#being a munch runs in the family I fear.

[iliektehhaxs]

ohhhh ooooooooh you know how when bearded men eat out their partner’s 🐱a lot the pH causes the hair to get slightly bleached?????

elwin’s goatee getting a bit brighter and redder due to his munching habits towards sweetheart and sweetheart alone, he’s never done it for anabella (obviously, why would he spend time there when he doesn’t want to) and when she hears (vulgar) gossip of the castle maids discussing their husbands slight-ginger beard habits she chalks it up to a wive’s tale or “lower born women’s bodies” affecting their better half’s in a bad way

little does she know….

(slight tangent i know cid’s beard would be bright ginger, clive’s as well)

Elwin’s beard has slowly become brighter, a fact Anabella didn’t notice or care for until the rumors began to spread.

Talk of illicit activities, the things commoners find the time to whisper about in their boredom. None of which Anabella cares for, to her the words of non-royals are worth less than the oxygen spent to speak them. But on this day, she can’t help but have her ears perk at the conversation her maids think she can’t hear.

“Have you seen Lord Rosfield’s facial hair as of late?” She says, dusting at the bookshelves. “Lighter and lighter as the days go on, imagine that…”

“Quiet!” The other answers, the two grinning as if they know something she doesn’t. She scoffs, going back to drinking her tea in silence.

What would maids know, except for how to cook and clean? So busy with idle gossip, perhaps she isn’t giving them enough work—if they have time to chatter the day away like birds they have enough time to scrub the linens.

But still. There’s a spark of curiosity she refuses to admit is there, so she holds off on her retribution in favor of listening.

“I’m just saying, he seems to be an awfully voracious eater—“

“You are awful!”

“Is it my fault for pointing out our Lord’s insatiable appetite?”

They go back and forth like this for a while, and eventually Anabella leaves the room to get away from this nonsensical drivel. Eating? Appetite? Speaking in code, or tongues perhaps, Anabella scolds herself inwardly for even entertaining the words of the lower-born for a second.

Ironic, that it was her servants conversation that stopped her from finding the truth. So distracted by her own thoughts, she walks right past the doors of the royal chambers, where Lord Rosfield brings some truth to those rumors.

If she had stayed for a second longer, she would have heard the muffled cries of a woman who was certainly not his wife.

If she hadn’t been so distracted, she would have witnessed first hand just how insatiable her Lords appetite truly was, between the thighs of his childhood love.

But the next day, she does notice that Elwin’s beard has become just a shade lighter than the rest of his facial hair.

#ask #final fantasy xvi #elwin rosfield #robo writes #yeah? yeah. #being a munch runs in the family I fear.

[kaaaaaaarf]

So I watched that episode of Our Flag Means Death where Ed finds the bunny and thinks it's a wolf and thought, what if Remus was a wererabbit and Sirius had no idea? Anyways, have a drabble.

Here I Am (a rabbit-hearted boy)

Hogwarts Era. 654 words. Wererabbit Remus. G.

Remus' floppy ears twitch unhappily. He had been so careful—so careful not to let his friends see the monster he becomes every full moon. He thought he was sneaky, when he made his way out of the castle before dinner—after the other boys had already left for the Great Hall, but here is Sirius, standing above him with wide eyes. He'd seen the whole thing, the whole transformation—running into the clearing before Remus could even shout at him to stop. Before his body bent and twisted violently into a monster.  Remus' tiny body shakes in fear. Finally, after an impossibly long moment, Sirius seems to come back to himself. "R—Remus? Are you—you're a werewolf?"  …I'm a what now? 

"I thought maybe you were upset about Snape ruining your Potions final when you didn’t follow us down to dinner, so I came back to find you and saw you sneak out of the castle. I decided to  follow you, but I didn't think...Oh my God. You're so...so...cute."  Remus' nose twitches in a way that he thinks sufficiently expresses his shock and distaste. He’s not cute. He’s fearsome! An abomination! Sirius, unafraid, crouches down and strokes a gentle hand over the tawny fur on his back.  Okay, well Remus doesn't hate that.  Sirius scratches behind one floppy ear, and it makes Remus’ back foot twitch. Sirius smiles. "Are you a friend, wolf? Merlin, wait til I tell James about this! Our Moony—a real bloody werewolf!" and then as quickly as he’d appeared, he's gone, running off back toward the castle. It's just as well, Remus is dangerous like this. As much as he would love some company on the moons, one bite is all it would take and he could turn Sirius, too. He couldn't live with himself. Remus has just finished snacking on some grass, and is just about to hop into the underbrush to play chase with the rabbits of the Forest, when Sirius comes running back, this time with James in tow. Great. "See James! That's Remus, he's a werewolf!"  James, who is bent over trying to catch his breath, looks up at him like he's stupid. "That's a rabbit, Sirius." "No...I saw him transform—that’s Remus. He's a werewolf." "At best that's a wererabbit." He looks down at Remus, his face twisted in thought. "Sorry Remus, just a sec. Sirius—" he looks back up at the other boy, pinching the bridge of his nose. “—have you ever actually seen a rabbit before?" "Well, not precisely...Grimmauld is in the middle of London, not exactly teeming with rabbits and the like." "Babbity Rabbity? Surely you've read Babbity Rabbity at least." "I'm pretty sure Babbity Rabbity would never make it into the Black family library. Not macabre enough." James sighs. "Okay well, I’m telling you that's a rabbit." James points down at him, and Remus twitches his nose, hoping it conveys how tired he is.  Sirius stomps his feet, insistent. “But his last name is Lupin, not Lapin! He's Wolfie McWolf, not Bunny McRabbit!” “I’m pretty sure his name has nothing to do with which were-animal decided to take a chunk out of him, Sirius!” Remus tries to hop away while they’re fighting, but Sirius spots him and scoops him up into his arms. “Oh no you don’t! Come on Remus, I’ll sneak you back into the castle—get you something to munch on. What do rabbits eat, anyway? Hay? Flowers?”  Human flesh.  “They eat grass and, like, carrots. Good call though, better get him inside before an actual wolf spots him. Come on, Remus.” And that’s how Remus finds himself, a few hours later, in a soft bed, snuggled under the covers with Sirius’ hand gently resting on his furry back. He supposes being found out isn’t so bad, and if he wakes up in the morning—human again, Sirius spooning against his back, he thinks that might actually be even better.

#wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #james potter #marauders #remus is a wererabbit #wolfstar microfic #fic: Here I Am (a rabbit-hearted boy) #hogwarts era

[repulsiveliquidation]

Claire De Lune || Alexia Putellas

reader and alexia have a child together. angst. inspired by one of my favorite songs.

warnings : death, mentions of pregnancy. do not read if this makes you uncomfortable.

It all happened so fast.

“Ellie, stop running please!” Alexia begged, laughing as her daughter giggled loudly. You sat at the top of the hill smiling, plating up the sandwiches you had made at home. The picnic table was full of all your girls’ favorite snacks, and Ellie’s toys were scattered on the plaid blanket right next to you. She had her little football to kick around with her mother, her pretty sequin shoes abandoned next to your purse in favor of her custom bright pink cleats.

You hear your wife’s huffing and puffing as she treks back up the slightly steep hill. In her arms was a squirming toddler who had her giggle and cheeky smile. You stand and pretend to look mad, hands already on your hips with a slight smirk on your face.

“Did you run away from Mama again, sweetie?” you tease, taking Ellie from your wife’s arms. She nods and buries her face in your neck, skin hot and flushed from all her running.

“Did she outrun you, my love?” you ask Alexia with a smile, holding Ellie in one arm and popping a strawberry in your mouth with the other.

“Like a bat out of hell, she’s gotten that speed from you.”

Before you could clap back at your wife, Ellie tugs at your shirt and whines that she’s hungry. You sit with her under the warm Barcelona sky as the sun begins to set, handing her a little ham and cheese sandwich which is her favorite at the moment. She happily munches on her food and you look at Alexia who was looking at you. She reaches out her arm for you and you hold it across the table. It was a perfect little family day and you would trade it for nothing but a chance to do it again.

There was no time to think.

You wake up in the middle of the night to Ellie screaming for you. Alexia sits up at the same time and scrambles out of bed with you. You rush into her bedroom and see that she’s crying and sitting on the edge since she wet the bed. She rushes into your arms and you scoop her up, cradling her close. Alexia rubs her back and holds you close, soothing your daughter so she can tell you what was wrong.

“Bad dream Mommy,” she sobs into your neck, her clothes starting to dry and her body beginning to shiver. You take her into the bathroom and get her cleaned up as Alexia changes the sheets. You walk out of the bathroom 15 minutes later to Ellie’s bed made and her clean pajamas warmed up a little in the dryer.

Alexia dresses her and you find her nightlight to bring back to your room. Alexia walks into your room with a dead-asleep toddler and her favorite blankie clutched tight to her face. You plugged the little dinosaur nightlight into the wall next to your bed as Alexia gently climbed into bed with your daughter. You pulled Spotify up and turned on Clair De Lune which helped Ellie sleep. She nestled herself right into Alexia’s chest exactly how you did, leaving a soft smile on your wife’s face. You climbed in beside her and fell asleep immediately, Alexia’s heart feeling full as her girls fell asleep safe in her arms.

You never thought you’d come face to face with your worst nightmare.

“Ellie collapsed while playing football today. We’ve sent her to the nurse’s office but I think it’s best if you take her to the hospital just in case.”

Alexia ran. Faster than she ever has on the pitch. The sound of her cleats rang through the hallways of the Johan Cruyff stadium the moment she got off the phone with you. The look of panic on her face said all she needed to Jonatan and the rest of the girls.

The number of traffic laws she broke would guarantee fines that could amount to her entire week’s salary but she didn’t care. The fear in your voice and the sound of you being close to tears was all the more reason for her to have her foot on the pedal right to the floor. Her Cupra roared as she sped down the highway, tears threatening to fall.

She had one cleat and a slipper on as she rushed into the emergency room, eyes searching for you. You were sat alone at the end of the hallway, head in your hands. She called out your name and you looked up at her, unable to hold it together any longer. You broke just as she grabbed and pulled you into her arms. Alexia couldn’t hold it together the moment you cried in her chest and she broke down too.

“Where is she?” Alexia asked after your crying subsided and she managed to pull herself together.

“She fainted again when I picked her up and they took her…the nurses haven’t said anything either, I’ve asked.”

Alexia stood and kissed your hair, walking over to the nurses’ station just as she heard her last name being called.

“Mrs. Putellas?” the doctor asked, walking out of the trauma room with a look of concern.

“What’s wrong with my daughter?” you jump out of your seat and hurry over, Alexia’s arm immediately around you.

“I need you to come with me,” she said cryptically. You and Alexia follow her into a little discussion room and your heart sinks.

You sit and reach for Alexia whose hand finds yours immediately. She holds it tight in her lap and you listen to the doctor break the news no parent should ever hear.

“She’s dying.”

“No!” you wail, falling into Alexia’s arms. You sob and feel your heart break into a billion pieces, pain just excruciating at the thought of losing your daughter.

Alexia held you tight and listened to the doctor as she explained your daughter’s next steps on how to care for her and how to keep her comfortable. When the doctor left, Alexia held your face in her hands, her tears of pain and anguish mirrored yours.

“We’re doing to do everything we can for her, mi amor. I promise we will get through this.”

But she was a miracle.

Alexia stood in the bathroom with you, nervously biting her cuticles. You sat on the counter and swung your legs, eyes locked on the timer on your phone in your lap.

“How much longer?” Alexia asked, standing right in front of you between your legs.

“2 minutes,” you whisper, hesitantly looking up at her.

“Okay, don’t look so worried amor.”

“What if it’s negative again?” you say, watching the numbers on the timer go lower and lower. She takes your hands in her big ones and you feel their warmth. She kisses them both and caresses her hands up your arms. They gently move down your back and pull your hips closer to the edge. Your hands rest on her chest and she smiles up at you when there’s a minute left on the timer.

“We’re going to have the most beautiful baby, amor. He or she will be perfect in every shape and form. She will have your gorgeous hair and your silly laugh. She will have your mother’s eyes and your father’s smile. She will play football for Blaugrana because I said so.”

You smack her chest and roll your eyes, yelling in shock when the timer goes off. You physically feel your blood pressure skyrocket and your anxiety tingles in your chest. You gently jump off the counter and reach for Alexia’s hand. She takes the test in her hand and slowly turns it over. You’ve got your hands over your eyes and you can barely breathe before she gasps. You’re about to start crying when she whispers the words you’ve been waiting to hear for three years.

“It’s positive.”

She drops the test on the counter and picks you up, hugging you tight. She puts you down and your lips smash together, excited for your miracle baby to enter your lives.

Nine months and the easiest labor all the nurses told you, you held Ellie in your arms. She was the most beautiful thing you ever laid your eyes on. She was gorgeous, a perfect blend of you and Alexia.

She grew up in the blink of an eye, taking her first steps in the gym of Johan Cruyff, saying Mommy as her first word much to Alexia’s chagrin, her first birthday in Eli’s backyard with all the Barça girls, the girls doting on her every time she followed Alexia to training, playdates with Mateo and being pampered by Alexia when you were away for work.

Now at 6 years old, how do you explain to a child that she’s going to die?

I’ll hold your hand till the very end.

No parent should ever bury their child. Everyone knows there is no pain like losing a child. Ellie was in no pain as she deteriorated. She lost all of her beautiful brown hair in three weeks since you found out her diagnosis. She couldn’t go to school and could barely kick a football with Mama. It broke Alexia’s heart when Ellie could no longer pass balls to her in the backyard. You put Ellie to bed for the night and cradled an inconsolable Alexia in your arms for an hour till she stopped crying.

To everyone’s surprise, Alexia was the one whose face was not without a tear even for a second. You held it together well, making all the necessary arrangements to make Ellie as comfortable as possible. After everything was done, you drove home together, hand in hand in your lap. No words were exchanged but all the words that needed to be said were said.

The moment the front door locked, it was like a dam was broken. The wail you let out was a sound that even Alexia had never heard you make before. The pain in your chest was like nothing you’ve ever felt before. You felt your heart being ripped out of your chest at the thought of having to wake up without Ellie jumping on your bed begging for Alexia to make her breakfast.

Alexia could only hope that time would put you back together and that the loss of a child wasn’t something that would ruin you both past the point of no return.  

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas angst #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #fc barca femeni #espwnt #woso x reader #woso soccer #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso imagines #woso one shot #woso #woso community

[motherofagony]

A HEART FOR EATING // vol. 2

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: post outbreak!joel x f!reader setting: jackson, wy (think tlou pt. 2 minus the golfing) rating: mature, 18+, minors dni word count: 8.7k series summary: a vicious raider attack robs you of human connection and lights a fire of destruction in your life in jackson. joel's fixated on you, and your lives tangle. revenge becomes a needful thing. chapter summary: you take care of joel after a patrol injury, but you suspect there's more to it than he's telling you. the atmosphere shifts as you and joel grow (begrudgingly) closer. content warnings + tags: age gap (we'll say 15-20 years), protective!joel, brief masturbation (f!reader), praise kink for two seconds, blood, bodily injuries, needles (reader gives joel stitches), dissociation/triggers, alcohol, angst, sexual tension intensifies, The First Kiss™, soft!joel vol. 1 // vol. 2 series playlist a/n: we're picking up speed, folks. world-building is my weakness, so i hope you enjoy this nonetheless. honorable mention goes to the readers in the trenches, waiting patiently for joel to [redacted] reader senseless until she [redacted] all over his [redacted]. thank you for the love on the series so far. taglist: @ghostwritesthings, @widowssbite, @p3rkerr, @eternallyvenus, @punkshort if anyone would like to be added/removed to the taglist (or if i missed anyone), please send me a DM!

You’ve always hated flying.

In the great before, the stone ages of family vacations and things to look forward to, fears were singular and planes were yours.

Your family never had a lot of money, not really, but on the special occasion of a death in the family, you’d find yourself trapped to a seat in a metal tube. Going nowhere but up. Sitting through safety instructions that came from smiling, lipsticked mouths that were only hypotheticals until they weren’t.

It’s like a rollercoaster, your dad would say, amused in the way only a dad can be and sleeping through damn near anything in the same fashion. It did nothing to calm the knocking of your knees, to quell the flip of your stomach as you climbed higher and higher until you couldn’t see anything but cotton ball clouds.

It was always unnatural to you that something so heavy could float, that you were supposed to go on doing human things and drinking your ginger ale and munching your pre-packaged snack option. As if you weren’t being hurled into the sky with no one walking you through it.

As if the plummet onto tarmac meant no harm, just completely normal erratic braking that felt a lot like the moments before a crash.

There was no control — it was in someone else’s hands that you never saw. And as you fell, you were supposed to say thank you, that’s exactly what I paid for.

This is your version of the oxygen mask. This is you putting yours on before you help Joel.

You’re on your knees digging through your med bag, thumbing through bandages, checking for a quick count of gloves, antibiotics, wash cloths. You fumble with the zipper, fighting with the tremor that starts in your forearms and liquifies into your wrists. There isn’t much in the way of supplies unless you ransack what’s kept in storage, but there’s no time, and you’re not sure of what you’re about to walk into.

Waiting any moment for a scream, or the blast of a gun when they realize Joel’s not Joel anymore.

And it isn’t really a big possibility in the grand scheme of things, if you consider that he would’ve likely turned on the route home. But it’s still there, tickling the back of your head, nudging your navel uncomfortably. Nothing’s impossible.

You of all people know that.

You linger in your living room, giving a final sweep. Worst case, you can run back for what’s forgotten, but something about the idea of abandoning a vulnerable Joel – if only for a minute – doesn’t settle right in your stomach.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re shoving a bottle of whiskey into the bag, the only anesthetic on hand. And if you’re being honest with yourself, you need to score back some points.

The steps leading up to Joel’s house are sturdy, and you imagine it’s because of the pride he takes in what’s his. Before this, his house was just another skeleton of roof, foundation, windows, and siding.

The kind of houses you pass by every day that are rife with familiarity but you don’t know what it’s like to see the people inside eat dinner, brush their teeth. Fight. Fuck.

Fresh paint from only two seasons ago, reinforced porch posts. A swing. It’s weird to see permanence in this day and age, but his intention to anchor himself and grow roots here flutters meaningfully inside you.

It’s always been a sacred thing to you, you don’t know why. A place you’d never dreamed of entering, but dreamed about what it would smell like. A pair of boots haphazard by the front door, small piles of organized chaos, of collected tangibles. A you never know if you’ll need this in one corner, a saving that for a rainy day shelved in another.

So when you raise your hand to knock, you feel like an intruder, an unwelcome invasion of privacy. And you don’t know why you knock at all, you nearly think better of it given the circumstances, but you’re testing the atmosphere, hoping for voices inside instead of a struggle.

Ellie’s swinging the door open, relief smoothing out the lines in her forehead when she sees you. Her presence seems to answer any unspoken questions you had about Joel being infected, and you don’t voice them to her when you can see unrest in her antsy legs.

“Hey. Sorry for the wait. He alright?”

Her teeth are worrying her lip, probably more traumatized by the sight of him than anything. A few strands of hair have freed themselves from her lazy half-bun at the base of her neck, caught in the crossfire when she ran her hands through it, you think.

“Yeah,” Ellie breathes, committing to it. “Yeah, he’s okay. Bleeding stopped, nothing seems broken. Just needs stitches, I think.”

It sounds more to convince herself than anything else. There’s a foreign fragility to her, and you hate it.

“He tell you what happened?”

The question strikes a nerve. Ellie’s shaking her bowed head, scoffing in a half-laugh that doesn’t touch her eyes. Her hand wraps around her knuckles, cracking slowly in an effort to alleviate the tension that’s reached a fever pitch inside her.

“He won’t tell me, says it doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t have gone alone anyway, he was bein’ a dick. ‘I wanna think, kiddo - need t’clear my head,’” she mocks in a gruff, rolling pitch, the perfect dosage of Texas.

It levels you, potent. Are you the thing Joel needed to clear his head of?

You’re weirdly longing for it, but being flicked away like a bug, peeled away layer by layer from him isn’t something you want.

There’s hope that you’re contagious. That you’re haunting him and lurking in the darkest corners of his mind like an apparition like he has yours. And maybe there’s hope after all, something left to salvage.

But you play dumb, furrow your brow a little too expertly.

Ellie’s measuring you, and there’s a glimpse of worry but she hides it in a way that you wouldn’t know what you were looking for if you hadn’t already found it.

“Anything you wanna tell me about the other night? He was pissed when he left,” she tacks on quietly.

You go a little slack-jawed. You don’t even know how to put it into words, and you couldn’t tell her what it meant even if you tried.

What’s there to even say?

“You know what, none of my business,” she says, her hands lifting in tired surrender when you don’t answer, ignoring your near-sputter. “But you’re not off the hook, just make sure the old man doesn’t croak. And tell him he scared the shit outta me.”

You exhale and hope it doesn’t read too much as relief. You’ll have to answer to her later, but at least you might have an answer to give.

“Handful of salt in the wound, rub in circular motions – got it. Tell Tommy I’ll catch up later.”

Your shoulders scrape affectionately as you nudge past each other, and you cast a wide look at the periphery of Joel Miller’s house. The feeling of unwelcome disappears, and if anything, you’re being tugged further inside. Imagining what it’s like to be a fixture, an adornment in his weird little life.

Nooks that you assumed would be messy are neat, coiffed even. There’s that unavoidable smudge of secondhand all over the furniture – mottled ever so slightly, aged uneven in places that only an apocalypse can do. But it’s an otherwise tidy existence. Another surprise from Joel that you’d never pick up on if you only witnessed him nursing a drink at the bar.

An oak bookshelf props itself at the bottom of the stairs and it rivals your own, dust gathering in thin lines where he’s repeatedly shelved this, reread that. There are paintings hung decisively on most of the walls, breathtaking rural landscapes of wherever.

You’re lugging the bag upstairs, counting your breaths with each step. The whiskey rattles mutely against the first aid tin, and it’s a toss-up now of who you really brought it for.

The landing mirrors the ground level, a purposeful littering of tchotchkes. Doors line the second floor, some closed, some ajar but not inviting, and you realize you have no idea which one you’re looking for. You sway uninvited by the bannister until you hear the unmistakable hiss of breath between clenched teeth, then a soft moan as his weight shifts.

And you’re stepping inside a room – his bedroom – warmed in the soft beginnings of sunset. Joel’s sprawled asymmetrically on his bed, eyes pinched shut, delirious with blood loss but already looking substantially less like a corpse. A damp rag settles just above his brow, and the handiwork of Ellie.

There’s an unrecognizable hurt in him, wounded in ways that he shouldn’t be capable of.

He doesn’t give any indication that he knows you’re here until he’s rasping out something weak disguised as stern.

“I ain’t bit. Shut the door behind you.”

Your mouth goes dry.

“How did you –?”

Joel just huffs in response, as indignant as his body lets him be.

“You see anyone else here? They might as well’ve jumped out the window, as fast as they dumped me ‘n left. I ain’t stupid.”

You accept that and drop the pretense, pursing your lips with a nod. He doesn’t seem that offended, knows it’s just the nature of the beast.

You move over to his bedside, unpacking the bag quickly on a side table, looping your metaphorical stethoscope around your neck and switching gears into a mode that’s strictly doctoral.

Yet, there’s still that hum beneath your skin, the fizzle of unfinished business. It’s thick in the space between you, in the way he flicks his gaze at you lazily. You’ll let him foster the anger, giving it a home. You can be the martyr he says you are.

This new lens feels calmer, almost professional. Your nerves are still firing rapidly, and your composure is forced, but it’s better than nothing.

You drag a chair from the corner up to Joel’s bed, not letting your eyes wander too far into the depths of the space. You don’t have time to dissect the idiosyncrasies of his life. Not yet.

He still hasn’t opened his eyes, but you get the sense that he’s tracking your every move. His limbs are concrete, the tendons in his forearms so tense and coiled like any and every movement is forbidden.

“Joel.”

He grunts, a pained translation. Still no effort to move.

“I need to take a look at you,” you say patiently, bargaining like you would with a kid. “Wanna tell me what hurts?”

Another grunt, softer this time. He motions vaguely, weakly to his head, then the left flank of his abdomen.

You already know what you’ll find under the rag on his head, and it bodes well that the bleeding looks to have stopped. His stomach wound, on the other hand, was enough to bleed through two layers.

“Alright. Lemme see.”

A muted whimper echoes in his throat, so uncharacteristically that it tugs on your heart. Still statuesque, unmoving.

Your fingers are deft, careful as they unbutton the first, second, third buttons of his flannel. Joel’s stock-still, and his breath comes in sharp, slow waves through his nose. Your own breath kind of sits in the back of your throat, and you pretend with a hurried exhale that you weren’t just holding it.

Your fingers reach his navel on the last button, and you’re gently tucking each panel of his shirt under him on either side, focusing too hard on not touching him. It feels like something is somersaulting low in your stomach.

You can’t even dare yourself to look at his chest, his stomach. The patch of hair leading down to the band of his pants.

Get it together. That’s not what this is.

An angry gash looks up at you, thankfully clotted with dried patches of blood. It’s about two delicate fingers long, a nasty slice. It looks clean, abrupt in shape but suspiciously manmade. Not too deep, but not superficial enough to heal without some assistance.

And thank god, not nearly as bad as you thought it would be.

Joel’s looking at you now through heavy lids, wary of you, but something like fear touches the corners of his eyes. You fight to stay medical, methodical in your diagnosis. No emotion slips out, nothing allowed in.

You sit back calmly, letting loose a sigh. Not letting yourself bathe in the intimacy of the moment, in the way he’s staring.

“You need stitches,” you announce simply.

“Like hell.”

“Joel.”

He’s scowling, a hurt animal pissed at its own vulnerability. Silence passes like a ship between you, and for a moment, you think he’ll really fight you on this. He can’t hide anything when he’s like this, the weighing of his options evident in the tick of his jaw, the pathetic pinch just in the center of his brows.

“Fine,” he grits out. “Make it quick.”

This fucker.

You’re rolling your eyes, unceremoniously tugging the rag from his forehead. The cloth is red but not soaked, just twinged pink around the edges. Joel curses, just an octave above unintelligible.

His hand is shooting to the cut near his hairline and you’re smacking it away before he can pollute it.

“Lay still, fuck’s sake,” you chastise. “An infection’ll put you out longer than a few days. Unless you have a puzzle you been meaning to get around to?”

The faux-threat calms him immediately, and the shift in restraint doesn’t go unchecked. He doesn’t say another word, but you catch a glare and a twitch of his mouth.

You make quick work of cleaning him up, squeezing rubbing alcohol on a clean towel and scrubbing patient circles through the mess of dried blood. Joel releases sharp noises you can only describe as growls when you get too close to the border of his cuts.

It’s primal, a dog asserting dominance with his leg caught in a trap.

You try to lose the attitude, and it’s difficult when your patient hates you, doesn’t hate you, won’t clarify either way.

There’s a hint of purple that’s developing like fresh film on the mountains of his knuckles that doesn’t go unnoticed. Places on the most taut peaks of flesh where his skin has split, marred with scrapes that look like indents of teeth. And in the right light, there’s a discoloration of something in the same family splayed on his ribs.

And that… you know that when you see it. Even if everything else can be explained away.

“You wanna talk about it?” you say quietly.

There’s an intermission where he doesn’t respond. Too long to be the truth, too short to come up with a lie. And you know he’s been waiting for this question, might’ve already thought of a story.

“Got clumsy,” Joel recites. “Tripped on some stairs that were caving in, hit my head.”

“Bullshit.” And it’s a statement, not an insult. It doesn’t cover why he has a certified stab wound in his side.

Another stretch of silence, lack of defensiveness, makes it clear that he knows you know. But he doesn’t elaborate, and for whatever reason, you don’t push it.

And maybe it’s enough to acknowledge this sort of thing for now. You can stow it away, let it keep you up at night. Draw parallels where there possibly aren’t any. If he’d run into a human thing, he’d be much worse off, right?

Just like you were.

You take care in lining up the supplies to stitch in neat order beside you, mulling over each step in your mind. Stalling, maybe.

You pull the whiskey bottle out of your bag by the neck and nudge Joel with the cap.

“Something to take the edge off.”

He kind of hesitates, but there’s a tenderness. Recognizing it as an act of mercy, a peace offering.

There’s nothing said, but he takes the bait, spinning off the top and swallowing a messy mouthful. A drip escapes through the corner of his mouth and slips into his beard.

You can feel the taste of it blossoming on your tongue.

He grunts his thanks and keeps a steady grip on the neck of the bottle, and the network of veins in his forearm unwind.

You clamp the needle, laced through with something thicker than thread but not quite medical grade. Joel exhales a shaky whine when you pierce the skin, and his fist grips the sheets when you twist clockwise to push the needle through to the other side.

“You’re doing great,” you murmur.

The needle weaves over the cut, greeting the other side. You pull it through and up, and his lower lip trembles, sweat beading his forehead.

“First one done,” you say, praising him but also yourself.

Joel’s still clenching the linens on the bed, ignoring you and hiding out in his own mind somewhere.

You don’t tell him that you’ve only ever practiced on fruit, that your suture knowledge comes exclusively from the one medical text you have and endless hours of TV you grew up on.

Silence envelopes you again, heavier than before if possible. The pressure waxes and wanes like nighttime waves, licking the shore between you. And it’s not angry, just something… else.

“Some house you got,” you note casually as a distraction, like you’re commenting on the weather. It comes off relaxed enough, though any conversation between you feels like flossing a crowded mouth.

His eyes sharpen, and you think it’s in excruciation, but there’s a twinge of apprehension. You straighten for a moment, hands fixed mid-stitch, and roll your eyes.

“Okay, cool it, Home Alone, I’m not casing the place.”

Joel takes a turn rolling his eyes. You swear that you see his mouth twitch again, but you hang your head, dabbing a cloth where pinpricks of blood form.

You try again.

“I like your paintings.”

You dare to look up, and his mouth is in a tight line.

“You like my paintings.” he repeats dully, not a question. Joel’s as cynical as you, and he thinks it’s a jab, not sincere.

“You’re not gonna make this easy on me, are you?”

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it.”

Now’s as good a time as any. You sigh at that.

“Look, the other night wasn’t my finest moment. It didn’t need to go that way,” you mutter, leaning on the concentration of sewing up Joel’s skin. Otherwise, you might feel too strongly, dissect your word choice with an uncomfortable linger. “Sorry. I know you were trying to help.”

He goes rigid as your second stitch meets a third. The bottle tips to his lips again, and you wonder if it’s an act of liquid courage. You boldly hope so.

“Nah, I shoulda kept my mouth shut. Been thinkin’ I needed to apologize anyway,” he admits, and you know he’s happy you made the first move. You can already feel him loosen, but maybe it’s the alcohol. “You ain’t a martyr, y’know.”

Oh.

The needle hooks into the final sliver of skin, your handiwork tightening into a neat line. You sit back, wiping your brow with the ungloved section of your wrist. It’s a treaty, a handshake at the very least.

“Actually, I think you hit the nail on the head with that one,” you smirk, olive branch fully hanging between your teeth now. “Keeping up the charade is so exhausting.”

Joel presses out a pained half-laugh, and you feel something crumbling between you.

You tie off the last stitch, trimming the excess thread off the knot. The clamp clatters into the tray, and you give it a final once-over before peeling a large rectangle of bandage from your kit and pressing it gently over the wound.

“All done,” you quip, peeling your gloves off. “Didn’t even have to amputate.”

“Not too bad,” he grunts.

“I’ll add it to your tab.”

While you’re riding the high of approval, you stand and move to the foot of the bed. Joel’s boots are still on, laced messily.

And for some reason, you don’t even ask permission, you just start untying, tipping them off and lining them next to one another on the hardwood.

He doesn’t say a word. Out of confusion, maybe.

You scoot your chair and makeshift flatlay along with you, positioning yourself at Joel’s head. That look is back, a side-stare that steals your breath.

That look that knows you could absolutely ruin him, and he’d either thank you or kill you.

The pads of your fingers brush back the hair from his forehead, still slightly matted with blood. It’s a surface cut, but crescent-shaped and easily hidden by a curl of brown, peppered with grey. Butterfly closure it is.

No signs of a concussion show themselves. At least there’s that.

“You might have a scar,” you murmur. Being this close to Joel makes you feel like you’re wearing two layers too many.

And he hasn’t broken the stare, not even minutely.

“Add it to the collection,” he says lowly, not an ounce of self-pity.

Your eyes flash to the scar near his temple. You’re exercising full-on restraint not to ask him about it. But it’s not the time, something you could try to pry out of him later. And knowing there’ll be a later makes you relax your shoulders, unclench your jaw.

He’s nice enough to pretend not to notice, or he’s in too much pain to mention it.

You dab the damp rag around the border of his cut again, mopping up any excess. You reach for the isopropyl.

“You might wanna take another swig,” you warn. And he obeys, down the hatch and white-knuckling through it.

“Good boy,” you’re murmuring automatically, and it just slips out.

Your mouth falls open just so, and Joel’s coughing, clearing his throat against the burn of whiskey. You’re pleading with the universe that his cough was close enough, loud enough to cover the words, but his face has turned a shade of red that’s probably rivaling the heat that reaches your ears.

Good boy? Jesus Christ.

If there was ever a heightened moment of being fucking touch-starved, it’s this.

You make haste with the disinfectant and place the closures over the cut. The bloodied towels and scraps from the DIY surgery are cleaned up, tied neatly into a plastic bag. And now, this is the part where you run and never face him again.

You’re already making plans to board up your windows, maybe have Ellie deliver your meals solely through a slot in the door.

But Joel’s pain is overriding everything, and he’s sunken even further back into the pillow, his head lolling to prop on his shoulder. He’s whispering a weak thanks that’s incoherent at best. You tug the blanket up and over him.

You grab a glass from downstairs, fill it to the brim with water and bring it to him. He groans at the sight, petulant.

“I’m not leaving until you finish this.”

His lifts his arm for it, scowling. “Gimme the damn thing.”

Satisfied, you hand it over and watch him drink it down, his throat bobbing in a hearty gulp. Your gaze can’t help but snag on it.

You have got to get the fuck out of here.

You come back with a refilled glass and sit it on his bedside table, close enough within reach. The medical bag is packed up and ready, sagging slightly in areas where you’ve emptied it. It knocks against your already-knocking knees, and you’re grateful to use its weight as an excuse for how blurred you feel.

“I need to talk to Tommy. You gonna be alright for a bit?”

His eyes are closed again, on the outskirts of rest, but his mouth pulls up in the ghost of smile.

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere, sweetheart.”

And you hope he means it.

—

You track down an unsettled Tommy, finding him pacing in the back of the general store. He’s restocking some shelves but not quite – there’s an gross pairing of tinned fish and fresh eggs sitting on a display that’s unappetizing at best.

“He’s okay. No bite,” you add lowly, acutely aware of how many pairs of ears are in the store. “But he needs to be monitored.”

Tommy slackens, rubbing his eyes that are full of exhaustion and bruised with worry. Index finger and thumb stroking the respective tails of his mustache one, two, three times as the gravity of that strikes him.

He loops you into an embrace, and it’s kind, full of ease. The smell of firewood and smoke tickles your nose. His worry evaporates then, and honestly, so does yours.

“He doin’ alright?”

You chew on that for a moment and nod. There are complications, but nothing to do with Joel’s health.

“He was pissed about the stitches, but I didn’t have a choice. Cut was pretty deep.”

“So… he tell you what happened, then?”

There’s that question again. You feel like you should have an answer, but if he wouldn’t clue in Ellie, you sure as hell wouldn’t be.

Like squeezing blood from a stone, your dad used to say.

“No,” you lie instinctively. You don’t know why.

But it isn’t really. Not if you don’t know the full truth yourself. There’s just something about Joel’s omission that makes you feel entitled to find out first.

“He said he fell down some stairs,” you amend, “just didn’t say where or how.”

Tommy offers you the same look that Ellie gave you – a raised brow coupled with a touch of disbelief.

“If you say so.”

You shrug, playing it as cool as’ll come natural to you. “You know Joel. Doesn’t want to make a fuss.”

He chuckles, shaking his head and rolling out his shoulders that you know have been holding tension. He believes that, at least.

“Sounds like you know him, too.”

—

A few days come and go.

Ellie takes on a lot of the recovery, but she doesn’t like messing with stitches — creeps me the fuck out that you did that without puking all over him, she claims — and she’s eager to substitute for the patrol routes while Joel’s down and out. You offer to step in, with a totally normal and selfless motive.

If she thinks anything else of it, you’d be the last to know.

Your new itinerary consists of changing Joel’s bandages, cleaning up through his hissed breaths and every goddamn it. Twice a day, morning and night and sometimes in closer intervals, but never approaching the cusp of any boundary.

Joel’s fiercely independent, swatting your hands when you try to help. Donning a clean flannel in the space between your lunchtime visit and your nightcap, despite you telling him that he shouldn’t be pushing his mobility.

That said, he’s marginally better about following doctor’s orders, drinking the water you leave on his nightstand but neglecting the pills that would stop him from coiling in on himself like a ready spring. And he doesn’t say it but you know it’s because he thinks it’d be a waste.

You trade regular formalities at first, each of you standing behind your respective walls, daring the other to toe a bit closer.

Joel doesn’t ask, but you bring him some short stories to pass the time and he devours them. You didn’t think much of it other than just straying past the point of being nice, but your heart sings a bit at how he leaves his shell at your coaxing.

You learn Bradbury is his favorite, but when he finishes The Most Dangerous Game, it’s the most he’s ever spoken to you in one sitting, astounded at the perfectly tied bow of an ending, asking you questions that only the author could answer. But it’s a marvel to witness, something you think about when you’re cleaning stables or washing dishes.

He’s unraveling for you, a loose thread tugged too hard on your favorite sweater. He talks of the places in the paintings, sometimes abruptly, like he isn’t sure what his cue is or if he has one.

Mentions of pre-Jackson when there was so much uncertainty and isolation, but it was coupled with those types of watercolor skies that you couldn’t paint if you tried.

These little pieces of him that make him whole – it’s like you’re both in on the same secret. And Joel isn’t doing it to lighten the tension, to be nice; that isn’t his brand of politeness. He just revels in the holy act of confession with you as his witness.

You come to learn that his room is modest, different from the rest of his house. Clues of hobbies sprawled on his desk – leatherworking tools and hand drawn blueprints that you can’t get a good look at with just a sidelong glance.

There’s a dusty stereo tucked at the back towards the wall, and you picture a content Joel, sketching new plans for a porch swing or some small addition while old bluesy country croons from the speakers.

You like this daydream, placing him in something lighthearted where his only worry is that he’s losing daylight on yardwork.

The two of you talk about little bits of everything and nothing. Reminiscing about sending snail mail, discussing what you think places like Italy look like now. How close you came to crossing an ocean in another life.

Tonight, you have a night terror that clings to you like wet denim. Stop-motion, nonsensical. Your head ricocheting into concrete, hitting your temple just so. Flashes of the people that used to be your parents, your friends.

And just as the life drains from you, blood seeping onto the floor and into spidering cracks, you wake up a flailing mess.

You practice your routine, twisting on knobs of lamps and plugging in the twinkling lights hanging around the perimeter of the living room. You press your cheek to the floor, checking under your bed for monsters for good measure.

Bleary-eyed, you’re climbing back under the covers, pulling them snug up to your chin.

There’s a neediness crawling its way through your organs with a one-way ticket south. The juxtaposition of fear mingles with an otherness, and it anchors itself to Joel.

You never cared for a protector, still don’t, but the eagerness that sprouts from him to defend your honor — and for nothing in return — magnetizes you on a cellular level.

Your fingers are dipping into the band of your already-damp underwear, taking inventory of what the thought of him does to you. Body on auto-pilot. A pool of dripping neediness, so slick that you’re coating your clit in excess and rubbing in tight circles.

He doesn’t even have to touch you, and it’s pathetic.

Images of Joel’s beard scratching your thighs swirls behind your eyelids, your hand gliding between the glistening of your folds. Fingers crook inside you, dipping into the last knuckle, and you’re choking on a gasp, already on the edge.

You wish they were more calloused, thicker, with length that can hit the spot that’s desperately out of reach.

You wish they were Joel’s.

It takes only a minute, some curling and pumping of your wrist to make it quick in case it’ll only ever be a fantasy. The wet noises of your arousal are nothing short of obscene, and you’re coming loudly, sharply on a string of moans.

In some ways, you think, you have already died.

And fuck. It’s so poetic it makes you sick.

—

On the fourth day, Maria sends you to Joel’s with some stew — two hearty containers that're meant for the both of you.

She’s been taking her shift at his place, carrying over containers of this and that to keep him fed. You wonder how often she takes on that role anyway, sans injury. You don’t peg Joel as the type to eat three square meals a day of his own accord.

Tell Joel I can’t make it tonight. Gotta do inventory.

She makes no room for elaboration, so you don’t ask. But you thank her with a hug, and you could swear that she’s giving you a conspiratorial smirk.

When you knock on Joel’s bedroom, he gives a new, warm invitation, coated in subtle hospitality. It’s a far stretch from the unaffected what? you might’ve received a week ago.

You place the stew down on the bedside table, along with some bowls and spoons you plucked from his kitchen. He just looks up at you from his bed, uncertainty reaching the lines of his forehead.

“It’s all Maria,” you explain and he hums, catching up.

“Explains a lot,” he mutters.

You eat quietly for a little over ten minutes. Joel’s flannel today boasts a rich navy, buttoned up to the top but not far enough to hide the sprinkling of hair that peeks through.

He catches you staring and pins you with a dark glance.

“You afraid of the dark or somethin’?”

Joel’s ask cuts through the air, and your spoon stops mid-route to your open mouth. It’s so out of the blue that it stuns you momentarily.

“Sorry?”

“You turn the lights on at night.”

What you thought to be private moments of fear were actually on display for all to see.

For Joel to see.

And the memory of your thighs trapping your hand as you came over and over again on your fingers… you’re grateful to at least have had some decorum to draw your bedroom curtains.

“Um.” You dig for a way to say nope, I’m actually just a pussy and I see things that aren’t there. Also, I was touching myself thinking about you last night. “No, just nightmares.”

Every inch of your skin feels like it’s searing. A bead of sweat makes a slow descent down your spine to your tailbone. You laugh lightly to deflect.

Joel’s mouth thins into a tight line.

“It’s nothing,” you promise.

“Ain’t nothin’,” he snaps. His brows are knitted in fury, misdirected. But you get it.

Your stomach is rumbling, but you’ve effectively lost whatever appetite you had. The bowl finds a space on the side table, and you’re pulling your knees to your chest protectively, thumbing at the fray on the cuff of your jeans.

You don’t mean to scowl, but you can’t help it. You can’t even meet his eyes.

Joel’s sighing, his own bowl discarded on the nightstand, grazing the lip of yours.

“Look, it’s not my business,” he starts, choosing his words carefully, “but that kinda shit worries me.”

When you do look up, he’s rubbing his beard with rigid fingers. You should feel nice and fuzzy that he cares enough to point it out, but it’s just embarrassment instead.

That, on top of everything else, you can’t even get through the night without waking up in a cold sweat.

“I know how it looks,” you say in surrender, “but I swear I’m fine.”

You can imagine what it would feel like to really mean it; it’s just on the tip of your tongue. There is a defiance there, it’s just struggling to find a way out.

“You sure about that?”

You let your feet touch the floor, straightening out your legs and busying yourself with smoothing the creases in your pants.

“You worry about everyone else like this?” you muse, hoping to redirect.

Joel’s scratching the back of his neck, eyes fixed anywhere else.

“Always worried about you.”

If you were any farther away, you wouldn’t have heard him.

Outside, kids are yelling, playing tag. You watch in jealousy, can almost hear the crunch of their boots and their tiny, inconsequential conversations. It takes you longer than intended to give a response, and he waits, patiently. Just trickles a look from the crown of your head to your hands to your face. Searching for a reaction.

“You’re about ten months late, Miller.” And you’re smiling briefly. You mean it as playful, but it’s colored with sadness.

His eyes glaze, and the wheels are turning, wondering if that also means too late.

“Didn’t want you to think I was takin’ advantage of the situation. And I thought Max —” Joel bites down on the name.

“Fuck Max,” you spit in disgust. “That was never a thing.”

You don’t have to make eye contact to see that he’s pleased by that. He hums in the back of his throat. Resists a shit-eating grin. From the looks of Joel connecting the dots, you don’t need say much else.

“Yeah, well. We all failed you,” he insists. “I failed you.”

It sets an incredulous spark in some hidden part of you. Nails cut into your palm, your fists balling harshly. Everyone else? Sure, you’d give him that. Jackson spit you out, with the exception of a select few.

But Joel?

“You saved me.”

“Not good enough,” he says under his breath.

—

The next day, you let yourself inside, already learning the language of Joel’s house when you press a little extra weight against the door to seal it shut when it sticks.

It’s quiet, on the cusp of 8, and you wouldn’t be surprised if Joel’s on the brink of sleep.

The sun’s long settled over the mountain, so there’s not much in the way of guidance.

It’s dark, but you expected it to be. You draw the curtains one by one, moving blindly from room to room yet knowing exactly where your feet are. It strikes you as odd, a visitor keeping pace with an unfamiliar house.

But if Joel’s anything, it’s predictable. Unfussy in the way he keeps out of the way, even in his own space. Takes pride in it, sure, but lives in a way that demands nothing but cherishes everything, even the absence of something.

Meaning there’s nothing too unexpected, too risky in its placement. He doesn’t take up too much room in the event that it’s gone tomorrow.

When your hands fumble for the switch of the living room lamp, the bulb springs to life and bathes a wary Joel in light. Sitting on the couch, slouched with residual soreness, but waiting.

For you.

“Jesus, fuck — what the fuck, Joel —”

“You’re late.”

“— sitting in the fucking dark like a lunatic —”

He puts a hand up to stop you, as if to press your mute button.

“I didn’t fall down any stairs.”

Your hands have risen to your chest in the shock of him there, and you’re gripping your shirt in the way he had almost a week ago. You don’t miss that little detail, so much so that you struggle to piece together what he’s saying.

It punches you abnormal; you kept so busy with leaving the subject alone that it slipped your mind that he lied.

“Sit down.”

You’re obedient and you don’t know why. You find a seat across from him, pulling up a stool that’s meant for feet, not your ass. Something crackles beside you, and the embers of a dying fire glow and warm to the left of you.

Your leg crosses over your knee, creating a 45-degree angle that you rest your elbows on. “Yeah, I gathered as much, thanks. You’re a terrible liar.”

Joel’s just eyeing you. And it’s not in a way that sizes you up, more of a calculation of what to say next. What to give away. There’s a beat of this, then another, then another.

“I thought ‘bed rest’ was pretty self-explanatory.”

You’re growing impatient, filling the room just to do it. You both know what happened, and maybe that’s what’s needling at you. That you’re the one person who’d understand the most, but the one person he doesn’t want to know.

It feels wretched and seething, knowing something but not enough.

“I’m gonna need you to cut to the part where you tell me what happened, Joel.”

At that, Joel drags in a breath and leans deeper into the couch. His gaze has moved to somewhere far off, burning into the drawn curtains like he can see outside, can see directly into the window of your kitchen. And with sudden clarity, you realize that he could — it’s a clean diagonal stare.

Are you afraid of the dark?

How many times has he sat in this very spot, taking in the show, watching you make tea, watching you read, watching you stutter and shake with sobs? Witnessing the onslaught of a nightmare?

Touching yourself? Watching you undress?

You aren’t the voyeuristic type, just uncaring to the point of defenseless. But Joel keeping an eye on you in this way is the coup de grâce that does you in. There’s no question now of whether he cares.

“I took Mountain View, headed for the outpost. Not much up that way lately, maybe one or two infected every once ‘n a while,” he says, and it’s unsettling that he’s talking in a way that could be to anyone or no one at all. “Thought I’d stop at the pharmacy on the way up, check that off, too. ‘Cept I wasn’t the only one with that idea.”

He pauses only to crack his knuckles for effect. Fingertips splay on his spread knees, and what seemed so fragile earlier, watercolors of bruises stretching from ligament to tendon, seems threatening now.

“One was lootin’ in the back, didn’t hear me come in. I thought he mighta been alone ‘til his friend followed me in,” he pauses, lost in thought. “Got into it with him.”

As if on cue, the gory split-skin of his hands flexes. Offensive wounds.

You were right, but you wish you weren’t.

“His friend came up from the back, ‘n they took turns for a minute. Long enough for me to get a good look. I ended up takin’ out the shorter one, other one was gone before I could get up.”

Joel doesn’t lift his head, just his eyes. The skin around them crinkles in sinister shapes, lids disappeared, lashes nearly touching brow. You know it’s not anger directed at you, but it’s shrinking you back down into an armchair, your fingers digging and clawing at the fabric without recognizing it.

“Know what’s funny about that?”

You don’t think you can answer with the desert that runs through your mouth. And whatever it is, it’s anything but.

“Not a lot of activity along the outposts this way, unless it’s infected. Everyone else comes straight through to Jackson. The logs say we’ve only run into two groups of raiders in the last five years along the patrol route,” another pause for emphasis. “And one of them was ten months ago.”

Something catches in your chest.

And then there’s a dam that breaks, pure relief. Relief that Joel’s seen the thing you’ve been pointing and screaming at while everyone else shrugs their shoulders and squints.

Then — panic.

Ice sneaks into your veins. The tips of your fingers run numb. It strikes you that you’re standing, that the foot stool is tipped on its side.

He doesn’t move, but there’s a contained rage in his eyes and his voice. A temper bubbling now that you’ve confirmed what he suspected.

“He have any tattoos?” Joel asks roughly.

There’s a flash of stars, hand-poked, bordering on downright sloppy.

“Who?” You say dumbly, but it’s obvious what he’s referring to. He’s seen it, too, and he’s seen it this week.

“You know who.”

You do.

You could draw it from memory if he asked.

Your weight becomes too much for your legs, and you collapse back down, this time into a chair that supports your amoeba-like state as everything in you turns to jelly.

“They’re getting closer. We were in Teton, so if they made it this far —” you jumble out, not sure if it’s just meaningless vomit to his ears. By his solemn nod, it isn’t.

He’s up and out of his seat with a wince that’s not as severe as before, his eyes careful on you, on your hands that you’re gripping together tightly to keep them still.

The isolation of his side is evident in the way he closes the space between you, but he masks the grimace as best he can. There’s a reprimand in you somewhere that he should be resting, lying down at least, but you know it’s pointless.

“Hey.”

He’s kneeling as much as his flank will allow, a pain in his eyes that isn’t for himself. Those fingertips scale the cliff of your jaw, ghosting as if he’s afraid to overstep. They’re prodding you to meet his eyes, and when you do, he drops his hand like he’s been burned.

It connects fiercely to a memory that you try to hold in your hands. A snowy, reminiscent one that slips through like a ribbon of smoke.

“Ain’t gotta worry about him. I’ll take care of it.”

You laugh, a real one that’s stained with sarcasm.

“What does that mean?”

Joel softens now, and the shift startles you. He thinks for a beat before answering.

“Whatever you need it to mean.”

It feels incomprehensible that anyone would willingly put themselves in danger for you, even adjacently, but then who noticed you were missing that day? Who led the pack, found you bleeding out?

The weather was violent, incoherent — a lost cause, a needle in the proverbial haystack. He already toed the line of a dangerous, potentially fruitless rescue mission.

And you never even thanked him.

“Why?” You ask it for the second time in as much as a week. It’s disjointed in conversation, but he knows that you need this answer.

“You remember how you were before?”

And for a split-second, you try.

There are glimpses, a rickety reel of kids tugging on your pant leg as they beg you to join them during recess, a glittering spray of laughter with Ellie as empty beer cans and discarded guitars litter her living room floor.

Of your friends’ faces on too many relaxed, sunny patrols, sometimes forcing them into a detour into the abandoned record store through Alpine so you can see what’s left.

Dinner in warm houses like Tommy and Maria’s, so full to the brim of love and potatoes and mead that you stumble on down to your house with cheeks burning and tuck yourself in with all of the lights off.

Visions of Joel that are fleeting, taped in frames on a film strip, but friendly exchanges.

But it’s a faceless narration. The accident wiped clean of any room for interpretation. Any visitation with these memories. You can place yourself in them, but can’t for the life of you feel tethered to her.

Frustrated, eyes watering, you shake your head.

“That’s why.”

Now he’s holding your jaw like he would some fragile thing, slotting his thumb just under the pulse thrumming in your neck, feeling the echo of it in his hand. There’s a silence, as if he’s straining to hear, to know the sound and syllables of your livelihood. You wish he’d press harder, bring you to the precipice of pleasure and death.

If only to know what it feels to be glass in Joel Miller’s hands, to be given the taste of death after he’d given you the gift of life all those months ago.

Your heart is hammering against your ribs. You know he can feel the adrenaline in your pulse point.

“Joel,” it falls out as a whisper, and you hate how good his name feels in your mouth.

He’s looking at you with empathy, thumbing through the pages of every agony you’ve succumbed to. It’s new and buzzing, knowing that there’s nothing you’d ever have to explain to Joel. No reasoning or fine print for how you are, he just knows. And he stays anyway.

A tear tracks a salty line down your face and it meets the pad of his thumb, an easy swipe.

And there’s a surge low in your throat, seesawing with satisfaction and the tell-tale lump of more tears if you lean in hard enough. Joel never shows his hand, the last to fold, but it feels a lot like you’re the prize he was waiting to throw cards down for.

So, you lean. Concave cheek into his calloused hand, tears without sobs leaking between his fingers down into his sleeve. The weight of only the world — your world, plural and shared — pushing you into him. The cataclysmic release that you’ve been aching for.

Your head is against his chest, cheek pressed against flannel because he’s guided you there. And it’s nice, you think, nice that he’s being a gentleman about the whole thing.

A gentleman just finger-combing through your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

It’s serene, and you’d happily make a home there and fall asleep if it wasn’t for the hammering of your heartbeat. You know he can feel it, and your quickened breath is the cherry on top.

Joel levels your faces, and his fingers are deja vu on the braille of each ridged cheekbone. He’s waiting on a cue, a line to be given to him from offstage, but you see flames licking through each darkened iris.

Something keeps holding him back, keeps holding you back. He’s too careful, afraid of cutting his hands on you. And in exploring every facet of that, it’s because he doesn’t want to bleed on you, not because the sharpest parts of you could hurt him.

You keep telling yourself it’s foreign and you’re strangers to one another.

But is it? Are you?

As if he’s reading your mind, Joel closes the distance in one fell swoop, and he kisses you.

It’s clumsy at first, in the way that clumsy is when you’re learning each other’s mouths. You taste the dregs of whiskey, of something wanton, and every unspoken word that’s ever misted between you. Years of forming smile lines and the prickle of his unkempt beard against your chin, taste the stories of every scar.

You’re tangling with him, lips pressing urgently against Joel. His tongue’s expert but gentle when he dips it inside your mouth, and you’re swapping breathless sighs. You can only imagine what he’s tasting of you, what flavor he’s been dreaming of.

His hands are still at either side of your face, thumbs pressing sweetly into the bony part of your jaw. Joel’s stilling the unrest in you that’s put its bags down and refused to leave. It quiets, tips a hat and walks out, leaving a welcome calm in place.

There’s a chasteness, but you know he’s just as desperate and hungry as you are. Wanting to claim, to devour each other entirely. And it’s not lost on you that he’s on his knees, hands clasping your face in prayer like you’re some communion he’s drinking from.

He engulfs you, and you’re moving together, fitting together like you were poured from the same mold. Joel’s fingers have moved to thread through your hair, one of his hands cradling the back of your head and tugging just barely.

Enough that magma pools in between your hips.

But he slows, letting loose a low groan into the heat of your mouth. It’s helpless, like he’s accepted he can’t swim and has submerged his head underwater.

And when you finally break apart, Joel’s pupils are dilated, on the cusp of black. Your collective breaths are uneven. He looks at you in awe.

“Been wantin’ to do that for a long, long time,” he’s saying, but you can barely hear him. Not when your heart is catching up with the rest of you, roaring above everything else. His thumb skates over your bottom lip, and the instinct to unhinge your jaw for him shouldn’t be there, but it is.

Maybe this sort of suffering is worth it, if it’s Joel you’re suffering for.

If you weren’t in trouble before, you sure as fuck are now.

#my writing #ahfe #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us hbo #jackson!joel #joel miller #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #a heart for eating #joel miller x f!reader #the last of us smut #motherofagony

[princessdimondheart]

The Twins | Ghost x Wife! Reader

Pairing: Ghost x f! Reader + Their Twins

Warnings: 🔪- violence, terrorist act, blood, inaccurate medical scenes; 😭- fear, emotional stuff, family; 🥺- well deserved happiness

Edited: No

A/N: Simon’s mother doesn’t have a canon name so I decided it’s based off of a flower. You pick which one. Almost 8k words 😳. Part 2? Idk. Sorry it took so long! 😭😭

Masterlist

Character banner ©️ Me

Tommy brushed his short hair back like it would do anything. It was a standard military cut, close shaven but not exactly bald. When he had it cut- to get used to it he told himself- his twin sister, Violet, laughed in his face. Said he looked like an escaped inmate with the cut or someone from pre-Y2K. He pouted remembering it, he had yelled something about her blue-dyed hair being basic and threw a dirty sock in her face. She yelled and then grabbed his arm and proceeded to throw him over her shoulder. He really should have seen it coming. Her hard work in Tai Kwon Do really paid off. His back and ass hurt for the next few days. 

Unfortunately, his poor mother paid witness to the little altercation. She was tired from a long shift at the hospital and was laying on their gray couch munching on Doritos. She only shook her head when he whined to her about Violet. She told him that if he wanted to join the army like he dreamed about, then he would have to toughen up and not complain about things whenever they went wrong. A distant look shown in her eyes. An old memory most likely; one of their long gone father, a military man, and one of the reasons why Tommy wanted to join. To follow in his father’s footsteps despite his job being the reason he wasn’t in their life anymore. He and his twin got quiet and then went their separate ways. They knew how much the loss of their father hurt their mother and they didn’t want to bring her any more pain by mentioning him when she’s emotionally drained from her shift. 

When Tommy had told her that he wanted to join the army, his mother froze in shock before tears spilled from her eyes. A hand covered her sobs and her brow furrowed. He had never seen his mother cry before and it nearly had him spiraling. He rushed to hug his mother asking her what was wrong. When she calmed down, she pulled back and held his cheek in her hand. 

“You’re just like your father. I knew something like this was going to happen but I wasn’t sure it would be so soon.” She wiped her tears with her other hand. “It’s okay, you can go if you really want to.”

He didn’t realize the tears building up in his eyes until they were running down his face. He was only 15 but he was already a head taller than his mother. She said he got his height from his father. Tommy had to tell her his decision because her permission was what would get him into the army when he turned 16. He had no other dreams, just the army and making his parents proud. 

“Tommy! Are you done checking yourself out? We need to go to this last store before heading home.” Violet’s voice crashed his preening in front of a mirror in an H&M store. “The sun’s already set and we’re running late as it is.”

“Chill, Vi, we don’t always have to be punctual. Mom’s on shift anyways, we can go home at whatever time we want!” He looked at her through the mirror. 

She rolled her eyes at him, scoffing, “says the boy that wants to join the army where punctuality is very important.” 

Violet’s eye color was from her mother, in fact, all of her looks were from her, even her height except her eye shape was from their dad. Tommy was the one who was almost a carbon copy of their dad. There were slight variations in their looks, like skin tone and hair texture but nothing too different. He liked the fact that he looked like his dad. It made him feel closer to him in a way. 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, let’s go so you can shut your whining. I am in the army.” Tommy mumbled the last part under his breath. He shoved a hand in his pocket and pushed the other in front of her face, wiggling his fingers for the bags she was holding. She handed them over when he moved his hand closer to her face and she swatted it away. Sure, he messed around with his sister but he was still a gentleman. His mother would fry his ass if he was anything but. 

They were heading to Piccadilly Circus to look at the stores in search of a birthday present for their mom. It was coming up soon and they were running behind in the gift department. All other aspects of the little party they were planning were already put together, the only thing left was her gift. Now that he was in the army for just over a year, he had some money saved up and was planning on using it for her gift. That was the reason why he was here, he was on leave for her birthday next week. Violet suggested a nice pair of earrings and a necklace for her since she doesn’t really own jewelry other than her wedding bands. Tommy readily agreed. 

The walk from H&M to the square wasn’t longer than ten minutes but they took their time window shopping along the way. The square was decently crowded, it was a Thursday after all and there were plenty of tourists and locals scurrying in and out of the shops. Tommy rubbed his hands together, it was cold that night. Unusual for the time of year but he assumed global warming was to blame. He really wished spring would finish up so summer could get here. 

~~~~~

Ghost was methodically sharpening his knife on a whetstone when Price knocked on his door with a loud bang. His masked head whipped up and he gripped the knife tighter. 

“Load up, Simon. My office, yesterday!” His voice was hurried and gruff. Something was going down and that made Ghost kit up faster than normal. Grabbing his gun he was out of his room in less than a minute. 

In Prices office was the rest of 141, Gaz and Soap were kitted up in their tactical vests with their weapons slung over their shoulders. No one was sitting. 

“We just got word that a terrorist plot is going to go down tonight at Piccadilly Circus. We’re going to head over there before it goes down.” Price shook his head. “Hopefully our presence deters them or we’re able to put a stop to them before anyone gets hurt.”

Gaz was reasonably upset. He had been there for the first attack on the square a few years ago. It was actually how he got into Price’s sights in the first place and joined the Task Force. “Again? Seriously?”

The Captain gave him a knowing look. “If it’s going to be an issue, you can stay here Kyle. You don’t have to go.”

“No-no, sir. It won’t be an issue.” Gaz sighed. “I just hope it turns out better than last time.”

Soap patted him on the shoulder. Price nodded at him and then walked to his office door. 

“Let’s go!”

~~~~~

Violet had tugged on Tommy’s jacket and pointed out a jewelry store that seemed promising. Luckily it was still open so they both went inside. The clerk greeted them but wasn’t as attentive to them because of their youth. That is until they told her their budget. Typical.��

She was looking into the bright glass boxes filled with different types of jewelry in gold, silver, diamonds or other precious stones. Tommy wasn’t really paying attention to her. He fiddled with his dog tags and the busted up ones that belonged to his father. They rested over his jacket. He’d hum and glance at a necklace she was pointing to but he was rather distracted. There was a small commotion just across the street near the metro entrance. 

A black van pulled up and several men jumped out of it seemingly inconspicuous. He thought nothing of it until he saw a handgun sticking out of his waistband. Now, Tommy didn’t do that great in the section about their laws in school but he sure as hell knew that guns were illegal in their country. His brows furrowed, and Violet tugged at his sleeve once more to get his attention. 

“Tommy! What’s with you?” She voiced her annoyance. “What are you looking at?”

She peered around him but didn’t notice what he was staring at so intensely. Tommy noticed that one of the men planted something on a nearby car parked on the street. He felt something go through his body. It was a feeling of cold and dread. Dread of what was most likely going to happen. What it was he didn’t have a clue. He just felt the cold chill his blood and goosebumps ran down his arms. 

His eyes widened in shock and fear when one of the men pulled out an assault rifle from the truck. He only had a few seconds. 

“Get down!” Was all he could manage to get out. 

Tommy turned and grabbed his twin by her arms, pulling her into his body. The shots rang out directly towards them and in various directions. He vaguely remembered hearing a loud boom ring out. Screams spread around them. Tommy could only feel the burning sensations coming from his right arm, lower back and left leg. Violet’s screams were muffled by his jacket, the dog tags dug into her face. Her head had hit the ground hard despite Tommy covering it with his hand, and it throbbed in that dull way. Glass shattered around them and alarms were going off. They dropped heavily to the ground. Tommy’s body was covering Violet’s protecting her from the blaze of bullets still lodging themselves in the walls around them. 

Violet screamed again as one land near their heads. Tears ran down both their faces. He tightened his grip on her. 

“Violet- Violet, please.” He grunted. “It’s okay, we-we’re gonna be fine. Just lay down. S-stay quiet, yeah, you’re good, Vi.”

She was shaking. He was shaking. Although his body was prepared for going to war, his mind had yet to catch up. Although, Tommy wasn’t sure if it was nerves that was causing him to shake, the cold chill spilling through the shattered store front, or the blood seeping out from his wounds. 

Violet felt wet but she couldn’t figure out what it was. At first she thought she had wet herself in fear but the feeling was coming from her torso. She turned her head as best as she could and saw Tommy grimacing in pain. Her eyes looked further down and saw the blood pooling under her. She wasn’t in pain. 

“Tommy! Ta-Tommy, you’re bleedin’!” Her voice pitched high with alarm. She sobbed into his shoulder. Her hands tucked into her body pulled out and wrapped around his back. She held him tight. 

“I-I’m fine, Vi.” He stuttered out. He was feeling weak from the blood loss. 

“Don’t l-lie to me Tommy.” She hiccuped. “You’re s-shit at it.”

More explosions rang beyond the store. They shook the building they were in. Pieces of debris were falling from the ceiling, landing on and around them. Suddenly, various gunshots were fired in rapid succession and Violet worried that more terrorists had arrived. She hoped that the police or some anti-terrorist agency would arrive soon. Several minutes pass and the gunfire lessened until it finally stopped. 

“Tommy? We can get up now, l-let me put pressure on y-your wounds.” Tommy wasn’t saying anything and that worried Violet. Her breathing quickened in her panic. “Tommy!? Get up! Tommy!”

Her hand reached up to push him off of her. It was a struggle as he had gained a significant amount of weight in muscle over the last year. He weighed a ton and when she was finally able to push him off of her, Violet was huffing even with her martial arts skills. Other times she’s able to pull him over her shoulder with momentum but now he was dead weight. God she dreaded the thought. Her shaking hands scrambled to his neck. Two fingers felt for his pulse and found a faint one. It fluttered but it was still there. She sighed in relief. 

Violet tried to remember the first aid course that she took last summer that their mom’s hospital was offering to students interested in joining the medical field. She surveyed his unconscious body to find any wounds and when she found them all she got to work as best as she could. Violet took off her jacket and wrapped it around Tommy’s arm hoping to slow down the bleeding. Then she remembered that he had on a belt and so she took it off to tie around his leg. He unconsciously groaned when she tightened it. She couldn’t really put pressure on the wound on his back but she tried her best to keep a hand covering the wound. The bullet hadn’t gone all the way through and stayed lodged inside him. It wasn’t sanitary but it was the best she could do. 

Her body continued to shake and she looked around the destroyed jewelry store. There were other bodies lying around. Blood was smeared on the shattered glass display where the lady was standing minutes before. The lack of pained noises sent a pang through her chest. More tears rolled down her cheeks and onto Tommy’s shuddering chest below her. She wished she hadn’t insisted on stopping by the other store instead of going straight here. They would have been home earlier. She wished she were the one injured and not Tommy. She was the oldest by a few minutes and it was her job to protect her little twin brother. She wished her mom was there to help Tommy. She wished her dad was there to help them get through this. 

She cried and cried. Pain and sadness filling her up and boiling over in body racking sobs. Her hand gripped one of Tommy’s. 

The silence was almost unbearable, until it wasn’t. 

~~~~~

They were too late, again. The intel that they had been receiving lately was always a little too late than normal. Ghost knew that Price was gonna have a word with all the intelligence personnel when they were done with the mess that was before them. Gaz was pissed as his expression showed. They’d all seen similar scenes like this before but it always hurt more when it happens on home soil. 

The police had arrived but were not as prepared as the Task Force, so they set up a perimeter not letting anyone in or out. They had dispatched all of the terrorists within a few minutes of them being in Piccadilly Circus. A few had lingered in the square while others had gone into some of the shops. Once the area was cleared and the police had began searching for survivors, Price had them doing the same. 

“Soap, Gaz, go together and look for anyone still breathing on the north side. Ghost and I’ll stay on the south side of the square.” They split up and began their search. 

Ghost passed a few bodies that weren’t alive. He saw the Captain flinch at the body of a child but he never said anything. Children were always hard in their line of work but for him it hit closer to home than what Ghost could ever understand. 

“Hello? Is anyone alive?! We’re the army!” Price began to call out in hopes of an answer back. 

There was silence yet it was loud. Sirens, alarms, and broken glass crunched underfoot and around them. They saw that the police and EMTs had found a majority of the survivors near them so they pushed further into the square. Price called out again and a muffled cry called back. 

“Help! Help me please!” The feminine voice cried to them. Her voice pulled them towards her like a lifeline. 

They ran to where the voice came from, a rather famous jewelry store that didn’t look as nice as before. The broken glass and bullet holes would turn anyone away. Ghost made it to the entryway first but Price stopped him with his hand. He gave him a look and went in first. Then Ghost remembered his skull mask and the fear it brought to people, especially civilians, so he waited until he was needed. The familiar crackle of the radio was heard faintly. 

“Shite, get in here Ghost! They’re kids!” Great, another demographic that he wasn’t really good with. When he stood by them he realized that these kids were older than what he thought. They were teenagers. 

Then, he froze. 

Years of memories rushed through his mind in seconds. The sound of laughter… a certain hair color… the smell of her favorite perfume… her flowers, whose scent would waft up his nose whenever he came home. Things he so painfully remembered and yet chose to let go so as to not cause tremendous harm. A feeling that he had longed to never let go. He grasped at the tendrils for a short while before that dreadful night. 

Those eyes… they were her eyes. At first he thought that she was kneeling there before him, but then remembered that more than a decade had passed and she would have changed in that time. Rarely had he seen her with tears streaked down her face. Or blood on her clothes…

Her look-alike cried out a sob and reality overtook his memories. 

“Please, please help my brother he got shot.” The girl pleaded looking up as he walked closer. She wasn’t scared of him in the mask but she was for her brother. That’s when Ghost looked down. 

Was he staring in a mirror? This boy. This kid. It was like looking at a photo of his younger self. 

Clink.

Ghost’s eyes snapped to the sound of metal in Prices hand. He’d already done a glance over of the boy and decided that the girl did a good job of wrapping his wounds with what she had. 

“Are these his?” Price asked the distraught girl. 

“Y-yeah. Tommy just joined the army not long ago. Barely over a year in.” She breathed in deeply as if to calm her mind. 

Tommy… he knew a Tommy once. His own brother. Every piece was coming together. He was one, and they were the other two. Just one was left…

“…and the other?” Price continued. He didn’t need to ask but he wanted to confirm the information he held. The cheeky bastard. 

“It’s our fathers… or what’s left of him.” Those same eyes as her looked down. Sadness filled them. Sadness for himself, he realized. A father long gone. Those were the tags that he left behind in the wreckage. Now here they were… somehow returned to him. 

Ghost hardly remembered when the ambulance pulled up in front of the store. Or when the EMTs moved Tommy onto the stretcher. But he did remember the smell of his blood and the salt in the air from her tears. 

Price was able to convince the EMTs to let them go with Tommy and his sister. They weren’t happy about it but decided that armed men tagging along with them after a terrorist attack wouldn’t be so bad. He’d also radioed Soap and Gaz of their departure. They had found some victims buried under rubble and were trying to get them out with some firefighters. 

Price whispered low enough for only Ghost to hear. “You doin’ okay, Simon?”

He didn’t know what to say. What could he say? His new-found daughter was siting across from him while his son lay injured, bleeding out from wounds caused by a terror act not thwarted by his team. He felt useless. Yet, he felt grateful that he was able to meet his children in a way. The situation was horrible, but that brought them together; and it was highly likely that if it had not happened then he would have never learned about them. He’d have probably died in combat before he ever heard whispers of them. No, he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He would continue on the path placed in front of him, for now at least. 

He just shrugged his shoulders and stayed silent. That must have been enough for Price as he just eyed him for a bit before looking down at what the EMTs were doing to stabilize Tommy. 

“Oh!” Price jolted in realization. “We never got your name, love! So sorry.” 

The girl looked up at them. She glanced at him then at John. Ghost must have looked strange sitting there in his black gear. They both definitely looked out of place in the ambulance. 

“It’s fine. I’m Violet… Mister…?” She wasn’t stuttering anymore but her voice was subdued and scratchy from her crying. 

“Call me John, young lady.” He nodded at her. “And this is Ghos-“

“Simon, will do.” He had no idea why he cut him off or why he gave her his name, but it brought a grin to Prices lips. 

“Oh, it’s like my da-“ The ambulance coming to a stop cut her off and the EMTs began off-loading the gurney. 

They moved themselves out of the way and followed closely behind as he was rolled into the emergency department. There were other ambulances dropping off patients from the attack. EMTs, doctors and nurses were coming in and out, and there was a heavy police presence at the entrances. 

Inside was more chaotic. The hospital was in Code Orange for mass casualty or disasters. 

Patients lay in gurneys as nurses and residents tended to them. Many of the dead rested under blood soaked sheets, yet to be moved to the morgue. Blood pooled on the white floors, some of it was stepped on and tracked throughout the rooms. Cleaning workers did their best to mop up the evidence of the nights tragedy. Very few had minor injuries. Friends and family were there searching for missing relatives. One of the smarter police officers began a missing persons board and had them write descriptions of the missing. 

As Violet stepped through the automatic door, she saw her mom finish tending to an older lady who had been grazed by bullets and suffered a concussion when she fell over. She fiddled with her gloves. It was loud in there but when she called for her mother, the older woman’s head shot up in fear. 

“Mom!”

Hearing this, Ghost’s eyes scanned the crowd. He had to find her. A face he hadn’t seen in years, unless he counted the similarities with his daughter. It wasn’t so hard. He’d recognize her face if he was blind and only had his hands to see. 

She was older, of course, but no less as beautiful as he remembered. Her hair was styled differently, likely due to her job, but still shined healthily. Her scrubs were in her favorite color and a blood stained white lab coat donned her body. She wore blue gloves and a face mask as she tended to her patients. 

“Violet!” She speedily walked to her daughter, passing between other doctors and nurses. Fingers tugged on latex and she dumped the gloves in a garbage can filling up with similar bloody items. Her hands rested on Violet’s shoulders as she couldn’t hug her with all the blood on her. 

She gasped when she saw Tommy. 

“Tommy!” She cried and tears flooded her eyes. Her hands went to his cut up face. “You were there?!”

An EMT asked her to help them. “This patient needs immediate care, doctor!”

“I-I’m sorry. I’m too close to the patient.” She stuttered. 

She looked around her in the chaos for a free doctor. She hardly noticed the two armed men hanging back. Her eyes stopped on her colleague. He had worked as a doctor for over forty years and had done thousands of surgeries. He had been a great mentor to her since she first started working at this hospital. 

“Jack! Dr. Yates!” She called over to him loud enough for others to look over. The older gentleman startled but made a bee-line for her. When he was close, she grabbed a part of his white sleeve. “Please, doctor, help my son. I’m too close to work on him properly.”

The grayed man gave a look over Tommy and had them immediately push him to an open operating room. He grasped her upper arm. “Don’t you worry your brilliant mind, sunny. We’ll get him spick and span in no time. Take a break for a few minutes, you’ve been running around since 5 this mornin’.”

Letting go, she only nodded along as they wheeled Tommy away. She allowed a tear to fall. It dripped onto the floor, mixing with other bodily fluids that fell from their patients. She tried not to let her fear of her losing another person get to her. 

Not again. Not here. Not now. 

“Mom?” Violet called for her worried about her sudden silence. She tugged on the back of her white coat, which was still white, surprisingly. That got her moving. 

“Violet? Are you alright? You’re okay, right? There’s blood all over you!” She inhaled once. “Do I need to get you som-“

“Mom! I’m fine! Honestly!” Violet interrupted, her bottom lip wobbled. “T-Tommy protected me. He saved me, mom!”

She sobbed harder than before and her mom, now not caring for the blood, pulled her in for a tight hug. They clung to each other desperately. Violet was shorter than her mom so she was able to burry her face into her neck. Tears wetting her skin and clothes. 

Movement behind them, made her look up, unsure if anyone else needed help. It was the two men that had come in with Violet. She had not really noticed them before because all her focus was directed to Tommy and Violet; her two most important things in life. Both had some blood on, what she now realized was military kits, and they stood there in silence carrying their weapons slung over their shoulders. One wore a funny fishing hat and the other had a rather fitting face mask for the overall mood of the day. The skull plated mask hid the face underneath. Her eyes lingered and he caught her gaze. 

Ghost stared at his once-wife in the eyes. The eyes that would always making him feel like he was falling deeper into her soul. She spoke but his ears weren’t working. Price answered and his hand whacking his arm made him blink twice and their staring ended when she looked at Prices hand. 

“No, we’re fine… Doctor…?” Price answered her worries of injury. 

“I’m Doctor-“

“Dr. Riley!” A nurse interrupted her. Ghost felt his chest tighten. She’d kept his name. “We need you here! He’s code blue-ing!”

She sprang from her daughters arms. “Coming! Violet go to my office and stay there for me, please. I’ll be back soon, hopefully.”

Violet nodded before her mom ran off to where the patient had just rolled in. She jumped onto the gurney and began chest compressions. The EMTs continued to the elevator and up to the operating rooms like nothing had happened. More nurses followed them into the large elevator. Her mom pumping that mans chest was the last she’d see of her for the next few hours. 

She was still a Riley. His Riley. After all these years, he remembered her saying that she wanted to keep her maiden name for her doctor status. He was always okay with that and knew she’d never change her mind, despite her taking his name, although hyphenated, when they married. He wondered what made her change her mind. Then he remembered that he had ‘died’ several months before her graduation as a resident. He reminisced on how he snuck in to see her one last time at the ceremony before running away to the battlefield. 

Price eyed Ghost as he stood there staring at the closed elevator doors, even when they opened as another body was taken down to the morgue. He looked tense, brows furrowed, pained, and understandably so. His whole life just flipped over and over in the matter of a few hours. 

But then Ghost glanced at his hands. Bloodied hands. Tommy’s blood. Then to Violet and then back again to the dried blood. The blood of his only son. It dawned on him that he almost lost him. Almost her. Both of them could have been stripped of their lives. And so easily too. He hardly knew them and that hurt him even more. 

“Ah… let’s escort you to your mums office, yeah?” Price called to Violet, who was also spacing out. 

She wiped her face and nodded. She led them to the stairwell and they climbed up two stories. Several corridors down and they were in a decent sized office. Price told them he would get them some snacks and drinks at the vending machines he saw awhile back. Ghost knew he was giving him time to talk to Violet. He was somewhat grateful and annoyed that Price knew what he needed. 

They both sat down on the cushioned chairs. Violet flung herself down with a loud sigh. She was drained both mentally, physically and emotionally. She wanted this nightmare to be over. 

“You’re Violet, right?” His deep voice asked and Violet’s eyes drifted upward. He’d heard her name multiple times, was even introduced, but he needed the confirmation again. 

“Yeah, I’m Violet… why?” She looked a bit confused, brow raised just like her mother used to give him. 

His chest tightened and he felt like he couldn’t get the words past his lips but he forced himself to. There was no better time than right now. “I- I just know your mum… that’s all.”

“Really? Why didn’t she recognize you?” She asked but Ghost pointed at his masked face and she blushed. “Oh, right.” 

The silence was awkward for a moment before Violet spoke, surprising Ghost with her words. 

“Well… I like your mask. Kinda edgy. It’s actually pretty cool… for an old man.”

“How do you know I’m old?” Ghost tilted his head slightly. 

Violet scoffed and crossed her arms, leaning back into the chair. “You know my mom, so you’ve gotta be old.” Ghost almost rolled his eyes; she was gonna be the death of him. Then she looked contemplative. 

“Do you think Tommy will still be able to be in the army?” She looked at his eyes, her brows furrowed even more. “It’s been his dream for the longest and now that he’s in, I don’t think he’d ever get out… but if he’s discharged, I think that’ll hurt him the most.” 

Ghost didn’t say anything right away so she continued her little rant. “Mom tried to get him to go to uni, but his heart was set on the army ever since he learned that our dad was in. He held onto that dream for so long and when mom let him go, well, I’ve never seen him so happy…”

Her breath shortened as tears ran down her face. “I—I should have been paying more attention. It’s my fault. I have no situational awareness, damnit, even Tommy’s told me that before. If I’d noticed sooner or realized what was going on, he wouldn’t be hurt. I’m the older twin. I should be-be the one taking care of him!” She sobbed harder. 

Ghost came to kneel in front of her. He took her hand that was twisting her bloody shirt. “It’s not your fault. You, nor anyone there, knew what was about to happen. Terrorists have no regards for the lives of the innocent while doing things that would harm them.”

“Tommy’s hurt but I can tell that he’s strong. I’ve been hurt like that before and I healed up fine. Plus he has even greater care here. They’ll take care of him and you only need to keep your head up and know that Tommy’ll pull through.” He continued. “He’s young so he’ll bounce back well enough to return to his unit. Don’t you worry your pretty lil’ head ‘bout that.”

“Thanks.” She laugh-cried. “But it’s hard to take you seriously with that mask.” She giggled. 

Ghost huffed. “Well, Tommy pulled some heroics back there saving you. Might even earn a brag rag with the right recommendations…”

Violet’s confused head tilt made him explain the meaning. “It’s a medal.”

Her eyes brightened. “You’d do that?”

He hummed. “Captain Price might put in a good word too, but yeah, he deserves it.”

There was a sudden and somber silence. His hand gripped his knee to prevent it from bouncing. 

“Ah… any plans for uni? Or something…?” Bollocks, how the hell do you talk to a 17 year old girl, who is also your child but doesn’t know it? Improvise… he guessed?

Violet told him that she was debating going to vet school or medical school to become a surgeon like her mother. She wasn’t sure which university she would apply to. 

“Tommy keeps teasing me that I should join him in the army as a field surgeon. But… um, I think I wanna help out people in our community here.” She chuckled softly. “I told him that if he ever got hurt he could come to me to patch him up, but that I’d have to hurt him again for even getting injured in the first place.”

Ghost smiled under his mask. Mask. His mask?

Maybe he wasn’t thinking clearly. Perhaps one too many whacks to the ole head. Or maybe it was the high of meeting his long lost children for the first time. Ghost wasn’t sure what it was…

His hand reached up, curling under the bottom of his balaclava, and pulled the black cloth over his head in one tug. The higher it went, the more his chin, lips, nose, cheeks, eyes, and hair was revealed. 

Violet’s breath hitched as she took his face in. Her eyes roamed over every feature and scars. She knew this face, from the back of her mind she knows that this face is like the one going through surgery right now. Like the one in the frame sitting on her mother’s desk right in front of her. Tears began to burn her eyes but did not fall. Her lip wobbled. 

~~~~~

“Violet, I am your father…” Simon’s eyes stared into hers for a moment before closing tightly. His brows scrunched together and his lips tugged into a fine line. 

“Was t-that a Star Wars reference? Or are you being serious?” Violet asked confused, burning tears finally falling. 

“You’ve seen Star Wars?” Stop deflecting, Simon!

“What?! Don’t change the subject Mr. Simon!” She gasped, her eyes widening. “Mister… Simon. Simon. Simon?”

“Yeah?” He asked, swallowing hard. 

“This doesn’t make sense! I-I must be hallucinating. Maybe, maybe I actually did die or something.” Violet’s voice shook. She closed her eyes and moved her head side to side. There was a subtle shake to her body. “Nope! This is not fucking real! You’re supposed to be dead! Dead, I tell you!”

Oh god, she’s reverting back to her drama club days. 

“Umm… language?” Not the time to reprimand her for her words. “I mean. Sorry. It’s… It’s just a really, really long story. I actually don’t know how I’d tell-“

“Daddy!” Violet sobbed and before Simon could comprehend it, the teenager had her arms wrapped around him as much as she could with his size and body armor. 

The shock in his eyes softened with her continued sobbing. It struck him in his heart. All the walls he’d built since before joining the Task Force began to crumble. Piece by piece, chunks began to disintegrate. His own eyes burned with tears that hadn’t fallen in years. It was almost a relief when they did start to fall. They dropped onto Violet’s shoulder and rolled down her back. 

Simon didn’t know how long they held onto each other for. Hours or days could pass but he would rather still be in the newfound embrace of his daughter. Violet had settled into soft sniffles and little hiccups, eventually falling asleep in his lap. His own tears had dried, for now, leaving streaks down his cheeks. For a moment, it felt peaceful despite the chaos several floors down and a few streets away. His arms tightened around Violet. He wasn’t sure if he could ever let her go… 

His eyes staring off into the wall flashed to the door when it was pushed open. And there she was. 

~~~~~

Dr. Riley sighed as the sound of the EKG flatlining continued. They had initially brought the patient back from cardiac arrest and proceeded with the surgery. However, in the last fifteen minutes he began to show signs of another cardiac episode. The nurses and she had tried their best but unfortunately the patient’s wounds were too much for his body to handle. 

Pulling off her bloody gloves and dumping them into the hazardous waste disposal, she told the nurses to take a breather since they’d been going at it for hours by that point. Hell, her shift had long been over when her daughter and son had arrived but she had stayed. She couldn’t bear leaving while knowing that many people were suffering. She’d seen over a dozen patients when the casualties started pouring in, almost tripling her patient count for the day. 

A quick change of clothes in a designated room and she was walking back to her office. Eerily, the floor her office was on was quiet. There were other busy wards here but the chaos was concentrated downstairs. She heard her crocs squeak on the polished floors. It used to make her blush at the loudness of the sound but now she couldn’t give a fuck. Her patients needed her, damnit!  As if a squeaky shoe would hold her back from reaching her patients on time just because she was embarrassed by the sounds. 

Reaching the door to her office, she noticed that the light was on letting her know that Violet had made it in one piece. 

“Hey, Violet, are you hungry-!” Her eyes widened in mild confusion and concern at what she saw, before glaring slightly. “What the fuck?!”

Her Violet was in the arms of a strange grown man, she been crying, clearly as they stained her cheeks. She nearly lost her top and yelled more before focusing on the man’s features. 

It was like seeing a ghost. 

He said something but it was like cotton balls were stuffed into her ears. Whatever it was she probably needed to see an otolaryngologist. She felt something fall down her face and along her neck and into her clean scrubs. Her vision blurred. She wasn’t sure if it was from tears building up or her body moving quickly in their direction. 

~~~~~

Simon called for her by name. He hadn’t said it in a very long time. It honestly hurt him to. After all, he had left her alone and with his children no less, although he hadn’t known. He’d spent some time thinking about it while holding onto Violet. If he would have stayed had she been able to tell him about them. He would like to think that, yes, he would have stayed, but Simon wasn’t sure if his own insecurities and trauma related to his abusive father would push him from wanting to claim such a responsibility. 

She stared blankly at him. Her dull and tired eyes worried him. He knew she’d had a long and hard day. Simon missed the shine in her eyes from long ago. He was starting to feel strange with her gawking. He shifted in his seat as softly as he could to not disturb Violet. 

The movement seemed to awaken her and gave her the strength to move closer to him. But her knees weakened and Simon had to outstretch an arm in order to catch her. A loud sob fell from her lips. Slightly chapped due to lack of time to care for them that day. The jerkiness of his movement woke up Violet and when she saw her crying mother in the arm of her dad, her tears renewed. 

“Mom!” She tasted salt. The words were taken from her. 

Simon pulled her up into his lap too, before tightening his arms around both of them. Both of his girl’s hands were clutching him equally as tight. They were all breathing heavily and their bodies shook with each sob, with each inhale and exhale. Simon rested his head against theirs. Fingers tangled in their hair. 

After they all calmed down a bit, Simon began to explain what happened all those years ago. What happened to his family, why he left, and that if he had known that he was going to be a parent that he would have taken the time to think things more carefully before doing anything drastic. 

She raised her hand against his stubbled cheek. “It’s not your fault, Simon. I should have told you about the pregnancy sooner. I-I just wanted to surprise you when you came home, but…” 

He knew the ‘but,’ he never came home. Only a news article about a whole family dying in a house fire. Dog tags left to be found hours later. His only living ‘relative’ was his father. 

He needed to stop thinking about his father, who he believes may or may not still be around. But those fears of being like him as an adult presented as usual. It was a constant struggle to let those feelings go. Feelings of inadequacy surfaced and since his face wasn’t covered as usual, it was easier to see by his frown and furrowed brow. 

She recognized that look on his face despite the many years apart. She held his face in her palm. He leaned into it, his own hand coming up to hold hers closer to him. The look in her eyes told him all the reassurances that he craved. 

Violet watched all this in awe. Never would she have thought that she’d be witness to the love between her mother and father. She tucked herself closer to her father’s chest. Violet had grown even more tired after the attack and the crying. Her eyes drooped and a sigh left her lips as she fell asleep. Simon’s arm subconsciously pulled her closer. 

It felt like hours but only thirty minutes had passed before Dr. Riley got restless. She tapped Simon on the shoulder. 

“I should go check if there are any updates on Tommy.” She said and Simon, reluctantly, let her go. “I’ll come back if there’s any news. And I’ll bring you both something to eat. Surprisingly, the cafeteria has a decent sandwich selection.”

Ghost nodded and readjusted his grip on Violet to hold her with both arms. 

“I can have a cot brought in if you want?” She looked lovingly between the two. A soft smile tugged at her lips. 

“Ah… I think I’m fine, for now at least.” His pale cheeks flushed. He just couldn’t let his little girl go. Especially not when she’s sleeping so peacefully in his arms. 

She nodded and left the room. 

During that time, his phone had buzzed and a text from Price glowed back at him. He texted that he had the next few days off and to not come in to work for any reason other than emergencies. 

Simon texted back a simple, “Okay.”

~~~

Dr. Riley returned with food in paper bags and good news. Tommy was in post-op and was being moved to a private room soon. She told Simon that she could take them there. So, Simon stood with Violet in his arms, who surprisingly has not been awoken by the move. His arms were under her knees and back. 

They had arrived before Tommy so Simon took the time to survey the room. It was rather large with a couch on each side of the room. His love told him that they pulled out into beds if they wanted to use them. Simon lowered Violet onto the blue couch, resting her head on the pillow and covering her with the provided gray hospital blanket. 

Thirty minutes later and Tommy was rolled in by a team of nurses. The principle doctor residing over his care began to explain the next steps in Tommy’s recovery. It felt like a lot but Simon was intimately familiar to the process due to his own previous injuries. 

Afterwards, his love was finally able to rest so she sat next to him on the other blue couch. There was distance between them and Simon couldn’t get his body to melt into the soft couch. He could feel her glancing at him from the corner of her eyes. He spied her hand inching towards his. His eyes looked and then looked away. He argued with himself to just grab hers. He finally said ‘fuck it all’ and just wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her whole body closer. 

A soft squeak escaped her lips. He buried his face into her hair and breathed in deeply. It still smelled like her shampoo. She melted into his embrace. 

“Simon?” He hummed. “I don’t know how, but, thank you.”

He looked her in those eyes that kept him awake at night. “Of course.” 

~~~

Two days later… 

~~~

Bleary brown eyes fluttered open. He took several moments to blink away the crust on his eyes. The blindly white room was dark with only a soft amber lamp glowing in the far corner. He felt like his body was stuck to what he was laying on. He looked down and saw white sheets. 

A flash of dark movement caught his eye from one of the pull out beds, fully stretched out and occupied. He shifted his stiff neck to see who or what it was. 

He saw his own eyes. 

Maybe he was dead. After all, he swore he saw his father sitting there by his mother. He tried his hardest but the sedatives won the battle. His tired eyes blinked slowly before finally closing. His breath evening out in slumber. 

Wide brown eyes stared at the monitor. Only relaxing when the machine kept beeping at a constant rate. Then, Simon laid back down and clutched her closer. She sighed and moved closer to him. And damn was he happy in that moment. 

Masterlist

🔖 Taglist:

@sae1kie

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #cod #codmw2 #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley fanfic #simon riley x you #simon riley has children #call of duty ghost #ghost #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod ghost #original character #original male character #original female character #teenagers #simon ghost riley x oc #ghost x oc #simon riley x oc #angst #cod angst #angst cod

[radioisntdead]

Howdy, I was the first ask with adult child/Niece/Nephew.

So now that we've established how she is with family 👀 Extermination day. How would she react to them getting hurt or almost killed?

Good evening my dear! Thank you so much for being the first ask for Susan before! I know you asked for hurt or almost killed but I, may have taken it a step further, This will be angsty, leaning more towards being Susan's child in this one

Warnings!

Cannibalism, some angst, straight up angst, there is death here, not proofread so pardon any spelling mistakes, I got carried away here, Oops!

Susan did NOT survive this long only to get taken out during extermination day, she definitely took out several exorcists, I think she had an axe in one scene but I can't remember if that actually was a thing or if I'm misremembering and that just appeared in my brain munching on a few of them whenever she got the chance too.

She thought you would be good on your own, however she was surely mistaken when she spotted you getting slashed by a exorcist while trying to defend one of the younger cannibals, thankfully one of the others stepped in to help you, saving your life.

However that didn't undo the wound on your stomach, your recovery period was filled with Susan scolding you about getting injured, after all she was older then you and she didn't even get a scratch!

She would scold you if you dared get up, pushing you back down and covering you with a blanket, bringing you soup and tea until you were healed,

She'd never tell you about the genuine fear she felt when she saw you get slashed, many cannibals lost their lives that day, getting killed by angelic weapons meant that you were NOT coming back, she couldn't look at the clothes you were wearing that day the torn fabric and the now dried blood that covered it served as a cruel reminder that you could've died.

Susan may appear heartless, and she's an entitled grumpy old lady but she cared for you,

After all you were one of the only family members that truly cared for her.

Now this is if you keep your life, but what if you didn't?

Susan didn't know where you were, the exorcists had fled, Adam was dead, and many people had permanently lost their life that day.

Including you.

One of the other cannibals found you, spear still stuck in your chest, eyes glazed over and dried tears coating your face.

No one wanted to break the news to Susan but they didn't have too, a small group of your surviving friends surrounded you, mourning and trying to figure out what to do,

Susan broke through them, nothing could prepare anyone for the look of pure horror and heartbreak that appeared on her face.

She tapped your corpse gently with her cane, tell you to stop playing pranks and get up, swearing at you, once the small reality kicked in that you weren't getting up, She'd lean down beside you, gently placing a hand on your face and closing your eyelids,

With your eyes closed you almost looked like you were sleeping.

The aftermath was bad, the house she lived in was empty without you, and there were traces of you everywhere, the dirty dishes you left in the sink saying you'd do them once everything had passed, your clothing that was still in the closet forever waiting to be worn by someone who didn't exist anymore, the awful slippers you insisted on purchasing much to Susan's dismay still by the door way, a dent on the wall from you running into it, a small stain on the carpet from you spilling a smidge of grape juice onto it.

She was bad before but she became worse, more bitter, angry that you were gone, the young were supposed to outlive the old, not the other way around.

Did you think I was done? No.

Let's tweak that last bit,

Susan was capable no doubt, even if she was old,

But she was still an old lady, so you stayed close to her just in case, she handled her own well, but when that exorcist gunned for her, you didn't even think, you just moved infront of her taking the hit for her, angelic weapon stabbing you before being pulled back out, you swung your weapon taking out the exorcist but the damaged had been done, Susan scolded you as you bled out in her arms, calling you an imbecile, a reckless fool,

you laughed saying you were going to miss her scolding you, you told her that you'd do it again if it meant protecting her after all, she was family, she was your family and you loved her despite her faults.

Susan wasn't one for kind comforting words but the last words you heard made you smile, It took you dying to hear those words but it was nice.

You died with a smile on your face, You died saving someone dear to you, Saving her life at the expense of your own.

And that foolish, selfless, and love filled act of yours gave you a shiny Halo and a spot with Sir Pentious.

Good evening everyone! Thank you for tuning in! I hope you enjoyed this, I may have teared up while writing, I got one more request to go before I'm finished with all of em' so feel free to send in a request, I enjoy writing these!

have a wonderful night folks!

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #susan & reader #hazbin hotel susan #hazbin susan

[gilbirda]

Jason x Jazz AU but Jason is working part time as a cook in some run-down diner that Jazz frequents to buy dinner. One day, she went over-time at Arkham, passes by the diner with a sigh (it's on the way home), and she bumps into Jason who was taking out the trash.

Jason recognizes Jazz because she's the only one who orders for food that won't come back to life, and he finds it hilarious. But he was also kinda, sorta, a little bit worried about her - shut up!! It's not a crush!! - so he has a container filled with her usual that's packed beside the other leftover food that was cooked for some homeless kids that lived near him.

Jazz is delighted, and her smile is so pretty - okay, so maybe he does have a crush - and so he tells her how many minutes she should microwave it for. She thanks him and waves him good bye, Jason waves back. And he's been waving his hand for a solid 30 seconds with a dopey grin on his face before Nightwing pops up behind him with a shit-eating grin, scaring the shit out of Jason.

"Who's the giiiiiiiiiirl?"

Jason rolls his eyes, kicks his brother in the shins, and walks back into the kitchen to pack the rest of the food.

It happens like this for some time, every week, there will be one day Jazz does overtime.

Jason, hearing from Red Robin's reports that she's been successful in helping many criminals turn a new leaf, is proud of Jasmine and cooks a whole lot more for her, even going by to visit her to deliver a healthy breakfast once he pretends to find out that they lived in the same apartment.

Danny no longer had to worry bout Jazz not taking care of herself because Jason even packs lunch for her, cooks breakfast and Dinner for her and--

"If you marry him, nothing will change except for the fact that he will now cook in your shared kitchen, Jazz. C'mon!" he says, munching on HER pesto pasta specially made by Jason.

Dick and Tim are so tired watching Jason pine from afar, and tells him to FOR THE LOVE OF WONDER WOMAN JUST ASK OUT OUR FUTURE SISTER IN LAW ALREADY.

Alfred hands Jason a recipe book titled "Recipes That Will Definitely Get You a Date".

********

Fast forward, the two are already dating, and Jazz's parents come to visit. Jason, who came by Jazz's apartment in the morning to impress her family with a homecooked breakfast, checks the fridge AND SCREAMS, TAKING OUT HIS GUNS, AND SHOOTING THE SCREAMING MONSTROSITY LIKE WHAT THE FUCK IT'S NOT DYING!

The goopey monster is also kinda resonating with Jason, and it's making Jason uncomfortable because he could feel the monster goop's fear and-

Jazz steps in. She sucks the goop in some kind of thermos, throws the thermos to Danny who caught it with ease, and sits Jason down. And then, she spends that morning while her parents are asleep telling him all about her and Danny's past.

After all of it, Jason sits back with a tired sigh, processing everything.

Then he furrows his brows.

"Wait, so, is all the food in the fridge contaminated with ectoplasm?"

"Yeah?" Danny answers.

Jason pulls out the black card he stole from Bruce's wallet last night.

"We're buying a new fridge."

Jason also manages to successfully impress Danny with his cooking. "Jazz, if you don't marry him, I will make him adopt me!"

Jason just wonders why the siblings don't question his guns. (Danny watches over Jason sometimes, on nights Jazz was worried over the guy. And Danny was also worried about Jason, because Jason felt like a baby ghost. The two knows his secret, and they're both very proud of him, Danny especially for some reason... It's not because he feels like a baby!!!

And while Jason was being watched over by Danny as Phantom, he feels a sense of calm, like being protected in the warm arms of a parent/family *snort*)

***

I... I have no words, anon. You have here a whole AU.

(Jason's love language being food will never get old for me hehehehehehhe)

Honestly squealed at this

And he's been waving his hand for a solid 30 seconds with a dopey grin on his face before Nightwing pops up behind him with a shit-eating grin, scaring the shit out of Jason. "Who's the giiiiiiiiiirl?"

And also, Alfred knows what's up 👀

Alfred hands Jason a recipe book titled "Recipes That Will Definitely Get You a Date".

I can imagine the slow burn going on and their respective siblings Suffering(tm) because they ship it so hard and they want to meet them in person and you know what, fuck it, they will bond with bf/gf on their own and

Danny dropping the invisibility while stalking Jason like heyyyyyyy whats upppp and honestly becoming friends on their own and lots of undead bonding going on.

and batkids taking Jasmine out for fun stuff, maybe for ice cream and tell her all the dirt on their brother and Alfred sent a specifically made for her album with pictures of baby Jason when he arrived at the Manor and it was supposed to be used for blackmail, but Jasmine looks so excited about the photos and damn they can't pick on him anymore

idk the packaged food and househusband Jason got to me

thanks for the treat, anon

#gil answers #danny phantom #batman dc #dp x dc #jazz x jason #anger management ship #jazz fenton #jason todd #batpham #dc x dp #dpxdc

[aloneinthehellfire]

Chapter 9: The Shire Is Burning

Season One | Season Two | Season Three | Season Four

Raining Hellfire: Season Four

Word Count: 4759 words

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death, vecna's curse, visions, teeny little bit of angst if you squint

[A/N: finally bringing eddie back my god i missed him]

The Shire Is Burning

Max had saved your life.

When Vecna’s curse had caught up to you, your sister was prepared. She had noticed your strange demeanour over the past few hours, knowing the difference between concern and fear. You had been trying to reach out to her before dismissing it, and she could see it. So, when she had the time, Max had rummaged through a bunch of tapes in the Wheeler basement and found what she had been searching for.

“Okay, why are you in my car?” You frown and Max laughs, causing a smirk to appear on your face from the sound.

“I was wondering when you’d notice.” She shook her head, glancing at the stereo. “Can we play some music?”

“Sure.” You sigh, trying to ignore the fact that she avoided your question. “A free ride to Starcourt it is.”

The car started blaring Journey’s Separate Ways and she groaned.

“Do you ever listen to anything else?” She said but she sat back, bopping her head along to the beat.

The song you had played over and over again during the summer was something that stained Max’s brain. She would find herself humming the tune on days she thought of you, remembering the late night conversations in your car when you had saved her from another bomb of a family dinner.

And now you sat there with her in the back of Nancy’s car, music blasting through both of your ears as Max rested her head on your shoulder, hand grasping yours tightly.

Another Walkman had been found and claimed yours, the same song played over and over as price for being another victim to the curse. A change of clothes had done everyone some good before you all headed out with food to deliver to Eddie.

Eddie. You had no idea how you were going to tell him you’re cursed too.

“Not to be a wimp, but can I maybe sit in the car for this visit?” Robin pleads to Nancy, enjoying the perks of the front passenger seat, “Cause this is gonna totally and royally suck.”

“It’ll be fine.” Nancy shakes her head in dismissal.

“I just can’t stand to see those dull eyes of Eddie’s break again. I really, really can’t.”

Lucas glances at you as you lower your head, shifting your headphones so you had one ear bare to hear better.

“At least he can drink himself into feeling better.” Steve suggests from where he and Dustin sat in the very back, munching on snacks meant for Eddie. He brushed a crumb from his jumper, the soft yellow bringing back memories.

“That’s what my mom does.” Max shrugs, smirking at you as you smile at her dark humour.

“Why don’t we just give it a trial run?” Robin straightens in her seat, clearing her throat. “Hey, Eddie. Uh, good news first this time. We got you some Dustin-approved junk food and that six-pack that you requested. Oh yeah, and we found Vecna.”

“Strong start.” You offer and Robin shakes her head into continuation.

“Only the bad news is that he’s in that other, darker, much scarier dimension that we told you about, and the gates closed so we have no way of getting to him. Like, he’s entirely shut off to us, so basically you’re screwed. And, no, I know you were already screwed, but now you’re like doubly, triply screwed.”

“Okay-” Nancy tries to intervene but Robin kept going.

“And, and, if you didn’t think that was enough of a punch to the gut, Vecna has now claimed Y/n as another marked victim and she almost died, much like her sister, so, yeah, nothing is going your way but at least you have beer and chips.”

You shift uncomfortably in your seat and Max squeezes your hand.

“Wait, wait, wait. Maybe we don’t put it like that.” Lucas interrupts, raising his eyebrows.

“We’re one step closer to finding Vecna.” Nancy nods, staring ahead at the road, “That’s what we say. That’s what’s important.”

“See, Robin?” Steve calls out with a mouthful of chips, “A positive spin can make all the difference.”

“Uh-huh.” Robin rolls her eyes in annoyance, “I don’t see how Y/n also being cursed can have a positive spin to it but sure, I’m wrong here.”

“Don’t have to make something positive if you just don’t tell them.” You mutter and Robin spins in her seat to stare back at you.

“That guy is in love with you and you don’t think he should know you could die?” Robin widens her eyes and you shake your head.

“It won’t change anything.” You say, “Max and I are still cursed, and he could come back for us at literally any second. Telling more people will just end in more panic and anxiety when we should really be focusing on finding and killing Vecna.”

“Agreed.” Dustin mumbles through food and Steve nods along.

“Yeah.” Steve shoves another chip into his mouth, “Plus, I don’t think he’s in love, you know?”

Everyone turns to stare at him and he stops, mouth full with a confused expression.

“What?” He asks and you purse your lips.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” You comment, turning back and focusing on the road.

“No, I didn’t mean-”

“Holy shit.” Nancy breathes out and everyone stills, noticing the hoard of people currently occupying the front of the lake house.

News cameras and journalists were scattered across the road to the boathouse, officers keeping everyone away while the man in charge sorted out some kind of documents. Chief Powell.

If the police were here, you were screwed.

Once the wagon was parked, you all practically flew out of it, rendezvousing behind a reporter’s van to listen to Chief Powell’s statement.

“As many of you know, the Roane County line received a call a little after midnight…” Powell clears his throat. You stare at the crowd of people, heart hammering faster, “… reporting a homicide here on the lake.”

You all exchange scared looks.

“Officer Callahan here and myself arrived first on the scene.” Powell continues, “We made our way to the shore of Lover’s Lake, about ten yards from that house you see behind me. It was there that we found the victim, an 18 year old senior from Hawkins High, Patrick McKinney.”

Lucas face drops and your breath hitches. He lost a friend.

“His limbs…” Powell takes a breath, looking uneasy, “… his body, it was disfigured. There was an eyewitness on the scene. We have also identified a person of interest.”

Powell shuffles through some papers and you slowly shake your head.

“Don’t say it.” You whisper, already expecting the face that appeared on the photo currently being held up to the public.

“Eddie Munson.” Powell confirms and Dustin looks to you with the same panicked expression, “We encourage anyone with information to please come forward.”

“Oh man,” Steve mutters, “This is not good. This is really not good.”

“Fuck.” You say as you walk back to the car, controlling your breathing.

His name was public, putting a target on his back for something he never did. Vecna chose to kill Chrissy in Eddie’s trailer. He chose to ruin Eddie’s life. Because he knew it would hurt you.

“Dustin? Can you hear me? Y/n?”

You hear Eddie’s voice blare out of the radio in Dustin’s hands as everyone else approaches the car, causing you to walk over to the sound.

“Eddie. Holy shit.” Dustin replies, sharing a relieved look with you.

“Are you okay?” You ask, feeling uneasy the longer Eddie took to answer.

“To tell you the truth?” Eddie replies with a shaky voice. “Pretty… pretty god damn far from okay.”

“Where are you?” Dustin questions after a little push from Robin.

“Skull Rock.” Eddie answers and you find yourself looking to Steve. Who was looking right back at you. “Do you know it?”

“Oh yeah.” Dustin nods, “That’s near Cornwallis and-”

“Garret, yeah. I know where that is.” Steve finishes, pushing away from the group to begin leading everyone to the location.

“Hold tight. We’re coming.” Dustin tells Eddie, noticing how you were staring at the radio. He wordlessly hands it to you.

“Eds?” You speak into the radio cautiously, walking to catch up with the others, Dustin by your side.

“Yeah?”

“We’re gonna get you out of this mess.” You say with determination in your voice.

“I believe you.” He replies with such emotion, you knew it was the truth.

“See you soon.” You bid farewell quickly, handing the radio back to Dustin.

You notice Dustin’s confused face and you raise an eyebrow.

“You okay?”

“Yeah…” He shakes his head slowly, “I just thought… never mind.”

Before you could question it, the others are calling out to you to catch up and Dustin pulls out his compass, striding forward.

“I’m slowly getting sick of this song.” You groan, slipping the headphones off to rest them around your neck.

“Yeah, well, it’s either listen to the same song for a few hours or die.” Robin says and you stare at her.

“Yes. Thank you for reminding me.” You deadpan and she offers an apologetic smile.

You walked through the woods with Nancy and Robin by your side, the three of you already tired of the constant bickering between Steve and Dustin up ahead.

Max and Lucas were quiet behind you but you knew they appreciated having time together.

“You know what you’re going to tell Eddie, yet?” Nancy asks, biting her lip as she matches your strides.

“Uh…” You purse your lips. “Considering how he’s wanted for murder in a town that already hated him? I think we should just focus on one thing at a time.”

“Dude, I’m telling you.” Steve raised voice caught your attention, “You’re taking us the wrong way.”

“It’s north.” Dustin holds up the paper in his hands. “I’m positive. I checked the map.”

“You do realise that Skull Rock is like a super popular make-out spot?” Steve asks just as the three of you close the distance with them, walking directly behind now.

“Yeah. So?” Dustin sounds exhausted and irritated, checking his compass.

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t popular until I made it popular.” Steve brags, “All right? I practically invented it. Every girl I took there… boom.”

“Every girl?” You join in and Steve almost trips over. “That’s so weird, cause I remember you taking me there freshman year.”

“Wow.” Dustin widens his eyes, a shit-eating grin on his face, “Steve struck out.”

“Wasn’t the first time.” Robin snorted, memories from Scoops causing Steve to nod viciously.

“Yep, yep. Thank you all for sharing.” He grumbled, walking faster, “It doesn’t change the fact we’re heading in the wrong direction.”

Steve takes a different path from Dustin, earning a shout of protest. You sigh, following him down into the woods.

“Y/n!” Dustin whines, “Where are you going?”

“I gotta go with Steve on this one.” You shrug.

“Stop whining.” Steve adds on, looking over his shoulder. “Let’s go. Trust me.”

“I don’t trust you.” Dustin states before slumping his shoulders. “But I do trust Y/n, so…”

Steve looks offended as the others follow you both.

You were now venturing further toward Skull Rock with him by your side, a strange silence crashing over the both of you. Every time he glanced at you, you would offer a kind smile before returning to focus on where you stood. You walked little ahead of him once you realised where you were.

Steve wasn’t lying when he said he invented Skull Rock. You had heard the stories of him with girls circulating around the school, but it was different when he took you there that one time. Sure, you had thought about kissing him. But he was just a friend back then, you knew that. He was always too focused on your best friend to even be thinking about you.

“Hey, Y/n?” Steve calls out and you stop, slowing your steps to walk in time with his.

“What’s up?” You smile, fiddling with the bottom of your denim jacket.

“Are… are we okay?”

You frown, looking up at his worried eyes, “Yeah. Yeah, of course we are. Why, is something wrong?”

“No, no. It’s, uh, no, nothing’s wrong.” He shakes his head, brows furrowed.

“Like I’d believe that.” You let out a breathy laugh, “Seriously, why would you think we aren’t?”

He takes a breath, staring at the ground, “You’ve been really nice to me lately.”

A surprised laugh escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“It’s not funny, don’t laugh.” He says as a chuckle begins to form in his throat.

“I’m sorry, I just- I’m being nice and that’s what made you think I, what, hated you or something?” You laugh, shaking your head.

“Okay, yeah, I see how that would make zero sense.” He winces, laughing, “But… I don’t know. I guess I got so used to you, like, making comments and stuff. Like you used to.”

Your laughter dies down and Steve looks at you.

“I’m really sorry about that.” You say with such genuine emotion, he immediately stops.

“What, no-”

“Look,” You interrupt, facing him, “When I moved to Florida… it made me think through a lot of things. And one thought that kept appearing, I guess, was you.”

“Me?” He raises an eyebrow, a smile playing on his lips, as you both continue walking.

“Yeah.” You nod, looking ahead, “A lot of stuff about you. But… one thing in particular was how I treated you.”

“What?” He looks surprised, “Y/n, you never treated me bad. Maybe, maybe after the whole Tommy and Carol thing, but you had every right to do that. I was an asshole-”

“Was.” You emphasise with a sad smile. “You’re not anymore. Not after… not after you got dragged into this mess. And I get that, you know, we’d poke fun at eachother and that’s all good and great but… I realised that I wasn’t the only one.”

Steve shakes his head, “What do you mean?”

“It’s all fun and games when one person is, I don’t know, making jokes and… I guess it’s more considered to be banter than an actual attack. But then everyone else in this group constantly does it too and it was only when I stepped away from it all that I realised…”

“Realised what?”

“I truly hope you don’t think you’re dumb.” You say and he laughs for a second before really focusing on you. “Or useless. Or anything that makes you feel lesser than you actually are because those idiots don’t appreciate you. Not out loud, anyway.”

“Y/n.” He stops you, looking behind at the others still following at a slower pace before placing his hands on your shoulders. “I don’t care what they think.”

“I just wanted you to know.” You shrug and he tilts his head.

“Look,” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, “Sometimes… yeah, sometimes I think a little too much about what someone says, or a small comment, but at the end of the day… I was an asshole to all of these people.”

“No.” You shake your head. “Okay, yes, you did some things that you most definitely regret. But you’ve done more than enough to make up for that.”

He looks away and resumes walking, frowning,“I-”

“You saved my life, Steve.”

His eyes find their way back to yours, stopping just before the end of the tree line and you hold his gaze, “I wouldn’t be here without you. These kids… they’re little shits but they know for a fact that you’d do anything to protect them. Nancy, Robin… you’ve helped them in more ways than you realise. Robin finally feels safe with someone, you know? And Nance… it might not have been something you wanted but you gave her that extra push. And I’d be damned if I let Vecna kill me before I made sure you knew how great you are.”

Steve stills for a moment before leaning in and kissing your forehead, muttering something under his breath you didn’t quite catch before looking back down at you. “I’d save your life over and over again if it meant you could stay in mine. Trust me.”

You lean your forehead against his, smiling. “I trust you.”

“Oh.”

Pulling away from eachother, you stare at Dustin who had somehow managed to catch up quickly, a smirk on his lips as he waggles his eyebrows.

“Ew, Dustin.”

“Dude, no.”

“You can try to deny it,” Dustin shakes his head, walking closer, “But I can see the truth.”

“We’re just friends.” You smile and Steve tentatively shakes his head next to you.

“Yeah, man.” He shrugs, patting Dustin on the shoulder, “Just accept you’re actually wrong about something.”

Dustin rolls his eyes before noticing something behind you, “Wow, you actually found it.”

You all turn back to see Skull Rock in the distance, a flutter of joy in your stomach as you realised you had found Eddie.

“Well?” Dustin looks between you both, “We going or what?”

“Huh.” You say as a smile creeps onto your face.

Steve frowns at you. “What?”

“This is now the second time you’re not gonna get to kiss me at Skull Rock.” You comment and he clicks his jaw, avoiding a smile.

“Screw you.” He mutters with a laugh.

You push past all the overgrown leaves to step out into an opening, a giant stone situated in the middle of the space, towering over you all. Skull Rock.

“In your face, man.” Steve taunts to Dustin, “In your stupid, cocky little face.”

Dustin just stares down at his compass, frowning. “It just doesn’t make sense.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve rolls his eyes, “Even with it staring you in the face, you can’t admit it. You just can’t admit that you’re wrong, you butt-head.”

You laugh at the nickname just as you hear something jump down from behind you and Dustin.

“I concur.”

Eddie stands before you all with a crooked grin, “You, Dustin Henderson, are a… total butt-head.”

“Jesus, we thought you were a goner.” Dustin smiles in relief, hugging Eddie who stares at you in confusion before patting him on the back. You chuckle at the sight.

“Yeah, me too, man.” Eddie admits, pulling away. “Me too.”

“Hey.” You wave at him and he grins.

“Hi.” He returns just as the others join you all.

Behind you, Steve stares at the interaction with hands on his hips, looking away and staring back at Skull Rock, a small frown on his face.

Nancy handed over the supplies you bought as everyone gathered around, sitting or standing. Eddie crouched just below the rock, explaining last night’s events; Jason and his crew had found him, leading him to escape. But not before witnessing yet another murder.

“When I got to the shore, I tried calling you guys, but, uh…” Eddie takes a long drink from the water bottle and you wonder how long he’s gone without any real sustenance, “My walkie was busted, man. Drenched. So, uh, I did the thing that I do now, apparently. I ran.”

You stare down at your shoes. He wasn’t the only one running lately.

“Do you know what time this was?” Nancy asks, “The attack?”

“Yeah.” Eddie nods, “I… I know exactly what time it was. My walkie wasn’t the only thing that got soaked.”

As he removed his watch, you caught the familiar blue glint of the ring on his right hand, warming your heart. He still wore it. Just like you still wore your necklace.

He tosses the watch over to Nancy and she looks at the time, her breath hitching before turning to stare at you.

“9:27.” She states.

“Same time our flashlights went kablooey.” Robin notes and you shift uncomfortably.

“Which means what, exactly?” Steve frowns.

“That surge of energy was Vecna attacking Patrick.” Nancy confirms and you feel sick. How was it possible that someone died right before Vecna attacked you?

“Well, we’re one step closer.” Robin says, “We know how Vecna attacks.”

Behind you, you notice Dustin pacing, still staring down at his compass.

“And where he attacks from.” Lucas adds, an involuntary glance being sent your way.

“So now we just need to sneak into his lair in the Upside Down and drive a stake through his heart.” Max suggests and you raise your eyebrow.

“If he even has a heart.” Robin sighs.

“A stake?” Steve shakes his head, sharing a look with you, “Is he like a vamp? Is he a vampire?”

“It was a metaphor.” Max sighs, aggravated.

“A bullet should work on him, right?” Eddie suggests and you shake your head.

“Probably not.” You groan, stretching your arms, “He is a mind wizard after all, it’s gotta be something more than that.”

“I say we chop his head off.” Lucas promotes and you shrug at the idea.

“Go all ‘Chainsaw Massacre’ on him.” You suggest and Lucas points to you, nodding.

“I say all of the above, but we can’t do any of that until we find a way into the Upside Down.” Nancy stresses and you groan.

“The only way through is by a gate.” You say and Max looks to you.

“Didn’t you say you’ve been there before? Like Vecna took you there?” She tries and you frown.

“He did what?” Eddie glances between you both.

“It… I don’t think it was like that.” You wince, pinching the bridge of your nose, “I think he was just showing me things, I don’t think he can literally transport someone to the Upside Down.”

“We need El to get her powers back.” Max sighs.

“Everything was way easier.” Steve dreams before remembering Eddie was sat there listening to all of this, “We had this girl. She had superpowers.”

“Superpowers. Yeah, you mentioned her.” Eddie nods slightly, “You also said Y/n...”

“Yeah but that’s not an option right now.” Max states and you tilt your head. “I know we have you and whatever magic shit you got going on, but it doesn’t work unless we’re down there.”

“No.” Steve shakes his head and you raise your eyebrows at him, “What? It almost got you killed last time you used them. In fact, both times.”

“Wait. What?” Eddie holds his hand out and you look down at him, taking a breath.

“It’s something that takes a lot of energy from me.” You explain, everyone keen on listening, “I am kind of... connected to the Mind Flayer.”

“Seriously?” Lucas perks up, “Oh, wait, yeah. Starcourt.”

Max shifts uncomfortably at the mention and Lucas sends an apologetic look. She merely shrugs it off.

“Mind Flayer. Good to know.” Eddie nods, before his eyes catch sight of the boy pacing behind you, muttering under his breath. “Hey, uh, Henderson’s not, uh, cursed, is he?”

“Cursed? No, no. He’s fine.” Steve shakes his head, “Mental? Absolutely.”

“I guess he’s just a little less traumatised than the two of us.” Max comments so casually it just slips out and she widens her eyes.

“Two?” Eddie frowns, looking around the group and meeting your eyes last. Your heart leaps to your throat. You needed to tell him.

“Boom!” Dustin yells and everyone jumps.

“The fuck?” You breathe, clutching your heart.

“Bada… bada… boom.” Dustin points a finger at you and Steve, and you both look confused.

“What’s he going on about?” Steve mutters to you and you shake your head.

“Hell if I know.”

“I was right.” Dustin continues, a smug look on his face, “Skull rock was North!”

“Seriously?” Steve frowns, “You’re serious? We’re at Skull Rock! Right now! You were wrong!”

“Yes. And no.” He nods and you groan.

“Oh my god.” Steve runs a hand across his face, pacing off the irritation.

“Dustin.” You try, stepping forward, “It’s not our fault your compass is broken.”

“See, that’s the thing.” He holds up the small device, “This worked correctly when we left the Wheelers’. It was correct when we got in the car on Curly. But it started to slip the further East we went. Now it’s way off. When I was leading us here, I wasn’t wrong. The compass was.”

“So you’re using faulty equipment.” Steve stresses in exasperation. “You’re still wrong.”

You frown, thinking it through. “That only happens when there’s a stronger pull.”

“Exactly!” Dustin clicks his finger. “Lucas, remember what Y/n told us about compasses? What pulls them?”

Lucas scratches his head before widening his eyes. “An electromagnetic field.”

“I’m sorry, I must have skipped that class.” Robin furrows her brows and Dustin stares at you with a grin.

“Uh, okay.” You blink, “In the presence of a stronger electromagnetic field, the needle on the compass will deflect towards that power. So it would mean that there’s an impossibly giant magnet laying in the woods, or…”

“There’s a gate.” Lucas finishes and you nod.

Dustin laughs, pointing to you. “The compasses will show the way.”

“Hey, Y/N! You coming?” Dustin ran up to you, taking your arm to lead you with them.

“I… I can’t.” You said and he looked up at you with a frown. “Look, I have stuff I need to take care of. And I think… it will help us find Will, okay?”

He still didn’t look convinced. “But we need your help.” He added, pouting.

“Don’t make that face. You know I can’t say no to that face.” You sighed, rubbing your temple, “Okay… how about I try and give you a pointer-” You stopped, a thought popping up into your mind.

“What? What is it?”

“Compasses.” You said.

“What about them?”

“If this gate is disturbing the magnetic field… then the compasses will show the way.” You were going to explain more when you saw Jonathan ushering you over, pointing to the back of the room. “Look, I really need to go now. I’ll speak to you later!” And with that, you hurried back inside.

“Way to be cryptic!” You heard Dustin say in the distance. You wish you could be spending more time with them, but you had a mission of your own.

You smile at his memory, the ‘cryptic’ words you had told them when they needed help finding Will.

“But we’re nowhere near the lab.” Nancy says.

“But what if, somehow, there’s another gate?” Dustin suggests. “A gate that we don’t know about. It’d have to be smaller. Way less powerful.”

“Snack-size gate.” Robin says and you smirk before goosebumps trail along your skin.

“It’ll have to be recent then.” You say, shaking off the jitters you suddenly felt.

“How? Why?” Steve shakes his head.

“No idea.” Dustin admits. “All I know is that something is causing this disturbance…”

Tick, tick, tick, tick.

You glance behind you, feeling something breathe on you. But there’s nothing.

“...and the last time we’ve seen anything like it, it was a gate.”

Tick, tick, tick, tick.

Another quick glance and your throat tightens. It wasn’t a creature, but an object. In the middle of the woods, out of place. A grandfather clock. And its face was cracked with three scars.

“And I hope it is because then we’d have a way to Vecna!” Dustin was grasping onto hope now, excited at the possibility of ending this, “And a shot at freeing Max and Y/n from this curse.”

There’s a wave of silence, Dustin unknowing to his mistake, and Max widens her eyes.

“Shit.” Eddie mutters and you visibly still. He finds your eyes and you squeeze your own shut. Well, now he knew.

Dustin starts to run back down into the woods and Steve steps forward.

“Where are you going?” He asks but Dustin doesn’t stop. “Hey, hey, hey.”

Dustin stops, turning around with an unimpressed look.

“Eddie’s still a wanted man.” Steve stresses, “We can’t just go for a hike in the woods.”

“This little steel capsule might be the key to saving both the Mayfields and Eddie.” Dustin holds his compass proudly. “What say you, Eddie the Banished?”

“I say you’re asking me to follow you into Mordor,” Eddie replies, thinking it through, “Which, if I’m totally straight with you, I think is a really bad idea. But, uh, the Shire...”

Eddie glances at you with an expression you can’t quite read as he fiddles with the ring on his right hand.

“The Shire is burning.”

Eddie stares down at the ground for a moment before meeting your eyes again. He gives a little nod, standing up and taking a breath.

“So Mordor it is.”

Chapter 10: In The Deep ->

if any are unable to tag i will colour them in red, my only suggestion is to check ur visibility settings :)

taglist: @gnnnne / @beepisbeep / @paintballkid711 / @eddiesbirdie / @livasaurasrex / @darktimelegends / @jackierose902109 / @mvrylee / @chervbs / @eternallyvenus / @nervouscatsuit / @f1nn-wolfhard / @hereiamhereigo / @ladybug0095 / @fangirling-4-ever / @astrolockley / @mothmanatemycat / @sheisjoeschateau / @champagnejoker / @umidktbh / @fallinginlovewithqueue

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #eddie munson #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #max mayfield #vecna #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #eleven stranger things #erica sinclair #st4 #stranger things 4 #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #vecna’s curse #stranger things reader insert #fanfic

[waterfallofspace]

Old Habits and New Friends.

The one where Y/osano has a cold, and learns how to be okay with this 'weakness' showing in front of her coworkers family. In turn, she learns a bit more about how much they care for her.

So I've been thinking about the beloved bringer of life doctor a lot. She's haunting in every sense and I adore her. Thus, this was born. There's quite a lot of 'character dynamic study' things in this, just fair warning! I love thinking about 'A/DA as a Family' Things <3

Characters: Y/osano, R/anpo, D/azai, K/unikida, F/ukuzawa (briefly) and no ships, this is all platonic-family things <3 Word Count: 2.9k

(References to Y/osano's backstory so slight spoiler warning)

~~~~~~~

As she stands outside the offices of the Armed Detective Agency, Yosano allows herself to take a moment. A gloved hand rubs her nose, trying to fend off the cold that’s been attempting to break her all week. Sickness isn’t a common occurrence for her, but it’s not incredibly rare either. She bites back a cough as she reaches for the handle of the door, sliding into the office with confidence she isn’t quite feeling. 

The room is mostly empty, the only other person visible being Ranpo. He’s seated at his desk, munching on some ‘candy of the week’ and scanning the paper. ‘Likely hunting for cases. He managed to irritate the police again so they haven’t come to him for a few days. Seems he’s getting bored.’ Her presence isn’t addressed, though there’s no doubt he knows she’s here. 

Another prickle works its way through her chest, barely being contained by a quick throat clear. Pointing herself towards her office, Yosano allows her gait to border on running as she glides towards the safe embrace of privacy. Being sick has never been something she was fond of, even before Mori. 

She’s always had the mentality of ‘fight through it, don’t show weakness’. Mori certainly didn’t help with that, stoking her strong personality right alongside the fear of being weak. Even with the ADA, she’d managed to distance if sickness emerged, or fight off anything before it could progress past a mild cold. 

“Yosano?”

Freezing, she allows the hope of a clean escape to fizzle away, pasting a smile onto her face as she turns to face Ranpo. ‘Hopefully he just wants a little praise, or help picking a case. Something simple I can finish quickly before he notices I’m… unwell.’ The thought is pointless, he’s been aware from the minute he saw her. She knows this just as much as him. Still, denial is a powerful drug if you want to believe it strongly enough. 

“Yes, Ranpo?”

“Help me with these cases. They’re just all so boring! Not worth the trip, I could solve them from here. Is it so much to ask for something interesting to happen?”

“Let me have a look. Hm, what about this one? Three people vanished from the-”

“The most boring of them all! It’s so obvious that it was the ferry captain, and they’ll all be returned safely within the week, it’s some insurance thing.” 

“I see. Well then, ma- hehh… maybe the car crash?” 

“Open and shut, he was on his phone and fled the scene. He’ll turn himself in tomorrow, the guilt weighing on him. Next!”

“There’s also th- the… hh’keshh-! hk’yieshh’iee-! ih’keshh’ieu-! Excuse me, sorry.” 

She ducks into her arm for the fit, turning as far from Ranpo as possible. When she spins back with the apology falling off her tongue, Ranpo has leaned forward, eyes showing under the brim of his hat. He’s looking her over in a way she’s painfully familiar with: studying her. After a moment he lets the nonchalant look rest over his face once more, eyes ducking back under his hat.

“It’s fine. Unlike my boredom. Find me an interesting case, I’m running out of snacks!”

“Is that how we ask for things?”

“Mmm… fine. Please find me an interesting case.” 

“Better. I mean- it’s quite difficult since you’re so talented at solving them but… hold on- ek’teshh’ieu-! Scuse me. Maybe this one?” 

“That one is al- oh actually, I didn’t see that one before.” 

“You’re welcome then. So is it worthy of your-” 

Breaking off, Yosano spins around again, aiming the cough towards her arm once more. She lets her thoughts wander as it pours out. ‘Damn it, I was hoping to hold out a little longer. This cold might be stronger than I gave it credit for, but I’m still tougher. I can take it.’ Ranpo has remained silent, but as she turns back he meets her gaze with a smile.

“You want a candy?”

“No, I’m okay. Thank you though.”

“I think you should have a candy. It’s exactly what you need right now.”

“Well alright, since you insist…” 

Grin forming, Ranpo reaches into his desk and pulls out a bright wrapper, holding it out in his palm. A blush creeps across Yosano’s face as she recognizes the brand of cough drop. She takes it, turning it over between her fingers before popping it in her mouth. In an effort to change the topic from the direction it’s steering in, she dawns a playful smirk.

“You shouldn’t be eating these like sweets, you know. They’re not bad for you, but they are still medicine.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t snack on them. I just keep them around in case…”

“Good to hear. And uh… thank you, Ranpo.” 

“No problem!” 

The innocent tone is a comfort and she offers a smile in return. The taste of honey offers a soothing relief against her throat, but does nothing for the buzzing in her nose. Rubbing a finger against it, she allows a single sniff before dropping her hand again. She chews up the cough drop, surprise crossing her features as Ranpo lets out a laugh. 

“I thought I was the only one who did that!”

“Did what..?”

“Chewed them up. You’re supposed to suck on them, but I’ve always liked chewing them.” 

“Oh, yeah! Actually… you are supposed to let them linger. It’s better for you that way, you get to absorb more of the effects, but I’ve never had the patience for thhahh… that. hH’ieshh’iue-! hk’eshhii-! ek’zieshh’ieu-!” 

“Shouldn’t you be at home resting?”

The laughter they had been sharing fades immediately. Her body language veers to defensive, arms crossing over her chest. The change doesn’t go unnoticed by Ranpo as he sits up in the chair, head tilting down to meet her eyes. All smiles are gone, instead her face is tight, a tense calm resting over it as Ranpo offers something unreadable. 

“I’m fine to work.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t. I asked if you should be resting.”

“No. I don’t need to rest, I’m f- fine… hh’eNG’shh-! ek’tnngt-!”

“Hey… you don’t need to do that.”

“Do- hn’tngt-! what?”

“You know what I mean. There’s no need to do that, okay?” 

Yosano pales a little, but gives a tight nod as she feels the tickle swell once more. ‘It’s okay. It’s okay with Ranpo, it’s… it’s okay.’ She lets the words repeat in her head, arms slowly uncrossing as she raises one to her face, leaning away from Ranpo again. 

“hk’iESHh’ihh-! heh’KSHHii-! heh- kn’TIEZSHhh’iue-!” 

Without a word Ranpo abruptly stands, starting to walk towards the couch. He gestures for her to follow, and with a hint of hesitation, she does. Once they reach it, Ranpo sits first, choosing a position at one end of it, before motioning next to him. She follows the direction once more, still hesitant, trying to figure out where this is going. 

She sinks down onto the couch, posture tight, each muscle tensing. ‘What is he going for here… is he trying to put me at ease? It’s not working if so… b- but that’s not like him. There’s got to be some goal. Some plan he’s putting to work based on deductions about me and my health. Maybe he’s-’ Before she can finish the thought a sensation rips her from the spiral.

Ranpo has one hand running down her back, calm eyes peeking out from behind his hat. It’s as if he’s waiting for her reaction before continuing. She lets herself go limp, releasing the tension that had been gripping her. A small smile slips over his features, his other hand coming up and guiding her head down to his shoulder. Before she can process the change, she finds herself relaxing into his touch. 

“I’m gonna keep looking for cases. You are gonna rest.”

“You’re not the boss of me.” 

Even as the words form on her lips she feels her eyes flutter shut, leaning deeper into Ranpo’s shoulder. True to his word, he begins rambling about cases, explaining the ones that are too easy, and pondering on the ones he’d need to see the scene to figure out. Yosano lets herself drift into the sounds of the office, worry fading away. 

~~~

After a few minutes the door slams open, Dazai waltzing in. He freezes at the sight of them, hands in his pockets as he surveys the scene. Yosano pops up quickly, careful to tighten her expressions once more as she feigns nonchalance, letting her legs cross and one arm droop over the couch. The safety she felt with Ranpo has evaporated, her relationship with Dazai not solid enough to allow it to remain. 

Weakness has never been something she’s okay with others seeing, and Ranpo was the first it truly felt okay with. Dazai though… while she doesn’t dislike the man, she’s hesitant to let him see her in that state.

‘I see Mori in him sometimes… Just- in the small things. The way he carries himself, how he plans, the expressions he’ll choose to wear. Though… I often wonder if he feels the same about me. I know he isn’t the same, and I shouldn’t be treating him like he is… but…’ 

She lets her eyes drift to his face, expecting some form of taunt to spill out at any time. Instead, much to her surprise, his usually unreadable expression softens and without a word he places himself on the free side of her.

Her gaze tracks each movement, hand raising to her mouth as another cough starts to break through. Through it all, Dazai remains silent, posture very cautiously relaxed in that deeply rehearsed method she’s all too familiar with.

The coughing tampers off, the itch in her nose taking this as a perfect time to re-emerge. For a minute she considers suppressing it, but Ranpo’s hand still gently rubbing her back provides enough comfort to let it out against her arm. 

“hh’KSHH’iee-! hk’ESHH’iue-! hahhh- tnSHH’ihh-! ‘Scuse me.”

“Bless you.”

“Th- thank you.” 

The blessing comes as a surprise, and she finds herself thanking him out of instinct. She still holds a reasonable amount of caution, but there’s something… almost soft about the expression he’s wearing. As she lets out another sniffle, he points a measured look in her direction, before muttering something.

“Sorry, didn’t quite catch that?” 

There’s a noticeable pause as Dazai’s cheeks gain a hint more colour than before. He raises his gaze to meet hers, and clears his throat before speaking again. Yosano can’t help but feel a rush of protectiveness as the voice that comes out sounds almost timid. 

“I just asked if you were feeling okay?”

Yosano wants to say yes. Everything inside her is screaming to say yes. ‘Deny till the very end, don’t show weakness, don’t admit flaws. Tell him that you’re fine, and then be fine. We don’t tolerate weakness in our soldiers.’ But… something about the cautious look on his normally collected face washes every image of Mori from her mind. 

Dazai is nothing like him, no, he’s just like her. Taken in way too young by a person with no intentions of saving them. Never given the chance to be anything other than what he planned for.

She had managed to find something special here; to become someone special here. Someone that’s good, and kind, and her. And watching Dazai’s actions since he joined… seeing the look on his face now… well, maybe he’s trying to find that too. 

“Not really. I have a bit of a cold. hih’ISHhiee-! aisHH’iew-! hk’SHH’iue-! hh’KSHH’ih-!” 

“Bless you.” 

“Wow, even I couldn’t get her to admit to illness out loud.” 

Up until now Ranpo had remained silent, watching the interaction play out. However, upon her admittance, he gives a low noise, somewhere between a chuckle and a gasp. At the statement Yosano turns to him, Dazai’s eyes following suit, and gives him a light smack. 

“Hey! That hurt…” 

“Oh really? Are you- injured now? Because I can certainly help with that if youuu…”

“No! No, no I think I’m okay.” 

Laughter bubbles from her chest as she lets her head dip to rest once more against Ranpo’s shoulder. Dazai joins in with a light chuckle of his own, leaning back into the couch. Not a minute passes until Yosano’s sitting up again, another set of sneezes tumbling out into her waiting arm. 

“hh’KSHHiee-! aiiyshhh’iue-! hehh’tizshh’iue-! Excuse me.” 

“Bless. Hang on.” 

With that Dazai stands up, walking over to his desk and starting to aggressively rummage through the drawers. Ranpo and Yosano watch it unfold, neither sure what he’s doing, until he returns, triumphantly holding a pack of tissues above his head.

“Thought you might want these!”

“I didn’t know you kept tissues in your desk?”

“Yeah, well… never know when they might come in useful. Placing them in Kunikida’s belongings when he comes in with the sniffles is particularly fun.”

“You’ve done- hH’TSHH’iee-! ‘Scuse me. Done that before?”

“Of course! This one time I bought a bunch of identical packs, then kept leaving one on his chair in the same exact position every time he left the room! When he asked, I always said I didn’t know what he meant. Ended up going home early cause he was sure he was losing his mind!” 

By this point Ranpo is leaning against Yosano, the couch shaking with laughter. Dazai shoots them a wicked smile, tossing the pack at the couch, which she catches easily. Attempting to suppress laughter of her own, she wears a fake glare, pointing it first at Dazai before turning it to Ranpo. 

“Boys, that’s not nice.” 

“Maybe not, but it sure is hilarious. Besides, he’s the one who forces me to do paperwork on a weekend! Way I see it, he’s asking for a little torment.” 

Yosano just sighs, pulling a few tissues out as she directs another “hih’KSHH’ihh-! tiezshh’iue-! hk’ISHH’iee-!” into the soft folds before lightly blowing. Grimacing at the quality of it, she coughs a few times before sucking it up and blowing again.

Ranpo gives her a sympathetic smile before turning back to the paper, dead to the world once more as he surveys cases. Yosano turns her attention back to Dazai as he drops back onto the couch beside her. 

“That was gross, sorry…”

“Don’t worry about it. You should hear me in the spring.”

“You have allergies? I… ih’KSHH’iee-! I never noticed-”

“Bless you. You wouldn’t have. I take meds most of the time, or if it’s a really bad pollen day I tend to just avoid the office. Hah! It drives Kunikida insane.”

“Does it now?”

“He still doesn’t know why I don’t come in during the spring on seemingly random days! I make sure to pick a few days where pollen is low too so he can’t track the pattern. I also make up excuses that he can tell are lies, but can’t actively disprove!” 

There’s a deep seated glee in his voice as he describes all the details of how he torments Kunikida. Yosano can’t help smirking at the boyish nature of the teasing. It’s cut short by another coughing spell, ducking down into her lap. 

This time she feels two hands grazing her back. One is absentmindedly rubbing circles, the other is hesitant but gentle. A yawn escapes as it comes to an end, Ranpo looking up from the paper.

“I told you so! I said you should be resting!” 

“Yes you did. Right as always Ranpo. I guess… I should probably go home…” 

‘But… I don’t really want to… Home is empty. It always feels cold, even with the heat on. But here… with them… this feels warm…’ She doesn’t say any of this out loud, but there’s no need for that. They both know. While Dazai may not have Ranpo’s deduction skills, he sees more than most. 

Slowly they start to shift positions until her head is resting against Ranpo’s lap, her legs strewn over Dazai as he slides in next to Ranpo, echoing her earlier yawn. ‘That man is able to fall asleep anywhere. I’m quite jealous of that skill.’ Letting her tension start to fade away, Yosano feels a sigh escape. She melts into the warm embrace, drifting off to sleep. Dazai quickly follows suit, his head dropping onto Ranpo’s shoulder. 

~~~

About an hour later the door swings open once more, this time Kunikida stepping inside. At the sight of Yosano and Dazai sleeping, he opens his mouth to make a remark. Ranpo shuts him down with a single look, tilting his head to let his eyes show once more. He’s careful not to disturb them, quiet as he begins to speak. 

“Don’t wake them. They need this.” 

“But-” 

Kunikida cuts himself off, pushing up his glasses as he seems to sort through his ideals in his head. Ranpo patiently waits, letting his arm rest against Dazai’s shoulder as the younger man shifts. Eventually the peaceful look on their faces seems to sway Kunikida as he grabs a book and sinks down beside Dazai, beginning to read it. Yosano stirs, a few sleepy sneezes brushing from her lips. 

“hh’ishh-! kishhh-! heh’tieshh-!”

“Bless.” 

The blessing Kunikida offers is timid, volume matching that of the sneezes. A smirk crosses Ranpo’s face as he watches Kunikida attempt to keep his face neutral. Yosano mumbles a thanks before curling back into herself and drifting back off. 

~~~

By the time the president walks in, he finds all four of them asleep, a tangled mess of limbs and snores. They should be working, it’s nearly two on a Thursday, but he can’t bring himself to wake them. Content spreads through his heart, a smile breaking through to his face as he grabs a blanket from beside the couch and lays it over them. 

“Sleep well, children.”

#waterfallwrites #this is SO wordy im so sorry hahaha~ #its also a lot less dialogue focused than my work usually is #so hopefully its still enjoyable #i tried to make sure the paragraphs were a manageable length #aNYWAYS point is- i love their dynamics and poni's yosano drawing got me THINKING sooooo #here this is #thank you to anyone who bothers to read this! #and i hope you enjoy if you do~~ #b/sd #y/osano #snz #snzkink #snzfic

[c3rnunnos]

some portraits of morrigan and nemo. some info on them under the cut

Morrigan Ite Cohen is my Choir scholar oc. they’re... something. i usually refer to them as pathetic, slimy, generally unpleasant, and they can usually be found doing really neat stuff like munching on pieces of ebrietas, delving deep into nightmares and dreams in the hopes of talking (read: eating) whatever great one hides in there, and their goal in life is to consume and ascend. they think of themselves as a chrysalis, and they want to bloom into something beautiful like the god of the sea they saw so long ago. they are... awfully close to their goal too. they are someone that had no setbacks in life ever (aside from maybe being distant from their family on an emotional level), and proceeded to make everything worse for the people around them. from taking parasites from the hunter’s nightmare and using corpses, living patients and even themselves as a breeding ground for the horrid vermin, to eating the corpses of hunters who stopped dreaming, they truly aimed for the stars and became unbearable to their coworkers. fun fact: the scars on their face are not scars. they can open up and show the eyes on the inside. they tend to bleed the black substance that now makes up a majority of morrigan’s insides. fun fact 2: their hair is a mess of tangles cause they tend to braid sections of it when thinking. the only way to salvage it would be to cut it real short. fun fact 3: they used to be the shortest of my ocs. now theyre in the medium section exclusively cause a tall lanky bastard fit the vibe more than a littol creacher. as i made them worse and more evil, they got taller.

Nemo Heliwr is my White Church Hunter/Good Hunter oc. they were a church foundling, even if they were older than usual when the church finally managed to get them. they underwent a childhood as the object of admiration of a cult, and were made so that one day they may birth the child of a great one; their own mother didnt give them a name, for they were but a passing conduit. they instead told them to hold onto a name, so that they may give it to their child. eventually, as the cult started to get hunted down for their heretical actions, their mother abandoned them with nothing but the clothes on their back, a lifetime of terror regarding the church and the hunters, and a promise to fulfill their purpose. unfortunately for those lunatics, they spent a childhood and adolescence braving the streets of yharnam and scrapping with dogs, beasts and huntsmen, up until they got picked up by a rather concerned Holy Blade. after that, after being offered kindness for the first time in many years, after being offered a place to sleep and good food to eat, education, and a good way to get those violent urges of theirs out... they did their best to keep Yharnam clean. then, everything went to hell, and they traded that secret old name for oblivion; they were awoken on the night of the hunt, the city in a frenzy and beasts running free, old friends dead and gone, and they got to work. Nemo cannot escape their past - they cannot escape the dream, the hunt, and what they were made to do. they may not have conceived the child of a great one, but in the end they did ascend and take that old name for themselves. fun fact: Heliwr is simply welsh for hunter, and Nemo means no one. since they had no name or surname, they were given something rather ironic by ludwig. fun fact 2: the scars on their face are nothing compared to the scars hidden by their bandana and hood. they were mauled by a dog when they were a child, and survived by miracle. fun fact 3: their eyes are just like that. kinda weird to look at.

i like drawing them together cause they are kind of opposites in my mind, ya know? morrigan, so openly pathetic and disgusting, with no regard for their appearance or the feelings of others as they desperately try to become something more VS nemo, always guarded and hiding their fear and anger under a facade of coldness, unblinking and violent, trying desperately to avoid the destiny lain before them. i have a small confrontation between them written down, and it’s always a pleasure to break down nemo in front of that depravity. plus, since they knew each other (morrigan taught them how to read and write and anything required for them to be a functional member of society)... ah, pain.

#cern's art #bloodborne oc #choir oc #white church hunter oc #good hunter oc #broken mirror #portrait

[kurukosmochas]

Hi~ may I request a Kyojuro x childhood friend fem!reader in which Kyojuro propose to her in front of everyone talking about how their mothers always said that if he’s the sun then she was his moon and now he wants to be together forever and build a family together because he can’t imagine his life without her.

Hope you consider it and thank you :3

A/N } Oml this is so cute, I live for the Kyojuro x childhood friend reader ❤️‍🔥 anyways I hope you enjoy this one >:D None of the characters die.

If you’re my sun, I’m your moon

Kyojuro Rengoku, the flame hashira that everyone loved or adored; was head over heals for you. He couldn’t understand his admiration for you at the beginning, he was never associated with relationships or his love life. Maybe because his father never taught him the basic relationship things that father and son have while he’s in his teen years.

Nonetheless, he was captivated by your entire being. You two have known each other since you were born, him being a year older. He faintly recalls the time his mother told him that when you were born while he was only a year old, she had brought him over to your home, telling him that your father was a dear friend to his father. And that she was friends with your mother, she kept telling the story saying that when he saw your tiny figure in your mothers arms, he couldn’t help but wobble over towards you two. He gazed at you, babbling nonsense, while trying to grab your little fingers in his. You opened your eyes looking at him, and after that you two grew attached. Playdates were a constant need so you both could sword fight, and play tag. Your mothers would bathe you two together at the age of two, while you were in the sudsy water you both would put bubbles on each others hair, giggling about how you both looked funny.

When you were seven and Kyojuro was eight, one day you were picking your little strawberries, munching on a few. And you hear a sad cry coming from the gate entrance of you house, you rush to go see who’s making the noise. ‘Kyojuro!’ You think, wondering why he could be here. “Y-y/n” Kyo muffles out, tears staining his face, and his eyes puffy and red. “Kyojuro-San! What’s wrong???” “M-mother s-s-she’s…” “yes..?” “She’s d-dead!”, You gasp in utter-shock not knowing what to say, or do. “Kyojuro…” more sniffles come from him. “Now father is drinking a lot today, he has been so hateful towards me and baby Senjuro..” “shhh Kyo, it’s ok, I’m here for you” you pull him into you, and play with his hair. “Promise you won’t leave me too?” “I’d never dream of it Kyojuro-San”.

When you turned twelve and Kyojuro turned thirteen, you both strived to become great at your swordsman ship and breathing style. During final selection you both passed and quickly rose in the ranks. You being excited for the both of you, while Kyojuro couldn’t help but remember when you two were so little, playing swords and chasing each other. Now he really takes in how much you’ve changed, you’re so beautiful to him, the way you talk so passionately about being a demon slayer, and how you have no fear.

When Kyojuro met Mitsuri he saw a whole new way of liking you. Thanks to Mitsuri being #1 wingwoman she caught on pretty quickly about his fondness over you. The way he glanced at you with doe eyes when you’d walk by made Mitsuri immediately think he liked you. Her ship was destined to happen, she told herself.

{Kyojuro’s pov}

“Ok Kyojuro-Sama! I believe in you, all you have to do is tell the person you’ve loved for years to be your bride!” “Thank you Kanroji-San, but I’m scared she’ll say no, then we might not be as close anymore…” he says while fidgeting with his fingers. “I’m positive Y/n-Chan likes you back, all she does is talk about you!” “Really? She does?” Kyojuro’s voice laced with excitement. “Of course Kyojuro-San, she loves you, now go get her!” “Yes I’ll go get her!” He runs to your estate. “Y/n are you home?” “Ya Kyo! I’m in my room changing, I’ll be out in a second.” You walk out of your room with your uniform on, smiling once you see him. It makes him flustered seeing you so happy, and excited to see him. “I’m ready, we can go to that place you wanted to take me now” “let’s be off then!” Kyojuro replies. You both head towards a beautiful hill side spot with a tall tree, you notice that the other hashira are here as well. “What are the others doing here Kyo?” “Well I thought it would be a great idea if we all spend time together” he says with a smile plastered across his face “whatever you say.”

{Hashira’s pov}

“Hey look there’s Kyojuro and Y/n!” Mitsuri excitingly shouts, “are they holding hands?” Shinobu questioned, “well they’ve kinda always did that since they were kids” Giyuu replied. “Wouldn’t they look so good together?” “Well they’re complete opposites Mitsuri-Chan” “well I think that’s what’s so good about them, opposites attract remember?” Tengen says giving a grin. “I remember that when Kyojuro-San trained me, he told me about this one time when he was a child his mother and Y/n-Chan’s mother said that if Kyojuro was the sun, then Y/n was his moon, a perfect balance.” “I suppose that makes sense!” “Here they are, hey you two” “hey everybody, thank you for all coming here on this fine evening” Kyojuro smiles, “why are we actually here Kyo?” “I have something very important I’d like to tell you Y/n-San” Mitsuri slightly bounced up and down, excited that her friend was going to do what she wanted all along; for him to propose to the woman he holds so dear to his heart. All of the hashira watched as Y/n started to talk, “and what would that be?” He paused for a moment trying to build up the courage to tell you, he wanted the courage he had any other time he’s doing something, but when it comes to you he’s putty in your hands.

“Well..” Kyojuro mumbles out “Y/n do you remember when we were children and you said you’ll always be here for me?” “Yes I remember” “do you plan on holding that promise?” “Of course Kyo! What are you on about?” “I’ve thought about so much on the last mission we went on.. we could’ve been killed.. I remember that I could not possibly come home one day.” He pauses looking up for a minute, hoping his mother is proud of him for doing this. “So if I die I want to remember you not as a friend, but as my wife” you lightly gasp “Kyo you really want to marry me?” “Why wouldn’t I? You’ve been my best friend for so long, I can’t imagine what my life would be like without you, I need you Y/n.” Pricks of tears form in the corner of your eyes “I want you to be the mother of my children so we can be our own family, I want to be the father I didn’t get to have, I understand if you do not want to marry me.” “Kyojuro Rengoku! Of course I want to marry you!” You jump into his embrace, smiling so wide. “And don’t ever tell me you’ll not come home, I’m here to protect you as well” your words made Kyojuro tear up, making him feel secure and loved that you want to protect him, it even made a few hashira tear up. “You’ll always be my sun Kyo” “you’ll always be my moon Y/n.”

{Bonus> 7yrs later}

“Rukaaaaa! Come back here!” You yell at your daughter as she runs away from you, “no mom! I want to go with you and dad, I don’t want to stay with aunt Mitsuri!” “Whoa! Slow down Ruka” Kyojuro catches your daughter as she trys to wiggle free. “Dad I want to go on the mission with you guys” she puffs out her lip and gives Kyojuro sad eyes. “Ru you can’t, you could get hurt” “but… oh fine” she gives in, not pressing it forward anymore. “When you get older you can, for now I have to keep both of my girls safe” Kyojuro beams and you smile, seeing the children you once were and now you both have one together. It all started with holding tiny hands and opening your eyes.

A/N} So it never confirmed the age that Kyojuro was when Ruka died, but Kyo and Sen have an eight year age gap I believe. So I think Kyojuro was eight or seven when Ruka died.

#demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #rengoku kyōjurō #rengoku kyojuro x reader #rengoku proposing #Rengoku and reader with a kid #Rengoku x best friend reader

[dreamliners]

this episode...my gosh every single moment felt like a ticking time bomb. i wonder if gator's eyes were binded shut by the hot knife or - ya know what let me not dwell on that.

what most stuck with me is the way in which lorraine reacted to graves' death but also dot's fear she may not make it out. the growth she has gone through in understanding that similarly to herself, dot lied to save and improve her life. especially after seeing that dorthy had always been running and without a family. to have the lyons embrace her and given the whole "tiger and lion" dynamic storyline is quite wholesome at heart. also shoutout to indira and her new job she looks great!

the most badass moment that i know so many were waiting for was ole munch and dorthy finally meeting under a better circumstance. i do wish they would have fought together side by side, but when munch said "the tiger is free" as he gave dot the gun just brought a smile to face.

as for roy and his wife and all those fuckers, i hope they get whats coming to them. i hope dorthy is still the one who kills or maims roy after everything he did to her. those little girls deserve better parents. its funny that karen mentions her daughters being orphaned but yet her own father a conservative bigoted man practically gave her away to roy, knowing the kind of man he is. her daughters witnesses to his violence but yet still willing to stand beside him. i know its fear most likely but its also i feel a jealousy and anger rooted in the wrong place.

i wonder if deputy farr will end up finding gator roaming around the open land around the ranch. it would be interesting to see the guy who tried to belittle and intimidate him in such a state of weakness, would he help him? probably but still i suppose we'll see what comes of this story in the final episode.

#fargo #fargo season 5 #fargo spoilers #fargo 5x9

[anjelicawrites]

Hey would you do a thing for when the boys find out your pregnant? How reader finds out and how she tells the boys and how they react?

You find out you're expecting thanks to a colleague. You have been off the pill for six months, trying to fall pregnant; you three are not obsessively counting days or have sex with that goal in mind, you are letting Mother Nature work and, if you three are lucky enough, you'll get pregnant, sooner or later.

Used as you were with the regularity of the pill, going back to your uterus working on its own is a shock, your symptoms being starker, you feeling more tired than what you used to be.

You don't feel great today, the only reason you are not grading papers at home, is that you have to speak with the parents of your pupils today.

"May I ask you something?" it's the new science teacher, whom did her training in your school and landed a job here; you like her a lot, young and full of energy

"Depends"

"It might be a bit personal but... - you can see her weight her options, how to remove this bandaid - the sparkling in your eyes. Are you pregnant?".

Your hand goes to your belly on instinct, bile acid in your mouth

"We are trying. You think? But it's too early! I've been off the pill for just six months! What do I do?".

You can hear the rising panic in your voice, your colleague gently takes your flailing hands and forces you to focus on your entwined fingers.

"First: breathe. Second: I've heard of some people falling pregnant even faster than you did. Third: after you are done here, you go to a pharmacy and buy a home test. Tomorrow morning, first thing you do is use it. At the moment panic is your enemy".

The calmness in her voice helps you center yourself. You have to talk to people who can smell fear and panic, you need to get ahold of yourself.

"If it's positive, should I do the one at the hospital as well, before telling the boys?"

"That's truly up to you. Nowadays these are pretty reliable".

"All right. Christ I need a cigarette"

"Not the best option in your situation"

"Licorice straw?"

"Awful for your blood pressure"

"I need to munch on something before I explode".

You end up with the plastic spoon of your colleague's coffee in your mouth for the rest of the afternoon and two different pregnancy tests in your bag, later that night.

You've never thought five minutes could be that long, you think sitting on the rim of the tub, the two plastic contraptions on the washing basin. You know you should go downstairs, have a cup of tea, instead you are pacing like a maniac, biting your cuticles until the lines appear on the sticks.

The moment Osferth returns home he knows something is up, he can feel it in the air, in the way you nervously run around the kitchen, from the fact that he is not allowed to steal a look at the cake in the oven. Aemond as well can feel the weird electricity: you are planning something and he can't put his finger on what it is. He tries to ask Osferth, who can just shrugs his shoulders in ignorance.

"Boys? Please come here?" the trembling in your voice it's what makes them run into the kitchen.

They scramble in, asking you what's just happened, worry etched into their faces. With shaking hands you hand them over two rectangular boxes with neat bows on them

"What are these my love?" Osferth delicately takes the small box

"Just open it? Please?"

You feel like you're going to jump out of your skin during the moments they need to open the lids and register what's inside.

They both run around the table to hug you, and you just start crying, ugly, fat tears in their combined embrace.

"Is it true gevie?"

"Yes. I am with child. We are going to be parents!".

You can see a miriad of emotions play on Aemond's face: happiness for the pregnancy and fear because now his family will know you all exist, even the unborn baby.

"Are you still happy, right?"

His answer is hugging your belly and start talking High Valyrian against the cotton of your shirt.

"Osferth?".

He hides his face in the curve of your neck, happy tears flowing freely, his hands on your belly, shaky.

You completely forget the cake you've baked for them, too swept in the sea of emotions. You are going to be parents and you still can't believe this is happening.

#answered #polyquestion

[thecollegerations]

Apple strudel

I struggle to grasp this dearest, and i mean that literally. The moment I reach to grab the treat it comes apart in sheets, as If I'm skinning alive a victim from a horror movie. The skin is paper thin, the sheet looks as if I could build lanterns out of them and send them to long-lost lovers from distant lands…I should answer her calls, actually. 

Simply Picking up the confection it squirms and wiggles, not yet coming to grasp to it’s doom. Holding the amalgamation. it reminds if an apple pie that was dumped during a rain storm, Sad and broken, soft and flimsy.

Taking a bite The theory about the apple pie is true, I also pity the poor thing clearly past its prime. But as sad as I saw it I was not expecting the the forceful punch of the apple after. It feels as If I took a bite of fall, the leaves, the bitter air, the white woman and their pumpkin spice lattes. It was pleasant and oddly timeless. I would rate it as a festive flavor Yankee candle  

Pastry Cream

Dear god, I fear what humanity has created; never in the 18 years of my life have i been fearful of being eaten, but as I stare down this…this THING, I can only hope i am spared. Simply looking at it scares me all I can compare it to is the blob. The texture concerns me as I feel if I touch the creature, I will become absorbed. 

As much as I tremble with fear writing, I hope my family will find my will and burn the remaining evidence I hold. I slowly approach the creamy blob dipping my finger in it. If I was blind, I may have mistaken it for mashed potatoes but I am not blind therefore, i have the advantage. 

Immdently after taking a lick of the cream on my finger, I cum to learn the errors of my way. “How could i be so blind?” I cry out as i fall to my knees, tears flowing from my eyes. The shame is almost unbearable. Yet I crawl back to the container of the creamy ooze, digging my finger back in. consuming every last drop as I haven't eaten in years. Have I eaten? When was the last time I ate? Wait, why am I unable to rember what I was doing before this…Hello? I didn't agree to this...This is not what she promised me it was only supposed to be present!

It’s best to ignore what happened. The taste was very sweet and practically melted on my tongue, and I would totally recommend this to a friend I would rate this cream one delicious existential crisis.  Is anyone there…?

Creme Brulee

Similar to the cream on both looks and taste. The only difference I could find was the addition of sugar adding a nice crunch. Almost as if I was crunching on a bunch of keyboard keys. As well as a nice caramel leche flavor, I wished people tasted like this. I would rate this crunch a real munch.

Churro

As I hold the hold the churro in my hand the only thought that comes to my mind is how this is what a giant must feel. The small cylinder log is perfectly ensnared within my hand, cowering as I bring it closer to its doom. As I a titan eater of words ready to consume the pitiful shape. 

It resembles a small wooden log, covered in a sugary substance I can only infer as an ancient infection from long ago. Simply touching it infects my skin, I can't imagine what the possible long-term effect could be. The smell is unimaginable, I fear what it could be

Taking a bite, crushing the outer shell of the armor I reach the soft core. The infection runs too deep, corrupting the innards with sugar or possibly cinnamon, violating my mouth with a tasty flavor. My only regret was not being able to dip it remains in molten chocolate.

I would rate this deceptive treat an outbreak in the making, I may not make it from this one…

10/21/2023

#college #satire #baking #cooking

[rottmntsimp]

I have a sibling! reader request if you’re up for it

could we have a bittersweet oneshot where the reader is a sea turtle (same age as Mikey) and is sort of like the little mermaid in reverse, dreaming of the ocean but keeping it to themself because they don’t want to hurt their family’s feelings? But at the same time the boys have kind of caught on and feel bad because they can’t give the reader what they want most? (not yet at least maybe Leo starts practicing his portal sword bc of this)

please and thank you

Under the sea

Pairing[s]: Donnie + Seaturtle!Sibling!Reader TW: Mentions disability and wheelchair use [although that isn't really a bad thing, idk if readers are comfortable], making Mikey cry :'] A/N: Hey!! Ok so, I will be honest I did try to write this but I gave up :') BUT- I did draw a little something something [more under cut!] and have decided to add a few headcanons to make up for it!! Sorry if it isn't what you wanted 😅 And I'm going to put this under Donnie's section as I don't really know where else to put it-

Seaturtle!Sibling!Reader

💜 - You were different.

💜 - That's the first thing that came to your head whenever you saw your brothers.

💜 - Sure, you're all mutants, you're all turtles, you're all around the same age, you were all raised the same way, but it's not that-

💜 - Your brothers can walk around, they can run, jump, fight.

💜 - The most you could do was slap someone with your fins as you sat there, useless in your wheelchair.

💜 - It made you feel odd as a child, having to crawl around when they were all learning to walk. To this day, you could still remember the look of joy in your father's eyes as your brothers walked towards him, the feeling of hurt as you realized at a young age that you'd never be the reason behind the light in his eyes.

💜 - It went on like that for a few years, even to the extent of hating your brothers.

💜 - You'd ignore Leo whenever he'd come up to you with a new action figure of comic of some kind, begging you to play superheroes with him.

💜 - You'd take any gift either Mikey or Donnie made you and shove it into the shoebox you kept under your bed, never once opening them.

💜 - You'd just sit there, pouting as Raph placed a teddy bear next to you, hoping to cheer you up.

💜 - Looking back, it was a bit overdramatic, yes, but back then it felt unfair, like the world was against you; and although to a lighter extent, it still does to this day.

💜 - They'd gone off, beginning they're training around the ripe age of five, while you sat there, unable to even stand, being forced to cheer them on when they did something right.

💜 - It was as though anything you did was outdone by something they did, and you were so close to just giving up...

💜 - But then came the time Splinter had decided to teach you all to swim, and the look in his eyes and you glided through the water made up for it all.

💜 - You could have sworn that it was from that moment on that you'd promised yourself that one day you'd go back to the ocean, but until then, you'd have to sit in your wheel chair, right next to Splinter's recliner as an endless amount of commercials played on loop for hours on end.

💜 - But in order for that to happen, you'd have to tell your family, and whether you liked it or not, you loved and cared for them and the fear of breaking their heart was too much. And so you did the next best thing.

💜 - Whenever you all would go to the sewers, or swimming in a pool or in the river, you'd make sure to have the time of your life, and collect a souvenir or two [ranging from stones, to postcards, to pictures you had Donnie take for you]

💜 - You'd have a whole corner of your room dedicated to just the ocean and other sea creatures, and I'd be lying if I said that didn't raise a slight suspicion on your family, especially Leo.

💜 - It was around dinner time, you were all in the projector room, munching away at yet another pizza, as you watch Jupiter Jim.

💜 - Taking another bite at the slice sandwiched in between both of your fins in an awkward attempt at holding it, you get the feeling that you're being watched. Turning around, lo and behold, it's Leo, staring at you seemingly deep in thought.

💜 - You couldn't remember what surprised you more that night. The fact that Leo wasn't watching Jupiter Jim, or that fact that he had the ability to think so deeply. [/j]

💜 - At this point, the others had noticed too, confusing them as much as you. Pressing pause, Leo seems to snap out of his thoughts, before taking a bite of his own.

💜 - "Say, Y/n... I've noticed that you've been staring a whole lot at those postcards you have taped up in your room...got anything to share with the class?"

💜 - Of course he had to bring it up in front of the others.

💜 - Brushing it off, you just cover it up as admiring the scenery, but clearly that wasn't the answer he wanted.

💜 - So for days, he kept egging you on, poking at you, pushing you to your breaking point till you just snapped.

💜 - And so you told him everything, from being excluded in day to day activities to practically disabled.

💜 - The silence, the shock, it was all just as you'd feared.

💜- The worst part? The rest of your family was right there, by the entrance of the kitchen. Oh, the look on poor Mikey's face, it made you want to tear up.

💜 - You wanted nothing more than to roll of into your room and scream. Damn it! This wasn't how you wanted to tell them-

💜 - As you sat there, chastising yourself, you froze up as you felt someone hug you. Looking down you see a grey patch of fur up in your face...Splinter?

💜 - "I'm sorry I have made you feel this way, my child...I hadn't realized your fins had made you feel this way...if only you'd told me earlier..."

💜 - Now you just felt guilty. Looking around, you realized how down everyone looked, apologetic even, as they seemed to understand where you were coming from.

💜 - Mikey rushed forward joining in on the hug, as he teared up, somehow still wearing a smile. "I'm sorry we made you feel like this, Y/N! I swear I'll visit you everyday when you leave, and I'll bring you gifts and you can introduce me to all of your little fishy friends and-"

💜 - "Wait-" You look down at Splinter, before scanning over the others, "You're not mad that I want to leave?"

💜 - "Sweet sweet Y/N," Donnie shook his head, smiling a bit himself, "Who are we to deny you your happiness?"

💜 - You couldn't help but sit there in shock, still processing what had just happened as the other walked closer, either joining in on the hug themselves or getting dragged into it by force.

💜 - And they kept their promise.

💜 - Every other day, they'd meet you at the dock, telling you about all the adventures they went on with April, and give you little souvenirs you could keep under water.

💜 - If it's hot out, they might join in, take a swim [although Mikey will stick to his floatie, thank you very much.]

💜 - And as promised, he will get to meet your little fishy friends, maybe even have them swim around his floatie for a while as you introduce him.

💜 - It might take some time for them to get used to you not being in the lair anymore.

💜 - No one dares to touch anything in your room, other than for the occasional dusting off. Your wheelchair is kept safe in your room, ready to be used if you ever decide to visit or come back.

💜 - But with how happy you seemed in the water, they'd say it's worth the wait to see you tomorrow.

NOW FOR THE ART!!!

Taglist:

@lemme-be-cringe-damnit @sleepytime-fics @ray-of-midnight-storm @hamthepan @charismakat @flapajacker

#rottmnt x reader #sibling reader #rottmnt x reader platonic #simps fics #simp draws

[the-ultimate-pie-family]

The son of chaos part 1

"When blood was at the age 6, his mom pinkie started to notice magic burst while blood slept she knew it must've been the chaos magic he got from discord so she knew she had to harness his chaos magic so she summoned one of bloods aunts"

Rarity: Pinkie everything ok darling?

Pinkie: yeah uh it's starting to happen, rarity

Rarity: Pinkie take blood to twilight now she should know wat to do

Pinkie: wat about surprise jr? I just can't leave him here, and ur probably busy with ur shop

Rarity: Oh, hush now, Surprise can come with me, sweetie belle misses Surprise squishy cheeks there so cute when they're squishy right

Pinkie: ....."she still didn't want o leave Surprise jr even tho it been years but she felt unsafe without both of them by her side but she knew blood needed help and he needed it now" fine but if anything happens plz summon me plz

Rarity: ? Don't worry, Pinkie Cutie Surprise is in good hooves, i promise

Blood: Momma, everything ok? Aunt rarity *hugs rarity accidentally stabbing her with his ribs*

Rarity: How's my boney nephew doing *hugs blood back*

Blood: eh, didn't sleep very well kept having nightmares.....

Rarity: Oh? And wat r these nightmares about?

Blood: their is this long, like creature, something i have never seen before

Pinkie:: *feels sick with fear* Come on, son, we going to aunt Twilight House

Blood: Yay, aunt twi magic house let's go let's go do u think she can teach me magic this time mom

Pinkie: Remember, rarity, anything summon me we'll see blood *walks out looking at blood* hey wait for me blood

Blood: Oh, sorry, mom *bumps into the mayor* Oh, sorry, mayor mare, i didn't mean to.....

Mayor mare: Don't worry, dear, it happens *boops blood bone nose walking off* amazing son pinkie

Pinkie: im sorry mayor he got *breathes heavy* ahead of me

Mayor mare: Pinkie, don't worry, it's fine, but blood does need to get some skin tho

Pinkie: i know it's on my list, i swear, just the chaos magic is starting

Mayor mare: i understand, but come by my office when u can today. i may know a skin doctor for blood

Pinkie: .........

Mayor mare: Pinkie, i know it's still hard being a mom, but we got u, Pinkie. we look after our family *sees pinkie crying whipping her tears away*

Pinkie: i-i dont k-know how i c-can every thank u guys.......

Mayor mare: shhh, be storng pinkie for ur boys for u for ur dad for everypony

Pinkie: ur right mayor thank u *hugs her* Oh no blood?! *starts panicing* ahhhhh

Blood: mom? Uh, everything ok?

Pinkie: Huh? *looks down embarrassed* Oh their u r son heh my bad let's see ur aunt sweetie *picks blood up running to twilight house*

Spike: *yawns* morning twilight

Twilight: morning spike *Hears her door bust open teleporting at the door* Oh, pinkie? Something wrong?

Blood: *jumps on twilights head munching on her hair* hi aunty *tugs on her hair* i got u now surrender yourself and be my prisoner

Twilight: *falls down* i have been defeated wat thy bitting my king *giggles*

Spike: My king and best friend wat shall i do with the prisoner? *kneels down*

Blood: spike!!!! *tackles spike hugging him* mom can me and spike wrestle? Please, please?!

Pinkie: Well, i uh........

Twilight: Spike, show blood the new thing i got u. i think he would really like it

Spike: right on it, twilight come on blood *jumps in a pipe*

Blood: Yahoo *jumps in pipe*

Twilight: So Pinkie, how's being a mom doing?

Pinkie: g-good......i-i think...... *scaredly giggles*

Twilight: Pinkie? Have u slept any?

Pinkie: i try to, but.....it feels like he has my life in his grasp. im scared twi im scared of losing my two sons to him

Twilight: i see........but remember, Pinkie, ur dad gave us some time to harness the son of chaos. Have surprise Jr. showen any sign of chaos magic?

Pinkie: No, not yet, but blood has for some reason...... even tho he's a vampire pony

Twilight: hmmm and blood doesn't have a horn either? Strange....... *grabs a book with her magic opening it* Hmmm, aha, here it is. The book says if their is ever a chaos welder like Discord, he or she will be chosen by a higher power than the princess

Pinkie: higher power? Like?

Twilight: god pinkie god

Pinkie: wat?! Why my son, tho?

Twilight: i.....i don't know maybe the princess would know

Pinkie: .......would they try to take blood away if they knew he be more powerful than them?

Twilight: ..........uh......i....uh...i didn't think that thru........

Princess luna: *knocks on door* Twilight? i need to talk to u quickly. i had a vision again.....

Twilight: ah, perfect timing come in mistress luna

Princess luna: *teleports in seeing pinkie* miss pie? Uh , how are u feeling after ur miscarriages?

Pinkie: ......miscarriage..... *glares at twilight*

Twilight: off topic but luna everything ok?

Princess luna: Huh, of right, my vision twilight, i seen the future

Twilight: explains luna?

Princess luna: well everytime i have this vision, i see a stallion covered in sacrs and stitch marks all over his body, two different eyes, one black and one white, he told me i would be ruler someday by his side or by myself

Pinkie: *scared thinking about her son*

Twilight: Hmm, i see. Did this stallion in ur vision say his name?

Princess luna: Yes, he said his name was blood

Pinkie: *gasps feeling sick* ugh......

Twilight: ......blood u say?.......

Princess luna: Yeah, kinda weird for a name, but im nervous if this actually happens.......me ruler......

Blood: *flies out of the pipe stoner, then a brownie* Oh yeah!!!!!!

Princess luna: *looks at the skeleton vampire pony passing out from shock*

Pinkie: oh fuck my son killed princess luna.......I'll never hear the end of this im gonna have lunar guards at my house for her death ahhhh im freaking out twi!.......

Twilight: Pinkie relaxed, and luna just fainted she's not dead. Relax

Blood: *boops luna nose multiple times* heheh, she's funny, mom, hehehe hahah

Princess luna: Ugh, wat happened. *opens her eyes seeing the same skeleton vampire pony* huh?......

Blood: Hi Princess luna, im blood rainbow pie im 6 years old i have never seen a real princess up close before *pokes luna face*

Princess luna: Wait? Pie? *looks at twilight* Twilight explains now?

Blood: ooooo aunty twilight is in trouble, hehehe

Pinkie: blood plz behavior ur in the present of a princess have ur manners plz

Blood: Sorry, mom......

Princess luna: Hmmm, *lifts blood up with her magic, swinging him back and forth*

Blood: weeee ur fun princess luna

Pinkie: *breathes heavily, trying not to have a panic attack*

Princess luna: Hmm? Here, Pinkie *gives Pinkie back her son* ur a cutie mister blood *boops blood bine nose*

Blood: "his skull turned a bright red* I-I'm not a cutie. i am the night the terror of all living creatures

Princess luna: *uses her magic tickling bloods bones* My goodness, u r so adorable

Blood: *hisses like a vampire* fear me

Princess luna: Awww, that face is so adorable is pinkie ur momma?

Blood: mhmm *hugs his mom tight a little scared*

Princess luna: Who ur daddy then?

Blood: i don't have one momma. told me he died in a battle protecting me and my little brother she found us in his arms he protected us, but he didn't make it.........

Princess luna: Oh......im so sorry to hear that blood, but at least he saved u and ur little brother, tho right?

Blood: Yeah, it sucks I'll never know who my dad was... but sometimes it's feels like he's with me somehow

"Twilight and pinkie both felt ill"

Pinkie: Son sweetie, go find spike and uh do that thing he showed

Blood: wat smoke his weed? Uh, ok? I guess *jumps back in the pipe*

Pinkie: Princess plz don't take my sons away from me plz they r all i have. They mean everything in my pitty life plz don't take them away plz......

Princess luna: shhhh, miss pie ur two sons will be safe in ur hooves. i trust u r doing ur best so i wanna help

Twilight: But u don't know the whole story behind the two pie boys luna

Princess luna: Then explains more then?

Pinkie: ......Discord raped me to get an offspring......

Princess luna: So they're both the sons of chaos?

Twilight: No so far blood is the only one showing signs of chaos magic

To be continued

#Spotify #ponyville #mlp #the ultimate pie family #young blood #mother pinkie #past story #baby surprise jr #mayor mare #rarity #sweetie belle #twilight sparkle #spike #mane 6 #chaos magic #princess luna #princess celestia