#okay ill admit i like dis a little.

[trollcafe]

Heavy

Word Count: 1720 Brief: Leonra finds the one person he returned to the Fleet for. Obsidian is @/cherrytrolls.  Google Docs || Part 1

Your name is Leo Monark, and you hate being touched by strangers. 

When you heard a knock at the door, panic instantly rushed your system again. You shouted a weak one moment! and scrambled to throw on a clean shirt. You left your cane by the bedside for the moment, though you instantly regretted that when you opened the door. No words were said. Just arms thrown around you, pulling you close. But, the panic subsided, and relief came next. 

Archai Monark, slightly smaller than you remembered him, had patiently awaited your arrival. Chai might not have remembered your dislike for being touched, but then again, Chai wasn’t a stranger, was he? No, he was Deepbite’s better half. The force of Chai’s weight was enough to make you stumble backwards, though he managed to catch you both. 

“Oh goodness, are you alright?” He looked up at you with concern in his eye, helping you steady yourself. A small nod is all you can respond with for the time being. You hold onto his arm quietly as you pull him into the room. Bless Chai’s poor heart, you weren’t quite there enough yet to talk much. After all, you were about to have another panic attack over being in space again! That alone was too much to process. You didn’t have the words to tell him you were using him as a balance to grab the cane. 

Your cane in your hand brought relief. It was grounding. Maybe it was the rather abused sword it hid, maybe it was the subtle reminder of your kismesis who helped you design it. Regardless, it brought comfort and clarity. 

“My apologies,” you finally say, voice gritty from sleep, “I wasn’t expecting anyone, yet. I would’ve dressed…nicer.” You motion towards the sweatpants you slept in. You realized you had thrown on a graphic tee your kismesis got you as a joke, and felt incredibly stupid. You looked like a rat. No, you looked like Bruuno. 

“Nicer?” Chai laughs, though his concern is still present. He doesn’t mention the cane but you notice he continues to glance at it, “Do you need a minute?” 

You nod. It doesn’t take you long to throw on cleaner clothes, from there Chai insisted on taking you around. You let him hold your hand as he guided you through the ship. He was mostly quiet, as if expecting you to speak. Even with your moirail you were never the chatty type. You only really rambled when Shiloh was around. You missed her. She loved hearing you talk about statistical impossibilities. 

Chai’s hand in your own was comforting. With one simple action, you felt infinitely less alone. Your brightest memory of Chai was when he lost his eye. You were young, barely a teenager, and had been sent on your first “mission” alone. You returned terrified, though you couldn’t remember why, mostly likely from a failure. You only remembered Deepbite’s glare boring holes into your soul, and the sound of Archai’s hand as he slapped your ancestor. Most would’ve died from even considering such a thing. It was one of the few times you remembered anyone standing up for you. But oh, if only you knew. All of the days of bickering spent over your wellbeing. Your thoughts are scattered as Chai squeezes your hand with a smile. You think he asked if you wanted coffee, so you simply nod. He guides you towards a larger clearing. The two of you walk slow, still feeling spaced out and gazing into the distance. A voice rings out above the ambient sounds of the ship, and forces your attention to it.

Your name is Obsidian, and your ship is being repaired. 

So, in the meantime, you were stationed on the ship of your matesprit. A good opportunity for a break, if anyone asked you. Sure, you could’ve gone anywhere, or even taken a real break, but where would you go? Besides, there was, supposedly, a very important visitor. 

When you had mentioned it to Juleus, he dismissed it. Just Archai, if you count him as important. Maybe you did, but as passionate as Chai was, you had a slight feeling that wasn’t the important visitor you caught wind of. 

What you were doing beforehand wasn’t important. You had been walking somewhere, of course, but the importance of whatever you had been doing instantly disappeared as you entered into one of the larger walking spaces. You froze in your tracks. 

“...Leo-?” 

Something lights up in your chest as he snaps his head to look at you. You don’t see a grown man, with weathered eyes and scarred face. You see the wriggler you had helped raise. You see the wriggler who looked up at you like you created the stars. The wriggler who was inspired by you, who inspired you. Who, for a brief period, made you feel like you had a purpose. You waste no time closing the space between you and him, barely registering just how tall he had gotten. 

The cane clatters to the floor. You lift the fuchsia off his feet, as you had done when he was younger. Had he been smaller, you might’ve swung him around. But instead, you set him back on his feet. The silence is almost as heavy as your hold on him. You can feel his heart racing as he sinks further into your arms. 

Leonra held onto you as if his life depended on it. And, to be honest, you did the same. You were relieved, and overjoyed, and so concerned. There was so much to say, so much to ask. But first, the hug had to end. What a scary thought. You had to let him go. You felt as if letting him free from your grasp would be a mistake, as if he’d never come back. You’d done it once and you didn’t want to go it again. 

Your name is Leonra Monark, and you are not a machine. 

You heard your name in a familiar voice, and immediately sobered up. For a moment, you were worried you were just hearing things. Machines don’t hear things. Your eyes dart around the clearing before freezing on him. 

He looked as if he hadn’t aged a day. He was just a bright, just as tired. Even his smile was the same. A sight for sour eyes. You didn’t say anything in response. The second your eyes locked, he closed the spaces between you. Your cane fell to the ground, forgotten, as Obsidian threw his arms around you. 

In that instant, the ship was no longer your enemy. You weren’t as afraid anymore. At its root, the only reason you even agreed to work with your ancestor again was to see Obsidian. You didn’t realize that until you achieved just that. Archai picked your cane up from the ground as Obsidian lifted you off your feet. Quite the feat for someone shorter than you, though you’d never complain. You were quiet as you held onto him. Your words were gone again, but you were overwhelmed with relief and happiness. 

You held onto Obsidian as if he would disappear in an instant. He smelled the same, somehow. His hug felt the same too. It brought forth an overwhelming nostalgia, almost enough to get you choked up. You’d be alright if the universe caved in that instant, because you felt right again. You weren’t alone out here. You had Archai and Obsidian. You wouldn’t get stuck on this damn ship. This was a mission you would survive, because you weren’t fighting on your own now. The reassuring thoughts flood your mind as you press your face further into his shoulder. You never wanted to let him go. You couldn’t let him go. Why did your damn leg have to hurt? Why couldn’t you stay here forever? Why did the moment have to end? 

After what felt like meer seconds and an eternity all at once, you finally let Obsidian go. Or, you tried to for a second, but he didn’t seem quite done yet. The hug lasted a few heartbeats longer before you were able to stand upright and retrieve your cane back from Chai. Obsidian moved his hands to your arms, as if he too feared you were just a figment of his imagination, as if you’d vanish the second he let go. 

“Back in the Fleet so soon?” Obsidian’s face showed his concern as he spoke. He never stopped smiling. Sweeps later, and the man still couldn’t stop smiling. 

“...I never said goodbye.” Your words were catching in your throat again, barely able to choke out that much. That obviously wasn’t a very clear answer. 

There was so much you wanted to say. Look, Obi, my hair’s longer than yours. I’m not a machine, Obi, I can love now. I have a matesprit. I have a moirail, and a kismesis. They love me, and I love them. My brother is alive, Obi, he’s nothing like Deepbite Alternia is home now, and I don’t hate it. I build prosthetics for a living.  Look at my matesprit, look at my moirail, look at my kismesis. Look at the life I’ve built off this ship. I’m happy now. I’m not a machine, Obi. I like puzzles, and swordfighting, and reading about physics. I helped raise a wriggler named Shiloh. Are you proud of me, Obi? 

But that was far too much to say right then. 

“....we were about to grab coffee,” you start, smiling slightly, “..can you come?” 

“Absolutely.” 

As you follow the other seadwellers, you feel at ease. You weren’t alone. Just knowing they were on the ship with you was reassuring enough. You would get through this. You would make it out of this alive. You would walk down the docks and return to your moirail’s side, and you would be alive. More than that, you would be fine. You could do this. You will do this. 

Of course, this newfound confidence does little to convince you to let go of Obsidian’s sleeve. It was a silly habit you picked up in your youth, though the violet didn’t mind. If anything, one could say he found it just as reassuring as you did. 

#drabbles #leonra monark #ghost.art #oogh. #okay ill admit i like dis a little. #ive never written sm #someone else's oc? so! #be nice!

[nina-ya]

Patching up Sanjis Wounds

Zoro Law Sanji Shanks Ace Luffy Sabo Doflamingo Pairing: Sanji x Reader CW: Blood mentions, light wound descriptions, Sanji being a little flirty shit as usual. WC: 756

The chances that the love cook would take a huge hit for you and leave you to be the one to patch him up are high, and unfortunately this exact scenario just unfolded. Sanji is currently sprawled out in front of you after taking a major hit for you, bleeding from every place imaginable. The bleeding from his nose is most likely from the fact that you’re currently compressing some of the cuts on his chest so they can clot and those lovesick eyes he is directing towards you is practically confirming your suspicions. “Why did you do that?! Do you know how reckless that was?!” You practically yell at him as you scramble to help him. “I always help a lady in need, especially you~” he slurs out. You can’t tell if he’s love drunk or has lost too much blood based on the way he’s speaking. You roll your eyes at his response and start unbuttoning his shirt to take a better look at his wounds. He seems to light up at your touch. “Mademoiselle, I didn’t think this would be how our first time would go. I imagined preparing a lovely dinner fir-“ You groan loudly. “Sanji! With all due respect, this is not what you think it is. Get your mind out of the gutter and tell me where it hurts.”

He pouts when you shoot his advances down. “It hurts right here,” he says, guiding your your hand over his heart. Before you scold him again for his flirtation at this inappropriate time, you see the deep red that has enveloped his chest and you gasp softly. Sanji's injury is much worse than you initially thought, and the sight of the deep red seeping from his chest was enough to fill you with concern. You hold back your frustration and focus on the task at hand. "Sanji, where else does it hurt?" He winces and lets out a heavy sigh, his usual confident demeanor momentarily fading as he admits, "Everywhere, honestly." You fight back the pang of frustration and set your focus on treating him. "Alright, let's get you patched up. But seriously, Sanji, no more of your romantic fantasies right now. We need to stop this bleeding." As you work to remove his blood-soaked shirt, Sanji can't help but show his appreciation, although his pain is clear. "You have the gentle touch of an angel, ma belle." You can't help but let out a half-laugh, half-sigh. "Sanji, I'm trying to save your life here, not audition for a romance play." He manages a weak smile amidst his discomfort. "Sorry, it's just hard not to admire your beauty, even in the midst of all this." You smile slightly and focus on cleaning his wounds, and begin to wrap up some of the deeper gashes. Sanji winces and grits his teeth, but he doesn't complain about the pain. He seems to understand the gravity of the situation, and it has sobered him up, for the most part. “You know this was stupid, right?” You mutter softly, your voice filled with care. “Nothing is stupid when it comes to you.” he retorts. You let out a sigh. “Sanji, this was very stupid. If you had gotten more hurt than this, if you had… if you had died, I…” you trail off, suddenly becoming emotional. Your lip quivers as you try to focus on holding back tears so you can help him. Sanji sees your distress and lightly grabs your hand. “I will not die, not any time soon at least. I need to at least get a kiss from you before I can say I have lived a satisfied life.” You sniffle, your emotions still raw, but you manage a small laugh in response. “Yeah, well, I don't think ill be satisfied with just a kiss.” Sanjis' blue eyes sparkle with longing and a grin spreads across his face. “Oh? Do tell what it is you had in mind.” He says cheekily. Your laughter fills the air and affection floods your voice. “Hey, lets get you to Chopper first, okay?” You say, finalizing the wrapping of the wounds. “But for now, I will leave you with this.” Leaning in, you press a kiss to his lips. Its a tender and affectionate kiss, conveying all the emotions you had been suppressing: relief, gratitude, and an undeniable connection between you two. Sanjis' Lips were warm and warm and welcoming, and for that moment, you can forget about the chaos of the world around you two.

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece fluff #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #sanji x reader

[gotham-daydreams]

Oh my god due to the recent Alfred ask it makes me wonder and scream at the thought if there has ever been a moment when Reader asked Alfred if there's something else they can call him. Like DAD perhaps...(and this can go for different routes and so many juicy things, but ill get into that later).

But since the backstory is up to us, I like to think the Reader has a bio family which was questionable(maybe I'm projecting), so they never had a good track record with their dad and then Bruce adopted them and we know that didn't end well.

So when they ask Alfred if there's something else they can call him ( a lil show that they do see him closer than anyone and that he's important to us.) We could have gone back and forth with him talking about what to call him and stuff when we jokingly say something along the lines of "maybe not Dad since my track record with such isn't the best." Maybe they open up to Alfred about how their family/ life was before they were adopted by the batfam. Maybe even admit they can't see anyone as a dad figure after them (😭), so the thought is uncomfy for them( this hits in so many ways.) Or how they're scared if they call him dad something will change about Alfred and become like their 'dads'.

Which will undoubtedly hit some strings with Alfred. Seeing as how every 'dad' has failed them to the point they can't fathom or be comfortable with seeing or thinking of someone as a dad. But the fact that BRUCE had played a part in it 💀... Which is what's making the Reader confused and feel unsecured in his own personal relationship with the Reader (on what to call him, but probably in other stuff as well).

Back to the top part of the reader asking what they can call him, and they end up at something along the lines or at calling Alfred Dad.

It will undoubtedly make his heart squeeze and scrumble( One way could be he's being called 'Dad' after so long). Probably make Alfred a lot closer to the reader than before. Probably stepping up to the title and being closer taking care of Reader even more, now that he knows they have that emotional bond( stronger than before and the permission).

For little cute ideas/cenerios I imagine he makes an even greater effort to come to our plays and tournaments and sit front row probably recording.( in a reserved seat next to all the other empty ones 😒). And get a lil prissy when he can't make it (ESPECIALLY IF ITS BC OF THE BATFAM). He asks some of the organizers to record it specifically for him if they aren't doing it already, so he can watch it live (or once handed to him)while doing whatever keeps him from going. All so he can talk about it with us when we come back home and show how proud of us he is.

Definitely gets us gifts for each performance/ tournaments. If he was present he would walk with us a while after it ended and get us ice cream or out for a celebratory dinner. 😭

Okay but now for the lil angst part in that moment when we settle on what to call Alfred whenever it would be similar or is Dad or a different title all together that would be the moment we lose any real attachments to the Batfam. Not seeing them as siblings or parental figures anymore. At most just wanted to impress them but that quickly died off and just just focused on what we do have.

Alfred would also know that that was the moment or the end of the falling bridge with the Batfam and Reader. Which would probably hurt him cause the Batfam is still his family, but now he also has us and sees our neglect and what the batfam's consequences are. Probably breaking his own hope of us being accepted/ integrated into it and the Batfam to being back a normal dysfunctional but loving family with us in it.

Okay but the real ANGST. It's not just the reader and Alfred having heart to heart or other situations between the two of them. BUT INSTEAD BRUCE HEARING READER CALL ALFRED THE TITLE WE SETTLED ON. And it doesn't have to be only Bruce that would work for angst because the others are smart so if they hear Reader call Alfred by the title... They know it doesn't correlate to them and their relationship of being Reader's sibling because Alfred isn't that title to them. Connecting and discovering at the same time that the Reader doesn't see them as siblings and hasn't for a time they weren't even aware of.

Imagining just Bruce sneaking away and thinking by himself or even confronting Alfred 😩😩. The Batkids doing their research seeing Reader live their life completely disconnected from theirs only hammering that Reader doesn't see them as family. The only thing connecting to them being Alfred and even Alfred is a different role in Reader's life than in theirs.

Maybe Batfam finds out about what the Reader tried to get their attention only to give up, maybe they don't and just see the Reader slipping away until the Reader becomes a foggy memory again until the Reader moves away like in the [Not] series everything follows.

Hope you enjoy 🥰🥰💕 drink water 💦

Yeah!!! And since there is another ask that's about the reader considering Alfred their dad, and how Bruce would react to that, I won't be going too much into how Bruce himself would react since I'd like to explain it there when I get to it- but I will say that in very, very simple terms. Bruce is not happy about it. At all.

As for how the whole name thing would start? Alfred would definitely say that you can call him whatever you'd like, but will definitely silently try to nudge you in the direction of calling him dad or something akin to that. He may not expect it to work right away, especially in this scenario where the reader already has a messy relationship with people who were supposed to be their father's in the past. However, when you do call him dad or something similar, he is literally about to cry.

He won't cry in front of you! But he might later-

Regardless, words cannot express the amount of joy he feels when that happens, and as you've mentioned, Alfred does try to not let you down. Unwilling to become another reason why you have a hard time seeing people as your father, or father-figure. He feels more inclined to look after you above everyone else, and tries even harder to be present. There isn't a single event of performance that he'll miss willingly, and even if he does- he has his ways of making it up to you, even if you know that it was out of his hands.

I think a neat detail would also be that the amount of unoccupied seats next to him slowly shorten with time. It starts off with there being a seat for everyone in the Batfam, but as time goes on the amount begins to dwindle, until there's just one for him. Maybe with the occasional one other seat beside him if it's for an event, and you get to sit next to him before going or doing whatever you have to. Further showing how you, as the reader, begin to care less and less about the Batfam, and really only see/recognize Alfred as your family. As there is only one reserved seat for him at each and every performance and tournament.

I think the idea of the Batfam noticing this and trying to fix it, yet the reader still being able to slip away, and them forgetting all over again is both just out right heartbreaking and infuriating.

Like, can you imagine as a neglected!reader, finally having your family notice you (despite you growing used to their lack of attention at this point), only to have them forget you exist all over again? Or just forget about you enough to where you still leave without saying much of anything, and only leave behind a note to the one person you considered family?

And imagine the Batfam- not only feeling, but knowing that they've failed you more than they could ever imagine? Not only making you feel alone and isolated in your own home, since they never noticed you, not only once, but twice? That's borderline unforgivable. They noticed you, and somehow still managed to neglect you all over again. It's astonishing, really. Maybe they do have powers after all.

But really- how I could see that happening is if they get too busy with the idea of you rather you yourself, if that makes sense?

Through their research and everything, they form a version of you in their heads that they're all clinging onto, that they unintentionally don't give the real you a chance. Hell, they don't even give themselves a chance to even see it as they drown in their own delusions. Stuck with plans and ideas they ultimately never saw through, either because they were far too worried to further mess things up (like a certain brooding bat), or were far too certain of the outcome and therefore came up with more ideas and plans that they ended up not doing. Like a certain robin who, after two generations, finally wore pants. So by the time they realize their mistake, (which probably happenss when one of them finally decides to actually act on a plan they made) you're gone. Lost to the wind. Like a distant whisper they nevr quite heard, but dreamed about encountering ever since. Forgetting that chasing and searching were things they could do right from the start instead.

Though Alfred and the reader having a heart to heart? Please, we could all really use that. Forget about how horrible Alfred is behind the scenes- we need the closest thing we can get to a positive influence in this family. Or really just a good source of comfort, honestly.

Though his dying hope does break his heart, he just takes it as another opportunity to fill in the shoes of being your father. Even if at this point it means being your only family out of everyone in the Batfam, then so be it. He'll just have to fill in where they refuse to, but he doesn't mind since it gets him more time with you- and I can imagine that, despite the hurt of realizing that you'll never be 'fully' apart of the Wayne family, at least you have a part with Alfred and the Pennyworth's. And there is some comfort and reassurance that comes with that. Since, while you may not be able to have this big, huge family- at least you have this small, comfortable one right here with Alfred.

Hell, this time around Alfred might even fully support the reader moving away, as he's more certain than ever that he'll still have that connection with them. That he and the reader will actually communicate, and as long as he can still see them and so on- he doesn't mind.

He'll let the Batfam run around, and play dumb at all the right moments with that sassy, sarcastic attitude of his. Letting them know that they've wasted their opportunity- wasted the one real chance they had with you, and probably won't be getting another one.

After all, it isn't his fault that they fucked up. If anything, he's probably the only reason why the reader is connected to the Batfam at all, or even associates with them the smallest amount. It isn't because of Bruce or any of the others. It's because of Alfred. Even if he won't say it out loud, he'll make sure that they all know it one way or another, and though Alfred doesn't necessarily view himself as cruel- he wouldn't mind throwing a little shade if it meant emphazing that point a little further.

You are his kid. His family. Why would they think otherwise?

On a lighter, more wholesome note, I definitely agree with the more light/cuter ideas!!

Alfred is definitely spoiling you if he can help it, and will poorly disguise his favoritism- though probably would stop even trying to hide it all together at some point.

There is never a moment where Alfred doesn't/won't remind you of how proud of you he is, and how much you've improved. He isn't afraid to admit that you're doing a good job or doing the right thing, even if you can be reckless at times, to your face. And if you end up doubting your ability, or just yourself as a whole, Alfred will definitely be there to comfort you, and remind you of how well you've been doing and reiterate how proud you make him.

He wants you to know that he'll always be there for you, and by the time you leave, you still feel that.

Alfred also makes sure to check up on you and tend to your needs, along with spend time with you in other ways- which does include, but isn't limited to; watching films at home, baking/cooking together, sewing, reading, tending to the garden, and just generally being in each other's space. Maybe even a small hang out outside of the manor if you both can help it.

Nevertheless, that was a fun read, and I fully agree!! Make sure to drink some water and rest up too!

#talking daydreams #yandere batfam #platonic yandere batfam #yandere dc #gn reader #platonic yandere #neglected reader #yandere alfred #yandere batfam x reader

[tojisun]

sunnyyy!! omg omg okay so idk what you put in your toxic dbf series but im sure its crack cause i know its freaking hurtful but i love it!! ur mind is >>>>>

alsoooo, i have this idea that i plan on writing for miguel but idk where to start SO IM GIVINF IT TO YOUUU!!

so lets call her bunny in this one. say bunny is enough of his shit, won’t let him do her dirty anymore because she refuses to be stupid. she’s no longer cassie howard and moves on to another man. a man who knows what he wants and who isn’t afraid to let her know that he wants her. he’ll cherish her, he adores the fuck out of her, he shows her off and he makes a promise to put a ring on her finger,

but simon doesn’t like that. not even one bit. and it ticks him off because why is he like this? why is he so worked up that she finds someone who finally treats her better than she can? yet, he can’t let it go. he lets her know. she has to know.

and so, at two am he comes knocking at her door. flowers in his hand, nicely dressed for the first time to let her know that he’s doing it for her and only her. not erin.

and it takes a lot in her to not slam the door in his face because she’s happy right now,

“you look at him the way i wanted to be looked by you, sweetheart” he admits, swallowing the lump in his throat. “and i envy that.”

she stares at him with a deadpan look. not really feeling a single thing anymore, leading him to continue.

“i have no right to say that, i know but—“ he pauses to take a deep breath. “i want to be with you. i want to be your man and i want you to let me”

she doesn’t want him to

ANA?? ANA MY LOVE???? THIS MAKES ME VIOLENTLY ILL

thinking about this in the dbf!simon series??? oh but im absolutely sobbing // same timeline as this !!

thinking about how you cry and wail and mourn for the years wasted on simon. thinking about the way you crumple on your bed, curling underneath your sheets, your cries now having been reduced to silent tears—this doesn’t mean you feel any better. instead, you feel even more distraught, upset in a way that feels bigger than yourself.

thinking about the promise you make to yourself. how, when the morning breaks, you will move on. that no matter how painful it may be—and it will be—you will strive to let go of simon. truly and completely this time around.

and that’s what you do. you fall asleep in exhaustion, heart heavy and mind buzzed. in the morning, you blink your eyes open and lay in bed for a few more minutes, suspended above your heartbreak, before it all comes crashing down on you. tears trickle from the corners of your eyes but you stay resolute, strong grip corralling your grief into the corner of your heart, before you get your day going.

you start by throwing everything that reminds you of simon: polaroid pictures and framed photos, shirts and clothes and socks and lingeries, towels and bedsheets, trinkets and accessories from across the globe—little souvenirs he’s brought to appease you.

(in the long haul, many of them were actually donated, while some were sold. but today, as you submerged yourself in your heartache, you dumped everything in a black garbage bag. out of sight, out of mind.)

blocking simon’s number actually turned out to be last. you deleted the pictures you have with simon in your phone prior, and then blocked and deleted his number altogether.

you breathed in deeply once you’re finished and collapsed to your bed again, trying to ignore the bareness of the walls and the emptiness of your room (let alone your heart).

the tears come again—they will come more often than not—and you let them. you open the locked corner of your heart and let the grief out. you mourn for what was lost; for what could’ve been. but most importantly, you mourn for the ways you’ve let yourself be trapped in such an unhappy moment.

moving on comes slowly; it comes so torturously that you thought it would never happen. but it does, and it does so during one quiet afternoon.

on that day, you realize that not once did you think of simon. not once did the memories trickle in to rip you away from the jovial present. and as you stand there in your kitchen, the sounds of the microwave beeps piercing through mutedly, you feel remade.

you feel whole, once again.

-

simon noticed, of course. he noticed the way your messages stopped coming in, or the way you no longer use your dad as an excuse to meet simon, or the way you just fell off the radar.

simon tried to reach out to you once and realized that you’ve got his number blocked.

it’s whatever, he thinks. because simon has never known you well, has never tried to learn more about you, so he thinks that this—your silent treatment and your detachment—is all a ploy. something like you playing hard-to-get.

so simon doesn’t think much about it until days turn to weeks, and weeks turn to months, and months are slowly building up to turn to a year.

simon doesn’t hear from you and, despite all his posturing, he realizes that he’s missed you. so he decides to drive by to pick you up for dinner and maybe apologize for whatever it is now that he’s done.

he gets to your dorm and rings your room. the intercom scratches awake, the person from the other side, your dorm mate he’s sure, asks who it was, and simon tells them his name. then, he tells them that he’s here for you.

there is silence for a while, almost loaded in a way that simon knows it’s not the intercom breaking up, and he gets his answer when he’s given a curt reply of, “she doesn’t want to see you. bye.” there is the distinct screech and then the line drops before simon could even ask why.

and simon feels lost. untethered.

-

john is a good man. that’s the first thing you realized. it terrified you, at first, how much you looked forward to meeting him. how much of being with him—simon’s friend—makes you happy.

you waited for the other shoe to drop, shoulders perpetually hunched as though that can shield you from the inevitable of john leaving you. of john using you.

but john is so warm. john is so gentle and kind and patient and loving.

john holds your hand and you know he isn’t looking for more. he drops you off at home, tells you to rest well and to say hi to your dorm mates, before taking off on his bike.

john kisses your cheeks and you know he isn’t looking for something more passionate. more heated. and you crave for his touch, yes, but there is something so special in the way john shows his affection—all crinkled smile and quiet chuckles; all whispered words and promises fulfilled; all soft and tender and secure.

it was a love so different, so beautiful, so really it wasn’t surprising at all when your relationship grows, thriving alongside your healing.

(he promised, you know? he promised, as he played with your hand, that he’ll one day put a ring on your finger. your lips wobbled and you told him to stop making loaded promises such as that, but john just turned to you with a soft smile and said, “i look forward to the day we share the same vow, bunny. if you would have me.”

you hiccupped sob and threw your arms over his shoulders, nodding because, “i would. john, i would!”

he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close and sharing warmth with you. you burrowed your head on the crook of his shoulder, breathing him in, letting his presence wash over you.

john, you thought. johnjohnjohn.)

-

simon drives to you the day after he confronted john. he drives to you with all of his messy heart spilling from the ridges of his ribs, beating only one name—yours.

he’s never felt this way before. not with all the pretty people he’s gone out with, or his first love, or even erin. erin who simon once imagined a future with. erin who simon once loved. not even that could triumph over the expanding turmoil that simon’s basking in.

he calls on the intercom of your dorm again, begs your roommate that may you please hear him out, and then he sees you.

god, you’re just as beautiful as he remembers.

“love–”

“what’re you doing here?”

your words are soft, quiet, but simon isn’t fooled. he sees the anger in your eyes, the hurt having festered into resentment. he wonders how apologies could trickle from his lips—where to even begin?

“please,” you say when simon’s silence stretches on. “just tell me whatever you want and then leave.”

“this. this is what i’m here for. the anger in your eyes– it’s just–…” he breathes in sharply. “i saw you and john, you know? and the way you look at him, it’s how i want to be looked at by you, love.” he swallows the lump in his throat. “i didn’t know what i had until i lost you and i’m so envious of him, i am, so please.”

you stare at him with wide eyes even when your face is smooth of any emotion. simon wonders what you must be thinking but he bulldozes through, hoping that you can give him one last chance.

he promises this time, truly, he’ll be better.

“i have no right to say this, i know, but–” he pauses to take a deep breath, his fists balled tightly. “i want to be with you. i want to be your man and i want you to let me.”

a heartbeat passes, and then, “simon, you are a selfish, selfish man.”

your words are barely louder than a whisper but they scratch at simon’s heart. he looks at you, gaze turning desperate when he sees nothing but bubbling fury and disappointment in your own.

“how dare you,” you say. “you tell me that you saw me and john, and then what? instead of letting me go, instead of letting me move on, you come in here and demand that i return to you?”

“love, i–”

“don’t call me that!”

your anger tips over, now spilling out. he watches the way your eyes glisten, tears dripping to stain your cheeks.

“i’m not your anything, si! not anymore!” you take in a ragged rasp of air, choking on your sob. it tugs at simon’s heartstrings and he moves to comfort you but you pull away, sneering at him in your anger. you wipe at your eyes, scrubbing furiously.

“everything about what you’ve said just now, everything, was all about your wants. all about you. just like how it’s always been,” you murmur, the fight leaving you.

you looked small, hunching into yourself, and simon is hit with this feeling; something that lodges itself in his throat.

“lov–… i’m sorry,” he says because he is.

gods he is.

“just go,” you tell him, meeting his eyes for one last time because he knows that this is the end of it all.

you turn away from him then, closing the building door behind you. he watches from behind he glass doors as you disappear into the hallways and stepped into the elevators and, just like that, simon’s lost his chance of making things right.

ANA MY GOD THIS MADE ME FERAL!! i hope u would like this one bb :(( hope i gave ur vision justice

#ana <3 #dbf!simon #simon ghost riley x reader #john price x reader #simon ghost riley #john price #ask #suns

[queerpumpkinnn]

hi! if your requests are open could you do anything for patrick verona? like anything lol ill take it

So requests are actually not open right now, but given that this was sent in when they were I saved it for Kinktober. I hope you like it!

Kinktober 31st: I Knew You'd Come Around

aka hate sex with Patrick Verona

1k words

Summary: Hate sex with Patrick Verona. That's it.

Pairing: Patrick Verona x fem!reader

Warnings: Smut duh, enemies to enemies with benefits?? probably some darker themes idk, sex at a party but they're in a bedroom, little to no aftercare, vaginal fingering, light scratching, light hair pulling, patrick is a cocky little shit but what's new

~

You hated yourself for doing this, you really did. You hated the butterflies in your stomach for fluttering when he grabbed your ass, hated your hands for tugging him closer by the collar of his, hated your heart for racing at the feeling of his tongue on yours.

That was the general emotion when you were around him. Hate. Hate and frustration and annoyance and pure, fiery arousal.

The last one is the most prevalent as you're pressed up against a bedroom wall, the bass of the song playing outside reverberating on your back. Patrick's hands are all over you, groping and tracing every inch of skin he could find.

"Fucking idiot," you huff in between wet smacks of your lips, yanking at his shirt collar, trying to signal him to take it off.

"Y'know," he starts, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it aside, "for someone who proclaims to hate me so much, you sure are hell-bent on getting me naked."

"They're not mutually exclusive concepts, dumbass." Your words seem frail, and your voice trails off at the end as his fingers tug at the belt loops of your pants.

"Ooh, big words." He purrs, cocking an eyebrow. "Are you doing that thing where you try to sound smart so that I don't notice that you're full of shit?"

"I am not- oh, god..." Any biting remark you may have had ready died on your tongue as his fingers slipped under your pants and were tracing the damp patch on your underwear.

"Aw, not so talkative now, are you?" Patrick placed open-mouthed kisses over your neck, nipping gently every so often. "If I'd known this was all it took to shut you up, I would've done this sooner."

With a gasp, your hand snakes up to Patrick's hair, fingers curling when the pads of his fingers linger over your covered clit, roaming a little before finding the rhythm that made your head fall back with a thump.

"Atta girl, keep making those pretty noises." He hummed, using his other hand to pop open the buttons of your pants and tug them down to your knees.

Well, naturally, you just had to do the opposite of whatever he told you. So you clamped your mouth shut. Of course, you were now resigned to breathing heavily through your nose instead and that was still as audible.

Patrick pulls back for a moment to look at you, eyes darting all over your stony face, tongue poking the inside of his cheek.

"Shoulda seen that coming. But we'll get you talking."

And you should have known he wasn't all talk. Before you have the chance to scoff at his remark, his hand dips under the waistband of your underwear to trace along your folds.

You could feel your cheeks turn hot as you saw his eyes go wide with awe and amusement. "'S such a mess down there, pretty. Little ol' me did that?"

He knew you weren't going to admit that, so he didn't wait for a response. He got all he needed when he saw you react, saw you keen when his fingertips dragged over your clit, resuming the rhythm that set fire in your belly.

"Aw, it's okay," he purrs, tonguing over your collarbone. "Y'don't have to say it. Y'know why? 'Cause this pretty pussy says it all for me, doesn't she?"

That makes your pussy clench, and you know he can feel it. An airy chuckle tells you he definitely can. "Thought so. Can feel her asking for it, begging for me."

You can't help the moan that is ripped from your throat when he sinks a finger in, curling at just the right spot to have you raking your nails down his shoulders, hanging on for dear life. Your legs are already trembling, and stray hairs are already pasted to your forehead by sweat.

"Fucking hate you," you sigh, but when you're rolling your hips up into his hand it doesn't hold much venom.

"Can't hear you, sweet cheeks, might need to speak up."

"I hate you."

"What's that?''

"I hate you." You can feel pleasure boiling in your gut, seconds away from boiling over.

"One more time," he purrs, pressing his palm up into your clit.

"I hate you! Patrick!" You grasp onto his shoulders as pleasure comes over you in waves, spreading through every vein into your fingertips until you're left with a blissful afterglow, panting and whining.

"There we go." Patrick wipes a hair that fell over your mouth away, grinning. "Knew you'd come around."

You roll your eyes as Patrick pats your cheek and then leaves towards the ensuite bathroom. He comes back a moment later with a wet rag and hands it to you.

He stays for cleanup, but for the first time in all the time you've known each other, it stayed silent.

As you fixed your hair in the bathroom mirror, Patrick came quietly up behind you and placed a glass of water on the counter- you hadn't even noticed he'd left, you'd been so lost in thought.

"I'm assuming you don't want to be seen together, so I should leave now."

You didn't respond. You weren't sure why, and you weren't sure what the answer would have been if you had. But Patrick doesn't seem to take offense to it, instead stepping away from the bathroom. You watch through the mirror as he heads towards the bedroom door.

He stops in the doorway, hand on the doorknob. He's wearing his telltale grin and his hair whips with the movement as he looks back at you.

"Oh, by the way, if you ever feel like hating me again, give me a call."

.

Patrick Verona Masterlist

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Miscellaneous Characters Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#patrick verona #ten things i hate about you #10 things i hate about you #patrick verona x reader #fanfiction #smut #x fem reader #x reader smut #x reader #kinktober #kinktober 2023

[forever-rogue]

may i request one where joel finds comfort hugging reader in a bone crushing hug after a long day 👉👈

do with it what you will fluff angst spice ill take them allll i just want this man to crush me and id welcome it hehe

AN | One bone-crushing hug with a side of angst and softness coming right up 🥰

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 2k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You looked at the watch on your wrist and sighed softly. The watch didn't work. It hadn't for a long time. 

But he'd given it to you and that made it special. You'd never taken it off, even when the battery died. He insisted he'd get you a new watch or even a new battery at the very least. You never took him up on the offer; it didn't matter to you whether or not ticked away as long as you had it.

Normally it served as a bit of reassurance. Today it served as a reminder that he was gone. Not gone, but gone for long enough that you were starting to get worried. Not that you would ever admit that to anyone. You didn't want to appear weak, but you also didn't want to cause anyone else to worry.

But this wasn't like Joel; he was never gone for more than two or three days at most.

It had been over a week.

And not knowing what happened to your lover was brutal.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Worryin' isn't going to solve anything."

"Well, not worrying isn't solving anything either," you threw a hard look at Tommy and shrugged before going back to your relentless pacing, "so if I have the option, I'll choose worrying."

"It's probably the bad weather," he mused, and you were sure he was trying to convince himself of that as much as you, "could be a lot of things. Jumping to the worst possible conclusion isn't…"

"I love your eternal optimism," you stood in front of the windows and looked towards the gate as you often did, "but I'd rather expect the worst and be pleasantly surprised when he comes back. Versus the alternative."

The younger Miller brother nodded before letting out a long sigh, "I know."

"I'm scared, Tommy. It was supposed to be a simple supply run," stopping suddenly, you turned to him, eyes glittering with unscheduled tears, "what if he doesn't come back? It shouldn't have taken this long. I don't know what I'll do. I-I…"

He remained but hugged you tightly, trying to soak in all the worry and doubt you had. If it was an option, he would have taken all the worry and fear from you and dealt with it himself. If only.

"Why don't you go home for now and get some rest?" he suggested softly, wiping away the tears that had rolled down your cheeks, "I'll stay here. I'll let you know if anything changes."

"Tommy-"

"Go and be with the kids," he whispered as your heart panged. You knew Ellie was just as worried about you, but she was the glue holding you all together right now, "they need you too."

"Okay," you nodded, "thank you."

"It'll be okay," he promised and you desperately wanted to hang onto his hope. All you could do was give him a small nod.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

By the time you got home, you were spent and felt like you could use a year long nap. You closed the door behind out and let out a long sigh, letting go of everything you'd been holding back as you kicked your shoes off. 

You heard Ellie's voice in the living accompanied by a small set of giggles. Your heart softened at the sound and your heart yearned to be with them. You shred your coat before making your way over to them, Ellie on the floor on a big fluffy blanket as she played with the little girl. Your little girl; but really they were both your girls.  

The two of them stopped as soon as they heard you, Ellie offering you a small smile and Emma babbling and cooing happily. There had never been anyone you'd loved more than these two…and Joel. 

You walked over to them and sat down, pressing a kiss to the top of Ellie's head before pulling the baby into your lap. She squirmed as she tried to hug onto you, "she's been really talkative today. As much as a one-year-old can be."

"I wonder who she gets that from," she teased, causing the girl to grin sheepishly.

"Definitely not Joel."

"Definitely not Joel," you agreed. You sat back against the couch let out a long breath as you pulled up your legs and laid Emma against them, giving her tickles which only caused her to laugh harder.

"She looks like him," Ellie stroked her rosy, chubby cheek as you nodded. She had the same big, brown eyes and roguish hair, her expression often appearing as though she was deep in thought, "he's going to be okay, you know."

"Ellie…"

"I mean it," she insisted in that steadfast way she often did, "he'd never leave you or her o-or…"

"You," you finished for her, "we're all family, Ellie Bean."

"Yeah," she sat next to you and leaned her head on your shoulder, "he'll come back. Nothing would stop him."

"You're right," and god, you hoped she and Tommy were right, "he'll be home soon."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Several more agonizing days passed without any word, and the nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach felt like it was going to eat you alive. Even Ellie, happy, optimistic Ellie, was started to show signs of worry. She’d never admit it, but she didn’t have to; it was written all over your face. You were just glad that Emma was still a baby and wouldn’t remember any of this.

That thought alone had led you down a rabbit hole of worry. What if he didn’t come back? What if she never got to see her father again? What if she didn’t remember him? How were you supposed to raise and take care of Ellie and Emma all on your own? 

You groaned as you startled awake for what was the umpteenth night in a row. You hadn’t been sleeping much; every time you managed to fall deep enough into slumber, the dreams - nightmares - came again and caused you to wake up. Most of the time you ended up giving up on sleep and would sit in the kitchen, nursing a mug of tea that grew cold as the sun came up. 

A book was currently in front of you, one you’d read a hundred times before, but you weren’t actually taking anything in. Your mind kept wandering, wandering, wandering. You were so lost in thought and so zoned out at the same time that you almost missed the pounding on the door. You almost ran to the door when you snapped back into reality, trying to keep the noise from waking the girls up. 

When you got to the door, you wretched it open without even looking to see who it was. It was Tommy, wild-eyed and looking somewhere between excited and nervous. 

“Come,” he didn’t hesitate to grab your arm as he pulled you out of the door, “come.”

“What’s going on?” you looked at him, confused but going along with him. You noticed that the front gate was closing and a group of people were nearby. The hairs on your arms stood up as a shiver ran down your spine, “Tommy?”

The crowd slowly parted and you felt like your heart felt like it stopped in your chest. Part of you wondered if you were dreaming, but you felt Tommy squeeze your shoulder, “go.”

Your feet were carrying you, faster and faster until the rest of the crowd dissipated and you found yourself face to face with him. 

“Joel,” you hadn’t even realized you were crying, weren’t consciously aware of anything else but him. 

You didn’t get a chance to say anything else before he threw his arms around you, wrapping into the tightest, most bone-crushing hug imaginable. You didn’t care; you wouldn’t have cared if his touch bruised you black and blue. It was him, he was home, he was here. 

You held him back just as fiercely, and you could physically feel the tension in his body ease as he let himself relax into your familiar touch. You weren’t even sure how long he you, how long you clung onto his body before you finally parted. 

He took your face in his hands, his touch calloused but tender as he studied, almost as if he too didn’t believe you were real. He looked worse for the wear, but nothing unmanageable, nothing that would take him from you. And then he smiled, the same wonderful, lovely smile that made his dimple appear and the corners of his eyes crinkle, “sweet, beautiful abejita. I heard you were already planning my funeral.”

A moment of silence passed before you burst into laughter, tears - this time of joy and happiness - running down your face. Joel brushed them all away before kissing you softly. There was no way to properly put into words how much you’d missed this, him. When you pulled back you felt his arms wrap around your waist, “even if you didn’t come back, I’d find you and kill you myself if you thought you were going to get away with leaving me with two monsters to raise on my own.”

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” you buried your face into his chest and breathed him in. It didn’t matter that he was sweaty and dirty; him being here was enough, “you and that mouth and everything else about you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” you looped your arms around his neck and held onto him tightly, hugging him as you rocked back and forth, “I love you.”

“Terribly,” he agreed in the way that he was prone to doing, “I’ll always come back home to my girls. Even if I have to come crawling back.”

“Joel!” the small voice came from behind you. You turned to find Ellie there, holding a warmly bundled up Emma in her arms. Word got around fast, “you’re back.”

He let out a sigh of relief at the sight of his girls, dropping to his knees in front of them as he looked them both over. The baby, miraculously, was still sleeping, but he stroked her cheek before repeating the gesture on Ellie. She swallowed thickly, tears unshed in her eyes as he hugged the two of them, gently, delicately. 

“I missed you both,” he promised, not that there had ever been a question on that. Ellie nodded, at a loss for words, “what, kid? No smart comment from you?”

“No,” she shook her head, a few tears falling down her cheeks, “I missed you. I’m glad you’re home, Joel.”

“Me too,” he promised, turning back to find you watching them with nothing but reverent fondness in your eyes, as you smiled at him, “me too.”

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal #tlou #tlou hbo

[ofsappho]

Summertime Sadness (part 2)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader

Second chance romance, heavy angst, hurt/very little comfort

Ten years ago: the first time you met Simon

Today: the first time Ghost meets you

Tags: mental illness, therapeutic boarding school, self harm, suicide attempt/suicidality, self harm, abuse, parental abandonment, much the same as last chapter. This fic is unedited because I don’t feel like editing it lol. If you see spelling/grammar issues, no you didn’t.

TEN YEARS AGO

Reader POV

-

It’s intake day.

Intake day happens once a week, always on Wednesday.

You don’t know why they pick Wednesday. It seems pretty arbitrary, doesn’t it?

On intake day, the nurses and counselors make all the current residents of the inpatient program line up to greet the newbies. You actually look forward to intake day. Everyone here is so boring and routine; your roommate never speaks unless spoken to and she always keeps her earbuds in. On intake day, the hope that someone nice will be admitted survives for the few hours of the intake itself.

It usually dies right after. There was one polite girl who smiled when you waved last week, but she was transferred to a different facility that night before you could learn her name.

You’ve been here for three weeks, so that’s three intake days.

You’re not sure why you’ve been here so long. It seems a little excessive; you’d think by now they’d realize your stuff isn’t so bad and maybe you could transition to outpatient appointments?

It’s a little dissociation and some minor depression. Not bad at all.

But your doctors agree, albeit gently, that you should stay for the full five month course.

The program isn’t so bad. The facility sits on a sprawling multi-acre property in the British countryside, where everything is beautiful and verdant and always chilly. It’s lovely. The tea is good. You’re getting used to how they take it here. It’s nothing like the sweet tea you drink back home.

You suppose that’s another reason why they won’t let you go home even though you’re okay; there isn’t a home to go back to. Your dad hasn’t looked you in the eye since Mom left. At least the orderlies here greet you in the morning.

(What Dad doesn’t know is that before she left, she told you she loved you and to wait for her. Soon, she’ll take you away from this place and you’ll never have to see your dad again.)

Before you head to the foyer, you check your hair in the mirror of your room’s suicide-proofed bathroom. A young teenage face stares back at you with cheeks flushed red from the sun. You trace your deep smile lines with the tip of your finger, then practice smiling. You would have feel better about moving to a therapeutic boarding school if you’d been greeted with a smile.

At first, you think the newest crop of poor souls will be uninteresting at best. Listless rich kids detoxing off Mommy’s coke, frightened preteens who’ve never been away from their parents for an extended period of time, and a few teenagers straight from an ER, IV bags and all.

And then you see him get off the bus last.

He’s tall, towering over everyone else. A lanky, almost skeletal build, with a bored, aloof expression on his face. He hides the Zippo lighter he was playing with in his sleeve before the nurses catch and confiscate it.

There’s something horrifically severe about him. He can’t be more than a couple of years older than you, but he carries himself like he’s a blade and the world is filled with monsters.

His eyes are large and dark, rich brown irises rimmed with pale blonde eyelashes. And they’re kind, even though he would probably hate having that pointed out.

You decide then and there that you’ll befriend him. He could use a friend; everyone here does. He’s beautiful in his sharpness and elegant in his abrasiveness. Maybe you can coax more of that hidden kindness out, show him that it’s worth more than his anger. You wouldn’t be able to stay away if you tried.

You both like playing with fire, though you prefer less literal ones.

-

TODAY

Ghost POV

-

Your smile fades swiftly as if it was never there to begin with.

There are two ghosts in this room. That’s what you are; a ghost of the girl he knew.

He watches and waits for you to shift uncomfortably and start blabbering to fill the silence like you used to. “Why’d you make them call me?” Ghost asks when it’s clear that you won’t.

As soon as you explain, he’s out of here. Ghost meant it when he said he never wanted to see you again.

You’re the last living reminder of the past he’s tried so hard to kill. The beeping sounds of your heart monitor spell out his mistakes in a grating, irritating rhythm.

Your answer disappoints his expectations. “I didn’t actually think you’d show.” Ghost doesn’t hear any wistfulness or longing in your voice, anything that would tell him that you’re clinging on to the boy you thought he was. Only a bone-dry and hollow statement of facts.

“What do you want?”

You ignore his question. At fifteen, you were good at that. At twenty-five, you’re better. “You got any cigarettes I could bum? You look like you still smoke them,” You say as you fiddle with your torn, bleeding nail beds with the classic anxiety of nicotine withdrawal.

He does that too when a mission stretches too long without a resupply and he finishes his cigarettes early to stave off hunger.

Ghost remembers fighting with you over the pack of smokes he smuggled into the program. He would hold it way above your head and laugh as you struggled to reach them. But you never gave up - they were bad for him, and you liked him too much to see him die of lung cancer.

He remembers the determination in your eyes and your unwavering faith that he could be saved.

“They’re bad for you,” Ghost echoes.

If you remember that moment, you don’t show it. “You know what else is fucking bad for you?” Your tone is so acerbic that it gives him whiplash.

He can’t resist taking a shot. “What, being a prick?” You just… bring out the worst in him. You make him feel as unhinged and unmoored as he was when you first met.

You roll your bloodshot eyes.

“I wasn’t going to call you out on that. I was going to say benzos and vodka. Also throwing yourself headfirst off a bridge.”

“Oh.”

What is he supposed to say to that?

“Why did you come?” You ask after a long moment of quiet interspersed by that fucking heart monitor.

Ghost grinds his teeth into each other as he reflects. He hates doing that; the inside of his skull is a bad place. “…I don’t know,” He admits. Coming here was a mistake; Ghost understands that now.

The foul taste on the back of his tongue is guilt. But why? You did this to yourself. You brought him here to play games and fuck him up, so why is he the one who feels… bad?

You sigh. “Simon-“

“Ghost. It’s Ghost now,” He cuts you off with more violence than necessary.

Your mouth settles into a tight, pained line. “Ghost. Go away.”

“But you called me here.”

That provokes a reaction.

Ghost sees it and immediately wishes it hadn’t.

You stare him straight in the eye, your dilated pupils peel back his mask and see the face underneath. Your skin is tinged gray and your bottom lip blooms red with blood from where you’ve bitten through it.

He wants back the child sobbing for his forgiveness on her knees, who looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky.

“And it was a mistake, and I should never have done it, and I just wanted the satisfaction of knowing you weren’t going to pick up the phone. That I was truly alone.”

So the memory of him is a knife you’re using on yourself. Fucking disturbing.

“Oh.”

You raise an eyebrow as you wave. “Bye.”

Right.

That’s it.

Though your dismissal rankles, Ghost does as you ordered and takes his leave of you.

His work phone vibrates a few times.

Only one person calls that it. “Captain,” Ghost greets.

Captain Price clears his throat on the other side of the line. “Lieutenant. When can we expect you back?”

‘Tomorrow’ is on the tip of Ghost’s tongue.

He’s never taken a day off in his career, which means he’s got at least a year or two in built up vacation time. “I’ll be gone for a while longer, sir. Not sure yet how long,” Ghost answers promptly.

It’s only for a few more days, a week at most. Long enough to make sure you won’t try to kill yourself again, long enough for the guilt freezing his blood and choking his lungs to fade.

“Alright, Lieutenant. Keep us posted.”

“Yes, sir.”

TAGGING: @devcica @igotmajordaddyissues @almightywdm @copiasratscheese @nerdyreaderpapi @schmelscorner

#summertime sadness #cod #call of duty #modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #cod modern warfare #cod modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare #ghost cod #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost Riley #Simon Riley #Simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost x you #Simon riley x reader #Simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost riley x reader #ghost riley x you

[ckret2]

Chapter 35 of human Bill Cipher is still prisoner of the Mystery Shack and still handcuffed to Stan in spite of their mutual irritation: we return to them under attack by the tooth fairy and her dentist lackey.

In light of this terrible peril, Bill and Stan put aside their differences, politely agree to cooperate, and work together maturely to deal with the threat—

Haha I'm kidding, no they're screaming the most offensive things they can think of at each other.

####

Packed in a dark cluttered closet, trying not to breathe too much of the same air as Bill, under the sound of the dentist mauling his way through the bedroom door, Stan growled, "Okay, genius—do you actually have a plan for when we get downstairs?"

Bill had hooked his borrowed umbrella over his elbow to let him rummage through the closet's contents. Trying to keep his voice low, he said, "We can take the fairy ring down to the guest room and make a run for the exit in the floor room." His eyes lit up with delight. "Hey! Vintage congressman top hat!" He sniffed it. "It still smells like Quentin and peanut brittle." He put on the hat.

Eugh. Stan found himself glad he couldn't see in the dark. "Why the floor room? It's a lot faster to just cut through the living room to the gift shop."

Bill hesitated. "Sure. Fine—"

"What's the matter, Bill, you got a problem with the living room?"

"What?" Bill scoffed. "Of course not. I said fine. It's fine!" He found a large baggie full of teeth, popped it open and licked one to confirm they were real, and stuck the bag under his new hat.

"But it took you a second," Stan said. "If we head for the living room, you won't slow us down by trying to go the other way, will you?"

"Of course not," Bill repeated. It was a little less convincing than the last time. "I was just—trying to figure out if that was the fastest way—"

"Oh, really," Stan pressed. "You sure you aren't scared to go in there with me?"

Bill whipped around to stare at Stan in the dark.

"You think I haven't noticed how you bolt out of the living room any time I come in?" Stan asked. "Or how you flinch every time I raise my hand?"

Bill swallowed hard. "I don't know what you're talking about." He chuckled derisively. "I think you're fantasizing, Stan—"

"Do you really think I don't remember how you died."

Bill's voice caught in his throat. "You said..."

"Yeah, I wanted to see what kind of story you'd make up. You just can't stop talking down to me even when you know it's all lies," Stan said. "As if I'd ever forget seeing you on your knees, begging me for mercy, while I shattered your face like a cheap mirror—"

Bill shoved Stan against one wall, small hands wrapped ineffectively around his throat. "You don't know what you're talking about!"

"Admit it!" Stan shoved Bill against the opposite wall; Bill tripped and landed heavily on a cardboard box. "Admit that I killed you too! I played just as much a part in it as he did!"

"You did not kill me!" Bill stood on the box, even as it threatened to collapse under his weight, so he could scream in Stan's face, "You couldn't have killed me! I'M NOT CAPABLE OF BEING KILLED BY SOMEONE LIKE YOU!"

"THEN WHY ARE YOU AFRAID OF ME?!"

"I'M NOT AFRAID—"

An enormous drill bit pierced the wood between their faces. Bill and Stan screamed.

Just on the other side of the door, Pearl cried, "Careful! Don't hit the girl's teeth!"

Stan snarled, "You moron, look what you—!"

"You started it!" Bill pounded on the door. "Hey! Frankie! Is this worth it?!" He jumped back as the drill came through again, just in front of his sternum. It grazed Stan's bicep; he roared in pain. Bill shouted, "Was paying off your dental school loans worth this? Do you wanna be a murderer, kid?!"

"I can't stop now!" Dr. Illing was audibly sobbing. "You don't understand, I'm in too deep!" The drill pierced again, widening the hole he'd already started.

"If you think she's scary, you can't imagine what I've got—"

Stan clapped a hand on Bill's shoulder hard enough to make him jump; but he growled in Bill's ear, "Count of three."

Bill hesitated, squinting at Stan's future to see what he was planning; but nodded. "Fine." He didn't understand the purpose but he could copy the motion.

Stan put his hand on the doorknob. "One, two..." Bill squeezed his eyes shut. They slammed their shoulders against the door, Stan grunting in pain. Dr. Illing's drill caught in the wood, and they kept shoving it open, jamming the dentist between the door and the wall. Bill leaned against the wood with his full weight to keep Dr. Illing trapped, using his new umbrella to swat away the fairy buzzing in his face. Stan toppled an old fortune telling machine in front of the door to pin it in place.

Pearl barked, "You're useless, Frank!" She had drawn out a wand that looked like a metallic blue toothbrush and was aiming it at Bill's face. "I'll get those teeth myself if I have to!"

Wheezing through crushed lungs, Dr. Illing said, "But the treaty—"

"What treaty?!" From five feet away, she fired a bolt of mint white magic at Bill's horrified face.

Stan seized Bill's umbrella, opened it, and deflected the spell. It ricocheted off the umbrella and punched a flaming hole through the ceiling. From behind this temporary shield, Bill took out the teeth bag and flung a handful across the room.

Pearl gasped, abandoning Dr. Illing to dart after them. "Babies! I didn't hurt you, did I?!" Huh. More effective than Bill had expected.

"Go!" Stan ran for the door, grabbing Bill by the wrist to pull him along too. Bill snatched back his umbrella as Stan paused to shut the bedroom door behind them again. Even though Dr. Illing had shredded the wood around the latch, maybe he'd still struggle to figure out how to open it.  "Living room?"

"I said fine!" Bill shut his umbrella and used it to point toward the fairy ring. "As long as you don't act immature about it!"

"I'm the one being immature?! You're the one who's scared of a room!" They stopped in the fairy ring, too close to each other for comfort; and then, with a disorienting whoosh, they were standing in an identical circle of mushrooms in the guest room. "Why does it even matter so much whether Ford or me killed you?" Stan yanked the door open. "Why is it so hard to admit that I threw the punch that took you out?!"

Bill clumsily kicked several sliced mushrooms aside, breaking the fairy ring, and nearly fell as he tried to keep up with Stan's pace. "Because you didn't kill me! You can't kill me because YOU AREN'T IMPORTANT!"

Stan spluttered in outrage, turning to stare at Bill. "Not important enough to kill you?! How does that even make sense! What, you think you're—too good for a guy like me to take down?!"

Bill's eyes widened the tiniest bit, as though he'd just realized something. A sickeningly gleeful grin stretched across his face. "It's true! I've looked into countless universes! No matter where you go or what you do, you just don't matter!" He wrenched his arm free of Stan's grip with such an effort that he nearly fell down; but he raised his gaze again to Stan's face. "If anything, you just make everything worse."

Stan's hands curled into fists. "You'd better watch your mouth—"

But when Bill planted the tip of his umbrella in the carpet and raised his cuffed hand to point at Stan, he stopped. Just a second ago Bill had been whiny and defensive; but now his inhuman gaze transfixed Stan to the spot. There was power in that mad self-assurance Stan had only ever seen before in criminal lords who commanded hundreds of gangsters. Bill bore himself like an ancient god preparing to pass judgment on a mortal, and Stan had no choice but to listen in dread to his revelation.

Bill said, "You know, I first tried to work with Stanford in a universe where you don't exist? And I couldn't get into his head! He wouldn't give me a chance!" He jabbed his finger toward Stan's chest like a knife. "Because YOU hadn't ruined his life and made him desperate enough to trust an alien! And YOU hadn't spent your whole crooked childhood training him to put up with a con artist's lies—so he'd be ready when he met me. Isn't that funny, Stanley?"

The air rushed from Stan's lungs. His voice was thin and trembling with rage. "You just— You're trying to get on my nerves." He'd never heard anything before that sounded so terribly true. 

"So what if I am! It's still true!" Bill's laughter was like a shriek. "You were stillborn in that universe! Your brother had to grow up without a twin watching over him—so he actually learned how to make friends. And he was a big success at West Coast Tech. Your mother was devastated she'd lost you—but you know what's really funny?" He had the awful grin of a court jester about to deliver a punchline that would start a war. "I think your family loved that dead baby you more than they ever liked the disappointment you turned out to be—"

Stan socked Bill as hard as he could.

He expected Bill to flinch, to duck, to shield his head—something. Bill always flinched. Instead he locked up, facing Stan, wide-eyed and watching the incoming blow. The punch connected with his face with a sickening crunch. Bill toppled flat on his back. His top hat and umbrella tumbled across the floor. The chain jerked Stan down to kneel over Bill.

It was like a spell had broken. Stan stared down at Bill like an idiot. He felt like an idiot. The shock even snapped him out of his anger. He uncurled his fist, saw a smear of blood on one knuckle, tried to say something, and only managed to come up with, "Aw, jeez."

Bill was weak. He wasn't a demon anymore; he was a yappy chihuahua trying to sound bigger than he was because he was scared. Stan knew that. He was only kicking a washed-up loser of a con artist while he was down.

He'd been there before.

Bill had slapped his hand over his mouth and nose, fingers digging into the skin, eyes squeezed shut in pain.

Stan swallowed hard. "Hey, I didn't mean to do that much— I mean, you had it coming, but still... uh... you okay?" He awkwardly offered Bill a hand.

Bill reached up—and placed a bloody tooth, root and all, in Stan's palm. 

Stan stared. "Wh."

"Tooth fairy bait." Bill gave Stan a wild, bloody smile. "Thanks for the help. It's been loose for days."

Tooth fairy— Stan automatically glanced toward the doorway to see whether their pursuers were catching up. And only then did he realize they were in the middle of the living room, standing in front of Stan's armchair. He'd been set up.

He stared at Bill.

Bill glared up at Stan. Voice rough, he said, "Who's scared of you?" He spat a wad of bloody spit at Stan's face. The attempt was so weak it landed on Bill's own shirt. A far cry from the whiny triangle who'd tried to bribe Stan into sparing his life.

They both looked up at the sound of wood cracking. Stan said, "All right, we've got bait." He seized Bill's bloody hand and, with a grunt, tried to heave him upright. "Can we set a trap?"

Bill unsteadily climbed to his feet. "I guess?" Either he hadn't thought past getting punched in the face, or the blow had knocked his plan out of his head.

Upstairs, Pearl snapped, "Now hurry, before we lose them!" Dr. Illing's footsteps thudded across the attic floorboards.

"Move," Stan hissed, and when Bill turned to glance cluelessly behind himself at the door, Stan rolled his eyes and shoved him.

Bill tripped over the steps up to the gift shop and stumbled backwards through the swinging door, with Stan following. When Bill had steadied himself, he stared in wide-eyed bafflement at the door he'd just passed through. "How did I..."

"Focus, Cipher!" Stan snapped his fingers in Bill's face. "Gimme some nerdy magic. What traps fairies?"

Bill dragged his gaze away from the door and shook his head woozily. "Uhh... carefully-worded contracts... salt lines, iron..."

"You couldn't have mentioned salt when we could've reached the kitchen?" Stan looked around the gift shop. Iron, iron...

"Wow, that's a great idea. Remind me why we were so bent on getting to the living room?"

"Watch it. You've got a few teeth left." Stan smacked Bill's arm, making him jump, and pointed. "Got it! The old diving helmet!"

Bill squinted his eyes unevenly. "Oh yeah—the one Fordsy got ripped off on. Hey—didja know diving helmets are supposed to be copper, but he got sold a spray-painted—"

"For two minutes, please stop talking about my brother. Will it work?" 

Bill slowly traced a finger through the air as if he were trying to track the path of something only he could see. "Yeah, it could work."

"'Could'?"

The gaps at the top and bottom of the "Employees Only" door glowed bright blue. "Fresh blood," Pearl said, "they went this way!"

"Give me the tooth," Bill said. "And keep Frank out, we're dead if he gets in."

"In there!" Pearl cried, and Dr. Illing's drill revved again. The door to the living room was a swinging door without a latch; curse or no, if Dr. Illing hit it, it would fly right open.

Stan yelled, "Hold it! Do not drill that door! It's... it's load bearing! Yeah, if you start hacking holes in it the whole shack could come down on us!"

The drill powered down. Dr. Illing said dubiously, "That doesn't sound right, but I don't know enough about doors to dispute it."

Pearl swooped under the door—carrying an armload of the teeth Bill had thrown earlier—but she turned around when she realized Dr. Illing wasn't following. "What are you stopping for, you idiot! He's lying! Doors don't work like that—"

"Hey, sparkles!" Bill held his bloody tooth up next to his head. "You want this?!"

She gasped in horror, clapping her hands over her mouth and dropping the teeth. "You knocked it out! You monster, what if you chipped it?!" She drew her wand again and, with a tiny shrill roar, she dove for it.

Bill pulled it out of her way with the grace of a matador dodging a bull. She wheeled around faster than Bill could react, flung a spell at his back, and made another dive for the tooth. Stan jerked him out of the way. Bill laughed, "Is that all you've got? I've seen better flying out of dandelion seeds!"

She whirled around to face him again with a growl of frustration, fluffy bob cut puffed up in rage, wings buzzing like the propeller of a fighter plane. The third time she dove for the tooth, she snatched it out of Bill's fingers.

And immediately rammed head-first into the back of the solid iron diving helmet. It rang out like a broken bell. She croaked, "ow."

Stan slammed the front window of the helmet shut. "Ha!"

"Yes!" Bill pointed at the helmet. "You're stupid!"

Dr. Illing—who had dropped down to the ground to peer through the three-inch gap at the bottom of the door—cried, "No!" He pounded on the door in frustration. It swung a few inches open. He stared at it in bafflement. It swung back and hit him in the forehead.

"Well, well, well. It looks like we've got a proper hostage situation, don't we?" Bill rapped on top of the helmet with his umbrella's hooked handle. "Better stay away from the sides, Pearly. What would you say touching iron feels more like—being burned, or electrified? I've always wondered, but never had an opportunity to possess a fairy—"

Stan elbowed him. "Ix-nay on the ossess-pay."

"Right, right." Bill turned to Dr. Illing. "It'd be pretty easy for me to bounce your patron off the walls of this thing. So how's about you drop the power tools and back away from the door?"

Dr. Illing gave Bill the despairing look of a man who'd been struggling to carry an impossibly heavy weight for decades, only for one swift jab in the ribs to make him drop it. But he got to his feet, and after a moment, his yellow tool bag dropped heavily beside the door.

Stan opened the door, slung the bag over his shoulder before Bill got a chance to rifle through it, and pulled out the drill Dr. Illing had been menacing them with. Holding Dr. Illing at drill point, he nodded toward the gift shop exit. "Get walking. Outside."

"But..." Dr. Illing tried to look past Bill and Stan to the diving helmet.

Bill slung an arm around Dr. Illing's back, aggressively encouraging him to hasten toward the door. "Don't worry about her! We plan to resolve this peacefully, don't we, Fisher?"

"Oh yeah," Stan said. "Nothing to worry about."

"But we're negotiating with the boss, not the lackey. So..."

Stan opened the door. Bill planted a foot on Dr. Illing's butt and shoved. "Out you go!"

Dr. Illing went sprawling across the porch. Stan slammed the door on him as he got to his hands and knees. He looked over his shoulder to give them a look like a puppy who'd been kicked out in the rain.

"You're going to be in so much trouble when I get out of here," Pearl yelled. She grabbed the bars across the window in the diving helmet, then gasped and withdrew her hands as the iron burned her palms. "When the fairy queen hears about this—!"

"That you were breaking into a human dwelling to try to rip my teeth out of my mouth?" Bill asked. "Oh, I'd love to know what she'll think of that."

Stan rummaged in the nook where Wendy shoved spare napkins and plasticware whenever she brought fast food to work. He used a few napkins to wipe off the bloody scrape the drill had left on his shoulder in the closet, and held a handful out to Bill. "Here."

Bill took them. "What?"

"Your face is a mess. Thought you might wanna—you know." Stan attempted to pantomime shoving napkins in his mouth. As much as Stan thought Bill had deserved the sock, he'd feel like a heel if he didn't help clean him up after the fact.

"Oh. Right." Bill attempted to wipe off his chin, then stuffed a napkin up in the gap where his tooth used to be and pulled it out to see how much blood it picked up. It was a lot. He shrugged and turned to the tooth fairy, grinning. "So. I believe we were negotiating?"

"I'm not negotiating anything with you," Pearl huffed. "Look at what you did to this poor tooth!" She was hugging it protectively to her chest, her thin blue dress stained with blood from the root. "Maybe I haven't obeyed the spirit of my treaty, but I've obeyed the letter of it, and the fairy court will back me up on that—"

"Again, you did try to rip my teeth straight out of my mouth in the middle of the night," Bill said.

"I never! A dentist did! If he happened to feel like giving me the tooth after that, that's his business, isn't it. I could have been aiming my wand at anybody, you don't know."

"Sure, sure! You did nothing wrong. You slid neatly through those loopholes. Maybe your court will even agree with you." Bill leaned closer to the helmet, grinning through the window. "But don't you think—if I drive over to Multnomah County, walk backwards into your queen's court, and tell her what you've been doing—she won't want to close those loopholes? No more hench-dentists."

Pearl had gone very still. "'Walk b—'? How do you... What do you know about our court?"

Bill laughed wryly. "Kid, I've known your court since before it moved to America. I've spoken with the ancestors of the ancestors of your queen. The fae tell fairy tales about me, so if you know what's good for you—"

"Easy." Stan put a warning hand on Bill's shoulder. "Just because she's not human doesn't mean you can just..."

"I know, I know."

Pearl had been watching Bill skeptically as he spoke, clearly trying to weigh how much of his boasting was true—but seeing Stan try to silence him apparently persuaded her of his honesty. Her eyes widened in alarm. "Who—What's your name?"

Bill cast a sideways glance toward Stan, then shrugged ruefully. "Afraid I'm not allowed to tell. You know where we are—even people like you and me can't afford to disobey the collector's house rules. You can call me Goldie Locke. And if you don't want me to negotiate your release with your queen, then you'd better be willing to negotiate with us. Are we clear?"

Pearl nodded.

"Wonderful." (Dr. Illing had circled the gift shop to the nearest window, where he was staring forlornly in at Bill, Stan, and the helmet containing Pearl. Bill waved cheerfully at him.) "I don't know about the Fisherman, here—but I, for one, would like to make sure this doesn't become a problem again. So how about this: if you promise to leave, never harass us again, never have your agents harass us, never via any means attempt to harm us or steal our worldly goods—teeth included—either directly or indirectly, and never return to this house, then we promise not to report your little dentist scheme to your queen. Does that sound fair to you?"

Pearl pouted; but she reluctantly nodded. "Yes, yes—that's fair. I agree."

"Hold on," Stan said. "Once she's outta here, how do we know she'll keep that promise? Shouldn't we get some kind of, I don't know, insurance?"

"She's a fairy," Bill said. "She can't lie even if she wants to. They're compelled to tell the truth. They can twist it, and they can try to get you with tricky wording, but they can't lie. Once they've made a promise, it's unbreakable."

Stan considered that. "Huh." He'd have to double-check that claim with Ford later, he'd know.

"Which is why I get along so well with them," Bill said cheerily, "since I never lie either."

Stan laughed loudly, smacking Bill's back. "Sure! And I'm the queen of England."

Bill mock bowed. "Oh my, your majesty. I had no idea." Stan laughed again.

"I agreed to your terms," Pearl snapped, "so set me free!"

"Hold on." Bill propped his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand, leaning close to the helmet again. "I seem to recall I only promised not to tattle to your queen. I didn't promise to let you go." He glanced at Stan. "Isn't that what you heard?"

Now what was he up to? But Stan nodded in agreement. "That's what I heard, all right."

Bill winked. "Like I said: tricky wording."

Pearl let out a swear that sounded like tinkling bells and stomped her foot. "That's ridiculous! If you've already sworn not to tell the queen about my methods, you no longer have any blackmail against me! You can negotiate with her for my release now, for all I care!"

"Your tricky wording backfired," Stan said.

Bill didn't look bothered. "All right. I'm sure you're happy to wait right here until we make the long drive into town, aren't you. You do know where we are, right?"

The fairy's face immediately darkened. "You... I don't see why not! There's nothing to fear in this house."

"Isn't there? Want us to go wake up the head of the house, ask him to babysit you until we get back?" Bill asked.

Huff. "He's gone."

"He's back," Bill said. "If you're lucky, maybe he'll stick you in the freezer for an hour, so it won't hurt when he pins your wings to a cork board." (Stan blinked at Bill in amazement. Head of the house—Soos? Soos?)

Pearl shuddered. "You're a liar."

"Am I?" Bill raised his cuffed wrist. "I've worked with the queens of your queens. I have powers you've never dreamed of. Do you think I'm chained to a doppelgänger for fun?"

Stan said, "To a wh...?" but at Bill's sharp look, he fell silent. All right. A lot of phrases that didn't make sense to him had just flown by. Clearly Bill was using some kind of fairy talk mumbo-jumbo to give her a wildly inaccurate impression of what was going on in this shack. Stan had manners, he wasn't about to interrupt a fellow professional in the middle of conning a mark.

Pearl worked her jaw angrily; but there was something nervous in her gaze now, glancing between Stan's face, the handcuffs, and the rest of the shack. "Maybe you're not as important as you think you are," she said unconvincingly.

"I've got magic teeth, girl."

"Fine!" Pearl stamped her foot. "Fine, I'll negotiate with you! What else do you want?"

Bill pointed at her chest. "I want to choose my payment for that tooth there."

She hugged the tooth protectively, but said, "Fine."

Bill looked at Stan. "You want anything?"

He considered that. "Better-fitting dentures would be nice? Can she do that? Is that something I can ask for?"

"Yeah, you can ask for that."

"Is that all?" Pearl snapped.

"Dentures for him, payment for me, unenchant our door and take out the carvings you left in it, and..." Bill glanced at Stan again, who shrugged. Bill said, "Yeah, I think that's it. Deal?"

"Deal!"

Bill gestured toward the helmet, and Stan flipped its front window open. Pearl stepped out, hovered up level with Stan's face, and gave him a murderous glare; but she drew out her toothbrush wand again and flicked it at him. "There. Happy?"

Stan adjusted his jaw thoughtfully. "Yeah. Oh, those're real nice. Hardly feels like they're there."

"They're better than you deserve," Pearl said haughtily; then turned to Bill. "And you? What payment do you want?"

Bill grinned wide, pointing at the new gap in his teeth. "Solid gold replacement! 24k."

"Pure gold's too malleable for dental work."

"I don't care, this body's a temp. Gimme the good stuff."

She gave him a sour look, but again waved her wand. The blood evaporated from Bill's teeth and gums and a new tooth materialized in the gap, the exact shape of the original but shining gold. Bill licked it experimentally. "Yeah, that'll do."

"Now get outta here," Stan said, "and take your creepy tooth temple with you."

"Hmph!" She turned her nose up at both of them; then zipped across the gift shop, ducking down to snatch up a couple of dropped teeth as she went. She dipped under the door into the living room and was gone.

"Well," Bill said. "We ended up better than we started. Free dental work, a bag of tools..."

"A bunch of property damage," Stan said. "We should've asked her to fix the kids' door."

"Ah." Bill winced. "Nooo, no, probably best we didn't push our luck. Fixing the other door's enough."

Stan shook his head, without much real rancor. "Can't admit you made a mistake, can you?"

"That would be a lie, wouldn't it? And like I said, I'd never lie." Bill smiled impishly. His new tooth gleamed in the dim light. "Let's clean up some of the teeth and mushrooms, huh?"

####

Sweeping up the gift shop was awkward with the handcuffs in the way, but they worked out a system: Stan handled the broom while Bill knelt and held the dustpan. Bill had retrieved his borrowed top hat and umbrella when they went for the broom, and now he kept his cuffed hand on the umbrella, which limited Stan's movement. He almost fussed about it, until he realized Bill's hand was shaking, and each time he stood he leaned on the umbrella like a wobbly cane. Stan tried not to notice how Bill sometimes winced when he had to turn his neck.

As they awkwardly swept up the gift shop, Bill said, "Lucky you got the dentist to stop drilling the door in time, huh."

"What?"

Bill nodded toward the living room. "The load bearing door? I didn't even realize it was that important." He laughed flatly. "We'd really be in trouble if he'd managed to knock it out, huh."

Stan stared at Bill. And then he burst out laughing.

"What?"

"You idiot, doors aren't load bearing!"

Bill stared up at Stan, face slowly going red. "Well, wh— How was I supposed to know that!" Over Stan's laughter, he demanded, "Then why did you tell him it was?!"

"Eh, if he'd so much as nudged the door, he could've gotten right through. Even with that curse you put on him," Stan said. "I had to say something to keep his drill away from it."

"Huh."

Stan could practically see the gears trying to turn in Bill's head as he attempted to understand that information. Maybe he should lay off the poor guy. It was really funny that a little curse made him too stupid to work a door; but he'd turned around and used that same curse to save their hides, Stan should probably give him a temporary pass just for that. He cleared his throat and tried to think of another topic. "Using that tooth as bait wasn't a bad idea."

"Yeah, it was pretty good."

"You could've just asked me to knock it out, though."

Bill glanced up at Stan. His face said, No I couldn't.

Stan understood.

During Stan's decade of travel—thrust into the world far too young, scared, alone, and homeless, with nothing but his wits and a mask of machismo—he had seen, again and again, the truth in one of his father's most frequent lessons: if you weren't tough, then you were nothing. Didn't matter what kind of money, possessions, or friends you had. If you weren't tough enough, you could lose them all in an instant.

And so often, toughness wasn't measured by how many punches it took to knock you down, but by whether the first one made you flinch.

The best thing you could do for yourself was win a fight. But if you didn't stand a chance (and Bill—short, noodle-armed, tiny-fisted, barely able to control his body, facing a man who'd been boxing for fifty years—didn't stand a chance), then the next best thing you could do was show that you could take it like a man. It might win you respect. If it didn't, then at the least it might let you keep some dignity. Bill was desperate for dignity.

Stan had the feeling that Bill had played this game before.

Who had Bill been before Weirdmageddon? Who had he been, that he could call Stan nothing but a con artist and a complete failure who'd have been better off never born—and in between suggest that Ford only trusted Bill because he reminded him of Stan?

####

They cleaned up as best they could, then dragged themselves back to bed.

Bill gave Stan a hopeful look. "Do I get to sleep in the guest room now?"

"No." Ford would murder Stan if he found out he'd let Bill sleep on his bed, and in his final moments Stan would probably think the murder was justified. And that was assuming Bill didn't murder Stan in his sleep.

"Aww, c'mon!" Bill said. "And here I thought we'd bonded a little!"

"Are you kidding? After you said I'm the reason you fooled my brother and my family would be happier if I was dead?!"

Bill laughed lightly. "You're too sensitive!"

As they repositioned their cushions and mattress on either side of the ajar door, Stan paused. "Was that stuff true? Or did you just say it to get a rise out of me."

"What, everything about Stanford being an only child? Naaah—I just thought it would be funny to make you mad."

In his heart, Stan knew Bill had been telling the truth.

Maybe not about there being a dimension where Stanford grew up alone, maybe Bill had made that up; but if so, he'd only made up a fiction that echoed the truth. Mr. Hotshot All-Seeing Eye was right: Stan had only made things worse for the people around him. The best thing he'd ever done with his life was put it on the line to destroy Bill. And apparently, even that hadn't been good enough. 

Not for the first time over the past month, Stan wondered: if he'd never recovered his memories, would Bill have died with them? Was that the lifeline that had let Bill claw his way back? Would it have been better if neither of them had ever recovered? If they'd gone down into oblivion chained together?

Probably, on some cosmic level. Bill would be gone. Stan could've used his last few years learning to be a guy that brought more to the table than lying and punching. Everyone would be having a much better summer this year. But, on the other hand, Stan liked having his memories; and to be honest, Bill had been pretty worthless so far. Maybe it was okay that Stan had only done a C+ job at demon-killing. C+ was a passing grade; and he'd never been a straight A's kind of guy. 

They'd just have to grudgingly tolerate being chained together.

Stan said, "So was it 'funny' getting your teeth knocked in, too?"

Bill considered that; then let out an involuntary giggle. "Yeah, actually." He settled down on his cushion bed. "But—no, really, I never saw a universe where you two weren't inseparable as kids. I'm sure it happened somewhere, the multiverse is infinite—but I didn't dig that hard. Wasn't one of my priorities. I only needed one Stanford to get my portal running, and the one here did just fine."

Stan still didn't think Bill was telling the whole truth; but then, Stan didn't think Bill had been telling the whole truth earlier, either. Bill wasn't actually telling Stan anything about what the multiverse was like—he was just telling Stan how he wanted Stan to feel.

And Bill could have said that everything he'd said earlier was true. But he didn't.

"You really are a pretty good liar, Cipher," Stan said. "It's too bad you're a lousy dirtbag bent on world domination, or you could've made a decent partner-in-crime."

"Yeah?" Bill settled down, holding his broken umbrella to his side and laying his free arm over his collapsed top hat, as if he was worried someone would steal them in his sleep. (Stan would have to get that umbrella in the morning. It had been fine for Bill to keep it while they were fighting for their lives, but he couldn't keep a blunt weapon covered in metal poky bits indefinitely.) "Well, my schedule's clear and I'm bored. Let me know if anything comes up."

"Don't count on it." Stan slid their chain under the door and pushed it shut.

Bill had wiggled out of explaining why he wouldn't admit that Stan had killed him; but Stan didn't think he needed to ask again. He kinda had an idea. He was at that age where he was starting to worry what his obituary would say, too. "Killed by his dimension-hopping long-time nemesis with 12 PhDs" probably sounded a lot better than "Killed by a crooked grifter in his underwear." The first one might let you keep some dignity.

####

Dipper and Mabel came home shortly after dawn. The light was already on in the kitchen; Mabel curiously ducked in to see why. "Grunkle Stan! Bill! What are you doing up so early?" She paused. "Is that my top hat?"

"Mine now."

Stan and Bill were sitting at the kitchen table, with two plates of eggs and bacon (Bill's eggs had chocolate sauce), and mugs of, respectively, coffee and Mabel juice spiked with ground-up caffeine pills. Stan had a bandage on one arm. They looked exhausted. Their wrists were still handcuffed. 

"Oh, you know—" Stan yawned, "—just... full of vim and vigor today."

Dipper surveyed them, tried not to laugh when he saw the cuffs, and asked, "Did you guys even get any sleep?"

Stan grunted and looked at Bill to field that one.

Bill said, "By the looks of it, more than you two did." Dipper's and Mabel's hair were tangled messes, and their clothes were stained with dirt and grass. Dipper looked like he'd fallen on his side into a mud puddle. "How'd the monster hunt go?"

"Partial success!" Mabel said. "The thing that was stealing Pacifica's alpacas came back and we froze its leg! We followed it back to its forest lair and rescued the alpacas! Including Giorgio!"

"The anomaly got away, though," Dipper said, more to himself than anyone else. "But how? It was ten feet tall, it couldn't have hidden. Unless it was... abducted, maybe? In some invisible space ship...?"

Bill rolled his open eye. "Hey—how many of the alpacas were shorn by the time you got to them?"

Mabel gave him a surprised look. "Everyone but Giorgio. How'd you know?"

"We don't need to know," Dipper said quickly. "We can figure it out on our own. C'mon, Mabel." He headed upstairs. Mabel shrugged apologetically, and followed after him.

Stan watched them go, then asked Bill, "So what did take the rich kid's exotic sheep?"

"Freak in the woods who really likes wool suits."

"Huh." Stan sipped his coffee. "It's not dangerous to the kids, is it?"

"Not as long as they don't try to film him." Bill picked up a strip of bacon, tiredly tried to stick it in his eye, sighed, and redirected it to the correct hole.

From upstairs, Mabel shouted, "What happened to our door?"

Stan winced. "Don't worry about it, sweetie! I'll fix it later."

Bill said, "We didn't clean upstairs, did we."

Stan tried to remember what all had been left behind. Bedsheet hanging out the window, teeth on the floor... "It's—it's fine. Those kids love mysteries."

"Ha. Yeah, the boy would probably just get mad if we told him what happened before he figured it out himself."

There was the faint sound of the vending machine opening. A moment later, Ford walked in with an empty mug of coffee. "You're up early," he said. "Did you sleep well?"

Bill gave Ford a sleepy smirk. "Aw, I didn't know you cared."

Ford shot Bill a glower, did a double take at the top hat, then shook his head and looked away. "I wasn't asking you. I hope you got a crick in your neck that lasts the rest of your life." (Bill laughed.)

Stan shrugged off the question. "Oh yeah, no problem. Got comfortable and didn't move all night."

"We barely even noticed the cuffs," Bill said, stifling a yawn. "Slept like babies."

Ford raised a skeptical brow. Still, he nodded and went to get coffee for himself. Stan had a broken umbrella hanging from the back of his chair; Ford assumed it was yet another confiscated weapon and picked it up to move somewhere Bill couldn't access it. "Well, I'm relieved that at least nothing weird happened last night."

"Yeah, nothing weird at all," Stan said.

"Most normal night of my life," Bill said.

There was a knock on the door. At this hour of the morning? Ford said, "I'll get that."

He answered the door.

On the porch was a haggard, slumped, very sad looking man in a white lab coat. Nearly on the verge of tears, he asked, "Can I please have my ability to open doors back? I—I had to sleep outside last night. So many bugs."

Ford stared at him. "Only the person who cast the spell can lift it. Just a moment."

He ducked into the kitchen, glared at Bill, and said, "'Slept like babies,' did you?"

Neither Bill's nor Stan's innocent smile was convincing.

Ford focused on Bill's mouth. "And where'd you get that tooth?"

"Ah." Bill looked at Stan.

Stan cleared his throat. "So the good news is, we've got a great story for your journal."

####

(And that concludes the tooth fairy arc! If you enjoyed it, I'd love hearing from y'all! I'm really proud of how this whole plot came out. Next week we start on the absolute stupidest plot arc you've ever seen.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #grunkle stan #(character tags for the fic itself; obviously they're not in the art lol) #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

[stringsbasement]

May we get a bit more about UFY!Dalv? (Also ig in extension corn yaoi as collateral)

apologies for the Late Reply!! I've been brainstorming What To Say to this ask for days, since before this i didn't think about dalv/vlad all that much. so here's a hopefully Cohesive peek into his (and martlet's!!) character and backstory + some doodles!

(i have plans for a bigger piece that ill start Later On when i have the Time.)

i do want to bring vlad a more active role to the story in yellowfell compared to uty. but like the au itself, he and martlet are still a work in progress, so dont be too surprised if things change in the future.

one day, vlad met this strange, spunky teenager named martlet and now she Wont Leave Him Alone. she tells him she sticks around because she likes the fact he didn't try to attack her at first glance, to which she took as a cue to attach herself to him and now they're somehow on friendly??? terms? (the same thing that happened to chujin. its pretty effective, apparently.)

vlad would never admit he likes her company, if only because she wont stop bullying him about being a "lonely, sad adult who's only friend is a homeless kid," (she's right)

his response was, "if it wasn't for those stripes, you'd be fried dust," except, he didn't say that out loud because his social anxiety Wont Go Away even in the presence of a dumb teen

okay, now for the major plot divergences: kanako wasn't involved in the snowdin attack. rather, it's Vlad and martlet.

they do get hurt— vlad mostly, the scar never really healed— but luckily chujin was at the scene and chased the human away to waterfall with axis (and proceeded to Not kill them)

of course, chujin wouldn't want to get reported for hiding a living child away to poke needles at (politely), so for a while, Vlad and Martlet are made to believe they Did (indirectly, but still in some way,) caused the death of a child.

a human, but Still a child.

they try not to think too much about that, or how they could've died that day.

(it doesn't work that well)

(martlet is suspicious, but she wouldn't dare question chujin.)

then, it comes time that chujin needs a subject. he needs a monster's soul, from someone "pure" and "uncorrupted".

but no, Chujin couldn't ever touch Kanako or Ceroba. Not himself either, his family needs him; he can't be reckless, no matter how much he wants to Help Everyone. he hates hurting others, he truly does, but in this world, he Doesn't Have A Choice, does he?

he needs somebody Nobody Will Miss if they were to one day disappear.

so, he visits snowdin. he finds Vlad, already packing up to shamefully retreat into the ruins. He... "convinces" him Not To. he gives him the Opportunity to be a savior, to be greater, to be somebody other than himself. All he has to do is to come with him instead. start a New Life, somewhere far away from snowdin and those ruins.

offer up his soul because then, and only then, will his Sins be Forgiven.

possible amalgamation form?

vlad agrees, because it's easier to believe someone else's words about you serving a Greater Purpose rather than accept that you are nothing. so, he moves into a little town far east and meets someone very, very special :)

#utyellowfell #uty spoilers #undertale yellow spoilers #uty au #uty #uty fanart #undertale yellow #undertale yellow fanart #undertale #uty chujin #chujin ketsukane #uty martlet #uty dalv #uty starlo #my art #artists on tumblr #underfell #underfell yellow #underfell au

[hopeyarts]

THE ONE CHANGE THAT COULD’VE MADE WISH BETTER AS A MOVIE (RANT POST)

✨———————————————————————

If Wish ended with King Magnifico getting true love’s kiss from Queen Amaya, then he and Asha actually talk about their views more and come to terms and forgive each other…

I wouldn’t find a single problem with the story.

Disney’s biggest mistake about this movie was making him turn into a ‘classic villain’ and locking him up by the end of it. I get that the audience wanted a true Disney villain, and the company tried to provide that but they also DIDN’T really provide that until the third half of the movie.

But in this case with the film that they gave us (take away all the concepts and deleted scenes), this guy was sympathetic at best. Now I’m not going to baby his character and treat him like an absolute angel, but what I will say is that he deserved to be redeemed.

He’s not a villain. At most, he was a douchebag (I mean that in the nicest way possible). But that doesn’t take away the fact that he was also a genuinely benevolent king. His paranoia and need for power got the better of him, but that doesn’t make him a bad person. The forbidden evil book only influenced the darkest parts of himself, and unfortunately it was his need for power. Originally it was to keep the kingdom safe from a false threat, then the book shifted it into a need for power to just… keep himself in full power over everyone, in the worst way possible. Kinda bland, but whatever.

With this redeemable ending, this would’ve given our main character Asha an arc. She could’ve learned that it’s okay to not get what you want and that you have the ability to MOVE ON. She can realize she doesn’t have to be chained to a lost desire, and can give herself the option to improve their lives and listen to others. Like with her father— Tomás died from an illness even after she wished for him to get better. That’s her lost desire. That moment in her life drove her to make sure that her family, for example her Saba, wouldn’t feel that hurt like she had. That’s why she wanted Sabino’s wish granted so much. Yes, it was selfish from an audience viewpoint when she simply asked for King Magnifico to grant Sabino’s wish. We cannot deny that. And for what it’s worth I actually like this scene, but not when it reaches the ending of the movie. I LIKE the idea that Asha is selfish from the beginning, and THEN turns into someone who is selfless. We see her focus on Sabino’s wish at first, because she wants him to be happy, then that focus turns towards the entire community. I like that idea, but the execution was not it BECAUSE Disney decided to not redeem King Magnifico. That’s how this whole thing backfires on Asha as a character. It makes her look selfish for the ENTIRE movie. I love her (honest to God I do), but I have to admit that she seemed a slight bit selfish and naive, even if her intentions were good. And no, this selfishness doesn’t make her a villain. We see Disney protagonists be selfish, but then they learn to be selfless. So I’d never demonize her. To do that, I’d have to throw away all understanding of this movie and the character motivations, and even my willingness to look at something in another person’s perspective. She’s only a teenager after all.

Sorry, that was a little bit of a rant there. Disney just makes me frustrated.

Asha’s not a bad person, and neither is King Magnifico. They just didn’t think their options through.

Now if we were to give King Magnifico this redemption, he can’t go without a lesson learnt as well. He could learn the same thing as Asha: that you can choose to move on and not let a lost desire keep you stuck in the past. What he did for his people was right, but the execution was not. Yes, he kept them safe and sound… but he took a part of their hearts.

Remember that a wish is the ‘one that drives your heart’ or according to Magnifico, ‘They are a part of your heart. The very BEST part.’ (I can make a post about how the wishes given up were good intentioned. Some were vague, but they were the BEST good of a person’s heart. Although one thing I find humorously stupid is how someone’s wish is to find a nanny for their kids. Like damn- are your kids that bad? 😭 I’m sorry, I find it a little funny.)

So what is living a life safely but without passion? The answer to that is that it’s NOT living.

“A life without passion isn’t living at all. It is merely existing.” - Leo Buscaglia

This shouldn’t villainize movie King Magnifico, because he did this to protect his people and his kingdom. And the reason behind this is because of his past. So he could’ve learned that not everything is out to get him and that he can choose to move on and IMPROVE. Especially the system with wish granting.

I feel like I made this too long. But all in all, the story would’ve been perfect (in my eyes) if King Magnifico was redeemed at the end, and he and Asha could’ve learnt a shared lesson about moving on. And even still, your dreams can come true in unexpected ways.

Again, I like both Asha and King Magnifico. They are quite similar in terms of motivations and being plagued by their past lost desires. They thought they had to take matters into their own hands, and they didn’t think their options through. One however was rewarded for this, meanwhile the other was villainized for it. And no, I don’t blame that on Asha.

Additionally, I’d like to add that I like Wish. So don’t think I’m saying any of this because I ‘hate the movie’. I really don’t. If I turn off my brain and distract myself with the songs and art, I can get through the movie just fine. I just recognize that the story isn’t portraying what Disney intended, and I can only blame the executives. Not the writers, not the artists or animators, and certainly not the cast members. They did what they could with what Disney executives gave them, and I can only appreciate their hard work into trying to create a story for a 100th anniversary.

Thanks for reading all the way through! 💖

#wish #wish 2023 #disney wish #wish movie #disney asha #wish asha #asha #wish king magnifico #king magnifico #disney king magnifico #character analysis #analysis #rant #character rant #rant post #wish fandom #wish disney #wish magnifico #hopeyarts #fyp #fypシ

[neonghostlights]

A/N: I think the next chapter is the end of their story (:

Warnings: Death (reader is a ghost), loneliness (both reader and Eddie are insanely lonely), heartbreak, description on how reader died, illness (18+ only, minors DNI)

Series Masterlist

The Shortcut Chapter Three: The Talk

Eddie found you sitting against your headstone like you were waiting for him.

He waited until the moon was full and high in the sky to come back since he knew that he wouldn’t be able to see you without the magic in the air that the moon provided him.

He still didn’t really understand it, but if he thought too much about it it made his head ache with racing thoughts.

You offered him a small, apologetic smile as he approached. He sat beside you, about a foot between you.

The ground was cold and he shivered.

“How are you?” You asked, speaking first.

“I’m fine. Things are tough right now at home but it’s okay,” Eddie spoke honestly.

“Would you like to talk about it?” You asked him, genuine curiosity in your tone.

“I graduated high school this past spring. It took me three tries and I finally did it and I thought after I did that my life would magically get better and it just…hasn’t.”

“How hasn’t it gotten better?”

Eddie let out a deep breath. “I don’t know. I don’t have a real job. I sell…illegal things to make money. I can’t go to college because I don’t have the money and I didn’t have the grades to get in. My friends are doing all these crazy cool things and I’m just stuck. I haven’t seen any of my friends in weeks. I wanted to leave this town and make music but I have no money and my uncle needs help at home,” Eddie blurted out, listing off all of the things in his life that had been wrong.

You were quiet for a beat before you spoke again.

“Things could be worst. You could be dead.”

Eddie froze, staring at you for a moment and feeling like an asshole for being insensitive.

You let out a loud laugh, head leaning back with the force of it coming out.

The sound of it made Eddie laugh too.

“I’m sorry,” you admitted once your laughter died down. “For getting upset the last time you were here. I hadn’t realized so much time had passed and it had been so long since anyone bothered to visit me. It just made me think that’s all.”

“Can I ask you something?” Eddie was hesitant, worried that you would push him away again but he was dying to know. “What happened? How did you….you know?”

“How did I die?” You sighed, looking at the ground before you. “I was engaged to a nice boy that grew up down the street from us. He had a nice job, had gone to school, made good money. That was so important to my mother that he could support me. I was infatuated,” you said with a smile, staring off dreamily.

“I thought everything was going so well. I was working in the hospital as an orderly. I think that’s where I first started to get sick, and within a day I was in the hospital bed as a patient. I’m still not sure what it was. Possibly influenza, there was an outbreak on the unit I was working on.”

“After it happened, I found myself wandering here. It took me a moment to realize the grave I was standing in front of was my own. My mother and sister visited for a while before they stopped.”

“What about your fiancé?” Eddie asked.

You gave him a sad smile. “I’ve seen him visit twice. The second time he had a wedding band on and he was saying goodbye.”

“I’m so sorry.”

You put a hand up. “Save your apologies. It makes no difference now.”

Eddie wanted to change the subject. “Where do you go when you’re not here?”

“I’m still here…or there. Sometimes I watch over my grave. I did that a lot in the beginning. Sometimes I am in between.”

It didn’t make sense to Eddie but he didn’t want to push it.

“Eddie, I hope things get better for you,” you said with a little smile.

“Why does this feel like a goodbye?” Eddie asked, head spinning by the change in direction of the conversation.

He looked forward to every meeting with you. You were the little light in his life at the moment.

“It can’t be safe for you to come here at night.”

“No one messes with me. I promise,” Eddie lied through his teeth.

You gave him a look like you didn’t believe him but didn’t push him.

“Yeah, you can’t get rid of me that easily,” Eddie said, lightening to mood.

There were chills on his skin as he heard your laugh carry into the night.

He stayed with you till morning, watching you disappear into the morning light.

He missed you the second you were gone and was already counting the days until he could see you again.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson au #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #eddie munson series #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x ghost reader #eddie munson x ghost

[biscuitbox23]

“I’m alright on the other side, what about you?”

Summary: After your death, Daryl starts to lose his mind. He hallucinates about you in the woods, taunting him. well, that's what he thinks.

Author’s Note: I had to admit, I almost cried while proofreading this, not because the story is sad but because of the amount of grammar mistakes (I have a love/hate relationship with Grammarly).

warnings: mentions of character death, violence, typically angst shit.

Word count: 1.1k

Daryl's heart ached with a fierce longing for you. He spent countless nights consumed by anger and bargaining with fate, but nothing could ease the pain of your absence. The emptiness he felt inside was all-encompassing, and he knew that only you could have offered him any measure of solace.

He kept blaming himself for it every day despite your recklessness. You were torn at the hip by a walker and had to go through the hell of letting the blood flow and allowing the horde of walkers to rip through your body. Daryl tried his best to keep you alive.

He walked through the woods, away from the prison for now. It was quiet, other than the occasional squeaks of squirrels and rustles of the wind. Your death was recent, and it had an enormous impact on him. You were the type of person who feared death, so you did what you could to survive. You didn't want to give up because you were scared. He acted like a knight saving a fallen princess. It was ill-fated from the start.

You had met Daryl and his brother at the beginning of the camp when the situation was unfolding. Despite Daryl's rude attitude and his brother's questionable behavior, you always checked in on them. Making sure they were doing well. However, as the world around them crumbled, things started to change. Daryl's brother disappeared, and now you were gone too. For Daryl, his world had crumbled beneath his feet, leaving him lost in a sea of chaos and despair. Even so, you were always there for him, always willing to offer a helping hand or a kind word. You even helped him find Sophia, not because you wanted anything in return, but simply because it was the right thing to do.

But there was a saying, 'If you're a good person, you die out there.' 

You were good enough to try and get him a way to escape on one run. The only thing is, you had no other way out. The best you could do was look at him with a deep sigh. The look on your face still haunts his dreams.

You left with acceptance. You didn't beg for your life at that point. It was just a sigh of acceptance, knowing there would be no way out. Back in camp, when things went wrong, you were like a scared little mouse that Daryl had to save your ass almost all the time. And it was okay for him. 

"Still sulking over me?" You chuckled smugly.

Daryl felt himself jolt up from the ground. Your voice echoes through the woods. as if you were still there, sharing a cigarette with him like it always was. He enjoyed your company, and he needed it more now.

"Y/n?" Daryl breathed out. 

"Hey, Dare," You puffed out smoke from your lungs as you leaned on a tree, "Guess you get a little jumpy now, huh?" The cigarette hung between your middle and pointer finger, tapping the small paper-wrapped intoxicant with your thumb to let some ash out. The ash trickled down like snow to the ground.

Daryl doesn't respond, just watching you look around at the trees as you lean back to the tree. Your eyes met him, a big grin forming on your face.

"Come on, you used to talk to me a lot. What's bothering you?" You looked at him with a chilled-out smile.

"Nothin' just missed you..." Daryl said, his voice hoarse and husky.

"I missed you too, Dare," You chuckled, "at least you were the last person I saw when I died..." You shrugged sheepishly. Your tone was casual, almost as if you weren't terrified anymore. 

"Don't..." Daryl sighed deeply, "Don't remind me... please."

"Well, you gotta live with it," You scoffed, now on a tree trunk, taking a sip of a beer. Every time Daryl looked away, you started moving from one place to another, "live to fight another day, Daryl."

"You're the one who killed yourself to save me," Daryl spat as you looked over at him lazily.

"I didn't kill myself, Daryl. I sacrificed myself," You smiled, sitting on a log now. You held onto a leaf, examining the intricacy of nature. Your clothes changed too. You wore an orange-shaded striped sweater and jorts, like when he first saw you.

"No, you didn't. You killed yourself. You do not even know how long I have left," Daryl shook his head, feeling himself starting to lose it a little.

"Don't say that," you rolled your eyes.

"I have every right to. You were stupid to do that and sacrifice yourself for me," Daryl sighed deeply.

"I had no choice. There was nowhere to run," you said sheepishly.

"It could've been me in there, don't you think?" Daryl spat his tone with rage and anger.

"No, but you can protect yourself," you shrugged as if you weren't bothered. "I can't, but you got Judith's formula, didn't you?"

There was an eerie, long pause. 

"It's okay, Daryl," your tone became gentler, more reassuring, "you can't save everyone, and that's okay."

You went over to him and hugged him from behind. He refused to look at you, knowing that once he looks at you, all he sees is his imagination. Despite his desperation to forgive himself and the longing for acceptance of your death, his mind can't help but think of you.

"I liked the way you cook squirrel," you smiled softly, hugging him tighter, "It tastes nice..." 

Bringing up the small memory made Daryl feel his heart sink. 

"you're not real, are you?" He asked as he looked at your arms wrapped around his waist. His hand reaches to your fingers, feeling your soft, cold flesh. Similar to when somebody dies in the hospital, their body becomes frigid as ice.

"I am," you console him, resting your cheek on his broad back and the leather bracing half of your face, "I'm living on the other side, Daryl."

"Is it nice there?" Daryl asks quietly, feeling his eyes tear up. He took a small halt but continued, "The other side?"

"Yeah, it's nice..." You nodded, "I'm alright on the other side. What about you?"

"I guess it's alright, too," Daryl's smile formed on his lips.

Knowing that you're happy somewhere brought him ease. It gave him a chance to move on calmly. That was when he opened his eyes, finally seeing you nowhere in the woods. A hallucination in which Daryl managed to move on. Walking back to the prison to finally let go of the burden of you.

———————————————————————

tag list:@richardsamboramylove55

A/n: Hello everyone! Yes I have brought you another tear jerker (i think). I have to admit I wasn’t really attracted to Daryl Dixon when I first saw him I started shipping him with Carol 😭 but anyways, I watched the Judas music video and OML he is so fine. Thank you lady Gaga for giving me the motivation to write about him ❤️

#twd daryl #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #twd #daryl dixon x female reader #angst with a happy ending #angst #norman reedus #the walking dead universe #BiscuitWrites #twd oneshot

[maddascanbe-blog]

Miracu-class girls are done! It took less time than I initially anticipated, thank goodness. Let's talk re-write's and re-designs shall we?

Sabrina so freaking cute, give the girl her hat. It was probably a gift from Chloe. For her redesign I thought she would be the kind to dress in cute blouses and flowy skirts. She has tennis skirts in every color for every occasion. As for her re-write- anyone who saw how I changed Chloe probably will guess that their dynamic is drastically changes as well.

Sabrina met Chloe when they were in their tween years, Officer Roger having worked security for the Bourgeois on multiple occasions. One day he had to bring his daughter into work and Chloe found her wandering the halls. When a kidnapper tried to abduct Chloe, Sabrina sprayed him with pepper spray her father gave her and then kicked him in the dick for good measure. Chloe then declared that Sabrina should be her full-time body guard, and she technically is being paid to hang out with Chloe. But Sabrina would have done it with or without the money since Chloe is actually very endearing once you figure out how she works.

Alix is next! Alix's violently pink hair could not be ignored, so I kept it (albeit a little less saturated) Also she is in fact still short. Her outfits are probably all variations of sports gear unless she has an event to attend at the museum. I also tanned her up since I imagine she spends a lot of time outside, girl is sunburnt. She is actually a year ahead in history, having gotten too bored with junior level classes. So she's friends with some of the seniors too. I won't get into Bunnix anytime soon but- let's just say it's a lot more tragic than cannon would ever admit. The rabbit's powers are changing, and Alix still has to live with that.

On a lighter note, Juleka, as stunning as ever. Tall queen. She is a year behind since her lack of participation in classes ultimately tanked her grade in several subjects. Her band director was more then happy for her to stay an extra year though, since she is trained classically as well as electrically on the bass. She may not like talking, but she has little fear of performing when the music can do the talking. Her twin brother actually graduated early, and he's working now to help pay for the band the two want to start. Her design doesn't change much from her cannon one other than the fact I switched her ripped leggings for lace ones. I imagine she actually has many outfits in this color pallet, since Chat Noir quickly becomes her favorite hero.

Mylene, okay the change I made here is pretty obvious. I debated for a long time on whether or not I change her skin tone. And when I did the line art? Wasn't planning too. But changed my mind last second, since I thought it helped the color pallet more. This would imply she is mixed, with her dad looking pretty much the same as cannon. it's hard to tell her unless you look closely but I gave her freckles that just cover every inch of her. She is Sunkissed. He character isn't super different, she is still easily startled, but she knows what she believes and will fight for it no matter what.

And finally, Rose! The lovely Rosey! The flower child! Her nonspecific illness still definitely happened, but I like to think she has actually recovered. I do not know enough about most chronic illnesses to make any sort of specification on what she has so nameless headache disease it is! She struggled a lot as a kid, but now she's planning to start a non-profit to help kids who are going through hard times of their own. She definitely still has her down days, the fact that she nearly died so young is not something she is quick to forget. But she will do whatever she can to give other people hope, sinee she knows all too well what it feels like to be hopeless.

As for her design, she had a bucket of pink upturned on her. She did have to have her hair shaved as an affect of her illness but now it's growing back faster than ever. She gets it cut every time it gets past a certain length to donate it.

Luka is next!

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous redesign #miraculous fanart #sabrina raincomprix #alix kubdel #juleka couffaine #mylene haprele #rose lavillant #akuma class #sabrina raincomprix redesign #alix kubdel redesign #juleka couffaine redesign #mylene haprele redesign #rose lavillant redesign

[ya-zz]

hiya! :-)

can i request a rammattra, zenyatta, or genji (whoever you think fits best) x gn reader who's a cyborg with a gothic little balljoint porcelain doll appearence? maybe a little edward scissorhands-y in their mannerisms and personality (doesn't really talk much, curious and full of wonder about the most mundane things, a bit socially tone deaf, and usually seen as a creepy weirdo despite in reality being more akin to a batty puppy dog overall)?

also optional bonus heavy angst idea you don't have to include: reader admitting that they didn't actually want to be a cyborg when they technically died naturally of a chronic illness, but their ex brought them back from the brink of death against their expressed wishes and now reader has episodes where they have to grapple with the fact they're still alive and how different their body is now.

totally alright if this is too much and no worries if you don't wanna write it! i hope you have a swell day! :-D

Hooo boy, this one took a lil longer to get to, work be testing me at the moment, but anyway- I broke it up into small pieces for each character, hope that's okay!

Everything is under the cut and they all have varying word counts. The first section is the same for each, it's bold and italic.

Ramattra

Your appearance was something neither three had ever seen before. They stared at you with a mix of emotions. Mainly awe and curiosity. Omnics had their defaulted looks, they all did. Each series a different kind but the same look, but you… You were unique. 

Zenyatta and Genji were talking, Ramattra sitting by his brothers side trying to ignore the ninja’s ramblings. It was supposed to be a meditation session, but of course, the ninja had other ideas and proceeded to gloat about his renewed and blossoming relationship with his brother. When you stumbled upon the three, looking helpless like a lost puppy, they averted their attention to you. 

Genji was the first to make a noise, a sound of surprise as his eyes widened while he looked you up and down. Zenyatta and Ramattra stayed silent, their orbs the only other sound in the room. When your voice broke through the awkwardness, the three men stand. 

“I don’t suppose you could help me find my way to the garden?” You asked, voice a little shaky and staticky. 

Ramattra stepped forward, offering a hand. 

“I will escort you.” He bowed his head slightly before bidding Zenyatta and his pet human goodbye and leaving the room with you following behind. 

The silence was comfortable yet Ramattra couldn’t help but wonder about you. 

“You are different from the others.” He states, not deterring from the path nor his speed. 

There was a hum in response and the omnic looks down at you. He notices you’re looking forward, seemingly in your own world as you walk beside him. 

“Do you have a name?” He asks.

He’s met with silence.

Ramattra silently sighs. Not one for conversation, huh? 

Instead of talking, he looks over you once more. The model make and number appears in his HUD, a rare and unique model and quite expensive too. One would be lucky to even afford such a delicate piece of equipment. 

He’s curious, and rightly so. Who and why? A ball-jointed omnic, no, you seem too human to be an omnic. You’re an anomaly Ramattra can’t wrap his system around. He goes back to his initial thinking; a ball-jointed omnic is wandering about the area, you look like a doll. A fully functioning toy doll. A kid would love to grasp and pull at you if it had the chance. 

He thinks for a moment. A collectors toy, that is what you look like. The larger omnic looks back over at you and it makes more sense to him, but he doesn’t speak out loud. You look like a doll that should be sitting on a shelf, encased with glass, one for people to look at. 

“You keep staring at me.” 

Ramattra shifts, looking forward again. “My apologies. I am merely curious about you.”

“You wouldn’t be the first.” 

“I will not be the last, it seems.” He huffs, looking out of the window as you both pass it. 

“No, you won’t be.” 

“Are you always this…” 

“This, what? Straight? Yes.” 

“I see.” Ramattra feels the tension in the air and stays silent. He pushed the wrong way and made you uncomfortable, but he dismisses the feeling as he pushes forward and opens the door towards the garden. “Here you go.” 

It’s like a switch had flipped instantly, your mood heightens as you practically run past him and out into the community garden. With the sun beaming down onto your arms, your face warming up, it felt like a dream. It had been too long since you had seen natural beauty and after hearing that this was the place to see it, you made your way here. 

Ramattra watches on, catching you staring at the bark on the trees, hands gently touching the ridges, feeling the coarse and damp wood. It had been raining two hours prior, the soil beneath your feet still soggy as your feet sunk into the dirt. There wasn’t a care in the world at that moment and Ramattra felt himself admiring the kid like excitement within you. 

Hey stays by the door, arms crossed over his chest as he keeps an eye on you. Hands playing with the leaves upon the tree, gently fingers grazing the flower petals. Knees and feet caked in mud, joints becoming sticky and grinding against each other, but you did not care. 

This… This is what you came here to do. To be free, to study… To be yourself.

Genji

Your appearance was something neither three had ever seen before. They stared at you with a mix of emotions. Mainly awe and curiosity. Omnics had their defaulted looks, they all did. Each series a different kind but the same look, but you… You were unique. 

Zenyatta and Genji were talking, Ramattra sitting by his brothers side trying to ignore the ninja’s ramblings. It was supposed to be a meditation session, but of course, the ninja had other ideas and proceeded to gloat about his renewed and blossoming relationship with his brother. When you stumbled upon the three, looking helpless like a lost puppy, they averted their attention to you. 

Genji was the first to make a noise, a sound of surprise as his eyes widened while he looked you up and down. Zenyatta and Ramattra stayed silent, their orbs the only other sound in the room. When your voice broke through the awkwardness, the three men stand. 

“I don’t suppose you could help me find my way to the garden?” You asked, voice a little shaky and staticky. 

Genji did not hesitate at all as he practically jumped towards you. 

“I’ll go with you! Come on!” His arm wrapped around your shoulders while he escorted you out of the room and down the hallway. “So, what made you come here?” His voice was sweet and excited. You didn’t know why, but it felt comfortable. 

“I heard there was natural beauty here.” 

“Ah! The garden!” Genji exclaimed. “Yes! We would usually meditate outside but it is raining. Perhaps the rain has finally let up.”

“You were meditating?” 

“We were. Well, Zenyatta and Ramattra were, but I had news I wanted to share with my master.”

“Your ‘master’?” 

Genji nods as he walks alongside you. “Zenyatta. After a life changing altercation with my brother, Zenyatta practically took me in and guided me on the right path.”

“You’re talking about your appearance?” 

Genji nods once again and perhaps thats where it clicked with him. He felt drawn to you because you were similar to him. He could feel it. “My brother tried to kill me. Family issues and such, I won’t bore you with the details.”

You shake your head. “I was the same. Not with family, but my lover. I was on deaths door, chronic illness, I wanted to die, but he had other plans… And here I am now.” 

“Did it take awhile to get used to it? It did for me.” Genji softens his voice, tone apologetic. 

“Yes. I felt numb. My mind was there, but feeling wasn’t. I screamed, cried, shouted, anything, you name it. I didn’t ask for this.” 

“Nobody would ask for this. They should’ve respected your wishes.” His hand rests on your back, just below your neck, resting between where your shoulder blades would be. “I am sorry to bring it back up.” 

“Don’t apologise, you didn’t know.” 

There was a comforting silence as the pair of you walked through the hallway before Genji stopped beside a door. He heard the rain outside, but pushed the door open, letting the wind hit you. 

“You don’t have to go-” Before he even finished his sentence, you were already passed him, outside in the rain. Arms outstretched, face looking up, it’s like you had never been in the rain before. Genji chuckled, hiding under the shelter as he watched on. 

The ninja watched on, his eyes not leaving your body as you’d wander the garden in the rain. For once, Genji felt comfortable being around another person, someone who was just like him. Through pain and trauma, he hopes to get close to you, to know more about you, your insecurities, flaws, what makes you, you. 

He watched as you knelt down in the mud, fingers gliding over rose petals before picking up a snail that had been passing by. He chuckled once more when he watches you place it on a nearby leaf.

Time would only tell how these two would get along, but Genji hopes the feelings will become mutual in time.

Zenyatta

Your appearance was something neither three had ever seen before. They stared at you with a mix of emotions. Mainly awe and curiosity. Omnics had their defaulted looks, they all did. Each series a different kind but the same look, but you… You were unique. 

Zenyatta and Genji were talking, Ramattra sitting by his brothers side trying to ignore the ninja’s ramblings. It was supposed to be a meditation session, but of course, the ninja had other ideas and proceeded to gloat about his renewed and blossoming relationship with his brother. When you stumbled upon the three, looking helpless like a lost puppy, they averted their attention to you. 

Genji was the first to make a noise, a sound of surprise as his eyes widened while he looked you up and down. Zenyatta and Ramattra stayed silent, their orbs the only other sound in the room. When your voice broke through the awkwardness, the three men stand. 

“I don’t suppose you could help me find my way to the garden?” You asked, voice a little shaky and staticky. 

He approached you almost silently, feet tapping gently on the ground before he extends his hand. 

“I will escort you. Follow me.” His voice was fluid for an omnic, which was soothing to your ears. Once the pair of you had left the room, just overhearing Ramattra telling Genji to shut up, Zenyatta chuckles and guides you through the halls. 

“Do not mind those two.” He states, moving his hand as he speaks. “They have been at it like children since Genji got here.” 

He hears the hum of response and takes a moment to look over you. Zenyatta’s model wasn’t as advanced as Ramattra’s, but he could do the basic scanning of people, but you… were not entirely human. 

“You are quite similar to Genji.” 

“Which one is he?” 

“The less omnic looking one. The one who sat to the left of me.” He chuckles.

“Oh, him.” There was a short pause. “How so?”

“You have mechanics within your body. You are not entirely human, are you?” He asks, head cocking to the side. 

“No.” 

“I see. I will not press, I am here to talk if you want to.” He offers, tone laced with a comforting frequency that began settling the anxiousness within you. The monk pauses for a moment before continuing. “Are you here for a reason? We do not get many guests.”

“Nature. I heard stories form the village.” 

“Ah. Our garden. Yes. It is quite magnificent. Well cared for too.” He hums, nodding his head. “We have gardeners and groundskeepers in there at all hours of the day. Perhaps you may make a few friends.” 

There was a friendliness in his voice as he kept speaking. While he was doing so, his systems were wondering what had happened to you for you to be like this. The porcelaine like features of your body intrigued him, the ball-jointed appearance made you look like a doll, and while not something he had seen before, he wanted to know more. 

His thoughts stopped when they arrived at the archway, the garden just outside. He went to speak but you had already vanished into the greenery. The gardeners watched on, the groundskeepers laughing as they watched this human-omnic wander into the flower beds and bushes. 

Zenyatta sat down on a nearby bench, keeping a close eye on you. He was in complete awe of you and his systems began to work through any and all possible outcome to his feelings. He was curious, much like were in this moment.

You examined the bugs under the rocks, picking them up to get a closer look before placing them back down into the dirt. With the sun on your face, it felt like a surreal dream, one you never wanted to wake from. 

The omnic monk kept his gaze within your direction, chuckling to himself as the minutes passed by. Perhaps another familiar face wouldn’t be unwelcome here…

#overwatch #ramattra #genji #zenyatta #ramattra x reader #genji x reader #zenyatta x reader #genji shimada #tekhartha zenyatta #ow #fanfic #overwatch 2 #overwatch fanfiction #overwatch genji #ow2 #yazzfics

[somber-sapphic]

Pampering

[[Summary]] Y/n has a cold and Wanda is absolutely freaking out. It's funny until they realize why the witch is so afraid. (wanda x reader)

Word Count: 600

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“Wanda,” You chuckled, a bit of exasperation seeping into your tone, “it’s a cold.” 

Wanda glared at you with rage-filled eyes as she set up yet another, bringing the total up to three. You had made the mistake of sneezing in front of your girlfriend and her overprotective streak had kicked in. She had forced you to go to Bruce who had diagnosed you with a literal cold. A sniffle. The lowest of all illnesses. And yet, your girlfriend was freaking out. 

“Do you remember the last time you had a cold?” She replied, raising an eyebrow at you. As much as you hated to admit it, she may have had a point. The last time that you had a cold you refused to rest and said cold had devolved into pneumonia and a particularly painful ear infection. It had been absolute hell. 

“Okay, fair, but I’m alright baby. I promise I’m okay.” You murmured, slipping out of bed to come over to her side. She looked like she was about to cry, the frustration having dissolved into fear. You took her hands in yours and squeezed gently, your heart breaking as a tear slipped down her cheek. 

“Y-you almost died.” The witch croaked, her voice wavering with emotion. You sucked in a deep breath, which prompted a short burst of coughs which you were sure didn’t help calm Wanda down at all. When you regained your breath you reached up and cupped her cheek, an act that always brought her comfort. 

“I’m here Wanda. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. A stupid cold isn’t going to take me out, okay little witch?” You promised, leaning in to press your forehead against hers. She let out a stifled sob and wrapped you in a hug, holding on for dear life. 

“I love you, sweetheart. With everything I have. Let’s watch a movie or something and cuddle.” The brunette nodded against your chest and you sniffled, feeling admittedly weary. You were tired and your head was starting to throb, your sinuses aching along with the rest of your body. 

Wanda tucked you into bed and you settled against her, finally feeling the effects of the ‘little cold’. It certainly wasn’t the worst, you probably could have even worked if you truly wanted to, but now that you were curled up in the arms of your girlfriend all you really wanted to do was sleep. 

“M’sorry I scared you.” You rasped, grabbing her hand with a tight squeeze. The woman hummed quietly and kissed your forehead which was definitely a ploy to check to see if you had a fever. You knew that you didn't, but at this point, you’d do just about anything to calm her nerves.

“Do you need anything beautiful?” She murmured, stroking your hair as she flipped through channels on the TV. You shook your head and stifled a sneeze into your wrist, groaning quietly afterward. You regretted stifling, it had sent a flair of pain through your head. 

“I’ll make you the soup that my Mama used to make me when I didn’t feel well.” Wanda decided, settling on one of the Jurassic Park movies. It was the one with Katie McGrath in it, which reminded you of the conversation that led to you discovering her sexuality. 

She had made a joke about the beautiful Irish woman which had led to a rather long discussion with some tears and a lot of hugs. You smiled and cuddled close, deciding that maybe a bit of pampering wouldn’t be so bad. 

#sickfic #fever #fanfiction #sick fanfiction #marvel sickfic #marvel #sick reader #marvel mcu #wanda maximoff #fever whump #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda x reader #wanda maximov #wanda imagine #wanda marvel #wanda maxmoff x y/n #mcu sickfic #sick fanfic #avengers sickfic #avengers #wanda maximoff x reader #x reader fanfiction #x reader #caretaking

[yourgaeyisshowing]

Bumps Along the way

Chapter 4: In a Flash of light

Larissa x Shapeshifter!Reader Pregnant!Reader Pregnant!Larissa

Warnings: Pregnancy struggles, Pregnancy/childbirth, Miscarriages, Mental illness, Swears or curses, Infant Death, Stillborn, PTSD, Panic attacks, Near death experience, Mentions of birth and physical exams, vomiting,

A/N: This story is going to be heavy, it deals with real life situations that most don’t understand the pain of. 1 in 4 women will experience this in their lifetime, remember you don’t know everyone's history.

Chapter 4: In a flash of light

“The sun came up and Larissa’s alarm went off like it did every morning. Waking you up you felt the bed shift rather quickly and saw a flash of Larissa fly past you to the bathroom connected to your room. She quickly hit her knees and hung her head in the toilet bowl. Throwing up all the contents of her stomach from the day before. You darted out of bed and quickly scooped her hair up into a messy bun and rubbed her back softly. “It's okay love, get it all out. I’ve got you.” She went to look up at you stunned, but was stopped short of another round of sickness hitting her. You grabbed a wet washcloth, and let her finish, sitting next to her and wiping her mouth. “Darling you should be in bed” Larissa whispered, her throat stinging as she did. “Hush now none of that. Other than a bit tired I’m fine. But you on the other hand are not. Do you still feel sick?” Shaking her head no she took your hand and stood up letting you lead her back to your shared bed. After getting comfortable and a glass of water you climbed in with her moving the hot water bottles and heating pads to the floor. 

“My love, we need to talk. I'm worried about you, about us. What's going on?” Larissa did something she has never done before and burst into tears and put her head in her hands. “I don't know! I feel out of control and off and most of all I hurt you, I didn't even realize I did it until I did. I’m so sorry about last night! You could have died Y/N!” Larissa sobbed uncontrollably and all but fell into your arms. “Oh honey, It was just a misunderstanding, I know work has been stressful on you lately and you have been struggling. I'm so sorry I didn’t see that. I was too caught up in my own thoughts that I was neglecting your needs.”  You rubbed her back and held onto her, feeling her cries lighten up just a bit. “Honey, how long have you been feeling unwell? You don’t seem to have a fever. Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” You felt her forehead which was cool to the touch and dismissed it. “A few days, I think I ate something off. I don’t really know… I just have felt off for the last few weeks. Come to think of it, I…I’m late.” Realization hit you both like a truck as you got out of bed and came back with a small blue wrapper. “Do you think?” You started to ask as her eyes got wide. She snatched the package out of your hand and darted to the bathroom. After a minute or two the door unlocked and Larissa sat down on the bed. “I..I’m too scared to look.” She admitted to you. 

Walking into the bathroom you grabbed the test without looking and came to sit next to her. Grabbing her hand you took a deep breath and turned the test over showing two pink lines. Tears immediately filled both of your eyes. “We’re gonna be mums!” Larissa all but shouted, your arms flew around her neck and you hugged her with a force to be reckoned with. In the next few weeks you had resigned to helping Larissa with her work load, and decided that you would cherish each day. Every night, you would talk to your baby and read to him or her. Giving little kisses to your wife’s belly and she would roll her eyes playfully enjoying how much you dotted on her and your baby. Larissa was adamant she did not want to have the baby in the hospital around unkind doctors and nurses who didn’t understand outcasts. She was however thrilled by the idea of a controlled home birth and a midwife team. After several interviews with Outcast midwives and none of them clicking you finally found Mel who was a green witch and sorcerer. She was kind and tender-hearted and you and Larissa both loved her. She had an outcast safe portable ultrasound unit, and a team that included a doula named Michelle who was a healer and a wonderful photographer named Emily that was a seer. Larissa had her first home appointment coming up in a few weeks and the time couldn’t pass quicker. 

A small knock on the door was heard and you answered it letting Mel in. Her beautiful brunette hair tied up in a bun and her bag and unit on a rolling tote. Larissa brought in a tray of tea and the three of you chatted for a while about your birth plan, things you were concerned about and many other things. “Now are there any concerns you have about Larissa?” She asked in her soft tone, setting a hand on Larissa’s knee. Larissa nodded and set her cup down. “I think I am somewhere around 6 weeks, but things are already not fitting and the morning sickness has become all day sickness. Is that normal?” Larissa was a bit unsure of her words as she rested a hand on her belly. “That is completely normal hun, I will give you some tincture for the sickness to help, but in the meantime are you ready for your first physical exam? It can put most things at ease.” 

The brunette asked and Larissa looked at you and nodded. “Good now I like my moms to feel comfortable and usually the best spot is in your own bed, are you okay with that?” Mel asked with her usual smile. “Yes, actually that sounds much better than what I was expecting.” Larissa chuckled and showed Mel the way to your room with you following behind her. “Okay I think i'm all set up I’ll step out for a moment and let you change into something comfortable a nightgown or a long shirt will do just fine. Then you can use this sheet I brought to cover your bottom half when you lay down.” Mel explained and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her. Doing as she asked, Larissa Changed into a long sleeve shirt that was too big and fell to her thighs and laid on the bed letting herself get comfortable and you helped with the sheet so she felt comfortable. Letting Mel back in you stood awkwardly not knowing what to do. She laughed and told you to make yourself comfortable on the bed next to Larissa. After a quick pelvic exam that Larissa cringed through and gripped your hand, she deemed everything was in order and asked if she could move on to an abdominal exam. Larissa Nodded and Mel Slid the blanket over her legs and let the paper sheet rest on top of it to make Larissa a bit more comfortable. 

She palpated her stomach in different ways and pulled out her stethoscope, one hand on it the other on her stomach. With a small smile she pulled the pieces out of her ears and handed them to Larissa. “Would you like to hear?” Mel asked. “Yes please!” Larissa's eyes welled up with tears hearing the thump thump thump of the baby's heartbeat. She let you hear as well and you pulled the ear pieces away and gave Larissa a small forehead kiss and wiped a stray tear away. “That momma’s is a strong heartbeat there. Now would you like to see the baby and we can get a due date and a correct measurement?” Both of you nodded eagerly, and Larissa winced at the cold gel as it was placed on her stomach. Soon forgotten though as the picture on the screen showed a tiny baby. 

“There they are, it’s a bit too early to tell the gender yet. But it looks like you are closer to nine weeks Larissa. By this measurement and your last cycle being in march it looks like you will be due right around december give or take. A Christmas baby!” You and Larissa were in awe, this all felt real now. “We decided we don't want to know the gender, it will be our Christmas surprise.” You said, holding Larissa’s hand tightly. Mel nodded and gave her congrats, printing out pictures for you both and cleaning up the gel on Larissas stomach. “I’ll let you dress and then while I pack up we can talk about next steps.” Larissa nodded and threw on a pair of shorts before letting Mel come back in. Sitting cross legged in your shared bed Mel explained how to take the tincture and that with the hotter months coming she would need to make sure to up her protein and fluid intake and it was important that she didn’t shift into any appearance other than that of a female as it could hurt the baby. After she was done packing up you saw her out, coming back to the bedroom with the brightest smile as you pulled your wife into your arms. 

“We’re having a baby” you whispered, trailing a finger over the pictures Mel left. “It all feels so real now, that little baby is growing inside me. I didn’t ever think I'd be a mum. And now here I am, a mum to be and someone’s wife.” You cuddled her closer and gave her a deep kiss. “Look at you growing a whole little person!” You chuckled, making her laugh with you. You two spent the rest of the day cuddled up together and doing some online shopping for some new maternity outfits for Larissa. Specifically skirts that would grow with her, and some new looser shirts. You had also decided that once she started really showing you wouldn’t hide the pregnancy to the staff or students.

#larissa weems #gwendoline christie #gwendolineuniverse #principal weems #larissa weems x reader #larissa x y/n #wednesday #larissa x wife!reader #pregnant!larissaweems #pregnant larissa weems #dead dove do not eat #pregnant!reader