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dilatorywriting · 1 year

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Monster Mayhem: Don't Fear the Reaper

Gender Neutral Reader x Rook Hunt Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: Running a little pâtisserie is quaint, and homey, and should not in any way get you involved with anything shady. Let alone the strange bounty hunter who prowls through your little town like the Grim Reaper himself. And yet here you are, teaching this literal murderer how to use a napkin.

A/N: Based on this wonderful brain rot from a very lovely anon! Also apologies in advance to anyone who actually knows French, because I do not lol. So Rook's babbling is all Google baby

[PART 1] [PART 2]

There was a murderer at your window, and you weren’t really sure what to do about it.

Well, maybe not actually a murderer. Bounty Hunters tended not to wind up in prison after dragging back the desecrated remains of their latest quarry. But still. You recognized the black plume tucked slickly into his wide-brimmed, purple, hat, and the pale, bright, bob of his hair was nearly luminescent in the dark. He was certainly the least covert assassin you’d ever seen, and you had seen him. It was hard not to. Traipsing through town to deposit every wayward criminal, every long-lost villain, at the doorstep of who’d ever called for him.

‘Rook Hunt’ you thought his name was, or at least, that’s what the old woman in the market would call him before crossing herself and spitting in the dirt. It was all a bit on the nose in your humble opinion, especially with that strange, twisting, ebony, bow of his strung across his back. ‘Hunter’ indeed. But it’s not like you’ve ever done anything to warrant winding up in one of those dripping burlap sacks of his, so you’d let the dude have his drama. It was probably good advertisement. And it’s not like the guy had ever bothered you before.

You thought that reassurance on repeat as you watched said not-quite-a-murderer stare through the front window of your little bakery, as if your rising dough had been kneaded with the secrets of the known universe. But he didn’t do anything—just kept watching with rapt attention as you brushed egg wash over your pie crusts and swapped trays in and out of the ancient, brick, oven.

In all honesty, he was far from the strangest thing that’d been plastered to your window in the early AM, and it wasn’t like he was licking the glass or anything. So you let it slide.

One of the custard tarts you pulled from the oven had cracked across the top. Nothing out of the ordinary—there was always at least one dud in a batch. Normally you saved the rejects for Ace or Deuce to gobble up (depending on whoever managed to pop by first), but this one you set aside onto a little tea plate. You topped it with a dollop of freshly whipped cream and a spoonful of the blackberries you’d left sitting in sugar overnight. Then you plucked up a spare napkin and made your way out from behind the counter.

When you opened the door to your little bakery, the tingling overhead bell warmed your unwanted guest’s expression in a way that it most certainly should not have—lighting the whole of him with this sort of wide-eyed, innocent, joy that belonged nowhere on the face of someone you’d watched cart literal corpses into town.

“Mon pâtissier!” he chirped. “What a fine morning it is, no?”

The sun hadn’t even started to rise yet. You could still hear the drone of crickets and toads in the distance, basking in the humid darkness of the night.

“Sure,” you shrugged. “We’re not open for,” you glanced at the moon, still full in the sky, “at least four more hours. If that’s what you’re waiting for.”

“Oh—non, non, non,” Rook waved you off. “I just wanted to watch!”

“…Watch?” you repeated.

“It’s quite the fascinating process!” he absolutely beamed. “Taking such basic, individual, components and turning them into something so spectacularly sweet and heartwarming! Quelle inventivité! I’ve heard nothing but excellent things about your marvelous menu!”

‘From who?’ you wanted to ask, because you’d never heard of anyone being able to hold a conversation with this man for more than a stuttered sentence at a time, let alone for long enough to go about giving dessert recommendations. But there was a streak of red blood across his cheek that still looked fresh enough to not even have gone tacky yet, and now that you looked closer, his dark gloves were perhaps a shade too dark to not have been, well…

You sighed and reminded yourself once again that is was absolutely not your business, before handing him the napkin.

He stared at it with that same sort of rapt fascination that had you wondering if this man had ever actually interacted with proper civilization in his entire life.

“Wipe your hands,” you demanded with a huff, and he dutifully scrubbed at his stained fingers. Once he was clean enough that he was at least no longer dripping unmentionables all along your windowsill, you held out the little saucer for him to take.

“Pour moi?” he muttered, looking a bit starstruck.

“If you’re going to say all those nice things about my food, you may as well get to try what you’re complimenting,” you shrugged, and that same eager enthusiasm lit his face all over again. “And it will be a nice treat to take home with you,” you emphasized, with all the intonation of a cheery ‘please get the fuck out before you scare away all my customers for the day.’

But instead of turning and meandering off back to whatever hole he’d crawled out of, he just kept staring at the little treat like he had no idea what to do with it.

“It’s a tart,” you said blandly, fighting the furrow in your brow.

Rook repeated ‘a tart’ under his breath like it was some kind of ancient, forbidden, enchantment, and not like it was literally scrawled into the little menu sign at your door at least a dozen times over.

The Bounty Hunter peered at the little custard treat like you’d handed him a treasure beyond measure. After a moment of carefully poking at the browned crust like it wasn’t literally meant to break apart beneath one’s fingers, he looked back over at you with eyes that were far, far, too green. He lifted the tart up like he meant to give it back to you.

“I ought to offer you la première bouchée,” he smiled.

You blinked, taken aback, and pushed the plate back into his hands. “That’s not how free samples work.”

Rook tossed his head back with a bout of boisterous laughter that should have been loud enough to wake everyone on the block. You glanced around nervously, hoping no one was about to come running out to make noise complaints.

“Ahh~ But how else will I know the best manner in which to savor such a treat?”

“You eat it,” you gaped. And then, slowly, because you weren’t even sure you were dealing with a functional human being anymore. “With your teeth.”

The Bounty Hunter, with his blood smeared cheeks and even bloodier clothes, put all those shiny, pearly whites of his on display in a merry grin. He swept forward in a grand bow that had the feather in his hat bobbing about in a way that reminded you far too much of a wagging tail.

“Of course!” he chirped. “In my home you said, yes?”

Please, you wanted to groan. Go there. Leave.

“Ideally,” you said instead, and Rook ducked his head until that purple hat of his had cast the whole of his face into shadow. He reached up to tap two fingers against the wide brim and tip it forward.

“Merci, merci!” he trilled. “Then I will endeavor to consume this marvelous spécialité humaine in the proper fashion. A very good morning to you then, cher pâtissier!”

He straightened with a merry little hum and began making his way back down the cobblestone road. In the soft light of the setting moon, his footsteps left odd prints in their wake—inky, black, dripping things that had faded entirely by the time you were able to focus enough to get a proper look at them, leaving you wondering if they’d really just been nothing but a trick of the night.

Well, that was fucking weird,you frowned, shaking the fuzz from your head. You slipped back inside and the door jingled pleasantly as it slammed behind you. But then again, when wasn’t customer service a trip? These people were all ridiculous.

Bright and early the next morning, you were waiting for Deuce to arrive with his delivery of a fresh crate of eggs. It was ungodly early, as it always was. But at least there was no hunter at your window this time around—

There was a bang and a screech, and then an unfortunate sort of cracking-squishing-yucky noise that sounded an awful lot like a couple dozen eggs meeting their doom. You frowned and tucked your rag into the ribbons of your apron and ducked out from the backroom with a sigh. Deuce was at the door. Or, well, Deuce was on the ground in front of your door. With the shattered, yolk, remnants of your shipment scattered all around him.

“I’m not paying for that,” you huffed irritably, and your friend looked up with a squawk.

He looked like he was trying to say something, but his face just kept flashing back and forth between deathly pale and a miserable sort of mottled red.

“I—! You—! And he—!”

“Use your words, Spade,” you sighed.

“I do believe he’s trying his best, cher pâtissier!”

You froze, and turned in near-slow-motion to see a beaming Bounty Hunter crouched at one of the little painted benches lined up neatly along your storefront. Not on one, like a normal person. But beside one. On the ground. There was no blood on him today. None that was very obviously dripping down his face at the very least. He didn’t seem like he’d come bearing any ill will, but your Chicken Dealer was still splayed out on the ground—nearly convulsing—so that wasn’t a great sign either.

“What’s going on out here?” you demanded, hands at your hips.

“I do believe Monsieur Spade had himself a bit of a fright,” Rook beamed, and then turned towards your very gaunt looking friend with a soft tut-tut noise that for all its amiability didn’t sound particularly sympathetic. “You really ought to work on your balance, hmm? Alas, all these petits oeufs have gone to waste.”

“What?!” Deuce immediately bristled, on the defensive. “If you hadn’t scared me, then none of these chicks would have had to die so tragically in the first place!”

“For the last time,” you sighed, grinding the heels of your palms into your eyes. “Unfertilized farm eggs are not baby chicks.”

“But Ace said—”

“Enough! With what Ace said!” you snapped, exhaustion and a sore lack of tea, or coffee, or anything wearing away at your already fragile sanity. “Ace would sell you snake oil and cry to your face about you underpaying for it!”

“Oh?” Rook chirped, unfolding himself from his crouch to stand at his full height. He wasn’t particularly gangly or long limbed—not even especially tall, all things considered. But there was something about him that made him loom. From the sharp cut of his purple robes to the harsh, starched, white of his tight collar. He was neat, composed. And yet… very much not civilized. “Is this not a person who wishes you well, cher pâtissier?”

You frowned, something odd tugging at a sixth sense of yours. Just… a little something on the periphery of your nerves, singing that the words you chose now would mean a lot more than they ought to.

You hummed, low in your throat, and considered.

“Ace is himself,” you said finally, “but he’s a friend nonetheless.”

“Magnifique!” Rook beamed and clapped his hands together with a near lovelorn sigh, all at once perfectly pleasant and soft. “It is such a very good thing to have friends!”

“…Is that what you are?” Deuce asked, enough of that enraged spunk fading away to leave him properly cautious once more. His blue eyes flickered pointedly from the bounty hunter, to you, and back. “A friend?”

You sighed and turned to retreat back into your little shop without a word. Deuce scrambled to his feet to follow you in hesitantly, still dripping with the remnants of too many eggs. You shot him a look, and he immediately darted over to the mop and bucket you kept propped up in the corner. Rook stood in the doorway, nearly just a blur of bruised shadow against the backdrop of the pre-dawn darkness, and you watched him out of the corner of your eye. After a long moment of terse silence, he stepped beyond the threshold with a little hum. He wiped his feet pointedly on your little welcome mat, and then turned to stand at the counter. He fished around in the pockets of his cloak for a moment before withdrawing a strange little flower. He placed it on the countertop with a bright smile that crinkled the corners of his green eyes.

You stepped forward to observe it curiously, and your brows shot up in surprise.

It wasn’t a flower at all. What had looked like the folded arch of soft petals was actually a dainty pair of wings. It was a tiny butterfly—caught in a perpetual sort of stillness. It was bright, and colorful, and so carefully preserved that even when you trailed a flour-coated finger along the thin membranes of its wings, it stayed clean and crisp.

“What’s this for?” you asked.

“Payment, of course!” Rook smiled. “For the lovely treat you gifted me the other day.”

You sighed, not at all in the mood to discuss the lack of viable conversion rates between copper coins and bugs.

So instead you settled on huffing, “Free samples are free. It’s in the name.”

Rook just kept on smiling, unbothered. Deuce knocked into some set of drawers or other—or maybe the coatrack. Who knew—and you shot him an irritable little scowl. The guy was like a bull in a china shop on the best of days, let alone when he was trying to multitask, and be sneaky about it all the while. The bounty hunter’s grin twitched a bit at the corners, like the idea of your blue-haired friend trying to stealthily keep a watch on him was just the funniest thing.

You glanced back down at the little, frozen, butterfly. It really was very pretty, even if it was a little odd.

When you ducked back behind the counter, you unearthed a blueberry muffin from one of many stacks of trays there. It was little lopsided, and maybe there were a few too many bits of fruit in it. Surely no one would have wanted it anyways.

You plopped it on the countertop, and both Rook’s eyebrows shot all the way up his forehead. When he made no move to take it, you pushed the confection closer. The wrapper slid along the counter in a heavy, sticky, way. You’d have to remember to wipe it down again after. The Hunter reached out carefully to pluck the treat up between his fingers. He squished it delicately, in a similarly cautious way as to how you’d stroked the little butterfly.

“Is this also for eating at home?” he asked, observing the offering with a wide, wonderous, expression.

“Yes,” you said, just in time for Deuce to nearly annihilate your trash bin. “Please enjoy it.” Please get out. You’re distracting my maid.

Rook Hunt dipped into another of those ridiculous, bobbing, bows and pinched the brim of his hat between his fingers.

“Your generosity continues to warm my heart, mon cher,” he crooned, eyes practically sparkling from behind the sharp cut of his heavily lined lashes. “I will endeavor to return your kindness tenfold! A hundred!”

You waved off his sentimentality with a flick of your wrist and a not so delicate ‘shoo shoo.’

The hunter left your little bakery with a spring in his step and an outpouring of flowery promises that had your head spinning. He melted seamlessly into the shadows of the early morning, and between one blink and the next, he’d vanished entirely.

You would have thoroughly enjoyed the well-earned silence that followed, if not for the veritable storm cloud brewing over your friend’s head.

“Do I get one…?” Deuce asked finally, staring outright at the remaining muffins and sounding small and hopeful. And like that clearly wasn’t what he’d meant to say at all.

“Maybe if I had the eggs to make more,” you lamented, brushing your hands against your apron.

Deuce made a wounded noise which you had exactly zero sympathy for. You got to work wiping down the counters and sorting through the bits and bobs you’d need to start your day.

“…You know he’s not right, don’t you? That bounty hunter?” Deuce finally said, setting the mop aside. “You must have heard at least some of the rumors floating around town. I don’t think anyone even knows if the guy’s human.”

You shrugged.

“Anyone who has to wake up when I wake up each morning has long given up on humanity anyways,” you droned, only sort of half kidding.

Deuce frowned, clearly unhappy with your non-answer.

“You’ll be careful, won’t you?” he asked, stern in his fretting. There was still a big ol’ chunk of eggshell tangled up in his bangs.

“When I am ever not?” you smiled, and carefully pocketed the little, blue, butterfly.

When you popped by the market stalls after closing shop for the day, the street was abuzz with all the usual gossipy nonsense that you’d long since learned to let settle at the back of your brain like white noise. You were busy debating if you had enough arms to manage balancing yet another bag of strawberries (they were at their height of freshness these past weeks it seemed, and you were like a little fruit goblin hoarding them while you could), when a particularly shrill bit of chatter worked its way past the pleasant curtain you’d let fall across your thoughts.

“There was another one,” the butcher’s wife whispered in a way that was most certainly not a whisper.

“I heard,” chittered the man who really should have been trying to sell you more strawberries if he’d any kind of business sense whatsoever. He turned on you with a look that meant you were clearly about to be dragged into a conversation you were entirely unprepared for. “It was one of yours, apparently!”

“One of my what?” you blinked back into focus.

“One of your regulars,” he said, like a secret.

“That strange Bounty Hunter came through again,” his coconspirator hissed, with a hand lifted as if she meant to cover her mouth. “He dropped off the body the other day—delivered the heart straight to the Felmier’s porch!”

“Who was it?” you asked, just like you knew they wanted you to.

“Sir Hamlen,” the butcher’s wife said. “You know, that awful toad who could eat you out of house and home.”

That sounded like all of your costumers, and more than half of your closest friends, but you gave yourself a moment to sort through your scattered thoughts and try and connect whatever dots they’d been throwing at you.

“Sir Hamlen…?” you said after a moment, slowly putting a face to the name. “With the terrible goatee?”

They both nodded enthusiastically.

“Rotten pig,” the butcher’s wife piped back in. “Served him right, if you ask me. Everyone was expecting the Crown would put him to death anyways.”

You shrugged again. You hardly knew the man, but he’d always paid you well enough that you didn’t really have any ill will towards him. You went back to fussing over balancing bags of berries, but then… Well, there was something a bit funny, actually. He’d been a loud sort of person, with no filter to speak of. One afternoon, he’d stumbled into your little shop absolutely pissed on cheap drink and all but burping bubbles.

‘You know,’ he’d lulled, dropping a full coin pouch on your countertop. Which you’d taken in its entirely with zero hesitation. ‘I’d die happy if my last meal was these fucking tarts of yours.’

‘Is that so,’ you’d drawled, in the bland way you answered literally every customer who spouted off whatever nonsense was kicking around in their heads.

‘Aye,’ he’d sighed, practically stooped over. ‘Gonna have to pry ‘em outta my cold, dead, hands.’

“Huh,” you muttered, thoughts wandering back to a pair of bloody gloves and the little treat you’d pressed into them. Huh.

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#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Rook Hunt x Reader #Rook x Reader #Rook Hunt x Yuu #Reaper!Rook #Monster Mayhem #Fantasy AU #Rook Hunt #Deuce Spade #My Writing #Monster Mayhem Rook Part 1

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babygirl-riley · 8 months

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Paradise

Simon keeps telling himself it is the last time but keeps coming back to you.

“…try not to get your hopes up, cause I probably won’t stay. I said I’m on my way.”

Warnings: smut, swearing, if you squint you will see some angst, fluff a bit, touch deprived Simon

*Simon POV*

simon x reader guide

simon x reader smut list

*************************************

God why did it have to feel so good? Why couldn’t he be able to restrain himself from coming back again? You haunt his thoughts, thinking about how you whimper for him. How you wrap around his cock like it was the only thing you could live for.

He never goes back. Never spends the night. Never saves numbers. Never willing and wanting attention. Yet here he is in between your legs, slowly bringing you to where he needs you to be. Your pussy drenched in your cum, stuffed with his large fingers. Two of them fit in there spreading your hole to prepare for his cock.

How your hands will grab his mask him imagining that it’s his hair instead. God how touch deprived he really is, maybe that was it. He never really had intimate moments like these, at least lately. For what he feels. Bloody hell he feels like a fucking fool.

God how you look at him while he is eating you out. Your eyes begging for more, wanting everything from him. Wanting him. For how long has this been going on? Long enough he would think too long. Your moans drive him to thumb your clit harder, tighter circles, as he does sloppy kiss on your neck.

“F-fuck Si.” You whispered, whimpering basically.

It had him craving you even more, he never told his real name. Government name. It was ALWAYS his code name. “Ghost” that was it for other women he slept with, you. “I need you.” He whispered into your ear easing his fingers as you released your second orgasm.

He saw your smirk forming on your face. You slid your fingers, lazily underneath his balaclava gripping his hair. It made him moan, almost damn near whimper. “Please.” He said his voice lower then it already was. Making it sound desperate.

Desperate. Something that Simon would never show to anyone else. You plagued his skin, burning it for more touch. Plaguing his thoughts. It is now coming into his thoughts during down time on missions. Your eyes. Your hair. Your lips. Your bloody laugh.

He shouldn’t think of someone that is so pure. So innocent. No blood on your hands. Simon is a monster, a grim reaper ready for someone’s reckoning. You weren’t like that, always giving a helping hand. Simon kept telling himself that he will darken your life, turning you into a monster. He can’t do that. Not to his angel. His light.

“Simon,” You whispered having him look into your eyes. “I need you too.”

He moaned as you gently pushed him down, he could have over powered you but fuck. Your touch making him feel on cloud nine, blocking his common senses. You placed your soaking pussy against his hardened clothed cock. “Let me take care of you.” You whispered to his ear nibbling at him before kissing down his neck and biting.

He couldn’t stop feeling the shudder and tingle sensation running down his spine. Everything he though of before gone. You made him feel like he was on retirement, on a paradise island. Just you and him. Your hands running down his scarred abdomen, as you kissed each deep scar, each burn mark.

That is what could be the reason he comes back. Making him feel like he wasn’t a scary monster, that you could be the angel purifying the dark one. “Fuck sweetheart,” he whispered watching as you bobbed your head up and down on his cock. God how beautiful you looked, fucked out, glimmering in sweat, the precum and salvia mixed together. “You are just a beautiful minx.” His muscles started to twitch.

His grunting became more close together. Simon wanted needed to thrust up into your mouth. You made him feel so good, him being engulfed in the scent of both of your arousals. You flattened your tongue the vein that stuck out the most causing him to hold his breath. You ended with a long slow suck to his tip, playing with it with your tongue.

“Fuuuck,” he said his eyes rolling in the back of his head. “You make me fee—fuck.” He couldn’t even finish before he could feel his orgasm coming. He softly pushed you off before he was panting.

Simon laid back trying to gather his thoughts and breath. He felt you crawl yourself back up kissing sloppy kisses. He felt your hand being placed on his cheek, causing him to open his eyes. You both stared for a moment as his hands trailed up and down your body before gripping his cock. You bit your lower lip as he pressed against your entrance.

Simon wanted to just slam into putting himself into his paradise. What made him feel whole. Before he could do anything you pushed yourself down. Which surprised him, usually you waited, his grunted hard feeling your walls making room for his fat cock. Your eyes rolled in the back of your head as you panted slowly. Simon could see stars, his skin flaming. His cock nestling near your cervix.

Both of your sweat glistening off each other sticking to each other’s skin. “Simon,” He didn’t even realize that he was just staring. You smiled before running your thumb down his lips. “Kiss me.”

How could he say no to that? Usually if someone isn’t higher rank then him he wouldn’t listen. But to hell with rank with you, you could tell him to jump and he would respond with how high and how long. He leaned up grabbing your back and hugging you closer to him. You giggled as he crashed his lips to yours. It was sloppy teeth clattering. Just where he wanted you.

He lifted his hips and slamming into. You whimpered as he did it again, harder. You slid your fingers under his mask and grabbed his hair. God how his spine tingled and his cock twitched. He wanted more so needy of him wanting more from you.

He felt your pussy clenching so fucking hard. “Good girl, there ya go baby. That’s it,” You were clawing at his back as your hips met with his. He looked down where you joined the white ring appearing. It would make his eyes roll just knowing his seed was in you. That you are his and his only.

Simon was feeling he was close. He wanted to cum with you, both going into bliss. “Ah yes please please I-I wanna fuck!” You yelled bouncing on his cock harder. The noises would be horrific for some people from both of their juices, mixing together.

He placed his forehead against yours. Feeling sweat against one another. “Yes princess let go, I’m here with ya.” He grunted in between.

Simon felt his orgasm coming right through as your pussy clenched him hard. He started to to spasm, rolling his head back his breath hitching. His orgasm hit hard, harder than he has ever been before. His legs twitching and tensing, feeling the cum going right into you. Painting her walls white. Claiming you. Like no other man could.

You slowed down as you slowly laid on his chest. Both of you were heaving, he never had a woman ride him before, he always like to feel in control. Simon’s breathing steadied as he rubbed his hands up and down your back. He sat there feeling like he landed in his paradise. Simon haven’t felt like this in years, being peaceful, feeling safe. His brother would make fun of him, stating that he was becoming a teddy bear.

Your breathing started to steady, becoming normal. Snapping him back to you. “Can you stay?” You asked hesitantly, feeling his dick soften more inside you.

Simon sighed, he shouldn’t. He needs to leave, get up, and go home. Last time he would see you. Delete the number and never see her again. Literally “Ghost” you never talk to you. You sat up, he realized how long he was silent.

“Or um…” You stuttered finding words.

His heart started to beat hard and fast. Simon placed his hand on your cheek moving strands of your hair. “Love to.”

Fuck. Only if he could say no.

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pinguwrites · 28 days

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Drabble: you can see Death's son

pairing | death junior x reader

Warnings: stalking, junior being a little obsessive but he's sweet and innocent, supernatural elements

A/N: Bro I just discovered this short film like yesterday and cranked out this small drabble. It's called At Death's Door (1999), where Cillian Murphy plays as some sort of grim reaper. He doesn't have a name in the film, so I made up Death Junior lol. That's his name now, okay?

No one was supposed to be able to see him. As the son of the Death, he was granted the gift of free passage, to travel between the realms of humans and spirits, unseen, like a gentle breeze in the wind. In the few years he had lived — albeit not many — he had come and gone, guiding souls to the beyond, and passing unnoticed by the living. It wasn’t until one fateful day near the end of Autumn did that change. It was the day you saw him; a girl, a mere mortal, whose eyes had somehow been blessed upon his image.

He stood, mouth slightly agape, pink lips chapped. He turned around, to see if you were looking at something else, but when he saw no one behind him, he knew without a doubt that it was him you were staring at. Beyond sight, he could feel it in his belly, a churning.

This is not right, he thought. This is not right.

You were at the other end of the trail. It was a park, bare trees stripped of their sunset colors, fallen to the ground all crunched and brown. Green grass spread till it reached the surrounding roads, but there was plenty of space in between, where people were eating at picnic benches or playing with their dogs. You had been going for a run, with sweat beading down your forehead and labored breathing, when you stopped for a break and glanced upon him.

You had given a quick smile, and the world stopped. Who were you? An angel, perhaps, come to steal him away. Or maybe a devil. He could not tell.

“Are you alright?”

Gentle sound, beautiful. It broke him out of his thoughts, and back to your eyes. You were now standing just a few feet away from him.

He didn’t say anything, his lips still parted. He was dressed in all black, collared shirt, dress pants, polished shoes, and a scythe — his father’s scythe, though he hoped to make his own one day. He must have stood out like a sore thumb amongst all these bubblegum shirts and ripped blue jeans and fanny packs and whatever these people had in fashion these days. It was always changing.

“I — do you need help? You look a little lost.”

Say something, he thought. He’d been around humans enough to understand how to speak to them, and his own family very much modeled a stereotypical Victorian bunch. It wasn’t as though he didn’t know how to, rather that he had a lump in his throat that prevented him from doing so.

“I’m sorry for bothering you, sir.”

He panicked. “No,” he blurted out, voice soft. He couldn’t let you leave. He just couldn’t. “What’s your name?”

You paused, then told him. In his mind, he repeated the word over and over again, like a religious mantra. He had always found names to be beautiful. They all meant different things and were attuned to culture and heritage. Even though there might be a million people sharing the same one, it was still yours. Like property.

“And you?”

He thought for a moment. He didn’t really have one. As much as he appreciated them, he had never thought of having his own. To him, a name was something he could not claim. Why should he even have one in the first place? He was always referred to as Son, and similarly, he referred to his parents as Mother and Father. That was enough, wasn’t it?

“I don’t . . . I don’t have one,” he said.

“Ah.” You nodded your head. “Shall I call you Reaper? Or Grim? You know, because of your costume? I like it, by the way. Most people have robes or chains, but this is simple, funeral-ish.”

Robes and chains. Oh, he hated the days when he had to wear those. They were so heavy on him, a personal punishment. The burden of the metal was the burden of his purpose, a constant reminder. And the hood, it always shrouded his line of vision. He was glad it wasn’t as popular as it was hundreds of years ago, otherwise he would be forced to wear it now.

“I’m not the Grim Reaper,” he clarified. “I’m his son.”

“I didn’t know he had one. So you’re Death Junior, then? I can call you that if you like it.”

Junior, he thought. June-e-er.

He nodded his head slowly. It wasn’t much of a name, more of a title.

“You live around here?”

He nodded again. It wasn’t the full truth, but if you were going to be here often then so would he.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you again. Have a nice day, Junior.”

You smiled, again, and picked up your pace, heading down the trail. Within a minute you were out of view, and he felt an odd feeling rise in his heart. This was not enough. He needed more. To at least just be in your presence.

He adjusted the grip on his scythe and followed after you. No one gave him so much as a look, which all the more validated his decision like he wasn’t doing anything wrong. But even if he was, he still found it okay. It was his curiosity, his innocence, that led him to your small apartment, maybe even a hint of longing, an ache.

For the entire night, he watched as you bathed, dressed, cooked, and finally, went to sleep, with the television on in the background. Apart from observing your essence of being, he wondered what it would be like to be there with you. To help you scrub yourself down with soap, take your clothes down to the laundry room and fold them, help you with dinner, feel your embrace in bed.

Junior, he thought again. Maybe it was like a name. A name you had given him. Maybe one day this Junior could be just like you. With you, with the girl who could see him.

Taglist: @shroombloom-rry @madnessandobsession @henrywintersdearestgirl @hllywdwhre @your-nanas-house @ellebelleshelby @meetmeatyourworst @hanawrites404 @Emimurphy2008

#death junior #death junior x you #death junior x y/n #death junior x reader #fanfiction #at death's door #pinguwrites

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reds-skull · 5 months

Text

Not Alive, Nor Dead

[NEXT PART]

Okay I'm trying to be brave and post this before I chicken out, first time writing a fic, and I'm not sure if this is any good.

So, since I don't have time to draw out all of the revenant au story, but I still want to share it, I'm writing it instead.

Will continue this if people are interested!

[this isn't requiered but reading the comic might help you understand this better]

[also there's a Soap pov version of this by Badolmen, it doesn't line up 100% because we didn't work together but it's very very good and you should read it regardless]

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking, Ghost.”

He shifted in his place. Can never get used to Price’s voice in his head.

“You know I work best alone. All he’s gonna do is get in the way.”

Price’s mustache twitched, as if he’s fighting a smile. Bastard is about to drop something to win the entire argument, Ghost already knows.

“He’s a revenant. Strong one too.”

Fucking figures. Still, he could argue he doesn’t need any support-

“Intel is rigged with explosives. And the Sergeant just so happens to be explosion-proof.”

…Fuck.

Ghost sighs heavily like he was presented with an unreasonable amount of shit to deal with. He watches as Price sits there, shit eating grin spitting at him. He looks back to the folder, at the details of this already annoying mission, “you said there are 2 buildings?”

Price snaps from his self boasting to confirm “one suspected barracks and the other an abandoned warehouse. Warehouse contains the majority of explosives.”

Finally finding something to work with, Ghost straightens his back to his usual self-assured posture, “the Sergeant can deal with the warehouse, I’ll clear the barracks. No need to work together.”

Price seems less happy about that. Serves him right. He sighs and drags a hand over his face, and Ghost almost feels bad for ruining his plan to get him to play with a team. Almost.

“Will it kill you to try and work with the lad?” Price asks offhandedly, while organising the folder back to the never-ending pile of documents on his desk.

“You mean again?” Ghost would wear his own shit eating grin if his face wasn’t permanently covered.

Price still seems equally pissed. Probably saw it in his literal mind’s eye. “Get out of my office Lieutenant, wheels up at 0500.” He gets up and walks around his desk to face Ghost, “don’t scare the kid off alright? I have a feeling you two could mash well together.”

Ghost tilts his head and projects the most doubt he could muster at Price. “Yes sir.”

This is going to be a bloody long day.

It’s not that Ghost hates people per se, it’s just that most of them seem hell-bent on being annoying, disruptive, or boring. Useless on the field for someone of his caliber, and even more useless off-field.

He knows he’s not exactly easy to relate to, but he couldn’t care less about trying to be. He’s here for one purpose. And it’s not “making friends” or whatever Price and Gaz has been trying to push him towards.

He wonders which category the Sergeant currently standing in front of him will fall into. By his fidgeting nature and easy smile, Ghost would put his money on “annoying”.

The Sergeant, “Soap” apparently (Ghost wonders if that callsign was given to him before or after he died a probably painful death), now directs that smile at him, seemingly undeterred by the giant man wearing a skull like a stereotypical grim reaper. He has to give it to the lad, at least he hides his discomfort well.

“You must be Ghost, eh? Let’s get ourselves a win LT” The Sergeant says with an obvious Scottish accent, fist-bumps his shoulder and walks off towards transport.

Oh, annoying is definitely winning.

Despite that, Ghost can’t feel like Soap really fits it. He’s unlike the other muppets in the category, He’s not poking him like the rookies do, trying to make him reveal his powers.

No, the Sergeant is annoying like an overly friendly dog is to someone that doesn’t want to be licked. He’s acting like they’re just two normal soldiers on their way to a normal mission, not the unnatural, unexplainable phenomena they actually are.

Ghost will have to keep watching. Certainly on field he will be able to find out his true colors.

On the helo, Ghost picks his usual spot near the ramp, where the lights don’t reach as much and most prefer not to sit, and observes Soap. His fidgety nature stayed the same, but the carefree expression he wore on ground morphed into a determined one, face stern and serious. He seemed lost in thought, eyebrows twitching here and there. He sees how his fingertips flicker, watching flames dance between them before the rapid movements put them out.

Well, at the very least Soap doesn’t fall into “boring”.

Clearing the barracks is a laughably easy job, even without using his powers. Although, it would’ve been so much faster with them… too bad he doesn’t hate the Sergeant enough to send him to Limbo.

They practically run through both buildings, untouchable storms. Ghost has to admit, Soap is clearly competent, disarming bombs and taking down hostiles at an impressive rate.

God, he hates when Price is right.

“Ground floor clear, heading to the basement” Soap relays on comms.

“Copy, clearing third floor, keep an eye out for Intel.”

“I have to say LT, you’re not quite like I expected.”

Feeling’s mutual, Ghost thinks to himself. “That so?”

“Aye, you’re not a major cunt for starters.”

That startled a small huff out of him. What the hell do the rumors say about him? He would have to ask Gaz about that, “Could still change that Sergeant.” he mock-lectures him.

A small laugh is what he gets in return, “I doubt that. I’ve worked with some bastards before, you barely make top 50.”

“Only 50? I hoped for at least 20”

“Got work cut out for you then, sir”

“That I do.”

Ghost continues clearing the floor methodically before faltering for a moment. Why was he entertaining the Sergeant like that? Since when does he joke with people?

Though, he would’ve done it more if he had someone so ready to joke back…

Useless thoughts.

Cursing Price, Soap, and all other stupid distracting things swirling in his head, Ghost takes down another hostile.

The mission is going without a hitch. Which is usually when something “hitches”.

A couple of minutes after Soap’s last words, Ghost sees a bright light flash from the warehouse, before a soundwave shakes the windows of the now barren barracks.

One of the explosives went off… “Soap, what the hell happened there?”

No answer.

Ghost knows he’s fine. Price wouldn’t brag about how “explosion-proof” he is otherwise. But he’s not answering…

“Sergeant, give me sitrep, now.”

Ghost stands still for another minute, listening to static. He checked the last room right before the explosion went off, so he just has to go to exfil and wait for the Sergeant at this point. His part of the work is done.

He should just go to exfil.

Ghost climbs down the stairs and heads for the warehouse, a foreboding plume of dark smoke billowing from its roof.

If asked why he didn’t ignore his gut feeling and use his brain like always, he wouldn’t have an answer.

Maybe he just wanted to exchange one more joke with the Sergeant before they finish the mission and never see each other again.

Arriving at the doors, he sees how the ground floor caved in, creating a ramp down to the basement. He starts making his way down, when he sees bodies littering the debris. Was Soap ambushed?

“Soap? Where the fuck are you Sergeant!” Ghost shouts. He has half a mind to be quiet, not wanting to attract enemies to their location, before realizing no one would’ve survived this. No one but-

“LT…?”

“Soap, why weren’t you answering comms- what…”

He stumbles upon Soap. Soap, who's laying on the grey concrete floor, wheezing and shaking, a metal rebar in his hands. Ghost walks closer and realizes the rebar is going through his stomach and pinning him to the floor.

The Sergeant’s eyes blearily look at the metal “I need, I n-need to get this out…”

He lifts himself half an inch and Ghost sees how the blood rushes out of the wound, how Soap pales.

Ghost rushes to his side. “Stop fucking moving”, he slides his hands under his torso, feels his gloves getting soaked in blood, “let me help you”.

Soap’s breathing becomes less harsh, and he looks up at him, “you… you don’t have to-”

He slowly lifts Soap before he can say another useless remark. The muscles under his fingertips clench and the Sergeant chokes out a scream.

“Fuck” Soap mutters between pants.

“We’re halfway there, you’re doing good.” Ghost lets him rest before continuing to lift his body up. The blood keeps rushing out of the wound, enough that he doesn’t understand how Soap is still conscious. The sergeant let go of the rebar, and is now gripping Ghost’s forearms like he’s about to fall to his death.

After a few seconds, which Ghost is sure felt like hours for Soap, he eases him off the metal and onto the ground. Soap immediately collapses, shuddering and holding his hands around the wound.

Ghost then realizes he’s not sure how the Sergeant’s powers work. Is this supposed to even happen? Is he actually dying?

Soap looks up at that moment, giving him a small smile that looks more like a grimace, “I just… give me a minute to heal, I’ll be ready to go soon.” he uncurls and drags himself to sit against a piece of wall.

Ghost frowns and slowly steps towards Soap and slides to sit next to him, “take however long you need.”

He doesn’t look, but from his peripheral, he sees Soap’s head whipping around and staring at Ghost like he told him he’s giving him a million pounds.

He seemed to find something in his expression (however much he could even see of it), and looked down at his bloodied hands, “thank ye…”

Ghost blinks down, “I hope this doesn’t lower my cunt rank.”

Soap lets out a small laugh that turns into a fit of coughs. More blood rushes out of his wounds, and Ghost internally winces.

“Ha… I think it takes ye off the list, mate.”

Ghost heaves an over-the-top sigh, “shame”.

Soap smiles at him, and Ghost notices it’s different from the one he gave him before the helo. This one is… warmer. Or at least it makes him feel so.

Soap lifts his shirt to inspect the wound, and Ghost can’t help by take a look. The wound stopped bleeding, and when Soap wipes some of it away, he can see how it’s already closing.

So he does get hurt… it just heals. Ghost still wonders how it all works, but he knows their powers work with bizarre rules, weird exceptions and what not. He can almost hear his Reaper laughing. Or whatever you would call that chilling noise it lets out when it finds something funny.

It doesn’t matter either way. Not like he’ll get to work with Soap again.

The Sergeant exhales and lets his shirt drop, “a’right, let’s fuckin’ finish this.” he slowly starts lifting himself up before Ghost wordlessly grabs his arms and helps him.

Soap mumbles a thanks, “did you find any intel?”

Ghost looks ahead. The climb out of the basement won’t be easy on his wound… “Negative. We’ll keep looking.”

Eventually they reach a door labelled “storage”, that is blocked by several tonnes of concrete and metal. Ghost internally curses.

Soap, who’s been trailing behind Ghost, reaches the door and looks around. Ghost is about to ask him if he’s got a few C4’s hidden somewhere when the Sergeant asks him, “permission to use my powers, sir?”

Ghost raises an eyebrow, “what are you planning?”

“Gonna blow it up sir” Soap says like it was obvious.

“...go ahead.” Ghost replies, half baffled Price forgot to mention the Sergeant, besides being unkillable by explosions, can also create them.

Was probably in the folder he didn’t bother reading.

He takes a step back to let Soap Have a go. The Sergeant rests his palms on the debris, inhales, and…

A loud boom makes Ghost’s ears ring. He’s momentarily blinded by the bright explosion before he regains his vision, and sees Soap stepping around the remains of the door into the small room.

Ghost shakes away his slight shock and joins him. Soap’s powers intrigue him… he wonders what else he could do.

Somehow, the intel survived the explosions. Ghost could barely care. At least they won’t have Price on their case later on.

As they walk towards the exfil point, a heavy feeling sinks within Ghost. He’s not sure what to call it, but if he had to it would be “regret”.

Regretting what, he’s not sure. Maybe he should’ve prolonged their walk.

And from a glance at his face, Soap might understand this feeling as well.

“You did well Sergeant.” He has the sudden urge to say. Maybe it will make him regret less.

Soap casts a smile at him. It doesn’t warm him in the slightest.

The chopper blades slashing through air never made him feel worse.

“I guess this is it then.” Soap says when they land.

Ghost turned to face him. That heavy feeling in him just kept getting heavier throughout the flight. Why?

“So it seems.”

Soap stares for a moment longer before sighing. Ghost wants to do something about the annoyingly heavy air of despair around them.

“Soap” the Sergeant hums, “Why did the Scotsman’s prank fail?”.

Confusion takes over his features, “what?”

Ghost inhales, “because no one let him get away scot-free.”

Soap stares at him like he brought shame to his entire bloodline. Ghost grins like he did.

“Steamin’ Jesus LT, that was horrendous.”

“Ah Sergeant, just admit my jokes are better, no need to be a sore loser.”

“My gran got better jokes than this, fuckin’ hell” Soap laughs.

“I’d like to meet her.”

“So you two could battle? I rather not see you die of embarrassment sir.”

Soap’s transport decides to arrive at this moment, chasing away the small joy they both found.

Soap looks back at it and turns to Ghost.

“It’s been great working with you sir.” if Ghost was feeling bold, he would say Soap almost looks sad, “I hope we’ll get to go another round later.”

Ghost hates the hopeful tone in his voice. Hope is uncertain, leaves everything up to chance.

Useless.

“Likewise, Sergeant.”

He stays standing there for a few minutes, staring at the truck vanishing towards the horizon. As if it will lighten the boulder in his chest.

“So, Simon, what’s your verdict?” Price finishes after debrief.

Ghost thinks about the entire endeavour. Not annoying, not disruptive, or boring.

Soap is…

“He’s something else…”

Critiques are welcome! Nobody beta'd this so I'm sure there are mistakes lol (that and this isn't my first language...)

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 1 year

Photo

Words: 5,451 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female!Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: S10, The Reapers Warnings: language, violence, gore, angst A/N: This is Part 2 of a commissioned miniseries! Thank you to @ankhmutes for their generous support! Summary: Maggie has some news for Daryl, and in the morning they go in search of the rest of her people.

Your name: submit What is this?

Part 1

He watched thoughtfully as Maggie finished wrapping the fabric around the gash on her arm. She looked up at him and there was a teary smile on her face. “Ya better sit down, Daryl.”

His stomach twisted. “…Why?”

“‘Cause I got somethin’ to tell ya.”

Daryl gulped and shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the next. “Alrigh’…” He drifted farther inside, Maggie’s eyes on him the whole way, and he sank down next to her on the floor.

She hesitated a moment, gathering herself, again pressing a hand over the scrap of black fabric she’d wrapped around her arm. “I’m not really sure how to tell ya this, so I better just start.”

“Okay…” His brow furrowed and plunged his blue eyes into deeper shadow.

She paused thoughtfully for a moment before she went on. “Not too long after our community fell, I was out there with Hershel. The others were all back at the camp, takin’ what shelter we could get. We needed food and supplies and I decided to go lookin’, see what I could scrape up. All of a sudden, I just felt like somebody was watchin’ me. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew it wasn’t good.” Maggie’s jaw stiffened. “I knew it was one of them… one of the ones who’d—” She broke off for a moment, a grim look on her face. “Anyway… I took Hershel and just started runnin’. I didn’t know how many of them might be out there, but I had to get him somewhere they couldn’t get to him. As I was runnin’, I just heard this man scream and then it cut off. Froze my blood cold for a moment. And then there was nothin’. No sound at all. I just remember squeezin’ Hershel’s hand in mine and—then soft footsteps were right behind me. I told Hershel to run but he wouldn’t. Maybe he sensed that they weren’t likely to hurt a kid, I don’t know. I was panickin’. Then whoever it was right behind me told me to turn around,” Maggie laughed as she said it, looking back over at Daryl.

He was confused by the smile on her face. “Who was it?” His voice was heavy with grit. His heart felt like it had stalled out for some reason he couldn’t explain, like maybe it was in freefall somehow.

“Daryl—” She grabbed his hand and pressed it between hers. “I turned around and—it was Y/N.”

He stared back at her—not understanding what she’d just said. Maggie nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. “She’s alive.”

His heart and breathing were both racing now. He was staring back at her with eyes that looked almost unseeing. Maggie squeezed his hand between hers again. “You were right. She made it out of Atlanta.”

Daryl pulled away and stood up abruptly, pacing a tight circle in the shipping container before stopping again and staring down at her, incredulous, his brow furrowed and expression disbelieving.

“I know. This is a lot to wrap your mind around… But I didn’t want to wait any longer to tell you.”

“Yer tellin’ me… you and Hershel were runnin’ from somebody out in the woods and somehow Y/N was out there and stumbled onto ya.”

Maggie nodded. “Yeah. That’s what I’m tellin’ you. That yell? It was one of them. She put him down.” Daryl paced another tight circle, struggling to parse out one emotion from the other, but chief of them was complete disbelief—he must not be hearing Maggie right. “She nearly dropped her bow when I turned around and she saw it was me. And then we just hugged each other and cried and cried…”

Daryl felt like he couldn’t breathe and he leaned up against the cold steel wall, squeezing his eyes shut. He tried to pull in air again and then turned to face Maggie.

“Wh—How—Where is she now?” He didn’t even know where to begin, what to ask first. He was overwhelmed and his knees were suddenly weak. He half-stumbled back over to sink down heavily beside Maggie again.

“She’s with us now, my people. I left her with Hershel and the others back at the meeting point.”

Daryl stared at her, his mouth half-open.

“Her community—she was one of the leaders there.” Here, Maggie ducked her head and stared down at her hands in her lap. “Same thing that happened to mine happened to hers… She said she barely made it out. She thinks she was the only one.”

Daryl swallowed the lump in his throat the best he could. “What did happen?” he managed.

Maggie sighed and shook her head. He heard emotion in her voice when she spoke again. “Not now. Not yet…”

Daryl nodded and leaned his head back against the container behind him, staring vaguely up. The silence stretched on for a long time, but finally he broke it again. “How—how is she? How did she get outta Atlanta? What happened after?” His heart wouldn’t stop pounding and he was having a hard time suppressing the urge to tell Maggie they needed to get back to the rendezvous point now. Every cell in him wanted to go running into the dark.

Maggie looked over at him again, another teary smile on her face. “She’s good,” she nodded. “But the rest of it—that doesn’t feel like my story to tell. You’re gonna ask her yourself.” Daryl’s breath all left him in a rush and his head fell back against the cold steel again, eyes closed. Maggie could see his bottom lip quivering and she gently grabbed his arm. He did his best to contain his overwhelming emotions again. He nodded and looked over at her again, straining to keep it together. “Can ya say that again?”

Maggie laughed and a couple tears finally broke out onto her cheeks as she watched her friend’s whirling. “You’re gonna ask her yourself. She’s waitin’ back there. And Daryl—”

He blew out a breath, trying to calm the way his whole body felt like it was vibrating.

“She’s amazin’,” Maggie said ardently. “Maybe the best fighter we’ve got. And besides that—well… you’ll see what I mean. She’s amazin’.”

Daryl actually smiled and let out a gruff laugh, his blue eyes glassy, looking down at his hands which were now fiddling with his poncho. “Ya dun gotta tell me that. I’ve known that since I met her.”

Maggie gave him another tight smile. “Yeah, I suppose you have.”

“I’m gonna, um…” Daryl climbed to his feet. “I’m gonna go try to process this,” he drawled, letting out a dry laugh. Maggie nodded. “I’m next door if ya need me. Alrigh’?”

“Alright. Night, Daryl.”

Daryl was in a daze as he went back to his bedroll in the shipping container next to Maggie’s and he flopped down on his back. He tucked his hands under his head and stared up at the shadows in the dark corners. This was all surreal. He couldn’t even really be sure that conversation with Maggie had just happened. Alive. You were alive and he was so close… Waiting another damn minute was too much. He knew he wasn’t gonna manage a moment of sleep.

Daryl glanced over at you beside him, your legs dangling off the platform of the guard tower. You were swinging your feet aimlessly, looking out over the still prison yard. The crickets played a symphony below the two of you and in the distance lightning bugs blinked in happy clouds, adding a glow to the deep evening edges.

You must have felt his eyes on you, because you turned and looked over at him, your lips immediately curving into a smile. “What?” you laughed.

He shook his head slightly. “Nothin’.”

You cocked your head at him, your eyes still smiling at the corners. “That look isn’t ‘nothin,’” you said.

Daryl ducked his gaze and pulled anxiously at a thread on his pants. “I just—” he gulped at the tight lump that had suddenly materialized in his throat. “I ain’t ever felt… like this before.” He hazarded a nervous glance up at you again. Your bright eyes were still fixed on him. He rubbed a hand anxiously over the back of his neck and let out a gruff laugh. “I ain’t good at this,” he mumbled.

”I think you’re better than you think you are,” you said. You climbed to your feet and pushed open the door into the guard room. “Come on.”

Daryl gulped nervously again and followed you inside, shutting the night out behind him.

You flopped down on the mattress the two of you had dragged up and clicked on the lantern, turning the dial until it was just a low glow. Then you looked up at him expectantly. “Are you coming?”

He nudged his nose up in a nod, feeling his cheeks already growing warm. He flopped down onto the mattress beside you on his back hard, jostling you and making you laugh as he settled in. You turned over on your side and moved into him. Your hand landed on his chest. He could feel the warmth of it through the thin cotton of his shirt and he tucked one arm behind his head and looked up at you. Home. That was the feeling you gave him… You were his home, his peace, his belonging, his everything…

You watched as he pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth for a moment, a nervous habit. His other hand landed on top of yours and he tucked his fingers between yours. You smiled at him, a sleepy, contented smile.

“I gotta tell ya somethin’,” Daryl drawled.

“Hmm?”

“I’m—I’m in love with ya…” There was a nerve-racking moment where you stayed frozen, completely still looking down at him, but then—your face lit up with the most goddamn beautiful, megawatt smile he’d ever seen in his life, crinkling your eyes at the corners and seemingly brightening the whole room. His heart jumped and then went along racing in his chest. Next thing Daryl knew you were straddled over his hips and then leaning down to kiss him heatedly, clasping his face, brushing your fingertips into his hair. He pressed his hands into your back, holding you against him.

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes again. You brushed your fingertips into his hair and goosebumps rose on his skin. “I’m in love with you, too. Like I’ve never been in love with anyone before.”

Bewildered, Daryl had just kissed you again and the two of you sank into one another…

Now, his heart ached thinking about it. All these years… all this goddamn wasted time when you really were still out there somewhere. He’d searched and searched and searched, but apparently not far enough. And now? What would it be like seeing you again? Would it be like meeting a different person? He knew he was a different person than he’d been then… How different were you? Fuck, what if you didn’t like who he was now? He’d put a lot of mileage on in the intervening years, new traumas and new scars… He’d aged. He’d changed. What if you didn’t like this version of him? And was it going to be as if everything that had happened between the two of you hadn’t? Was it all going to be a blank slate? After ten years, it might be… He was a bundle of anxiety and racing thoughts. He tossed and turned on his bedroll and finally just climbed to his feet, pacing the length of the cargo container back and forth.

Tomorrow. He’d be seeing you tomorrow. He pressed his right hand over his heart, feeling the strong and fast beat under his fingers. Tomorrow.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“Are ya ready?” Maggie asked Daryl as he stepped out into the early morning sun.

He nodded. “Yeah. Ya get any sleep?” he asked her. She shook her head.

“No. Too worried about Hershel. Did you?”

“Nah,” he said, drawing his crossbow back with a bolt in the flight groove. Maggie gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze.

“Let’s go find them.”

They talked quietly as they moved through the woods. Maggie caught Daryl up on what had happened since she’d gone off with Georgie and Daryl told her about the war with The Whisperers that they’d just ended, which she’d managed to play a role in.

They were making good time when something rising above the trees caught Daryl’s eyes. Smoke. “Hold up,” he said, signaling for everyone to stop. “Maggie…”

Maggie’s eyes went wide. “No,” she uttered, and then she took off running, ignoring Daryl’s protests to be careful and slow down. Daryl could see a dark shape looming ahead, the source of the smoke, and when they broke through the brush he saw the burnt ruins of some building. Now he was close to panic too, understanding from Maggie’s frantic searching around the collapsed and still smoldering roof, that this was where her people had been. His stomach twisted in a tangle of barbed wire.

Daryl hurried in after her, his eyes searching the floor and debris desperately. They moved through to the other side and came on the twisted and charred remains of two people. Maggie knelt down before her knees gave out and shut her eyes for a long moment, her head down.

Daryl averted his eyes away. “Maggie—tell me—”

“I don’t know, Daryl. The one on the right is obviously not her, but the other one…”

“They must have followed us. But we were so damn careful—I don’t know how. But this was them,” Cole asserted, looking at Elijah beside him. “The Reapers. They’re out here.”

Maggie stood up and pulled in a deep breath.

“What’s a Reaper?” Kelly asked, glancing sideways at Maggie.

“The people who attacked our home,” she said softly. She passed her hand briefly over her eyes and then seemed to regain her composure. “We need to get our heads on straight,” she asserted. “The rest of our group is still out there, probably runnin’ scared. Including Hershel…” She glanced over at Daryl. “Can ya track them?”

Daryl cast one final look at the burnt bodies, trying to shove down his wild fear that one of them was you—that he’d made it this close to finding you again and then—but he nodded to Maggie. “Yeah. ‘Course I can track ‘em. C’mon.” They all followed his lead back into the brush where he easily picked up the trail. “They’re runnin’. All headin’ north.” The atmosphere was tense and grim as they moved through the trees.

Finally, he bent and touched a few scuffs in the earth. He glanced up at Maggie. “Trail splits here.”

“Hershel?”

Daryl shook his head. “I lost him. But somebody could have picked him up.”

Maggie nodded and paused thoughtfully for a moment. “Then we split up too. It’s the fastest way to find our people and get everyone to safety. Daryl and I will cross. The rest of you follow the other tracks, alright? And watch your backs. Stay together.”

It wasn’t long before Maggie and Daryl ran into some others from the group that had fled the fire. “What happened?” Maggie asked urgently in a whisper.

“Everything was fine,” Maya gasped. “And then all of a sudden, the whole place was burning! We just ran. Jen and Billy—” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “They didn’t make it out.”

Daryl felt a jolt of relief. It wasn’t you. The body hadn’t been you… but his relief was short-lived and also quickly replaced with guilt at feeling any sense of relief at all. Two people Maggie cared about were dead. And you… you were still out here somewhere… but so were these Reapers, and they seemed to scare even Maggie.

Maggie drew in another deep breath. “Where’s Hershel?”

Maya shook her head. “Out here somewhere. I think Kim had him.”

Maggie nodded. But no one had any time to let this news sink in. The muffled pop of a silenced rifle shot sounded through the woods, and one of the people they’d just found dropped down into the leaf litter, shot in the neck. And then everyone was running again…

The shots pursued them through the trees and finally Daryl and Maggie were alone, hiding behind tree trunks as best they could. Daryl’s heart was pounding and he glanced back at her. “There’s only the one shooter out here. Three shots, one at a time, then he had to reload.” She nodded.

“We gotta get to Hershel before they find him,” Maggie said desperately. “Stay here. I’ll go around and flank the shooter.”

Daryl tried to keep the marksman’s attention, but no more shots were fired in his direction and soon he could hear the muffled sounds of Maggie fighting with someone. He took off through the trees, arriving just in time to fire a bolt into the man’s side. It delayed him temporarily, but he then lunged at Daryl, throwing him into a nearby tree. He was knocked out briefly. When he came to, he was dazed and blinking through blood running into his eyes. He tried to get up but his body just wouldn’t move. Maggie was struggling with a snare around her ankle. The man advanced on her purposefully. Daryl tried again to get up but his muscles were weak, refusing to hold his weight. Just when it seemed that Maggie wouldn’t be able to free herself in time, an arrow struck the man in the side of the head and he dropped with a weighty thud to the ground. A single figure stepped out through the brush and threw their hood back, bow in hand. Maggie finally succeeded in cutting the snare and came down hard on her back, but she bounced right back up and went to stand over the still body of the rifleman.

“You should have kept him alive,” Maggie said, staring down at the body.

You reached down and tugged your arrow free of his skull with a sickening squelch. “He was about to kill you. And he wouldn’t have told us a fucking thing,” you said, staring down in anger and distaste at the body. Maggie began to search his pockets for anything useful. And that’s when your attention went to Daryl.

He shook his hair out of his eyes and finally managed to get up to his feet, collecting his knife from where it lay sprawled in the leaf litter. His heart was pounding and he half expected it to burst out of his chest at any moment. Your wide eyes met his and then flickered over his face. You stepped around Maggie and the fallen Reaper toward him as if you were being drawn to him by some force outside of yourself. Maybe you were. Daryl’s chest was heaving as he tried to catch his breath, but whether it was from the chase and fight or from seeing you he couldn’t be sure. He squinted back at you from some combination of the blood running into his eyes and the tears burning in them as you stopped in front of him, your lips in a small pout, slightly parted, brows knit together.

You glanced down for a brief moment and pulled out a small cloth, reaching up and wiping away the blood running down his forehead into his eyes and cascading down the side of his face. Your expression hadn’t changed—you looked as shocked as a deer in headlights. Daryl drank in the sight of you and leaned into the soft touch of the cotton as you wiped his face. You lifted the scrap of fabric and Daryl’s eyes shut completely as you clasped your shaky hand to his cheek. Your thumb traced the vertical scar on his cheek and he saw your eyes follow up to the portion above on his eyebrow. That’s when your eyes suddenly filled with tears and your lips curved into a disbelieving smile. Daryl practically knocked you over as he wrapped you into an urgent hug, his eyes squeezed shut as he focused on the feeling of you against him, his arms around your frame which was still familiar despite the passing years. You fit just as he remembered you did. Tears poured out of his closed eyes and down his cheeks and he thought he could feel some falling from your eyes and wetting his shirt too.

Some stunned laugh left you as he nearly knocked you down, but then you simply looped your arms around him and hugged him back as tightly as you could. His arms around your lower back were grounding. It was just then that Kelly, Elijah, and Cole rejoined you, looking on in some confusion and amazement at the teary reunion happening before their eyes. Kelly shot Maggie a questioning glance. Maggie’s eyes were dewy and she had a smile on her face that seemed wildly out of place for all the terror that had just happened. “They—they go way back,” she explained to Kelly. “To the beginning. They lost each other.”

“And now they found each other again,” Kelly finished, thinking of her sister Connie.

Finally, suddenly self-conscious, Daryl pulled back and the two of you looked at each other for a long moment. You smiled up at him, your eyes still a little glassy, and then reached up to brush more of his hair that was sticking to the blood there away from his forehead. You looked at the cut there. “Are you alright?” you asked him.

He gulped and could only manage a nod. He knew nothing would come out if he tried to speak. Stop staring so hard, dumbass. He averted his eyes away to the ground, but that only lasted a second. He couldn’t look away from you for fear that you’d disappear again.

“Hershel?” Maggie suddenly asked frantically from behind you. You spun around to answer her.

“He’s safe,” you said.

Maggie heaved a huge sigh of relief and gently grabbed your arm in a grateful movement. “And—?”

“With Hershel,” you said. “Follow me.”

The party now joined together again, everyone followed you through the brush as quietly as possible. Daryl stayed close behind you on the right, ghosting your every step. He was worried you’d feel how hard he was staring at you, but you seemed distracted enough not to notice.

“What if there are more of them out here?” Cole asked in a hushed voice.

You glanced back over your shoulder at him. “There are. You can bet on it. But we’re safe for the moment.”

Suddenly, there was a soft whistle ahead and it was definitely not a bird. Maggie froze and whistled back, smiling over at you and softly touching your arm again, relief on her face. “Ya’ll rest here a minute. Daryl,” she said, nudging her head forward, “come on with us.”

Just a short distance away, an acorn plunked down and bounced right off Maggie’s head. The three of you looked up to see two boys, about the same age, looking down at you from secure seats on a broad oak branch. One, unmistakably Hershel in Glenn’s old baseball cap, greeted Maggie softly. “Hi, Mom.” She grinned up at him.

The other, slightly older, had shoulder length wavy, brown hair and sat swinging his feet in the air. A small bow with an arrow nocked and ready was in his hands.

“It’s alright. Come on down,” you said.

Both of them nimbly slipped down from the tree, landing softly in the damp earth and leaf litter. Maggie grabbed Hershel into a hug and clasped his face briefly before taking his hand. She looked over at you and Daryl, a knowing smile on her face. “We’ll give you a minute. Find us back with the others and then we’ll all head somewhere safe for the night.”

You nodded and watched her go, anxiously chewing on your bottom lip.

“Mom? Is everything okay?”

You looked down at the little boy and gave him a warm smile. “For now, it is. Thanks for keeping an eye on Hershel.” You rested your hands on his shoulders and studied his face.

“I saw him,” he said and the smile on your lips died. “He walked right underneath us. Who are they?”

You shook your head. “Just some bad people. We’re gonna head somewhere safe for the night. It’s okay now.” You knelt down and gave him a long hug. “I missed you,” you said warmly to him, ruffling his hair as you stood up.

“Are they the same ones that—”

“Not right now, buddy,” you sighed, straightening up. “I’m very tired. Come on.” Now, for the first time since you’d found the boys, you caught Daryl’s blue eyes. They were bewildered and questioning and a little overwhelmed.

“Later,” you mouthed to him, your glance apologetic.

Daryl gulped and followed alongside you all the way back to the safety of the shipping containers they’d cleared the night before. BY the time everyone was settled in it was dark out and Elijah was on watch. It seemed very quiet outside the fences. After looking in quickly on Maggie and Hershel, Daryl shoved his hands into his pockets to hide their shakiness and went to the container you’d claimed for the night.

The heavy door was ajar and he stepped softly into the opening. You were seated with your back against the cold steel wall, the little boy asleep beside you on a piled bedroll and spare clothing. You were running your fingers through his hair. You looked up as Daryl’s movement near the door caught your eye and your lips curved in a subtle smile. You tilted your head to beckon him inside.

His heart jumped and he stepped in. You adjusted the blanket over the boy’s shoulder. Daryl walked silently around to your other side and nervously took a seat next to you on the floor. You looked at him expectantly, your eyes soft.

He gulped again as he looked at the sleeping child beside you.

“I know you must have a million questions,” you said quietly. “I know I do. Maggie’s already helped me answer some of them.”

Daryl’s eyes flitted over your face and then returned to the little boy.

“Daryl—” you shifted beside him, angling your body toward his, and he was surprised when you reached for his hand. Hot electricity jumped up his arm at your touch. He met your eyes again. “He’s yours, if you hadn’t guessed. Like I even need to tell you that… I’m sure you were doing the math as soon as you saw him,” you trailed off, watching his reaction carefully.

His breath seemed stolen. He’d known it. Of course he’d known it as soon as he saw him… but hearing you say it was different. A tidal wave of emotions rose up in his chest.

“He’s nine and a half.” You looked back over at your son. “He asked about you today, when we got here.” You caught Daryl’s eyes again.

Daryl gulped at the constriction in his throat and wished you hadn’t let go of his hand. “Does he, uhh—did ya—?”

You smiled, nodding. “Yeah. I almost didn’t even have to tell him. He’s heard enough stories about his dad and his crossbow. And his vest with the wings.” A few tears escaped onto your cheeks and you hurriedly wiped them away.

The word “dad” stole Daryl’s breath again and his blue eyes shot up to meet yours. Daryl cleared his throat nervously. “What’s his name?”

Your smile widened. “I named him Daryl, of course. I call him DJ for Daryl Jr.”

He let out a disbelieving laugh and shook his head a little.

“What?” you pressed him.

He scratched at a non-existent itch on the back of his head nervously. “Ya ain’t gonna believe this… but Michonne and Rick, they have a son. Rick Jr. We all call him RJ.”

“You’re right. I don’t believe it,” you laughed softly. The light was sparking in your eyes and Daryl couldn’t grasp that he was actually sitting there next to you, looking at you, real and vibrant in front of him. “He has your hair,” you said, stroking your fingers through it again. “And your smile.”

“S’got yer eyes though,” Daryl said, not even really meaning to speak it aloud. “I saw right away.”

“He’s amazing, Daryl. He’s so strong and so brave. Like his dad,” you said fondly, looking at his peacefully sleeping form. “And you should see him track and hunt… I taught him as best as I could. I’m sure there’s plenty more for you to teach him though.”

Daryl’s eyes were fixed on your profile in the dim light. “Ya gotta know, Y/N—” You could hear the emotion in his voice easily. “I searched and searched for ya. I went back into Atlanta every day for a week straight to look—Rick had to drag me outta there. And then everywhere I went, I never stopped lookin’ for ya. Ya gotta know that. I never stopped.” His expression was a bit desperate, willing you to believe him.

Your smiled faded as you looked at him and your eyes turned sad. “Hey…” Your hand landed gently on his arm again. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault we got separated. And it’s not your fault couldn’t find me. I knew you would be looking. I was looking too. Always.”

Tears burned in his eyes again and he tried to blink them away but one managed to break free and roll down his cheek. He’d carried so much guilt on his shoulders all these years… he did think it was his fault that he lost you. You reached up and wiped the tear away with your thumb. Daryl’s hand closed lightly around your wrist. His heart hammered in his chest at the feeling of your silky skin beneath his fingers. The light touch of his fingertips on the underside of your wrist sent goosebumps and electricity up your back.

“I thought I was never going to see you again,” you admitted. He could hear the grief in your voice. You’d mourned him just the way he’d mourned you, intensely and constantly. Your hand slipped from him gently and you sighed, leaning back against the wall behind you. “How are we supposed to catch up on what’s happened in the last ten years?” you said with a wry laugh.

He ducked his head and nodded. “I dunno… s’kinda overwhelmin’, isn’t it?”

You sighed and nodded. “Yeah.”

Daryl noticed that your eyes were heavy and your shoulders were sagging, and having not slept the night before, he was exhausted too, though still unsure that sleep would come tonight. His mind was a blur. “Yer tired,” he said, shifting. “I’ll let ya get some rest.”

“Daryl—”

On his feet now, he looked down at you and watched your lips part slightly. He felt another rush of nerves.

“You could… stay in here. If you wanted to… with us.”

He hesitated for a moment, surprised and happy by the suggestion. He nodded wholeheartedly. “I’ll just grab my gear.” All he wanted was to be close to you and this kid who looked like him.

“Okay,” you smiled up at him and smoothed your hand over DJ’s hair again.

In a few more minutes, Daryl had settled down protectively near the door on his bedroll and you were settled down on yours next to your son. The space between the two of you felt vast, but neither of you were brave enough to cross it. Yet.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

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maybeitsalivescribbles · 4 months

Text

The little group of citizens looked at the jack-in-a-box with no little apprehension. They were safely huddled up together on the other side of the room, but the box was shaking and groaning. It wouldn’t hold much longer. They all knew that Villain was inside, but their abilities were... unclear. No one wanted to know more. They nervously glanced at the Hero who'd brought them all together.

"What are we doing here ?" someone asked.

Hero gave them all a kind, reassuring smile.

"You know, there's something I believe deeply", she said, her hand on her heart. "I think all of us are heroes inside."

"What does that mean ?"

Hero kept smiling while putting her hand on the door knob:

"That means, dear citizens...that I'm sure you can deal with Villain all by yourselves ! It will be good for you ! Byyyyye !"

The door closed on her, leaving the citizens frozen with surprise. A key turned into the lock. For a moment, all they could hear was her running away.

“It’ll be all right”, said someone to break the terrified silence.

“Really ? How can you tell ?”

“Well, you've heard her ! We’re all heroes, aren’t we ?”

“No we’re bloody not !” yelped the other one. “I am an accountant, and you work at the post office ! It’s not a hero we need, it’s a locksmith ! Is there one in the room ?”

“Yeah”, said a middle-aged woman, “but I don’t have my tools.”

“Then improvise something, lady ! We’re running out of time !”

The locksmith scratched her head and knelt in front of the lock.

“Does someone have a hairpin or a paper clip ?”

“Yes,” answered a nurse who was on her coffee break, “take it”.

“See ?” asked the accountant. “That’s what real heroes look like to me. Doing the real work for us so we can run the hell out of here.”

“It can’t be that bad,” insisted the postman stubbornly. “A real hero wouldn’t have put us in danger. The box is locked, after all. Maybe it's a test. Maybe she went out to find help.”

“For what, burying our bodies ?”

The box exploded. Confetti flied across the room. Slowly, Villain raised from their former trap.

“Muahaha”, they said in a polite effort to keep the conversation alive.

It didn’t quite work, so they added:

“Beware mortals, for I take the shape of your greatest fear !”

“Calm down,” barked the accountant. “We don’t have the key either. We can’t free -”

He stopped, as he suddenly realized that admitting to the villain that they couldn’t run away was probably not the best idea. Meanwhile, the nurse gasped, having made a realization of her own:

“That’s why we’re a group ! You can’t be the fears of everyone at once!”

“True, but I can take the shape of universal fears. It’s your choice, really.”

To prove their abilities, the Villain shaped themself into an abyss of absolute darkness, the grim reaper, and a very expensive medical bill.

“Aaaaah”, howled the whole group, convinced.

The locksmith, who was in tears after seeing the bill, whispered:

“We have no choice. Someone has to face their fears. It’s the only way to win alive.”

“All right, but who goes first ?”

The postman went first. He tried hard. He tried really hard at every step. “After all, we’re all heroes”, he repeated to himself, until Villain transformed into the brother who raised him saying “I’m disappointed in you.”

He collapsed.

The accountant went second. It is a known fact that most accountants are full of repressed rage. This one was very eager to share it with Villain and, if he may be quoted, “to punch their fucking guts out”. He ran and nearly landed a hit, but Villain dodged and showed him his own body with his insides out, in a sea of blood.

He collapsed.

When the nurse went, she was rather sure of herself. She had a fear of blood but with her job she had it under control. Then the Villain showed her all her patients dying, and she realized she couldn’t erase this fear or that would have made her a monster.

So she collapsed.

Villain stepped towards the locksmith, who during all that time was desperately trying to open the door. It wasn’t that the lock was hard, but her fingers were shaking too much, tears blinded her, and she was huddled in a corner, crying her eyes out.

Villain frowned. They transformed again – and again, and again. They screamed in frustration, then in terror. That didn’t help them.

They exploded.

When all the group regained their consciousness, they demanded an explanation. The locksmith squeaked:

“I didn’t know ! Of course I didn’t know ! But...when I think about it...that makes sense.”

“What makes sense ?”

“I think...I forced them to take too many forms at the same time, and at the end they couldn’t cope.”

“How did you do that ?”

“Oh”, said the nurse, who nodded.

“What ? It’s some kind of special ability ?”

“It depends from the point of view, I suppose.”

“Well, what is it called ?”

“Generalized anxiety.”

Back to Hero x Villain Masterlist

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fanficriter · 9 months

Text

Saiki K Boys with a Stoner! S/O

Warnings - Weed (obviously)

Characters - Saiki, Kaidou, Kuboyasu, Saiko

Gender neutral reader

This is my first time writing on tumblr, I apologise if anything’s messed up.

——————————————————————————

Saiki

- He's never tried it, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he just doesn’t care.

- Didn’t really care when he found out, he just shrugged and was like “ok.”

- You offered him some once, he said agreed, so you got stoned together

- “What a pain, I guess it wouldn’t hurt…”

- If he was smoking out of a bong, he definitely felt a bit stupid doing it

- He just kinda stared at the ceiling the whole time

- Doesn’t care if you smoke around him

- Very quiet while stoned

- He also has a bit of trouble controlling his powers

- He didn’t really touch it again after that

Kaidou

- Has never tried it, his mother always told him that he would die if he ever did drugs 💀

- When he found out that you did it, he freaked out because he thought you were gonna die

- “Y/N THAT WILL KILL YOU!! DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH OR SOMETHING?!”

- It took some convincing for him to realise that you were gonna be okay 😭

- He still worries about it occasionally

- When you offered him some, he refused straight away

- One day he got curious, and asked if he could try some

- You gave him an extremely small amount

- He had no idea what he was doing 😭

- When it hit him, he freaked out a little, but calmed down pretty quickly

- Becomes very cuddly when stoned

- After that, he didn’t really touch it that much, he would only do it if you guys were alone

- After a while he didn’t care if you smoked in-front of him, as long as it wasn’t in his house

Kuboyasu

- Used to do it occasionally, but didn’t really touch it when he decided to leave his delinquent life behind 🙏

- He found out when he caught you doing it behind the school once

- “IT’S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LI-“ “Can i have some?”

- He always asks the weirdest questions while stoned (me too bro)

- “Can the grim reaper swim?” (actual question i asked while high)

- Doesn’t care if you smoke around him, he will join you occasionally

- You guys had a competition to see who could smoke the most, you both ended up greening out

- Makes sure your limiting yourself, he doesn’t want you to get addicted

Saiko

- Has never tried it, he thinks it’s for losers

- When he found out you did it, he low key bullied you

- “Seriously? You know you shouldn’t be doing that, right? Where’s your self respect, y/n?”

- When you offered him some, he declined

- “That stuff is for losers!”

- You can smoke around him, but he will scold you and complain the whole time

- He never touched the stuff, and never will

——————————————————————————

Yay I did it!!! Feel free to leave requests in my ask box :3

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zairene · 6 months

Text

WELCOME TO THE PARTY. osamu dazai

* ˚ ✦ synopsis: you’ve perished and after being in a limitless abyss that seemed to have no end, you found yourself having a conversation with the underground’s grim reaper.

* ˚ ✦ genre: fic, 1k count !

* ˚ ✦ author’s note: this is honestly a really good prologue for a series.

after becoming a victim of reality’s corrupt fate of death, you were surprisingly calm. were you satisfied when you died? obviously not. dying young meant leaving everyone and everything you had ever loved behind and it was definitely a hard pill to swallow. however, you just knew it was coming. you were free of the pain you were constantly having to endure when living, and now that it has stopped, you finally achieved a level of peace you haven’t experienced before.

you had been suffering from a terminal illness, when doctors immediately diagnosed you and relayed the news that you were slowly dying, you didn’t know how to feel. seeing the tears of your loved ones did not help your conflicted emotions, they were handling it worse than you and you were the one dying. so when it came to the day you were expected to die, you were just ready for life to take you away and put you in whatever situation that lay for you in the afterlife.

and here you are now, walking in this abyss-like place where nothing but the color black was in your vision. you didn’t know how long you were walking or where you were heading towards—hell you could’ve been walking in circles this entire time—but you didn’t feel any sort of fatigue or have any sense of time. being dead was a lot more dull than you assumed it to be. either way, you had no choice.

“well hello there.”

a deep smooth voice called from behind you. you turned around to see a figure with a tall and lanky physique, his bandaged hands held an enormous scythe. is he here to finish me off? that was your initial thought when you saw the being. he soon lifted his hoodie to reveal his face. his eyes were a piercing black to the point where a simple stare could make any regular person think he could see their soul. in this case, he probably could.

his wavy brown hair was layered, but his hair in the back reached the nape of his neck. even for being dead, it looked like he took care of it quite well, you were kinda impressed. his smile was oddly soothing, but you could tell there were many tales to be told behind it.

“are you just here to tell me i’m dead? i think i’m aware.” you said.

“no, no darling. actually, you’re not dead. not yet anyways.” he saunters closer to you. “this is the void.”

“the what?”

“the void.” he raises his hand that is holding his scythe and places it behind him to lean on. you are stunned by the fact that thing could handle his entire body weight. “a place between life and death where i make your journey into the afterlife somewhat easier, to put it into simpler terms, i guess.” he paused, taking a look at you. his expression changed. “you poor thing, you look awfully young. i take it you haven’t handled the news well, hm?”

“yeah, dying young wasn’t really a part of my resolutions for the new year but here i am. and i handled it just fine, thank you.” you were not about to have him treat you like some charity case similar to anybody else that has met their end here. he smirks. “sassy one, aren’t ya?”

“if being sassy means i won’t put up with pity, then i might be the sassiest of them all.” you retorted.

“point taken.” he puts his hands up in defense. “here, walk with me. unless you wanna be here forever, then be my guest.” he walks past you, and you follow shortly not interested in the idea of being lost for the rest of eternity.

“i’m your friendly neighborhood grim reaper, and yes, just like the forms of entertainment the humans like to indulge in.” he says disgustingly. you noticed his disdain for mortal activities but you weren’t bothered to ask.

“so you’re here to take my soul?”

“incorrect and that’s honestly boring. think of the opportunity that lies ahead of you as a second life.”

“a second life?” you were intrigued.

“yes. a better version of humanity, that’s what many have said at least.”

“oh really? what makes them say that?”

“my, you are filled with questions. as expected but i’m afraid i can’t answer them all as i am a very busy man.” you rolled your eyes. “however, you can refer to our consultant at the underground once our conversation here is finished.”

he held his finger up. “and before you ask, i’ll explain.” you closed your mouth since you were gonna ask another question.

“the underground is the place you go to once you’re officially dead—i feel that part was obvious but it’s part of the speech i give everyone—a wonderland filled with people who are also in your situation. dead and confused. some have resided there longer than others, so they know their way around the place, but for people like you,” he points at you. “it’s a redemption of sorts. to live your life eternally without the fear it may end due to unfathomable circumstances or stupid things like old age.”

“so you’re saying that i’m living life again but infinitely and with no consequences?”

“correct! you’re a natural.” he continues. “but this doesn’t exclude you from having responsibilities of course. we all have jobs here and you still have to play your part, alive or not. now, are you ready?”

“yeah, sure.” you weren’t. you were still very hesitant about the whole thing but you didn’t want to continue to bombard the guy with questions. “well then,” after those words a red portal appeared in front of the both of you. you looked at the man’s face and he gave you another smile. “welcome to the party.”

and before you could even comprehend what he told you, you were pushed into the portal, unaware of where it would take you specifically but you most certainly had an idea.

(📦) — BUNGOU STRAY DOGS TAGLIST // @4nthonyyliving @4kh

(📝) — TAGLIST FORM :: sign to be apart of the taglist!

#✏️ :: — fanfiction !#bungou stray dogs fanfiction #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #dazai x reader #dazai x fem reader #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x fem reader #osamu dazai x reader

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makethatelevenrings · 1 year

Text

Angel By the Wing - Thirteen

my thesis advisor watching me write for hours and none of it is my thesis

Chapter Warnings: canon death

Series Masterlist

“Sofia!”

The sound of your sneakers striking the linoleum tile seemed to echo through the halls, but you couldn’t be bothered to care. You had been doing some cleaning around your apartment when Sofia called you sobbing, saying something about Natasha and Bob in the hospital. You promised her that you would be there as soon as possible and raced out the door.

Jake met you at the gate and climbed into the passenger seat of your car, using his military ID to let you get past the gates once they scanned your vehicle. His face was drawn, brows pinched and lips pursed in thought.

Your hand settled in his and he squeezed once, assuring you that he was fine.

“Sof,” you called once you spotted the brunette. She stood from the chair she was hunched over in and opened her arms just in time for you to collide with her. Rooster stood from where he sat next to her and watched as the two of you embraced.

“She’s okay. They both are. Winded and sore, but she’s okay,” Sofia whispered. Tears poured down her cheek and you raised your hand to cradle the back of her head. “Oh god, she’s got these bruises on her chest that makes me want to throw up.”

“She’s okay,” you repeated. “Nat would look the Grim Reaper in the eye and tell that motherfucker that she has to get home to her wife.”

Sofia let out a wet laugh as she pulled away. You used the sleeves of your shirt to wipe her tears away and then tugged her to sit back down. Bradley motioned for you to take his seat and he went to join the other aviators crowding the waiting room.

“I’m sorry for calling you,” she hiccuped through another sob. “I just needed…I needed someone who knew what it feels like. “Hey, no apologizing,” you chastised. You knew what she meant, though. Someone who wasn’t in the military, who wasn’t up in the air. Someone whose feet were firmly planted on the ground, one ear tuned for the phone in case they got bad news.

“And they’ve got this stupid fucking mission they’re being sent out on which is basically a suicide mission,” Sofia continued. “She nearly died in training and she’s the best so how the fuck is she going to live through the real thing?”

The assurances died in your throat as her words sunk in. This is why the aviators were here, you realized. You instinctively looked over to the group of pilots and found Rooster watching you carefully. How long had he known? Hangman?

Focus. Sofia needed you.

“They’re setting up a cot in her room for me because they’re keeping me for the night,” she said. You nodded along and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling your friend into a hug.

“What can I do for you? Have you eaten recently?”

Sofia considered the question for a moment before sighing. “I haven’t eaten since this morning and now that you mention it, I could eat.”

Pulling away from her, you stood and winked. “I’ll run by the cafeteria and see if I can get you something edible.”

Like moths to a flame, Hangman and Rooster stepped away from the group and followed you as you made your way down the hall. You pointedly ignored the two men as you followed the directions a nurse gave you to the cafeteria.

“Sweetheart,” Bradley called as he jogged to catch up with you. “It was a bird strike, but Sofia said it herself, they’re both fine. It happens. Phoenix trains for this stuff for a reason.”

“It’s not that, Bradley Bradshaw,” you spat as you whirled around to face him. Your finger jabbed into his chest and you glared up at him. Jake joined him, concern painted on his features as he took in your anger.

“When were either of you going to tell me that you’re training for a suicide mission? Huh? Did you really think I wouldn’t care?”

Bradley’s face fell and raised his hands like you were some scared animal and he was calming you down. You shoved his hands away from you and kept walking down the hall. You couldn’t deal with this right now. You needed to get Sofia something to eat and you needed to call Penny and let her know that you might be a bit late and-

Your phone rang and, as if summoned, you spied your boss’s name on your screen. You pressed the answer button and raised your phone to your ear, ignoring the two men speaking to one another behind you.

“Hey Pen, I was just about to call you. I might be a bit late tonight, but I’ll only be an hour max.”

“Honey. Sarah just called me.” That tone. That damn tone. You froze, your heart sinking at the sound of her strained voice. Chairs lined the hallway and you shuffled over to one before sinking down onto the thin cushion.

“But I just saw him.” Your voice came out as a whimper, or maybe more of a whine. The white walls of the hospital blurred in on you, shrinking and compacting and collapsing until you were trapped.

“I’m so sorry,” Penny said. Admiral Kazansky had been her friend too. You pressed the palm of your hand against your eyes in hopes that it would stop the burning tears that threatened to push to the surface.

“I’m sorry too, Pen.”

“I’m not going to open tonight. Sarah’s going to need help planning the funeral. Will you be okay?”

“Yeah.” You looked up into the blinding lights above you. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Hug Sarah for me, okay? And text if you need anything. I’m here with Sofia, but I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“Okay. Take care, hon.”

You let your phone fall into your lap and stared at the chipping screen protector. What came next? Everyone always talks about the lead up to death and they discuss the grief that comes after, but what about the in between? What do you do when the body is half-warm and not laid to rest?

A warm hand settled on your knee and you looked up to find blue eyes studying your face. Bradley stood behind Jake, his large form shielding the both of you from any onlookers.

“What’s goin’ on, darlin’?”

You considered speaking the words that scratched and clawed at your teeth and tongue, desperate to escape the cage you had forced them into. Looking into Jake’s eyes, you were violently reminded of your anger that existed before the call.

Here you were, seated in a hospital because your friend needed you after her wife had to eject from a plane and landed in the hospital, sitting before two men who consumed you yet would be setting out for a suicide mission in god knows how many days, and the only father figure you had in your life was now gone.

“Nothing,” you finally said. “Nothing’s wrong. I just needed a moment.”

You pulled away from Jake, physically and mentally. You locked it all down, packed your heart into a box, and stored it on the shelves of the iron-clad rationality of your mind. People needed you. They didn’t have time for you to be emotional.

Keep going, your mom would order. I don’t have time for tears.

Keep going, you scolded yourself. Others need you to be calm.

And then at the funeral, after you laid a small red checker piece on the surface of the coffin and watched as dirt sprinkled across the smooth mahogany, Sarah embraced you tightly and told you the words you had been waiting to hear your whole life.

“He loved you like a daughter and you gave him such peace. Thank you, sweetheart, for being in our lives. You’re stuck with us now.” A small, pain-filled smile flickered across her face and you kissed her cheek, as a daughter does to a mother.

At what point, you asked yourself, does the grief swallow you whole?

Tag List: @mizzzpink @xoxabs88xox @dreaminglandsworld @khaylin27 @loveforaugust @phoenixssugarbaby @atarmychick007 @mak-32 @itsmytimetoodream @krismdavis @emma8895eb @startrekfangirl

#hangster x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader x jake seresin #bradley bradshaw imagine #hangman x reader #hangman imagine #rooster x reader #rooster imagine #abtw

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biscuitblinkeu · 1 year

Text

Just a Simple Kiss [6]

Chaennie x Fem!reader

She gets her kiss, and you get your room destroyed.

Word Count: 3050

……………………………………………………………

Jennie was in the middle of disinfecting your wounds when Chaeyoung appeared, plopping on the kitchen chair. She gave her a light smile as she saw her, setting the medical supplies down. Your own smile faded as you saw Chaeyoung’s bloody hands. Why didn't she wash them?

“You are finished with them?” Jennie questioned coming over to the angel. Chaeyoung nods, glancing over at you who has your face in your hands.

“She didn’t put up a fight. I’m disappointed, but nevermind that, how is (Y/n)?” Chaeyoung asks. Jennie bites her lip, thinking.

“She’s a bit shaken up, and she was poisoned. It’s not that bad but her body is on fire inside, most likely killing her slowly. You need to heal her.” The grim reaper informed. and Chaeyoung frowned. Poisoned? Well that wasn’t good.

It’s not that bad, but it’ll kill you though? How does that make sense? You thought sarcastically.

“Okay. Can you dispose of that demon’s soul?” Chaeyoung said, rolling up her sleeves. They were a mess. She received a nod from Jennie.

“And call the others once you’re done.” She said sternly, knowing the reaper can be forgetful. She made her way to you, her expression changing worried.

Chaeyoung moved to stand in between your legs and grabbed your chin to make you face her. She noticed you were still crying, your eyes were glossy and slightly puffy. On the other hand, you noticed the angel’s hands were still bloody making you push her away. Chaeyoung smiled softly in amusement, quickly cleaning them.

“Are you okay?” She asked, not knowing what to do as you continued to cry. You shook your head no, letting out ugly sobs. Whatever that demon did to you, fucking hurts. The angel chuckled at that, wiping your tears.

It was cute.

“How about you make a wish?” Chaeyoung said blankly. She might as well take advantage of the situation. She wants to kiss you right now, who looks so pretty crying. She’d love to see you a mess.

“I’m sure your body hurts. I can make it feel better.” Chaeyoung proposed, her tone teasing but it really was true. You avoid her eyes, misunderstanding what she truly meant. But still, you nodded, wiping your tears and looking to the floor.

You don’t care at this point. You’re in pain, and if it means you have to kiss the angel, you will. Swallowing your mind’s protests you brought in a breath, preparing yourself. You then heard the angel murmur a small “perfect”, making you double guess your choice.

“You're adorable,” Chaeyoung whispered, right into your ear as she leaned in, “I wanna fucking ruin you.”

(Ayoooo?)

You feel Chaeyoung’s finger brush over your lips, playing with the padding. “I want you to know, this is your first and second wish since I held it off.” She informed. “Meaning, I get to do more than a ‘simple single kiss’.” She adds, smiling.

Your body heats up, what does she mean more? How much farther will she go for another wish?

“Now, I want your confirmation again.” Chaeyoung says seriously, making you look up, a sigh leaving your lips. You're not a huge fan of eye contact.

“Yes. I wish you’d heal me already— it hurts.” You whined in annoyance. You don’t understand why you need to confirm it twice. At your answer Chaeyoung smiles, and before you could even prepare yourself, she’s captured your lips in a kiss.

At first, you’re shocked, then you begin to melt into the kiss that is soft and sweet. Her hands cup your face delicately and she presses herself against you more, well, as much as she can between your legs as you sit on the counter. Your stomach flips at the sensation and you wrap your arms around her waist.

Your lips were so pillowy, so addicting, and Chaeyoung praises herself for waiting till you made a second wish, otherwise she wouldn’t have been able to stop after “one simple kiss”. She bites and sucks at them, occasionally her tongue swipes the bottom. The angel pecks your lips a few times before whispering against your lips, “That’s one…now,” and then she’s kissing you again.

Although this time, when a squeeze to your hips has you gasping and opening your mouth slightly, her tongue, hot and wet, immediately dives through and meets yours, coaxing a moan out of you.

Your eyes shoot open at the action, and Chaeyoung’s lips move along yours a bit roughly, sucking on your tongue. A whimper escapes you, feeling heat pool in your stomach.

It felt good…

You’ve never kissed like this— you don’t know how to breathe. Your eyes become glossy at the loss of air and you feel lightheaded. And don’t get it wrong, Chaeyoung’s lips feel nice, but despite that, you might faint. You could feel your lips starting to swell up.

"C-Chaeyoung." You said when you manage to pull away to gasp for air, her lips pressing up back against yours after a few seconds.

"Let me breath.” You spoke when you managed to push the angel away softly, but she moved to your neck, giving it open mouthed kisses and markings. Her hands were tightly gripping your waist. Chaeyoung makes quick work of decorating your skin with love bites, reveling in the noises that spill from your lips.

You can’t bring yourself to care about the marks or the sounds you're making— because the only thing you're thinking about is Chaeyoung.

You feel a hand go under your sweater, resting on your waist again. Chaeyoung rubs miscellaneous shapes on your skin soothingly. It was all soft before you let out a gasp feeling the angel bite down particularly harshly on your collarbone.

“Ouch…!” You say. The bite hurt, but at the same time felt nice. At this the angel pulled away, cradling your face again and looking deep into your eyes.

Her eyes are dim, the haze replacing her normal enthusiastic brown ones. She looks at the pattern of marks she made on your neck.

You noticed her demeanor shifted from a hungry list to visible concern in an instant. “I am so sorry… I went a bit far.” Chaeyoung apologizes before smiling cheekily. “You were just so cute, it’s hard not to mark you up.” She mutters, but you don’t hear it.

Chaeyoung presses a finger on one of the marks, making you flinch. The angel smiles at your reaction, letting out a snort. You don’t understand what’s funny. That hurt.

“Well, since that’s done, how do you feel?” She needs to make sure you're not in pain anymore, or that there are no after effects.

“I feel better. It’s just…my neck fucking hurts!” You seethed. “How will I hide all of these?” You whined, finger motioning to your neck. It honestly looked like you were attacked by a vampire, or huge mosquito.

Chaeyoung ignores your complaints, responding with a small “Good.” Her eyes are focused behind you. You wonder what she’s looking at, then a portal appears. On instinct, you quickly move to cover your ears, expecting screaming to fill the room. It never came, only the sound of air whistling came from it.

You had gotten used to Jennie’s portals, so much that it made you have the muscle memory to cover your ears from the first time. You thought they all made that horrible noise. You figured portals were the main method they used to travel, aside from appearing and disappearing.

A few seconds later the portal opened, and a man with short purple hair walked out. He had on a tuxedo and a golden beret with angel wing clips on it.

“You could’ve sent a note you were arriving.” Chaeyoung said, annoyed, but nonetheless had a smile on her face. The one with purple hair shrugs, glancing at you. He squints his eyes at you, practically staring into your soul. You shiver when he looks away.

“Well, I was requested to escort you home to get ready for the upcoming Golden Banquet.” He responded. “Or have you forgotten about it?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow. The expression on Chaeyoung’s face gave him the answer. “So you did.” He scowls.

“No— maybe a little, but I was focused on my human.” She lies, having completely forgotten, as she pulls you closer. She didn’t want to go. The banquet was so annoying for her with all the angels that would flirt and even try to ask her out.

“Since I’m busy…why don’t you tell my father I can’t go, Minai?” Chaeyoung tries, hoping he’d take the hint and not make her go. He chuckled, pulling her off you. He grabbed her wrist firmly, making her whine because she couldn’t escape.

“If you're worried about her I’ve already sent two from your division to watch her. And you know your mother won’t take it lightly if you don’t prepare for the banquet— let alone miss it.” He reasoned, readjusting his grip tighter as the angel was prying his fingers off one by one. “Plus, I think your human needs a little break. What did you do to her neck?” He says pointing at you.

Your face heats up and you quickly cover your neck with your sweater sleeves. As you did, a big smirk formed on the angel’s face, but it quickly fades as Minai increases his grip.

“Fine!” Chaeyoung hissed, “Who did you send? Jennie?” She hoped it was Jennie.

“No. Jisoo and Lisa of course.” Minai answers and the color drains from Chaeyoung’s face.

“Out of all them, you send those two?! They bicker so much- let alone they’re both messed up in the head somewhere— my poor human!” She cries before shooting Minai a glare, “Are you going to pay for the damage costs? The damage costs of my human losing brain cells being around those two? You know she might even get caught up in one of their fights? Because-” The angel complained, being cut off by Minai stepping on her foot.

“Son of a bit-” Chaeyoung started, her lips pursed from the pain, only to be cut off.

“As I said! Your human will have a break from you. They are more than capable of taking care of her for two days, Chaeyoung.” He repeated, “And your mother will scold both of us if I don’t get you to attend.”

You stifled a laugh as he kept winning the argument. From their conversation and the way they acted, you assumed the man was her friend or assistant.

Chaeyoung rolls her eyes, breaking out of his hold by twisting her arm. She runs back over to you, whispering. “Sorry, I have to leave again, I’ll be back as soon as I can. Beware of those two, if they bother you, call Jennie.” Chaeyoung warns you.

“Alright?” You question. You don’t know what she means by that. You watch Minai drag Chaeyoung back into the portal, and you let out a sigh when it closes.

How will you hide the marks on your neck?

…

With a groan, you stumbled back into your bedroom after a long day of honor classes and tutoring that seemed as if it would never end. You let out a loud groan as you plopped down onto your small bed, hugging your pillow and closing your eyes as you tried to drift off to sleep. You didn’t have trouble sleeping since you were exhausted.

A couple minutes later the quiet silence stilled around you, the only sound being the heater’s hum. It was a peaceful silence, other than a drop in temperature. You didn’t pay any attention to it thinking it was the window you left cracked open earlier, well, until you felt familiar chills crawling up your spine.

You immediately sat up and looked around, expecting to see Jennie or Chaeyoung, but you saw nothing. Signing, you laid back down and closed your eyes. The cold feeling still lingered, but since you already checked it out you couldn’t care less. You were tired.

As soon as you fell asleep two visitors appeared, blind to the eye.

“Can you tell me why we’re invisible again? She should be able to see us.” An angel with bangs stated, sitting on the small desk in the corner of your room.

“We don’t want to scare her, that’s why.” The brunette answered, leaning on the wall. She glances at the human who is now dead asleep, drooling on her pillow.

“Then when will we reveal ourselves, Jisoo? I’m bored, let’s wake her up.” Lisa whines.

“When she wakes up.” Jisoo answered, making the other let out a sigh. Lisa glances back at you and her eyes catch the poorly hidden marks on your neck.

“Sheesh! Chaeyoung really marked her neck up.” She snickers, hopping off the desk and approaching you. “What did she do to you?” She wonders out loud, kneeling in front of you poking your cheek. “She’s cute.” She says, “Just like a puppy.”

Jisoo has to agree with that.

Lisa studies your facial features for a while before she moves to touch your lips, Jisoo catches her hand giving her a look. “She off-limits. Don’t touch her.” Lisa ignores her, making Jisoo sigh. “Unless you wanna be in trouble.”

“I know, I know… Chaeyoung is so lucky to have such a pretty human. I just want to see how she looks when she’s being pleasured. Does she whimper when she’s getting kissed? How does she look when she’s fucked out and begging— Ouch!” Lisa said and Jisoo slapped her arm.

“Stop it. You better not touch her.” She warned, grabbing her wrist to tug her away. At this, Lisa taunts Jisoo and gives you a kiss. It didn’t last long though, as she was pulled away forcefully.

You jolted up from your sleep, looking around. You swore you felt somebody’s lips on yours, and you don’t know who. It’s definitely not Chaeyoung’s. Somebody else is here. Before you could grab your phone or maybe feel the air around you to see who it is— there’s a loud bang.

Then another.

Then another and another. You clutch your pillow and scramble up against the headboard. Your shelf is being repeatedly bumped against the wall, your books and figurines falling off of it.

“Let go Jisoo!” Lisa screamed, trying to pry the other's death grip off her shirt. Jisoo was slamming her into the dresser, her body banging into it.

“Why don’t I tell our dear leader that you’ve been touching her human?” Jisoo piped up.

“You wouldn’t. Don't you think I don’t know you slack off to see Nayeon? Why don’t I tell Chaeng about that?” Lisa hissed as she slammed Jisoo against the wall now.

“She’s in our division— and I’m not slacking off, Nayeon works with us!” Jisoo said exasperated, switching and slamming Lisa against the dresser. She groaned when the edge dug into her back.

You watched in horror as a hole appeared in your wall, shaking the whole room with the force. The furniture scratching against the wall was chipping the paint off. You came to the idea someone was fighting in your room like it was a damn boxing ring.

You needed to do something. If you don’t your room will be destroyed— and the amount of money to fix it would empty your bank account.

“Jennie! Jennie! Jennie, I need you here!” You yelled, following what Chaeyoung told you. You didn’t know whether one time was enough- buy even if it was, what if she didn’t get it the first time? You needed her to come here immediately.

A short second later appeared the cute Grim Reaper, wearing her reaper necklace, a black asymmetrical crop top, and baggy jeans that said “censored” on them. Jennie smiled at you, crawling on the bed next to you happily. “I love the way you say my name (Y/n). I was hoping you’d call me soon, I wanted to…” Jennie trailed off, hearing a bang.

Her bubbly expression soon changed to concern, and she looked where it came from. Once she looked, her face went blank. She had an idea why you called her now.

“Oh.” Jennie said as she watched Jisoo and Lisa fight— pushing each other into things and arguing. She also looks at the army of dents and holes in your walls.

The cat-eyed woman sighs, walking over to the situation, something that you can’t see. It took a while for the two angels to notice her till she tapped on both of their shoulders, making them flinch.

You wondered what she was doing till the two angels appeared. One had their hands on the other’s head, pulling at their bangs and the other had their hands wrapped around the other’s neck.

It was an interesting sight.

You then watched as Jennie pulled them apart, scolding them. “What is wrong with you two?” She spat, giving a harsh stare to them both. “You’re scaring her.”

“Lisa started it! She kissed her and I told her not l but she didn't listen.” Jisoo said, standing up and wiping the blood off her lip. Lisa glared at Jisoo because she snitched.

“You— you kissed (Y/n)?” Jennie laughed, before turning serious. “That’s unbelievable. If Chaeyoung finds out, you’re dead.” She empathizes with sliding her finger across her throat.

“Hey now— she doesn’t have to find out, right? I couldn’t resist, don’t you know how cute she is— I mean, it was just a greeting.” Lisa tries to play it off.

It’s like they forgot about you. You’re just sitting there listening to them talk about you, but at least you know who kissed you, as well as who destroyed the wall.

“Are you guys gonna fix it?” You spoke up, catching their attention. “Jisoo and Lisa, was it?…” you guessed they were the ones sent to watch you.

“The wall.” You add, just in case they don’t know.

“Oh, right. We’ll fix it. Sorry about that.” Lisa murmurs, looking at Jisoo who nods, apologizing too. That’s the least they could do after destroying your room. One of them claps their hands and the wall starts to rebuild itself.

Once that’s over, they turn back to you, apologizing again.

“Can you guys cook?”

A/n: This chapter was really fun to write and the Lust Angel division? They’re basically a bunch of highly sexual perves if you ask me LOL

I’m going to add more Jennie and Reader moments, but we’re reaching the middle of the story, so expect more :)

Would you like to continue? ϵ( 'Θ' )϶

#biscuitblinkeu #jennie x reader #rosé x reader #blackpink x reader #somethingpeculiar.biscuit #jennie x fem!reader #rosé x fem!reader #park chaeyoung x reader #fanfic

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aita-blorbos · 3 months

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AITA for bringing the girl I loved back from the dead without really thinking about how she’d feel about it?

There’s this girl I love. More than anything. She’s… my best friend. The most important person in the whole wide world. We grew up together, and for a long time she was the only friend I had. She’s amazing, beautiful, and I’d do almost anything for her.

Which is… maybe the problem, I’m starting to think?

You see, I got her killed. I didn’t mean to. It was an accident— the worst mistake I ever made. I… I wanted to get her a gift, and so I hunted down an ancient artifact that I felt was befitting of her, I thought it would be a grand gesture.

But I didn’t understand the forces I was messing with. That thing was evil. It slowly drove her mad, destroying her from the inside out. At first it wasn’t too bad— she was just overconfident, maybe a little mean, but it got worse and worse. She started doing very, vey bad things, culminating in her ruling over our country with an iron fist. She… hurt a lot of innocent people, and she even hurt me. Eventually it got so bad we had to…

Well, me and some new friends I made had to stop her. Permanently.

It’s been a long time since then, and I’ve made a lot of new friends, but I’ve never forgotten that girl: my best friend, the only person I ever loved. I’ve never forgotten the ways that I failed her or how I wished things could have been different.

That was why I was so ecstatic when I realized there was a way for me to meet the grim reaper, recently! I vowed I’d summon it, then bargain with it to reclaim her soul. I’d bring her back, and we’d finally have the happy ending we deserved.

And I WAS able to. Maybe not as easily as I hoped, but I was. And all I had to do was… well, uh…

Sacrifice half of my life span to give it to her, meaning I’ll definitely die young?

But that was a sacrifice I was willing to make! That part I don’t regret! I agreed. Readily.

But when she came back, she was…

Troubled.

The good news is her personality was back to normal— the grim reaper made sure of that, but when I explained what I’d done (NOT the deal, just that I’d revived her) and why she was alive, she… got mad?

She started screaming at me, tears in her eyes. She asked how I could seriously do something like that after “everything she did.” How I could “even bear to look at her after she became such a monster.”

And as she did, something sort of strange happened. Her body started to shift. You see, the girl I loved… she, um, stole a few bodies while she was in the throes of madness, and although she was initially herself when I brought her back, that didn’t last. Her body is constantly changing. Most of the time she’s something in between what she used to look like and who she was at the end of her life. A few friends of mine have theorized it’s because she isn’t really sure who she is anymore, and her body isn’t either.

She freaked out even more. She started to panic, asking “what I’d done to her.” I said I didn’t know. She ended up passing out.

Some friends of mine explained the situation to her— what had happened while she was gone and helped her calm down. The next time I saw her, she was less upset.

She apologized for her outburst, saying it seemed I had “suffered a lot because of her.” She said she didn’t mean to seem ungrateful— she was just scared and haunted by the things she’d done.

I told her it was okay and that we’d work through it together.

But things… haven’t gone swimmingly. We got run out of our home because the rest of our country hates us. She’s still upset about everything she did, especially to me. She won’t even let me call her by her name, saying that after what she did she “no longer deserves it.”

And her body keeps changing. Which is… really hard on her. Her appearance has always been important to her, and she hates how she looks. She says her old body is the body of an ugly, unlovable freak and that her newer body is the body of a sick and evil monster, and that it’s even worse being something in between.

No matter what she looks like on any given day, she hates it, and she’s even started hiding her face. She made us take down all the mirrors at the place we’ve been staying at and wears a mask all the time, saying she “can’t bear to look at herself, and doesn’t want anyone else to see her either.”

It breaks my heart. I still think she’s beautiful, no matter what she looks like, but she doesn’t believe me. She says I’m just saying that to make her feel better.

She… tries to be strong for me. We’re in a relationship now (we couldn’t be before— too many societal customs holding us back). She says she IS grateful for what I did… that she wants to give me the happy ending I deserve after everything I’ve been through, but…

Sometimes I hear her crying in her room at night when she thinks I’m not listening, and I wonder if I made the right decision. I remember the terror and anger she screamed at me with when she first came back and I feel sick to my stomach. She’s always saying these terrible things about herself. She has so much to grapple with. She never actually seems HAPPY.

And even worse, a few other friends of mine recently learned about what I did— the deal I made, that is, and they were very upset with me. They said I shouldn’t have done that— that they couldn’t believe I’d sacrificed my own life.

The girl I love still doesn’t know, but I know if she learned, it would destroy her, too. She’d probably hate herself and hate me even more than she already does. I’m really scared of her finding out.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I made the right decision anymore. I just wanted my friend back, but I’m starting to think I didn’t think about what SHE’D want at all. I didn’t even stop to think about how much guilt she’d have to deal with— all the things she’d have to process.

…Did I do something selfish? And if I did, how can I even begin to fix it?

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality

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villain-in-love · 3 days

Text

So basically... A Date With Death MC/Self-insert

Music:

Оно Выделяло Тепло by АИГЕЛ

Death Is A Teacher by Eden Iris

BRAT by Chris Marcell

...also Mixed Messages by Tom Cardy

Facts:

⬩ I have yet to come up with a separate name for her... So for now she's just Katarina.

⬩ Aspiring fashion designer of 25 years of age.

⬩ Currently works as an assistant in an atelier in the centre of the city.

⬩ Lives alone in a studio-type of apartments with her pet cat Seras.

⬩ She’s been getting into all kinds of disasters and life-threatening incidents throughout her life, miraculously surviving every time. Unfortunately, the people around her are usually not so lucky, so she had to witness many deaths.

⬩ At least a half of her family is dead by now, and she keeps her distance with the remaining relatives. Well, it's not that she was ever the type of person who would care about family, so she doesn't dwell on that.

⬩ She has two moods: an insufferable clown and an absolute bitch.

⬩ Most people consider Katarina to be intimidating and unapproachable, mostly because she’s not too fond of social interactions, along with having a sharp tongue and a domineering attitude. And since she doesn't really understand social rules, she comes across as mean and arrogant even when she doesn’t intend to.

⬩ Being conventionally attractive and dressing up in very classy, “formal” fashion doesn’t help her case.

⬩ However, if you get involved in an actual conversation with her, you’ll find that she can be very playful and humorous, she just supresses that side of her. And for a good reason, I must say, because she often goes overboard with her teasing, and her humour indeed can be rather mean.

⬩ Conversations with her also tend to easily slip into something that is either sexual or macabre (she might have some issues).

⬩ Katarina is a romantic at heart, but she never had a chance to date anyone, mostly because she has very specific tastes. But then a certain reaper came along, and it turned out that she's actually really flirty. Too flirty even.

⬩ By the start of the canon timeline she was going crazy from boredom and loneliness. Perhaps that’s why she decided to reply to a "Grim Reaper" weirdo who was spamming her with messages from an unknown app she doesn't even remember installing.

⬩ Anyways, since she was so pent-up, and Casper seemed like such an easy target… Yeah, she just went all out on him. Years of untold jokes and atrocious pick-up lines finally found their way out. She surely had a blast making fun of him.

⬩ It’s not like she completely refuses to believe in supernatural, you know. She’s an agnostic, all she needs is some substantial evidence. But instead of providing that evidence, Casper just kept making a fool of himself for the first few days.

⬩ He’s lucky that he’s so pretty and that Katarina has a thing for idiots with an attitude. This guy is exactly her type (and she’s going to make it his problem).

⬩ Unlike canon MC, Katarina wasn’t that surprised to find out that he’s an actual Grim Reaper. She just needed some time to process the implications (and maybe some vodka).

⬩ That is to say, after learning from Casper that the reason she was constantly getting into accidents was her inability to die, she went through the crisis of realising that she really is the reason that so many people that were close to her are now dead.

⬩ She’s also more chill than canon MC. Casper can actually talk to her seriously… Before she inevitably starts trolling him again because she can’t resist the temptation.

⬩ She graduated high school of art and design but didn’t get to the higher education because her parents died, and she was not ready to work and study at the same time. She managed to find a decent job anyways, but she still wants to get a degree in the future when she’s more stable.

⬩ She only has one friend who is just as bad as she is. Said friend lives in another city, but they talk on the phone constantly.

⬩ She adopted her cat about two years ago after stumbling upon her on the streets. Katarina is very protective of Seras and always tries to ensure her safety above everything else.

⬩ Unlike the way it looks in the game, her actual apartments are a mess, with paper, fabric and tools lying everywhere. Though honestly, this mess is nothing compared to how her working space in an atelier looks.

#Yes I did in fact name my MC's cat after one of my favourite characters #Also I like how this game has a character maker. It even had all the elements I needed #But it's disappointing how limited the room customization is #Now I really need to give her a separate name because using my own when talking about her feels awkward...#And I also need to figure out how to rewrite this canonical “embodiment of life” nonsense because it doesn't suit me at all #The first song in the playlist I made gives me some ideas for that...#a date with death mc

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witchthewriter · 1 year

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𝑴𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒓𝒆

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎.

Paid story for @yourwinchesterbros. Word Count: 1k Warnings: mentions of dead bodies, violence

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

“She’s not ready,” Jax’s voice was stern as he looked at Tig. The clubhouse meeting was going as it usually did; as it always had under Jax’s leadership. Except for now. What would have been an easy decision was completely stone-walled.

Tig looked at Jax with an exasperated expression. “Look man she told me she wanted extra cash and I think Zo would know what she can and can’t handle.”

The look Jax gave Tig was murderous. In that moment you could truly see why some call him the dark Prince of Charming.

“I said no.” Jax slammed the gavel down hard and exited the room. He didn’t wait for anyone to follow him, nor did he want anyone to. He wanted to have this conversation alone.

The ride to your house took about fifteen minutes. It wasn’t far from the clubhouse; well not many people did live far from the club. Charming really was a small town – even smaller during its beginnings. The land had been divvied up during colonial times, with Charming getting its name because of how quaint it was. And because of the decisions centuries ago, anyone could visit anyone in Charming within twenty minutes.

You heard the rumbling of the bike and expected it to be Happy or Tig, the usual Sons who you interacted with. So, when you answered the door, you didn’t expect to see the grim reaper with his usual floppy hair and strained expression.

“Um, hi,” you said, more so as a question than in greeting.

Without an invitation, Jax walked straight past you and into your front living room. Nostrils flaring, he started to speak than stopped himself.

“What the fuck?”

“You know what, yeah, actually ‘what the fuck’.” Jax looked at you, still standing at the door, one arm holding the door handle, the other raised in question.

You waited for him to speak, to explain himself. And for the very fact that he had decided to come here himself, instead of sending one of the Sons.

After a long pause Jax finally spoke. “Why would you ask for this kind of work?”

“Wait, this is because I asked for more work?” Your eyebrows lifted and you shook your head.

“Look sweetheart, I understand you want to make some extra cash. But I’m sure you can pick some work up somewhere else. A diner maybe? But not this. Don’t dig yourself deeper into the club.”

His words shocked you. They truly did. Why would the leader of the Sons of Anarchy be pushing you away from the club? The same club which he swore his life to?

On some level it was understandable; with Tara dying because of a hit. But you weren’t asking to be someone’s Old Lady. You just wanted to earn doing what you knew best. And who else in this town was able to do what you could?

“First of all, handsome, I’m not asking to be patched in. All I did was put my hand up to help with the clean-up, okay?” You emphasised the nickname, trying to get across the fact that it was slightly insulting to be called that. Well…that it was insulting in this situation.

Stunned, but not surprised, Jax did all he could not to roll his eyes. He’d mastered how to win an argument, but he’d never had an opponent like you. You, who he thought of during his marriage, you, who he thought of whenever shit was about to go down in Charming. You, who he could never quite figure out.

“You know what,” he said turning to look you in the eyes, “if you want to get deeper into this club, fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

- ✦ -

You were told to stay in the car until after the meet was done. That’s when your part came into play-after the violence went down. Like always.

You sat in the passenger seat of the big black van, which had very dark tinted windows. The matching black leather interior was clean and smelled strongly of rubbing alcohol. Overwhelmingly strong. You sat idly; with no phone reception, and the fact that any personal possessions would compromise the vehicle, therefore all you were left to do was wait.

And wait.

And then wait some more.

You did possess patience, but this was excruciating. Making a mental note to ask if you could bring a book, a crossword. Hell, you’d even settle for a rubix cube. Feeling fidgety, you opened up the arm rest and found a pack of unopened cigarettes and digging a little deeper, you saw a rolled-up magazine. You didn’t even need to look at it to know what it was. Wiping your sweaty hands on your black jeans, you leaned back against the seat and groaned.

‘Hurry it uppppp,’ you thought, and crossed your arms over your chest.

But God herself must have heard you because within seconds you heard the loud bang of gunshots. You lost count after ten. Heart beating fast, all you could do was hope Jax had it under control.

Within minutes you a sleek grey car was coming toward you, inhabited by a group of men with their guns drawn. With their windows down you could see their faces; frustrated, enraged but most of all, panicked. Something’s gone wrong, you thought. Because no one but the Sons and yourself, were supposed to leave.

The car was picking up speed along the dirt road, even with your windows up you could hear the crunching of the tires on unpaved rocks. However, the car slowed when it came to the van; almost to a stop. The driver looked at you through the front window and you swore your heart stopped.

Yet within seconds they drove off, and you could breathe again.

- ✦ -

“This is fucked Jax, this is – we are really fucked,” Tig clambered back and forth, his gun still in his hand.

“I know, okay, I know.” Biting his lip, Jax looked at the four dead bodies and remembered you, alone, in the van.

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hoffstrap-yuri · 24 days

Text

A Small Observation

ao3 // masterlist

*Summary: A warm cup of coffee, a quiet rain, a person's life in her hands. Amanda was John's apprentice after all.

*Rating: E for Everyone

*Content/Tags: Gasshipping (Laura Hunter/Amanda Young), Pre Saw II, WLW Amanda Young, WLW Laura Hunter, Lesbian Amanda Young, Jigsaw Apprentice Amanda Young, Character Study

*Status: Drabble/Complete

Author's Note: A small request for an anon on tumblr looking for sapphic content. While there's not much there, I wanted something that hinted at Amanda pulling the strings earlier on in the game than the movie suggests so here we are! Also I liked finding out that Laura's actress was involved in making her more nuanced behind the scenes. So yeah, enjoy!

“And I will always love you.” The jukebox in the corner of the restaurant croaked out. There was a couple at a booth, and a few people sprawled across the counter seats. The song transitioned to something different and a bit more upbeat when the blonde approached the woman who was sitting alone.

“Anything I can get for you?” She asked with a smile. She flipped to the next page of tabs in her pocket book. The woman hardly looked up from the menu before replying,

“Just a black coffee.”

“I’ll be right back, just let me know if you want anything else.” She hooked the papers back into her apron and walked over to the coffee machine. The brown haired woman at the booth’s eyes shifted focus between the waitress and the raindrops that slid down the glass outside of the restaurant as she waited for her drink. Her head bobbed to the side as she saw a coworker of her waitress place his hand on the small of her back, only to have her squirm away from his touch. She didn’t really listen to what they were talking about, but he walked back to the kitchen soon after that. She came back, carrying a bowl over with creamer in it and dropped the cup off in front of the woman, “I know you said black, but just in case you changed your mind.”

“Thank you.” Her lip curled up at one end and brought the cup up to her face. The waitress turned back around, walking over to the other side of the counter to take another customer’s order. She shook her hand off from the heat under the table and looked at the cup for a second. It gave her mind something to focus on that wasn’t another game to set up, a trap to fix after Mark manhandled it… And her thoughts were drifting again. She took a deep breath and brought the cup back up to her lips when she knew the coffee would still be warm but not scalding. Nothing to write home about, standard restaurant coffee, but it was what she needed. She put one foot on the leather seat and rested against it before flipping through the laminated pieces of the menu for something. She raised a hand in an attempt to garner the blonde’s attention and the waitress walked back over to her.

“Changed your mind?” She smiled at Amanda

“Yeah, I’ll just take a plate of fries. And can I get a new ketchup bottle?”

“Sure, I’ll be back.”

“Thanks…” Amanda’s words trailed off as she realized it didn’t really matter what she said, the other woman was halfway to the expo window. She gazed as the girl talked up another co-worker of hers while waiting for Amanda’s food. Amanda absentmindedly bit her lip as she cocked her head to the side looking over her as she reached up and over the counter. A petite thing like her didn’t belong here. Neither did she deserve the ire of the Jigsaw Killer, watching over her like the grim reaper. Amanda whispered to herself, “Maybe… John was wr…” She couldn’t bare to finish the thought. It would destroy her. He couldn’t be wrong. Jigsaw doesn’t make mistakes. Amanda doesn’t make mistakes. No, underneath that bubbly exterior and smiles there must be something there that John knew she had done to deserve the test to come. He wouldn’t put an innocent into a game. Xavier was a drug dealer, Addison was a prostitute… surely she must have done something. The woman waved a hand at her co-worker and turned around to face the dining area. Amanda’s head moved slowly to face towards the entrance so as to not make it obvious she was surveying. When she thought no one’s eyes were on her, the blonde reached into the tip jar at the counter and plucked a twenty a customer had thrown in there about an hour earlier. Not daring to get greedy, she tucked it in her back pocket before turning to face the kitchen once more as the cook announced that the fries were up. She brought the plate over to Amanda with a smile, tucking her hair behind her ear after placing the food in front of her customer.

“Anything else for you right away?”

“Just some more coffee.” Amanda slid the cup towards her and with a nod she ran back to the machine. Amanda started to pick at the fries so as to give the illusion of eating. Another pass was made at the tip jar, this time pulling a five from the mix before finding its way back onto her person. In another life Amanda could have used someone as skilled in slight of hand as her. Someone that could’ve walked into Homeward Bound without so much as a trace and gotten the methadone for her. Just someone that cared about her and didn't see her as an item like Cecil had… but it was pointless for Amanda to think about now. She knew in her heart that John was right. That she belonged in the next game. She dropped the coffee off and asked about the fries,

“Everything okay?” Amanda nodded before replying,

“Yes.”

“Awesome, just let me know if there’s anything else I can get you” and she left like that. Amanda finished her things and went to the register to pay for her food. The blonde punched a couple buttons on the antiquated register before giving her a total. Amanda pulls out a couple bucks and a few coins before telling her to keep anything extra. “Have a good night!” Her hand brushed along Amanda’s for the briefest of moments as Amanda’s hand slid back into her coat pocket and Amanda’s face turned a soft red, turning away from the other woman. She walked around the block and hopped into her car before driving back to the warehouse. The flood lights were still on, John must be there. She walked in and stood before the man and told him,

“She needs to be tested.”

#saw #saw franchise #saw movies #amanda young #laura hunter #laura hunter/amanda young #gasshipping #saw 2 #saw ii #saw ii 2005 #saw 2 2005 #saw rarepair #rarepair #character study #my fanfiction #drabble #light angst #wlw amanda young #lesbian amanda young

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hello-im-not-a-possum · 3 months

Text

Collecting Identity Shards

Previous Work

Chapter one: Time for Therapy.

"Are you seriously, honestly, trying to bribe me into being your therapist in exchange for three antique clocks, a gemma’s ring, and a pack of tarot cards?" Clockwork crossed his arms as he saw the halfa arrive at the tower with the said objects in hand.

"I was told they were things you liked? Or at least were amused by…" He muttered that last bit before clearing his throat. "Look, I’m trying, but the therapist hunt isn’t going too well and I’m getting a *little* desperate here. I can’t tell human ones about the ghost-stuff and trying to find a ghost one is a nightmare; The only licensed one is a literal emotion-vampire… putting that aside she told me to lock myself in an abandoned asylum and never reproduce for the good of humanity. Some, if not all of the ghosts I know would skin me alive the second I show vulnerability of any kind, let alone figure out that I faked my death. I'm sure Frostbite would betray me and my secrets to Danny in a heartbeat if I talk about my experiences and views that don’t align with his moral codes. And to be honest, I think that you’re pretty shady yourself."

Clockwork’s eyes narrowed at the halfa’s statement about him.

"-But Danny trusts you and I respect that he does." He attempted to backtrack. "And I know for a fact I can trust you with any secret because technically speaking: you’ve already seen my life, right? You already know everything I can possibly hide from someone, you probably already know secrets about me that even I don’t know about myself!"

"I know *of* your life and what you’re capable of doing with it, yes, but I’m not a mind reader." The ghost with the eternally shifting form replied.

"Yes, but you’ve seen my life, the actions I’ve taken, you know that I lied about losing my memories right?"

"No, that’s news to me as in some timelines you *did* genuinely lose your memories from that accident. How am I supposed to tell lies apart from truth when in cases like this, they can be the truth? Again: Seeing the future does not make me the other type of Psychic."

"...Right."

"But continue." Clockwork waved his staff dismissively.

"Well, the thing about me lying was… At the time, I did it because it felt like the only option to ensure my own survival. I did it because why would they help me if they knew I remembered who I was? But… apparently, there are things about myself that I genuinely don’t remember."

"I’m guessing you mean the hospital being burned down?"

"Yes, I can’t remember the fire Jack was talking about at all. But I looked it up and sure enough, I wasn’t transferred from that hospital to a new one, it burned down. I swear I remember every single surgery it took to fix my face, the names of every single speech therapist I went to over the years, I remember how humiliating and horrifying it felt to crawl out of that pit I was abandoned in, how many times I almost…"

He trailed off as he noticed the two statues; grim reapers with sharp scythes, looming over both of them.

While his life didn’t flash before his eyes while looking at them, the twin symbols of death were a reminder of the fact that he had only ‘changed’ because the only other option was a permanent death. And when he thought of that, a question came to mind; If he had only snapped out of the path he was going down because it was a dead end, did he really change at all?

"So, I guess it’s worth asking, is all of this just… hopeless? Is it too late for me to be a better person..?"

"Zero." The titan of time’s expression softened and he put his hand on the halfa’s shoulder. "It is never too late for anyone to try to be a better person. In fact, everybody already has the potential to change for the better, just like how everybody has the potential to change for the worse. While there are going to be people who forgive you and ones who don't, them not forgiving you does not change the fact that you are striving to be a better person."

He took his hand off, turning his back to the halfa with his staff intertwined with his fingers.

"However, do not take this to mean that redemption is an easy, liner path. You will still think in the ways you are used to thinking, both in good ways and bad, you WILL continue to doubt yourself, you may even relapse, and those relapses can have the potential to bring out the absolute worst in you that you once considered as 'going too far'. The desire to change is important for doing it, but wanting to change and actually changing, while intertwined, are still separate things."

The hospital halfa couldn't think of anything to say as he thought back on Clockwork's words. He couldn't help but feel like the Titan was speaking from a place of experience, but he didn't know the spirit's past...

"Zero?" He waved his hand in front of the teen's face as he noticed he was spacing out to check that he didn't unknowingly freeze time.

"Oh! Uh... Same time again next Tuesday? I could bring you anything you want! (within reason...)"

"Yes, that does sound nice I suppose." The master of time gave the boy an amused smile. "I would like you to bring me this."

He handed him a sticky note with the words 'That limited edition holiday cookie dough' on it.

"Thanks Clockwork" He returned a relieved smile as he pocketed the note.

"Oh, and Zero?"

"Yes?"

"This is more of a physical thing than a mental one, but keep an eye on your core. In fact I recommend doing a check up on it when you return. While you possess a strange level of durability, that thing's as stable as a house of cards and that is NOT helped by the fact you currently didn't get rid of the metallic irritant inside it."

"...Will do!"

Clockwork nodded in acknowledgement as his guest left his home.

Once the time titan was assured that Patient Zero was too far away to eavesdrop, he powered up the screens to show different futures from ten years, he mused out loud as he browsed them.

"Still in college, still in college, still in college, accidentally started a ghostly plague, intentionally started a ghostly plague, became an eldritch abomination, traveling the world to find himself, committed murder, another ghostly plague- Wait, this one's from the timeline Frostbite peeled his core like an orange, that doesn't count. Fentonworks Wisconsin Branch, Ghost Doctor... Ironic, but strangely fitting."

While Clockwork himself was both pleased and amused by this variety of outcomes, he knew that his bosses would be on his case sooner or later if half or more of them were 'evil outcomes' and unfortunately, at this point of time, half of them were.

Granted, he and the Observants had different ideas on what 'evil' was. In his mind, botched regeneration attempts turned medical-flavored nightmares don't count as 'a sign he's going to destroy the world' but he wasn't the one in charge here.

He needed something to tip the scales in Zero's favor, give him a little extra motivation, help keep him on the right track, maybe an example..? He knew that Danny meeting Dan helped cut down a LOT of futures where the boy went down a dark path...

As he moved a screen out of his way, he noticed the still trapped ghost in the thermos. While he was more Phantom than Plasmius, surely there had to be just enough of Plasmius in there to relate to Zero and vice-versa-

"No, no, that's a stupid and reckless idea." he shook his head at the thought of it and turned his back to it. "He'll target Danny and the rest of the Fentons immediately before-"

He paused his rant as he saw the screen of the immediate future following Danny: 'Fenton Family Vacation Plans'.

His charge and family would be safely out of the way by the time Dan got there while Zero would remain, meaning that they would HAVE to confront each other first.

It would still have its fair share of risks. The hospital halfa was in a vulnerable state of mind right now, while his anger was defused, his fear remained undealt with and Dan could easily use that to his advantage.

On the other hand, IF this worked, both Dan would get the second chance the fate denied him with a fresh start, and Zero could feel more understood with someone in his corner who truly, fully, knew what he had gone through.

Clockwork nonchalantly whistled while shooing away all the screens with his staff and 'Accidentally' knocking the thermos over.

"Oops!" The time spirit proclaimed just before turning invisible.

The container only opened a by a small crack when it hit the floor, but that small crack was all Dan needed to claw his way out of the prison he was kept in for so long.

"CLOCKWORK!" He shouted as he frantically looked around the tower. "I KNOW YOU'RE IN HERE!"

_____

Meanwhile in Fentonworks, Jazz waited in the basement watching the ghost portal swirl and spiral in its typical ominous fashion as she waited for her 'cousin' to get back.

Sure, there were still thirty minutes left in the 'If I'm not back by x, send someone to save my skin' timer, but after the last three 'therapist' incidents, she was a little worried about Jack Masters' ability to tell the difference between red flags and green flags in people.

And while she could understand why he wanted to go to a ghost about this, she was good at therapy! She could help him too!

She checked her phone for new texts to find that Danny and Dani had discovered four secret rooms, two safes, and three mini-fridges in their 'surprise renovation' work so far and promised to keep her updated in their findings. And a cut of the spoils if they took anything in exchange for her silence.

[Remember not to take any medication from anything you find. There's a fine line between moving something for a laugh and putting him in real danger.]

[Don't worry, so far we've only taken food from the fridges. I think this some kind of rich-person tuna with gravy. Kinda like caviar.]

He sent in a picture of the open can with a fork in it before the following text popped up.

[So far I think it's just.. meh? Maybe you're supposed to mix it with something else but unless it's some kind of stew base I don't know what the appeal is.]

A second text popped up before she could respond.

[...I have just been told that this is wet cat food.] [He has two different fridges dedicated to his cats but he doesn't keep them near their food bowls.] [What is wrong with that guy?]

[Well I hope you learned a valuable lesson, little brother.]

[Why did he take the labels off these things?] [Shoot, how old where they?] [Did he try to train his cats only for it to backfire on him?] [Its times like this I wish he wasn't an amnesiac so I could ask him directly and get a clear answer.]

[Maybe he could recall some things in therapy? I'll ask.]

[He's about to walk through, nobody needs to pick him up.]

As she was about to type to ask how he knew that, their cousin walked through the portal with a sigh that sounded both emotionally exhausted but relieved as he switched back to his human form.

"Oh hey J, how did the therapy session go?"

"Good news is that I can finally call off the hunt."

"That's great! So what's your new therapist like?"

"If my Greek Mythology and my current theory is correct, he's probably eaten babies before but at least he gives good advice."

He resisted the urge to collapse on the workshop desk while Jazz noticeably bit her lip and faked a smile.

"I... See... So how do you think it's working out?"

"Well he cares about my health more than the other ones' did, so he's got that going for him." He shrugged while taking his core out of his chest and opening it with a scalpel.

"...What are you doing?"

"Removing metal shrapnel I think, Clockwork warned me about it."

"OH! Your therapist is Clockwork..." She was so relieved that she *didn't* have to text Danny about 'Another red flag Therapist' that her brain ALMOST glossed over that he had the master of time as a therapist. "...How did that happen?"

The older teen shrugged again, making an 'idk' noise before redirecting his focus back on the core.

Jazz was quick to secretly take notes of her current hypotheses on her cousin's mental state.

#danny phantom #vlad masters #vlad plasmius #dp clockwork #dan phantom #jazz fenton #danny fenton #shattered identity #fanfic #epilogue fic

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