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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 3 months

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So uh. I had this super dumb idea and decided to roll with it.

Which I guess is kinda how writing works on the whole but anyway.

Here's the first chapter of a Young!Mihawk x Marine!AFAB Reader fic that absolutely no one asked for but my brain dumped on me anyway.

Whole first chapter is basically setting the scenario. Bear with me here. I intend for this to be both heartfelt and fcking hilarious in equal measure. As of right now I don't really have plans for it to carry on for more than three or four chapters, but who knows.

Timeline is set to around a decade after Gol D. Roger's death, prior to Mihawk having status as a Warlord of the Sea. He'd be in his late 20s to early 30s (don't ask me to math right now, it's almost five in the morning, I'll be more specific later). So not super-young Mihawk. He definitely already has his silly lil adorable pointy goatee/moustache that we all know and love so very much.

I don't even have a damned title yet. We'll just call it, uh. I don't know. Fucking uh........

Flight Risk

Ch. 1 of who even knows

Next Chapter Link

Young!Mihawk x Marine!AFAB!Reader

SFW for now, but not in later chapters

No trigger warnings yet, possible future trigger warnings for imprisonment, mild torture (definitely psychological, maybe physical)

Word Count: 3420

Only a few months had passed since you enlisted with the Marines, and nothing seemed to be going right. You were clumsy with both melee and ranged weapons, not particularly strong physically, and while you had improved through training you weren’t learning at nearly the same rate as the other recruits. It was no help at all that your somehow borderline useless devil fruit abilities had somehow been exposed and you were now the target of constant torment from other cadets, and even some superior officers.

You almost wanted to give up entirely.

You spent most of your free time hiding away from your peers at an old dock on the base to avoid the teasing. It was here you say now, arms wrapped around your knees and glaring out toward the setting sun after another day of being squawked at and offered crackers. All because you had taken a stupid dare from a stupid friend when you were six years old and eaten that stupid fruit.

You let out a heavy sigh at the sound of footsteps behind you, certain that one of your tormentors had discovered your hiding spot.

“Really not in the mood,” you said aloud, not bothering to look over your shoulder. “I’m sure it’s just as much fun talking about me behind my back—”

But instead, a commanding voice that made your breath catch in your throat and your eyes grow wide as saucers answered. You recognized it as its owner spoke your name aloud—anyone on base would have recognized it. You quickly scrambled to your feet and turned around to face Bogard with your hand raised in a salute, trying to keep your knees from shaking.

“S—sorry, sir, I—” He just held up a hand to stop you, and your mouth snapped shut immediately. His own mouth remained turned down in his usual characteristic frown, and after a moment he let out a vaguely frustrated sigh.

“Vice Admiral Garp requires your presence. Please follow me.”

You remained glued to the spot for a moment even as he turned on his heel and began to stride away. Garp and Bogard had shown up at the base a week ago on some business from headquarters that was being kept quiet around the rest of the base. You quickly forced yourself to follow after Bogard, your stomach in knots as you jogged to catch up to his long strides.

He didn’t speak again until you were outside the door of the office the vice admiral was occupying, turning to face you with his arms crossed. You quickly saluted again, your eyes still wide, burning the slightest bit—you were fairly sure you hadn’t blinked a single time since he had first addressed you.

“At ease, cadet.” You swallowed, lowering your hand and folding it behind your back with your other. “The vice admiral has some questions for you,” he said in brief explanation, opening the door. “Come.” You flinched as you followed him in, Garp’s booming voice meeting your ears as he shouted at someone through the den den mushi on his desk. It was clear he wasn’t in a good mood.

“Again?” he was saying, pacing behind the desk. “Yeah, I got it. Why do you think I’m at this shithole of a—” He gave a growl of annoyance, his grip tightening around the speaker. “Yes, Fleet Admiral. I think if I could manage to capture Roger, I can handle some brat calling himself the World’s Stronge—” He closed his eyes tightly, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “I’m well aware of the threat. Doesn’t make him any less of a brat. With all due respect, sir, I know what I’m doing, Yeah. Uh-huh. Yeah. Understood.”

He dropped the handset back onto the den den mushi, sitting heavily in his chair behind the desk, strumming his fingers on the arm for a moment impatiently.

You felt as if you might pass out any second as you stood in front of the desk, trying to keep yourself still but still fidgeting slightly as your nervousness evolved toward something more like abject terror. There was no way this was about anything good. The vice admiral was here on orders handed down directly from his own superiors at Marine Headquarters. Vice Admiral Garp, recognized the world over as the hero of the Marines, the man that had brought Gold Roger to justice barely a decade ago.

An officer of his status wouldn’t waste his time with a lowly cadet like yourself unless the situation was incredibly dire.

When he finally lifted his eyes to look at you, you sprang immediately into a salute, and it was all you could do to keep your knees from buckling. He glanced at Bogard, standing off to the side and idly flipping through a book on one of the shelves along the right side of the office walls. “This the one?” asked Garp.

“It would seem so,” he affirmed.”

“Good.” He leaned back in his chair, his gaze flickering over you. “At ease, cadet.”

Once more you folded your hands behind your back—though in literal terms, you were anything but at ease. Your face flushed and your legs visibly shaking at this point, it was all you could do to keep your eyes on his.

The vice admiral gave a small snort of amusement at your nervous state as he picked up a folder from his desk—a folder with your name written on the tab.

“Calm down, you’re not in any trouble,” he said. You still swallowed nervously, your mouth turning down ina slight frown. He read your name out loud at the top of the file before going on. “Says here your old man was a Lieutenant. Died in the line of duty among a fleet that took on a division of the Whitebeard pirates.”

“Y—yes, sir,” you said, giving a short nod when he glanced at you from over the top of the folder. “He’s the reason I enlisted.”

“Revenge?” he said, lifting his eyebrows.

“No, sir,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I looked up to him. He wanted to make the world a better place. Safer. That’s...why I enlisted.”

He nodded slowly, observing you for a long moment as he seemed to mull over your answer. “Good to hear,” he said finally, lowering his eyes back down to what you could only assume was your enlistment paperwork. “Revenge is thankless work. Your old man was a damned good Marine. Honorable. Sounds like the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree.” You relaxed the slightest bit in the approval at his tone—it was perhaps the first compliment you had gotten from any of your superiors. “Unfortunately, we’re not here to reminisce. This is official business. And confidential.” He set the folder down on his desk, still open, meeting your eyes again. “I’ll need your word right now that you won’t repeat anything we discuss here to anyone.”

Your eyes widened a little, and you nodded quickly. :Of course, Vice Admiral,” you said immediately, your heart hammering in your chest.

He nodded slowly himself, picking up a lowball glass of what appeared to be whiskey from his desk. He gestured with his free hand to the chair across from him. “Then have a seat. We could be here awhile.”

You glanced at the chair behind you, and took a few steps backwards, folding your hands in your lap. You couldn’t begin to imagine what sort of official business he might have with you. You were a new recruit, tended to blend into the background—at least you had, until word had gotten out about….

Your stomach dropped at Garp’s next sentence.

“I understand you’re a devil fruit user?”

“I…am,” you said slowly, almost cautiously. You had received nothing but jeering and taunting for your ability, even before you enlisted. “It’s…not exactly a useful ability, though.”

“You don’t think so?” he said, with a hint of a smirk, and you shook your head, your eyes dropping down to your knees. “‘Omu Omu no Mi,’” he read off from the file. “‘Zoan type devil fruit. Gray parrot.’ You’ve had the ability for…fifteen years?” You nodded shortly, your brow still furrowed in your growing confusion. “You can’t think of any application where that would be useful?”

Your remained silent for some time, wondering if it was a trick question, some sort of joke at your expense. Sure the vice admiral wouldn’t waste his time calling you here for the sake of a joke. After a moment, you shook your head, lifting your gaze, grimacing a little. “It’s, uh…been more of a burden than anything, honestly,” you admitted.

“Yeah, I’ve heard.” Your brow furrowed a bit, and he gestured over to Bogard, still leaning against the bookshelf off to the side. “I’ve had Bogard here keeping an eye on you since we got here.”

That was incredibly surprising news to you. You glanced at Bogard yourself. You had seen him around the base a few times, but it had seemed to be only in passing. While you were still rendered speechless at the claim, Garp when on.

“I read in your file that your mother’s an…ornithologist?” he said, glancing down at the folder once more. Your brow remained furrowed as you nodded slowly, trying to wrap your head around where this could be going. “So I’d guess you have a pretty good understanding of birds. How they behave, interact with humans?”

“I—”

“With all due respect, Garp…” Both you and Garp glanced over at Bogard at his interruption. He lowered the book he had been flipping through, his frown deepening. “This is still the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard of.”

“Give me a better idea, then.” After a moment, Bogard rolled his eyes, lifting the book again, still looking quite disgruntled with the situation—whatever the situation was. Garp turned his attention back to you, gesturing with a wave of his hand for you to continue.

“I-I…did learn a lot from her,” you affirmed. “She specializes in parrots and corvids. She runs a veterinary practice and rescue service for them in the East Blue.”

“Think you’d be able fool people into believing you’re the real thing?”

“Wh…wha…”

You felt like you were trapped in some strange fever dream you couldn’t wake from. Garp raised his eyebrows as he waited for your response, as you frowned, struggling to collect your thoughts into something organized enough to allow you to speak.

“I…used to prank my mom into thinking I was one of the birds in our aviary,” you admitted, almost sheepishly.

Garp let out a hearty laugh at that, his smirk spreading into a grin. “Well, if you could fool an expert, then I guess you could fool damn near anyone, huh?” You blinked rapidly as he leaned forward, crossing his arms over the desk. “So. How much do you know about a pirate by the name of Dracule Mihawk?”

Your breath caught as you froze in place, your blood running cold.

There was no Marine, likely no one in the world, that didn’t know that name. It wasn’t long after the execution of Gold Roger that he had begun making the headlines, and not for anything good. Even as a rookie he had quickly gained a reputation for being ruthless and deadly, slaughtering pirates and Marines alike with seemingly no distinction between the two. For a few years now he had gained notoriety for being considered by many to be the world’s most powerful swordsman. You had heard stories of him singlehandedly destroying entire Marine warships without batting an eye.

The man was practically a living nightmare for any Marine.

“I…I’ve heard of him,” you managed to force out weakly.

Garp scoffed at that, taking a sip from his whiskey. “Who the hell hasn’t?” he said. “Especially among us. He’s been responsible for the deaths of more Marines over the past few years than any other pirate sailing the Grand Line. And completely on his own. No crew.” He shook his head, giving another scoff. “Almost no one we’ve sent after the bastard comes back alive. Except, of course, those he lets go willingly to tell us he’ll continue to slaughter anyone that challenges him. It’s a problem we can’t ignore.”

You swallowed, the rising tension in you rendering you as stiff as a statue. You could sense where this was going…and you didn’t like it one bit.

“I’m thinking a different approach could be out best bet in taking care of the problem. Something a little more subtle.” You nodded slowly to indicate you were following what he was saying—what he was suggesting. “I’m sure you don’t want to see any more Marines die at the hands to this monster any more than I do. Am I right?”

Of course he was right—you knew it as well as Garp did. Your father had been enough. Knowing that there were so many other Marines, other men and women that might leave behind broken families, losing their lives at the hands of such a ruthless killer…it sickened you to your core.

Once more, you nodded.

“Then we’re on the same page,” he said. He leaned back in his chair for a moment, taking a sip from his glass, before he set it down and stood up. “You say you think your devil fruit ability is useless. I say it could be exactly what we need.”

“Y…you want me to use my devil fruit to…” He paced slowly behind his desk, his eyes remaining on you, waiting for you to say it. “T…to take down…him?”

“Not…quite,” he said. “Like I said, different approach I want you to use your devil fruit ability against him. But not to take him down. I think you’re probably smart enough to know that you wouldn’t stand a chance in combat against him.” You swallowed, giving a short nod in agreement. “What we really need at this point is information. Any potential weakness that he might possess. Your ability isn’t useless, but it is…unassuming. You could spy on almost anyone you wanted without them knowing. And hey, let’s face it—pirates like parrots.”

You heard Bogard sigh heavily at this statement, and you couldn’t help but agree with his wordless disapproval. Pirates like parrots was a pretty broad generalization to make regarding such a dire situation.

“Look,” Garp said as your brow furrowed once more. He stepped out from behind his desk, slowly circling your chair. “Parrots are smart birds, right?” You nodded. “And they tend to bond pretty easily with humans?” Another nod, your eyes following him as he came around the other side of your chair, stopping right in front of you and leaning back against his desk. “You could get close to him without him having any idea you’re anything but a friendly, intelligent bird.”

“or he could consider her a pest and kill her,” said Bogard dryly—voicing the exact concern that was already forming in your own head.

Garp rolled his eyes. “One, there haven’t been any reports that he makes a habit of killing animals. Two, you’d be a bird. You can fly. He can’t.”

“He can split entire ships in half from at least a hundred yards,” Bogard pointed out.

“Yeah, he can,” agreed Garp—and his confirmation of this claim did absolutely nothing to help your resolve. “But why bother killing a bird that’s already flying away? He’s killing Marines to send a message that we can’t touch him. He’s killing pirates so his competition knows they can’t touch him. What’s he going to kill a goddamned parrot for?” Another sigh came from Bogard—it seemed as if the man had been through this exact same argument before. “Worst case scenario,” Garp continued, “you fly off to safety and consider it a failed mission. No black mark on your record, brownie points for even attempting it. Best case…” He crossed his arms, his mouth spreading into a grin. “You get close to a pirate no one has been able to touch for years, and return with commendation and respect from the entire Navy. Show all these recruits that have been laughing at your abilities that you’re a hell of a lot more useful than any of them.”

You bit your lip, your eyes darting off to the side. You didn’t consider yourself vain…but you had spent fifteen years considering your devil fruit completely useless. Now you had a Marine vice admiral, a man regarded by much of the world as a hero, telling you that you could potentially use your power to save the lives of countless people. It was the exact reason your father told you he had enlisted—to protect innocent lives, to make the world safer.

“I…I’m not much of a fighter,” you said finally. “If he were to figure out that I’m a human…a Marine, I…”

“You’d receive special training before the mission,” said Garp. “Enough to give you a fighting chance at escaping if you had to. Given what we know about Dracule Mihawk, it would still be dangerous, of course. But you’d still stand a better chance alone at gathering intel than an entire fleet of ships would stand facing him in combat. As it stands now,” he said, his expression shifting into a scowl, “there are several high ranking Marine officers that believe the only chance of dealing with him is offering him status as a Warlord. There’s still a problem with that, considering no one can get close enough to him to propose the offer. If nothing else, you could get close enough to do that.”

“Which would likely be the best course of action,” Bogard interjected.

And Garp ignored him.\

“I propose,” said Garp, “that you keep an eye on him for a month. Get as close as you safely can. Search for any potential weakness we could exploit, and report back. If there aren’t any,” he said, tossing a sharp glance at Bogard, before leveling his gaze with yours again, “then you go back with the paperwork in your pocket and propose the offer.”

And possibly be killed the moment you revealed who you were—what you were. That detail remained unspoken, but you had no doubt that both Garp and Bogard had already considered the possibility, if you were already thinking about it yourself.

You could be killed. In the blink of an eye. Without any warning. You could die attempting thing. It was almost insane to even consider what Garp was proposing.

But you couldn’t ignore the possibility that it could work. That it could save countless lives from ending.

Save countless families from the same grief you and your mother had endured.

You pulled in a slow, deep breath, lifting your eyes and meeting Garp’s.

And you nodded.

“I’ll do it.” His eyebrows shot up at your acceptance. “I’ll do anything I can to help.”

His surprised expression slowly split into a grin.

“You’re under no obligation to accept.” You turned your head as Bogard snapped his book shut, leveling his dark eyes with yours. Garp was already chuckling to himself, but Bogard’s expression remained grave as he went on. “You’re aware of the risk, I’m sure. The pirate in question has killed thousands of Marines to date, and I wish that was an exaggeration. This could very well be a suicide mission. If you’re doing this for recognition, I suggest you walk out of this office and forget every detail of this conversation.”

“I don’t care about recognition.” You shook your head as Bogard continued to regard you with a frown, lifting an eyebrow; as Garp tossed a glance at him that very clearly said told you so. “And I know the risk.I know I could die.” He crossed his arms, waiting for you to continue. You swallowed, going on quietly, “But…if it succeeds, then it could stop thousands of others from dying.” You lifted your gaze to meet his, straightening your back in the chair. “That’s all I care about.”

Though Bogard didn’t look entirely convinced, he wasn’t given any further opportunity to protest, as Garp let out a laugh. “You heard the girl, Bogard,” he said, reaching behind him and picking up the receiver from the den den mushi on the desk once more. “I say it’s time to get the ball rolling and finally give this madman a run for his money.”

Next Chapter Link again, for your convenience

#one piece #opla #mihawk #mihawk one piece #mihawk x reader #garp #bogard #smut #eventually smut anyway #fan fiction #one piece fan fiction #fanfic #dracule mihawk

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usedtobecooler · 2 years

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hey, squealer | virgin!eddie x fem!reader

part one // part two // part three // part four

Pairing | Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Warnings | sexual content (18+ minors dni), oral m receiving, piv sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!!), fingers in mouth, blowjobs, dirty talk (a lie, reader is just mean and likes to make fun of him), taking of virginity, mocking, fluff, mentions of horror movie scenes, mention of death.

Word Count | 3k

A/N | i'm back again and none of you can stop me!!!! virgin!eddie has me in a fucking chokehold and i couldn't rest until i wrote and published this. i've linked all parts to this series at the beginning so we have on place for everything. enjoy!!

It'd been a few days since your bathroom encounter and things were so much better this time. You were back to goofing off at work, speaking about anything and everything and you even had taken an interest in Eddie's D&D campaign that he'd been buzzing on about.

It was cute watching him be so passionate about the things he enjoyed doing, the way he'd excitedly tell you about how Erica had defeated his campaign again all whilst mocking Lucas for being useless, how Will had joined Hellfire since returning from California and fit in perfectly, how Gareth finally had a girlfriend.

It was so endearing to watch him like this, you were pretty sure if he paid close enough attention to you he'd see the hearts in your pupils.

"You wanna come to my house tonight?" You'd asked him after your Saturday shift, twirling your hair in your finger as you leaned on the cash counter, watching him bounce around slotting vinyls into their correct places.

Eddie's movements halted abruptly, looking at you and narrowing his eyes, "Your house? To do what?"

"Watch a movie?" You ask hopefully, a glint in your eyes, "Do you like scary movies?"

"I love scary movies, sweetheart," Eddie places both of his hands over his heart, fluttering exaggeratedly at your words, "what movie were you thinking?"

"I rented Halloween from Family Video," You smile all giddy as you watch Eddie's movements, so endeared by how goofy he was, "the first one, of course. No other compares."

"You're right about that," Eddie smirks, "give me your address and I'll be there, seven okay?"

"Perfect."

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Seven came around pretty quickly and now you were getting a little nervous. Your parents were out for the night at some fancy event for your dads company that was out of town, so they were in a hotel for the night and you were home all alone.

You hadn't asked Eddie if he wanted to stay over, but you sort of hoped you could reel him into staying with your sweet words. Especially after watching a horror movie like Halloween, what an awful idea that was.

The doorbell rings and you very nearly shoot out of your skin, making to the door and opening it to find Eddie standing there looking all dopey and tired.

"Thank God this is the right house, I got nervous I was somehow on the wrong street," Eddie sighs, stepping into the house without an invite and toeing off his Reeboks as you shut and lock the door behind him.

"Nope, you're right where you need to be," You say, lips popping on the 'p', "the VCR is in my room, my parents hate movies so I get it all to myself, you okay to come up to my room to watch the film?"

Okay, so maybe that's a bit of a white lie and maybe you had spent the last half hour dragging the VCR upstairs and fiddling around with all the cables to make sure it was set up in your room, but Eddie would be none the wiser.

Eddie looks at you with wide eyes, nervousness apparent in the way he balks at you, "Uh, are you sure?"

"Course, we'll be comfier on my bed anyway," You smirk, grabbing hold of his hand and tugging him upstairs with you. Your bedroom door is already open, to reveal your pretty made up bed with a baby blue comforter effortlessly tucked in and a million pillows.

Your room is small, like the rest of the house really, so your TV is pretty close to the end of your bed, only a dresser and bedside table as other furniture.

"Make yourself at home," You shoo Eddie away to sit on the bed, watching as he removes his denim jacket just leaving him in his shirt and loose sweatpants, "don't think I've ever seen you in anything other than jeans."

"Oh, uh, I wanted to be comfortable," Eddie says, voice nervous and slightly sheepish as he gets cosy on your bed, "Jesus, how many pillows do you need, sweetheart."

"I like to feel like I'm on a cloud." You giggle, sliding onto the bed and automatically resting your head on Eddie's lap. You choose to ignore the sharp intake of breath he takes when you get comfortable, your big oversized shirt riding up to reveal a little expanse of your panties.

The TV was already on, video tape in and ready to go, so once you're sure you're both comfortable you press play and the movie starts, soon enough little Michael is walking through his home in Haddonfield to murder his sister in the front bedroom.

You lay in silence as you watch, in no mood for teasing as you lose your focus on Eddie and become engulfed in the movie playing out in front of you.

Eventually, it gets to the part where Lynda and Bob sneak into Annie's home to get it on, and you're trying to ignore the way Eddie is squirming under your head, when all of the sudden-

You shoot up from your place in Eddie's lap, "Are you seriously getting a hard on over Lynda's tits? She's about to die a horrible death, you freak." You're mocking him but your mouth is watering a little as you watch his cock strain in his sweatpants.

"They're nice tits," Eddie shoots back, voice weak and strained as Michael strangles Lynda with the telephone cord, "not as nice as yours though."

You lay a hand over your chest, acting all bashful, "I'm flattered, but you haven't even seen my tits outside of my top."

"Show me then." Eddie says, raising his brows as if to challenge you. What he doesn't expect is for you to actually pull your baggy shirt off over your head and expose your bare breasts to him, nipples hardening from the cool air right away.

"There," You say all triumphant and pleased with yourself, "I don't wear a bra at home, so jokes on you, pretty boy."

He's all flustered, wide puppy dog eyes drinking in the look of your tits, hand coming out hesitantly until you nod, letting him cup one in his palm, thumb rubbing over the hard nub of your nipple. A sweet sigh escapes your lips and you shudder from the contact.

"Can I help you with that at all?" You ask sweetly but still mocking, nodding towards his straining cock in his pants, "Looks like you don't wear underwear in the house either."

Eddie barks out a nervous laugh, "You caught me, princess." Your heart flutters over the nickname, core quivering as he stares at you intently, "I suppose, uh, I suppose you can if you wan'. Don't feel like you have to."

"I don't, I want to," You confirm, changing position so you're sat on your knees between his spread legs, "can I blow you?"

He chokes on his tongue, face going beet red, "Are you sure? Shit, you don't have to-"

You cut him off by digging your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants, forcing him to lift his hips up so you can pull them to his ankles. His cock springs up all proudly, flushed red at the tip and already leaking a little.

"You're such a virgin," You sigh, just a little teasing coming out behind the admiring way you say it, all happy with yourself that it's only you who's ever done this for him.

"And you're such a slut." Eddie quips back, though there's no heat behind the words. You look up at him, furrowed brows and a dumb look on your face, all quiet for a second to make him squirm.

"I didn't mean that." He says eventually and you laugh at him, leaning down and gripping the base of his cock, spitting on the head to get it nice and wet.

"No, you're right," You admit, hand jerking him up and down and you don't miss the way he starts whining right away, "just a slut for your massive fucking cock."

A broken moan escapes Eddie's lips as you sink down on his cock, hot mouth gliding over the flushed skin and tongue licking over his head, hand twisting over what you can't fit in your mouth - which is a fair amount, and you're disappointed in your own skills now.

You force yourself to take a bit more of him in your mouth and your throat closes up, gagging a little as the head hits the back of your throat and Eddie shoves his hips up and cums with an embarrassingly loud shout.

You choke and splutter on his cum but still swallow it down, a little dribbling out the sides of your mouth as you pull off of him, "Could've warned a gal, Jesus Eddie."

He's embarrassed and you feel bad at the way he clenches his eyes shut and cringes like he's about to cry, "I am so, so sorry," he stumbles over his words, voice raising an octave, "I didn't expect you to, well, try to deep throat me and it caught me off guard."

You're smiling all pretty at him now, "Don't say sorry, I'm not mad," you say it sincerely, no mocking as you shrug, "that was kinda hot. Gives me a bit of an ego."

You slide off of the bed and retrieve a muslin cloth from your dresser, plopping back onto the bed with a huff as you clean him up, wandering hands ghosting all over his limp cock and his balls for him.

You pretend not to notice the hiss of breath he takes in and the way his eyes wander down to where your hands are taking care of him.

Eddie's back is pressed firm against your plush headboard and he's all flushed red, clearly still orgasm drunk from his first blowjob -- if you could even call it that.

"Do you trust me?" You ask gently, making to hover over his lap but not quite settling, still on your knees to keep distance.

"Of course I do, sweetheart," Eddie's eyes have a little twinkle in them, a dopey smile spreading across his face as he gently reaches his hands out to settle on your waist. You melt into it, body going a little lax and keening into his touch.

"You can absolutely say no, but," Your fingers dance over the front of his Hellfire shirt, the first time you'd seen him in it since you were both in high school, and it's making you feel a little juvenile, "I was thinking it was maybe time for you to pop your cherry."

You inwardly cringe at your words, you were hoping to be a little softer with him and a bit more serious but you can't help the teasing, it's like your brain is hotwired to automatically make fun of him.

"You're, wha-," Eddie's stuttering over his words, at a bit of a loss, "I didn't bring a condom."

The barking laugh that escapes your lips sounds mean, and you know that, but he's just so precious, "Honey, Eddie, baby..." you coo at him, "I'm on birth control. I'm totally clean too, trust me, surely you'd want to feel everything the way it's meant to feel for the very first time, right? So I'm sure the condom doesn't matter, unless it's what you want."

You can feel Eddie's cock pulsing between you both, clearly perking up at the thought of getting buried in your tight cunt for the first time. His face isn't so easy to read, though, you can tell his brain is running at a million miles a minute trying to soak in everything that's going on.

"You can say no," You say helpfully, a little bashful smile tugging at your lips, "I don't want to pressure you."

"You're not," Eddie says it in a rush, sitting up a little, "you're not rushing me. I just - I'm worried it's gonna be shit for you and over as fast as that was." He's clearly referring to the blowjob you just attempted to give him, face screwing up as he cringes.

"Hey, second orgasm usually doesn't come so fast," You shrug, like it's no big deal because it isn't, "you'll get better with practice, last longer, find what you like and don't like. It's normal, handsome."

"God," Eddie clenches his eyes shut momentarily, like your words are throwing him through a loop, "what'd I ever do to deserve a gal like you being so understanding."

"You were yourself," It's honest, that's what captivated you from the get go, just the way Eddie was in himself was enough to pull you in, "and now I get to mold you into my perfect little sex god."

You sink down a little now, your still panty-clad pussy dragging hotly against Eddie's cock, now fully erect again and slapping at his stomach. His eyes shoot open, biting at his bottom lip to stifle a groan.

And maybe this would be over quicker than you thought. But you were okay with that, the night was young and round two and three were always an option.

"I'll move these to the side," You say, voice quiet as you motion toward your panties with your left hand, "and then I'll do all the work, 'kay? You just tell me what you like and what you don't, and when you're close."

Eddie's mesmerized by your cunt, watching as you loop your fingers into the black material and tug them to the side, exposing yourself to the cool air, "Do you not-," he struggles, "do you not want me to... get you off first?"

"Trust me, honey, I really don't need it," You smirk, grabbing his hard cock by the base and hovering over it, slipping the head between your slick folds. You watch his eyebrows furrow, his mouth fall open as his head falls back and hits your headboard, clearly overcome with pleasure.

Eddie's silent, all words caught in his mouth as you let the tip of his cock breach your hole, sinking down little by little, gasping at the stretch of it because Jesus he's massive, until you're fully sat and nestled.

"Tell me when you're ready for me to move, Eds," You whisper, a whimper dying in your throat as your hand comes up to tug at the collar of his shirt pulling on it until he's looking at you, just to make sure he's listening and still okay.

He's really big, not that you didn't know that when you got your hands and mouth on it, but it feels bigger nestled inside the tight heat of your cunt, like you can almost feel him in your stomach.

Eddie nods eventually once his breathing evens out and you don't waste any time in getting started. To begin with you take it slow, only lifting yourself up just enough for a few inches to come out before sliding back down again, gauging how he reacts. His mouth falls open in a broken moan, eyebrows furrowing as he gets used to the feeling of your wet cunt gripping him so well.

He risks a glance down to watch your bodies meeting, the way his cock slides in and out of you and maybe it was a mistake because you're feeling his cock twitching already, whilst he watches your creamy release pool around his thick expanse of dark pubes, matting it down.

"You're - fuckfuck - making a mess," Eddie's voice is so whimpery and subby it makes you shudder in a breath, a whine coming from your throat as you swipe two fingers through the mess, picking some up and forcing your fingers into his mouth until he's sucking them clean.

"Shut up," You moan, finally bouncing up and down properly now, never taking your eyes off of his own, big and wet and perfect, your cunt gripping him so deliciously, sweet spot being abused with every stroke, "rub my clit."

Eddie lets your fingers slip from his mouth, thumb coming down to rub messily at your clit, absolutely no fucking rhythm to it whatsoever but at this point it didn't matter because you could feel your stomach tightening already.

"You're so wet," Eddie sighs, all mesmerized and struggling to rip his eyes away from his thumb on your cunt, until he catches your tits bouncing up and down and he leans forward to latch onto your nipple, licking and sucking it tentatively.

"You're gonna make me cum," You whine, crying out as you continue bouncing, trying to ignore how Eddie's own hips are fucking up to meet your thrusts and how it's driving you crazy, "Jesus Christ."

"Nah, just me," Eddie moans, and it would've been funny if he didn't sound so fucked out, "m'gonna cum, shit, fuck."

The sounds are so fucking hot it's driving you wild, the loud slapping of your skin connecting in this delicious smack, your sopping wet cunt sucking him in, the panting and whining escaping Eddie's lips and you are gone, clenching around his fat cock as you cum, shoving yourself down so he's all the way in to the hilt.

Your pussy clenching like a vice around Eddie's cock is enough to have him shooting off, grip on your waist so tight it almost hurts as he cums, buried deep in you. His orgasm face is so pretty you watch the whole thing without blinking, the way his curls fan his face wetly from sweat, his glossy eyes pricking with tears, his swollen red lips parting in a constant string of moans.

There's silence for a moment and as usual you ruin it by letting the intrusive thoughts win, "There's no way any other woman is allowed to have this fat cock. It's mine now."

Eddie barks out a little laugh, looking up at you with this big dumb smile, rosy cheeks flushing even darker, "Yours if you want it, sweetheart."

You lean down with hands on either side of his face to pull him in for a kiss, giggling and smiling against his lips whilst his softening cock slips out of you.

(i was gonna do a taglist but for some reason the tags wouldn't work send help - i hope everyone who wanted to find this does!!)

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sameschmidtdiffname · 8 months

Text

Tumblr WILL NOT let me post the fic and this ask at the same time and I've tried legit five times. So THANK YOU anon for the request and I'm sorry for the weirdness in uploading. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this!

My Ghost.

Billy x Gender Neutral! Reader

Summery: You don't know what happened that night. Things were fine, life was good, then your partner is on the news for all sorts of shit you never would've thought him capable of the day prior. He was dead, he was evil, and you were trying to move on. But what's the proper etiquette when the dead show up on your door unannounced?

Tags: No use of Y/N, hurt/comfort, fake death, mentions of drinking, drug use/dealing, grieving, arguing, cursing, flashbacks, brief suggestive scenes, suicidal thoughts.

Other Works in This Series: 'Repentance' (Prequel to 'My Ghost') • 'Lapses' (Sequel to 'My Ghost')

Notes: The way I've been trying to upload this for two hours. Oh my fucking God. Anyways, everyone say thank you to anon for getting me to write something that doesn't make God cry.

-¤°》◇《°¤-

I'm not hard to please, but I'm not desperate despite what the rumors may say.

People enjoy gossip. People who don't know fuck all about you. And my standards are fine. Were fine. And I don't mean standards such as 'buys me flowers everyday' or 'doesn't deal coke.' I mean standards such as 'is a decent fucking person.'

"That's what I thought you were up until all of this fucking... disappearing for months!" I scream, anger fueling me. I don't let the other emotions win out, don't let them have a say. Because if I do, I'll be too conflicted and overwhelmed and then I'm gonna cry, and that's not fair.

People had warned me he was trouble. Terms such as 'wannabe cowboy,' 'rebel without a cause' were tossed around in warning. But to me, he was just Billy.

Then he was dead.

Now, he was here. He showed up at my door nine months after leaving me with a small little keychain on the kitchen table and a soft kiss on my forehead, saying he had some plans for that evening. But he'll be back soon.

Then he was on the news. And a gas station blew up. Gangs, stolen vehicles. He was probably dead. Things would be easier if he was dead.

Fine. Maybe I initially ignored warning signs. Maybe I was distracted by his handsome side profile, too busy admiring his nose to notice the occasions it was dusted with the trace of a fine powder. Maybe his hands were too beautiful for me to realize they were slipping money to men in dark jackets when we went out to the rougher parts of town. But he was mine and I was his, and overall he was a good person.

He was alive. He was alive and I was mad because if he was dead then at least it would be valid that for nine months I have had to deal with the accusatory stares of our neighbors assuming I knew, the pity from my loved ones, and the betrayel that kept me awake at night. It would mean he hadn't left me to deal with his repercussions, that maybe there was a valid excuse. An undiagnosed brain tumor that finally gave way to insanity, a gun to his head. Something that was not the worst case scenario of just... being an awful person. I could let his things rest around the house undisturbed, hiding from the world and waiting to find the courage to join him one day and living in denial in the meantime. What the fuck was all of this?

"I couldn't tell you," he keeps saying. "It was better if you knew nothing until I was sure I could come get you."

"Why didn't you just take me with you from the start?" I ask. I've been pacing the floor for the past twenty minutes ever since he showed up. It was better than throwing every breakable object in the cheap, worn down shack of a house at him, which was my second instinct. My first was to pull him into my arms, draw the curtains shut and hide him away so that he'll never leave again. Like an idiot.

He laughs bitterly. "You would not be asking that if you knew what the fuck I went through," he says. His words sound like they should be angry, but there's this lightness to them like he can't let himself think too much about it. It just makes me angrier.

"Don't fucking laugh!" I snap. "Do you think any of this is funny?"

"I think you're funny when you're mad," he deflects, smiling. "You got this whole routine. Pacing, nose twitching. I like the Shirley Temple stomps, like you're a kid."

I groan loudly, the noise almost sounding like a low scream in my throat.

"You owed money to fucking- who?" I yell.

"The details don't matter-"

"When I have been grieving your death for nine months, they fucking matter!" I snap. His brows furrow, his hands mid air as if to say 'the fuck did I do?'

"You know me, okay? I don't get caught," he says as though it were obvious.

"I know fucking nothing!" I practically scream.

When we met he was just a guy at a bar, handsome, wearing that same ridiculous jacket that I couldn't help but stroke the white fluff on, tequila running through my veins.

"Can I help you?" He asked, smirking.

"Just wanted to see what it felt like," I said.

"Wanna feel something else?" He asked, his chin resting on his head.

"Oh, fucking gross. Fuck o-"

"I was talking about this," he said, whipping out his keys to show off an odd, weirdly shaped keychain with short, stiff fuzz. "Don't call me a pervert just cause you're one."

He was smiling. It was an easy smile. Careless, happy with life. I loved that smile. It meant things were always alright as long as he was smiling.

He was smiling on the photo they used for the manhunt.

We'd danced the whole night. He didn't know hardly any of the songs, causing him to be off beat. I was too drunk to keep time, so I stepped on his leather boots enough times there was a visible scuff on the top of one by the end of the night. I always felt bad, offering to replace or help pay to fix it. He wouldn't let me.

"They're a keepsake," he'd insist. "A living memory." He wore them everyday.

He's wearing sneakers, today.

At the end of the night, I stumbled out of the bar with a note in my coat pocket. It took two weeks for me to wear that coat again, and when I found the slip I'd almost thrown it away, assuming it was something dumb. But when I saw the worst handwriting in the world displaying a number belonging to someone named 'Keychain Guy,' I almost couldn't wait to call.

"Bullshit," Billy snaps. "You know me better than anyone."

"Don't say that," I say, putting a hand out protectively to keep him away. "That's exactly why everyone thinks I was just fine with that whole- fucked up thing!"

A gas station burned. A stolen vehicle. People were dead. People were dead.

Billy was presumed dead.

There was no funeral. He had no family, and none of mine wanted to put money into something that would be protested by the whole town anyways. No body to bury, nothing to do but gather up his things and smoke what remained in his stash until people came to nurse me back to life. By that point there wasn't even relief in drugs. The taste simply reminded me of better times cooking in the kitchen as we blew the smoke into each others faces, or worse. Better. Whatever.

I never questioned when Billy went out of town. I knew his work had details I didn't want nor need to know. Money was tight. But Billy always came home with little things whenever he went on unexpected trips. Knick knacks, snacks, some item I'd seen at the store and picked up to make a comment about. Had he been particularly forthcoming about his dealing when we started dating? No. He said he worked for a local small business, which technically isn't untrue. But about six months in, he was the one who approached me and sat me down at the small, rickty round table to tell me the truth. And that's what mattered to me. The economy is shit and it's not like it was meth, so who am I to judge?

About a year into it, I was begging for him to do something else.

"I don't like you disappearing," I told him. "I'm scared one day you're gonna piss someone off and that'll be the end. Then what am I gonna do?"

"Then you're gonna make sure they don't fuck up my face during the embalming process for the funeral," Billy said around his hand rolled cigarette. I whip the small dish towel at him, making him laugh and protect his small ashtray that I made him for Christmas the year prior. It was shitty, uneven, and I'm 99% sure a fire hazard. But he wouldn't use any other ones unless I was the one who bought them for him, and even then he favored this one. 'When this place goes up in flames,' I thought, 'I'll regret that gift.'

I'd kept it by the kitchen window every day since he'd died. "Died." It was his spot.

He moves to sit there now, looking in his pockets for the small box of prerolled cigarettes.

"People know you weren't involved," he says dismissively.

"Your friends know. What about the old ladies at church? The checkout clerks at the store? How about the fucking mailman?" I shout, convinced I'm still talking to the dead. "You think they know the ins and outs of the local psychos support group?" I ask, gesturing and stepping closer.

I was the local outcast now. Not to be trusted, not worth kindness. Shame was my title, and when Billy appeared on my doorstep at an hour where only I was awake I was sure I'd caught the same awful disease that must have been what sent him spiraling that winter day. It wasn't until he pushed the door open fully, taking me into his arms and pressing a warm kiss to my lips that I knew he was real. It was a feeling I was in the early stages of forgetting, blurry and cold. But here he was, the stubble on his chin a bit longer and his ears missing the small hoops that had glittered in the sunlight when he walked out the door.

Then I'd pushed him away. And the fight began.

"I'm not a fucking psycho," he argues. His hands pat around his outfit, searching. "You got a lighter?"

"Fuck off." I kept his favorite in my left pocket. I had to be careful what things of his I wore or kept on my person. People close to me knew I would have never condoned his actions, but even they had glared at me in the early wake of Billy's death when I dared to wear one of his shirts out of the house, or more commonly one of his thick leather jackets. But a lighter can be hidden, and unless you had borrowed it you wouldn't know it had specifically been his. So I kept it with me all the time, just feeling it next to my skin with the only barrier being the fabric of my pocket. Without a thought, I cover the small item as though he can see right through me. Picking up on the hint, he's rises from the table and begins walking over to me.

"Don't be a dick, just let me borrow it," he says, holding out his hand.

"Fuck off," I snap.

"You've said that. I just need it for two seconds," he says as his hands begin to gently grab at me, one on my shoulder and the other dipping into my pocket.

"Get the fuck off of me!" I yell, slapping at him.

"Just let me have-"

He cuts himself off as he pulls out the lighter from my pocket, his thumb grazing over the printed picture. The Statue of David. He'd bought because it made us laugh. One side was the regular statue, the other a close up of its small genitals with cursive writing underneath spelling the art piece's name.

"Oh," Billy says quietly.

We stand for a moment, silent. He doesn't seem sure what to do. My lungs burn with unheaved sobs. I fucking hate this.

"You were gonna come back," I finally say quietly. I hate how my voice sounds when I'm upset. I hate that I'm wearing his dogtag, an item he'd bought at a World War II museum in middle school that he gave me for our first Christmas because we were both too broke to actually buy each other anything, hence the poorly made ashtray. I hate that when I sleep at night it's in his clothes that I rarely wash because the idea of losing his smell makes me want to scream. I hate that his scent is different from the bottle of cologne he kept next to my makeup, one time spilling all over the entire bathroom counter because we'd gotten too wrapped up in each other, dragging our nails down each others backs and watching ourselves in the mirror until one wrong move of my hand revealed he'd been a bit too careless about screwing the lid back on earlier in the day. I'd always warned him about that.

I'd been in the bathroom putting on my permanently scented blush when I got the text.

"I was going to," he said softly. "Then I couldn't."

"So what?" I say, not daring to turn and face him, choosing instead to stare at where the cheap, old wood paneling of the wall meets the shaggy, stained carpet that you have to wear shoes on due to the staples that have begun sticking out of it. "You just propose to someone and then pretend to die?"

Valentines Day was an awfully cheesy day to do it. So it's a good thing it was a technicality.

The day had been lovely. Billy had saved up a little to take me to a local hibachi place, telling me to wear my best outfit and jewelry. It was slightly overkill, but it's the small things in life, isn't it?

We'd come home with a bottle of wine, a low budget movie to ignore and hands searching desperately for each other.

"I love you," he'd said between pants. "You're mine."

"Buy a ring," I'd dared. Our minds were buzzed, the bottle half empty and our clothes thrown away without care. Took me weeks to find his both of his socks.

I hadn't meant for him to take it seriously. But I guess he decided it was time.

Two days later I thought it was odd when he walked into the house with my favorite lunch. It wasn't expensive really, we just usually got it for special occasions or days that had been mentally harder for me. And things were normal that day. I was getting ready for my shift, running around like I always do trying to make sure I've got everything.

"Your coffee's in the cup, will you just sit down?" He laughed, watching me. I quickly collected the take out box, sipping my coffee and wincing over its temperature.

"Fuck, that burns," I cursed. He wrapped his arms around me, trying to get me to sit at the table. "Baby, I can't," I protested softly, but I was laughing. He was peppering me in kisses, giving me those big puppy dog eyes everyone knew were my weakness. He wanted for nothing so long as he looked at me just like that.

"Just this once," he asked, pressing a kiss to my cheek. I couldn't help the blush and giggle that rose from me, but I also couldn't be late.

"I'll make up for it," I promised, slipping away and running into the bedroom to get my shoes. When I ran back in, pulling them on and coming to kiss him goodbye, I nearly fell over when I saw him on one knee, smiling and looking at me like 'I told you so.'

I don't like how itchy the ring feels on my middle finger as I twirl it in thought.

"You don't know what happened," he pleaded, his hands still on me. "If you would just listen to me-"

"The news gave a pretty good description, William. I don't think there's missing pieces in my head, unlike you," I say coldly, detaching from myself so to not have to deal with my emotions. This makes him stiffen, pulling away and resuming his place at the kitchen table, lighting his cigarette and placing the ashtray in front of him like nothing has changed when everything has.

It feels like I'm out of time. Like I've been shoved into a picture of what my life looked like before. Except the house was never this clean, clothes always scattered about. Not just in a fit of passion, we just had bad habits when it came to picking up. Billy would always say the chairs are more decorations then they are seats, anyways. "Why would you use those when you have such a nice seat here?" He'd ask, wiggling his hips and placing his hands behind his head, making me laugh.

Billy never looked so well put together in the house, usually in a wife beater and his hair framing his face. He'd always joked he looked like a dirty hippie around me, and I'd always show him how much I liked that. Not that he looked fantastic now. When we went out he was known for putting in effort. He always had more hair products than me, which I found funny. Though he refused makeup. Once I'd managed to talk him into eyeliner. 'Guyliner' I'd teased. He liked it, but said it should stay between us with a wink before asking where to get dinner. Now he sits before me in clothes obviously stolen to help him look unremarkable, his hair shaggy and uncut, so different from the man I loved.

"Who are you?" I asked him. That man didn't shrink away from accountability.

He sighed, smoke swirling around him as he wipes his face with his hand.

"I don't know. Can't tell if I'm better or worse, to be honest," he admits softly. His eyes look haunted, heavy bags underneath. It's the way his shoulders sag as though his will to go on is slowly draining from him in this very moment that makes me want to break now. Like whatever reason he had for still going was fruitless.

I didn't like the way we mirrored each other like this.

I slowly scuff my feet towards him, tapping my fingers against the back of the wooden chair before pulling it out to sit across from him. It's a start.

"So if you tell me," I say slowly. "Am I going to wish you were dead?"

He doesn't look at me. "I don't know."

Great.

The night is long. Morning comes without an invitation, the blue sky beginning to glow through the shitty blinders I always told Billy we should replace one day. I understand less than when we started, we've both cried more than once, and between our fingers is cigarette stubs and the feeling of each others skin, hands laced together as though another click of an old remote to an outdated TV with batteries you had to rub against your shirt to make work would reveal the smouldering remains of a gas station, displaying the estimated body count and deeming one of us as a devil of the worst kind, ripping us apart.

"Jesus," I say when it's over.

"Yeah," he says. "So, needless to say, my anxiety is shit now."

It isn't funny. It's a tragic statement. But when we both glance into the others eyes, it's his small little smirk that makes me laugh like I haven't since my mother sent me the local news report with his picture covering the front page. The same one that shows everything is still okay.

"I'm sorry," I say. Then the laughing turns into sobbing, and then I can't breathe. And I really am sorry.

I'm sorry I couldn't help him. I'm sorry he went out on a romantic whim and borrowed money he shouldn't have for the ring I was too ashamed to wear on the proper finger. I'm sorry he couldn't come back for me. And I'm sorry for hating him when he showed up unannounced at my door.

"Hey," he says gently, standing and crossing to me, removing his jacket and wrapping it around my shoulders to comfort me. It's unfamiliar, evidence of a life he wouldn't have led if he had just stayed by me and it upsets me, but his lips against my wet cheeks ground me, familiar and soothing me, coaxing me into wrapping my arms around him, clawing my trembling fingers through his hair. Still soft. Still combed.

"You can't stay here," I choke out.

"I know," he says quietly. There's nothing for a long time, our bodies shaking as we cling to each other. In our arms are the unspoken months of grief. Of his longing for our home, of my insanity. Death looms over the furniture, light hidden away lest it take away my sacred treasures I'd used to keep his spirit close to me.

"I can't lose you again," I say.

"I know," he says, smelling my hair and placing a soft kiss on top of my head. "But I can't promise stability if you follow me."

My brows furrow, my mind racing in confusion, my hopes rising. Follow?

"I know a guy," he says quickly, his arms tighter as if scared I'll turn away. "Says he can get me a new identity and a one way ticket to somewhere. I don't know where yet, but it's worth a try."

My fingers trace his back, swirling invisible patterns over his shirt. He'd always liked that after a rough day. I can feel the tension begin to slowly fall away from him at the contact, his breathing growing deeper and more steady. "And you want me to come?"

"Need," he corrects. "I don't regret leaving you, but I can't stay away. Even if it's more kind to let you mourn and find a better life."

A new life. A new identity. New name, new everything.

Maybe I am insane. Maybe this exactly the kind of mental break Billy had that day. Maybe I was doomed to follow his spirit no matter what. Maybe this is a second chance. Maybe God had granted me a mercy I'll never be able to repay, no matter how many night I spend in worship at a church or between this man's legs. Maybe I'd spend every day looking over my shoulder, paranoid and eventually turning cruel to strangers so to keep this one person everyone told me to let go of from the very beginning.

But the same Billy.

"Can he do a marriage license?" I ask after a long silence. I can hear him laugh, pulling away to look at me.

"That eager?" He asks softly, his eyes gentle, thumb stroking my cheek. I lean into his touch, softly placing a kiss on his palm.

▪︎》◇《▪︎

"Well," I say, "I already have the ring."

Masterlist

As cute as this was, please have better standards than the Reader I wrote in this fic. No man is worth that. I am DEADASS. Anyways, love y'all <3

#josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson fanfic #josh hutcherson x you #jhutch #billy burn #billy burn x you #billy burn x reader #billy burn 2019 #burn 2019 #burn movie 2019 #billy x reader

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scribbling-dragon · 9 months

Note

45 and flower husbands (or maybe emberfrost/snowbugs :eyes:) for the ask game!

breath from death

summary:

“Oh, love…” the sheer agony in Scott’s voice is enough to make Tango crack his eyes open, watery from his subsequent coughing fits, tears continuing to bead up as he tries to bring Scott’s shape into focus. When he does, he almost wishes he hadn’t, having to resist the urge to recoil from the way Scott is looking at him.

(ao3 link)

(2,473 words)

hdjsk this was meant to be more angsty than it actually was,, i just made tango into a bit of a loser tbh. but! hope you enjoy the snowbugs (i can't lie the only reason i wrote them is bc i loved the name hdsjhsjk). did i see scott gift tango a heart and go a little silly? yes. yes i did

also! if you liked this and want to send in another request the list of prompts is here! i've got a lotta free time at the moment, so i'll definitely be writing stuff a lot more than i have been recently

“Ooh, Skizz really wasn’t lying, hm?”

Tango glances up at the voice, not even bothering to lean away from the bush he’s made himself a comfy spot against. Or as comfy as he can be when every part of him is in burning pain and agony. But the slight slouch he’s found himself in puts the least amount of pressure on his various injuries and maladies, and so is the most comfortable he can be right now.

“Scott,” he croaks out, wincing a little at how terrible his voice really sounds. He’d been spitting smoke earlier, angry with how much energy it was taking to simply haul himself to his feet. It’s left him with the inside of his mouth covered in ash, and his throat feeling like it’s been rubbed raw. “Good to see you could make it.”

Skizz is somewhere nearby, but not close enough to interrupt if Scott decided he wanted to put him out of his misery right here and now. He’s somewhat caught between being thankful for such a thing, and angry that he couldn’t go on any further.

He’d just be another footnote at the end of a book, another mention; a small aside, make sure to mention the one that almost dies in the most silent and insignificant ways.

He is well aware of his previous contributions to these games. He goes out with barely a sound, and the world carries on without him, continues to spin round and round, maybe a few choosing to mourn him. Be sad over the misfortune of his death, how easily such a thing could have been prevented.

He doesn’t even realise he’s breathing smoke again until Scott coughs, waving a hand in front of his face to waft the smoke away. Tango snaps his jaw shut almost immediately, muttering a quiet “sorry” when Scott continues to cough.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Rough day?”

“You could say that,” he stretches his back out, wincing as it tugs at the edges of unhealed injuries. A stray branch from within the cherry blossom bush scraping a hot line of agony across his spine. He curls inwards on himself with a hiss of pain, tears beading in his eyes at the sudden sting of all his injuries making their protests known.

The small relief from earlier, afforded to him by other servermates, swayed by Skizz’s plea for a small gift of love, a small act of mercy. A better act of mercy would be to put him out of his misery entirely, he thinks humourlessly.

“Hey, c’mon, you're just making this worse for yourself,” a hand lays over the back of his own hand, slowly encircling it before pulling it away. The movements are done with such delicacy, such gentleness, it’s as though he’s made of an extremely fragile glass. Like he’d break if the hands moved him too fast, that he’d shatter into a thousand pieces.

Maybe he would. He feels about ready to fall apart right now, anyway.

“See,” the person – Scott, it’s still Scott, he’s still here, Tango realises belatedly – breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. “That’s much better. Now, where has your teammate gotten off to?”

“He, agh,” he coughs again, a small curl of smoke rolling off his tongue as he hacks, one or both his lungs threatening to make an appearance as he doubles over again, stomach cramping with the force of his coughs. “He went to get some resources, something to better survive the next few hours.”

“He didn’t stay with you?”

“The idiot would have,” he scoffs, laughing slightly. He then has to cough again, appreciating Scott’s gentle stroking over the top of his shoulders. He’s nowhere near as warm as Tango himself is, the fire stoked within his core happily blazing away, despite the disrepair of the rest of his body. “I made him leave. I’m dead either way. My death will be nothing to gasp and cry over, better he’s not around when it does happen.”

When he does, he almost wishes he hadn’t, having to resist the urge to recoil from the way Scott is looking at him. His hand is still lying over the top of Tango’s shoulders gently, though no longer stroking to soothe him through a coughing fit.

When Scott had turned up, looking down at him with those gleaming red eyes. Eyes that herald violence, promise it, Tango had willingly accepted his death. Would probably have stretched his arms out and taunted Scott for coming after someone when their guard is so far down that it’s ripped to shreds if even twitching his arms didn’t hurt so badly.

And then he’d just…stood there, crouched in front of him and comforted him as he coughed.

It’s his own fault that his lungs are in such a sorry state, anger over everything about these damn games making his flame burn too hot too quickly. He usually has better control over it, breathes fire for a party trick sometimes, not to clog his lungs with ash. Still, Scott had provided the comfort happily, despite them being on rival teams now, people that should be looking to kill each other. Not make sure that he can breathe and is comfortable and that his ally hasn’t abandoned him.

“Every death is worth shedding at least a tear over,” Scott tells him. His hands have migrated from his shoulders to cradling the back of his neck, now kneeling in front of him instead of crouching. Tango almost wants to tell him that he’ll stain his jeans with grass and mud; they may already be wrecked beyond repair, ripped in ways that aren’t purposeful and stained with old blood, but the thought still crosses his mind. “You’ve built good alliances here, love, there will be several tears shed over your death.”

“And a few oh, poor Tango, what a terrible way to go!’s following behind it,” he snorts without humour, only sparing a moment to be relieved when it doesn’t catapult him into another coughing fit. “The same way it goes every time,” he finishes, slightly bitter. It brings a sour taste to his mouth to think about his previous failures. His previous embarrassments.

He’s jolted from his self-pity party when Scott’s fingers twitch over the nape of his neck, making his efforts to ignore how Scott’s hands are currently resting against the back of his neck null and void. His efforts to ignore how the hands reach far enough round that Scott could easily strangle him. Could simply wrap tight and squeeze the last drops of life from him. Scott would definitely benefit from it, numerous superficial injuries littering his body that he’d probably be relieved to get rid of.

But Scott doesn’t grip to his neck tighter, doesn’t shove him to the ground and crush his windpipe. His hands remain a heavy, almost comforting, weight at the back of his neck. Their faces are close like this, he realises belatedly, the intimacy of such a thing settling over him suddenly and heavily. Like a weighted blanket’s just been chucked on his head. He feels a little unbalanced by such a realisation, even as close to death’s door as he currently is.

It makes an odd feeling wash over him, only increasing as Scott moves his hands, fingers tickling the short furs at the back of his neck. Can feel the way Scott’s thumb brushes over his pulse point – stupid, doesn’t he know that the thumb has a pulse? That you can’t measure someone else’s heartbeat with your thumb, as your own racing heart will interfere?

Scott’s pinky fingers ghost over his jaw as his hands retreat, and tango almost makes a pitiful sound in the back of his throat when he thinks Scott’s pulling away from him.

He’s glad he didn’t (really, really glad) when Scott’s hands still again, settling over his jaw, cradling his face gently between his palms.

He really is quite close now, close enough that Tango can take in the smudged state of his make-up, like Scott’s been rubbing his eyes and smearing it around the corners of his eyes. Or that he’s not reapplied it recently and he’s simply been wearing the same make-up for the past few days.

He’d given up on the stupid pink eyeliner and little hearts he’d draw on his own and the others’ faces ages ago, tired of reapplying it every morning, wasting precious time that could be spent doing other things. More important things.

Scott’s make-up still looks good, though, smudged the way it is.

“I’ve always noticed when you died,” Scott tells him. This close, he can see the pink flecks in Scott’s eyes. They almost match the shirt he chose to wear for this go-around, wanting to fit better with the whole vibe they had going on at the Heart Foundation prior to its burning. “Kinda hard not to, when you're checking your comm every few minutes and hoping it’s not one of your allies that’s just died.”

“Oh,” he says, maybe a little dumbly. So sue him! He’s not sure what to say to a man very close to his face, still looking pretty despite his smudged make-up, when he gets told that he always notices him.

Yeah, some snide part of his brain comments, always notices when you make a fool of yourself and die in the most humiliating way possible.

“Oh,” Scott repeats, snickering a little. It makes his shoulders shake, meaning Tango’s face is wobbling a little because Scott’s still holding his face, cradling him carefully like he’s some delicate thing to be treasured.

Man, he’s glad Skizz hasn’t made a reappearance yet. He’s not sure how he’d explain his current everything to him with a straight face. Skizz would probably laugh at him until he cries.

“What else do you want me to say to that!” he protests, a little embarrassed at his slightly lacklustre response. “Thanks, I notice every time you die too – I'm always dead at that point! I can’t notice.”

“No, no,” Scott shakes his head, brushing one of his thumbs over the paper-thin skin beneath his eye. The motion makes him shiver, something weird, but not unfamiliar or unwelcome, curl down and around his spine. He shudders again. “I’m just teasing you, love, promise.” His eyes twinkle with mirth, “Would you believe me if I told you I came here with kind intentions?”

“Not at all,” Tango says, half-joking. “You’ve only been mean to me so far.”

“Aw, I'm hurt!” Scott cries, eyes crinkling as he grins. “I saw Skizz’s, uh, plea for help on your behalf and thought I might as well pop over and give you a little boost.”

“Oh, really?” He perks up at that. A few people have been by already, each giving him a small boost. To think he was in an even worse state as the sun rose that morning is somewhat horrifying to think about. It’s a miracle he even managed to have a coherent conversation with Skizz as their day began. “Well, c’mon then! Don't leave poor ol’ me waiting.”

“Okay, okay,” Scott laughs again, a little quieter. “God, you tell someone you're about to give them something, and it’s all they can think about.”

“All I can think about is how much pain I'm currently in,” Tango jokes.

He realises that the joke didn’t quite land as he intended when Scott’s face doesn’t continue to crease with smile lines, instead dropping into something sadder. “Well,” he says confidently, “I can fix that real quick for you, love.”

And then Scott’s leaning and Tango’s floundering, because, sure, he’s kissed people before. For definite. Kissed people plenty of times, actually! But he never quite knows what to do with his hands, nevermind the fact that he can barely even lift his hands right now.

Scott seems comfortable taking the initiative, giving him a chaste peck on the lips, warm hands continuing to cradle his face gently, before pulling back just as quickly as he’d moved in.

“There,” he says, sounding satisfied. “All better?”

“I – yeah. Thanks,” he manages. He mentally fist pumps when his voice doesn’t wobble and he doesn’t immediately chase after Scott with significantly less achy limbs than a few moments before. “That’s really appreciated, thank you.”

“Not a problem,” Scott says, wiping a little around his bottom lip, clearing away some of the smudged make-up there. “Always glad to help!” He chirps, then stands. “Well, I’ll be seeing you around, hopefully not at the other end of my sword!”

“Hopefully not,” Tango agrees. Really hopefully not because he’ll probably just stand there like an idiot and think about how soft Scott’s lips are, and the way they’d slotted against his own, and-

The clearing of a throat above him has him blinking his eyes open, squinting a little at the figure silhouetted by the sun.

“See you had a little visitor,” Skizz tells him, sounding far too smug for someone that probably only saw Scott walk away. Tango’s sheltered where he sits, so even if Skizz was on his way back while…all that happened, there’s no way he actually saw anything.

“I- what? Oh, Scott, yeah. He gave me a heart.”

“See he gave you a little something else, too.”

What?

“What?” He asks, sitting up slightly, hissing under his breath as his cracked ribs forcefully remind him that they're still cracked. “What d’you mean?”

“You got a little something,” Skizz says, “around here.”

And gestures around his mouth.

Tango wipes at his lip with his thumb, cringing when it comes away stained with make-up. Make-up that everyone has seen Scott wearing recently.

“Oh, wow, haha,” he laughs, not at all amused. “How’d that get there.”

“How indeed,” Skizz says, obviously already knowing, the dick. “Maybe we should ask the whole server, see if they can help us solve this mystery.”

“No!” Tango throws himself upwards as Skizz goes to retrieve his comm, smacking his hands away frantically. “No, no, I'm sure we can figure this out ourselves.”

“Oh, yeah. I'm sure we can.” Skizz says, and walks off. Still grinning.

Tango collapses back down to the ground, indulging his moment of dramatism even as it aggravates a few minor wounds.

Whatever shitty higher being watches over me now, he pleads, please strike me down before he comes back.

The shitty higher being watching over him decidedly does not strike him down, and Skizz comes back to laugh him again, though he brings a make-up wipe with him…maybe Tango can find it in his heart to forgive him. Eventually.

#juno.writes #asks #wren-kitchens #ask game #trafficshipping #snowbugs #emberfrost #scott smajor #tangotek #secret life smp #secret life spoilers #(slightly)#slsmp #secret life scott #secret life tango #traffic series #trafficblr #traffic smp

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yaut-jaknowit · 11 months

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Hi! I like you, you seem so cool. Such a vibe.

So, i might end up writing this eventually BUT the writers block has locked barricaded and blown up any entrance to writing anything beyond poetry for the past numerous months and, honestly, I don't think she (gn) is willing to open up. We've gone to therapy. But she just says she needs time. 🙄 . ANYWAYS, I had this idea, right? Reader and a Yautja who are mates/soulmates, and he is NOT for it. Big no no time. Shuts them down and pushes them away. Thing is, while the pull towards them is intense for him, he doesn't realize that for humans it's, like, a painful experience. They can go a bit without being near their soulmate once they find them, but months? *years*?? Eventually he goes back to earth and something pulls him to go check in them and finds them an absolute wreck. Chronic pain, maybe some of that ✨️classic substance abuse✨️, and absolutely heartbroken because their *soulmate* didn't even want them.

And... that's where the little writer part of my brain walks away.

Anyways, maybe one day I'll write this, but the ADHD part of my brain wants the gratification my writer part just isn't interested in entertaining.

I'd love to see your twist on it, if you'd be interested! If not, I get it (not every request peaks our interest and that's valid, but thought I'd share).

P.S. I just heard an owl for the first time in AGES. Really cool.

Are We Meant to be?

Pairing: Yautja x GN!Reader

Word Count: 2031

Summary: On a walk home from work in a city that wasn't friendly, you stupidly decide to take a shortcut. A shortcut that could cost you your life...

Author Note: Thank you! I'm glad I have good vibes! I might be falling into writers block... Towards the end, it was hard to figure out what to write but I hope this is good for you! I wanted to give you a start so you can finish it yourself!

Masterlist

Ao3

Part 2

When you find your soulmate, it’s said that fireworks go off in your stomach. Then, life is a happy fairytale afterwards. Both souls are drawn to each other by an invisible string. Over time, they’ll be pulled to one another until they meet. From there, life is filled with happiness and complete. You are at height of your life with your soulmate.

So why was the universe cruel to you?

In the concrete jungle that made up your city filled to the brim of people and constant death, you raced back to your little apartment. The minute place you’ve carved out for yourself in a city like this. Something told you to be here, to stay here, no matter what happens. Just a tiny feeling in your cold, hope-filled heart. Maybe, just maybe your soulmate was here. So you endured the life you’ve created here and waited.

Waited for that faithful day they would stumble across your path and boom! Fireworks.

This was a bad idea, your brain shouted as you turned into a dark ally. It was a short cut that would shave off about five minutes. Five minutes closer to your studio apartment. Or lose your life.

A dark figure stepped out from the shadows. In the limited light, you see the way a blade reflects. Shit. Cursing internally, you skid to a stop and started to walk backwards towards the safety of the public street. But footsteps behind you had you pausing where you stood. More curses flew around in your brain as any logical thought.

Nothing needed to be said as you stared down the figure before you. This wasn’t unusual for a city like this. They wanted money, your money. Yet, you didn’t have much on you to offer. Probably only two dollars and nineteen cents in your pocket. Definitely not enough to quell them.

Before you had a chance to even inhale and speak, the person before you collapsed to the ground with nothing but little more than a squeak. A hunking form towering over his crumbled body. Your jaw dropped at the size of this figure. Your heart stutter in its bony cage as you were pinned to the spot like your shoes were welded there.

The string in your chest yanked hard directly in front of you. Your eyes couldn’t expand anymore at the feeling.

With nothing more but a breeze, the shadow zipped past you. You spun around to keep an eye on whatever had attacked your own attackers. Now that it was closer to the street lamps, you were able to pick up flashes of what it looked like. Yet, your brain couldn’t comprehend who this figure that moved in a blink of an eye was. You’ve never seen anyone move like that before. It couldn’t be possible.

A sick snapping echoed through the alleyway that had you tensing. The second attacker fell to the ground, unmoving. Finally, your shoes unpolarized from the dirty concrete but stepped away from the towering form that casted a long shadow. The head barely touching the tips of your toes. You swallow thickly and ignored the way your heart pounded heavily. It wanted freedom, wanted to rip out and go towards it.

He lifted his head. What could you see were long, thick… dreads? swaying as he shook his head. Metal, shining ornaments were attached to them. His form, larger than any man you’ve met before stood there. Only one arm moving, bending at the elbow. You couldn’t see what he was doing. You felt a fluttering feeling in your chest.

The figure whipped around with a snarl that echoed back at you. All you could see was emotionless eyes before it was upon you.

Your back slammed into the brick wall but a hand cushioned the back of your head. A gasp tore from your throat then your vision settled to take in the sight. He had pounced on you, pinned you to the alleyway wall, all the while breathing heavily. A hand had captured your neck, to ensure you stayed there, trapped.

Even with the knowledge this unknown figure might had just killed two people, your body was warm, lax underneath him. Your brain should’ve been screaming danger of the situation but all it sung was safety. A melody you couldn’t tell was true or not from the logical side of your brain. Yet, you couldn’t dispute the hot flash of an connection that struck you deep in your stomach at just his touch.

“Y-you…” he forced out in a guttural, gravely voice. This close to him, you realize he was wearing a mask, metal by the looks of it. “Not po-possible.” Your brows furrowed at his barely audible words. What did he mean?

Timidly, you reached out and rested your palm on his chest. He was incredibly hot, temperature wise. You felt a sort of netting there. He hissed, like a cat, and slipped the hand behind your head to snatch your wrist. It was pinned above your head. “No.” It was hard to understand what he was saying.

Not an ounce of fear entered your body as he continues to pin you there. Yet, your voice was caught behind a lump. So many questions fluttered around inside of your head but all you could do was stare into the emotionless eyes of his mask.

As if you had burned him, he ripped himself away from you within a blink of any eye. It left you feeling unsteady and almost falling to the ground. You saw for a moment he reached out to help you before letting the limb fall to his side.

Then, he was gone. In a small flash of blue, his form disappeared completely. Yet, you could feel him standing there, like a ghost to haunt you.

The walk home was confusing.

…

Blaring noises, inundated scents. Everything that a newly blooded would not be able to handle. Through the thick of it, the hunter waited in the shadows for the perfect moment. His ears picking up every little noise yet filtering them until he felt a pull. This pique his interest. A feeling he’s never felt before. His eyes closed as it persisted inside of him, his chest tightening.

A huff sounded from his mask he stood up, long legs stretching after being in a crouch position for so long. The Yautja cracked his neck a couple of times before beginning his trek through the concrete jungle. He allowed the tug to guide him over buildings as if he back on his home planet. It took him from one side of the city hundreds of thousands of oomans resided in all the way to the other side.

All of his moves were smooth, agile. He knew where and how to land before he was going to. His body going through the motion like a thousand times beforehand. His feet never making a sound. His breaths steady, confident. He loved this, the movement, the rise of adrenaline. That extra energy that filled his system.

The pads of his feet let him land silently on the edge of a building. The pull taking his straight down. He stopped and peered over the edge… to find three measly oomans. The heavy scent of fear permeated the air. He drank in the smell and watched the scene unfold before his bright eyes.

At the sight of ooman between the two male had his quills bristling at the sight. With his cloak deactivated, the Yautja stepped off from the edge. His entire body landed on top of one ooman, simply crushing it underneath his feet like the scum it was. Its frame making a sickening sound he could care less about to think of.

He launched himself at the other ooman. No mercy. A hand wrapped around the ooman’s throat while the other wrapped around its head. Only an ounce of his strength was extruded as he snapped the neck of this low life. Its body dropped to the dirty floor of this noisy, death filled city.

Beneath the thick scales that covered his chest, a strange feeling bloomed. It was the same notion from before. Pulling him backwards. He raised a hand to graze over the spot, deep in thought.

A snarl ripped at his throat. He whipped around to face the only other living thing in this dark path. The biomask that covered his face scanned over the little ooman left in his presence. Weapons, nonthreatening, adorn its small body. He wasn’t intimidated by them. He could scoff at how unprotected it was in a place like this.

He was upon the ooman in a second, ramming them into a brick. One hand coming around to cradle the back of its head while the other swiftly encased your neck. The Yautja gave it no room for escape.

His entire body tensed as the feeling tenfolded, eyes widening behind his mask. He didn’t know what was happening. Unlike any other time he’s had a ooman in his grasp, you didn’t move, you were like water in his grasp.

Tales as old as time sprung to life in his mind. “Y-you,” he grumbled in the ooman’s dialect. It hurt his throat to speak the language but he wasn’t going to waste a translator on you. He couldn’t… couldn’t. His heart, his mighty heart pulled, fluttered even, at your proximity and touch. “Not po-possible.” He hated the ooman languages.

The ooman’s face turned sour with confusion. He watched as you raised a hand to his chest, where his heart beats. A hiss surged past his mandibles. With a hand, he snatched your wrist and pinned it above your head harshly. Hopefully, you would learn a lesson. Not a single waft of terror rolled from your tiny, fragile body.

It jerked at his heart harder. In an instant, the Yautja yanked himself away from you with disgust. Yet, the way you stumbled from the lack of a steady body to protect you, he moved to help you. Halfway through the motion, he paused, arms falling to his sides. He needed to leave. Now.

A simple button had his cloak reactivating and gone from your sight. His feet were cemented in place right before you. You could still feel him, standing there. He observed you after you finally ripped yourself from the wall and began the trek of wherever you were heading.

Like your shadow, he followed you. All the way, even as you opened a door to a dingey old building and up the stairs. The Yautja followed your every move even as you prepared for bed and laid down. He watched you struggle to find comfort, kicking, squirming, and shivering. The distress clearly evident. Strangely enough, he wanted nothing more to march into your room and comfort you. But, the Yautja stayed.

When he knew it was time to become homebound, the Yautja gave you one last look. Days in, days out, he’s been your shadow, observing your every move. For the fifteen rotations of your planet, he’s been there. He didn’t allow himself to be seen, by anyone. Including yourself. He was there though.

Sleeping was difficult. A struggle to find peace within the storm raging inside of you now. It felt a door had been opened and couldn’t be shut. You felt incomplete now. A distraught noise escaped your lips as you fulfilled your worthless job. You leaned heavily on the counter with a sigh, eyes shutting. All you saw through the darkness was flashes of that night.

The night were everything changed.

On the day afterwards, you took an unfortunate day off from work. As much as you needed the money, research was needed to be done. For the entire day, you searched through every article possible about soulmates. Everything. You also dug into anything that was close to whatever had… saved you. It had saved you then disappeared. But it left behind a feeling that was consuming you every thought.

Was this what it felt like to be abandoned? You whined at the thought and opened your eyes. Work needed to be done. If only you knew the consequences.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader

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randomwelcomehomestuff · 1 year

Text

Unfinished Business: a Welcome Home Corpse Puppet AU fanfiction

A/N: Just here to let you know that I'm not creative. Like, at all. This is a fanfic of a fanfic inspired by a fan-made AU of a completely unrelated work, but I couldn't get it out of my head so maybe now my brain will be at peace so I can work on my original story (or it will come up with fifty other fanfic ideas because that's more fun than editing).

Anyway, Welcome Home belongs to Clown/partycoffin, the Corpse Puppet AU belongs to @sketchquill, and the fanfic this is based on is a Corpse Bride/Nightmare Before Christmas crossover fic called The Undead Groom by moviefan_92 on Ao3.

Spoiler Alert for all of that media, plus a little for the novel The Pumpkin Queen just because there's a reference here and there, but not too much.

Also C/W: There's a lot of major character death in here.

I may add more to it later if inspiration strikes. Let me know in the comments if you are interested in that.

Okay, I'll shut up, now. Here's the fic.

The carriage jostled down the muddy dirt road. You wrung the handkerchief in your hands as you gazed out the window at the grey sky, occasionally distracted by the raindrops trailing down the glass. Try as you might, you just couldn't cry. You wanted to, but no tears would come.

At least the dreary weather was appropriate for a funeral.

Howdy was watching you. He wasn't one to judge his spouse's appearance, but he did decide that funeral black did not suit you particularly well. Not when he'd seen you in so many other bright, cheerful colors, when you had been happy. When you were like this—mourning—the sparkle in your eyes was gone. He thought you were beautiful when you were happy, somehow still hauntingly so when you were sad, but he would be lying if he said he didn't prefer seeing you smile or laugh.

“Are you alright?” he asked. “I know you and Eddie were close.”

You sighed. “I'll be fine. This isn't my first time dealing with grief.”

Yes, Howdy knew that all too well. The first several days of your marriage had been more awkward than they probably should have been for... obvious reasons. Any time he caught you staring despondently out the window, he knew deep down that you were thinking of Wally.

That didn't have a negative impact on your marriage, though. You were strong and optimistic, and Howdy shared many happy memories with you. You taught him how to play piano, and he in turn taught you how to garden. You even started a small orchard together. Howdy couldn't think of many more signs of a happy home than the smell of apple blossoms in the garden and hallways filled with the sounds of music and laughter. You were comfortable, and your fortunes were secure, (that was the most important thing to both of your parents, and neither of you could ask for much more than your parents' satisfaction).

Most of all, you and Howdy loved each other. Howdy had accepted long ago that yours was a love built off of friendship and mutual respect rather than romance, but it was enough for him, (considering what he grew up witnessing from his parents, he counted that as the greatest success of them all). You recently celebrated your copper anniversary, which baffled Howdy. How could seven years fly by so quickly? Thinking back on everything, he knew that he was completely satisfied with where his life was, as long as you were by his side and happy.

Which is why he hated to see you so sad. He wouldn't rush you through your grief, but he could at least help lighten the load. “Would you like to talk about it?” he asked.

You looked down at the handkerchief in your hands, wadded up beyond recognition, but still as dry as it was when Howdy handed it to you. You smoothed it out over your lap and stared at Howdy's initials embroidered in green in the corner.

Howdy watched you, patient. A deep rumble of thunder rolled through the sky outside.

“I just... hate how somber it was,” you said.

“Funerals typically are.”

“I know, but Eddie wouldn't have wanted that. He was so much more cheerful and... and colorful than that. He'd want people telling funny stories about him and celebrating his life, not... just standing in silence while the dirt is thrown over his casket.” Your shoulders stiffened. “I should have said something.” Now you could feel the tears building up, but they simply would not come. I should be crying. Why am I not crying?

Howdy leaned forward and took your hand, and you finally looked into his eyes. He was smiling. “He's in a better place, now.”

You smiled at that. Seven years ago, those words would have felt like a hollow attempt at consolation, but now they were a real comfort. Howdy was there when the dead came up to the Land of the Living. He witnessed Eddie and Frank briefly reunite. Now they would never be separated again, and he knew it as well as you did.

Perhaps that was why you couldn't cry: you knew that good things were waiting for Eddie on the other side.

The tears finally spilled over and rolled down your cheeks, but they were not tears of sorrow. You were happy.

Howdy used two of his free hands to cup your face. His smile was soft and understanding as he thumbed away your tears. You stood and shifted over to the seat across from you so you could sit beside him, and his four arms wrapped you up into a tight hug. He pressed a kiss into the top of your head, like he had so many times before. “Everything will be alright,” he whispered.

“I know,” you mumbled into his shoulder.

Lightning flashed outside, followed by a loud clap of thunder. You gripped at Howdy's coat as he leaned forward to look out the window. “That storm is getting much worse.”

“Should we stop somewhere?” you asked.

He nodded. “Most likely.” He reached up to knock on the ceiling of the coach. “Johnson? How are the roads looking?” he called.

Johnson, the driver, shouted something back to Howdy, but his voice was drowned out by a deafening crash. A blinding white light flooded the carriage and the horses whinnied outside in terror. You tried to lean forward to look out the window, but the horses bolted and the momentum sent you crashing to the floor of the coach. You could hear Johnson yelling. Howdy grabbed your arm and tried to haul you back into the seat, but when you looked out the window, what you saw made you freeze.

Lightning had struck a nearby tree. It was on fire. Johnson seemed to have lost the reins, because you could see them flapping in the wind by the window. Howdy was calling your name. Johnson was screaming at the horses to stop.

The carriage was passing the flaming tree right as it started to crackle and groan.

You jumped back into the seat and grabbed Howdy. One of his hands grasped the back of your head and his body tensed around you as if he was bracing himself.

It only took a few seconds—three at most—but it felt like an eternity.

Wood splintered around you as the carriage shattered. A heavy weight came down on you and Howdy, and for a brief, macabre moment, you were amazed by how fragile your bodies really were.

Then everything went black.

There was nothing but darkness for a long time. You tried to move, tried to call out for Howdy, but nothing happened. You were just... nothing.

That thought scared you. There was so much more than that. Light. Color. Noises and smells. Life. You couldn't be nothing, that just wasn't possible. You had memories and goals. You had a spouse and a family. You had an estate to attend to you. You couldn't just... not be.

Panic twisted your stomach into knots, clawed its way up your throat, and came out of your mouth as a scream: “Help! Help me!”

“Alright, alright! Calm down!”

You stopped. That voice sounded familiar, but you couldn't quite put your finger on who it was.

Then you heard another, timid voice. “Is it always like this?”

That one you did recognize, because you had just heard it a few days ago. It was Eddie. Your instinct was to gasp, but you couldn't. I can't breathe. Oh, God, I can't breathe.

The first voice spoke again: “Often, yes. It all depends on the person and how at peace they are.”

There was a shuffling nearby. It was odd, despite the panic coursing through you, your body was strangely... calm. You expected your heart to be thumping fast and heavy in your ears and for your palms to be sweaty, but there was nothing.

The space above you shifted with a low creak and light stabbed your eyes. You flinched, blinked, then stared at the two faces above you blurring into focus.

Eddie and Frank were leaned over, looking down at you. They both offered you sad, soft smiles.

Your neck was stiff as you looked around. Your were laying in some sort of bed. It wasn't comfortable; even though it was all silk, there was no cushion, and the pillow at your head was much too small. Your mind was sluggish like you had just woken from a long nap. You had to blink several times and crane your neck to the left before you realized that Frank was holding open a lid.

You were in a casket.

Your tongue felt like cement in your mouth as you stammered, “Am... am I d-dead?”

Eddie gave you a pitying look. “Oh, Y/N.”

“Come on,” Frank said, “the sooner you get on your feet, the better you'll feel.” He and Eddie grabbed you under your arms and hoisted you out of the casket, which was sitting on a table. They helped you find your footing and Frank instructed you through some stretches to shake off the rigor mortis. You took a moment to look around.

You were in a sort of cavern, full of other caskets sitting on tables. Some looked new, others old and decayed.

“Where are we?” you asked.

“The Land of the Dead. Specifically, an offshoot of our village, just below the graveyard where you were buried,” Frank said.

You felt dizzy. “So... the crash... I didn't make it.”

Eddie put his hand on your shoulder. “No one made it except the driver. When the tree fell, he got thrown off, but he survived. Poor man blames himself for what happened. Thinks he should have kept better hold of the reins or suggested you leave sooner to avoid the storm.” He squeezed your shoulder. “They say you and Howdy died in each other's arms.”

“Howdy...” Your stomach was churning and you wondered if you could still get sick even if you were dead.

Eddie nodded. “Frank had to break a couple of rules, but we went to the Land of the Living to see your funeral—”

“From a safe distance, of course,” Frank interrupted.

“Of course. Your parents spared no expense. They got you a big, beautiful gravestone and there were flowers everywhere. You and Howdy were buried next to each other in the outfits you got married in.”

You glanced down at yourself for the first time and realized he was right, you were wearing the outfit your mother had picked out for your wedding, complete with your wedding band on your left hand.

Not only that, but you were also wearing the other wedding band on your right hand. Wally's wedding band. It was the same ring Wally had worn all those years ago, after you had practiced your vows in the woods. You ended up keeping it for myself since Howdy's mother insisted that you purchase new rings for your next attempt at getting married, (”I'll have no cursed rings at this ceremony,” she said). You could never bring yourself to get rid of it, though, and eventually fell into the habit of wearing it on your right hand while you wore your actual wedding ring on your left.

You were surprised that you had been buried with it, considering everything. Perhaps your family decided that since you wore it all the time, it held sentimental value to you and you'd want to keep it. Or, you shuddered to consider this, your hands were too swollen to get it off.

You shook those thoughts away and looked back to Eddie. “Where is Howdy?” you asked. “If he was buried next to me, shouldn't he be here?”

Frank and Eddie exchanged a glance. “We aren't sure where he is,” Eddie said.

“We've been keeping an eye out for him, but we think he's gone to the upstairs,” Frank added.

“The upstairs?”

“Heaven, Paradise, Nirvana, whatever you call it. You can go to whatever version of the afterlife you choose once you pass on. Unless you're someone like Julie.” They frowned. “Someone like that who has caused suffering for others doesn't get a choice. She's downstairs.”

“So, if there's an upstairs and a downstairs, where are we? The ground floor?”

Frank's mouth twitched into a smile. “Something like that. The people who end up here usually either can't make up their mind where they want to go or have unfinished business. You could join Howdy upstairs, if you wanted.”

You considered this, but the idea made your head spin. Where exactly did Howdy go, and how would you go about joining him?

Frank nodded to a nearby hallway. “We can talk more about this, later. Come on, the others are waiting to see you.”

The others. You perked up a bit remembering them. Sally, Poppy, Barnaby, even your old dog, Scraps. You followed Frank out of the cavern, and Eddie fell into step beside you, whistling a cheery tune as you walked.

The bells were already ringing by the time you reached the village, and as you got closer to the old tavern you could hear a chorus of voices all calling out, “New arrival! New arrival!”

Eddie chuckled beside you. “Poppy is up to her ears in cooking. They just had a Welcome Feast for me the other day.”

You tried to swallow, but your mouth was too dry. God, Eddie's, funeral was just the other day, and now here you were. You weren't sure if you could take part in any kind of feast; your mind was still reeling from everything that had happened.

You entered the tavern and were immediately greeted by Sally, the tragic Shakespearean actor, who gripped your hand and was roughly shaking it as soon as you stepped through the door. “Well, it's about time you showed up!” she said.

“Easy, Sally. Y/N is still adjusting,” Frank said as they came in beside you.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sally said as she tugged you across the room and sat you down at a bar. “So how'd it happen?”

You cleared your throat. “Um. A carriage accident.”

She whistled. “Wow, that's a rough way to go. Do you remember any of it?”

“Not really. I got knocked out pretty quickly.”

There was a loud thud beside you as a familiar, tall blue dog plopped down in the seat on your other side. “Welp, that's good at least,” Barnaby said as he handed you a frothing mug of beer.

“Sure is. Not remembering violent deaths makes the transition a little easier.”

Barnaby leaned over, his eyeball rolling into his right socket, and peered at you. “And judging by all the schmutz on your face, I'm guessing it wasn't a pretty sight.”

“Schmutz?” You gently touched your face and realized that you had a very thick layer of makeup on.

“Oh yeah! We need to get that off you right away. It looks awful.” Sally stood up and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Poppyyyyyy! I need a mirrooooooooor!”

“One moment, please!” a high-pitched, crow-like voice squawked from the kitchen. “Goodness me, I'm going to start molting again from all these feasts.” Poppy walked into the space behind the bar, wiping her wings on her apron, and she looked up at you. “Oh, my dear Y/N. I heard the rumors, but I didn't know if they were true. I'm so sorry.”

You couldn't help but smile at Poppy, remembering the way she comforted you when you first came here and were scared out of your wits. “I'm fine. It's good to see you again.”

She smiled back at you before digging through her apron pocket. “Let's see, I think I have a mirror in here, somewhere. Ah!” She withdrew a tiny hand mirror and handed it to you. “Please don't be insulted, but whoever did your funeral makeup certainly did you a disservice.”

You looked into the mirror and blanched when you realized that they were right. The makeup didn't match your skin tone and made you look horribly discolored, and they seemed to try and make up for that by applying huge splotches of rouge to your cheeks and lips. You grimaced at your reflection.

“Uh huh. Here,” Sally said while handing you a rag.

You went to work cleaning up your face and neck, scrubbing the makeup away. You froze when you glanced at your reflection again and noticed just how much you had changed. Your skin had taken on a bluish tint, and you had massive stitches across your neck and down your right temple. You gently prodded at your temple and flinched when a fraction of your skull shifted under your touch. No, the accident wasn't pretty at all.

Sally noticed this and took the rag and mirror from you. “Here, I'll finish,” she said.

“You'll get used to it,” Barnaby said as Sally got to work. “Imagine how Poppy was when she first got here and saw that half of her face was missing.”

Sally finished and nodded with satisfaction. “There. Now you look like one of us!”

“The stitches are a nice touch, too. Makes you look like a pirate,” Barnaby said.

Sally gasped. “Oooo. We could do a production of The Pirates of Penzance! Are you a good singer?”

“Me? Well, uh—”

Barnaby laughed then stood up. “Care if I go ahead and audition?” He started singing “I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major-General” before anyone could protest, going out of his way to use a silly voice and make larger-than-life funny gestures.

Eddie took Barnaby's seat beside you and helped himself to the drink that Poppy put down in front of him. “So, what do you think you're going to do now?”

You pondered this for a moment. “I'm not sure. What can I do?”

“Whatever you want, really. You could move on to another afterlife upstairs, or you could stay here. Take care of whatever unfinished business you have.”

You shrugged. “I guess that's why I'm here, huh? I just can't make up my mind?”

Poppy leaned against the bar and giggled. “Oh, no. I think you do have unfinished business.”

You tilted your head. “What?”

Sally's attention was brought back to you and she propped her elbows on the bar, giving you a sly smile. “Oh, yeah. And I bet we all know what it is.”

“I'm confused,” you said.

“Oh, come on. Do we really need to spell it out for you?” she said with a groan. “How about the guy you almost drank poison for?”

Your eyes widened. “Wally?”

Sally and Poppy both nodded. Barnaby gave up on his performance when he realized no one was watching him juggle three empty beer mugs and approached you again. “Sounds about right,” he said.

“But that's not possible. Wally, he... he's gone. I saw him disappear.”

Frank approached you from behind and placed their hand on your shoulder. “He's not gone. Souls don't just disappear like that.”

“Yeah, and he visited us a couple of weeks ago,” Barnaby added.

You felt something deep within you—your heart, maybe? even though it wasn't beating anymore?—jump up at the revelation. “Where is he? Upstairs?”

“Nah, I think Poppy would have let us know if he was living in the attic.” Barnaby laughed when Frank gave him a sharp glare.

“Not precisely. Last I heard, he's residing in another in-between kind of place. It's a little bit harder to get there since it's separate from our world, but he's figured it out well enough that he still visits us from time to time,” Frank said.

Your throat clenched like a fist and your eyes were stinging. You pressed your hands against your mouth and sniffled.

Poppy grinned. “I knew it.”

“Please. We all knew it,” Sally said.

“How do I find him?” you said.

Frank put a hand to his chin. “Well, he told me that there are a couple of ways to get there, but for most of them you have to know what you're looking for. I haven't been able to go there, myself, so I won't be very much help, there.” They tapped his jaw and hummed a bit in thought. “I suppose I could give you the spell I gave Wally before. It's a bit of a gamble, but I'm sure it won't be much of a problem for you. It's a spell to help you find your heart's desire. I gave it to him when he first got here in case he ever changed his mind about that unfinished business of his, and he kept it with him for years. Didn't use it until that day in the Land of the Living.”

You remembered that moment vividly, when you watched as Wally's body dissolved into hundreds of blue and grey butterflies. “That was a spell? I thought he was gone.”

Frank shook his head. “I think once he decided that he was satisfied, he needed something to help him move on. He's happy where he is now, if not a little lonely.”

You hugged yourself. You had never considered the possibility of seeing Wally again, and now that you were told that it was possible, your heart seemed to sing at the idea. But something was holding you back.

“What about Howdy?”

Frank sighed. “I can't help you with that. I'm afraid that's a decision you'll have to make on your own.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Eddie said, “you're not limited to one place. You can visit each afterlife whenever you want. I visited my parents in the upstairs the other day, but I'm staying here to be with Frank.” As he said this, he took Frank's hand and gave them a sweet smile. “So, uh, if you want to see Howdy again, you can. But you don't have to stay anywhere. You're free to do what you want.”

That seemed to loosen some of the tension in your chest. You took a deep breath and let your heart take over. “Okay. How do I use that spell?”

Frank smiled. “We'll need to get some things out of my office.”

You stood and followed Frank out the door. Sally whooped behind you, “Woo hoo! Lover boy's getting his partner back!”

“We'll have that Welcome Feast another time, alright?” Poppy called.

Barnaby just hummed to himself, considering adding another verse to “Remains of the Day” so that the story would have a happy ending, after all. Then again, he'd probably have to sacrifice the catchy instrumental part in the middle so the song wasn't too long, and he wasn't willing to do that.

You and Eddie stood in silence as you watched Frank dig through his various supplies. He scrutinized their spell book as he carefully measured and combined the ingredients. When they were finished, he handed you a small capsule the size of a marble.

“This is it?” you asked.

He nodded. “It looks unassuming, but it is a very powerful spell. All you have to do is crush it in your hand and you'll be sent to wherever your heart's desire is. Though, you may need to try and focus on one thing, or else you may get sent to the wrong place.”

“But don't worry. If you get lost, just find a graveyard and enter a crypt to go underground, and you'll find a village associated with that grave yard. You should be able to find your way back from there,” Eddie said.

You nodded, staring at the capsule in the palm of your hand.

Without warning, Eddie pulled you into a hug. “Take care of yourself, okay, bud? And you'd better visit us all the time, or I'll come find you, myself.”

You smiled and leaned into his hug. “I will. I promise.”

Frank sniffed and cleared their throat, trying to hide the fact that you reminded him of themselves when he was young and fell in love with Eddie for the first time. “Alright, go on before Eddie decides to make you stay here.”

You turned to Frank and gave him a hug, too. “Thank you,” you whispered.

They awkwardly patted your back. “Of course.” He led you out to his balcony that overlooked the village. “I will warn you, it may be a bit of a bumpy ride.”

You walked to the edge of the balcony, looked back over your shoulder at them as Eddie put his arm around Frank. You took a deep breath—just out of habit at this point, and it was an odd sensation to feel your lungs stretch for the first time in a while—then turned your face up. You closed your eyes and pictured Wally, wherever he was, then you squeezed your right hand until the capsule burst and a fine powder spilled out between your fingers.

Nothing happened, at first. You opened your eyes again and looked down, wondering if you'd done something wrong.

But then you felt another strange sensation: an unraveling, like your body was falling away from you. A gust of wind swirled around you, your feet and the tips of your fingers tingled, and your body transformed into hundreds of butterflies.

Just like Wally.

Normally, you would have been frightened. You weren't. Your heart jumped up in your throat with excitement. You almost laughed, but your face and mouth had been transformed by then.

You were jumbling, fluttering, riding on the wind current, spread out in a great cloud of delicate wings. You tumbled through the air, trying and failing to grasp what was happening and where you were going. The world flew past you in a blur. You felt free.

You jolted when your feet suddenly met solid ground. You blinked, held your hands out in front of you and found them whole again.

You were in a circular clearing in the middle of a grove of trees. You spun around in a circle, taking in your surroundings. The trees were all tall and dark, and each tree on the edge of this clearing had a door carved into it. A four-leaf clover, a big red heart, a Christmas tree? An Easter egg? These were all symbols associated with holidays.

“Oh!” a quiet voice sounded behind you. You turned to face them and stared, slack-jawed, at the person who met you. She was a tall, slender woman standing at the edge of the grove. Her skin was made of a blue fabric and she had long, red hair and wore a colorful, patchwork dress. A small basked was hanging from the crook of her arm, stuffed with sprigs of lavender. Her round, glassy, babydoll eyes blinked at you. She smiled and dipped her head down. “I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting to find anyone else here.”

You struggled to find your words as you were still wrapping your head around the concept that a giant rag doll was talking to you. This was all a lot for you to take in one day. You coughed and said, “No, I'm sorry. I'm just... looking for someone.”

The woman tilted her head. “Is that so? Who are you looking for?”

“A man named Wally Darling. He's a...” You hesitated, unsure how foreign this would be to her.

But she finished the sentence for you. “A corpse? Like you?”

You smiled bashfully. “Yes.”

The woman grinned even bigger. “Then it's a good thing I found you. He's from the same town as me.”

That jolt of excitement shot through you again. It seemed like the spell that Frank made for you worked like a charm. “Really? Can you take me there?”

“Of course.” She walked up to you, her stride small and with a noticeable limp, thought she didn't seem to be in pain. She held out her hand. “My name is Sally, by the way,” she said.

Another Sally, you thought. You shook her hand and introduced yourself. She nodded, then motioned to the side toward a tree with a door shaped like a jack-o-lantern in it. “We'll be heading to Halloween Town. This is the fastest way there,” she continued. She limped to the tree, turned the knob that was disguised as the jack-o-lantern's nose, and the door swung outward. You cautiously approached it and looked down into the hollow tree. There was nothing but darkness, and the door opened to a steep drop-off that you couldn't see the bottom of.

“I find it easiest to just close my eyes and jump,” she said. “I know it can be a bit intimidating sometimes, but I promise, it's perfectly safe. My husband and I come through here all the time.”

You swallowed, grabbed hold of the doorway, and shut your eyes. A gentle breeze blew through, carrying the comforting scent of fallen leaves and caramel apples. A smile crept onto your face, and you pulled yourself through the doorway and jumped.

There was only a second of free fall before you landed smartly on your rear end in a giant pile of leaves. You grunted and clambered to your feet.

Sally appeared beside you. “Are you alright? That happens a lot for first-timers.”

You straightened up and said, “Yeah, I'm fine. Not like I can get much worse.”

She giggled at that and motioned for you to follow her. You walked together down a dirt path that cut through the woods and she asked you about where you came from and how you got here. She was a good listener as you told her everything.

“How do you know Wally?” she asked.

“We, um...” Your face heated up and you found yourself fiddling with the band on your right hand. “It's a long story. Let's just say we're... old friends.”

“I see,” she said with a knowing look that made you blush more. But then she looked forward and said, “Here we are.”

You both crested a hill and looked down on an archway with “Halloween Town” spelled out in black, iron letters. A large town bustled with activity down below. The architecture was conflictingly made of a combination of twisting, curving lines and jagged, sharp angles, and the citizens seemed to enjoy and monochrome color palette with occasional splashes of bright color. You followed Sally down the path and entered the town.

You had to keep yourself from gawking when you saw the first couple of citizens gathered in the town square: a wolf man dressed in tattered flannel chatting with a bulking man dressed in overalls with an axe stuck in his head. They both gawked at you, though, when you came into a view.

“Look! Queen Sally has brought in someone new!” the wolf man exclaimed with a gravelly voice.

You glanced at her. “Queen Sally?”

She blushed. “Ah, yes, I didn't mention that. I'm the Pumpkin Queen.”

“Oh!” You fumbled and started to bow, but Sally stopped you.

“Please, don't. That's exactly why I don't go around announcing that to everyone. Just treat me like you would anyone else.”

You nodded. “Sorry.”

“And don't apologize, either.” She hooked her arm around yours and said, “Now, let's go find Wally.”

She led you away, but not before you noticed that a trio of women, (witches, you guessed, based on their clothes and pointed hats) had gathered around the wolf man and were whispering conspiratorially.

You hadn't gone far before you stumbled upon two more citizens: a man wearing a long trench coat and tall, thin top hat, and an even taller, thin, and gangly skeleton dressed in a pin-stripped suit with tails on his coat and a bat bowtie. They were both leaned over something on a table.

Sally perked up a bit beside you. “Oh, that's my husband over there. He may know where Wally is.” She waved her free hand and called, “Jack! Jack!”

The skeleton looked up and his face split into a wide, toothy grin. “Sally! Perfect timing! Mr. Hyde and I were just testing out his newest creation. Would you care to see?”

She nodded and walked to the table, where Jack presented her with a large, orange bowl of candy with a small sign taped to the front that read “Just Take One.”

“A seemingly normal bowl, yes? Perfectly welcoming to trick-or-treaters.”

“Of course,” she agreed.

“Go and take a piece. Just one.”

Sally did as he said a delicately picked up a wrapped piece of butterscotch. She waited a moment, then raised a brow at him. “Is that all?”

“Precisely, because you were good and only took one. Now, pretend you are a greedy trick-or-treater and try to grab a handful.”

Sally nodded and drove her hand into the bowl, grabbing a large handful of candy, when a ghostly hand jumped from within the depths of the bowl and grabbed her wrist. She gasped, startled, then laughed. “What fun!”

Jack clapped Mr. Hyde on the back. “You see? A brilliant idea! I knew you were an excellent choice for the knew town scientist. Well done!”

Mr Hyde chuckled, pleased with himself. “You flatter me, Jack.”

Sally gently tugged at Jack's arm and whispered to him. He looked at you and his eyes lit up. “Oh, my apologies! I was so caught up in my work, I hadn't noticed you there.” He swept into a low bow. “Jack Skellington, Pumpkin King and Co-Representative of Halloween.” He stood upright and draped an arm over Sally's shoulder. “And you've already met my wife and partner, Sally.” He looked you up and down, then beamed. “We don't get very many new faces, but you seem like you'll fit right in, here.”

You cleared your throat and said, “Actually, Mr. uh, Skellington—”

“Please, Jack is fine.”

“Jack,” you corrected, “I'm actually looking for someone. Wally Darling?”

He raised a brow and glanced at Sally, who only smiled up at him. “Your name wouldn't happen to be Y/N, would it?”

Your eyes widened. “Yes. Why?”

“He talks about you all the time. Oh, he'll be over the moon when he sees you!”

You could have sworn that your heart thudded hearing that, but that couldn't have been possible, could it?

Jack tilted his head and hummed. “I just saw him a moment ago. I may know where he is. Follow me!” He let go of Sally and strode away. You glanced at Sally and she nodded to you, urging you forward, then you jogged to follow the skeleton.

Jack led the way down a twisting cobblestone path that led out of the town and into farmland that mostly consisted of pumpkins. He led you through a graveyard and up a steep hill, and his long strides took him up the hill faster than you could keep up with. You couldn't run out of breath, anymore, but that didn't stop your muscles from aching as you hiked after him. As you reached the top of the hill, you could see another hill in the distance that made the shape of a spiral. As you took in the view, your gaze wandered from the massive spiral and down to the bottom where another there was another pumpkin patch.

You froze when you saw him. There was no mistaking him with his blue, patchwork skin and signature hair style. He wasn't wearing the wedding tuxedo anymore; now he donned a simple white shirt and blue striped pants. He was seated at a stool in the middle of the pumpkin patch with an easel in front of him, hard at work on a painting. You would have gasped if you still had breath, and your body moved before you completely comprehended what you were seeing.

Wally.

As you came closer, you could see that he was recreating the view of the spiral hill on his painting. His back was to you, and he hummed quietly as he worked, so deep in thought that he didn't notice you and Jack approaching until Jack called his name.

“Wally! I thought we'd find you here.” Jack leaned over Wally's shoulder and looked at the painting. “Ah, is this my commission? It's coming along swimmingly.”

All you saw was Wally's side profile as he smiled up at Jack. “Thank you. I'm just touching up a few details, right now. It should be finished in a day or so, when it dries.”

“It will be a wonderful anniversary gift. Sally will love it!”

Wally turned back to his painting, and Jack glanced at you like he'd just remembered you were there. “Actually, Wally, I needed to speak to you.”

“Hm?”

“It seems,” Jack said, putting his hand on Wally's shoulder, “that someone is here to see you.”

Wally gave Jack a confused look, then turned.

His eyes widened, and the paintbrush fell from his limp fingers.

Neither of you moved. His eyes trailed up and down your body. He stood, took a few hesitant steps forward, and said, “Y/N?”

You smiled. “Hello, Wally,” you said.

Jack was beaming.

Wally blinked, then shook his head. “I'm dreaming.”

You almost laughed. Your hands were shaking. “No, you're not.”

“I am. You... you can't be here. It's not possible.”

“Wally...”

“I'm going to open my eyes, and you'll be gone.”

You approached him, took his hand, and pressed it against your face. His eyes dilated and his mouth fell open.

“I'm here,” you whispered.

He studied your face, and his fingers trailed down your jaw and to your neck, where they found the stitches. He glanced at them, and his mouth opened wider. “Oh...” His other hand found your neck and he gently traced the stitches. He gently turned your head from side to side as he looked you over like he was just noticing the bluish tint your skin had taken, and his gaze fell on the stitches on your temple. “What happened?”

“A carriage accident.”

He covered his mouth. “Oh, no...”

You took his hand again. “It's alright. I don't remember anything.”

You noticed tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “I'm so sorry.”

You cupped his cheek. “Don't be. I'm alright.”

Jack coughed. “I believe you two will be wanting some time alone?” He leaned down and whispered to Wally, “I recommend the top of Spiral Hill. Very romantic spot.” He winked, and Wally started to blush.

“Thank you,” he mumbled before he gripped your hand tightly and led you toward Spiral Hill. You trudged to the top together, hand in hand, and you looked out over the view of the graveyard and pumpkin patch, grey and black with dots of orange.

Wally turned to you and took a tight hold of both your hands. “Tell me everything.”

You didn't speak, because with him holding your hands I noticed something for the first time. When you had met before, when you were still alive, whenever he touched you his skin was always freezing cold. Now it wasn't. You realized it was because we were the same temperature. It made you want to hold him closer.

“I already told you, I was in a carriage accident.”

“No, no. I mean... tell me about your life. What happened after I left?”

“You want me to tell you all of that? Right now?”

He nodded. “We have all the time in the world, now.”

You grinned, and then you did just that. You told him about your marriage to Howdy, the relationship you had formed, the good and bad times, and you told him that during those seven years, you never forgot him. You were afraid that he would be upset or sad when you told him about your marriage, but he seemed to be the contrary.

“I'm glad,” he said. “I was hoping I was making the right decision. It's good to know that you lived a good life after I was gone, even if... even if it was a short one.”

He had looked away, and you gently cupped his cheek so that he would look at you. “The others in the Land of the Dead said that the reason I stayed behind was likely because I had unfinished business. At first, I didn't know what they were talking about, but I think I do, now.” Despite building up to that, you suddenly became bashful and couldn't quite find the words.

Wally touched your hand on his face and leaned into it. “You were looking for me?”

You nodded. “The thing is... I missed y—”

He interrupted you by pressing his lips to yours.

He had only ever kissed you once before, that night on the bridge. You weren't sure if that even counted since you fainted when he did. You remembered being terrified back then, your stomach swirling and your heart thumping so hard and fast you thought you were about to have a heart attack. You remembered how cold his lips were, and how dizzy you were from the fear.

This was different. Obviously, you weren't afraid, now, but it was more than that. It was rushed and passionate, not the formal seal of the vows that Wally had done before. And it was warm. You still felt dizzy, though.

When he pulled away, you stared into each other's eyes for a moment, then you took his shoulders and pulled him back to you for another kiss. Your hand went to the back of his head and your fingers tangled into his soft hair. His hands trailed up and down your back. You gripped each other as if the second one of you let go, you'd be lost forever. You finally pulled away again when you heard the sound of an applause in the distance.

At the top of one of the nearby hills, a small crowd of monsters and ghouls had formed, and they were whooping and cheering. Jack and Sally stood at the center of the crowd, smiling up at you as Sally leaned into Jack's shoulder.

“So much for alone time,” you muttered. You turned back to Wally to see him beaming up at you. His eyes sparkled.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you up into a twirl. You yelped in surprise and gripped his shoulders. He laughed heartily as he set you back down, then he leaned his forehead into yours, and for a moment you simply relished in each other's company.

“Thank you,” he said. “I've missed you, too. I know that I was selfish before, but I really am glad that you came to find me.”

You were surprised to feel your heart melting a bit when he said that—it seemed that even if your heart didn't beat anymore, it was still capable of swelling and melting with emotion.

The ring on your right hand glinted in the moonlight. A knot formed in your throat. “I think... I think I know what my unfinished business is, now.”

Wally tilted his head, curious.

You took the ring off your finger and held it up to him. “I want to try again. Properly, this time. Nothing in our way, and no interruptions. I want to give you the wedding you deserve.”

Wally's eyes widened a bit, then he chuckled and shook his head. “It was never just about the wedding, you know. I wanted true love. A happy ending.”

“Exactly,” you said. “I want to give you that. A big, beautiful ceremony to celebrate true love, and a real happily ever after.” You cleared your throat, suddenly nervous. “If you'd like that, I mean.”

He broke into a wide smile. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

You nodded. “Yes. Will you marry me? Again?”

He laughed again and pulled you into a hug. “Yes. If you will have me.”

You closed your eyes and leaned into the hug. “Of course I will.”

You finally pulled apart once again to slip the band on Wally's finger, right where it belonged.

A/N: Yes, I already know I'm cringe. Don't look at me.

#welcome home fanfic #corpse puppet au #wally darling x y/n #wally darling x reader #nightmare before christmas crossover #jack x sally

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whosavaidkher · 7 months

Text

All I Wanted Was You

Lucifer Morningstar X fem reader

song to listen to while reading:

warning: death, mentions of bl00d, angst, mentions of insecurity and self hate, reader being a people pleaser.

A/N: This is lowkey a self reflection but ignore that 😭 if you feel anyway similar like this fic, pls know that u can vent 2 me <3, also I forgot abt the poll I made😭, Hope u enjoy!!

It was 2am and you had just gotten into a argument with one of your friends about how your too selfless and a "people pleaser". Currently, you're trying to desperately call Lucifer to come and pick you up as you sob in the pouring rain in Hell. Lucifer finally answers.

"Sweetie? What's wrong, my dear?" Lucifer says nervously as he hears you sob on the phone. "Please just come pick me up.. I'll explain later.. Just please.." You say in tears as he immediately hangs up and rushes to pick you up. As soon as he finds you, he rushes to you and flies you home. When you guys arrive home. He sets you down to talk. "Sweetie, what happened? Please, I'm not forcing you to tell me, only if you want to, my dear.." Lucifer mumbles as he holds you in his arms, like you were the most precious and delicate person in all of heaven and hell. You didn't wanna tell him cause you knew he would be disappointed and sad, and you hated to see anyone feeling that way. You always let people vent or talk to you, letting their feelings out. If anyone wanted to be mean, you'd let them be mean to you, you could take it. You could take all the judgement and pain that they give you and not care. You were stronger than people gave you credit for. That's what everyone thought. You finally opened your mouth and started to talk to Lucifer.

"Sometimes I just feel like.. My whole life is about making the people I love happy and not about me.. Like I couldn't care less about myself, just what others think of me.. Always trying to change myself for society to like me, but they never do.." You say with tears and your voice breaking, shattering into pieces. Lucifer looked into your eyes and immediately his heart sank, not a feeling of disappointment or dissatisfaction in his mind. Only shocked. He would do anything for you, his darling, his sweetheart. And the way he didn't know about this made him feel terrible. Shockingly, he wasn't angry when he spoke. "My dove, please don't ever think that way.. You don't have to please anyone or make anyone happy, don't break bones or damage yourself for a few compliments or smiles from people." Lucifer says as he gently hugged you and let you cry it out in his arms. "Really..?" You mumbled as he caressed your lovely hair and admired your true, non fake self.

"Yes.. I will love you no matter what, angel or sinner, in heaven or hell, dead or living, angel or god. I would rip every crevice of earth, Venus, Saturn, even hell for you. I love you more than any species ever created." Lucifer says proudly and gently, cupping your cheeks as he kissed and wiped away your tears. He held you in his arms as you two slept peaceful st night.

Days later, you would find yourself surrounded by angels, Lucifer standing by your side. He was fighting an angel until he suddenly saw you stabbed right in your filled with love heart. He ran towards you as you dropped to the ground, a loud thud as the demons glanced from afar as they fought. You placed his hand on your chest to feel your heartbeat go from speeding to slowing down. His face dropped and felt every bone in his body tense up. Tears ran down his face as you slowly opened your lips. "Just lean on my arms and break my heart.. Maybe in another universe, I can make every one satisfied.." You whispered as you took your final breath and your eyes shut.

"You already did.. In every universe, I love you and will be in every single universe with you.." Lucifer whispered to you as his tears flooded on your bloody body, holding you close like he always did.

#Spotify #hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #whosavaidkher #x reader

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sardonic-the-writer · 1 month

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rant about Gabriel to me I need to understand him

im going to format this like you've never seen the show, just in case you haven't, so if you have just bare with me

gabriel is a bit of an enigma. for the first two and a half episodes he shows up in, he's not even known as gabriel. he's on screen as 'the trickster' and is masquerading as one. (tricksters in spn canon are powerful demigod creatures of myth that can alter reality how they want, normally using their powers to play deadly pranks on malicious humans in ironic ways. i.e mauling someone who tests products on animals via a sewer alligator)

the reason he's doing this as a self proclaimed "witness protection" method is because he's in hiding, pretending to be a trickster to hide from his family; which is heaven since he's the archangel gabriel. surprise surprise. this is revealed in the episode 'changing channels', (season four) which is i believe the best ranked episode on the entire show by the audience and one of my favorites. 'mystery spot' (season three) is another one he stars in (as rhe trickster, not gabriel. we still dont know that), and i think it's the second highest ranked. and 'tall tales' (season two) is the first one he shows up in which is also very highly ranked.

gabriel has a habit of faking his death a lot to escape responsibility, which he does in the episode 'hammer of the gods' (season five [?] i think) after being "stabbed" by lucifer so he doesn't have to really stick around and watch his family (lucifer and michael) fight. but we don't know that it was a fake out for nearly eight seasons. (there is an instance where he shows up again in season nine but that was a fake out and not the real him). in 'hammer of the gods' we also find out that gabriel really had gone all in with his so called witness protection while pretending to be a trickster; so much so that most of the mythological world/pretty much anyone but cas sam and dean knows him as the actual god of tricksters, loki, and not by his true name. later on when he comes back in season thirteen we find out that's because the real loki offered to share the same face with gabriel back when he first came to earth wayyyyyyy long ago to help him out. and when we meet loki later when gabriels trying to kill him for selling him off to one of the princes of hell asmodeus (i'll get into that) it's basically just the actor richard speight jr playing two roles at once. if that makes any sense. one of my favorite episodes, although i think that's just because i hadn't really seen gabriel in months and was over excited. i'll have to see if the hype holds up on my rewatch

but okay, for some backstory on the whole being sold thing, after gabriel faked his death in 'hammer of the gods', he ran off to some island to get in contact with loki and his kids (think fenrir. spn uses real mythological names and bloodlines as side plots sometimes) to go dark again. loki pretends to entertain the idea and let's gabriel play poker with hookers for a few days (gabe has also stared in a porno before and enjoys eating candy even though angels never get hungry. he's fun that way) before betraying him and basically selling him off as a slave to a prince of hell, who locks him away for hundered (thousands maybe?) of years, constantly draining his archangel grace just enough to not leave gabe powerless, but also enough to torture him horribly. it's awful, and all explained in the episode 'unfinished buisness' (season thirteen) which is all about him enacting revenge on loki and the tricksters kids. but the takeaway is that the first time we see gabe after season five, he's a completely different person. almost like a scared animal. if the animal has had its mouth sewn shut by a demon, that is.

anyways, sam and dean and cas help revert him back to his usual self, and he runs away from his problems for a few episodes, before finally confronting them and dying for real this time at the hands of an alertnate world version of his brother michael a few episodes later. the later seasons writing was so fucked up in my opinion, and the way gabriel died was done so wrong, but i think that's because im biased. frowns

my explination of him does no justice. he's a smug, silly, tricky, multi layered, funny son of a bitch that has fuck ass smile where his eyes crinkled at the corner and i. oughhh. i love him. urgh. yeah

#argh!!!!!#gabriel spn #supernatural #spn #sardonics anons #sardonic rambles

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saltygilmores · 2 months

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Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls, 3x9, A Deep Fried Korean Thanksgiving, Part IV

I just realized the winter carnival episode is next and tbh I'm pretty stoked about that one.

Ugh, someone left Gilmores on my front porch. Fetch me my broom. Shoo! Shoo! At Thanksgiving number one, we find out Lane is spinning yet another tangled web of lies to ensnare Soggy Rygalski (my new pet name for him, don't ask). Mrs Kim thinks Soggy is actually in a Christian band that Lane discovered through church and not a sinful rock band. Mrs Kim serves Tofurky and I feel as if our little vegetarian diner rat would have enjoyed that.

Welcome back, Soggy.

Dang. When Rory sees how people like her mother and Luke and Mrs Kim treat their employees, it's no wonder she doesn't want to get a job! Bad dum tssssh. Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all night.

Why did I remember that scene as being a lot longer than it was? It lasted less than three minutes. Weird!

Onward, from Soggy to Sookie.

"According to the National Fire Protection Association: deep fryer fires cause an average of 5 deaths, 60 injuries and more than $15 million in property damage each year. Deep-frying turkeys has become increasingly popular, but the new tradition is a recipe for holiday tragedy."

Men, eh? One minute they're lying about turkey preparation and the next they're lying about having a vasectomy.

Rory looking gravely concerned or lost in thought as usual. Thinking deep thoughts about frying. Asked Sookie not once but twice "What do you use the oil for"?

Granny creakily rising from her lawn chair to join the hordes of Jackson's screaming white trash relatives has to be one of my favorite bits in this episode (maybe the season?) so far.

Gather round, white trash young and old. Your king has arrived.

THE FACES!

This whole scene is top notch. I tip my hat to you, Miss AmyShermanPalladino. After departing the white trash jubilee, it's time to circle back to Lukes. I know small business owners are hard working people who don't always have the luxury of shutting down and taking a break, but do you think he ever closes the diner? For anything? Christmas Day? Yeah, I'm sure ya'll can name a few times on the show where he closes up shop (would actually be interested to hear what they were). It wouldn't matter. He'd try to close on Christmas Day and the Gilmores would show up anyway and demand to be served instead of drinking eggnog in their own home. For Christmas, Lorelai should buy Luke a massage. (A LEGITIMATE MASSAGE. You filthy readers).

Mommy Daddy please stop fighting

*smashes Jess and Rory together like I'm 9 years old forcing two Barbie dolls to make out*

Alarming to see Lorelai treat Jess this nicely because I worry she may be ill. Or possibly delirious from hunger (she didn't eat at Sookie's or Lane's, she threw out Mrs Kim's tofurky and just gawked at Sookie's house). It looks like Luke was nice enough to give Jess the day off, but Walmart (and its Hunger Games-style Black Friday festivities) may still be calling. Is this the first real, hot, home made, lovingly prepared holiday meal anyone had ever served him in his entire life? (I'll give partial credit to The Bracebridge Dinner). No street wieners for Jess Mariano this Thanksgiving! Jess says he's starving, but Luke told him not to eat until the Gilmores arrived first. That's some grade a bullshit.

All he wants this Thanksgiving is for his fellow white people to Check Their Privilege. Good luck with that, Lucas.

Serving lewks. Luke has just served the table four heaping plates of hot food and upon hearing that the Gilmores will be trotting off to the McMansion next, presumably to eat way fancier, he says they can just throw everything the fuck out and drink soda if they want. Kay... Jess: Please, Uncle Lucas, don't take away my hot meal. I'm ever so hungry.

A screen shot of Milo eating makes a great gift or any holiday or special occasion.

How DARE you Lucas. You are not going to make my poor tired boy serve coffee to the Gilmores on Thanksgiving Day! Lorelai's your ball and chain, you do it.

Yeah, what a pity that not everyone can kiss like Dean.

"You and Jess are a couple of chickens pecking each other." Yooo, it's about time you pick a lane, Lorelai. You're confusing the poor girl. The last time an adult got wind that Jess and Rory were about to peck like chickens The Incredible HulkLuke smashed down the door and put those two chickens out to pasture. Rory: Mind your own business. Lorelai:???????? I assure you she does not know the meaning of the phrase. R: I'm not good with public displays. L: You didn't have that problem with Dean Me: Trying fruitlessly to remember any scene where Dean and Rory passionately made out in public or showed any sort of affection with each other anywhere that Lorelai could see it R: I don't know how this first second boyfriend thing is supposed to go. L: Well he's your first second boyfriend so give it time. R: The whole town got used to me with Dean. L: It'll get easier, you'll have hundreds of men. Well maybe not hundreds. A couple. Three more. Dean again, Logan, then Logan again. L:They'll adjust to seeing with you Jess! R: What do I do about Dean? L: Well he'll move on too. All this sensible advice coming from Lorelai? It is truly the Thanksgiving of Miracles.

God bless you, Babette. God bless you.

The next scene, a Friday (Thursday) Night Gilmores Showdown at the McMansion goes on for around 8 minutes which is going to feel like more than an hour in Salty Time. I'm going to wilt.

#gilmore girls #deep fried korean thanksgiving #dfkt #babette #lorelai gilmore #rory gilmore #luke danes #jess mariano #literati #cranberry sauce #mashed potatoes #soggy rygalski #dave rygalski #lane kim #jackson #denise rewatches gilmore girls #gilmore girls season 3 #3x9

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harunayuuka2060 · 2 years

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MC: Hm? What are you doing here, my lord?

Diavolo: *chuckles* You don't have to address me formally. Just call me Dia.

MC: ...

MC: So Dia, what's your business here?

Diavolo: I've come here to watch the pageant. I heard it's going to be interesting.

MC: I doubt it would.

Diavolo: Oh?

MC: The prize isn't worth it.

Diavolo: *chuckles* I'll grant you a better prize, the best even if you manage to win.

MC: Hm. I'll pass.

Diavolo: Aww... That's unfortunate.

Simeon: Not at all. I think they just know that there's a catch to it.

Diavolo: Ah, Simeon. I almost didn't recognize you.

MC: *glances at Simeon's outfit and frowns a little*

MC: Why are we matching?

Simeon: I'm your partner and I have to show that.

Diavolo: ...

Diavolo: Anyway, I think the competition will start soon. Good luck, MC.

MC: Thanks.

Diavolo: *walks off*

Simeon: *hooks their arm with his* Let's go?

MC: You don't have to cling on me.

Simeon: I must. Especially when you're being somebody's target. *gives Maddi a side glance*

MC: ...

Maddi: *smiles at them*

Mammon: *in the crowd* Bruh! WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING?!

MC: *looks bored while waiting for their name to be called*

Belphie: *giving Simeon a death glare*

Simeon: *smirks at him* *wrapping his arm around MC's waist*

The host: And now for our one and only concubus-! MC!

*the crowd cheers*

Mammon: *being the noisiest* Drop em' dead!

The host: How are you feeling today?

MC: So-so.

The host: ...

The host: *laughs awkwardly* Looks like our dear contestant isn't feeling any pressure!

MC: Of course. After seeing how the other contestants are being incompetent, being pressured would be just a waste of my time.

Maddi: Excuse me? I think that statement is quite despicable.

Maddi: All of us here are giving our all to showcase our beauty and talent.

Maddi: And I'm not sure why you would say that others are incompetent.

MC: You're yapping because that includes you.

Maddi: ...

The other contestants: *snickers*

The audiences: *sounds of amusement*

Maddi: *smiles* Of course not. Maybe try to be respectful next time.

MC: Sure thing.

Simeon: *whispers to their ear* You're doing great.

MC: I don't need your words of affirmation.

Simeon: *smiles*

Belphie: I will kill that bastard.

Mammon: Bro, you need to chill.

Mammon: MC-! *runs and jumps on them* You won, bruh!

Mammon: And Maddi was just 2nd-runner up!

MC: You're happy now?

Mammon: *nods* Hm! I'll treat you somewhere!

Simeon: No need for you to do that. MC will go with me after this.

Mammon: Er...

Diavolo: I'm afraid they won't be free to go with you either, Simeon.

Simeon: How so?

Diavolo: Even if MC won the pageant, I still need to discuss with them about the behavior they've shown in front of the crowd.

MC: So it was against the rules, huh?

Simeon: Are you sure it's only a discussion?

Diavolo: Yes. I assure you. *smiles*

Maddi: Diavolo-!

Diavolo: *turns to look at her* Oh, Maddi. I didn't know you stayed. I thought you left.

Maddi: *seething in anger but forces herself to smile* I was surprised with the quality of the pageant this evening. It wasn't like this before.

MC: Yes. Because before your magic was a plus factor.

Maddi: Shut up!

Maddi: *looking at Diavolo again* Please tell me you're not taking interest on this good-for-nothing concubus!

MC: *leans to whisper to Mammon* Is that how people describe me these days?

Mammon: Nah. "Bitch" is still common.

MC: Ah. *nods*

Diavolo: Maddi, it's none of your business on whoever I feel attracted to.

Maddi: ...

MC: Ouch.

#obey me #obey me mc #obey me diavolo #obey me simeon #obey me belphie #obey me mammon #obey me maddi #a hell of a relationship

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riddlerosehearts · 7 months

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okay. so. overall i loved this latest twst update but there were a couple things i didn't 100% love and i'll talk about one of them in this post: the shroud parents being so nice and loving and helpful seriously threw me off last time they appeared because i thought they always seemed so emotionally distant before. both from how idia talked about them on occasion and how they never once appeared in his very lengthy, two-part overblot flashback, not when he was shutting himself in his room for 2 whole years or when he finished creating ortho--the only adults we ever saw were STYX researchers. so like, i'd always had the impression that they weren't necessarily The Worst Parents Ever but that they were just so busy with their work that they forgot to pay attention to their kids. and when they first appeared in book 7, it felt like they were behaving exactly how a lonely little robot boy who knew that he was "replacing" their dead son would want them to act, and even looked that way too with the daft punk helmets giving them a robotic look. it just seemed too good to be true imo.

after that update came out i had read a theory that said maybe malleus was so powerful that he could put even a robot to sleep, and that that was what we were seeing: ortho dreaming of getting to be a hero and save the day, and getting to have this perfect happy family. i loved that idea. i probably should've realized a twist like that wasn't going to happen when we still hadn't checked back in on ortho after so many months, but i just thought, and still think, that it would be so compelling if ortho wished to be loved and accepted so badly that some part of him deep down had become human enough to dream, or at least for malleus to be able to bring out that part of him. if his parents weren't so loving in reality and maybe didn't even fully accept him as their son, so he dreamt that they would--which is a heartbreaking thought, but i definitely would not have put it past twst to do that. i also just like... think it would be neat if the development ortho has been getting in events and vignettes, which heavily focuses on his growing sense of autonomy and how he's started to have his own desires outside of his intended purpose of just Being Idia's Brother, was given a little more focus in the main story.

anyway though. obviously that theory just got obliterated by canon! so i guess the most logical explanation for the discrepancy in the shroud parents' portrayal might be that they were too emotionally distant and focused on their work before, and remained that way for a long time after ortho's death, but eventually they "woke up" and realized they'd never really been there for their sons. losing one of them changed them for the better and now they really are that helpful and sweet. if their behavior seems too good to be true then it could be because they're trying their hardest to make up for the years they wasted, to be a proper family now. maybe they didn't accept ortho for the longest time out of grief and that's part of why they never appeared in idia's flashback, but they later decided that just because they can never truly regain or replace the son they lost, doesn't mean they can't treasure the one they still have and the one that they've gained. and i guess the shroud parents still fully accepting ortho and loving him as one of their own despite the tragedy that led them to become family, and despite the fact that ortho does not have the shroud family blood flowing through his (nonexistent) veins, would parallel the bond that lilia has with silver and malleus... oh. okay. i think i've kinda just talked myself into feeling better about this, actually.

#i originally started writing this to complain about what i perceived as a writing flaw #and now idk if i've talked myself INTO or OUT OF going completely insane #what if i just exploded actually #twisted wonderland #ortho shroud #shroud parents #twisted wonderland book 7 spoilers #twst book 7 spoilers #twisted wonderland liveblog #<- well not really. but putting this in my liveblog tag will make it easier for me to find

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stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage · 1 year

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It really gets me that since my canon Hawke is a mage, I'll never actually get to know Bethany.

Sure, I could just start an alternate playthrough with Hawke as a warrior or rogue and get to know her over the course of Act 1 before I have to decide if I want to take her on the expedition and make her become a Grey Warden, or leave her behind to be taken to the circle.

Except that's not my Bethany, just as it wouldn't be my Carver who died. My Hawke twins grew up with an older brother who was a mage. Their respective character arcs rely heavily on being the sole mage or non-mage of the siblings, so if my Hawke isn't a mage, they're not the same people... and unfortunately, we don't get to see the arc of the twin who shares Hawke's class. Y'know, because of the death.

The last time I tried doing an alternate run with a warrior Hawke, I had a conversation with Bethany where she said that Carver would've hated Kirkwall and probably would've gotten himself arrested the first day, and I sat there like.... I'm sorry? Are we talking about the same Carver?? Because the Carver I know would only get himself arrested for resisting and fighting back with any templars who tried to take his siblings away? He spent the entire first act being like, "Hey, don't do stupid shit or attract too much attention, or the templars will take you away!"

And that's when it really hit me that sure, I'm getting to know Bethany, but I'm getting to know a Bethany who grew up as the lone mage in the sibling group, and that's not the same Bethany that died in my canon run.

I want to know the Bethany who grew up with an older brother who also had the gift of magic but embraced it more than she ever did. I don't even get to learn much about her through dialogue, either. Carver doesn't talk about her nearly as much as Bethany talks about him when she's alive, and when someone does bring her up with him, Carver's usually super defensive about it.

I'll be running around and Bethany will just, "Yeah, my brother used to nail my braid to the headboard. I miss him so much. Hey, the Chantry, I lit a candle for Carver in there. Remember Carver's jig? He used to do that to make me feel better. I miss Carver so much."

Carver's just more reserved and defensive about his grief over losing her, and when he does willingly bring her up, you can feel him struggle to even get her name out; "These are blood mages, they're not like you or... Bethany."

That's why I love the Legacy DLC; Carver will talk about Bethany, and Malcolm, with Hawke without his guard up. At least he does with me, at that point I have his Friendship nearly maxed out so he's just softer in general.

But someone else brings her up, like Anders? Who was genuinely trying to be nice? Carver's response has the vibe of, "You didn't even know her, and you don't care about me, so you're only saying this because she was a mage. Just shut up, stop talking to me."

And I can't even bring her up to Carver in dialogue options the way I can bring him up to Bethany. You can ask her what Carver would think of Kirkwall. During the Legacy DLC there's a humorous option to do Carver's jib for her when she's sad. She brings him up in companion dialogue. It feels like there's more opportunities there, and perhaps Hawke just knows how Carver is and doesn't want to prod. Honestly, maybe it's just me, but my game always feels like that vine-

Hawke: Do you ever want to talk about your emotions, Carver? Carver: No. Anders/Fenris/literally everyone else in Kirkwall: We do! Hawke: I know, y'all. Anders/Fenris/literally everyone else in Kirkwall: We're sad! Hawke: I know, y'all.

I'm sure the differences in the starting Friendship/Rivalry also play into why Bethany's more open about it than Carver is in Act 1, and they're characters who have different grieving processes anyway.

I don't know, maybe you have an easier time merging them through different playthroughs, but DA2 is one that I struggle with deviating from my canon path, I can't do it... Which means poor Bethany's always dead, and I'll never get to be mage siblings with her or see the Hawke trio take over Kirkwall together because DA2 is just a constant "great, so what can we do this week to make Hawke extra sad?"

#dragon age 2 #da2 #carver hawke #bethany hawke #i am once again having feelings about the hawke twins #and yes i know there's that mod that lets both twins live but it's not the same... and also i don't play on pc so i couldn't do that anyway #i just want the hawke trio to be alive and well okay is that too much to ask?#also it sucks that we don't get to actually see carver and bethany interact with each other #they only have a few interactions and that's it...#ugh it's 'sad about the hawke twins' hour

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thebluestbluewords · 9 months

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Mal's video shifts in shaky, pixelated motion. She's smiling. "Eves, slow down. You're going faster than us non-nerds can follow."

Evie's video is showing in crystal-clear Auradon City reception. She tosses her hair back over one shoulder, but she's grinning bright and cheerful like she never did back home. "Get faster, then! You're supposed to be my future lady-in-waiting, M. I'm going to need you to keep up with me once I'm queen and you're the one taking notes in all of my horribly boring meetings."

"I'm going to be the worst lady-in-waiting ever then," Mal scoffs. "I'm not taking any notes. You can get your new nerd friends to program you dictation software, and then you'll be one of the nerds who carries a recorder in your purse all the time, and you'll have to design new purses just to fit the thing. It'll be a design challenge."

Evie looks delighted at the thought. "I should. You're so right, it'll be much more accurate than a human note-taker, and much less awkward to fit in my purse."

Mal's video is too choppy to see her face, but Jay knows her, and she's probably thinking through the potential liabilities of making Evie carry a recording device all the time. There's a shitload of them, but Mal's also stupid when it comes to things that make Evie happy, so they might end up getting her a recorder anyway.

"Only if I can record stupid shit on it too," Mal's saying. "If I can't fake my own death on the official Auradon record and then show up to court and act like nothing happened the next day, I don't want it."

"Babe, you can always fake your death with me. Le petit mort--" Evie makes a rude sort of hand gesture that maybe, probably isn't just an isle thing. Mal laughs so loud that it crackles the speakers of Jay's sort-of-shitty cell phone.

"If you promise that I'll buy the recorder on my way home!"

Evie's smile closes down into the flat one she uses when she's secretly mad. Or cold, or tired, or hungry. Jay's pretty practiced with reading his crew's expressions. He knows when an Evie-smile is fake. She's good at pretending everything is fine when she's not, but he's been watching her for years, and his fake-smile is better. "You're coming home? Really, babe? And here I was thinking that you're staying up in the middle of fucking nowhere until the end of the year, like you planned."

You planned, not we planned.

Evie's still a little bit mad about Mal's post-graduation roadtrip.

Jay's not mad at her. He's not mad at Evie either, for being loud and annoyed about it, or Ben for being quiet and careful about enabling it, so that Evie won't be mad at him too. Mal's their leader no matter where she is. They've got cell phones and emails and the Auradon Postal Service now, so it's not like Mal's decided to fuck off and travel outside of where they can reach her. Jay's not even a little bit mad anymore, which he should maybe worry about, actually. He's supposed to be all charming and fun and connected with people, and instead of being that, he's sort of--

Well.

He's sort of tired.

And like, Jay's not stupid. He pretends sometimes, because it keeps people's expectations of him low, but he's not. He's lived with Mal since they were kids, and he's lived with Evie and Carlos almost as long, and he knows what it's like when they struggle. Mal gets mad, and Evie gets quietly, painfully self-destructive, and Carlos shuts down internally and stops making weird dangerous stuff, which is almost as dangerous as when he is actively making stuff, because half of the shit he steals from the chemistry labs will also explode if it's left untouched for too long.

Ben just cries when he's upset, which is a lot easier to manage.

So. Jay's not stupid, and he's well aware of what it looks like when his crew struggles, and he's also aware that they've got a whole fuckin' laundry list of acronyms listing off exactly what's wrong with them from their Auradon-appointed therapists. He's never actually read the list, because yeah, he's still slow at reading tiny text and handwritten notes, and that's what the whole fuckin' therapy files are full of, but he's heard the rundown from Evie. The short version is that they're all fucked from hell and back (home and back, Mal always says) and they're probably going to do some stupidly self-destructive shit and die before they're thirty.

Jay's not entirely sure what stupid thing he's going to do, but he's pretty sure it's going to happen soon.

#hey seasonal depression friends #do you want some of my depression wip???#because that’s what I have to offer #please ask me about my codependency-college-suffering wip that doesn’t have a title yet #I would love to roll in garbage about it together

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haldenlith · 4 months

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I've started The Final Shape and got a silly little bitty idea upon hearing on of the radio messages. Don't know if I'll put this on AO3 or not, but figured I'd share it. Spoilers are minimal outside of the radio messages.

Crossing his arms over his broad chest, the Warlock took to what had become a favorite little item of intrigue.

Listening in on other people’s comms. Though, unlike outside of The Pale Heart, there weren’t exactly a lot of people that would be on the line. This time, it was Cayde and Crow. If anyone had told Hal that the two of them would be getting along as relatively well as they were, he wouldn’t have believed it. And yet…

“No, don’t apologize, dummy. Just listen to what I’m trying to tell you.” The whisper of a smirk touched Hal’s lips. It did feel good to hear Cayde’s voice again. Weird, but good. It felt better to hear someone else trying to further instill some sense into Crow, especially if it was the Cayde’s Pep Talks variety.

Hal had gotten a few of those, back in the day.

“Listen, kid, none of us around here are mind readers. Except maybe ol’ three eyes. You… never really know with her. My point is that you have GOT to start speaking up.”

Something picked at the old scars on his heart, scars he was told shouldn’t be there. A guilt that shouldn’t ache. “Some of us make stupid choices, and die stupid deaths.”

Hal still felt guilty.

Still.

A guilt that ached and consumed, that spread. If it wasn’t Cayde’s death, it was the woman that was the topic of discussion – Amanda. Old aches twisting their way into new ones.

“Will you at least let me be sorry about that?” Crow’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. A welcome distraction. He’d rather listen to his lover get berated than get twisted up in his own head.

“Shut up!” A blue brow arched up. Oh. Not often someone tells Crow to shut up. Well, not and have him not fire a rebuttal. Crow had a tongue like a sword, and he was adept at wielding it. “Life ain’t about drawing out the living part. It’s about making what you do while you’re alive matter.” A familiar lesson, intertwined with with a wish he had once worried had been granted. The lesson remained important, even if the relevance of the wish had faded. “So grow a spine and make her proud.”

Whatever Hal felt in that moment was swiftly interrupted with shock at what came next. “AND AS FOR YOU.” Oh. Cayde knows he’s listening. “Yeah, I know you’re there, you little… big blue weasel. What the hell do they feed you? I swear you’re taller than when I last saw you. Anyway, that goes doubly for you, Mr. Silent Protagonist. You might think that act is all mysterious, but let me tell you, it is plain as day you’re still doing the same song and dance. And by song and dance, I mean you’re not saying anything. To anyone. Probably not even twinkle-toes over here.” Hal glanced to the side and caught Ikora’s side-eye from afar. She could hear the radio. She was (somewhat) pretending she couldn’t.

For Hal’s sake.

“Live your damn life with the people around you. I bet you’re blaming yourself for her death, too. Stop it. Both of you. Light help me, how did I get stuck with two idiots?”

The part that made the lecture worse was Ghost staring him down.

All of The Witness’s tricks and minions were no match for the combination of Cayde’s lectures and Ghost’s judging stare.

Hal vaguely wondered how he was going to survive.

#haldie writes #OC: Hal #the final shape spoilers #destiny 2 spoilers #tagging anyway just in case

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intoanotherworld23 · 1 year

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Getting The Truth

Pairing: Reader x Bradley Bradshaw

Warnings: Mention of killing and murder, some swear words

Length: 3.9k+ words

Summary: You’re one of the best journalists in your field, and then one day convicted serial killer, Bradley Bradshaw announces that he would like to be interviewed since he’s on death row, and is willing to do anything to get the truth out

Comments??? Hearts??? Reblogs??? If you wish to be added to a tag list let me know and I’ll be more than happy to add you!! Thank you all so much I hope you enjoy!! XOXO

✨Please do not copy and paste my work or steal my work or publish my work as your own or else I will have you reported✨

Part 2

"Did you hear?" Your friend Erica squealed as she leaned over the front of your cubicle as you typed away for your new report.

"Hear what?" Asking without stopping as you quickly glanced up at her.

"That convicted killer Bradshaw requested to be interviewed." Now that information had your full attention.

"Bradley Bradshaw?" Squinting your eyes at her. "Convicted serial killer Bradley Bradshaw?"

"Yep." Popping the p as you leaned back in your chair. "Came out early this morning his attorney made a statement."

"He's been in prison for like five years that doesn't make sense why he wants to talk now." Crossing your arms across your chest as you slowly shook your head. "When does he want to do this interview?"

"Apparently he demanded it be done this afternoon."

"This afternoon?" Repeating her words with a shocked expression on your face. "You've got to be kidding."

"I know I couldn't believe what I heard either." Erica exclaimed with wide eyes.

"There's no way they would let that happen." Scoffing through your nose at the thought of them letting him get what he wants.

"I heard it's cause he's on death row." Now that made a little sense as to why he wanted to talk.

"Well yeah I would hope after brutally murdering over a dozen women he'd be put on death row."

"Maybe he wants to clear his conscious." She shrugged her shoulders.

"Who in the world would want to interview someone like him anyway?" Your voice dripping with disgust at the thought of being alone with someone like him anyway.

"Someone whose stupid and isn't afraid of anything." She joked as you both laughed.

"Well I'll tell you I wouldn't even come within a hundred yards of that man." Pointing your finger at her in a matter of fact. "They couldn't get me to do something like that."

"Me neither I would rather just shoot myself if I had to interview him."

"Y/L/N." Turning your head to see your boss standing in the door way of his office looking straight at you. "Can I talk to you in my office for a moment."

"Yes Mr.Seresin." Nodding his head as he turned back into his office.

"Someone's in trouble." Your friend teased with a singing voice as you rolled your eyes giving her the middle finger.

"If I'm in trouble I'm taking your ass down with me." You sneered at her standing up walking towards his office.

As you stood in the doorway knocking on the door he looked up from his paperwork motioning you to sit down. Shutting the door behind you as you took a seat patiently waiting for him to finish whatever he was doing. He rarely called you into his office like this usually he called you on the phone to talk.

"Im sure you've heard all about this Bradley Bradshaw prick." He started off as you nodded your head.

"Yeah I was just kept up to speed." Smacking your lips together.

"Then you've also heard he wants the person to do the interview to be a woman?" Staring straight at him as you wondered where he was going with this.

"I did not." Your stomach churning at the feeling of where this talk was going, and what you were probably going to be asked.

"Which is why I wanted to talk to you." Clearing his throat as you waited to hear those dreadful words. "I want you to do the interview."

"I hope this is some kind of prank." Blurting out loud as he clasped his hands together on the desk.

"You're one of my best journalists." He complimented you as you sat frozen. "You're the only person who could ace this interview."

"I don't know." Looking down at your lap as your nerves were all over the place.

"Besides you would be the only person to do this interview, and you could get your name out there." He really wasn't going to let this go, and he did have a point.

Doing this interview would mean getting your name plastered over news channels, and radios. Everyone would know who you are, and it could also mean a pay increase which didn't sound too bad. It just horrified you to no extent being in the same room with that man.

"Do I really have a choice." Not meaning to say that out loud, but to yourself.

"I have you scheduled to be there at four thirty." Ignoring your statement as he informed you of details.

"You already called them?" Exclaiming as you leaned forward in your chair. The little shit had already decided who was going to do this interview.

"Well yes I knew you'd be the woman for the job." Smiling widely as he complimented you again.

"Can I at least have someone else come with me?" Asking him with nothing but hope in your voice.

"No he requested that only one person be there." Begrudgingly shaking his head disappointment written across your face.

"Fine." Sighing loudly as you stood up facing the door.

"You'll be fine Y/N I promise." He tried making you feel better but all you could do was just nod your head.

Dragging your feet as you walked back to your cubicle. Erica was by your desk immediately staring into your soul waiting to hear everything. As you sat down slumping your body in the chair looking up at her. Silently telling her exactly what she was worried about.

"Shut the fuck up." Whispering as you just nodded your head. "He's making you do the interview."

"Yep at four thirty today." Wishing that you would have just called in sick or something today.

"Could someone at least go with you?"

"Nope I already asked apparently this guy doesn't want anybody else there."

"Damn." Snapping her fingers as she looked at you with sympathy. "Well thank goodness I'm not as good as a reporter as you."

"Yeah we all can't be so lucky as you." Voice fanning with sarcasm it made her giggle.

"Well bring your mace with you just in case."

"Probably not allowed to have any kind of weapons on me." Informing her as she pursed her lips looking away.

"Shit your right." She responded as you laughed at her failed attempt to help.

"But they can't take away my mean right hook." You joked holding your right hand up in a fist as Erica shook her head at you.

"I hate to break it to you Y/N but your hands are like marshmallows."

Giving her a pathetic chuckle you decided keeping busy until it was time to leave would be the best thing. Except it wasn't cause your mind was racing at the thought of being alone in a room with this man. Unable to stop thinking about what could happen to you there. Even lunch was horrible unable to stomach eating anything at that moment.

Looking at the clock what felt like every ten seconds. Watching at time got closer and closer to leaving. Wishing that you could just skip through time, and avoid doing this interview. Maybe you could play sick and your boss would assign someone else to do it. Mr. Seresin wasn't that stupid he'd know right away what you were trying to do.

Wondering to yourself if you should call family and friends to let them know where you are in case anything were to happen. Surely the place would be well guarded enough so nothing would happen to you.

Gathering your things you grabbed your tape recorder shoving it into your purse. Standing up you could see all kinds of looks from everyone. Guessing that word spread very quickly who was the unfortunate soul who had to do this interview.

Erica looking up at you giving you two thumbs up as you smiled at her. Heading out the front doors and to your car. Breathing through your mouth as you sat in your car for a minute to calm down. This wasn't how you expected you were going to spend the rest of your afternoon.

As you headed down the road you turned on some music hoping that would help put your mind at ease. Telling yourself that it wasn't Bradley Bradshaw you were going to interview but someone else. That helped at least a little bit easing your nerves.

You never really understood why your town lived pretty close to a maximum state prison, and why you lived in that town. You'd think something like that would scare people off, and not want to live there. The drive wasn't too bad and you found yourself almost calming down.

That dream faded though as soon as you pulled up to the large prison. Noting the tall fences that were lined with thick barbed wires, and towers on every corner with multiple armed guards patrolling the area. You've seen prisons before but this one looked scary and menacing.

"I have an interview with Bradley Bradshaw at four thirty." Handing the guard at the gate your ID and work badge. Watching as he scanned them through the system.

"Your gonna pull up to that parking lot over there and go through those double doors where you'll go through metal detectors." He informed you as he handed you your stuff back.

As you thanked him you couldn't help but notice the look of sympathy he gave you. Like he felt bad a woman like you had to be in the same room as a psychopath. Your palms were sweating now as you pulled into an empty spot. Heart felt like it was racing a million beats per second.

"Remove any jewelry you may have and put your purse or bag into the tray and step through the machine." A guard yelled when he saw you walk in looking around.

As you did what he asked you stepped through the detector, and watched your bag going down the conveyor belt. Once they figured you were clean you grabbed your bag, and looked around to see where you needed to go.

"Uh excuse me." Timidly asking a guard catching his attention. "I have an interview at four thirty with Bradley Bradshaw where do I need to go?"

"You'll want to talk to Mr. Simpson first and he'll tell you what to do from there. Go down that hall all the way to the end you'll see his name."

"Thank you." The guard nodding as you turned to where he pointed and walked down the hall.

Once you reached the end you saw his name in bold letter on the door. Knocking on the door you heard shuffling around before a loud voice telling you to come in. Opening the door just enough to step in to see a tall thin man sitting at his desk shuffling through paperwork.

"You must be my brave journalist." Greeting as he looked up at you.

"That would be me."

"I'm Beau Simpson I'm head of security here." Not knowing what to say you just nodded your head noticing all his certificates and medals he had.

"Well I must say I'm glad we were able to find someone so quickly to do this interview." Smiling widely as he stood up to walk towards you.

"Any chance to do a big story like this I'm in." Trying your best to sound excited and not disgusted.

"You know we've had a lot of journalist come in here, but I must say none of them have been as attractive like you."

"Thank you." Standing there awkwardly feeling slightly uncomfortable as his eyes were practically undressing you.

"There are a couple of rules that we have to go over." He coughed as he fiddled with a pen.

"Of course."

"Do not stand too close to the cell. Do not hand him anything or let him hand you anything. If he makes any threats you yell for us and we'll escort you out immediately." His manner and tone very serious. "Do you understand?"

"Yes sir I do." Nodding your head feeling a little lightheaded suddenly.

"Well let's get this thing over with shall we?" Leading you out of his office and back down the same hall.

"I trust you're not nervous?" He asked as you two stepped onto an elevator.

"Only a little."

"Well don't show it Bradley can sense the nervous ones." His words didn't make you feel better.

"We have him located on the maximum security floor." He continued as you walked down another hallway where you could hear loud voices coming from all around you.

"Why is that?" You asked as you tried to keep up with him.

"He attacked some guards a while back and almost killed them." Feeling your throat closing as you tried swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth.

"Why is he separated from everyone else?" Noticing there was no other cell doors down this hall.

"He doesn't do well with others." Was all he said as you two stopped in front of another gate guarded with some security a loud buzzing went off and the door opened.

"Has he ever gone through any psychiatric evaluation?" You hated to ask but you were curious.

"Many times." He responded. "They've all said the same thing."

"Which was?" You pressed his body language becoming rigid.

"That he was a lost cause." Not turning to face you as you continued to walk down a hall.

A couple security guards were standing there as they nodded there heads at you. This was becoming all too real now. This wasn't just some bad dream this was reality. You were literally just a few feet away from a very dangerous man, and anything could happen. There was no turning back at this point.

"This is where I leave you good luck." Patting your shoulder as him and the other guards walked through the gate.

“You’ll do just fine,” one of the guards whispered to you as he pointed to a camera, “we’ll be watching you the whole time.”

Giving him a courteous nod with a soft smile watching them as they left realizing that you were now alone. Slowly walking down the rest of the hall to the cell he was staying in. As you stood in front of the cell now you saw him laying on the bed his back leaned up against the wall. A book in his hand not bothering to even look up at you.

"You must be the beautiful Y/N." His words like ice as he said your name. The air was thick with tension and the room felt like you were in a sauna.

"How did you know my name?" Trying not to stutter as you talked.

"They informed me of your coming." Bradley placing his book down as he looked right at you.

"Well let's get this interview started shall we." Grabbing your tape recorder out as you grabbed a chair leaning against the wall pulling it to face the cell.

"Now Mr. Bradshaw what made you decide to do this interview?" Leaning the recorder closer to him.

"Please call me Bradley." He smiled at you as you bit back your tongue not wanting to anger him.

"Bradley." The name sounded like poison on your tongue. "What made you decide to do this interview?"

"Because I'm innocent." His words completely turn you for a spin. Not expecting him to say that.

"Your innocent?" Questioning him to further explain. "Are you saying you didn't kill these women?"

"I was framed by someone. Someone that I know very well." He continued as he stood up this time.

"And who is that someone?" Not believing him for one second.

"You don't believe me do you?" Ignoring your question sensing your doubt in his answer.

"It's kind of hard to believe you when your DNA was found all over the crime scene of these murders." Holding the scoff hanging in the back of your throat.

"Like I said I was framed." He repeated his words. "Someone planted my DNA on their bodies."

"Tell me who." You pushed but he just chuckled lightly.

"Does it really matter they've already convicted me, and they want to throw away the lock and key." He didn't sound sad or angry but more of accepting of his fate.

“Why didn’t you say anything during the trial?”

“The man kisses everyone asses there’s no way they would ever look into it.” The scary thing was he sounded so confident that someone did, and he was actually being framed.

"Did you know any of these women?" You continued.

"Yes I did." He nodded his head as he was standing right in front of the cell bars. "I went on dates with them."

"So women you went out with just whined up dead." You stated out loud to yourself. "Why do you think that is?"

"Because someone had it out for me and wanted me to pay."

"Seems a little extreme to butcher women all because they've got a problem with you." Squinting your eyes at him as you tried not to laugh at his response.

"People do crazy things when fueled by anger." He smiled at you as he sat back down on the bed.

"Several psychiatrists stated you deserve to be put to death." Crossing a leg over the other. "Do you agree with them."

"They were paid to lie." Shaking his head as his fists clenched in his lap.

"By who?" You asked cocking your head to the side.

"By the same person who framed me for these murders." He stated matter of factly.

"How do you know that?"

"Because I just do."

As you stared at him so many things were running through your mind. That this man really was crazy and murdered all those women, but was just in major denial of it. There is no way someone could have framed him for all these murders and then paid people to lie about it. That something you see in a cliche movie.

"You don't have a husband do you." He stated as you squirmed in your seat. "I noticed you're not wearing a wedding ring."

"Are you scared of commitment?" His questions were becoming a little too personal.

"No." Glaring at him at this point.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" He asked you making you scrunch your brows.

"I don't think that's any of your business." Snapping at him a little harshly.

"It's only fair I get to ask you some questions." He was amused that he was getting to you.

"You asked to be interviewed." You scoffed not even bothering to turn off the tape recorder.

"Touché." Smirking at you sensing the real you coming out.

He was clearly trying to get a rise out of you. Which he probably did with most women anyway. Seeing if he could see which right buttons to push and then proceed with flying colors.

"Why did you want a woman to do this interview Bradley?" Now this was something you were genuinely curious about.

"I love women." He answer basic making you roll your eyes.

"Oh please." Whispering to yourself and Bradley chuckled when he heard you knowing his response wasn’t helping his case.

"Because women give off a sense of safety and comfort. There like a warm blanket to wrap around you when you feel cold or scared. A sense of security if you will."

"Do all women make you feel like that?"

"Not all of them." He looked down again at his hands.

Clicking the tape recorder off you shoved it back inside your bag just wanting to get out of there. This was the most confusing and weirdest interview that you have ever done. You just wanted to get out of there and into the safety of your own home.

"I think I've got all I need here." Standing up as you adjusted yourself Bradley standing up as well.

"Thank you." Bradley bowed his head to you.

"Mhm." You mumbled through your lips as you turned to head back down the hall. Feeling his eyes on you as you walked away.

"See you soon Y/N." His words almost had you stopped in your tracks. They didn't sound menacing or threatening though. As much as you wanted to ask him what he meant you just had to get out of there.

Smacking the button to get out of there the buzzer when off. Swinging the door open and practically jogging out of there the security guards watching you as you left. Mr. Simpson was nowhere in sight and you really didn't want to wait up for him.

He was creepy anyway and would probably try to ask you out anyway. You really didn't feel like dealing with any more men right now.

Making it to the parking lot you hauled ass out of there and took off down the street. Texting Erica that you were done and that you had survived the interview. All you wanted to do was get home and get into something comfortable, make a nice meal and then go to bed. It was starting to get dark anyway.

As you made it home you almost slumped into bed and called it a night right there. You just wanted to spend the rest of your evening relaxing and not worrying. Today was mentally exhausting for you, and you'd just hope you didn't have to go back. Cause then you really would call in sick.

The time going by quicker than you expected as you checked your phone it see it was almost eleven at night. Turning the tv off you made your way into the bedroom to get ready for bed. After brushing your teeth and doing your routine you jumped into bed, and set your alarm for the next morning.

Placing the covers over yourself as you snuggled into a comfortable position. Closing your eyes as you started to let the darkness of sleep consume you. Until your phone started to ring your eyes snapping wide open to see who was calling you this late.

"Erica?" You raspy voice answering the phone. "You better have a good reason for calling me."

"Please tell me you're watching the news." Her words rushed and panicked.

"No cause I'm getting ready to sleep." Groaning rubbing a hand over your face.

"Turn on the news now." Her words demanding.

"Okay okay calm down." Shuffling back into your living room you turned your tv on flipping to your local news.

"We have breaking news coming in from one of our local sources and we have just been informed that convicted serial killer Bradley Bradshaw wasn't found in his cell this evening,"sitting on the edge of your seat now biting your nails, "Sources say Bradley has escaped from prison."

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #miles teller #miles teller smut #bradley bradshaw smut #miles teller x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #miles teller fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagines

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