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scribblesofagoonerr · 7 months

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God loves a trier though, right? | Inner Demons

⟫ Alphabet Challenge, G - God loves a trier though, right?

Pairings: leah williamson x teen reader, arsenal wfc x teen reader

Hi, sorry for the wait on this. This is a bit scrappy, not been proofread at all and I'm currently battling a headache while writing this so apologies if it doesn't make much sense, like at all!

I'm overwhelmed by the amount of support on this. It's definitely become one of my favourite things to write!

As always, my asks are open for anyone to drop me any ideas’ on this fic or anything else that people would like to see be written, however, I am only comfortable writing anything platonic though :)

Reader returns from the hospital, which leads to a heart-to-heart with some usual classic teenage sarcasm.

TW: heavy angst and mentions of SH, MH, suicide and death.

"Home sweet home" Leah pulls the car into the driveway and turns off the ignition, turning to look at you.

You fake a smile in the blonde's direction as you tug at the sleeves of your hoodie to fight the urge. "Glad to be home" You speak quietly.

You knew going home wasn't going to be as easy as you thought it would be, the reminder was right there in front of you.

A reminder of what you did, what could have been your end.

Until Leah had walked in and saved you.

You didn't really want to die, the voices on the internet were just too much to deal with.

The hate from the fans. The pressure from the media.

At times, everything can be overwhelming. But, being home makes it easier to regain control of being able to hurt yourself.

If you're being honest, that really does scare you.

The vague memory from that night still haunts you as you walk through the flat, sending a chill up your spine.

"Bubs?" Leah calls out to you, as she watches you freeze as you pass the bathroom.

"Uh, I'm... I'm a bit tired. Think I'm gonna have a nap" You tell her, slowly moving in the direction of your bedroom.

"Alright, I'll go and cook us some dinner. I doubt you've eaten much in the last few days if hospital food is anything to go by huh?" Leah jokes as she presses a light kiss to the top of your head. "Have a good nap, I'll wake you up when it's ready, yeah?" She adds.

Slumping into your own space, you glance around your bedrom and you're glad to see it's exactly how you left it.

You had missed your private space when you was in the hospital and you're just glad enough that the blonde hadn't gone to the extreme measures of removing your bedroom door at least.

"So the girls wanted to come around tonight but I thought it was best to hold off for now" Leah slides the dinner plate in front of you, you can't help but smile when you see it's smiley faces and nuggets.

One of the only things that Leah can actually cook.

You actually missed the small things like that while you were on an extended stay in the hospital.

"Sure" You agree as you reach for the ketchup bottle and squeeze a decent amount on your plate. "I'll be able to see them tomorrow at training, won't I?" You ask.

"Bubs" You can tell Leah is cautious to speak.

"I can train, can't I?" You look directly at the blonde as you await her answer.

Although you have a feeling that you're going to be sitting on the sidelines for a while.

"I have to train, Le! I can't put it off. I've gotta be ready to be selected for the matchday squad!" You insist as you stab your fork into a chicken nugget.

You watch as Leah frowns and hesitates to speak and that confirms your thoughts about it.

"We have a meeting tomorrow with Jonas, Kim, and some of the other staff at the club to discuss things--" Leah begins to explain, starting to eat her own dinner.

"I'm being sidelined?!" You interject in disbelief.

Leah shakes her head as she swallows her food before she speaks. "I didn't say that, Y/N" She states.

You can't help but scoff. "But you sort of did. I can't be sat on the bench-- I can't do it!" You try to insist. "I... I need some kind of purpose. I need a reason to get up in the morning!" You fight back the tears that threaten to spill.

You have to play. You have to be able to do that. You can't have that taken away from you.

"Bubs, let's just see what is said tomorrow. Okay?" Leah frowns and tries to take hold of your hand as you snatch it back.

"I have to be on the pitch, Leah. I can't be sidelined. I... I just can't do it" You state as you push your chair back and bolt up from the table.

"Where are you going?" Leah asks, confused.

"I need to get out. I'm going for a walk, or is that not allowed now?" You sneer as you move to walk over to the coat rack and grab one of your jackets.

"I'll come with you" Leah stands up from the table.

You huff and roll your eyes. "I don't need to be monitored. I want to be alone" You all but plead with her.

"I... I can't let you do that. You know I can't" Leah shakes her head in disagreement. "So we either go for a walk together, or we don't go at all" She states sternly.

"Guess we're both going then, wonderful" You mumble sarcastically and shove a pair of trainers on.

"It's cold out here this evening" Leah mumbles as she tries to pull her jacket more around to try and get warm, you decide to take a walk alongside the canal not too far away from the flat as you always thought clearer when you were near water.

"You didn't have to come with me" You mutter as you keep your hands shoved in your pockets.

You'd never been too much of a fan of the cold, but you just needed an escape as you felt like the walls were caving in around you being inside the flat.

"You know that I did" Leah replies quietly, exhaling a sigh.

"Oh yeah, of course, that's cos' I'm on suicide watch, right?" You can't help but joke with the blonde.

Leah tenses up at the mention of the subject that's joked about so casually as the two of you walk alongside the canal.

The blonde can't help but try and reach for your bicep to try and pull you away from being too near to the edge of the water.

"You can relax a bit Le, I'm not gonna try and off myself again" You continue to crack jokes about death like you're talking about the weather. "Although jumping into the water seems like a great idea" You add.

The blonde clicks her tongue. "I wish you wouldn't say things like that sometimes" She states in disagreement as she hesitantly looks at the water, trying to pull you back from the edge.

"It's the easier coping method" You quietly admit as you shrug your shoulders as you linger dangerously close to the edge of the water. "How deep do you think it is?" You ask, looking in the direction of the blonde.

"Come away from the water" Leah tries to pull you away from the edge again.

"Why? Afraid I'll actually jump in" You fire back as you can't help but laugh slightly. "You know I can swim, right?" You ask her.

"I know you can swim, but..." Leah looks nervous as she eyes your every move.

"But you think I'd rather try and purposely drown instead?" You wonder, already knowing her answer.

Leah shakes her head and exhales a sigh. "Y/N" She states in a knowing tone of voice that you knew all too well.

"The pressure is too much sometimes, the media... They can be ruthless" You admit quietly, looking back out to the water in front of you.

"I know" Leah replies just as quiet, waiting for you to speak again.

You tug at the sleeves of your hoodie and bite your bottom lip. "It's all too much sometimes. Sometimes I think the world is against me" You tell her, honestly.

"Bubs..." Leah starts to speak.

"Why were you and Katie fighting when I was in the hospital?" You change the subject, refusing to let your vulnerability show.

Leah exhales another sigh. "It's complicated" She says.

"Bullshit" You can't help but scoff and roll your eyes.

"Language" The blonde scolds.

"Well, why aren't you?" You repeat the question, wanting to know the answer.

"Well, adults have disagreements sometimes" Leah states, looking out to the water.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. "C'mon Le, I'm a not naive kid-- Why're you not getting along?" You feel like you're constantly repeating yourself right now.

Leah exhales a sigh and hesitates to speak. "She just thinks that my decision was wrong, to allow the doctors to detain you in the hospital" She explains.

"I know that. You guys were literally fighting about it right in front of me" You remind her with the usual teenage cocky attitude you have.

"She thinks you should've been at home instead, with all of us watching out for you" The blonde defender continues to explain. "But Y/N... I don't know how I can keep you safe when you're at home. You joke about death so casually, I'm so scared that I am going to have to leave you alone, that when I come home, I'll find you lying dead on the floor in a pool of your own blood. At... At least this way when you were in the hospital, I knew you were safe and you couldn't hurt yourself" She confesses the truth.

The truth that leaves an eerie silence.

"I knew you were safe and you couldn't hurt yourself" Her words were like a continuous loop in your head.

Her confession hits you suddenly, leaving you feeling numb.

#woso x reader #arsenal x reader #woso #woso fanfics #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #woso imagine #heavy angst #woso one shot #awfc x reader #arsenal x teen!reader #leah williamson x teen!reader #arsenal wfc x reader

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bloody-cupcakes · 21 days

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Jason Dean x yandere/dark! reader; you surprise him with slushies for breakfast

Tw: yandere/dark content, gender neutral reader, suggestive stuff/frank sex talk as well as implied sex/smutish activities, mentions of insomnia, implied murder, the reader is very clingy and affectionate with JD (almost to a smothering amount but he doesn't mind), this is one of the more tame things I've written tbh

A/N: this is a twist on the "one character gets a blue drink and the other gets a red so naturally their tongues become purple by making out" trope. I literally wrote this in thirty minutes so I could have something posted for heathers day, which is September 1st, so if this sucks then that's why and I'm sorry (and then I got distracted and forgot so it's a day late oops)

JD used to think he hated sleeping in general, but after meeting you he just realized he hated sleeping alone. Laying in bed after downing half a bottle of melatonin gummies while waiting for sleep to kick in wasn't exactly his idea of a good time. Lucky for him, you had plenty ways of resolving that issue.

Admittedly, they did a pretty good job at working effectively given that most of them involved you physically wearing him out. Whether it was with murder or sex, either way certainly made it easier for him to slip into a state of exhaustion and conk out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He didn't mind much. In fact, the act of you tiring him out as quickly as possible once he complained about being unable to sleep was one that he quite enjoyed. He preferred to stay with you anyway. There was nothing at his house that made it worth sticking around other than the few vague personal effects of his, and most of them he'd transferred over to your place already.

The sun was already starting to peek through the blinds when he woke up, which signified he must've slept for a good long while. That didn't surprise him given just how late the two of you had stayed up the night before, but what did surprise him was your absence. Usually you waited until he woke up to leave the bed, or at the very least told him if you were going to get up.

Thank god you walked into the room a few minutes later, because otherwise he would've started to panic, and that was definitely not something he wanted to be doing so early in the morning.

"Hey, baby," you greeted as you kicked off your shoes and set two large Styrofoam cups you'd gotten from the 7/11 near your house on the nightstand. "Did you sleep well?"

JD could practically feel his heartbeat start to slow back down once he saw you. You hadn't abandoned him, you just went out to get some slushies. No problem.

"Mh, yeah," he mumbled groggily as he sat up in the bed, watching you slip off his trenchcoat and toss it to the side. If he had been more awake, the sight of you wearing his clothes would've given him an instant boner, but the drowsiness he still felt was currently cancelling that out.

"Good, I'm glad." You sat down on the bed next to him, gently smoothing his messy hair back from his face before handing him one of the Styrofoam cups. "Here, I know how much you crave slushies the night after sex."

He gladly took the cup from you, immediately taking a big sip. "Thanks." It still felt weird, having someone being so affectionate and loving with him after everything he'd been through. A huge part of him felt like he didn't deserve it, but he knew you'd never leave him even if that was true. Something about how attached you were should've been unnerving, but JD was pretty unnerving himself so he wasn't bothered by it.

"Did you seriously wear your pajamas to go get slushies?" He asked after a moment, his brain finally catching up as he began to wake up more. The cold, sweet drink in his hands certainly helped matters.

"Well, I wasn't going to put on real clothes," you insisted lightheartedly before drinking some of your own slushie, which just so happened to be the opposite color of his. "Besides, we both know they're not going to stay on much longer anyway."

"Oh god," he muttered under his breath, though he was unable to keep the faint smirk of amusement off his face when you said that.

"Here, lemme have your drink for a moment." You placed both cups back on the nightstand before grabbing his face and pulling him in for a hungry kiss. He suddenly became very aware of the fact that he was only wearing a pair of boxers as he hadn't gotten properly dressed yet.

"C'mon, I wasn't finished," he complained with a slight huff even as he let you push him flat onto his back with no other protest.

"You can finish later. For now, I say we take the blue and red from our drinks and make purple." Your voice came out in a low tease when you spoke, your body hovering over his as you leaned down to capture his lips in another kiss.

Both of your tongues were successfully colored purple and your drinks were no longer cold when you were done, but it was so worth it.

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the-s1lly-corner · 1 year

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Hello how are you :3? I was wondering if you could write E.J., Hoodie, and Masky with a s/o that has a lot of scars? (Toby too but platonic for him) I’m not sure how many people we can request so if it’s too many just Hoodie? I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable and thank you!

Various!Creepypastas w/ a scarred!reader

waaaah im so sorry for not seeing this sooner! i didnt recieve a notification for this ask!! really theres no limit to how many characters you can send in! i think my personal max varies from prompt to prompt!! mix of how they approach the concept of a scarred lover (friend in tobys case) with some hints of fluff! cause of scars will be vague as admittedly i didnt know if you meant general scars or SH! side note i hope this posts right! im writing this on my computer, im used to mobile!! + apologies for any weird wording or typos, im listening to music and im getting hyped!! not proof read we die like my spiderverse brainrot

Includes: Eyeless Jack, Hoodie, Masky and Platonic!Toby!

CWs: touch and go talk of potential past trauma, body image issues, vague mentions of SH(?) in EJs part + Toby's parts

admittedly admin doesnt know if its technically SH due to the nature and motiv but personally id still count it as such and tag it as such

Eyeless Jack;

he gets it, he really does. the basic run down of my hc/take on ej is that he wasnt always some flesh eating monster; just some dude who got caught up in some bad stuff

so naturally, he doesnt... really vibe well with the concept of eating human flesh, which can lead to a few... instances. from intentionally to accidentally harming himself while hes lost in his instincts

so hes no stranger to being a little roughed up around the edges

but hes a stranger to comforting; he'll likely approach it from a logical side before trying anything else. "you've been hurt," before going on a small tangent about the formation of scars. hes not the most... emotionally... good... available... person

so youre going to need to lay out the general basis for what you need for basic comfort, on days where your scars become an issue; be is needing comfort or a distraction. it may take him a while, but hell eventually start to pick up on cues and hints as your relationship develops

otherwise hes very neutral about them, again approaching them with a blunt view; seeing it as neither good nor bad. he doesnt draw attention to them, but he doesnt act like theyre gross

really just. vibing with it, doesnt make a huge deal of it since he feels he doesnt have any place to judge, nor does he feel its his business to pry for information

solid 6/10 imo, hell comfort you if you express that you need it but hell likely not go out of his way to do it

Hoodie;

Soft touches, he almost does it before he has your permission to touch you

naturally he has his own fair share of scars from various.. activities

really im still all jumbled up with how i wanna write him and masky; not sure if i want to make them like how they are in their MH source or lean into the proxy thing that was prominent in the early days of the fandom... lowkey leaning into the proxy thing for this post because im more... versed..? in that, but anyhow

hes more upfront and compassionate than eyeless jack, in fact hes probably the most caring out of the four in todays post... maybe thats because i read one (1) fic years back that changed my entire approach to his character but! yeah

subconsciously trails his hands on them when the two of you are holding one another; something gentle and intimate, not too obnoxious to make you self conscious, but not careful enough to go unnoticed

i view hoodie, and by extension brian if i end up considering him and tim fully seperate from their 'proxy' parts, as a very tactile person

true to the popular fanon interpretation, hoodie doesnt speak much. but that only makes him a better listener, so on days where things get hard, hell let you talk his ears off with anything thats bothering you. very rarely, hell speak up and offer some words of advice, most times hell inch closer to grasp you. though it does get awkward since most the time hes just. blankly staring at you silently without emoting or saying a word

overall? personally hes a 7/10 for me, i would rank him higher if he were more verbal, but thats just because admin has an easier time venting if its a two way convo; but overall hell make sure that your scars dont effect your worth

Masky;

very similarly to hoodie, masky also has his own set of scars for the same reasons

he probably starts pointing out his own scars to you and mumbles about where they came from if he knows their origins

this doesnt mean "oh hes invalidating your experiences and hes trying to make it about himself," but more so "hes showing that he really does get it and he doesnt mean to talk over you"

much like EJ he approaches scars with a very blunt and upfront mindset, but to a lesser extent. he admits that whatever led up to the tissue forming, it hurt. emotionally and physically, and hes not going to deny that simple fact. hell listen to you, have a conversation with you about it, and try to help you through whatever you may be currently going through regardless of if youre injury is relevant.

or at least, thats what hes trying to do.

hes still has his own personal issues regarding going about his own problems in a healthy manner but hey thats something for another post; maybe, if i remember

honestly this post doesnt have enough fluff imo, and i can kinda see masky doing this, but imagine he boops his mask against your scars in a mockery of a kiss (doesnt take off his mask often, in fact youll probably never ever see him without it on), i can see jack doing this too tbh

thoughts? 8/10, gets the bonus points for being less awkward to rant to imo, plus i think asides ej, i think i have a bias for masky for the simple fact i had the fattest crush on him when i was in middle school

Toby;

okay! this one is going to be interesting for one main reason! i actually havent touched tobys character in YEARS! so hes probably going to have the shorter list... obligatory i havent built any solid hcs for him past what was going on in the fandom in the 2010s, before toby briefly became a mild discomfort... but we're back in business baby!! (^^ dont feel bad for requesting for toby btw! hes no longer a discomfort, and if i didnt want to write for him i wouldnt be including him right here!!)

obviously we cant talk about his part without talking about his cheek. and other, similar hcs. while i dont think most of the self inflicted marks on his body were from a place of.. for lack of better words, darkness; it doesnt change the fact he still has them. i think a lot of them are from the fact he cant feel anything; accidental burns, gnawing through his cheek, digging his fingers deep into himself. really i could go into detail, but due to the aforementioned fact that my take on him isnt as developed as other characters + i really dont think its appropriate for this post (or really, anywhere on this account,), ill stop there

while he cant relate to the physical pain of what caused your scars, he can sympathize through your feelings. do you feel sorrow, or anger to whoever hurt you? hell be getting worked up right with you, because to him youre one of his closest friends

i feel like he doesnt talk much about his past, regarding his family. but hed tell you, and you can sure as hell bet that hell do his absolute damndest to grant you the same feeling of security.

hell probably touch and prod without truly meaning any harm, but thats because he can have problems with boundaries, but hell listen if you sit him down and tell him it makes you uncomfortable if it does

more so emotional than outwardly... supportive? idk the words, but hes very empathetic with you and tries to relate to you through emotion rather than feeling what you felt. honestly? kinda based for that, but maybe thats because i dont see feelings about this topic being touched on, usually its straight up about how the scar makes the person look or the physical trauma they had gone through, but idk, maybe thats just a me thing

he can be an asshole at times but hell usually backtrack and cool off somewhere else if you call him out on it imo

not sure if its because as im LITERALLY investigating his characteristics and interpretations as we speak, but i think im starting to relate to him so ER-OH!

anyways, i wish i could make his segment more... in tune with the characters above but its probably going to take me a while until im comfortable with how i portray this dude, which sucks because as a kid he was probably one of my favorites

i dont think im going to give toby a rating like the others; since i dont think i can accurate rate him due to the lack of proper concrete ideas outside of him being empathetic to your emotional pain since he cant relate on how much it hurt

im gonna end this here since im starting to sound like a broken record on tobys part so!

i hope you enjoyed this! characterization may be a little off but i blame that mostly on the fact that i kinda fell out of the loop in regards for writing for these guys (that damn spider movie! the brainrot threw me off my creepypasta grind!/j) but its good to be back writing for this fandom! it was a fun little brain exercise trying to figure out each character goes about this kind of thing without making them all the same!! with that being said, im going to go listen to an audio reading of tobys story so i can regrounded in his character and hopefully do him some justice in the future!

#creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #eyeless jack x reader #hoodie x reader #masky x reader #ticci toby x reader #eyeless jack x you #hoodie x you #masky x you #ticci toby x you

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kiwioala · 11 months

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all (or most) of the books cellbit got from the strange guard today! they're definitely not all in the correct order but i did the best i could

Hello Cellbit. You don't know me but I know you.

Exactly. And you've been an amazing asset to our organization. Every single task we've assigned you was completed in a perfect state.

I know. I've been the one writing those tasks. From the beginning.

(there was a book in between here that said something along the lines of "but i never mentioned an invitation to presentation A0")

Ha, ha, ha! I see! You're right, Max was there, but because I told him to go. And he made a mistake, he died. Thus, leading you to get the invitation.

Don't you hate it? When no matter what you do, everything just falls apart?

Cucurucho is the perfect employee. The ultimate tool of the federation. Nothing he ever does is wrong.

I need you to do something tomorrow. Of course, I don't expect you to do it for free. I'll give you something in exchange. Information, of course!

What do you know about project A0? [...] It's a bit vague, but yes. You're on the correct path.

We used to be a small team, you know? Ah yes, everything was so much better back then. But something went wrong and we all paid the consequences. [...] A0 was our way to make it right.

Tomorrow everything will make sense. It's an important day for Cucurucho. But I say, it won't.

We will sabotage it. You already know where the conference will be, every password is different, and there will be multiple entrances to the hall. No one will notice you're there.

But we can't do it alone. You'll need to bring multiple people with you.

They'll present something and you all will need to steal it.

They'll also talk about something interesting, I invite you to listen to every single word. Once the presentation is over, move and don't stop.

That doesn't matter. You probably won't see me around that much. I prefer my office, you know? But I've seen and lived too much not to take this perfect opportunity. Cucurucho shall fail tomorrow.

Cucurucho asking all of the questions from the beginning, and all these people disappearing. You need to be a fool to believe it was all a coincidence.

We don't know. That's why you need more people with you. There's multiple people working for the federation, it could be anyone.

Unfortunately, no. The top ranks never leave anything to chance. Everything is changed, removed or put in pace for a reason. Nobody knows what the place looks like.

You seem to know about our ranks, huh? There is an even more secret circle who have access to that information. They all talk about it within the system, I don't know more.

This system only allows not only allows us to send messages, but it has many secrets.

I'm not sure, but the system is old. We've been using it for years. There should be a way in.

You're looking for some eggs, right? Their whereabouts are still a mystery, but they might have some clues.

The main channel is restricted. You need a user and a password. But to get one is difficult.

You do? Mh, that's interesting. I want to ask where did you get it, but I won't. If someone shares their information, it's almost suicide. But let me see what I can do to get you in. (second page: "i'll send you more information in the following days")

Just like the federation, I change the location of my office everyday. It should be no issue.

Tomorrow, in the afternoon. Be ready. I will see you but you must not see me. Stay hidden.

Hahaha, if you want to open, it just open it.

It was. I told you. I've been keeping most of it. They are all copies, though.

Sounds like a plan. But you shall remember, the moment you signed it, you chose to live with the burden of working for the federation. So make sure no one sees you.

#qsmp #qsmp cellbit #qsmp lore #lore library

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missholoska · 1 year

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some new Underswap MH designs! properly showcasing Maddy the Dummy, and introducing Swap MH Ruins Dummy's Mad Mew Mew equivalent form ✨

info about them and design ramblings under the cut!

Dummy:

appears as the tutorial dummy in the Ruins - Asgore encourages Chara to talk to them, but no matter what action the human takes, the Dummy will take offence and leave the room after snapping at them. Asgore then takes the opportunity to tell Chara that even if a monster is rude, showing mercy is still important.

Bored Dummy:

appears as a boss in Waterfall - Mad Dummy told them to get revenge for how they were treated by Chara, but Bored Dummy doesn't really care about fighting and only does so to make their cousin happy.

at the end of their battle with Chara, Happstablook notices the commotion and makes a dramatic entrance with a glitter bomb, inadvertently spooking his cousin out of their body.

Mad Dummy:

offscreen, Alphys asks if they'll model a Mew Mew Kissy Cutie cosplay she'd been working on, as she can't find her usual training dummy to ask. after agreeing and trying on the outfit, Mad Dummy has a Mad Mew Mew-esque identity revelation, and continues wearing the cosplay for the rest of the "game".

if Chara speaks to her in the overworld, she mentions she's considering renaming herself Maddy.

???:

briefly reappears as Bored Dummy again with Maddy after Alphys' hangout event, but soon afterward decides to leave that body behind for good.

after the barrier is broken, Chara can find the uninhabited dummy body in Waterfall, and a barely-visible ghost floating near the snails at Blook Acres.

Maddy the Dummy:

loving life as an adorable mannequin model and one of Napstabot's singers. she frequently changes her look with different wigs and clothes, and has a preference for pinks and pastels, frills, and occasional edgier styles.

still very much the loud, energetic and quick-to-anger type, easily switching from cutesy charm to yelling at someone annoying, and retains her habit of repeating words/phrases three times.

doesn't become Mew Mew like her UT counterpart, but she does have a big soft spot for the Mew Mew Kissy Cutie series, though she prefers Mew Mew 2. she and Alphys have had multiple Undernet arguments about this.

has both friends and knives now!!

Pom Pom:

still lacking a body on the surface, Chara offered to knit them a custom body of their own. they liked the idea of being an animal-like monster, as well as an apple theme based on their favourite saying (that being their UT counterpart's check description). once the body was complete, they soon became corporeal and took on the new name Pom Pom.

they're shy, quiet, easily startled, and especially prone to boredom. they have little tolerance for aimless shenanigans, and will either leave a situation they dislike or just ragdoll on the floor and sleep. they stand like they're about to fall over at all times.

their new body kept some familiar features from their previous, including a cotton heart and button eyes. the heart functions similarly to Napstabot's heart-shaped core.

ghost ages are pretty vague, but they're an adult and the youngest of the ghost cousins.

I've talked about Maddy a couple times in the past, but to reiterate: like Happstablook I want to handle her character with as much respect towards her UT counterpart's story as I can, given that her role swap predates Mad Mew Mew's reveal. had I not designed and gotten attached to my Napstabot in early 2018, just months before UT's Switch port, maybe I would've swapped Mettaton and Mew Mew instead, but it is what it is. think of her as Mew Mew and Glad Dummy combined 💖

as for Pom Pom, with how little canon info there is on Ruins Dummy I just went all-in on what few details I had to work with. admittedly the apple theme is a total stretch from the "apple of my eye" part of their check description, but I liked it too much to not go with it! and them being an animal-like humanoid is to match Mew Mew being a catgirl, so I thought a deer suited their personality.

also, the reason their body was knitted by Chara specifically is I love the headcanon that ghosts can hear the narrator (based on Napstablook responding to their own check description), so after applying it to Swap MH I thought it'd be cute if Chara and Frisk have a close bond with the ghost family post-pacifist :'>

anyway I'm aware that they're pretty much just an OC-ified version of a canon character at this point, but like. people have been doing that with the humans, Gaster, Dess and AU Sanses for years. I am allowed one (1) Basically A Fan Character version of an existing character, as a treat

#undertale #safeutdr #underswap mh #ruins dummy #mad mew mew #mad dummy #ghost cousins #swap mh background characters #undertale art #holoskart

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astxrwar · 8 months

Text

blunt force trauma [3/x]

SYNOPSIS: traumatized!Bucky x Brainwashed!supersoldier!reader.

Rating: M

Word Count: 5k

Content Warnings: Brief mention of a suicide joke made in passing. Bucky has issues, so MH/trauma topics will feature heavily in this work; I will CW for them every time. Canon-typical violence.

Check out the tag "fic; blunt force trauma" for Content (there's a playlist!!) + Ao3 chapter notes for extras if you're interested. <3

Read on AO3

[1] [2] [ 3 ]

That Wednesday, Yori has a cold.

Bucky spends a few minutes just going back and forth with him through the cracked-open door of the guy’s apartment, asking if he needs tissues or aspirin or fucking— soup, or something, because he’s old, right, properly old, and he’s kind of worried about him. Yori insists it’s just a regular cold and that he’s fine and that Bucky is under no circumstances to buy him anything because he’s fine, and that he’s not going to be going out with him tonight or so much as opening the door all the way.

“Might get you sick,” is what he says. “Bad manners.”

That’s not physically possible, Bucky wants to tell him, but doesn’t, can’t, for a lot of reasons, most of them— pretty fucking awful.

He tries not to think about it.

“Okay,” Bucky says eventually. “Okay, fine, but we’re still on for next week, right?”

Yori is silent for a beat. “Yes,” he says, from behind the door, and then, gruff and vaguely scolding, “You need to make friends that are-- younger. I am getting too old for this.”

Bucky scoffs. Yori tells him this a lot. “I’m working on it,” he says, which is what he says back every time.

It’s bullshit.

He thinks about that piece of paper, folded up and pressed between the pages of Steve’s notebook, heavy in the chest pocket of his jacket like it’s burning a hole right through it.

Mostly. It’s mostly bullshit.

Yori goes and— sleeps, or something, or whatever people do when they get sick, and he goes back to his apartment.

Bucky realizes a lot of things really quickly, after shutting the door and locking it and flipping the lights; things like the fact that he’s not usually here, at this time, that he generally wouldn’t be back for another hour, sometimes more. That she’s probably been watching him, and that she’s probably learned his schedule by now, because it’s exactly what he would have done. That if she were to pick a time to go through his apartment and try to find answers without having to talk to anybody–which is also exactly what he would have done– she’d either be doing it now, or when he’s at therapy.

He realizes after shutting the door– kind of embarrassingly late, all things considered– that he’s not alone.

And then he remembers that being taken by surprise used to be a pretty significant trigger for him, in the early days.

This time, when she tries to hit him, he doesn’t move out of the way— she’s not putting a fucking hole through his door, that’d be such a pain in the ass, there’d be no way to get out of explaining it to the landlord— and what he does instead of moving is step in past her arm and close the distance and shoulder-check her dead in the sternum. The force of it sends her sliding back across the living room, her foot twisting against the hardwood floor to find purchase and friction enough to counteract it, slow to a stop, and then she lifts her chin and she locks eyes with him and whatever he was going to say—hey, relax, it’s just me, it’s okay— it dies somewhere in the back of his throat.

She’s not there. There wouldn’t be any point.

Instead, he sets his jaw and jerks his head to one side and then the other, cracking his neck and loosening his shoulders and waiting.

Part of him— it’s not that he enjoys this, he doesn’t think, just that it feels satisfying, like drawing poison out of a wound. That very first time, he kind of expected looking at her when she’s like this to make him uncomfortable, the way that it reminds him of all of that shit he tries not to think about for a lot of different reasons, but it’s kind of the opposite.

It’s familiar. It’s comforting. Bucky understands this, which is saying something, because it feels like there’s not a whole lot in his life these days that he really understands that much at all. The way she’s looking at him right now— he knows exactly what this is. It doesn’t take him over like it used to, not anymore, but it’s not like it’s completely gone from him, this instinct.

He still feels it too, sometimes. Or— maybe he just wants to. A little of both, probably.

“Yeah, nice to see you, too,” he mutters, mostly to himself, his vision sharpening to a knifepoint and his heart rate solid, steady, ticking like a metronome. The seconds that always kind of feel like they slip from him before he can register them at all— they’re drawn out, now, bleeding into each other, stretching endlessly, and he’s there , inside his own body as the moments pass, present, not floating somewhere outside of it or trapped in his head. He breathes. He listens to the sound of his own blood rushing in his skull. He listens for hers. He can’t hear it, but he thinks if she gets close again, he might be able to.

“What are you waiting for,” he says, not really a question. Kind of a challenge.

She lunges for him.

He meets her halfway.

On purpose. By choice.

One thing he’d noticed the last time is that she’s real fucking fast– faster than him, and probably younger, by what he would guess must be a not-significant amount. The serum is about achieving peak human performance, or something like that; it doesn't reverse the effects of time or the reality of age, and it doesn't change how that peak just starts to gradually decline in terms of speed and reaction time at some point in your early-mid-twenties and then never really stops. Bucky doesn’t know how old he is, not concretely, but it’s old enough that the difference between them in terms of that is apparent. But reflexes are one thing, and experience is another, and he has a fucking lot of experience— more than she does, and that, too, is a stark and obvious fact. He’s better than her, and just a little bit stronger, and what she has on him in speed he more than compensates for just in skill and brute force.

They’re not evenly matched, is what he’s saying, and he’d gotten the feel for that last time, too; had known, kind of, that this wouldn’t be a fair fight.

The edge she has, though, the one he doesn’t, is that she’s trying to hit him— trying to harm him, trying to physically incapacitate him— and he’s not. He’s countering closed-fist blows open-handed, going for her shoulders and the insides of her arms to redirect and keep the damage to the apartment at a minimum, and that puts him at a massive fucking disadvantage. It means her target is the whole of his body, six-foot and something like a buck-eighty, and not only is she fucking smaller than him already, but the places he can hit and not hurt her are these little slivers of windows only a few inches wide, if that, and–

She clocks him in the jaw.

It’s not that bad, it’d been her non-dominant hand and he’d moved back, he’d just been a little too slow– but it’s still hard enough to make his teeth fucking rattle in his mouth and his chest reflexively tighten up and the air force out of his lungs in this short, sharp hiss.

“Okay, ow,” he says, putting space between them and feeling the first prickle of irritation start to worry at his patience and trying real fucking hard not to let it as he moves back and away and grimaces, opens his jaw and shifts it to either side and hears it pop, sore and starting to smart and definitely going to be bruised tomorrow.

When he looks at her again she looks a little bit more human. There’s this furrow, just the shadow of it, tightening up between her eyebrows, but the line of her shoulders is tensed and her hands are still up and something in her eyes is trembling, like it’s tearing at itself, guilt, maybe, but also this kind of powerlessness, too.

Wanting to stop. Not being able to.

Bucky thinks about the dream.

“It’s alright,” he says, “I know. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”

He exhales, shaky, his heart beating harder and faster from the exertion, sweat starting to prickle at the nape of his neck, the air burning a little, like it’s sinking into somewhere in his lungs that he doesn’t usually breathe deep enough for it to reach.

“I don’t mind,” he says, and he’s not even really surprised by how much he actually means it. “Come on. Just- get it out of your system. It’s okay.”

Her expression doesn’t relax, but it— slackens, and something flashes in her eyes that looks a lot like relief, but it’s gone before he has time to be sure or think much about it.

When she comes to him a second time, the edge is missing and she’s not trying to hurt him— not trying to hurt him as much, he corrects, grunting when her elbow slams into the soft part of his stomach— and it doesn’t take long for him to get her off-balance and on the defensive. She mistimes a punch, finally, gives him the opportunity to reach for her and doesn’t react quick enough to the hand on her arm, and he gets the other flat on her shoulder blade and slams her against the wall.

She doesn’t do anything for a long moment; her chest is heaving, violently and with enough force that he can feel the muscles around her ribs straining up against the pressure of his forearm where it’s braced against the small of her back, and he has one hand— his hand— on her right wrist, and in the absence of any immediate threat Bucky realizes a bunch of things in quick succession.

He realizes she’s wearing a short-sleeve t-shirt, which is new, and not technically surprising; it’s May and it’s started to get warmer again. He realizes he’s touching her, though, really touching her, without any kind of barrier at all, and that’s new, too, and it’s weird , because her skin is soft and warm and it feels almost fucking– delicate, makes him aware of the callouses on his palm and his fingers and the roughness of them, and contradicts so violently with everything else about her that it’s like his brain just can’t integrate the information at all. He realizes she’s come back— all of her is so human now, even her eyes, the corner of one that he can see with how her face is pressed to the wall, darting back to look at him and then looking away just as fast, fraught and expressive, all of that emptiness just– gone.

And then he makes a mistake. He keeps fucking doing that. It’s getting annoying.

Bucky calls her by her name, and she freaks the fuck out again.

He hadn’t grabbed her other hand, because she’d been calm or at the very least not-murderous for all of ten seconds, so she slides it up under herself and pushes and gets the leverage to slip out from where he’s holding her and she elbows him in the fucking diaphragm, hard enough to knock the air out of him and wrench her arm out from his grip.

And then she fucking runs away, again, and he’s left there trying to catch his breath, with a handful of fresh bruises and absolutely no fucking answers at all.

No holes in the apartment this time, though.

That night, he can't fall asleep.

The nightmares haven’t come back yet— yet, they’d been gone before, the times that Steve had needed him, and then for a while in the aftermath of the final battle, they always come back, though, it’s only ever a matter of time— but he still has trouble with it, just in general. Sleep. It flips, back and forth like a switch, between extremes; sometimes he has the control to just will himself into unconsciousness, and sometimes it’s like his brain fights back, his thoughts accelerate, defiant, no matter how hard he tries to focus on counting his breathing or relaxing each muscle or picturing the inside of his mind like this sprawling, snow-covered field, white and uniform and empty.

He’s long since stopped trying all that, just has his eyes open, lying there staring up into the dark. His mind drifts, directionless, and he thinks about a bunch of things, random details connected by some nonsensical thread of logic that's somewhere beyond his conscious awareness. In Romania, he used to wander when he couldn't sleep, and then also when the thought of sleeping terrified him; he'd walk, sometimes for hours, until his body burned and the soles of his shoes wore out and sometimes until the sun came up again. There'd been one night-- multiple nights, multiple days, six or seven, at least-- that he'd gotten so exhausted he'd collapsed outside, leaned against the crumbled plaster facade of a building. One thing about the serum; he does still need sleep. It'd been raining, and he was soaked and shaking and delirious from lack of sleep. The old woman who'd found him when she'd gone out for a cigarette brought him an umbrella and made him a tea and sat there on the stoop nearby for a while, told him stories about her son. He'd moved to Sibiu, had a wife, three kids, called twice a week, but didn't visit enough. They'd just gotten a cat, he'd let the youngest name it; Șosetă. Sock.

"Prost," she'd said; stupid. Made this soft tch sound, ashed her cigarette against the railing. It'd been such a meaningless thing to complain about. It was the most human he'd felt in months.

Bucky thinks about the girl. Her expression, when he'd let her go that first time, again when he'd pinned her to the wall in his living room. It's still weird to think about, wondering if that's what he'd looked like, a long time ago-- wide-eyed and terrified and hopelessly lost.

He fumbles for his jacket at the foot of the bed, takes Steve’s notebook out and unfolds the slip of paper tucked inside and stares at it. There’s splotches where the lines had gone fuzzy, the paper had gotten wet and the ink had spread out; it’d been kind of damp, the morning he found it, dew condensed on the mesh screen and against the glass, so it could be from that. Or it could be that she’d been crying.

He hasn’t seen her cry, or even really look like she's come close to it. He wonders if she’s there yet. In the beginning, it was like his body wouldn’t let him, no matter how tight his chest would get or how much his eyes would burn— it just wouldn’t come. It’d frightened him too much, the thought of succumbing to something as intangible as an emotion. A loss of control that he just couldn’t submit to. Not when control was all he really had left.

In Wakanda, it felt like— relief. He’d been afraid. But they’d helped him.

He thinks about the way that she’d looked at him. Come on, just— get it out of your system. It’s okay. Maybe he should have said something else— that’s probably not what he’s supposed to have said. He was probably supposed to have said stop, or don’t, or something like that, but he’d tried those a bunch already, and he’d kind of known the whole time that it doesn’t really work like that.

Bucky folds the slip of paper, tucks it back in the notebook, and the notebook under his pillow.

If she could just stop any of this, he thinks, she would have done it by now.

“Is there another day we can do, next week?”

Doc had been tapping the end of her pen against the edge of the notebook, the edges of the pages starting to curl, and there’s a millisecond of hesitation that disrupts the rhythm. Close to imperceptible, but not quite.

“Why,” she says, blunt.

Somebody keeps breaking into my apartment when I’m gone. So I’m going to– not be gone.

“That– veteran,” Bucky says. The lie is growing, which can be tricky; he’ll have to keep track of more moving parts, work harder not to contradict himself, but the game of it, he thinks, kind of makes this whole thing suck less. Now that is definitely something he should tell his therapist. “They’re in town, but usually just on Friday, and I wanted to– I was going to ask if they wanted to grab a bite to eat. Or– something.”

Doc raises her eyebrow at him. “In town?”

“She doesn’t live around here,” he says, shrugging. “Just a– friend of somebody in the building, I’m pretty sure. I only see her ‘cause we both– y’know.” He mimes a cigarette. It’d taken him a long fucking time to figure out how he was going to spin this; it’d hit him this morning, during his run, the pieces arranging themselves all real fucking neatly. It’s great when that happens.

Doc’s eyebrow raises further, and she does that lean-in, just a little bit; she thinks it’s a slip, which is what he’d meant for it to seem like. Best to get this over with now, have control of the information, before he actually does let it slip by accident. “She?”

“Yes,” he says, letting the beginnings of an edge sharpen in his voice, like he’s annoyed.

He’d double-checked, actually figured out how to use Google, just to make sure it wouldn’t be impossible for a woman to have served in armed ground combat. 2013, it turns out. That’s kind of insane, because he’s worked with women– girls, honestly– from the Red Room since he first became active all the way back in the fucking 50s. It took over sixty years; not that there’s been any wars worth fighting in then, but still. That’s a long fucking time.

Doc stares at him for a while, not saying anything. Just– looking.

“Are you asking her on a date, James?”

It’s just ridiculous enough that he can’t help the laugh that escapes him, curt and sharp and entirely genuine– because it is laughable, Jesus Christ, it’s not a date, if things work out how he thinks they will it’s going to be a lot more like a fucking ambush than anything else. Bucky laughs, which is fine, good, even, because it makes this more believable, supports the act– but it also blindsides him so thoroughly that what he says next isn’t preplanned.

“No,” he says, pointed and a little bit mean, like it’s a stupid question– and it is, it’s an extremely stupid question– and then because his mouth moves faster than his brain does, he continues, “No, she’s– she’s having a hard time, you know, adjusting, and I– I’ve been there. I want to-- I thought I could-- help.”

Doc stares at him.

He clenches his teeth. The bruise is gone, and he’s mostly healed up, but his jaw still twinges a little. Another thing the serum doesn’t do; keep his body from getting worse at handling this shit, the older he gets.

A date, he thinks, not sure if he’s amused or irritated by the thought. Jesus Christ, she’d punched him in the face, and she’s likely to try again if this goes according to plan. That’s about as far from a date as you can get.

“I don’t think you’re prepared for a relationship,” Doc says, and then before he can open his mouth to inform her thanks, that’s great, I’m really not fucking interested, she tells him, “I don’t think that’s what this is, but I wanted to make my opinion clear. As your therapist.”

“Gee, thanks, Doc,” he says, his teeth bared too tight in some deeply irritated caricature of a smile, “Really appreciate the input. Can we do a day besides Friday, or not?”

She studies him for a moment longer, and writes something in the notebook. Sometimes he tries to sit forwards or crane his head to read it, and other times he doesn’t; this time he makes sure not to, because he’s on his best behavior. He wants answers, and he wants that a lot more than he wants to know what she’s putting in that stupid fucking notebook.

“Yes,” she says, when she finishes, snapping the book shut. “How does Thursday sound?”

“Thursday sounds great,” he replies, with as much blatant sarcasm as he can physically inject into the words.

He doesn’t even have to wait that long.

It’s Tuesday-- six days since the last time. He’s aware of it now, not on purpose, it’s just one of those details his brain keeps track of without ever really consciously deciding to do so, like loud noises and things moving in his peripheral vision.

He has groceries, a plastic bag half-full bumping against the side of his leg, the handles held loose with two fingers; there’s nothing immediately perishable, fresh vegetables, mostly, and she’s between him and the fridge. He sets it down by his feet, against the wall where hopefully it won’t be collateral damage if this devolves. Again. Bucky’s never really been a betting kind of guy— never seen the point— but from the way she’s standing, he’d put money on this going south pretty quickly.

“Y’know, you should probably stop breaking into my apartment,” he says, without looking at her directly, in a tone that’s probably way too mild for the circumstances.

There’s a long beat of silence interrupted only by the sound of the door as he presses it closed behind him.

“I thought it was a trap, the first time,” she says back, and he almost startles. She’d been sitting in the one armchair he has in his living room, but she’d gotten up as soon as he’d crossed the threshold. He can feel her, now, standing closer to the kitchen, even with his back turned as he pulls his keys from the door. “I thought— it doesn’t look like you live here.”

“Okay, well,” he says, kind of surprised by the tone of his voice, the degree of familiarity in it. “I did the last time I checked."

It’s strange, because he feels like he knows her, even though he also knows, separately, rationally, that he doesn’t; maybe it’s because he thinks about her a lot, or maybe it’s because they’re the same in a lot of ways, but whatever the reason he knows it’s not really true. The reality is that it’s been months, right, and this— right now, that was the most she’s ever spoken to him.

It was pretty warm today; he’d started to sweat as soon as he’d shrugged on his leather jacket when he’d left earlier, and he busies himself with taking it off now that he doesn’t have to be concerned with hiding anything.

She seems to relax when his focus isn’t on her, and—

Yeah, he gets that.

“Sorry,” she says abruptly, strangled, “Sorry, about before, I— I hurt you, I didn’t mean to.“

Bucky scoffs, hanging his jacket on a coat hook by the door; he fumbles with the chest pocket, slips that red notebook out and into the front one of his jeans. “You got me once,” he says dismissively. “Don’t worry about it."

He thinks maybe he sees her jaw set, something in her eyes flash; a human something. A stubborn human something. “Twice,” she replies, curt and a little bit testy, like there’s a part of her deeper than the need to apologize that’s maybe a little bit irritated at how easily he shrugged it off.

Bucky laughs at that, just this short, sharp bark of a sound. And maybe he shouldn’t do that, either; maybe he shouldn’t feel so comfortable at the idea that she kinda seems to have a sort of competitive streak with regards to actual physical violence, and maybe the fact that he is comfortable with it should be— a concern.

It isn’t.

No, that little show of defiance, or whatever it was; it was actually kind of endearing.

“Yeah, all right,” he admits, “Twice. You want to maybe just— talk, this time?”

She swallows and shifts her weight from foot to foot, clenches her hands into fists at her sides and then releases them, slowly, a little at a time in these jagged, abrupt bursts of movement, like she’s making herself do it.

“Yeah,” she says, after a while, her voice strangely small. Her hands are forced out flat, now, open as far as they can go, her arms locked, and he watches her fingers twitch, all random and erratic like it’s unintentional, the only part of her body still moving. He wonders if she even knows she’s doing it. “Yeah, I— I want to, I keep trying, but I— “

“But then you keep trying to beat the shit out of me,” he says dryly, mouth pressed into a small, frank line; not really a smile, but not negative. Still entirely too familiar, because he doesn’t know, really, if that kind of gentle jabbing is going to set her off, but he’s decided he doesn’t really care one way or another.

When Bucky looks at her again she’s clenching her jaw so hard he can see a muscle twitching below her ear even from across the room. “I’m sorry,” she says again, through gritted teeth, the words bitten out and sharp-sounding, like she’s forcing them. “I can’t— I’m not doing it on purpose.”

Bucky swallows reflexively, and that not-smile twists into a grimace. “Yeah,” he replies. “Yeah, I know.”

The silence stretches; he studies her for a while, until he’s pretty sure she’s not going to speak again without a push, before he says, “Think you can tell me something about who you are?”

She flinches, and it’s visceral and immediate and probably out of her control; she screws her eyes shut so hard that her face contorts from the effort, lurches back a step, and when she breathes, it’s so unsteady that he can see that, too, the shuddering rise-and-fall of her chest.

Bucky takes a step forwards while her eyes are closed, and the stupid traitorous floorboards creak in a spot that he’s never fucking heard them creak in before.

She goes rigid and her eyes snap open wide, the whites stretch out so far it makes her irises look like they’ve physically shrunk, and he knows, he knows he’s fucked it, he knows she’s going to fucking run away again, but--

The thing is– he just doesn’t have a lot of fucking patience.

When Bucky was him, he’d had an overabundance of patience. He had an alarmingly inhuman excess of it– something that allowed him to do things like watch the same mark for hours on end from the grimy window of a building or the crumbling edge of a rooftop or a branch-covered hole in the ground, not moving or eating or sleeping or even thinking at all. There’d been times when he’d waited for over a day straight for a target to come within firing range, and then for hours after until the search parties had dispersed empty-handed and it was safe for him to move again.

If somebody had him try any of that shit now, he thinks he’d probably blow his own brains out. He has trouble just dealing with the train being a few minutes late.

I‘s been almost three months, and what he has to show for it is a first name, a patched-up hole in the wall, a lot of really annoying bruises, and fucking nothing else.

When she makes like she’s going to run again, Bucky moves to stop her.

That goes exactly as well as he thought it would.

#bucky barnes x reader #fic; blunt force trauma

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tricksofthefae · 3 months

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Fight Down The Hall (The Fool [Reverse:1999] x Reader!)

“I mean… Yeah, a little. I was just walking down to get away from all the people.” You shrug lightly. The Fool nods in understanding. You try to stop yourself every time you start to dissociate, but The Fool seems to catch it anyway.

BANG! CRASH!

You sighed as you walked away from the mess that was the ‘living room’ of the suitcase. Currently, Pavia and An-an Lee are having a… “Quarrel” with each other. You were having a nice conversion with Click before it started, but he had left already. From what you heard, Centurion was actually placing bets on who would win. (And, curiously, Click ran away from the whole thing. You vaguely wondered if An-an Lee’s ghostbusting equipment would work on Click. Or Pavia’s shadows, for that matter.)

You didn’t really have a specific place in mind when you started walking, you were just trying to get away from all the noise. The Suitcase was huge, and you could probably walk for at least an hour. Not to mention, the huge wilderness outside of the building… You weren’t sure how far it stretches, but you have heard a couple people discussing whether or not the layout is changing, or if they’re going crazy.

You only just now realize that you weren’t paying attention to where you were walking.

You felt yourself step down, but your foot went through air- you had forgotten there was a step down there. With not enough time to react, you start to fall forward, bracing yourself, and-

“Oh! No, mine lord! Falling is a ill way to start thy day, no?” A voice comes from beside you, as you feel a thin hand wrap around your waist to catch you before you fall. You’re suspended in the air now, only halfway through the fall. You look up- and it’s one of your best friends in the suitcase. The masked fool stares down at you with their regular smile. (It takes a second to translate their speech in your mind, but you get there.)

“Ah! Fool, hello-” you start, and they pull you up by your waist to get you to stand. You smile at them. “No, no. Thank you for catching me.”

The Fool pulls their arm away, now that you are steady, and places it behind their back. They nod lightly at you.

“Of course. I wouldn't just let thou fall!” They say, in their more feminine voice, before tilting their head at you. “...Thou seems distracted.”

You sigh. “Mh. Yeah, I was just in the living room and-”

CRASH! A noise echoes from down the hall, along with a plethora of what is probably swearing in a different language from a voice that sounds suspiciously like Pavia.

The Fool hums for a moment, staring down the hall. You can’t quite tell what they were thinking. “Is that thine problem?”

“Ugh, yeah... If only they would just tone it down a bit.” The noise was starting to become a distraction- you had already been zoning out while walking, and you almost tripped!

“Is thou. Overwhelmed?” their voice switches halfway through again, but the slight worry is evident through the entire thing. You remember telling them about how a lot of noise could get you stressed, and the concept was new to them. But, they asked plenty of questions- purely to understand it.

“Doth thou desire to… Go to mine room?” You heard them pause for a second. You assume they thought of how to phrase it- you had been slowly teaching them the basic differences with Modern English, as most had a hard time understanding them at points.

Their hand raises up to gesture at where you knew their door was, only a ways down the hall. (Maybe you did go here on purpose…) It had been a long week of a lot of social interaction, especially with The Foundation stressing everyone out. You smile and nod gratefully. “I would appreciate that.”

Now, your room was further away, but you definitely could have gone there instead. You could have locked yourself in your room for a day or two to recharge, but… Instead, your mind led you here. Down The Fool’s hall. Coincidence? You tried to convince yourself it was.

“Perfect! Join me, then.” They smiled back at you, before gently interlocking their hand in yours and leading you down the hall. (Being very careful not to miss the step again… Though you wouldn’t mind The Fool’s arm around your waist again.)

They gently pull you along, humming a song softly- no doubt something they learned from another performer. It was a nice melody, keeping you mostly grounded in reality.

Their door opens, and you see the plain room for the thousandth time. (When asked why they had no decor, they simply stated they didn’t have anywhere to get some. You promised to take them shopping when the Storm wasn’t as much of an issue.)

The Fool sat down on the bed with practiced ease. (You sometimes wonder how much of a hassle that outfit was.) “Join, sit! We might hast all the day, yet we hast to enjoy it now.”

You laugh lightly as they pull you down next to them. The bed was soft, comforting- something you would never get used to. The lights were off, and the curtains were closed. There was only the very few slivers of light that crept in past the covered windows. Enough to see, mostly, but not enough light to hurt your eyes. It was… Nice.

You laid down on The Fool’s lap (after some light coaxing from the aforementioned person), and they lightly rambled on about some play they remembered being in. Every time they noticed you going too much out of reality, which they were quite good at recognizing, they would either take your hand and trace small patterns into it, or gently run their fingers through your hair. It felt… Nice.

Your thoughts would start to blank, the world would get blurry, and then you would feel a hand running through your hair, and their speech would slow down so you could listen to it easier. You don’t exactly know where they learned this, or how they knew it was helping, but you didn’t exactly complain. It was your best friend(?), so you didn’t mind. Quite appreciated it, actually.

A couple hours pass of just you two, sitting there. At some point, you had started to respond, to which The Fool looked absolutely ecstatic at the interaction. They were still doing most of the talking, but neither minded that. (You weren’t much for talking, anyway, but you loved to listen. Their voice- both of their voices- were nice to listen to.

“Mmm. Thanks for this, by the way. For this.” You hummed softly, taking their hand in yours again. They chuckled slightly.

“Of course. Any time, leman.”

BONUS:

“They hath a smile for the stage, Charlie!” The Fool swoons to their ‘Boss’ after seeing you leave. They were quite attached. Charlie laughs at this, but Blonney hears while passing by, and-

“The way you flirt is shameful.” She mumbles to herself.

#reverse 1999 #the fool #the fool reverse 1999 #x reader #reader insert #best silly1 #north star #stellar planets #archive of our own #fanfiction #this was self indulgent

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spookberry · 2 years

Note

When does your mh/dp crossover take place in the danny phantom timeline? And does it take place after all the monster high movies?

I may be contradicting my past self here I've ever mentioned it before, but basically because neither MH or DP are super linear I've decided to just pick and choose what im keeping rather than pointing to a specific point in time.

So DP au its been like a year and a half or so since Danny got his powers. Danny, Tucker, and Sam are all sophomores. But they haven't gone through most of the season 3 episodes. The Monster High characters are a bit more vague? I'd say most of the movies have happened up to about Freaky Fusion, maybe? Though not 13 wishes, just cuz I don't like that one lol. Haunted kinda happened? But its different from how the movie plays out. I'll get into that eventually lol.

#half normie au #ask

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goddesspharo · 6 months

Note

top five foods you'd feed glen powell. (this is unhinged, i'm sorry, i've had an entire bottle of wine.)

[ask me my top five anythings!]

His fridge tour in that Men's Health video was a product placement travesty - where's the food??? you live off Cali Water??? - as were most of those vague non-answers where he never actually mentioned what he ate. (My favorite part of those MH himbo videos is the what's in your fridge/what do you eat segments!)

Cheese! This "I don't eat cheese, it is moldy queso" business does not fly with me unless you physically cannot eat cheese for fear of death or veganism. The only instance of "I could fix him" I would ever employ in another human being would be to inspire an appreciation of cheese. Eat a pizza, buddy! Have some lasagna! Gnaw on some aged cheddar. Bake up some Brie. Let Halloumi into your heart. (I also don't understand how a person can be that into college football and not eat nachos. 90% of why I watch the Super Bowl is so that I have an excuse to make nachos! Also is his dislike of cheese limited to savory applications? Is he going through life not eating cheesecake? That's sad.)

Carbs for breakfast! I was tempted to try that sweet potato base breakfast situation he had going on but it did not look appetizing. (Maybe he's a bad cook?) Put it on a croissant! Have a classic bagel & lox sandwich with some nice tomato, capers, red onions. I need more hot men to shill for Russ & Daughters like Jake Gyllenhaal.

The product placement Doritos so we can hang out with Danny Ramirez.

A proper slice of pie, not that garbage Netflix handed him for Hit Man promo that didn't even have an egg wash on it.

I do not know what foods are on a craft services table, but what I'm setting down is chocolate bread pudding (I make the best) or Claire Saffitz's giant ass chocolate chip cookie from Dessert Person. (Each scoop is a quarter cup! It is the size of your hand but so delicious.)

#ask me things

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v1oletsk1es · 2 months

Text

# V1OLETSK1ES ; indie , 18+ , multimuse blog , featuring muses from fnaf , creepypasta , and yt egos .

# penned by V , they/he , 18+ ☔️

# this blog may possibly include dark themes such as ; cannabalism, murder, gore, violence, detailed discussion of mental illness, discussion of suicide, mentions of stockholm syndrome, and (possibily) unhealthy relationship dynamics.

# please read my rules, as detailed below the cut. along with the list of currently active muses!

RULES ;

# non – selective & independent

# multi-para responses are common, i am slow to replies due to this as i want to put as much effort as possible into your replies!

# anonymous friendly, but responses to mutuals are prioritized.

# spamming me for a response will result in a block.

# multi – verse & multi – ship

# oc & multimuse friendly

# activity varies, more so due to fluctuating interest in roleplaying, not because i am uninterested in our plots!

# interacting with random starters, asks, and shitposts are HIGHLY accept and appreciated!

# plotting and pre – est are favored, but not required!

# please be open about shipping with me if you are interested, chances are i'm interested to! a heads up would be nice, as i will otherwise have no idea what you want!

# feel free to reblog memes from me! i do not practice reblog karma!

# PLEASE tag anything political, vague posts, negativity, and callout posts

# prefer if asks are turned into threads rather than reblogged from the answer itself

# very strict on keeping nsfw content specific to my side blog @evilmousebrain

MUSES ;

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐏 ; fnaf:sb | he/him | ageless

𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄 ; fnaf | they/she | ageless

𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐘 ; oc | they/she/he | 25

𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐏 ; fnaf:sb | it/he | ageless

𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐈 ; iswm!markiplier | he/they | 33

𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐂𝐈 𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐘 ; creepypasta | he/him | 26-27

𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐈 ; iwsm!stephanie patrick | she/her | 37

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 ; game theory | she/her | 36

𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈 ; JSE egos | it/he | ageless

𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐓 ; EMH | all/any (based on vessel, typically evan so usually this defaults to he/him) | ageless

𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐍 𝐌𝐘𝐄𝐑𝐒 ; EMH | he/him | 22

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐘 ; portal 2 | he/him | ageless

𝐉𝐀𝐘 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 ; MH | he/him | 25

𝐉𝐄𝐅𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 ; creepypasta | he/it | 18

𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘 𝐉𝐀𝐃𝐄 ; dialtown | he/him | 29

𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍 ; portal franchise (OC) | she/her | late 80s (chronologically), 21-22 (physically)

𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 ; welcome home | he/him | ageless

𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 ; creepypasta | he/it | ageless

𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄 ; NWTB egos | she/her | ageless

𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐌 ; NWTB egos | he/him | ageless

#rp promo #roleplay promo #youtube rp #ego rp #youtuber rp #indie rp #creepypasta rp #emh rp #mh rp #portal rp #oc rp #indie roleplay #portal roleplay #ego roleplay

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mersei47 · 1 year

Note

Very vague, question? I love your marble hornets art and I just wanted to know

What do you think Tim and Brian’s friendship was like?

Have a nice day :>>

well my view of them is like most people. In pre mh they are a very good friend. Tim is low self-esteem guy and like to stick to Brian (interview entry is very obvious on this) and Brian is probably a very nice guy. So nice that it even gets tim to trust him you know. But theres 1 con I can think of, I think its hard for tim to keep connection with other peoples. Not sure if you get it but it's like you once are very close to someone but now that you and them are not together anymore you found it hard to keep contact with them (happen to me multiple times). In entry that had jay inerviewing tim when Jay mentioned brian to Tim, he seemed reluctant to talk about Brian and even told Jay that he didn't really keep contact with Brian after college. The reason might be that after losing brian tim pobably felt lost? its like theres nothing to anchor him anymore

#ask

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chenfordspiral · 1 year

Text

the scratches gave us away

It’s the end of a long, albeit boring, shift when Tim finally manages to head to the locker room and change out of his uniform. He takes off his duty belt that’s been pretty much unnecessary for the past two days, and hangs it in his locker. Then he removes badge, name tag, and his pen from his shirt, puts it all down in his locker as well, and takes off the uniform shirt.

He changes into jeans first, then takes off the white undershirt. He doesn’t think much of it - nothing, actually - until he hears Aaron’s surprised exclamation.

“Woah, Sarge. You okay?”

“What? Why?”

“Your back. You got.. scratches all over.”

Realization hits for Tim. Damn it, Lucy.

“Oh, uh. Yeah. That’s nothing. Just.. from a take down.”

“At your desk? Not to mention that your vest would prevent it. I mean, how would that even..?”

“It’s possible.”

“No?”

“Just drop it, Thorsen.”

Nolan walks over to them, seeing Aaron’s puzzled expression

“Everything okay, Aaron?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m just..” he trails off.

He looks back at Tim, still shirtless, still with his back turned toward Aaron - and now Nolan - and tilts his head as he tries to figure out what the hell is going on with his former boss. Nolan follows his line of sight.

“Ooh. How did that happen?”

Aaron is quick to shush him, so Tim doesn’t hear they’re talking about him. He whispers his answer.

“Take down. Apparently.”

“He’s been working a desk job for two days.”

“Exactly. I don’t get it.”

“You know, this kind of reminds me of that one time when B- oh dear god.”

He turns away, swallowing hard. Aaron still looks puzzled as he turns toward Nolan.

“What? What does it remind you of?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

“I kinda do.”

“Nope.”

“Come on. Just.. gimme a hint.”

“It’s from a… physical activity.”

“Well, that’s vague.”

“Just think about it for a moment.”

He turns away, slightly shuddering as he opens his locker to change out. Aaron is left standing there, staring into nothingness as he tries to figure it out. Then it clicks.

“Oh, dear god.”

“Told ya. Gotta admit, I didn’t know he was seeing someone again.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Aaron agrees quietly, wheels turning in his head already.

There’s only one person in this world Tim would wanna date right now. Only one person he’d take a freaking desk job for. He’s had his suspicions before, but this is basically proof. He turns back around to face Tim, who is now dressed — finally.

“Hey Sarge?”

Tim turns around.

“Mh?”

“Tell her hi from me. And that I'm happy for you two,” he says as he closes his locker, ready to leave.

“What are yo-? Who?”

“You know who,” he responds teasingly as he walks away. “Good night.”

Both Tim and Nolan stare after him.

“What’s he talking about?”

“Nothing. No one. Nothing. See ya.”

“See ya? That was weird,” he mumbles, focusing on changing into civvies.

—

On his way out, Aaron runs into Angela and Nyla in the bullpen. Both look at him in interest when they see his grin.

“What’s got you so smiley, Aaron?”

“Oh, nothing. Just… finally got confirmation about something I already kind of knew about. And I’m equal parts ecstatic, and horrified.”

“Care to share with the group?”

“I would, but I’d like to not get killed.”

“Aaron!”

He visibly flinches at the sound of Tim’s voice behind him. He turns to see his former boss approaching him with sure steps, but he sees the moment Tim realizes that he’s not alone, and watches as his expression changes as he takes in Angela and Nyla’s interested gazes.

“Oh. Lopez, Harper.”

“Tim,” they say simultaneously.

He hesitates for a moment, debating how to continue without raising even more suspicion. Aaron may not have outright said that he knew about him and Lucy, but the implication was heavy. He remembers the way he’d said that Lucy would kill him if he let anything happen to him, so. Oh, hell. He’d always known, hadn’t he?

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

But Aaron never got to answer.

“Oh, no. I think we’d like to be here for.. whatever this is,” Angela replies with a smug grin.

Does she know, too? What had Aaron already told them?

“Yeah, I’d really like to know what’s got you so… huffy.”

He glares at Harper.

“Nothing.”

“Mh-mh. Oh, did he grill you about why you’re suddenly working a desk job? Because we’re all wondering, Timothy. Something you wanna tell us?”

“No.”

He turns to leave, but not before sending another death glare toward Aaron, narrowing his eyes in warning, as if to say I will kill you if you tell anyone. Aaron’s grin fell, but he couldn’t hide his smile. He really wasn’t afraid of him anymore.

Just then Nolan comes from the direction of the locker rooms, pointedly avoiding Tim’s gaze as he walks passed them all. He throws a good nightover this shoulder before quickly leaving the station.

“Okay, and now Nolan can’t look you in the eye anymore? What the hell did you do?”

Tim’s glare intensifies again.

“Nothing!”

“Oh, Nolan and I just saw all the scratches on Tim’s back and came to a disturbing conclusion,” Aaron pipes up, seemingly unaware of what he’d just said.

Tim, Angela, and Nyla all look at him as if he’d grown a second head. Registering the eery silence around him, Aaron turns his gaze back toward the three senior officers. Then it clicks. Whoops.

“I gotta go. Bye,” he says quickly, spinning on his heels and practically sprinting away from them. He could still feel the daggers Tim was shooting at him with his eyes on his back.

Before either of the three could say anything, Celina and Lucy come their way, talking and smiling together. And both Nyla and Angela look on, fascinated, seeing the immediate change in Tim. One look at Lucy, and his scowl is gone. Vanished. Instead, there’s a soft smile on his lips, a sparkle in his eyes.

Lucy notices the three of them standing in the middle of the bullpen together and frowns, but says hi with a smile anyway.

“Hey. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, we were just asking Tim here, who always swore he would never ever leave Patrol, is suddenly our new Court Liaison Sergeant.”

Tim shoots Angela a glare, because that is not what they had been talking about.

“Oh. Um-” Lucy stutters, eyes locking with Tim's.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Celina chimes in, gaining everyone’s attention.

“I, uh, I mean. You can’t date someone in the same chain of command right? So, I-” she stutters, suddenly realizing that she’s talking to four senior officers.

“I just noticed a change in your au- you know what. Never mind. Maybe I should go home now. Good night.”

A second later, she’s gone. Tim and Lucy look at each other, while Angela and Nyla can only stare. It’s Angela who speaks up first.

“Oh, my god. It finally happened, didn’t it?”

“What finally happened?”

“You two,” she hissed back at him.

“What about us two?”

“Oh, come on! You’ve been smiling like an idiot for weeks now. Both of you have, actually. Then you leaving Patrol, taking a desk job. How did I not see this sooner? And why did you not tell me?!”

She punches him in the shoulder.

“Okay, ouch. And can we maybe not talk about this here? Not everybody needs to know.”

Angela and Nyla gape at him. Lucy presses her lips together in an attempt to hide her grin as well as her surprise that Tim didn’t even try to deny it.

“Wait. You- you’re not denying it? Oh! Aw, oh my god, I wanna hug you two so badly right now. But, oh. Ew. Ew. That means the thing Aaron was talking about was Luc- oh, I need to go. But we will talk about this later, Timothy!”

She makes gagging noises before she turns toward her desk to retrieve her bag.

“I second that thing about needing to leave. But I’m happy you two finally got your heads out of your asses. I do hope you know not to take this lightly, given why and how you met and all that.”

Lucy shakes her head.

“We’re not. We- we know. But thanks.”

“Good. It’s good to see you both happy. See you tomorrow.”

With that, Tim and Lucy are the only ones still standing in the bullpen. They share a look and fall into step beside each other, heading out.

“Soo. Everybody knows now?”

“Seems like it, yeah. I know this isn’t how we planned on telling anyone, but-”

“Tim, it’s fine. They were bound to find out soon, anyway. With HR and IA wanting to do interviews..”

He hums his agreement.

“What exactly did Angela mean when she said that’s what Aaron was talking about, by the way.”

“Oh, um.”

He chuckles as he opens the door that leads to the parking lot.

“Well. Apparently somebody-”

He looks at Lucy pointedly before he continues.

“-dug her nails into my back a little too much, and left a few scratches.”

“Oh, my god. What?! No, I didn’t. Oh, no. And he saw that?”

“Mh-mh. And so did Nolan.”

“Oh, god he knows, too?”

“No. He hasn’t had a front row seat to this the way Aaron did. And then he practically ran out the station right after, so.”

“Wait, so now Angela and Nyla know that was me? That we’re-?”

“Yup. You know they would know about that once we'd told them, anyway, right?”

“I know. But.. it’s different knowing they know, and knowing they know, you know?”

“Uh.. sure?”

He looks at her befuddled, trying to decipher that last sentence. If Lucy weren’t so mortified about the fact that their friends knew she’d left scratch marks all over Tim’s back, she’d laugh at the confused look on his face.

“Oh, god. They didn’t see, did they?”

“No, that was only Aaron and Nolan.”

Lucy sighs. Tim’s expression changes, his look no longer annoyed.

“But, you know. Is it wrong to feel a little smug about it?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, you’re leaving scratches on me, so clearly you’re enjoying yourself.”

Lucy blushes, but grins a moment later, chuckling.

“Oh, I’m definitely enjoying myself,” she drawls, looking him directly in the eye with nothing but desire, then dropping her gaze to his crotch before heading over to the passenger side of Tim’s truck.

Mouth agape, rendered speechless, Tim stares after her as he feels all his blood rush south.

"That's good to know," he says quietly once he finds his voice again.

Yeah, tonight was going to be fun.

—

And while their friends now officially knew they were together, it was a whole other thing to know. And the smug grin on Tim’s face whenever he knew that Lucy had left marks on him did not help. Not one single bit.

#mychenfordstories #canon compliant - set between 5x12 and 5x13 #or not - because 5x13 is very vague #choose whichever you prefer haha

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i-can-even-burn-salad · 1 year

Text

Chapter 46

Glass Shards

Warnings: Very vague mention of periods, nightmares

Previous | Masterlist | Next

The next morning, Merridy realized why she had been feeling off—something she could have guessed sooner if she had paid attention to the fact that four weeks had passed since the last time. After a miserable breakfast, they decided to stay another day, while Damien insisted she take the drops and remain in bed.

By the time afternoon came around, he had taken care of restocking their provisions and verifying the route they had to take. He plopped down on the chair with a sigh.

“Johan told me to wish you a speedy recovery,” he said. “I told him you’re not feeling well, and that we’ll stay another night. He left around noon.”

“Mh.” She grabbed the pillow, folding it to prop her head up. “I should have said goodbye.”

“Don’t worry.” Damien grinned, rummaging around in the bag he had brought until he found an apple. “He was quite busy saying farewell as it was.”

Merridy laughed, sitting up carefully while Damien started to cut the apple into slices, removing the core. A part of her expected the pain to return at any wrong movement, but the drops worked well.

“You know, I was skeptical at first. He was so eager to invite us along,” she mumbled as she angled her leg to lean against the headboard. “Now I wonder how one single man can talk that much.”

“Impressive, wasn’t it?” Damien got up, bringing the small cutting board with the apple pieces over to the bed. He sat down on the mattress. “I tried my best to keep up, but sometimes he lost even me.”

Merridy picked up one apple slice, nibbling on it while casting a glance at Damien. She wasn’t big on meeting strangers and talking about random, meaningless things, but he had looked truly happy. She could imagine him talking to friends and neighbors, about glass perhaps, or cooking. How hard must it have been for him to isolate himself those last months?

After the second slice, Merridy paused, realizing he was still holding the cutting board.

“What about you?” she asked.

Damien grinned, tapping his fingers on the underside of the board. “No hand free.”

“Oh, really?”

She picked up another slice, holding it up to his mouth. A hint of uncertainty flashed across his features before he dared to take it. Merridy decided to ignore it. She cleared the cutting board, alternating eating a piece of apple and offering one. After popping the second last slice into her mouth, she held up the last for Damien.

“I don’t feel like leaving this room today,” she said. “Think we can have dinner here?”

“Of course.” His expression turned into a concerned frown. “Does it still hurt?”

“It’s not— I’m feeling all right.” Better than any other time in however many years, that much was certain. “I just don’t feel like… people.”

Damien’s expression softened. “Do you want me to leave you alone?” he asked, putting the cutting board down.

Never, was on the tip of her tongue. “You’re not people,” she mumbled instead, leaning against him.

Hours later, when the only light in the room came from the white moon behind the curtains, and Damien was long fast asleep, Merridy stared into the darkness. Spending most of the day napping left her wide awake now that she wanted to sleep.

The future was approaching too quickly, the uncertainty of it too heavy on her heart. More than anything, she wanted Damien to be happy. Happy and safe. For his sake, she wished his brother would be able to forgive him. Perhaps then they could stay near Nimrisé, where people didn’t seem to care much about news from the capital, or about the unrest in the west.

When she turned around, to wrap her arms around Damien, she clung to her dream; to sunny days in a garden, harvesting apples while he stood nearby, talking to a man who looked just like him, but younger.

The night was over too quickly, and before the sun had fully risen, they left their room. Merridy felt slightly nauseous from the drops she had taken, so they decided to take their breakfast with them and set out onto the road immediately. It led through fields in which the crops had started to sprout, some already in bloom. Compared to the Dragon Road, this one barely deserved the name; more of a path, trodden by countless feet and hooves and wagon wheels.

Between the pleasantly warm weather and the even road, they made good progress. More than enough farms lay on their way, allowing them to restock fresh eggs and vegetables, to supplement the more durable goods Damien had purchased. They didn’t walk until sunset anymore, always stopping sometime in the afternoon, when Merridy had the feeling that it was hard for Damien to keep on his feet. Walking hand in hand, she could feel him stumble more often, but of course, he never directly complained. Stubborn, she thought whenever she had to insist they take a break.

Not that she wasn’t grateful for an early rest herself. Her nights were still far from peaceful, with her waking up multiple times—sometimes every hour—and taking ages to fall back asleep. In the hours between them setting up camp and sunset, she managed to sneak in an hour or two of sleep. Damien never commented on it, but when she woke up, he always sat near her, preparing dinner or just staring into the fire.

Between their slow speed and early pauses, the estimated five days stretched into seven. On the last afternoon before their arrival in Nimrisé, the weather began to turn. Dark clouds rolled in as they hurried along the road, hoping to find shelter in time. No fields lined the road, but untamed meadows littered with young trees; no sign of civilization, and nothing to offer them any protection from the incoming storm.

When they finally spotted a farm, the first drops were already falling. Side by side, they ran across the path towards the house, but the closer they came, the more Merridy’s heart sank. A large tree had once fallen onto the main building, the now barren trunk still stuck in the ruins. Most of the roof had caved in, and rubble and debris were scattered all over the place.

“There’s a shed.”

Merridy followed Damien to a small, wooden building, clearly in disrepair, but not looking half as dangerous as the main building. It was surely better than getting soaked to the bone.

He put all his weight against the door, ushering her in as soon as the opening allowed it. Inside, she could barely see her hand in front of her eyes. Feeling along the wall, she shuffled forwards, trying her best not to stumble over scattered tools and broken planks.

“That’s better.” Damien tried to pull the door closed, but gave up halfway. “Wait.”

An orb of warm, yellow light rose between them. Merridy smiled, glad Damien had decided to use his magic without hesitation—and equally glad she could finally see where she was going. In the corner furthest from the door, she sat down her backpack and started to untie the sleeping bag.

“We can’t make a fire in here,” Damien said as he stepped next to her. “Wouldn’t find enough dry wood anyway.” He took off his backpack as well, handing his sleeping bag to Merridy before he started to look for food that wouldn’t need a fire.

A few minutes later, they sat side by side, leaning against the wall with one of the sleeping bags spread over their legs. Since they had given the glowing crystal back to Robin, Damien kept the orb of light up. While the storm started to rage above them, they shared bread, cheese and strips of dried meat. Heavy winds tore at the shed, but despite the raindrops pattering on the wooden planks, no water made it to where they were sitting.

By the time Merridy had finished her bread and cheese, Damien had barely started to eat. Chewing on a strip of meat, she watched him stare at nothing in particular. Three times, he raised the same piece of cheese to his lips, then lowered his hand again without eating.

“What’s wrong?” she finally decided to ask.

“What am I going to do?” Damien sighed. “Tomorrow, I mean. I can’t… I can’t just walk up to his door and… do what, knock? Like nothing happened?”

“Why not? He’s your brother.”

A bitter laugh escaped Damien’s lips, and the orb started to flicker. “He hates me,” he whispered.

“I don’t think he does.”

Damien put his untouched food aside, closing his eyes and leaning back against the wall. “Last time we saw each other… I threatened to kill him. And he… he left…” His voice broke. In the split moment before the orb vanished, she saw a shimmer in the corner of his eye. “He left me behind. He knew they were going to kill me.”

Merridy tried to remember all Damien had told her about what had happened back then, but he had kept most details to himself. “Do you think he wanted that? Could he have saved you?” she asked.

“I don’t know. No. I don’t… I don’t think so.” His laugh sounded dangerously close to a sob. “I can’t blame him for not trying. I destroyed his life. But then he was gone, and there wasn’t a day… not a single day… where I didn’t wish I could see him one more time. To take my words back. To tell him that… I… I love him. I love him so much.”

It was completely dark now, but Merridy could tell that Damien was crying.

“Hey. It’s okay.” She wrapped her arms around him, holding him. “It’s okay. That was… Neither of you could think clearly back then.” If only she could believe her own words, could trust that Valadan didn’t truly hate his brother. “Things are different now. I’ll be there. I’ll make him listen to you. And if he tries anything… I’ll bite his ankle while you run away.”

Damien laughed through his tears, hugging her in return. “Please do not,” he said, his voice trembling.

“We should try to get some sleep,” she mumbled into his shoulder. Her eyes were burning, but her voice sounded steady enough, she hoped. “Not like we can do much else. And tomorrow the storm will be over, and we’ll find your brother, and you’ll talk to him, and everything will be all right.”

* * *

Damien stared into the darkness of the shed, listening to the howling of the storm, all but drowning out Merridy’s quiet breaths. As her warmth slowly chased away the cold that had settled deep inside his body, he found himself wide awake, despite the exhaustion.

He wanted to believe her words, he truly did. A part of him—a ridiculous part—still hoped Valadan could forgive him. But if he was realistic, the best he could hope for was that his brother would believe him. After all, that had been the reason to set out on this journey; to make sure Valadan would no longer assume Damien was going to hurt his family.

But what if he wasn’t going to believe him? Or if anything else went wrong? While Damien turned every possible way the confrontation could go in his head, the hours passed. He was still no closer to falling asleep when Merridy stirred. Her hands twitched against Damien’s side, her breaths picking up speed.

“Merry?”

There was no reply. In the light of the glowing orb Damien summoned, he could see her face distorted in distress.

“N-no,” she whimpered.

It clearly wasn’t the good kind of dream. He had been more than grateful every time she had pulled him out of one of his nightmares, so he raised his hand to her shoulder.

“Wake up.” He shook her lightly. “Wake up, you’re dreaming.”

She whimpered again, but didn’t open her eyes. Damien raised his hand to her cheek.

“Merry. Wake up!”

Merridy’s eyes flew open, a strangled scream on her lips.

“Don’t… don’t touch me, don’t touch—” Her need to breathe caught up with her flurry of pleas and she started to gasp, then cough, then wheeze.

Damien pulled his hand back so quickly as if he had burned himself. She scrambled away from him, trying to free herself from the blanket her legs were tangled in. With every moment she was trapped in them, her movements became more erratic, her breaths coming too quickly.

Slowly, so as not to scare her even more, Damien grabbed the other end of the blanket. He held it so she could finally slip out and scramble to the other side of the shed where she pressed herself into the corner. Damien watched helplessly.

“Merry.”

At the sound of her name, she flinched. He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Then decided he had to try anyway.

“It’s me. Damien. It was just a dream.”

A shiver ran through her body. “I know.” When she tried to curl up, she gasped in pain, freezing. With one hand pressed against the floor and the other against her chest, she fought to get her breaths long enough under control to say, “Don’t. Don’t come closer. Please.” Her voice broke into a sob. “Please.”

The words cut straight through Damien’s heart. Just a nightmare, he tried to tell himself, swallowing against the lump in his throat. His own left him disoriented more often than not, with terror clinging to his mind long after he awoke. She only needed to calm down. Still; at this moment, she was afraid of him, and it broke his heart.

“Merry…”

Seeing her flinch once more at the sound of his voice, Damien snapped his mouth shut. He pulled himself up, to lean against the wall, the wood cool and damp under his shoulder. He blinked away the tears in his eyes, angling his leg so he had a place to rest his hand on. The rain pattered on the roof and against the wall, but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the noise of her crying quietly in the corner.

And there was nothing he could do.

Damien put every bit of focus into keeping the glow of the light steady. It was better than to focus on the way her hands shook, or how her muffled sobs left her gasping for breath, or the question of what exactly her nightmare might have been about.

After what might as well have been an eternity, she shifted, straightening up. Damien’s head snapped up, but he forced himself not to move otherwise. He watched as she slid along the wall—not looking at him, not looking at anything. When she passed under the glowing orb, the streaks her tears had left on her cheeks shimmered in the light.

Next to him, she stopped, freezing in place, with only her chest rising and falling too quickly. Then, slowly, she pushed her hand towards him, until her fingertips brushed his knee. Damien barely dared to breathe. Everything in him screamed to reach for her, to hold her close, to promise her that she was safe, but he resisted.

Only when her palm rested full on his knee did she raise her head. Her gaze met his, holding it for a moment only before she sank against him, trembling like a leaf. With slow movements, and watching for any sign that he was scaring her, Damien reached for the blanket.

“It’s okay. You’re okay,” he whispered, pulling the blanket up to her shoulders.

Merridy’s next breath turned into a sob, but she didn’t flinch away from him or his voice any longer. Damien put his arm around her, dimming the orb’s glow. In the darkness of the night, she cried into his chest until her tears ran out, and all that was left were dry sobs, coming back whenever it seemed like she had calmed down.

Damien held her while she clung to him, her fists grabbing handfuls of his shirt. “You’re okay,” he whispered from time to time, rubbing his thumb over her back. “You’re okay.”

She wasn’t; she clearly wasn’t. But what else could he do? What else could he say? He couldn’t even promise he’d keep her safe. He had been right there when those monsters had hurt her, unable to stop them.

Eventually, all tension left Merridy’s body. She must have fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion. Damien kept holding her, not wanting to risk waking her by putting her down. It was probably futile to hope her sleep would be much more peaceful this time, but he would make sure not to disturb her unless absolutely necessary.

As for himself, there was little chance of him finding rest this night, lying down or not. Damien closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. Facing his brother after a sleepless night wasn’t going to make things easier. The thought scared him. It had to turn out well. If he wouldn’t be able to make Valadan believe him, all they had been through—all she had been through—would have been for nothing.

[ID: The top image is a banner covered in colorful glass shards. Across it is written the title of the story, glass shards, in a white to bright cyan gradient with a black outline. The font looks like written with a broad paintbrush. All other images in this post are purely ornamental lines. End ID.]

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