idiot. 

His chest is heaving now. Just as yours had during your rant to him, your attempt to soothe over the fact that he hated you. You regret it. You regret ever agreeing on civility. 

“My mistake,” you choke out, “It won’t happen again.” 

You’ve caught him off guard. Maybe he had been prepared for you to deny it, maybe he had thought you’d laugh in his face at the idea of you considering him a friend.

But you hadn’t. You’d just confirmed to him that you did have that moment of weakness. You’d admitted that yes, for a vulnerable moment, you’d considered him a friend. A confidant over sweetened alcohol, cheap bar food, and trust. 

He’d had your trust, and he’d now lost it. 

You don’t wait around to see how he takes the revelation. You’re already storming out the front door of the bar, grateful you can still remember which direction his apartment is in. You don’t care if he’s following you – part of you hopes he isn’t. 

Until part of you is. Because as you step out into the night, a few shadows against the brickwall are brought to life by your appearance. 

“Hey there,” one of the men call out, “What’s a girl like you doing all alone?” 

You don’t process that the man is talking to you at first, head down and anger flaming. 

“Hey, you!” There’s a sudden hand on your shoulder, making you jolt your head up, “Yeah, you. What’s a pretty girl like you doing out here alone?” 

His grin is sinister. Sickly sweet in faux honey, blonde hair swept back and breath reeking of rum. 

“M-Me?” you stutter, trying to take a careful step back, to get his hand off your shoulder. 

Your heart is no longer racing with fury. It’s pounding with fear. 

“Does it look like there’s any other pretty girls out here?” he slurs with a chuckle, glancing around to his friends.

You look around as well, and realize with sinking trepidation that there’s no one else out here, “No. But, uh, I’m good. I.. I’m not… interest-” 

“What’s your name, honey?” he leans in closer, and you can’t help but lean back. It makes his grip on you tighten. “I’m Jason. Are you all alone? Because, I’ll be honest, I’ve been striking out all night and would love to take a pretty thing like you home with me.” 

“I’m g-good,” you start again, “Please, uh, please let go-” you're shaking your head, trying harder to pull off his hand. 

“Oh, come on. It’d be fu-” 

He doesn’t finish his sentence. One second, he’s pressing too close to you, holding you tight enough to leave bruises as you’re cringing and suddenly squirming to get out of his grasp, and the next – he’s gone. 

“Get the fuck off her.” 

You’re still too shocked to move, glancing down at your shoulder that’s now red and sore. But you know that voice. 

It’s the voice that had just told you he’d hated you before he ever met you. 

“Hey, man!” The intruder, Jason, protests as he’s shoved harshly against the wall. “What the fuck?” 

You finally look to see what’s happening properly. Eddie isn’t facing you, his broad back and shoulders appearing menacing in the shadows as Jason sinks further back against the wall. 

“She’s not going home with you.” 

His tone doesn’t waver, even as you catch the clench of his shaking fist. 

Jason catches sight of you, still standing where he left you, and the nauseating smirk returns, “I think we should let her decide, shouldn’t we?” 

You see Eddie move to raise his fist, and your body finally unfreezes. In an instant, you’re at his side, and your hand wraps around his bicep to prevent the punch he was surely pretending to send Jason’s way.

“Eddie,” you plead, tugging him backwards, anger momentarily forgotten. He doesn’t look at you, but he immediately takes the arm in your hold and wraps it around you in order to tuck you further behind his body, away from the wide, drunken stares of these men. You hate it, but it makes you feel safer, even as you grip the leather of his jacket’s sleeve tighter, “Eddie, please, let’s go.” 

“So she’s spoken for?” Jason pushes his luck, still slurring his words. 

Eddie’s fist clenches again. Without thinking, your hand not on his arm reaches down to grasp his fist. 

Your heart's still pounding. You’re still trembling, shaken up terribly – he can feel it. 

“Please,” you beg one last time. 

This time, he listens. The fist unravels, and in an instant, he has your hand locked in his, palm against sweaty palm. 

He’s not as rough as you expect him to be as he’s dragging you away from the scene. You can still hear the cat-calls, the taunts, of the drunken men, but it only spurs Eddie to walk faster. You struggle to keep up, his long legs carrying him more easily through the long strides, but you don’t protest, eager to get away from whatever the fuck just happens.

Neither of you say another word during the walk to his apartment. Your shoulder continues to ache, your hand stays tangled in his, and you can still feel the prick of civility’s shards in your chest, lodged dangerously close to your vines and closing buds of hopefulness. 

Civility. What a broken construct. 

–

BIRDIE: they are literally on a date right now. 

JOHNNY: I’m not doing this right now. 

DINGUS: god, i hate to admit it, but rob’s right. are they at a bar right now? am i seeing that right?

BIRDIE: yes!! i called it!! i fucking called it!!! god, only five hours in and they’re already on their first date.

ARGYLE ​​😎: love is in the air my dudes

JOHNNY: @ARGYLE ​​😎Don’t encourage them. 

NANCE: It is NOT their first date. Eddie wouldn’t take her to a bar for their first date.

BIRDIE: hold on, how would you know what eddie would do for their first date? 

NANCE: He’d probably take her somewhere nice, like whatever this town’s equivalent of Enzo’s. 

DINGUS: when the fuck has eddie talked about where he’d take her for the first date? 

BIRDIE: nancy what the fuck do you know?

JOHNNY: Lol

NANCE: Forget I said anything. 

BIRDIE: nancy, please explain yourself immediately.

DINGUS: nance? when? the? fuck? 

NANCE: He was drunk, he probably didn’t mean it.

BIRDIE: NANCY.

JOHNNY: Now you’ve done it. 

DINGUS: NANCY.

ARGYLE ​​😎: does this mean what i think it means?

BIRDIE: NANCE. 

JOHNNY: Just couldn’t keep your mouth shut, could you? 

NANCE has left the groupchat.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #twenty four hours

[melrodrigo]

Tardy, part 11

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11

Tara Carpenter x Fem Reader

Summary: It’s time for you to face Ghostface head on.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Pretty gnarly violence, Tara being protective and kinda batshit crazy, betrayals left and right

A/N: lol

Shit.

When you open your eyes and see nothing but a hot blinding light, you think you might've died and gone to heaven.

"God?" You whisper, blinking slowly.

It was in fact, not god, you find out once your eyes properly adjust.

You're stuck in a tiny compartment; so small you think you might suffocate. The walls are painted a shade of obsidian black that makes you feel like you're stuck in a black hole. Only one single flickering lightbulb grants you sight.

Your arms are sore; so sore, and it only intensifies when you try and pull them up from the weird position they're in.

Huh, I can't move my arms.

You tug at the rope-like fabric of material that's holding your hands together. It doesn't budge in the slightest. Panic rises like wildfire in you.

You breathe deep. Try to gather your wits and make sense of anything that is possibly going on.

"Get it together." You remind yourself.

You blink once.

Feeling a little more clear, you realize that you're strapped tight to a chair, back pressed uncomfortably close to the ridges.

Where am I?

There's no time to find the answer to that question since the wall is moving- oh it's a door-, and Ghostface appears right in front of you, smiling.

Well, you don't really know if he's smiling. But the way he's moving, all confident and cocky, makes you think you're not too far off.

It hits you all at once. Now that you're fully conscious, you can feel everything.

One inhale and your lungs feel like they're on fire. Breathing is hard.

You groan, the pain all too overwhelming for your brain to work properly. It would be embarrassing how loud you were if you cared in the least.

You can only seem to think of one thing.

"Where is she?" You ask, with all the confidence of someone in the position of interrogating Ghostface.

Tara. God, what did they do to Tara?

“Of course, your first words are about her." Ghostface spits, still using that goddamned voice modulator.

“Where is she?” You spit, trying your very best to look intimidating.

It's not very convincing when you're heaving and gasping like a fish out of water.

"Would you believe me if I said she was already dead?" Ghostface drawls, tracing their knife along your jawline, pressing just enough for you to feel it.

You scoff.

"Right...you'd kill one of your beloved 'main characters' before the finale." You say, sure you've read him to filth.

"But, this is the ending. Don't you see?" He continues to tease, unbothered by your last comment.

You huff, but you feel your heart picking up speed slightly.

What if...he was telling the truth?

A shrill scream sounds throughout the theater, and you feel your blood run cold as you recognize exactly who it is.

"Tara." You breathe, half terrified and half relieved she's still alive.

"Tara!" You yell, as loud as your lungs are willing to let you.

Tara doesn't reply. What you do get is a smack to the head and an elbow to the jaw.

"Be quiet." Ghostface hisses, and you can almost swear he sounds sort of scared.

"Be quiet or I'm going to get my ass whooped." He mumbles, and you pull back as far as you can, eyebrows raised.

You bite back the need to tell him you definitely don't care if he gets in trouble or not, not wanting to get slapped in the face a billion more times.

"Come on." He grumbles, gripping the back of the chair and lifting it up swiftly.

The feeling of your feet dangling off the chair reminds you of one of your favorite memories.

"Mint ice cream sucks," Tara tells you definitively.

You squint your eyebrows at her and bring up a hand to your heart like she's just stabbed you.

She's sitting with her ice cream in hand, a good distance away from you. You guys peer down at all the university students walking around, now the size of ants; trying to point out people you guys recognize.

It was your own little secret spot. Tara could never really go study outside uni, since her sister was always up her ass about traveling unknown spaces. You never asked her why, pure sister protectiveness, you guessed.

A couple of weeks into knowing Tara, she'd brought you up to this mini garden haven of hers, all shy and smiley.

She's sitting now and she's looking so pretty with her big brown eyes and freckles out for display. They shine bright today, sunshine illuminating her face and making everything just pop the slightest bit more.

You get a wicked idea, and before you can stop yourself, scoot yourself closer and place your arm around her.

Tara cocks an eyebrow at you, but before she can speak a word, you start tickling her sides.

"Stop!" Tara squeals. Her face turning a bright pink comically fast.

You're careful not to tickle her too hard, or else you think she might just slide off the ledge and fall right here.

You're close now, closer than you should be. Tension swims in the air. You lean down to whisper into her ear.

"That's what you get for saying mint sucks." You huff, smirking a little as she shudders from the feeling of your breath fanning her ear.

When you pull back and look into her eyes, you're surprised to see them wide and dilated. She has a weird expression her face, like she's fighting something in herself.

You lean in slowly, stuck in a trace with the way she's looking at you.

She grips your shirt and pulls you in further, your noses brushing. And then suddenly, like she's just snapped out of her daze, she sits up abruptly.

She laughs nervously, letting go of your shirt.

"I think Sam's calling me. I'll see you tomorrow. Same time?" She's saying, but she's not even giving you a second to answer before she's sprinting away.

Despite the sort of failed kiss, you chuckle a little. You feel the blush creep up to the tips of your ears.

The day your crush on Tara Carpenter officially started.

It's a bad time to start daydreaming, but you figure if you're going to die right now, it wouldn't be so bad to think of the love of your life while you go.

The sound of Tara's voice brings you back to life.

"YN!" She gasps, from somewhere behind you. You're still getting dragged, hair stuck to your forehead, eyes blurred.

You try your best to blink everything back to focus.

She's standing on the platform slightly below you, beside Sam, looking relieved. There's a brick in her hand.

You try and say her name but all that comes out is a painful groan. Everything feels heavy. Your shirt is painted red where your stomach wound is, and you figure you must've ripped the stitches.

There's another Ghostface beside you, the two of them bracketing you on either side.

Not that you would have the energy to up and escape anyway.

"Tara..." Sam warns, eyeing her sister like she knows what she's about to do.

Tara rushes forward, ignoring Sam's protest, trying to get to you. To hold you in her arms, to press her hands against your wound, to kiss it better; to do anything.

The Ghostface to your right swings their knife as soon as she comes into the vicinity, and slices the skin above Tara's collarbone easily. She gasps from the jab. Red liquid seeps out immediately.

You feel the Ghostface to your left tense, a mixture of a gasp and a yell stuck together.

"Anika wait-!" The Ghostface is saying, the name slipping out as easy as second nature.

Everybody stills.

It's so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

The other Ghostface whirls around, shoulders tight.

Sam tugs Tara back quietly, looking between the two Ghostfaces. Your head is swimming.

"What did you say?" Ghostface- supposedly Anika, says.

"What the fuck." You manage to spit out, but it goes unheard, everyone being laser-focused on the scene unfolding right in front of them.

"I'm sorry- I'm sorry I didn't mean to say that. It's just, I thought you were going to kill Tara. I couldn't let you do that." The other Ghostface reasons, albeit unconvincingly. He stumbles over his words, in a tone that's all too familiar to you.

"Ethan?" You hesitate, tears brimming in your eyes.

The Ghostface that's hovering above you drops down to your ear level, whispering softly.

"Well, aren't you just a smart little thing?" And promptly slides off that wretched Ghostface mask, and even though you knew, you have to gasp at who you see.

Anika.

Sweet sweet Anika.

"Just take it off. It's not like they don't already know." Anika tells Ethan, an order more than anything.

You tilt your head just enough to see Ethan take off his mask, grinning nervously.

"What the fuck?" You hear Tara say, but it sounds so far away.

"But, but how-" Sam starts, pointing at Ethan, her face as pale as a ghost.

He looks good, healthy. More alive than you've ever seen him. There's a glint in his eye you've never seen before.

"I'm alive. Surprise!" He grins, flashing the four of you a pearly white smile.

I must be dreaming.

You squeeze your eyes shut. He's still standing there when you open them again. Shit.

"But I watched you die, I felt the blood. You-you died in my arms. I saw the ambulance pick you up." You splutter, voice cracking unevenly.

"You know...some fake blood and a couple of acting classes can do wonders. You guys really are not good at picking up on hints." Anika sing songs, waving her dagger in the air.

"Seriously...we even had to send you a note." She continues, scrunching her nose in disgust.

"Why are you doing this? Why are you so hell-bent on destroying us?" Sam asks, fire in her eyes. She looks scary. Messing with Sam was one thing, but messing with her sister? You have a feeling they'll be dead in minutes.

Anika sighs dramatically, putting a hand up to her chin and feigning thought.

"Gosh. Where do I even start? Let's set the scene: it's 1996. There's been two mysterious murders in the small town of Woodsboro, leaving everyone in fright." She recounts, words slipping out of her mouth with ease like she's rehearsed them a million times.

Sam rolls her eyes, fed up with this godforsaken story that seems to follow her anywhere.

"Akio Kayoko however, lives happily, because finally his two bullies Billy and Stu aren't on his ass anymore. They have more important things to worry about."

Sam cuts in before Anika goes any further.

"Are you fucking kidding me? This is all because what, your dad couldn't handle a couple wedgies? Are you a little daddy's girl?" She says, fed up.

Anika shoots her an icy glare, but continues.

"You don't even know what you're talking about." Anika tells her, voice lowering to soft and almost sorrowful.

"Poor dad, he just had to go to that party. Do you know what happens to a person when they go through something traumatic? It changes them. He came out the only bystander that survived, but not without a scarred face and a scarred soul to show for it." She murmurs. She turns suddenly, a new pep in her mannerisms.

"Your father," she points at Sam accusingly, "and your father," she points her knife at you, "fucked my dad up royally. He got diagnosed with severe depression and bipolar disorder from it. And for what?" She seethes.

"Your guys' fathers are just racist assholes. You deserve everything that's coming to you, don't you even doubt it for a second!" She sneers, with so much venom and power that you can't help but agree.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, try to explain that you aren't your dad, but Anika beats you to it.

"Did you know he left me? I still remember it like it was yesterday. I was 6." She tells you, voice getting softer. Your heart tugs for her.

She straightens up, as if just realizing where she was, and her icy facade once again builds up.

"Anywho, motive enough for you Sam?" She tilts her head up, eyes bright.

Sam stands scarily still, but you can see the concern swimming in her eyes.

Ethan's standing wide-eyed like this is all new information to him.

"It really wasn't that hard getting you two to meet. All I had to do was invite Tara to that party and just give YN a little bump so you two would talk." Anika continues, and you furrow your eyebrows. Party? You met Tara at a party?

Your eyes dart to Tara and she's looking at you a little solemnly, and suddenly it hits you like a truck. Memories that have never been unlocked before replay in your mind now. The angel from that party.

That was Tara.

"After that, everything just fell into place. You guys are one pathetic predictable group of people." Ethan pipes up.

"The friendship, the night you got stabbed, it was all planned. I mean, why do you think I took you back to the apartment? For Anika to "stitch you up?" He asks excitedly, looking at Anika for approval to speak further. She gives him an annoyed nod.

"And guess what the best part is," He giggled midway, but gains his composure again. "Every time she came to fix you up, she actually poisoned the wound. Never too much that you would notice- but enough to guarantee your death today. It's infected." He cheers, like he hasn't just told you you're going to die.

"Jesus, you never told me how bad it was," Tara says, making your eyes dart back to hers, trying to catch her gaze to inadvertently say your sorry, but she doesn't meet your eyes.

"I didn't want you to worry." You sigh.

Ethan makes a noise of disgust. He looks at you with scrunched eyebrows, a little crinkle of his nose betraying his chill facade. His gaze shifts to Tara, and you can't help but notice his voice move just a pitch higher.

"Poor Tara. Caught in this sick twisted web between your sister and your girlfriend. You didn't even do anything wrong right, baby? Don't worry...nothing's going to happen to you. I've made sure of that." He tells her, and it hits you all at once.

"Baby? What are you talking about? " Tara asks, cocking her head to the side.

"I love you, Tara. I did all of this just for you. When the both of them are dead, you and I can get together. Finally." He says, between deep breaths.

You don't know how you never saw it before. Memories of the prior weeks flash in front of your eyes.

His heart eyes for your girlfriend every time the group would have a movie night and you two would cuddle, the weird lingering around the both of you whenever you'd go out.

You just figured he really liked your company.

"You're out of your mind you sick fuck. Tara would never date you, even if you were the last person on earth." Is what Sam says, and despite the consequences of what's sure to come, your heart sings.

Last person on earth.

Ethan stutters, like he never thought of the possibility that she would reject him. You see tears forming immediately, frown apparent. He's trying to keep it together- you can tell.

He leans back slightly, dejected. His eyes cloud with something you can only describe as hatred, and for a scary moment, you think he seriously might jump at Tara.

However, he doesn't get the time to act on his thoughts, because in less than a blink of an eye Anika's moving over and stabbing him in the neck.

"Agh!" He grunts. A trickle of blood runs down the side of his mouth, then it bursts. So, so much thick crimson liquid gurgles out.

Anika stands behind him, sliding her knife out his back, wiping the blood clean.

"Gosh, what a bore he was, right? True love this true love that. I couldn't listen to that shit any longer." She gags, leaning over to stick her tongue out at Ethan's lifeless face. She stabs him again in the jaw for good measure.

She looks back at the three of you, who are clearly aghast.

"Gotta make sure he's dead right?" She smiles, and it finally gets through to you that she's lost it. Whoever you thought you knew, that person never existed.

No one answers her as she stands up.

You turn stoney-faced as you look up at her. "So what's the plan Anika? How are you gonna get away with this?"

She turns around, rolling her eyes. Before you know it, she's advancing towards you, knife raised. She jabs lightly at your wound. Teases her knife against your skin. You really wish people would stop picking that specific part to hurt you.

"Do we really need to go over this again? Kill you guys blah blah blah, find Mindy and kill her, say that you and Sam went crazy like their fathers. Really, it's not hard to understand." Anika continues, shuffling her feet as she speaks like she's bored.

Time is ticking before she snaps and just decides to kill you, you know it. Not to mention the fact that you were actively dying.

"What do you really want from us? Just name your price now, and we'll- we'll get it. Just let her go." Tara splutters, almost begging.

Anika stomps her feet with the energy of a three year olds tantrum, "I want revenge! Have I not made that clear enough?" she basically yells.

Sam moves forward slowly, like a wildlife expert moving towards a wild beast.

"Look I'm sure we can come to an agreement about something-" She's saying, but Anika rolls her eyes once again and advances lazily towards you.

Nothing happens in slo-mo like the movies, you can barely register her face before she's plunging the dagger deep into the other side of your lower stomach. You can feel it pierce it's way through your whole body.

You hear a scream but it sounds a million miles away. You gag, moving your head to the side to try and puke, but nothing comes out. You try to groan in frustration but it makes your skin sting everywhere that you stop. You just stop for a moment.

Tara's fully sobbing now, you think. You can't really tell.

All hell breaks loose. Sam breaks out into a sprint at Anika, effectively knocking her down till both of them are tumbling on the floor.

You see flashes of black and gray and blood spurting from someone.

"Stay with me." You hear someone say, and try with everything in you to blink back everything into focus. It's Tara.

Her mascara is everywhere. Black stripes of tears and makeup streak down her pretty face, and you feel the urge even now to bring your hand up and wipe the tears away.

You try and tell her to stop crying but the words die in your mouth. What feels like fire engulfs your lungs.

"Stay with me. I'll be right back." She whispers, pressing a kiss to your chapped lips.

You search your mind desperately for a way out of this mess, a solution, but everything goes blank. Your ears ring, eyes rolling to the back of your head in pain.

With everything you have in you, you squeeze Tara's hand one last time, and tell her to take the knife currently lodged in you out.

Tara's eyes darken, the most cloudy you've ever seen them.

"No, no. I couldn't do that." She says, another round of tears falling down her cheeks. She shakes her head adamantly, but you shush her.

"Please. For me." You manage to get out, then with the utmost acceptance, you let yourself go.

Tara doesn't remember much of what happened after that. She remembers sobbing, she remembers someone screaming, but she can't be too sure if it's her or someone else. She remembers the feeling of your fingers loosening their grip on her hand, and she remembers seeing red.

With no where else to channel her emotions, and with your words engraved in her mind, she turns on Anika.

She hurries over to where she's still wrestling with Sam, expression tight, and grabs the first thing she can find in this shithole of a theater.

Your father's wooden box.

She remembers faintly telling Sam to fuck off, and smashing the box over Anika's head. Then picking it up and doing the same thing again. And again, and again. She remembers taking the heel of her shoes and smashing it to Anika's nose, breaking it in one clean hit.

She remembers going back to you, your white as paper skin, and yanking the knife out of you.

And the final thing she remembers is screaming at Anika while she buries the knife in and out of the girl’s body, everywhere, again and again.

#tardy #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x reader #wednesday addams x reader #melrodrigo #jenna ortega #mine

[lunarw0rks]

please tell me i’m not the only one who thinks soap would be horny at the WRONG times?

like let’s say you’re hosting your very first end of the year bbq and you invite your close friends, the task force, + los vaqueros. you’re excited because you just had moved into your first house as well.

all is good until good until soap starts getting needy, purposely brushing up against your backside whenever he passes by, mumbling the most sarcastic ‘oops my bad’. he even says something along the lines of ‘sending everyone back home so we could have some alone time’ and plays it off as a joke but you know he’s being serious 💀 like that man does NOT CARE, he’ll take you in the bathroom if he has to.

a/n: naur, you're onto something anon. I always picture Soap as a horny bastard; not much restraint in his not-so-little body. got a little carried away on this, lol. warning(s): nsfw, horny stuff, fem!reader

imagine you bought a house together and the nice idea of throwing a little housewarming party, for him, for you — inviting his co-workers and some friends of your own. he insisted a thousand times that you didn't have to invite them; but only because of all the embarrassing stories they were going to tell you about your boyfriend.

but, when all was said and done, it was a great gathering. you did it all yourself — the meals, the decor, the staging of your newly purchased outdoor furniture — everything. it was alluring to Soap, how frazzled and insistent on "perfection" you were. though, you heard about a thousand times, that they would eat anything you put in front of them.

when you two sat around the fire, gaz asked how you two planned on celebrating the new house once the festivities died down. an innocent question; but it sparked in your boyfriend's mind. "aye, we'll find a way to celebrate, that's for sure. jus' gotta make sure the timing's right," he played it off with a chuckle, but there was no mistaking how flustered it made you.

it was going perfectly, or as perfect as a party with these people could be. a lengthy dinner in the backyard, endless conversations, and a little too much indulgence in the booze for some of them. "great party, great house. should have you decorate the base sometime, eh? if it's half as nice, it'll help with morale." price commented as he talked to you and him.

Soap's arm remained around your shoulder, your waist, or anywhere throughout the night. you didn't think anything of it, frankly, you were too laser-focused — until his neediness grew. brushing against your backside, a caress on your thigh lingering, a small wink when the guests weren't focused on you.

some went off to the side to smoke, and others remained on the patio to continue their conversations. by now, it was time to get the mess cleaned up. plates, cups, wrappers, empty bottles, and the other trash that had accumulated.

"i'll help you with that, love. you've done enough tonight, haven't ye?" he approached after dismissing himself, grabbing the second stack of silverware and following you inside. Soap finally had his opportunity to seize what he desired, when he knew the party was much less alive, much less prying eyes on you two.

you stepped inside from the patio, him closing the sliding door behind you. dumping the plates into the sink, you turned on the faucet with the intention of beginning a long night of clean-up duty. his hand reached around you, turning off the faucet, "not what i meant by helpin' you, lass. c'mon," he motioned his head in the direction of the hall.

you took one more look out the window, seeing the preoccupied guests, most paying little mind to your guys' close proximity in your new kitchen. why the hell not? might as well cross the guest bathroom off your list of "places we've had sex in our new home" — right?

before the door even closes, he's hiked up the hem of your evening dress, shoving his hand down the waistband of your panties. Soap ends up fucking you senseless on the bathroom counter, gagging you with his fingers in case any of his co-workers came inside the house to grab another chilled drink. you were only a few feet from the kitchen, it was the definition of risky.

mid-thrust, there was a soft knock. price, goddamn price. "everything alright in there, sweetheart?"

even with his superior on the other side of a door, about a foot away, did Soap stop? no, of course not. he slowed down but never stopped. he removed his fingers from your mouth, biting his lip to mock you that look in your eyes, whilst they shot open in a frenzy. you cleared your throat to conceal a moan, using every ounce of strength to not feel Soap bottoming out over and over again. "uh, just a— just a little wine on my dress, John. no worries!"

as soon as price's steps retreated down the hall, Soap's ragged, growly breaths resumed. in a split second, his ruts went from mockingly slow, back to a relentless pounding.

before there was any chance of another interruption, he finished with a sneer on his face. "wine on the dress, eh? smart girl. i like that." he heaved against your lips, gently wiping any mess that smudged on your lips. you were livid, despite coming down from your own high. a palm smacked his chest repeatedly until he shut your heated whispers up with a hundred pecks across your jaw and mouth.

Soap walks outside first, blaming the lost time on him fishing through the moving boxes for a Tupperware you needed. whether it was believable or not, that was up for debate. the sweat lingering on his brow, the afterglow of sex on his face? unmistakable.

now, you've either have to splash water on your dress to imitate where you would've scrubbed a wine stain off. or... just, walk on out of there like you hadn't just been fucked stupid — with trembling legs, naturally.

#mw2 #call of duty #task force 141 #soap mactavish smut #soap mactavish #soap cod #soap mw2 #john soap mactavish #soap headcanons #141 headcanons #tf 141 x reader #141 task force #cod x reader #cod headcanons #mw2 headcanons #mw2 fanfic #soap x reader #soap x you #soap x y/n #soap x fem reader #john price x reader #captain john price

[missmonsters2]

—Just Last Lifetime | Two

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: Wednesday is determined to recreate the special moments of your relationship to revive your memories—to revive your feelings. But it becomes apparent that the same memories cannot be created twice.

Warnings: Heavy Angst. Heartbroken!Wednesday. DestinedToBeAlone!Wednesday. Amnesia. Flashbacks. Violent emotional outbursts.

PART ONE

Masterlist | Library Blog | AO3

Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Note: so this is it! The end...haha unless...👀 lol jk...unless ☝️

Count: 4.9k

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"We're going somewhere for our studies today."

You look curiously at Wednesday, clutching the straps of your backpack a little tighter at the sudden spring of information. 

Wednesday pretends to not notice your anxiousness, turning to walk off and expecting you to follow. She pays attention to the footsteps behind her, satisfied that you trail along despite clearly being reluctant. 

It's been easier to spend time with you lately, with Yoko being incredibly busy with her club activities, and Enid has been keeping herself busy on purpose to leave you with no choice but to spend time with Wednesday. 

Wednesday doesn't think you particularly hate spending time with her. You're always cordial and friendly. You've thanked her multiple times for taking the time to help you catch up on your studies and assistance with your current assignments. 

Just a few days ago, you gifted her 99% dark chocolate for all the help. Wednesday had been intrigued, thinking you recalled how she preferred the bitter taste. But the intrigue swiftly died when you informed her Enid let you know as you wanted to do something for her. 

It didn't matter. It was the fact alone that you went out of your way to give Wednesday something she'd like that mattered. 

"Where are we going?" You ask, your voice tinged with curiosity and wariness the further you walk past the school entrance, clearly leaving. "Are we actually studying?"

Wednesday's eyes peer to the corner of her eyes to look at you. 

"You study too much."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

Then.

"You spend too much time investigating, Wednesday." 

Wednesday didn't even look up at you as she continued to pack her backpack for the day. 

"I thought you were interested in coming along to find answers?" Wednesday's voice was dispassionate. There was a part of her that was tinged with annoyance that you constantly invited yourself along to her trips if you were just going to get sick of tagging along now. 

"I very much am, but we've clearly hit a wall and I'm not particularly looking forward to walking around in circles in the forest today," you pursed your lip but then smiled. "Why don't we take a little bit of a break today? If you really want to, we can continue investigating tonight instead."

"You're willing to sneak out?" Wednesday raised her brow at you. She thought you were ridiculous for trying to bargain with her. The investigation was important, and Wednesday had no desire to lose any time. 

She would investigate, and you were free to come along or not. 

"I'll break any rule for you, Wednesday."

You said it in such a natural way, and Wednesday found that she was unable to reply right away. She looked back down at the ground for a moment, blinking before she looked back up at you.

"Where are we going?"

Wednesday had several ideas of where you might take her. There was the music hall, the planetarium, or even the garden. But what she hadn't expected was that you'd take her to the carnival.

"You didn't get to enjoy it, right?" You asked as you stepped out of the taxi, paying the driver cash. Wednesday didn't answer, but you knew the answer. "I mean, probably hard to enjoy since you were chasing the Hyde and almost died after Rowan did."

That was another one of the reasons why Wednesday didn't mind that you came along with her investigations. You were the only person who believed her when she said Rowan was dead, despite also being of the people who saw him in the aftermath. 

When Wednesday asked why you believed her, you simply said she didn't come across as someone who would lie about it. So, if he was dead, he was dead. 

"I suppose," Wednesday looked at the carnival before her. It was moderately busy for a weekend, and she wasn't particularly interested in doing any of these mundane activities. 

"Alright," you clapped your hands, bringing Wednesday's attention to you. "We're on a mission today. I come here every year the carnival opens up to win the biggest prize, but my tickets were short since the carnival got cut short last time with the entire…situation."

"What are you trying to win?" Wednesday asked.

You grin at her, pointing far down the carnival with a specific booth. "That mini motorcycle."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

"This is rigged," Wednesday seethed, glaring at the booth worker who was nervously sweating ever since she approached. 

You laughed, grabbing Wednesday's attention and the relief of the worker. "I know, right? We're totally just losing money at this point."

It was a simple game. A gun with 9 rubber bullets and 10 balloons to pop, and you had to win 5 times in a row with no supernatural abilities to get enough tickets to win the motorcycle. 

It was not impossible, Wednesday knew that, but the balloons were not close enough where she could get away with hitting two with one rubber bullet. 

They've both spent $100 at this point and while Wednesday would get 9 of 10 balloons every time, you would hit one balloon before you missed every other shot, hitting the corner of the wooden target. 

As often as you refilled, it was starting to wear a dent. 

"You're terrible at this," Wednesday bluntly said, but you merely smiled and shrugged. 

A bit of wind was picking up, making the balloons circle around in their spot. Wednesday spotted her opportunity and chance when two balloons circled close enough towards each other, barely grazing. 

Wednesday timed it perfectly and shot her 9 bullets, using her last one to wait as they circled towards each other before shooting and getting them both. 

"Oh," you grinned. "That was really impressive." 

Wednesday didn't react to your praise, waiting for the worker to rotate the next round of balloons and repeating her actions while the wind continued. 

So far, Wednesday has won 4 times in a row. She had to pause as the wind died down, but it was sure to come back in a few moments.  

"What do you want if we both win?" You asked. "There's only one motorcycle, so you may have to settle for something else."

Wednesday snorted. "I'm not sure I should get my hopes up on getting anything." It was a dig at the fact you've been absolutely terrible with your shots.

"C'mon, Wednesday," you grinned. "Dream a little."

"I don't dream."

"Nightmare it up a little," you quickly rebuttal.

Wednesday sighed, looking at the prizes that hung and framed the booth. Outside of random useless knick knacks, there were just stuffed animals—which were also useless.

But Wednesday's eye caught on a large scorpion stuffed animal. She wasn't one for being sentimental, but this was as good as it would get.

"That," Wednesday pointed at the scorpion stuffed animal.

You looked at it, grinning as you knew the story behind it. "Sure thing."

The wind picked up again, and Wednesday took the opportunity to win the 5th time in a row. The booth worker, whom Wednesday also assumed was the owner, looked relieved and reluctant to hand over the mini-motorcycle.

"I don't want to stand here for hours," Wednesday deadpanned, having already spent 2 and a half hours winning this prize for you. You would be here for 2 and a half days at the rate you were going.

"We're just about finished," you told Wednesday, and she raises her brow, thinking you'd given up. 

But you slap down another $20 bill, smirking. Wednesday looked to your side of the targets and noticed the small dent you've managed to create with the rubber bullets. She narrowed her eyes, wondering if that was your plan all along. 

Wednesday gets her answer within minutes. Suddenly, you've turned into a master marksman, shooting every balloon precisely until you were down the last two side by side. You tilted your gun, aiming it at the target, where you created a dent in the side. When you shot the bullet, it shot inside the hole and bounced against the wood, flying out with just enough force to hit the two balloons from the side. 

Wednesday furrowed her brows in disbelief. 

It continued like that until you won 5 times in a row without pausing. The owner looked like he wanted to say something but merely rolled his eyes with a certain kind of fondness Wednesday was sure you earned over the years coming here. 

"The tickets get you two of these," the owner said, handing you two large scorpion stuffed animals.

"Did you have fun?" you grinned at Wednesday.

"It was passable," Wednesday admits, unable to fully say that even mundane activities like carnival games were interesting if she was with you. 

As you left the booth, you handed Wednesday the stuffed scorpions to hold while taking the mini motorcycle. 

"Look," you said. "Now your scorpion has a little friend to keep them company, or a little girlfriend," you wriggled your brows at her while Wednesday sighed, not commenting back.

She looks at the motorcycle and then at you. "Do you even know how to operate this?"

You smiled at Wednesday. "Not at all."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

Now.

The biggest prize of the carnival is still the mini motorcycle, as they don't change the award until next year. It seems they've stocked up since the last time the two of you were here. 

Wednesday knows you already have one, but it wouldn't hurt to have another one. 

You seem spirited to be at the carnival playing games, as it's obviously familiar to you. 

They walk up to the same booth with the same owner, who clearly recognizes them.

"Oh, not again," he sighs. "You're going to run me out of business. Any chance I can talk you out of winning again?"

You look confused, but when you see the motorcycle as the prize, a moment of recognition dawns on your face from the one in the corner of your room. "I've already won this," you slowly say as a confirmation but not as a memory. 

"Close," Wednesday drawls. "I won it."

You look confused as to why Wednesday would win the big prize for you, but before you question it, Wednesday speaks again. "It's time to repay the favor and win me one too."

You smile weakly as if the pressure is on, but you pick up the gun, studying the targets. The dent you created on the target was gone as the owner replaced it. You play a couple of rounds to get a feel of the game, while Wednesday puts little effort into her own game. It's unlikely there'd be wind again this time around. Even if Wednesday now knew the other method, it was something Wednesday hoped you would get on your own. 

As time goes on, you're starting to get the idea of how to win. It's rather satisfying to watch you get to the same conclusion. 

Wednesday takes her time achieving the same method as you. You're focused on your own game, not checking how Wednesday's faring. 

You both created a dent relatively around the same time before shooting in sync, winning 5 times in a row. 

The owner sighs, shaking his head and muttering about changing the rules about damaging the targets to win. Still, he hands you the motorcycle before asking what else you want.

"Uh," you hesitate, looking at the various prizes before you. Your eyes spot two stuffed animals that make you grin. "The bat and the wolf, please."

With the prizes in tow, the two of you leave the booth. 

"What are you going to do with the mini motorcycle?" You ask. 

"Teach you how to ride," Wednesday bluntly tells you. 

You look surprised. "Oh," you chuckled weakly. "Right, I guess I probably told you I wouldn't know how to ride one."

Wednesday doesn't know what to say about your comment, so she veers off topic. "What are you going to do with the stuffed animals?" Wednesday internally sighs at the ridiculousness of the question. There are very limited things you can do with stuffed animals. 

"I'm going to give them to Yoko and Enid," you smile. 

"Right," Wednesday mutters, feeling something bitter rise in her throat but unable to identify it. Despite coming here and doing it correspondingly, none of this feels the same. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

You shrug your shoulders before nodding. "It's not bad to take a break from studying."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

The second time Wednesday takes you somewhere, you give her a confused smile.

"I'm pretty behind on my classes still," you gently point out, hinting that you're not up for another day of playing hooky, and Wednesday concedes with a nod.

"I'm aware. We aren't taking a break today," Wednesday clarifies, "we're merely studying in a different scenery." 

The walk is silent as you follow Wednesday's lead. She takes you further down the river to an area you haven't explored before until you eventually reach a tall wisteria tree, probably the only one in Vermont, preserved with magic. 

"Wow," you breathe in awe, "I didn't know we had one so near campus."

The gothic girl is lost in her thoughts as she settles near the base of the tree, grabbing the books from her backpack on autopilot. 

You used to trail beside her, and now you always walk one step behind. 

It's something Wednesday noticed as she took you around various parts of the school during your study sessions in an attempt to recreate the memories. She knows you're starting to find her odd, but Wednesday can't afford to tell you what she's really trying to do.

Wednesday's goal wasn't necessarily to make you remember everything by taking you to these places that hold special memories. If you never remember, that's okay. What Wednesday wants is to recreate the memories in hopes they'll lead the two of you down the same path it did the first time.

But instead of growing closer like you did the first time, it feels like you're pulling further away. 

Even so, Wednesday can't stop trying. 

"Um," you mumble as you search through your notebooks. "I was hoping we could pick up where we left off on ancient languages?"

Wednesday nods, and the two of you delve into the usual strict business of studying. 

Everything is fine, and Wednesday is grading one of your practice sheets while you work on another. It's fine until she notices your trembling fingers. It's subtle as you were obviously trying to hide it, tightening your hands into fists and keeping them at your sides as you attentively look at the worksheet.

"I can't seem to understand the syntax—" you start to say but abruptly stop when Wednesday suddenly stands up, reaches up, and rips off a wisteria flower stock from the tree. She sits back down, reaching over and grabbing your wrist. The gentle squeezing of her hold prompts you to open your hand up, and Wednesday places wisteria stock into your hand.

The shaking stops, and Wednesday begins explaining the syntax to you without skipping a beat while you stare at her, stunned.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

Then.

"Let's go to the wisteria tree," you were holding Wednesday's hand as you dragged her along. "Today is such a beautiful day, and your skin is way too fair—I mean pale—I mean pallor—to be out in the sun."

Wednesday merely gave you an unimpressed look. 

"Once again, you're disrupting my investigations. At this rate, it will take me a lifetime to solve the murders going on here," Wednesday's tone was disgruntled. "It would tarnish not only my reputation but also my ego, and I will make sure you die a miserable death for doing so."

"Ignoring the fact that everyone on campus would totally be dead," you turned around and grinned, "We'd have spent a lifetime together—before you killed me, of course."

You didn't add anything else to your words, but Wednesday could catch the insinuations between the lines. 

A lifetime together. 

A lifetime with you. 

The idea didn't displease Wednesday at all; if anything, the fact that it didn't was more disgruntling. 

A large wisteria tree appeared, and the two of you easily settled in. Wednesday was grateful that she had an inkling she should bring a book today in her bag. 

"I love this place," you sighed with happiness. "I can't believe you found this place, and I've never noticed it in the years I've been going here."

"It's colorful," Wednesday drawled in response. The flowers that grew were vibrant violet and lavender, something she thought was entirely putrid, but she knew you would love it. 

Wednesday was about to say something else when she noticed your fingers were shaking.

"What's wrong with your hands?" Wednesday asked with narrowed eyes.

You looked down, finding you were shaking, before clenching your hands into fists. "It's nothing, it just happens sometimes."

"It's not nothing," Wednesday seethed, angered that you would dare lie to her face. "Why is it shaking? What's wrong?"

You looked like you were debating something for a long moment before you asked her. "Can you grab me one of the wisteria flower stocks?"

Wednesday narrows her eyes at your avoidance, but she gets up, pulls a flower stock off from one of the branches, and passes it to you as she sits down.

"Why does it shake like that?" Wednesday demanded again.

"It's my power," you answer softly, wrapping your fingers around the flower. Wednesday watched as the flower in your handle steadily withered and died. You were smiling at her, but your eyes had a distinct melancholy look.

"This happens when I don't use my powers enough or use them too much. Air is generally made up of a lot of different gases but too little or too much of one causes disruptions in my body because the equilibrium between the air outside and the air inside my body isn't stabilized," you shrugged, holding the withered wisteria flowers in your hands that no longer shook. "I try not to if I can, but plants are a cheat way for me to expel and absorb air to find the equilibrium."

"Why not? It's obviously the most efficient way to stop the shaking," Wednesday frowned. 

You shrugged. "I don't think it's a good idea for people to realize there are drawbacks to my powers and how to fix them. It may start with plants, but people will eventually start fearing I can use people the same way."

"Can you?"

You quirked your lip in response, and Wednesday knew the answer. 

"Besides," you sighed, dropping the dead wisteria stock with a regretful frown. "Some plants are really beautiful. It's a shame to kill them."

Wednesday looked up at the hanging flowers and scrunched her nose in disgust. "I encourage you to kill this offensively colorful tree."

"When it makes you so miserable? I can't deprive you of that."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

Now.

The silence drags on too long, and your lack of response prompts Wednesday to look at you.

You're staring at her before Wednesday watches peer down at your hand, intensely in thought. There's a mix of disbelief and curiosity in your eyes, and Wednesday doesn't understand why. 

This was normal.

"Wednesday," you call her name softly, making Wednesday's eyes nearly flutter at the sound. But the next words make her freeze. "Was I in love with you?"

It's something in the way you say it, curious and accepting. Something rushes into Wednesday's chest like a stampede, and she realizes it's hope.

Your tone doesn't suggest you remember anything, but Wednesday rationalizes that it's fine. While it would be ideal that you remember everything, it's not a condition Wednesday holds. 

You’re biting your bottom lip, looking reluctant. The silence falls again and lingers until you speak up again, trying to be firm.

"Wednesday, I don't know you—at least not anymore. I don't know what I felt about you before the accident...but that's gone. I'm not going to feel it just because you bring me to places that mattered to us. I don't remember it and I don’t understand it."

Stop talking.

Wednesday wants you to stop talking. She closes her eyes, turning her head away as if that would stop her from hearing your words. 

You don't take the hint. 

"I don't feel that way about you anymore." 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

It was fine—it was. 

Wednesday spends the rest of her week doing various things. She writes, then she goes to the library; she briefly goes to the bee club until she can't stand Eugene's chattering and leaves. She goes on walks with Enid, who smartly avoids talking about you, and sometimes subjects herself to Xavier's monologuing and brooding in his art studio. 

Wednesday fills the days with various activities while simultaneously avoiding areas you'd be in. It's not that she's afraid of seeing you, but simply that she doesn't want to. 

This is fine. 

The day has come to an end, and the sun has long gone from the sky. Wednesday decides to return to her room and play the cello before bed.

This is for the best. 

Wednesday focuses her thoughts on her cello and what she'll play, and perhaps Thing will be there to turn the pages for her. 

It is meant to be this way. 

The room is dark when she enters, and Wednesday knows Enid is not around. There's a small feeling of relief that she doesn't need to face her roommate right now. 

The silence in the room feels jilting in a way Wednesday's not used to. She used to be content in the quiet...until you. Then she grew used to your presence and soft chatter around this hour. 

Wednesday clenches her fists.

Good riddance. 

You were a mistake, and you did her a favor by cutting ties. This was something Wednesday should've done herself a long time ago. 

Thing greets her on her bed, and she acknowledges him with a nod. She shreds off her backpack and changes out of her uniform before grabbing her cello and heading out onto the balcony.

The scuttling footsteps behind Wednesday tell her that Thing is quickly following. 

"Bring me the new music sheet to play," Wednesday directs. She needs to play something different that would require her focus instead of her usual repertoire, which would allow her mind to drift.

Wednesday starts playing immediately, eyes focusing on the notes she's playing while Thing diligently flips the pages for her. 

This is good.

This keeps her mind focused and sharp. Wednesday doesn't have time to think about anything else when she has to focus on what note she'll be playing next. 

Despite the new piece, though, Wednesday's mind begins to drift. She has to make a conscious effort to keep her focus on the music sheet in front of her, but you pop up in her mind interspersedly.

"Wednesday, I don't know you—at least not anymore."

Her fingers falter, her cello emitting a jagged sound from her mistake. It's so unbelievably frustrating. She hasn't ever made a mistake while playing her cello since she first started learning it as a child. Years and years have gone by without a single mistake, and it was all ruined because of you.

You plague her like a disease that festers under her skin. Wednesday's done her best to ignore you for days now. She's been ignoring the sight of you, the talks of you, and everything down to the thought of you. 

Yet, you were still there, underneath everything. You simmer like a slow boiling kettle until you can't be ignored anymore. 

Wednesday closes her eyes frustratingly, willing you to leave her mind. She threatens her brain to erase the thought of you. It'd clearly be so much easier to forget you. After all, look how simply you live now without a memory of Wednesday. 

But you don't go away. The memories remain with Wednesday, torturing her for what will likely be the rest of her life. 

This was not a form of torture Wednesday ever thought she'd have to endure. 

Wednesday opens her eyes and stands abruptly as she walks back inside. She didn't bother turning on the lights, and the only thing illuminating the room was the moonlight shining through the balcony.

"I don't feel that way about you anymore."

Wednesday clenches her jaw and tightens her grip on her cello. 

How entirely damning. 

Suddenly, a white-hot ball of rage forms in Wednesday's chest; everything she's been trying to push down for the last few days spills over. Emotions run a rampage inside her, unable to be controlled and ignored any longer. 

Wednesday lifts her cello before violently smashing it into the floor, the body of it breaking in an uneven half, wood splitting into multiple pieces. The tailpiece cracks, and the strings snap, one of them into Wednesday's hand and cutting it.

The rage and adrenaline in her body don't allow the pain to register, even if she can see the blood. 

How could you forget?

Wednesday begins destroying other parts of her side of the room—her bed, her clothes, her books. She pushes her wardrobe over and knocks over the chair at her desk, the loud banging ringing in her ears but not loud enough to cover the pain in her chest.

Thing scuttles back and forth in worry, but he cannot do anything to help his friend. He immediately leaves out the door with a mission. 

How could you not want to fall in love with her again?

Wednesday pushes her typewriter off her desk—she thrashes everything off her desk. Her beloved typewriter crashes into the floor, the carriage breaking off along with other various parts. Keys pop off, making a ruckus on the floor as they hit it, but it doesn't bring any relief. 

None of this is. 

Wednesday pulls open the drawer, grabs out her manuscript, and looks at the last few pages she's written. Viper falls in love with someone who helps her with her investigations, and Wednesday has written up to the part where Viper begrudgingly accepts that fact she has feelings for this person and accepts their confession. 

Wednesday has never gotten rid of any parts of her work all these years. Sure, she's done revisions and draft editing, but every scene down to its core idea has never been removed. Wednesday is a stern believer that every scene is meant to happen, and she cannot change the course of her writing when she looks back. 

But Wednesday begins to shred multiple pages. She shreds page after page but doesn't know when to stop. Should she stop before Viper gets involved with this person? 

Along with the anger settles in hollowness. 

It's the realization that even if Wednesday destroys these pages, she can't really undo the fact that Viper has met someone and fallen in love with them. 

How could you leave Wednesday to remember everything alone?

Wednesday hears the door open, but she doesn't turn around. 

"Wednesday?" Enid's voice is soft and unsure, full of concern. 

Wednesday doesn't answer. 

Enid steps further into the room, shutting the door behind her as she looks around. The room is a mess with so many broken items on the floor, but her side remains untouched, nearly down to the tape they removed ages ago. 

Enid is careful as she makes her way to Wednesday, the girl's shoulder tense with obvious rage. But even so, Enid knows her roommate would never hurt her. So, she places a hand on her roommate's shoulder when she's next to Wednesday. 

"Wednesday—"

Wednesday is quick to whip around and look at Enid with violently accusing eyes. "This is your fault," Wednesday spits out. "I wouldn't be feeling this—this loneliness if you haven't been spurring lies to me about love." The tone is filled with disgust at the last word.

Wednesday has never expressed any ounce of emotion that would allow her to scream at someone, but she wants to scream at Enid and can't. Even if she wanted to, her throat feels so raw with something Wednesday can only detect is the urge to cry. 

But even if Wednesday threatens her body to refrain from crying, the salty water spills from her eyes without permission. The spill and spill, even if Wednesday doesn't make a single sound. 

Enid doesn't care if Wednesday punches, stabs, or even kills her—she pulls Wednesday into a bone-crushing hug. Her roommate resists at first, pushing against Enid, but it's useless against her werewolf strength. Enid holds on, even as Wednesday's pushing turns into desperate clinging. 

Wednesday's tears are hot, and Enid knows logically tears are always hot, but she finds herself surprised they are. It's just another sign her roommate is all too human too. 

"It's okay, Wednesday, I swear," Enid whispers, rubbing Wednesday's back in soothing circles, even caressing her messy braids. 

There's no heaving or loud sobbing, as that would be too much for the somber girl. Even so, Enid can feel the tears soak her neck and dampen her shoulder. 

"It's not," Wednesday's voice is so raw, as if the girl had been violently sobbing. She clutches at Enid's back, her eyes blankly staring at the mess she's made of her room. Everything is out of place or broken. 

It shouldn't be Enid here, but the person Wednesday wants will never show up.

"I don't have anyone anymore."

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams x ofc #wednesday x ofc #wednesday addams #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega imagine #mm: my fics

[earthstellar]

Ratchet unable to get up from his desk after lifting a patient onto a medberth

Back strut too sore, cables got over-tensioned somewhere, he's too old for this

Sometimes you just gotta sit there and look into space for a minute while knowing your body will not get its shit together, maybe start strategizing, how the fuck do I get out of this chair, I have to supervise a training round soon

And Ratchet is doing this, sitting still, staring at the wall, facing away from his door in an effort to slightly hide that he can't really move too well at the moment

And some bot walks in trying to see if he's available for a quick patch job, and they think Ratchet fucking finally died on the job in his chair, someone finally made him so mad his spark spun out or something

So immediately there's chaos, the bot who found Ratchet slams a silent wall alarm in the medbay or something because what do you do when the medic dies???

This could work in almost any continuity LMAO

But if this is on the Lost Light, First Aid runs back in there with Ratchet, immediately realises what happened, and sets about trying to help Ratchet out

But in the meantime, it's a ship, and gossip spreads fast, and due to this fucking misunderstanding Drift suddenly starts getting tons of pings and it scares the living shit out of him because what the fuck is Magnus doing telling him he's on the way to the medbay and Drift can have as much time off as he needs

So a panicking Drift runs into the medbay, only to find Ratchet being laid out on a medberth with First Aid administering some mild cable relaxants to help de-tension some overstrained cabling and hopefully manage to convince Ratchet to take a fucking painkiller for once and maybe take a few shifts off

And Drift just starts hysterically laughing out of relief because he thought his fucking conjunx died but not today, not right now, it's just that Ratchet's old and stiff and Primus help him, he will not be letting Ratchet out of his sight for the next week

Ratchet gets mad because at first he thinks Drift is laughing at him, then he hears about the ship rumour that he's dead and decides to take First Aid's offer of covering his shifts for the next few days

I added an edit here about how this might play out in TFP but Tumblr didn't save it lol so maybe when I'm off work I'll rewrite it

#maccadam #transformers #maccadams #idw transformers #ratchet #idw drift #tfp #idw 1 #tfa #could be any continuity it's just the Lost Light setting has so much potential here #dratchet #tfp ratchet #transformers prime

[circeyoru]

HEYY!! It's my first ever "ask" (or whatever you call it) and I'm sorry if my english isn't the best, lol. I just wanted to say how captivateing your writeing is!! I'm literaly IN LOVE with your "Unwanted soul" storie!!! I'm not the kind to read a lot, but when I see you posted, I waste no time reading it!

This is a bit random, and if you don't want to do it, I complitely understand!! I would just like some small headcanons where the reader, after they died, took the form of some kind if bird (I'm saying this, cuz my hazbin oc is actulay a raven, lol). Like, if hypoteticaly speaking Alastor would be fond if reader, would he ocasionaly preen her wings (like, when birds have to "shed" some feathers. Idk how to explain it, I'm sorry😭). Or like, what other ideas/headcanons you think that might fit

That's all I wanted to say and I hope I didn't bother you. I HOPE YOU HAVE AN AMAZIENG DAY/NIGHT AND (again) I LOVE YOUR STORIES <33

Oh my gosh!! Thanks for your high praise! (no worries about the English level, this is not exam or school or work, so don't stress it I can understand you just fine)

I think what you're asking for has been written before. It's called {The Raven's Deer}, but Reader/you are a younger sibling of Zestial and a Raven-type demon.

But I'll add on.

Since your wings are big, you use it as a warm blanket. When you have your wings out, Alastor would take on and cover himself like a cocoon. You eye him and he smiles back, then you two were back to doing whatever

Alastor LOVES collecting your fallen feathers and keep it somewhere like a prized collection. When you first found out, you took one of your larger and stronger feather and made it into a quill to gift it to him as an anniversary present. He didn't use it until you made him

On that note, whenever you were off to battle or in battle with your wings out and your feathers fall off. You can catch Alastor walking all over the place to collect your feathers. You and your enemy pause to stare, then Alastor waves you off and says he wouldn't be a bother, so continue fighting

You clean your wings, but it's a bit hard when it's literally on your back. Alastor volunteered himself immediately to help you clean, being as gentle as possible

When Alastor's in his bad moods, your wings actually calms him down. Almost instantly. You just have to partially cocoon him and he's back to normal

Your wings are strong enough for him to sit on one of them while you walk. While he doesn't do it, cause it's not gentlemanly, you actually do it behind closed doors like a form of training. He says it's like sitting on a fluffy cloud

Alastor knows you're strong. BUT! Wings can be a weakness too. And he doesn't want for yours to break. He take extra care to make sure no one is near your wings when they are out. You're confused since not a lot can harm your wings, but you let him do whatever

Another thing Alastor does. He hides behind your wings and act like he's not there. You move your wings away to reveal him, he follows it. He loves doing that

Last thing. Alastor adores cuddling you with your wings. He hugs you close, then you bring your wings out and hug him back. While he like giving and treating you with the best he can, he wouldn't say he hated the feeling of being hugged by your big lovely wings

Hope this is what you like! You can read the story or not. The add-on is not precisely linked with the story. Made it very very general.

Circe Y.

Other Works: MASTERLIST

#alastor imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor #hazbin hotel oneshots #Circe's Nighty Writings #The Raven’s Deer

[paperstarwriters]

Sleep

Muriel x Reader

Warnings: Sleepy reader, a kiss is used to shut the reader up. Muriel manhandles reader a bit

Summary: It's late. You're tired, and Muriel is too. All he wants to do is bring you to bed.

[A/N]: Reader is currently me rn. I should really head to bed lol. Also, if this looks familiar, this is the file "A bed and a book" from that WIP Wednesday I did a while ago. (I'll link it tomorrow lol. I need to sleep...)

Masterlist | The Arcana Masterlist

Word count: 2,021

─────── ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 ───────

Muriel watches you amidst the growing cold of the hut.

He watches you tremble and shiver, as you work, too focused to notice your own quaking limbs, or too busy to give it any attention. The fire dies in the fireplace, and though there was plenty of firewood that he could easily restock the fire with, a roaring fire with no one to watch over it only ever spelled trouble.

Usually he didn't even let the fire keep going this late at night, but you needed it while you worked.

You also, however, needed sleep.

"It's late."

You hum, continuing to scribble as you mutter something about a fleeting idea before you respond.

"I know. Just let me finish this."

Muriel huffs. That's not the first time you've said that and he knows full well that it won't be the last either. He pulls himself from the warmth of the bed, where he had been waiting for you, and plants his feet on the cold floor. The feeling makes him flinch for a moment, and he decides with a sigh, that he would give you one more chance.

"No. It's really, really late."

"You don't have to wait up for me."

In another moment, in another context, Muriel might have blushed at being caught caring for you. At being caught waiting or anticipating your return to his side. Currently however, a streak of frustration, fleeting but hot, burns in his chest. He "doesn't have to"? If he didn't wait up for you, you'd waste yourself away working on your projects. If he didn't wait up for you, he'd have to fall asleep and wake up to empty arms as you sit there just within reach and yet so far away. If he didn't wait up for you, would you ever sleep at all?

Muriel scoffs, and he wonders if you can hear it through your work. He wonders if you can hear him stand from the bed, and stride over towards you. Hearing you gasp as he wraps his arms around you, he figures you didn't, which only serves to target the selfish and greedy part of him—the part that makes his frustration flare all the more at the absence of your attention, the absence of your body pressed against his own.

The look you give him, wide eyed and filled with a startled awe, serves to soothe him for a moment, easing that need for attention, but it brings back to his focus the dark circles under your eyes, and the tremble of your hands hovering over your paper. It's a horrible combination really. The selfish and greedy need for your attention, for your skin against his, made virtuous through his concern for your health and your desperate need for sleep. It made it all the more hard to tell the line where he was being greedy, and where he was being concerned. Yet, if he wanted you to be happy and healthy by his side, could that even really be called greed?

As shock melts into confusion, Muriel can feel your trembling body melt against his, relaxing into the offer of sleep and rest that you continue to deprive yourself of. Greed, Muriel decides, is a kind and necessary thing to indulge in if it means you get to rest.

"It's late," he reiterates.

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you glance around the room, clearly not believing time to have slipped past you so quickly. Knowing you’re delirious with exhaustion, he doesn't trust you to realize that he had stocked the fireplace earlier that day to burn late into the night, and that no, he did not do anything that may speed up the burning process in any way.

Instead, he drags his hand down to your own, trembling as you grip your pen as if you feared it might be ripped away from you in any given moment. Though the temptation to do so is there, he knows full well how ineffective that would be. Instead, he trails his hand down your forearm. The rest of your arm is still pinned down by his in a half hug, but he doesn't even need to exert much pressure to keep you in place—your exhaustion doing most of that work for him.

Fresh from the confines of the bed, his hand and body still cling to the remains of warmth, a sharp contrast to your own, left night-chilled in the absence of the fireplace. It's clear, with the trail of goosebumps and shivers that appear in the wake of his touch, that you're freezing right now, and in desperate need of blankets and warm, warm cuddles.

His hand makes his way down to yours eventually, and he can see the twitch of your fingers as you're tempted to drop the pen to take his hand into your own. Pressing his thumb to the seam of your wrist and your palm,  Muriel feeds the temptation, massaging the tender skin as best he can manage despite his calloused fingers. He’s careful not to seem too desperate for you to relax and drop your work to follow him back into the warm embrace of the bed. Up and down, he works his thumb from the centre of your palm to your pulse on your wrist. Little by little your hand sags in his hold, your pen drooping and slipping from loosened fingers, until it finally falls and leaves a splatter of ink on the wood of the table.

Your eyes dart down and your hand tenses up prepared to apologize and clean up your little mess, but Muriel refuses to let you fuss over something so trivial when your own health is at risk. His face dips into the crook of your neck, his lips spattering kisses against your skin luring you further into his embrace until your eyes flutter closed and your head bobs against his shoulder, fighting a futile battle against the urge to sleep.

Letting go of your hand, and slipping his hand instead beneath your legs to scoop you from your seat, Muriel realizes that he too must be a little delirious with sleep. Blush grows against his face, while he continues to press kisses against your skin, but he doesn't have much energy left to care about how embarrassing his affections may be. Instead, he sighs his lips still pressed against your skin as he pulls you into bed.

"Next time, I'm dragging you to bed the moment the sun goes down," he blurts, uncaring for any embarrassing connotations you might derive from his words. Instead, he focused on holding you close against him, in his arms where you belonged as you wormed your own arms around him, finally settling into his embrace.

At least, he thought you were settling into his embrace.

Despite how your body was nearly a puddle of boneless goop in his arms, exhausted and ready for sleep, you try to turn looking back to the table where your pen and papers lay.

"my pen—" you try to argue.

"it's fine," he mutters, his voice a bit gruff with his own exhaustion. "Go to sleep"

"But the ink—"

"it's fine," he grumbles again, squeezing you tighter in case you tried to slip free. "Go to sleep"

"But—"

Muriel sighs again, loud and irritated and tired, before he leans in and seals your lips with his own. He knows that tomorrow, if he thinks to long about the events of last night, he'll burn himself with how hard he'd blush, but today, all he wants is for you to go to sleep and get some well deserved rest. He's willing to sacrifice a little embarrassment if it means you sleep.

Even if he'd find himself embarrassed tomorrow, he hopes that it'll be washed out with the pride he feels in the moment, burning bright and making his chest tight, as he feels you sag in his arms. You’re melting from his kiss alone and that makes his heart soar. The effect he has just from kissing you is wonderful sure, but it's the evidence that he knows you that makes him feel the warmest. He knows how to get you to relax. He knows how to make you feel comfortable enough to finally go to sleep. Pulling back, he settles himself back into the crook of your neck, grinning from accomplishments, as he feels you finally seem to drift of to sleep.

Of course, seem is the word of focus here. Since, moments later, Muriel can feel you once again trying to squirm free from his embrace. Though he keeps his eyes closed amidst your little struggle, he holds you tighter, muttering in a sleep raged voice for what seems like the hundredth time.

“Go to sleep.”

You fall limp at his request, though he's more than awake enough to realize what you're trying to do. Waiting and biding your time for him to fall asleep before you. He sighs at the notion, and changes tactics.

"What's wrong?"

You're silent for a moment, still feigning sleep even if he can feel your heartbeat's staccato rhythm from where you're pressed against his chest. He doesn't push though, almost hoping that you'd fall asleep while pretending to do so, but he still waits for your reply, whether it comes or not.

"I just... I have an idea I want to write down."

"You can write it down tomorrow."

"But what if I forget?"

Muriel pauses. The temptation to wave away your concerns with a simple argument like, "if it's important you'll remember tomorrow," sits on his tongue, but he can't help but reflect an answer onto himself. Perhaps it was the constant wash of affection that you'd give him, or how you were often so eager to denounce whatever quiet self-deprecating thoughts he might voice aloud, or maybe it was just how often he was spending time outside of himself, and with you, or Asra, or the others. He doesn't know what exactly caused it, but he knows how it affects him now. He's important, and yet he was forgotten. To you, this project is the same.

This matters to you. Denying its importance will get him nowhere he wants to be.

"You can tell me," he offers, "I'll remember it."

"You're already half asleep."

Muriel cracks an eye open, "you are too."

Your attempt to refute his statement falls short when you yawn, which makes him yawn as well, though his is half muffled around his smile.

"alright, fine," you mutter eventually, tucking your face against his chest. Your arms squirm from their place trapped beneath his own, this time though, rather than escaping, you wrap your arms around him as you finally settle in his embrace for good.

He listens as long as he can, to you talk about the solutions to the puzzle you have noted down in your book, but you're mostly talking to yourself, thinking through the issue, refuting your own claims as you drift off, voice growing weaker and weaker before you finally sag against him, and Muriel can finally settle in against you, able to fall asleep now that you're in his arms, and he is in yours.

Before he settles however, he takes a moment to appreciate his reward, pressing a kiss against your eyelids, before he leans back and appreciates your relaxed and sleeping expression, whispering. You deserve rest like this. You deserve to relax. You've been so busy lately, he doesn't want to see you in pain.

When he finally tucks himself by your side and presses his cheek against your skin, Muriel can't help but chuckle at the chance to just fall asleep just like that. He knows it clings to him now. That falling asleep would be just as easy as that, but it hadn't always been. Sitting up forced to deal with swirling thoughts alone had once been the bane of his existence, but now, curled up with you by his side, he could talk if he needed to, just like you needed to earlier.

Now, falling asleep is as easy as one... two...

....

In the dying moments of his consciousness, Muriel continues to stare at you, pressing another kiss against your sleeping face, as he whispers precious words, fully aware you can't hear him. It doesn't really matter anyways. He'll tell you them all again tomorrow night. And if you can't hear it then, he'll tell you the next day, then the day after that, and the day after that.

"I love you," he mutters. "Goodnight."

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