#( by his father because of him. it screwed him up. no amount of love by both jude and cardan can fix that so he shouldn't be compared | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

solxamber · 23 days ago

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Trash Novel Chronicles: Get Me Out of Here || Rook Hunt

You’re isekai’d into a trashy novel and stuck as a tragic side knight character. All you want is survival, but your boss is Rook Hunt—a poetic, eccentric duke.

Now you’re caught in his chaos and, worse, you kinda don’t mind.

Series Masterlist

You’re a completely normal person. You eat normal meals at normal times, sleep the normal amount of hours (give or take a few, who needs all eight anyway?), and hold down a regular, soul-crushingly normal job. It’s not glamorous, but it pays the bills and lets you indulge in your one true love: reading web novels for five hours straight like some kind of feral literature goblin.

Your current obsession? The Lady’s Tragic Love. It’s the sort of story that you can’t put down—not because it’s good, but because it’s so excruciatingly terrible that it loops back around into comedy. The heroine has all the personality of a wet tissue but somehow manages to ruin everyone’s lives with reckless abandon. It’s almost impressive.

You rub your temples as you skim yet another chapter. “Oh my God, this woman has the moral compass of a black hole,” you mutter.

The plot makes less sense the deeper you go: the heroine starts off as the daughter of a down-on-their-luck noble family. Her father racks up an unholy amount of debt, so she’s forced to marry a viscount who—get this—is actually a nice guy. Like, genuinely kind. He agrees to marry her in name only to protect her from debt collectors, even offering to fund her hobbies.

And what does she do? Poison him. Poison him!

"Okay, maybe she's misunderstood," you think, in the kind of delusional optimism only a web novel enthusiast can muster.

Nope. She poisons him because she "can’t stand looking at his face," which is only mildly unattractive and not the ogre-like monstrosity the text implies. Also, he was literally helping her stay alive.

“Oh, sure, let’s kill the only decent male character in this hellscape. Why not?” you hiss, scrolling furiously.

After committing literal murder, the heroine sets her sights on an archduke, who is tall, handsome, and very much engaged to the so-called villainess. The villainess is stunning, kind, intelligent, and inexplicably hated by everyone because—checks notes—she’s too perfect?

At this point, you're gripping your phone so hard that it’s a miracle it doesn’t snap in half. “Why is the villainess the villain? This should be the heroine’s title! She’s practically speedrunning how to be the worst human being alive!”

But no, the heroine gets rewarded for her nonsense. The archduke doesn’t fall for her (because he has taste), but the crown prince does. The prince, apparently a sucker for chaos, marries her. Instead of being happy with her new title and riches, the heroine spends her days scheming to ruin the villainess’s life because, in her words, “How dare the archduke choose someone that isn’t me?”

You pause and reread that line. Then reread it again.

“WHAT?!” you yell so loudly that your downstairs neighbor bangs on the ceiling.

It’s a spiral of nonsense that drags you through emotional whiplash until you finish the last chapter with a migraine and a full-blown existential crisis. You stare at the screen. "Why...why did I do this to myself?"

You stumble out to your tiny balcony to clear your head, phone still in hand. The cool night air washes over you as you lean on the railing, your brain buzzing with rage and confusion.

“Why does she get a happy ending?” you grumble. “She’s a walking red flag factory! The villainess deserves to be queen, and the prince deserves a lobotomy for his taste in women!”

In your frustration, you kick the balcony railing. Unfortunately, your landlord hasn’t exactly been diligent about repairs. The rusted screws holding it in place give way with a terrifying screech.

“Oh, come on,” you say, deadpan, as the railing collapses beneath you.

You plummet ten stories down, bouncing off an awning like some kind of cartoon character before landing face-first in a suspiciously placed fruit cart.

As darkness creeps in, your final thought is not of regret, nor fear, but of pure, unfiltered pettiness:

“I hope my next life is more exciting… and I never have to read about this heroine again.”

With that, you pass out, blissfully unaware of the absurd fate that awaits you.

You wake up, groggy and disoriented, and immediately ask yourself the first logical question: Why the hell am I alive?

The last thing you remember is gravity betraying you and a suspiciously convenient fruit cart breaking your fall. But when you sit up and look around, it’s very clear you’re not in your crappy apartment anymore. For starters, this place is way too clean, smells faintly of vanilla, and—oh, is that sunlight streaming through those beautiful glass windows? Not the dim, depressing flicker of the streetlight outside your old place?

Something is very wrong.

You scramble out of the bed, which is definitely not your rickety twin-sized monstrosity held together with duct tape and misplaced hope, and start poking around. The furniture is elegant, the carpet is plush, and there’s an oil painting on the wall that practically screams, Welcome to Generic Medieval Europe™!

The realization slams into you with all the subtlety of a freight train: You’re in that garbage web novel.

You pause, frozen, your brain throwing up a million red flags at once. Your knees almost buckle. "Nope. No. Absolutely not. This is some kind of cosmic punishment," you whisper to yourself, clutching your temples.

You creep towards the ornate mirror on the other side of the room, your reflection getting clearer with every step. “Please,” you mutter, “if there’s a single merciful entity out there, don’t let me be the heroine. Or the villainess. Or, God forbid, one of the male leads.”

You finally reach the mirror, squeeze your eyes shut, then crack one open. And there you are: just some random face.

“Oh, thank God,” you exhale, slumping against the wall. You’re not the heroine. You’re not the villainess. You’re not one of the tragic walking disasters that make up the main cast. You're just… some person. A total nobody.

But just as you’re about to bust out your victory dance of mediocrity, something catches your eye. You lean closer, squinting.

Wait.

No.

NO.

You’re that nobody.

You’re the tragic commoner knight who gets blackmailed by the heroine, coerced into doing her dirty work, and ends up assassinating the villainess for her. The same commoner knight who dies in three chapters because the heroine throws them under the bus as soon as the villainess's fiancé finds out what happened.

You stagger back from the mirror like it’s cursed. “Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. I did not reincarnate into this medieval soap opera just to get unalived in the dumbest way possible,” you say, pacing the room like a lunatic.

Your character’s life flashes before your eyes: the abusive father, the crippling family loyalty, the gambling debts. This poor soul had it rough even before getting turned into the heroine’s personal murder minion. And you? You’re not about to pick up that torch.

So you grab some parchment and pen what might be the most passive-aggressive resignation letter of all time.

“To Her Highness, the Crown Princess,

Kindly do your own dirty work from now on. My father can gamble himself into oblivion. I’m out. Good luck with your reign or whatever.”

Satisfied, you sign it with an unnecessarily large flourish, slap it on the desk, and prepare to bounce.

You’re halfway down the hall when you almost walk face-first into him.

Rook Hunt, the walking embodiment of “this guy doesn’t belong in this novel but here he is anyway,” stands there with his golden hair and overly dramatic smile. He’s loud. He’s eccentric. He’s dressed like he’s about to break into a musical number about the beauty of life. Oh, and he’s also the duke whose household you served in as a knight before you quit.

“Mon ami!” he exclaims, throwing his arms wide like you’re long-lost lovers. “You’ve returned to me! What an exquisite twist of fate! Shall we celebrate the beauty of reunion?”

“No,” you say flatly. You attempt to sidestep him, but Rook doesn’t just let things go.

“You cannot leave me again! Do you not wish to resume your role as my loyal knight?”

“Absolutely not,” you snap on instinct, because why on earth would you willingly dive back into this mess? But then it hits you. Wait.

Rook isn’t part of the main plot. He’s not the crown prince, not the archduke, not the villain, and definitely not one of the doomed love interests. He’s just… there. A minor character. A colorful extra who pops up to sprinkle poetic nonsense into the plot and then wanders offstage.

Your brain kicks into overdrive. If you stick with him, you’ll be close enough to the action to keep tabs but far enough to avoid the heroine’s nonsense. Plus, salary. And minor characters like him rarely die!

Your decision solidifies. You plaster on a winning smile and nod. “Actually, on second thought, yeah. Let’s do that.”

“Magnifique!” Rook practically beams as he grabs your arm. “Come, let us bask in the splendor of returning home!”

You follow him, letting his endless stream of poetic babble wash over you. Is this the best plan? Probably not. But it beats getting murdered for a heroine who couldn’t find her moral compass with both hands and a map.

You make it back to the duke’s grand estate—because of course it’s grand. Every aristocrat in this godforsaken novel seems to have a mansion the size of a small country. Rook practically floats through the gates, his dramatic energy causing every passing servant to give him the “not again” look. You follow, still trying to process the reality of your current situation.

After an unnecessarily flowery tour of the place (you’ve been here before in this body, but you let him talk because it’s easier than interrupting), he finally stops in the courtyard. He turns to you, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Now, mon chevalier, reclaim your rightful position as my trusted bodyguard!” he declares, flinging his arms wide as if inviting the heavens to applaud him.

You blink. “…Respectfully, sir, why do you need a bodyguard?”

He pauses, staring at you like you just asked why water is wet. Then, with an infuriatingly serene smile, he says, “Ah, but the shadows are filled with secrets, my dear knight! The beauty of life is in its mysteries, n’est-ce pas?”

You squint at him. “Okay, but that doesn’t answer the question.”

He leans in closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Because the wolves, mon ami. The wolves.”

You freeze. “…What wolves?”

Rook straightens up, tilting his head as if contemplating the meaning of the universe. “Ah, they are everywhere and nowhere. In the forests, in the halls, in the hearts of men. Who can say where danger truly lies?”

This man just said a whole lot of words without saying anything.

“Right,” you say slowly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “But you’re, like, ridiculously strong. I’m pretty sure you could take on any wolf—metaphorical or not—by yourself.”

“Ah, mon chevalier,” he says with a wistful sigh, placing a hand on his chest like he’s reciting a Shakespearean soliloquy. “Strength alone cannot protect one from the unexpected, the unseen, the poetry of peril!”

You stare at him, trying to figure out if this is some sort of elaborate prank. But no. This man is completely serious.

“So… wolves. Poetry of peril. Got it,” you mutter, rubbing your temples. “I’ll, uh, just… go patrol or something, I guess.”

Rook claps his hands together, beaming. “Ah, magnifique! I knew you would understand! Truly, you are a gem among knights!”

You slink off, still scratching your head. You’re 90% sure the wolves are a metaphor for absolutely nothing, but who are you to question the logic of a trash novel? At least the pay is good.

You quickly realize this trash novel is trying to trash you right back. It’s like every corner you turn, fate has decided you don’t deserve a peaceful life.

Walking through the garden to calm your nerves? Someone leaps out of the hedges with a dagger. You narrowly dodge, trip over a decorative fountain, and the attacker runs off, cackling.

Trying to enjoy the roses because you’re starting to think, “Hey, if I gotta die, at least let it be aesthetic?” Nope, arrow. Right past your ear.

By the fifth assassination attempt (some guy “accidentally” dropping a potted plant from a balcony), it clicks. The heroine must’ve decided since you’re not doing her dirty work anymore, she needs to eliminate you before you spill the beans. But, unlike her, you have brains.

So, you write a letter.

Dear Villainess and Esteemed Archduke,

I hope this letter finds you well, though considering the general chaos surrounding us, that feels optimistic.

I am writing to inform you of an unfortunate situation involving a certain someone (cough the crown princess cough) who has, shall we say, less-than-noble intentions toward your continued existence.

To clarify: she asked me to assassinate you. I know, shocking. However, as someone who values integrity, personal safety, and not being murdered by shady royalty, I’ve decided to step down from my position as her unwilling assassin.

This does mean she may hire someone else to handle the job, which is unfortunate for you but also none of my business anymore. I’m not sure how you typically handle murder plots, but I suggest taking precautions, like perhaps not smelling your roses or standing under precariously placed flower pots.

Lastly, while I am admittedly a pawn in this chaotic mess, I felt it was only fair to let you know what’s going on. I wish you both a long, unassassinated life.

Warm regards,

Your Local Retired Assassin

P.S. Please don’t kill me. I’m just the messenger.

You thought this letter would buy you peace. Instead, it bought you an invitation.

And by “invitation,” you mean you’ve been dragged into a private meeting with the villainess and the archduke, who are both sitting across from you now, looking like they’re deciding whether to thank you or strangle you.

“So,” the villainess says, her voice like ice. “You’re telling me the crown princess is plotting to kill me?”

“Uh, yes,” you say, your palms sweating. “But, like, not me anymore! I’ve retired. Permanently.”

The archduke raises an eyebrow. “Why would she want to kill us?”

You glance at the villainess. “Uh… because you exist?”

Before the villainess can stab you (she looks ready), the door swings open, and in saunters Rook.

“Ah, my friends!” he says, grinning ear to ear. “How serendipitous that we are all here. I believe I can shed some light on this matter.”

You gape as Rook launches into a detailed explanation of the heroine’s convoluted scheme—exactly what she’s planning, who she’s hiring, and even the color of the dress she’ll wear while gloating about it.

The villainess and the archduke exchange a glance, then rise, thanking Rook for his “invaluable insight” before sweeping out of the room, leaving you and Rook alone.

You turn to him, your jaw still on the floor. “How do you even know all that?”

Rook just winks at you. “Ah, mon chevalier, the shadows have ears, and I am their maestro.”

He struts out, humming a jaunty tune, leaving you sitting there, more confused than ever. At this point, you’re half-convinced Rook is either a genius or just making stuff up as he goes. And honestly? You’re too tired to figure it out.

You’re stationed at the edge of the garden, trying your best to blend into the scenery while the tea party unfolds. Rook, as usual, is the life of the gathering, passionately chatting with Vil and Epel, who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

You’re in your usual "bodyguard mode," which mostly consists of staring off into the distance and trying not to fall asleep. It’s peaceful—for once—until Epel casually drops a comment loud enough for even you to hear.

"Rook, you finally got them back, huh?"

Your brain screeches to a halt.

Got you back? Back? What does that mean? What is there to get back? Was there something to get back in the first place?

You barely have time to process any of this before Rook, in the most Rook way possible, interrupts with a flurry of poetic nonsense.

“Ah, young Epel, the winds of fortune have indeed graced me with their bounteous song! But let us not dwell on the past, for the present blooms before us like a radiant garden of opportunity!”

You blink. Did… did that mean anything? Epel seems to think it doesn’t, judging by the way he rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath. But you’re too busy processing the odd look on Rook’s face to care.

Because, for the first time ever, Rook looks nervous.

His usual serene confidence is still there, but there’s a hint of something else—a faint pink dusting his cheeks, an almost imperceptible shift in his tone. And why the hell is your heart fluttering at the sight?

You squint at him, trying to decode whatever is happening here. Is he… embarrassed? Flustered? Can Rook even be flustered?

Before you can spiral further into overthinking, you notice Vil’s sharp gaze cutting through the moment like a knife. His violet eyes lock onto yours, and an infuriatingly amused smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

Oh no. He knows.

Vil, of course, pretends like nothing’s happening, smoothly pouring himself another cup of tea and joining the conversation like the consummate aristocrat he is. But every so often, you catch him glancing at you with that same entertained expression, like he’s just discovered a juicy secret.

You try to shake it off, refusing to let yourself be dragged into this nonsense. But Rook’s flushed face lingers in your mind, and every time he smiles at you for the rest of the party, you feel the heat creeping up your own cheeks.

Great. Just great. Whatever this is, it’s going to haunt you for days.

It started with an uproar in the palace—a desperate, urgent call for help sent to Rook, Duke of Hunt.

"The wolves are attacking!"

You were mid-sword practice when the messenger arrived, breathless and frantic. He handed the summons to Rook, who took the parchment with an amused smile.

"Wolves, you say?" he mused, tapping his chin dramatically.

"Yes, my lord!" The messenger practically collapsed from the effort of delivering the message. "They’ve breached the outer gardens, and the prince and heroine request your immediate assistance!"

Rook looked at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Ah, mon chevalier, do you recall what I told you once about wolves?"

You blinked, frowning. "You mean the thing about being surrounded by wolves one day? I thought you were joking."

Rook’s grin widened. "Oh, I never jest about wolves."

You opened your mouth to demand clarification, but Rook waved the parchment dismissively. "Alas, I must decline."

The messenger froze. "W-What? But…you’re the Duke of Hunt! The greatest tracker and marksman in the kingdom! Without you, the palace is doomed!"

Rook leaned forward conspiratorially. "Tell me, mon ami, what makes you think I’d risk life and limb for the likes of the heroine and her precious prince?"

The messenger stammered. "B-But—"

Rook held up a hand, silencing him. "No, no. I simply cannot. My schedule is far too packed. Why, just this morning, I promised my chevalier here that I’d help reorganize their weapons rack." He turned to you with a wink. "Isn’t that right?"

You rolled your eyes but nodded. "Yep. Super busy."

The messenger left, looking utterly defeated. You figured that was the end of it.

It wasn’t.

Over the next two hours, messengers kept arriving, each more desperate than the last. Rook refused them all with increasing flamboyance.

One messenger was sent away with, "Alas, the stars are not in alignment for such a hunt!"

Another was dismissed with, "The winds whisper that this is not my destiny today."

Finally, a personal plea came from the heroine herself. She barged into the estate, dramatically throwing herself at Rook’s feet.

"Oh, noble Duke!" she wailed. "You are the only one who can save us! Please, I beg of you!"

Rook tilted his head, pretending to think it over. Then he glanced at you, his expression suddenly sharp beneath the veneer of cheer.

"And what of my chevalier?" he asked.

The heroine frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You’ve made quite a nuisance of yourself lately," Rook said lightly, though there was an edge to his voice. "Why, only yesterday, you sent someone to ambush them in the gardens, did you not?"

Her face paled.

"I might reconsider," Rook said, his tone taking on a singsong quality, "if you promise to leave them alone from now on."

There was a long, tense pause. The heroine’s expression flickered between rage and fear before she finally forced a smile. "Very well. I promise."

"Splendid!" Rook clapped his hands and stood. "To the hunt, then!"

You stood there in stunned silence as he walked out the door, bow in hand. When he turned back to flash you a grin, you couldn’t help but mutter, "What the hell just happened?"

Rook’s laugh echoed through the halls, and you were left wondering yet again if you’d ever fully understand this ridiculous man.

It’s payday, baby.

You’ve never been more excited to hold a pouch of jingling coins in your life. Your day off couldn’t have come at a better time, and you’ve already decided to treat yourself. No assassination attempts, no cryptic poetry, no Rook yammering about beauty—just you, the market, and sweet, sweet retail therapy.

After wandering for a while, you stumble upon a fruit stall, and your eyes light up. The produce is incredible—vividly colored, juicy, and nothing like the waxy, suspiciously glossy stuff you’d get in your original world. You don’t even know what half these fruits are, but they smell amazing, and you’re buying them all.

As you carry your haul back to the manor, an idea hits you like a freight train. You’ve been craving dessert—specifically, something you can’t get in medieval Europe. Something simple, sweet, and utterly anachronistic.

And that’s how you end up in the kitchen, surrounded by fresh fruit, flour, sugar, and whatever else you’ve managed to scrounge up. You’re determined to make crêpes. Yes, you know they weren’t invented yet, but the cooks don’t even seem to know what a waffle is, so they’re not going to stop you.

It takes a bit of trial and error—because, shocker, medieval kitchens are not equipped for finesse—but eventually, you’ve got a plate of soft, golden crêpes filled with fresh fruit and drizzled with honey. It’s so beautiful it almost brings a tear to your eye.

You’re mid-bite, mentally congratulating yourself, when Rook materializes out of nowhere like some kind of dessert-seeking missile.

“Mon chevalier! What marvel have you crafted here in this humble kitchen? The scent alone rivals the sweetest perfume!”

You freeze. This is fine. He’s just curious. There’s no reason to panic. Subconsciously, you scoop up a bite on your fork and offer it to him, your body on autopilot.

Rook doesn’t hesitate, leaning in and accepting the bite with the elegance of a prince at court. “Magnifique! Truly, you have woven magic into this creation, mon cher!”

You relax slightly, pride swelling at the compliment—until he takes your hand and licks a stray drop of honey from your finger.

Your brain short-circuits.

Before you can even form a coherent thought, Rook grins at you with that infuriatingly charming smile of his, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek.

“You are as talented in the kitchen as you are with a blade,” he says, his voice warm and soft, as if he hasn’t just dismantled your sanity.

And then he’s gone, striding out of the kitchen with his usual jaunty step, leaving you standing there like an idiot, replaying the sensation of his lips on your cheek and his tongue on your finger.

You slowly sink to the floor, crêpe in hand, trying to process what just happened.

“Why,” you mutter to yourself, taking another bite of your crêpe for courage, “does this keep happening to me?”

Life had been…dare you say it, pleasant recently. No assassination attempts, no tea parties and no surprise arrows whizzing by your head. You were almost convinced this world might not be so bad after all.

But like clockwork, the plot reared its ugly head.

You were outside, basking in the rare serenity of a quiet afternoon, when the shouting began. You knew the voice instantly. It was grating, furious, and way too familiar.

Your abusive father—the original you’s deadbeat excuse for a parent—had somehow crawled out of the woodwork.

“You useless brat!” he snarled, stomping toward you. “How dare you stop sending money? Do you think you’re too good for your family now?!”

Oh, for the love of—

You crossed your arms, already done with the theatrics. “First of all, family implies mutual care and respect, neither of which you’ve ever provided. Secondly, kiss my ass.”

The man’s face turned a deep shade of purple, veins bulging in his forehead. He raised his hand, and you didn’t flinch. You weren’t scared of him. You were just irritated that he had the audacity to show up and ruin your vibe.

But before his hand could even swing down, an arrow whizzed past, slicing through the air with deadly precision. It nicked his cheek, leaving a shallow cut, and he yelped like a scolded dog.

You turned, and there he was.

Rook.

But this wasn’t the poetic, flowery Rook who praised sunsets and waxed lyrical about everything under the sun. No, this was Duke Hunt. His bow was clenched tightly in one hand, his expression colder than you’d ever seen. His eyes locked onto your father, sharp and unyielding, and for the first time, you truly understood why people called him a hunter.

Your father stumbled back, clutching his cheek. “Y-you’ll regret this! I’ll get my revenge!” he spat, turning tail and running like the two-bit villain he was.

You didn’t even watch him go. You were too busy staring at Rook, your heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the fact that, dammit, he looked good like this.

You silently scolded yourself. Really? Now? This is when you’re going to have a revelation about your feelings? Pull it together.

Rook’s gaze softened as he looked at you, and without a word, he closed the distance between you. Before you could process it, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a firm, steady embrace.

You stiffened for a moment, but then it hit you—you were shaken. You hadn’t realized it until now, but the encounter had left your hands trembling. And Rook…he didn’t say a word. He just held you, radiating warmth and reassurance, as if he knew exactly what you needed.

Slowly, you relaxed, leaning into him, letting the tension bleed out of your body. For once, there were no witty remarks, no poetic musings, no cryptic riddles. Just Rook, steady and solid, and the quiet comfort of his presence.

You closed your eyes, letting out a shaky breath. Maybe life here wasn’t so bad after all.

It was the hunting competition trope—the bread and butter of every third-rate villainess novel ever written. Noblemen rode out in droves to massacre innocent wildlife in the name of prestige, while the women gathered on the sidelines to swoon over who could kill the most majestic creature.

Normally, you'd find this whole affair ridiculous, but today? Today, it was a strategic opportunity.

Rook and you had cooked up a plan. After bagging his game, Rook would publicly gift it to the villainess, cementing the stance of his household against the heroine. A subtle yet unmistakable message to everyone present: this duke’s house wasn’t here to play politics; it was drawing battle lines.

Rook was, predictably, ecstatic about it all. “Ah, mon chevalier, what a splendid opportunity to honor beauty and justice with the art of the hunt!” he proclaimed, twirling dramatically as he readied his bow.

What you didn’t anticipate was his strange fixation on a handkerchief before he left.

Throughout the day, noblewomen approached Rook, each one batting their lashes and holding out dainty, embroidered handkerchiefs. It was practically a parade of desperate peahens.

“Oh, Lord Hunt, a token for luck!” cooed one particularly persistent lady, pushing her frilly kerchief toward him.

Rook clasped his hands to his chest with exaggerated reverence. “Ah, mademoiselle, your thoughtfulness moves me beyond words, but alas, I cannot accept. To carry such a treasure into the wild would be to risk its loss, and I could never bear such tragedy!”

Another woman attempted to loop her kerchief around his wrist directly. Rook gracefully dodged, as though she were offering him a live snake. “My dear lady, your artistry is unparalleled, but the only adornment fit for this hunt is the pure, untainted spirit of nature herself!”

By the third rejection, you were practically biting your tongue to keep from laughing.

But then came the curveball.

“Ah,” Rook sighed as he approached you. “If only I had a handkerchief imbued with sincerity. A simple, honest token to guide my aim and steady my heart!”

You blinked at him. “What, like…this?” You pulled out your completely ordinary, unembellished handkerchief and held it out.

Rook’s eyes lit up as though you’d just handed him the Holy Grail. “Mon chevalier! How perfect! How divine! This humble square of cloth shall be my guiding light!”

Before you could protest, he tied it around his arm with a flourish and rode off, looking like he was ready to star in his own personal opera.

From his place in the pavilion, Vil Schoenheit took a slow, deliberate sip of his tea, his sharp eyes locking onto yours with a glint of pure amusement. The smirk tugging at his lips seemed to say, Oh, I know exactly what’s going on.

Meanwhile, Epel squinted between you and Rook, his expression shifting rapidly as though he’d just cracked the secret to immortality. He whispered something to Vil, who nearly choked on his tea before regaining his composure.

What the hell is going on? you thought, baffled.

Fast forward to now, the present, where the plan was supposed to culminate with Rook triumphantly presenting his prize to the villainess. Simple, elegant, strategic.

So why, why, was Rook standing in front of you holding a literal griffin?

“Uh, Rook,” you whispered through gritted teeth. “What are you doing? This is supposed to go to the villainess.”

But Rook was having none of it.

“Ah, my loyal chevalier,” he declared loudly, drawing the attention of every noble in the vicinity. “It is only fitting that such a prize goes to the one who inspires my steadfastness and resolve!”

Your jaw dropped. “Rook. No.”

He turned his radiant smile on you, looking like a proud schoolboy showing off a crayon drawing to his teacher. “Yes!”

The gathered nobles erupted into murmurs, and you could already feel the weight of every single judgmental stare. This was not part of the plan. But despite your internal screaming, a small, annoying part of you couldn’t help but feel…flattered. This was a duke, and you were just a knight. A very confused, very underqualified knight, sure, but still.

Vil, still seated with his ever-present cup of tea, took another long, pointed sip, his eyes glimmering with amusement.

This was the drama he’d signed up for.

The hallway leading back to the room where Vil, Rook, and Epel were sitting felt oddly silent, the muffled voices of their conversation barely filtering through the door. You weren’t one to eavesdrop—but when you heard your name, well, curiosity got the better of you.

"Just confess already," Epel was saying, his tone exasperated. "We’ve all seen the way you look at them."

Vil chimed in, his voice tinged with amusement. "Epel is right for once, Rook. Love is about timing, and yours is abysmal."

"But love is an art, mon ami," Rook replied, his tone unusually hesitant. "It cannot be rushed. It must unfold naturally, like the petals of a flower in spring."

"Okay," Vil drawled, clearly unimpressed. "But what happens when someone else plucks your ‘flower’? Say, the gardener they’ve been spending so much time with?"

The silence that followed was deafening. You leaned closer, your heart pounding, hoping—no, needing—to hear Rook’s response.

Instead, you heard nothing.

The stillness stretched unbearably until you couldn’t take it anymore. You shoved the door open, startling all three occupants. "What are you talking about?"

Vil raised an eyebrow, the picture of nonchalance, though the corners of his mouth twitched with mischief. "Perfect timing, as always. I’ll leave you two to sort this out."

He grabbed a very reluctant Epel by the collar and dragged him toward the door. "Wait, I wanna see what happens!" Epel protested, but Vil shut the door behind them with a decisive click.

Which left you and Rook alone.

You crossed your arms, leveling him with a look that you hoped masked the frantic hammering of your heart. "So…what’s this about a confession?"

Rook’s usual composure faltered. For once, the poetic, perpetually self-assured Rook you knew looked…unsure. Vulnerable. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his gloves, and he avoided your gaze, staring instead at the floor.

"Rook," you said softly, stepping closer. "Please, just tell me what’s going on. I need to know."

He finally looked up, and the raw emotion in his eyes was enough to steal your breath.

"Mon chevalier," he began, his voice low and trembling, "I have loved you from the start. At first, it was the camaraderie of equals, a kindred spirit I admired. But when you returned from the heroine’s side, defying expectations and staying true to yourself…you captured my heart completely."

You blinked, stunned. "Rook, I—"

He continued, the words spilling out as though he’d been holding them back for far too long. "You never treated me like I was strange. You accepted me as I am, even when others mocked my passions or dismissed my eccentricities. I never truly needed a bodyguard. I just needed you. Near me. Always."

His voice broke slightly on the last word, and you felt your resolve crumble.

You sighed, but it wasn’t from exasperation. It was the sound of relief, of something clicking into place. "Next time," you said, stepping even closer, "just tell me your feelings directly. It’ll save us both a lot of trouble."

Before he could respond, you reached up and pulled him into a kiss.

It was everything a first kiss should be—long, searing, passionate. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, pulling you flush against him as though he never wanted to let go. You melted into him, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, and for a moment, the world outside that kiss ceased to exist.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless. Rook’s lips quirked into a smile as he whispered, "Your lips are the sweetest arrow, mon amour, and they have pierced my heart beyond repair."

You burst into laughter, burying your face in the crook of his neck to muffle the sound. "Gods, Rook, only you could ruin a moment like this with something so cheesy."

He chuckled softly, his arms still secure around you.

And as you stood there in his embrace, you couldn’t help but think that this ridiculous, trashy novel world was the best thing that had ever happened to you.

The parlor was warm with the golden light of afternoon sun filtering through the windows, but the atmosphere buzzed with anticipation. You stood near Rook, his arm casually draped across the back of your chair, as Vil and Epel looked at you expectantly.

“Well?” Vil prompted, raising a perfectly arched brow.

You glanced at Rook, who smiled encouragingly, as if to say, go ahead. Clearing your throat, you announced, “We’re…together.”

Vil sighed dramatically, setting down his teacup with a soft clink. “Finally. I was starting to think I’d have to intervene.”

Epel, on the other hand, froze mid-sip of his cider. Slowly, he set the glass down, stood, and walked over to you. His expression was a mix of grief and dread, like someone had just informed him of some terrible, life-altering news.

He placed both hands firmly on your shoulders and looked you dead in the eyes. “Good luck,” he said, solemn as a funeral bell. “This is a life sentence, y’know.”

Rook chuckled, clearly amused. “Mon cher Epel, you wound me! Surely being with moi is more of a treasure than a trial?”

Epel turned to him, unimpressed. “Treasure? You follow people for fun. You recite poetry to wild animals. You can’t even eat pie without analyzing its existential meaning. I mean, who does that?”

You were already laughing, shaking your head as you patted Epel’s hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Epel. This is a sentence I’m more than happy to serve.”

Vil smirked behind his tea, watching the scene unfold with obvious amusement. “Frankly, I’m just relieved we won’t have to endure any more of his tragic sighs every time you left a room.”

Rook clasped a hand to his heart in mock offense. “Oh, Vil! My sighs are poetry incarnate!”

Vil didn’t even blink. “Your sighs are the sound of unspoken melodrama. Spare me.”

Epel plopped back into his seat with a long groan, running a hand through his hair. “Anyway, I guess congratulations or whatever. At least now we can all stop pretending we don’t notice him staring at you like some love-struck puppy.”

“That’s rich,” you shot back, grinning. “You’re the one who looks like your pet rat just died every time we get close.”

Epel huffed. “I’m just saying! Now you gotta deal with him being even more poetic! And clingy! You thought the prince and heroine were bad? Wait till you see Rook when he’s in love. You’re doomed.”

At the mention of the prince and heroine, Vil made an exaggerated sound of disgust. “Speaking of those two… Honestly, has anyone ever been so painfully predictable? The prince has all the charm of wet cardboard, and the heroine—don’t even get me started on her hair ribbons.”

“Ah, the heroine,” Rook sighed wistfully, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Always so delightfully transparent. Her schemes are like open windows to her soul.”

You snorted. “If by soul, you mean her desperate attempts to turn everything into a sob story, then yeah, sure.”

Epel leaned forward, grinning. “Did you see her crying at the hunt competition? Like, girl, it’s a competition. What did you think would happen? That the griffin would apologize and hand itself over?”

Vil smirked, tapping a manicured finger against his chin. “Or how about the prince declaring his ‘eternal devotion’ to her at the banquet last week? I nearly choked on my wine.”

Rook chuckled, turning to you with a soft smile that was far more genuine than his usual theatrics. “Ah, but let us not waste all our words on such trivialities. This moment, mon amour, is one of joy.”

You leaned into him, your laughter subsiding into a contented smile. His arm slipped around your shoulders, holding you close as Vil and Epel continued their playful bickering in the background.

For the first time since you’d been thrown into this absurd world, you felt completely at ease. If this was the result of being trapped in a trash novel, then so be it. You were exactly where you wanted to be.

Trash Novel Masterlist

Complete Masterlists

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #rook hunt x reader #rook x reader #rook hunt #rook x you #rook hunt x you #rook #trash novel chronicles

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come-on-eat-your-own-pants · 4 months ago

Text

Headcanon to make the timeline work:

The kid Caryn is holding isn't Shermie Pines, it's his son

Okay so think about it. Alex himself has said that though this baby was somewhat intended to be Shermie, it would make no sense time-wise as both he and his son would have to be fifteen or sixteen when they would become a father to get Dipper and Mabel to be the correct age.

Consider. For this theory Shermie is a few years older than Stan and Ford, which would make him about twenty to twenty-two years old when Stan gets kicked to the curb. College age. So let's say he got a little wild in college (or wherever else he is -- perhaps working his first job?) and gets some poor girl knocked up. Of course this is the seventies -- birth control and abortion are a thing, but they aren't as safe, successful and easily accessible as they are now -- so they end up keeping the baby. And Caryn, like any grandmother (source: my mother, who puts up a fight if she gets my brother's kids less than one day/night a week), occasionally looks after the kid so her son can focus on his education (or job). The kid grows up and is about thirty when Dipper and Mabel are born, which is not a very strange age to become a father in the 90s.

I mean, I suppose Shermie could be even older, meaning Caryn would be looking after the kid purely out of grandmotherly love or convenience and not necessarily to give her young parent of a son a break, but it makes more sense to me to have him be college age when he becomes a dad, for mostly one reason: Filbrick. Filbrick Pines explicitly calls Ford their "ticket out of here," which to me reads as Ford being the only son he's really actually proud of, or at least the only son he sees as being actually useful. Perhaps Shermie wasn't as much of a screw-up as Stan, but he also isn't someone Filbrick flaunts. Knocking up a girl would fit that, especially if he had to drop out of college because of it, or something like that.

An argument against this theory could be the absence of Shermie in Stan and Ford's childhood. But honestly: my oldest brother (five years older than me) wasn't that present in my childhood as well. I mean, sure, we did a lot of things together and in a way we were quite close, but we hardly ever played together other than things we did as a family, and he moved out before I even got my first period. This would actually work even better with Shermie being more than a few years older than the Stan twins, because the bigger the age gap, the less interaction there would be.

And of course Stan and Ford are twins, so it would make sense for most of their memories to be of the two of them together. They wouldn't need their older brother so much if they had each other.

Then there is the principal of their high school mentioning to Filbrick and Caryn that they have two sons, which I've seen as an argument for saying that Shermie wasn't born yet at the time (which wouldn't work in any way really because the West Coast Tech admissions team visits the next day, at the end of which this shot of Caryn with the baby is taken, and neither looks like there's been a birth in between the talk with the principal and Stanley getting kicked out). Far more likely to me is that the principal simply didn't know or care about the Stan twins' exact home situation. I mean, it's high school, how relevant is the exact amount of children in a household to a principal? He only has to deal with two, so he only mentions two.

Like, yeah, I know this theory isn't perfect, but the timeline also doesn't really make sense with having the baby be Shermie. I suddenly got this idea, and it works for me, so yeah

#Jenny’s headcanons #gravity falls #stanford pines #stanley pines #caryn romanoff pines #filbrick pines #shermie pines

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gothamite-rambler · 1 month ago

Text

Dick Grayson's Robin Having No Filter and Giving His Father a Migraine

Robin!Dick: Hi Ivy!

Poison Ivy: Hi... young child. Stand over there, away from the giant rose.

Robin!Dick stepped away from the rose while staring at it mesmerized.

Robin!Dick: Can I-

Batman: I will take you home.

Robin!Dick pouted and walked off grumbling.

Ivy: He's adorable, if I didn't hate people I'd keep him. Okay, so run it back, you want me to stop my mission to protect mother earth and you were like "that's wrong for you to do". Continue with being wrong.

Batman: I should not have to explain to you how your mission to save the earth doesn't benefit people. It's destructive.

Ivy: Why? Because some people might die? A few dead bodies are worth it for saving the planet.

Robin!Dick (shocked): What?! You're killing people to do this?

Ivy: Yes... A few dead bodies are worth- Why is his face sad?

Robin!Dick (trying not cry): That's so mean.

Batman (glaring at Ivy): Now you've upset him.

Ivy (indignant): All right last I checked, the earth is dying, I'm just being honest kid. What do you want me to say? I'm not destroying the Earth, big corporations pumping out microplastics, pouring random crap in the lakes, Nestle... JUST NESTLE! They're screwing this planet like she's a two dollar hooker! I stopped eating their chocolate bars after the founder said water shouldn't be given to everybody!

Robin!Dick (shocked): Did he actually say that?

Ivy (calm): Basically he implied water shouldn't have free access because Nestle is the biggest proprietor of bottled water and no amount of explaining will ever fix the fact he said that! So whatever you're about to say, Batman, I do not want to hear it! They’re destroying ecosystems, hunting endangered species, killing crops and-

Robin!Dick (interrupting): Hold up, that's all she's trying to fix?

Batman: She's not doing it in a logical way.

Robin!Dick turned to Batman.

Robin!Dick: She's a green woman who can control plants! Does she look like she wants to use our logic? No offense by the way, Ivy.

Ivy: You're fine, I love my body.

Robin!Dick (confused why they're fighting her): Why don't we help her, Batman? Has she asked for your help?

Batman (sheepish): Um... It's been brought up in the past.

Robin!Dick: Then why haven't you?

Ivy (mocking tone): Yeah, Batman, that so mean.

Batman: Because... She's a criminal and will let people die for the cause.

Robin!Dick: Well I mean if it's that nestle guy I don't... Don't necessarily blame her and I've seen you beat the ever loving shit out a lot of bad guys.

Batman: Language.

Robin!Dick (loud): The context needed the word. I love you Batman, I do, but let's be real you steal police information and beat up thugs. You have not paid the commissioner back for the fire hydrant incident. I'm sorry, but you break a lot of laws. You say you're doing it to save lives, so is she! Most are plant lives, but I get it. We would be arrested too, but we're lucky, she's not... it's not right.

Ivy (sincere): Thanks kid.

Robin!Dick: You're welcome and plus in any other city, we'd be going to prison. You'd be, I'd be tossed into an orphanage and that... That's not fun.

Ivy: A lot of kids in the system have been abused, he's got a point.

Batman (annoyed): Why are you arguing with me, Robin?

Robin!Dick: Because dang it, she might have a point! We can help her to a degree... In fact isn't the building we're in is the one being sued for what they did to a lake? All those ducks died.

Ivy (adding): Nothing can grow there for decades.

Robin!Dick: Yeah, the ecosystem is destroyed there.

Batman (yelling): Why are you ganging up on me?

Robin and Ivy: Because you know it's wrong!

Robin!Dick: You have told me you became Batman because the system is flawed and sometimes matters need to be taken into your own hands? How is she different?

Ivy: Okay... you're growing on me. Here, take a rose.

Ivy used her powers to hand the young hero a rose.

Robin (smiling and taking the rose): Aww, thank you.

Batman groaned then yanked Robin by the ear.

Batman: Excuse me, I have to talk to him in private!

Ivy: Aww, I'm starting to like the kid, go easy on him. He's smart, he knows what he's talking about.

Robin!Dick (being dragged out): Thank you, Ivy.

Ten minutes after the two argue, Batman comes to a compromise with his son and Ivy because he knows that Dick would absolutely not mind sabotaging factories or causing a fire with a supervillain to protect the planet. All he needs is a good reason.

Batman (driving them home in the batmobile): Could you not defend the actions of the bad guy in front of me next time?

Robin!Dick (eating McDonald's fries): Don't take me to one who has a point.

---------------------------------------

Batman searched for Robin after taking down Joker.

Batman: Robin? Where did he go?

Joker (laying on the ground as Batman presses his shoe on his back): One of my goons went after him.

Meanwhile Robin does flips, tricks and runs around the room while giggling as the goon chases after him.

Goon: Little boy, little boy stop running!

Robin ran, but when the goon tried to grab him, the young hero grabbed his hand and clamped down with his teeth making contact with the mans hand. The goon screamed in pain.

Batman: He's down the hall.

Joker: There's no... Guarantee he'll win.

Robin kicked the goon in the crotch and ran off.

Goon (weakly): Right in the kiwis.

Robin!Dick: Batman, I got the last one!

Batman: Good job, Robin.

Joker: I hate your child soldier.

Batman: Thank you, I raised him well.

---------------------------------------

Talia Al Ghul (to Batman): You-

Robin!Dick: You're out of his league.

Talia: What?

Robin!Dick: I'm just saying, it's obvious you have this stalker obsession with him, 'love' you like to call it, but Batman could do way better than you.

Batman chuckled covering his mouth.

Talia: Okay, I was telling him to stop his 'no-kill' rule and join the league, but also he wants me and some snot nosed brat won't have a say in any possible relationship!

Robin!Dick: Well, I'm 13 now and even I can see you shouldn't be together. Not even on a league level, but like come on, why would you get with a guy who doesn't want you or to be on your team? That's sad.

Talia (irate): You think I won't smack a teenager? I don't give a fuck!

Batman (disturbingly calm): Touch him and you'll wake up in the hospital.

Inspired by this post

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writing0305 · 1 year ago

Note

Baby/pregnancy prompt with Butcher prompt 7 and 10. Just some cute fluffy funny stuff during about the readers pregnancy. 💖

Baby.

Pairing: Billy Butcher x F!Reader.

Summary: You are pregnant with Butcher's son and he is extremely protective of you. So protective that he doesn't even allow you to put together the furniture in the baby's nursery.

Warning: Swearing. That's it I think?

Propmpts: Pregnancy/ child.

7 - "Go easy. You are carrying my child."

10 - "Well, we both made that baby." - "Don't remind me."

----

Thank you so much for this request!! I love writing dad Butcher so much!!

Billy Butcher was taken with you almost immediately after you joined the boys. You were soft and kind, but still witty with a strong backbone. You two grew close very quickly and for the first time in a very long time, Butcher knew what it was like to be put first in someone’s life.

You adored and loved Butcher. You kept him grounded and gave him a reason to fight. But seven months ago, you gave him a reason to live. It came as a surprise to everyone when Butcher left The Boys and took you with him.

Finding out you were pregnant, and that he was going to be a father, was a turning point in Butcher’s life. Before, he would have died for the cause, but now he couldn’t see himself doing that. He couldn’t see himself leaving behind you or his kid.

He had managed to get help from Grace Mallory with a secure apartment for the two of you. For a few months, you were under witness protection until Victoria Neuman came forward, presenting Butcher with a secure and safe job at the FBSA. It was his ticket to take out supes without putting you or the baby in danger.

Things were good for you and Butcher, and all you had to do now, was wait for the arrival of your son. Never had you seen Butcher so happy and excited for something. Your pregnancy had brought forth a whole new man and you adored every last bit of it.

One morning you were in your son’s blue-painted nursery. Most of his things were already set up and ready for him, but you had bought a few extra things to put in the room. More furniture, toys, and clothes.

You were standing on a step ladder, screwing a hanging bookshelf into the wall. When you heard the front door open, followed by Billy’s heavy footsteps, you sighed softly. He hated it when you did things like this. He hated it when you strained yourself around the apartment. But to him, even standing up was straining yourself too much.

You focused on getting the bookshelf on the wall as you listened to Billy’s footsteps walking down the hallway and stopping in front of the nursery. “Oi, what the bloody hell are you doing?” He questioned.

You glanced at him over your shoulder, offering him a sheepish smile as you shrugged your shoulders. “I bought some things for his nursery.” You replied, even though you knew that wasn’t exactly what he was referring to. He looked like he was about to have a heart attack seeing you on the step ladder.

His gaze drifted over the few boxes and bags of purchased items that lay across the floor and he raised his eyebrows at you. “Some things? By that, you mean the whole fuckin’ store?” He asked as he stepped into the room.

“It’s not that much.” You replied with a shrug of your shoulders as you grabbed a second hanging bookshelf. They were both equally small, meant to only fit a small amount of lightweight books.

Butcher stepped forward when he saw you climb back onto the step ladder again and stretched out to angle the shelf perfectly in line with the first one. “You can’t put those things up yourself, luv.” He argued with a shake of his head.

“Why not?” You asked as you looked down at him with furrowed eyebrows. “I can reach them.” You said as you shrugged your shoulders again.

He sighed as he shook his head again. “Just because you can reach them, ain’t mean you should be putting them up.” He argued as he held a hand out, wanting you to hand him the small shelf.

“Billy, it’s fine.” You sighed with a shake of your head, not handing over the shelf. “I’m fine, he’s fine.” You assured as you placed your free hand against your stomach, offering Butcher a smile

Butcher pursed his lips as he motioned with his hand for you to give him the shelf. “Here, let me do it for you.” He insisted, his voice soft and gentle. He was always cautious around you, as you got further along in your pregnancy and you had absolutely raging hormones that could go from 0 to a fucking blood bath in mere seconds.

You sighed, shoulders slouching as you stared down into his determined hazel eyes. “You’re not letting me do this, are you?” You asked softly as your head tilted to the side.

He pushed his tongue around against the inside of his cheek as he gave you a firm shake of his head. “Not a fuckin’ chance.” He replied.

You let out an overly dramatic sigh as you nodded your head. “Fine.” You huffed as you handed him the shelf, he took it in one hand and pressed the other hand against your waist, his hold secure as you slowly stepped off the ladder.

He took your place and began screwing the shelf securely against the wall. You watched him for a few seconds with your hands resting on your hips. Then the box of the rocking chair caught your attention. You kneeled down and grabbed a boxcutter. Butcher didn’t pay you any attention, thinking you were cutting open smaller items to put together.

He stepped off the ladder when he was done with the shelf and turned to you. His face fell when he saw you putting together the rocking chair. “What the bloody hell are ya doing now?” He asked as he raised his arms up by his side, by now looking done with you.

“Putting together this rocking chair.” You replied with a shrug of your shoulders. “Got it for a fucking bargain and a half.” You informed him as you waved a hand through the air, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Fucking hell, Y/n.” He sighed as he kneeled down on the ground next to you, taking away the large pieces of wood and sharp objects that lay around you.

Your eyebrows furrowed and a frown tugged at your lips as you stared at him. “Not, Billy I can do it.” You whined as you tried to grab the things back from him and both of you almost looked childish as he pushed it all out of your reach.

You huffed as you stared at Butcher, your frown deepening. He sighed and pursed his lips as he stared at you. “Go easy.” He pleaded as he reached out to place a hand on your swollen stomach.“You are carrying my child.” He reminded you. “Let me do this.” He pleaded.

“I’m pregnant, not fragile.” You replied softly as you placed your hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze before you reached out, gripping onto the crib and pulling yourself up with a soft grunt.

“I ain’t takin the fuckin’ risk.” He replied with a shake of his head as he picked up a screwdriver to begin putting together the chair. “Not with you, or this kid.” He said, pointing the screwdriver up at you and then towards your baby bump. You smiled softly as you stared down at him. You truly found this side of him endearing, even if it sometimes got overbearing how protective he was. “What you smiling about?” He asked as he quirked an eyebrow.

You shrugged your shoulders as your smile grew a little. “I like seeing you this way.” You replied softly as you absentmindedly rubbed your bump.

Butcher stared at you for a second before his gaze diverted down to the rocking chair and his eyebrows furrowed. “What way?” He asked in confusion.

“All protective, all smiley.” You replied softly as you reached your hand out to him. He took your hand and pulled himself up to his feet. While one hand wrapped around your waist, his other free hand rested against your bump, rubbing it softly. “Not looking for a reason to get yourself hurt.” You added softly as you sighed.

“I’ve told ya, I’m done with that shit.” He replied with a shake of his head. He was fine with his office job. Never did he want to go into the field again. Never did he want to be on the front lines of danger again. “I ain’t putting either of you in danger.” He said softly as his gaze flicked down to your stomach.

“I know.” You replied with a nod of your head as you reached up and cupped his cheek, your fingers brushing over his beard. “Still, it’s nice to see this side of you.” You said softly before standing up on the tips of your toes and pressing a kiss to his lips. He kissed you back, his lips working softly against yours. You pulled away, offering him a pleading smile. “Now, can I help with my baby’s room?” You asked as you quirked an eyebrow.

Butcher pursed his lips as he stared down at you, still rubbing your stomach. “Let me take care of it.” He pleaded softly, his eyebrows slightly knitting together.

You sighed, loosely wrapping both arms around his shoulders. “It’s my baby too you know.” You reminded with a light hearted tone of voice.

"Well, we both made that baby." He replied as he lifted his hand from your stomach and pointed at the bump.

You playfully rolled your eyes and shook your head. "Don't remind me." You muttered with a teasing voice as you took a few steps back, running a hand over your bump.

Butcher’s eyebrows furrowed and his eyes squinted as he stared at you. “Is that regret I hear?” He asked in a lighthearted tone as his head cocked to the side.

You raised your eyebrows, a smile tugging at your lips as you slowly shook your head. “No.” You assured softly as he took a step closer to you again, his hands reaching out to hold onto your hips. “There’s no regret.” You assured him. “Not about you, and not about him.” You said before standing up on the tip of your toes again and pressing a soft kiss to your lips. Butcher tried to deepen the kiss but you pulled away, giving him a shy smile. “I have to pee…” You whispered.

Butcher rolled his eyes as he bit back the smile that tried to tug at his lips. “Way to ruin the mood, luv.” He teased as he pulled away from you.

“Your son thinks my bladder is a trampoline.” You huffed as your lips pouted out into a frown and you turned around, slowly making your way towards the door.

“Should you be wearing those adult diapers?” Butcher questioned, a lopsided smirk tugging at his lips as he stared at you walk away, or as he’d like to comment on, waddled away.

You spun around, giving him a pointed look. “I will fucking kill you.” You warned as you pointed a threatening finger toward him.

Butcher chuckled, putting his hands up in defense. “Just asking.” He replied with a shake of his head. He watched you turn around and waddle out of the room, waiting before he called out after you. “I can go out a buy some.”

“Billy!” You snapped as you reached the bathroom and you could hear his low chuckle coming from the nursery. You let a small smile slip as you shook your head at him.

You and Butcher managed to finish the nursery together. All you were allowed to do was hand him things and put away the new clothes and toys. Most of your time was spent eating pieces of toast with melted butter. After that, you went to take a warm bubble bath and Butcher went to pick up dinner.

When you got out of the bathroom, Butcher had returned and you could smell the warm aroma of pizza coming from the kitchen. You waddled down the hallway, following the smell that made your stomach grumble. “Oh…is that pizza I smell?” You asked as you went into the kitchen.

Butcher let out a breath of amusement as he opened the pizza box. “Got the nose of a fucking police dog you.” He commented with a teasing voice as he wiggled a finger in your direction. He pulled out two plates, handing you one.

Like always, Butcher let you get the first serving, so he stepped back, watching as you placed slices of cheesy pizza on your plate. “I’m starving.” You sighed softly.

Butcher raised an eyebrow at you, his head tilting to the side. “You just had five slices of toast.” He reminded you as a small smile tugged at his lips.

“And now I’m gonna have five slices of pizza.” You replied with a sassy shrug of your shoulders as you returned his smile, taking a big bite of one of the slices already.

“Brought you a diet coke too.” He informed you as he pointed towards one of the two diet cokes next to the pizza box before he filled his own plate with a few slices of pizza.

“Thank you.” You replied, placing a kiss on his bearded cheek before grabbing your diet coke and heading to the living room. Butcher followed after you and you both made yourselves comfortable on the couch. You rested your plate on your lap, moaning softly in delight as you ate your pizza. There was a bit of silence between the two of you, but you interrupted it with a sharp gasp when your son kicked you hard and your hand shot down to your stomach. “Oh-”

If you were a supe with super hearing, you would have heard Butcher’s heart drop. He immediately set aside his plate of pizza and turned his attention to you. “What? What is it?” He asked as he placed a protective hand against your stomach.

You gasped as your son began kicking more and more. “He’s kicking a lot right now.” You uttered and Butcher let out a sigh of relief as he briefly closed his eyes. You took hold of his hand and moved it to where your son was kicking. “Here.” You whispered.

The smallest smile tugged at Butcher’s lips at the feeling of his son’s kicks beneath the palm of his hand. “Fuck…I’ll never get over this feeling.” He whispered softly. You let out a grunt as the tiny kicks on one spot started to become sore. Butcher gave you a worried look before turning to your stomach, rubbing soothing circles against the spot. “Alright lad, calm down.” He spoke softly to your bump. “You kick and your mum gets pissy with me.” He teased.

“I will throw you with a slice of pizza.” You warned Butcher with a pointed side eyes as you picked up a slice of pizza as a threat.

Butcher scoffed in amusement as he pulled away and sat back in his seat. “We both know you ain’t wasting a good fucking slice of pizza.” He said as he pointed a finger down at your pizza.

You rolled your eyes, knowing he was right. “Fine.” You huffed with a shake of your head. “I’ll throw you with something else.” You told him.

Butcher’s gaze shot down towards your stomach. “See what I mean?” He asked your bump as he quirked an eyebrow.

You huffed, placing a hand over your stomach as you scowled at Butcher. “Billy, you’re asking for it.” You warned him and he let out another chuckle.

He finished his food first and put his plate down on the coffee table before he turned to you. “Wanna put a movie on?” He asked as he raised his eyebrows at you.

“Yeah.” You replied with a nod of your head as you munched on your pizza. “Let’s watch something scary.” You suggested and the two of you shared a smile. You had both always been suckers for scary movies and it was one of the many interests you shared.

Butcher put on a movie before shifting on the couch, getting into a comfortable position of half lying and half sitting. “Come here.” He called out as he spread his arm out and you set your pate aside as you scooted back, laying against his side as his arm wrapped around you and his hand protectively rested against your bump.

#the boys #the boys x you #the boys x reader #billy butcher #billy butcher imagine #the boys x y/n #billy butcher x reader #billy butcher x you #the boys imagine

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wilcze-kudly · 1 year ago

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The Gaang being 'bad parents' didn't ruin their characters.

I've seen this argument tossed around a couple times and it's honestly one of my least favourite criticisms of lok.

Katara (and Sokka but we have no confirmed kids for him, which seems unrealistic with how much game he had) lost their mother as children and their father was forced to abandon them when they were barely starting their teens. They were raised by their grandmother with little to no peers of their own age.

Aang did not know his parents and a huge chunk of his childhood was him being groomed into taking up the mantle of the avatar and mastering airbending. He also was isolated from other kids his age. His closest parental figure was Gyatso who was more of a teacher than a father. Also the Air Nomads were literally wiped out so that adds to the trauma pile.

I really don't think i have to talk about Zuko's family life here, but at least he had relatively positive parental figures in the form of Ursa (though i do have a burning personal dislike of ursa) and Iroh. Despite this his struggle around the subject of his family and his trauma relating to his upbringing was a focal point of his character arc.

Toph was raised in isolation by her asshole abelist parents who did not listen to her, sent people to capture and bring her back and then disowned her. (If my cursory understanding of 'the rift' is correct, I need to actually read it because i am unreasonably obsessed with the Beifong family.)

Where, pray tell, were they supposed to learn proper parenting skills? On their brief stint as child soldiers? While fighting a war as literal children?

There is the argument that they must've matured later in their lives, of course. But you can only recover so much from copious amounts of childhood trauma.

Being a bad parent doesn't necessarily make you a bad person. Sure it makes you a failure in an incredibly delicate and important aspect of human life but it doesn't make you a bad person. And saying that it does takes a lot of nuance out of the conversation.

Like, do you know how easy it is to fuck up a child?

Especially that the ways the members of the Gaang 'fucked up' as parents feel mostly in character.

Bumi was going to face some struggles with self worth due to being the firstborn child of the Avatar and arguably one of the most powerful waterbenders in history, while being a nonbender himself. That much was unavoidable, no matter how his parents approached the issue.

And Aang was obviously going to be over the moon when Tenzin was born. Think about it. He's literally the last of his people. He has no one else 'like him'. No one else to pass down the traditions, the teachings that Gyatso and everyone else he cared about and who were horrifically murdered to. Aang is getting older and he feels like his culture and history and his entire life before he got trapped in that damned iceberg will die along with him. And then Tenzin is born and Tenzin can take up the mantle that had been thrust upon Aang.

I'm going to withhold my judgement on Izumi and Zuko, since we barely know anything about them. She seems well adjusted but that's all i can say right now. But Zuko has also been shown to be extremely, painfully aware of how fucked up his family is and has clearly been putting in a lot of work to unscrew what his ancestors have screwed up.

Toph situation feels very tragic to me,because it's obvious that she thought she thought she was doing better than her parents. She gave her daughters the freedom to do what they want, to not feel opressed and trapped like she had. How was she supposed to know that she was making her girls feel like she didn't love them? (Here's another post of mine about the Beifong family and how they just feel like they're cursed or something at this point.)

TLDR; I get annoyed by people saying that the Gaang being 'bad parents' ruined their characters, because to me it felt like it actually enhanced them.

Neither Aang nor Toph acted out of malice or a lack of love. On the contrary, Toph was trying not to repeat her parents mistakes, accidentally committing a bunch of her own. While Aang probably didn't even realise that he was neglecting Kya and Bumi.

But just loving your children doesn't always make you a good parent.

I think these flaws only add to them as characters. It makes them feel more real.

It's unrealistic and, frankly, just plain boring to go 'oh the Gaang were all good people so they would be good parents too.'

The Gaang were a gaggle of traumatised children forced into saving the world, because the adults around them failed them, that then grew into traumatised adults who have no idea how to be good parents.

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newtonsheffield · 2 months ago

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Ok Chicagoan here. I am guffawing my way through the Cubs AU. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my hometown feature in someone else’s fic before and I love it.

Admittedly my partner stopped avidly following the team in 2018, so I haven’t heard that much of how they’ve been doing since, and Wrigleyville was batshit the night of their win in 2016, but…

I say this with all the love in my heart but the Cubs are generally a losing team. That’s just kinda a given. There was over a century between their World Series wins. Even when they’re doing well, there’s a healthy amount of skepticism that they actually won’t screw up at the last minute. So if Anthony is on his way there, the city and all the fans outside of it are about to lose their collective minds, and I cannot wait.

Also, it takes a lot to overcome the Curse of the Billy Goat (yeah this is a thing).

Imagine a lot of confusion from recruiters around Anthony Bridgerton who’s widely regarded as one of Baseball’s best prospects because he’s got offers from a lot of places and it’s an open secret that you can offer him whatever you want: He’s signing with the cubs.

Which seems insane because they haven’t done a lot of winning and he’s got offers from the most successful clubs in MLB. But there’s also the fact that his profile picture on Instagram is a photo of him as a five year old in a cubs jersey being held up by his Dad to stare through the net at Wrigley field.

This was is dream, and it was his father’s dream as well.

And that’s how the cubs ended up drafting Anthony Bridgerton in the first round. It was where he wanted to be and everyone knew it. Did the cubs beg borrow and steal to get a high enough draft pick to be able to nab him? Yeah. But he’s a huge talent and they know that people are going to be loyal to their own. They also know watching him take a bow as he steals third base while laughing? This kid’s going to sell a lot of fucking jerseys

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zaddyneteyamlovergirl · 2 years ago

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I’ve never requested before, so i hope im doing this right

i love your writing and your writing of jake sullys daughter! If your taking request can i suggest jake sully x daughter!reader who is dating a boy and their relationship. (daughter!reader is a strong warrior while the boy is more of a healer or smth) . How would Jake handle this, his baby girl is growing up ::(

Baby Girl

A/N: Just took a small break because my boyfriend broke up with me lol. Wanted to say LOVED THIS IDEA KEEP EM COMING INBOX IS OPEN

Pairings: Sully! Daughter Reader x Tarsem, Sully! Daughter x Sully! Family platonic!

Warnings: Slight angst, Reader uses she/her pronouns, Loak being dumb, Jake being overprotective. Not proofread lol.

Summary: In which your family discover that you are in a relationship and someone, in particular, doesn't like it.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

“Draw it back and keep your shoulders up, pointed towards the sky.” Your mother whispers gently while observing your stance. You stood with exact precision, as she and your father had raised you to be. You don’t hesitate to send the arrow flying from your grip and towards the animal already moving quickly knowing the accuracy of your own shot. Neytiri admires for a second, a soft smile growing on her face as you send the creature back to Eywa with a prayer. You look back at her with a gentle roll of your eyes and sitting up gently wiping the blood from your hands onto your stomach.

“Mama, I still need your help skinning it that’s so gross.” You screw your face up and she giggles before moving towards you a skip in her step.

The people part as you land your ikran on High Camp and step off. You brush the braids from your face and part with your Mother who moves to set the meat aside. She watches you walk off with a gentle scoff appalled her eldest daughter didn’t even help her begin to put stuff away. “MAMA!” Tuk screeches crawling off from her Father’s arms and running full force into her Mother who grunts and picks her up to spin her around happily.

“Well hello Sexy.” Jake wolf whistles before kissing his wife on the lips and smacking her ass making all of his sons groan from behind him.

“Dad that’s literally disgusting.” Kiri remarks her nose scrunching and Lo’ak agrees with a gagging noise.

“You know what, you all literally came from me and your mother, show some love for love.” He wiggles his shoulders and everyone groans besides Tuk who tilts her head.

“Go and find your sister, she has not finished with her hunting.” Neytiri commands her kids holding up the meat in her hands and they all agree stealing Tuk who eagerly runs down the direction that her sister went towards.

Strutting confidently down and past the tents of the people who live near your head turns from side to side in confusion before a hand reaches out and grabs your wrist spinning you into the arms of your beloved and you giggle happily sighing glad to be within his gaze.

“My love.” Tarsem breathes out reaching out to press his hand against your cheek and you nuzzle into it staring up into his eyes. He takes a step back to examine your entire body noticing the blood on your stomach and the open cut on your foot and he tuts. He grabs the small amount of Sky Walker medicine from his side and squirts it onto the foot making you hiss loudly.

“I am fine Ma Tarsem, no need to freet. I am only in need for a kiss.” You purse your lips at him and he wastes no time in leaning up and kissing you softly, pressing you against the tent and gently grabbing your waist. Due to being occupied with the love of your life, you fail to notice the approach of your siblings.

“Y/N! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” Tuk screeches and points at you both making you instantly pull away and look at them seeing an extremely fast approaching Lo’ak and Neteyam, both of which have the same look of rage on their faces.

Netetyam yanks you back while Lo’ak pulls his thumb and tucks it under his others forming a fist and punching Tarsem making them both yell out, Lo’ak being the loudest.

—--------------------------------------------------

“What the fuck were you thinking!?” Neytiri screams at her sons pacing backwards and forwards in front of all of her kids, besides Tuk who is gently crying in your Fathers arms. His eyes never leave your face and you are unable to read his expression. Your mother sighs seeing the same thing as you do before leaning back.

“Neteyam, Lo’ak apologize to Tarsem, and Lo’ak thank him for healing your knuckles.”

“Even though he should’ve let them be in pain forever.” You mumble under your breath and your Mothers head snaps to yours rage very evident in her eyes.

“Y/N te Suli Neytiri‘ite, I suggest you shut that mouth right now young lady. Now scram.” She hisses at your brothers who tuck their tails between their legs and run out grabbing Tuk to join Kiri who is eavesdropping outside.

“Have you mated with this boy?” Your father spits out and looks at you both instantly making you blush.

“NO DAD!” You yelp out staring at him wide eyed and Tarsem coughs making Jake look at him hostile.

“Something to say boy?”

“FATHER!”

“Yes Sir, if I may.” Tarsem clears his throat before grabbing your hand ignoring the glare you are giving the side of his face. Neytiri pauses for a second her rage bubbling down while she notices something. The way you still wear the love for him in your eyes even while you’re angry. Your body relying heavily on his while trying to keep your distance. She is hit with a sense of deja vu.

“I love your daughter like no other. I know that I come from a family that isn’t particularly high considering this clan but I truly believe I can make her happy and treat her just as she needs to be. She is my mate, chosen from Eywa herself and whether or not you accept that, I will be by her side until the day she sends me away.” Tarsem finishes and you stare at him in bewilderment and love. Your Father notices and storms out heading quickly in another direction.

“I will be back.” You stand and follow after him quickly seeing him head off more deeper into the woods. He sees a stream and heads over flopping down with a huff. You quickly follow sitting next to him with a soft sigh.

“What do you want me to say baby girl?” He says after a few moments in silence, continuing to stare at the fish in the stream. You sigh and rest your head on his tense shoulder.

“I don’t want you mad at me for picking a boy who is lower in the clan.” You say quietly pulling your knees to your chest and laying your head on your knees with your ears pressed to your head. Jake’s head snaps towards you and he sighs pulling you into his arms and sitting you in a rocking position tucking your head into his chest.

“Baby girl, I will never disrespect who you love. A man, a woman anyone. Just hopefully not a Sky Walker.” You snort at that and shake your head.

“Then why are you so mad?” You ask and he sighs kissing your head.

“My baby girl is growing up and getting out into the world. I always knew once your grandmother stepped down as Tsahik, you would become the new one and you would eventually find a mate worthy of becoming Olo’eyektan with you, but now that’s happening a lot sooner and it just makes me sad, because you aren’t the little girl that would never leave me the fuck alone.” He has you crying and you hug him tightly.

“Daddy please don’t think that. I’m still 18! I have a few more years to worry about that.” You sniffle and he nods before sighing and pulling you up.

“I love you baby girl.” He grips you tightly in his arms and you smile.

“I love you too Dad.”

“Now let’s go meet this boy that’s so in love with you.” He teases you making you punch him and he winces walking back rubbing his arm and poking you the whole time back

#avatar the way of water #avatar twow #avatar #jake sully x daughter!reader #sully family #neytiri #neteyam sully #loak sully #y/n #sully fluff #sully!reader #tarsem #tuktirey #lol #this is shitty

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cameronspecial · 7 months ago

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some angst inspired by july of noah cyrus?

can't really describe it

Slow Death

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Mention of Abuse

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.8K

Masterlist

It’s hard to say when they fell in love with each other. It’s even harder to say when they fell out of love with each other. Neither Y/N nor Rafe could tell when they stopped being by each other’s side because they couldn’t fathom being apart, but because the change was a thing they were both afraid of. Y/N thinks it was a culmination that caused the shift in their relationship instead of one event that changed it all. One fight about who is going to do the dishes turned into a constant battle over the smallest and biggest things.

———

Tears stream down her face as she replays his words in her mind. God, when did you become such a burden? The reminder of the burden she has become to the person she once loved causes a new wave of agony to come over her and as she feels herself hyperventilating, she begins to count to ten like her mother taught her. One, Two. Breath In. Three, Four. Breath Out. Five, Six. Breath In. Seven, Eight. Breath Out. Nine, Ten. Breath In. Her breath steadies and she peaks out to the balcony to see if Rafe is going to come in. Instead, she finds him relaxing on a deck chair with a beer resting in his hand. He isn’t facing her, yet his body language tells her he is in the same amount of pain as her. Exhaustion overwhelms her and she feels her eyes flutter. As sleep overcomes her, she is left wondering why they are both so okay with living a lifetime, slowly dying on the inside.

———

She wakes up the next day and isn’t surprised to see her bedside empty. Her normal morning routine is followed to a T. The floorboards creak as she pads to the kitchen to make breakfast and annoyance floods her when she sees the kitchen island littered with beers. There has to be around twenty. Topper and Kelce must have come over once she fell asleep because Rafe could’ve never drunk all of that by himself. He sits at the counter, hunching over a bowl of cereal. She knows he has no plan to clean up his mess. “It isn’t that hard to put glasses in the recycling. It is literally at the end of the counter. You wouldn’t have to walk more than five feet to get to it,” she criticizes. Her mind busies as she begins to clean the mess. He grunts, “I don’t need you to mother me, Y/N.” The tone in his voice gives her the courage to stop pretending everything is fine. “What are we doing, Rafe?”

“What?” The spoon he is holding drops and clangs against the ceramic bowl. She takes a deep breath, “Why are we still together if all we do is fight?” His hand runs through his hair and gives the ends a tug. “Because we love each other,” he argues.

She drops the beer glass she has in her hand onto the table. “Do we? Rafe, every single day, you remind me that I am not enough for you. That I’m not who you want so why am I still here?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Tell me to leave! Then, I’ll pack my bags and get on the road.”

“I can’t do that. So if you want to go, then you can go all on your own.”

She processes his words, wondering if maybe they mean there is still hope for their love. Except, she can’t let that hope override what is happening right now. She musters up her courage, “I’ll go.” His mouth parts slightly before he bites the corner of his lips. A shine glosses over his eyes and she is sure her expression mirrors his. Her steps are less certain as she makes her way back upstairs. The hard floor digs into her knees while she kneels in front of the bed to pull out her luggage. She hesitates. Memories of all the time change has screwed up her life come to mind. When she changed university, she ended up hating it because her new school was always on strike. When she decided to move out of her cozy apartment for a new fancier one, the new one ended up being built with a slew of violations. And the most important one of all, when her mother left her father for someone new. Her new stepfather ended up being an abusive asshole. Change hasn’t been kind to Y/N in the past, so why should she trust it now?

The luggage is left in its place under the bed and she raises, going back downstairs to finish cleaning. Rafe says nothing as she recycles the rest of the bottles and gets to work on making herself breakfast. Because they may be dying a slow death, but at least it will be a familiar one.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura @rubixgsworld

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine #outer banks x reader #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe obx #rafe imagine #obx rafe cameron #rafe cameron outer banks

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hannie-dul-set · 1 year ago

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karma comes in the form of vehicular accidents and designer leather jackets. — [preview].

SYNOPSIS. when you’re nearly run over by a car, and said car happens to be a porsche 918 spyder, your broke ass knows better than to let this one in a million miracle slip by.

PAIRING. shen quanrui x female! reader. GENRE. emotionally-stunted idiots to lovers, implied college! au, rich boy x not-so-rich girl trope but neither of them are normal! they’re both not well adjusted! mc is an actual scammer and ricky’s love language is throwing out exorbitant amounts of cash, romance, humor, angst if you squint but i prefer it when things are stupid, suggestive. WARNINGS. swearing, probably a number of illegal things, dubious medical practices, scamming, gold-digging, mild manipulation, a not very healthy dynamic at first but we’ll get there, more tba. WORD COUNT. teaser: 915 | full fic: est. 15-18k.

RELEASE DATE. within january, maybe. TAGLIST. send an ask/dm/reply to be added.

NOTE. hello riyangi nation i have another insanity-driven wip to offer. hopefully i go crazy again and write 4-5k a day like my last ricky longfic HAHAHHAHAH. this one has a bit more plot, a bit more seriousness, but still on the spectrum of unhinged!!! hope u enjoy.

preview under the cut.

IT’S A DOG EAT DOG WORLD OUT THERE. You’ve learned this lesson time and time again, ever since the early age of six— when your father got kicked out from his own start-up thanks to his greedy cousins, when you got in trouble for punching a classmate in first grade because he lifted up your skirt but the fucker was the grandson of your primary school’s dead, and when your high school scholarship got screwed over because “your parents unfortunately don’t support the school enough,” and you flipped off your home teacher all while calling him an ass-kissing, money-grabbing piece of shit.

Well, you were forced to transfer after that.

At least your new school didn’t base their scholarship grants on fucking PTA donations instead of grades.

From then on, you’ve learned that the only way to survive is to screw people over before getting screwed over yourself. There’s no point being nice. You can’t bother being a doormat to people who don’t even contribute a cent to your rent. You’re not wasting your smiles for people you can’t use.

Maybe it’s how you’ve grown to be so opportunistic, because the moment you and a friend were told that only one of you could get a full ride to Yonsei University— you didn’t think twice to cut him off. You stopped sharing your notes. You stopped studying together because why should you be nice to your competition? He was more well off than you anyway. His future doesn’t rely on handouts like it yours does.

Bottomline, yes, you’re not the nicest person in the world. Sure, you screwed over some strangers opting to go to the same job interview as you by giving them the wrong directions. Maybe you cut yourself off from your parents the moment you turned legal when their debt started getting to them and they started relying on you to get out of the pitfall instead of pulling their own fucking weigh. Yes, you’re not a good person. You’re fully aware of that.

Which is why you can’t exactly say fuck you to god when karma comes to bite you in the ass via a car accident on your way to your weekend work shift.

The dead and quiet road you usually cross is now filled with noises of panic.

“Oh my god— dude! Call an ambulance!”

Your lungs hit asphalt and your head starts ringing. A pained hiss slips through gritted teeth. Something’s broken, you grunt, or at the very least not how it should be based on the sharp pain you’re feeling on the arm wedged between your body and the rough and dusty road. “Are they dead?!” you hear someone yell, followed by a car door swinging and footsteps running closer, yet your eyes remain squeezed shut from the blinding headlights and the aching of your entire body.

But it’s not the pain you’re dwelling on. No. It’s the hospital bills and the inevitable days off you’d have to take thanks to your god forsaken fucking luck.

The car should’ve just killed you on the spot.

“Are you okay?!”

However when you finally open your eyes and recognize the embodiment of your karma body slamming you into the ground in the form of a freaking Porsche, your worries suddenly get washed away into oblivion.

Holy shit, you’re fully conscious now. You’ve just hit the jackpot.

“O—oh, she’s awake, she’s awake! Gyuvin—”

Whoa.

There’s a person hovering above you. Rather, the person’s gold gilded necklace is dangling in front of your face. This is more than a jackpot. This is better that the fucking lottery.

“What—what do I do?”

“Is she responsive?!”

“U—uhm— are you okay?” Pretty boy that you assume is the one who nearly killed you is flitting his eyes in panic and is unsure with what to do with his hands. His face aside, the guy is decked out in designer clothing. You don’t miss the engravings on his jacket, the shiny glints of gold coiled around his panicked fingers. You’re not letting his chance slip away. You let out a grunt of pain and start folding into yourself. “Ahh, I don’t think she’s okay! What’s the number for 119?!”

Half acting. Half actually fucking hurting because ow. Maybe you did break something.

“I don’t know! Taerae, what’s the number for—”

“Are you two stupid?!”

Well shit. The pain stops paining because if they bring you to a hospital different from the one you have in mind, it’d be a loss for you. So you play it up even more. “A—ah, I think something’s broken,” you wince. Pretty boy drops his phone and tries helping you prop yourself up.

“Crap. I think it’ll take too long if we call an ambulance,” says one of his companions behind him. “H—hey, do you mind if we just take you to the hospital right now?”

Now, this doesn’t sound safe. Around three men in their early twenties with very evidently no first aid experience delivering an injured woman to the hospital with what you think is a two-seater car is a recipe for disaster. You’re still on the dirty ground, arm definitely broken, with a rich guy looking like he’s about to start crying at any moment very hesitantly trying his best to help you sit up.

They’re waiting for your answer. And the answer is pretty obvious.

“Yes, please. Thank you!”

Because if you get even more injured along the way, that’ll simply be an extra bonus for you.

#shen ricky x reader #ricky x reader #zb1 ricky x reader #zerobaseone x reader #shen ricky x you #zb1 ricky x you #zb1 x you #zerobaseone x you #zerobaseone fics #zb1 imagines #zb1 x reader #zb1 ricky imagines

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hina-hina · 2 years ago

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Hello i was wondering if you could write ghost and a daughter reader who wants to follow ghosts steps but he doesn't like the idea and they ended up in big argument and wasn't able to make up before he left

Hello friend! I love this request and it's something quite similar to what I did for Price a while back. Still one of my favorite scenarios! Thank you for requesting, Hope you enjoy!!

Tried something new with this one, I hope you guys like it! I saw another writing using this format but I can't remember the user. If you know, please lmk so I can give proper credit!

Ghost is a single dad in this btw!!

→ COD Masterlist

|| Ghost With a Daughter That Wants to Go Into the Military ||

Warnings: Wicked amounts of angst but also fluff

Female!Reader // Platonic

Your dad always claimed that you were a little too much like him

Most of the time, he found it endearing

But then their are times he wished you didn't take after him so much

He had come home from deployment and he could tell something was up

You had insisted on making him a home cooked meal because you knew he had been surviving off bland MREs for months

But he sat down and the two of you had a pleasant dinner and exchanged stories on what had been happening in your respective lives

When you suddenly got serious, he knew he was in for it

You scooted your chair close to him and grasped his hand which had been lying on the table then said you had something to tell him

His mind immediately starts jumping to the worse but he tries to keep it under control and let you finish

Then you tell him that you plan to enlist in the military

He is immediately shook by fear and just tells you a simple but firm, "No."

"You didn't even let me explain!" You shout back as he back.

Ghost jumps from his chair, turning his back on you as he runs a shaky hand down his face, "You don't need to explain, the answer is no."

Your face screws up, anger at your father's abrupt dismissiveness, you grumble, "It wasn't a question."

He turns, his face drawn up in a surprised annoyance, "Excuse me?"

"What's the big deal, anyway." You were standing now, locked into an intense stare-off with Ghost, "Your in the military."

"I joined the military to ensure you would never have to. Conversation over." His accent was becoming thicker as you could almost sense his rising anger.

You were being overtaken with such childish anger. You wanted to stomp your feet and scream until he decided to listen to you. You hated fighting with your dad but you couldn't stand how protective he was over you sometimes.

Ghost was now moving to collect the dishes, ignoring looking at you entirely as he moved to put them in the sink. Him dropping the conversation and trying to move on like nothing happened only made you more angry.

"Well, I'm doing it whether you like it or not!"

You knew you were being childish now but that didn't stop you. You turned on your heel and stomped up the stairs to your bedroom, slamming the door for good measure.

The next few days were painful to say the least. It was filled with silent dinners and the both of you being too prideful to start the conversation again.

This continued until the day came where he had to return to base to prepare for his newest mission.

That's what brought you to today, the both of you standing face to face in the living room. He was dressed in civvies but he had his impossibly large military duffle tossed over one shoulder, his balaclava gripped in one hand as he prepared to become Ghost again.

"I'll be back in a few months. I'll send letters and tell Mrs. Davies is next door if you need anything."

You nod your head but still refuse to speak, causing a deep sigh to rumble from his chest. He looked like he wanted to say something but he didn't. Instead, he opened his arms slightly, a subtle invitation for a hug.

You don't move a muscle.

He face twitches with disappointment before he raises his hands to pull his balaclava on, hiding his facial expressions from you.

"Bye, love."

He heads out the door and locks it behind him. You feel your eyes start to sting.

Despite what happened when you left, he does keep true to his promise to send letters up until the day comes when he has to ship out.

You don't hear from him again and you spend the next few weeks sulking alone. Until a knock comes from the door, causing you to drag yourself from your bed despite how your body fights against it.

You open the door and standing there, shifting nervously, is none other than John MacTavish, your father's sergeant.

Your heart sinks, "Can I help you?"

"Hi, lassie," He smiles but it seems forced, "I was sent by your father's task force to inform you that yer dad has been injured while in action."

"What?" Your voice cracks, a hand coming up to cover your mouth.

"He's alright now, gunnin' to see you actually. I can drive you to the hospital, if you want?"

Immediately, all the things that you were angry about seem so insignificant. You regret not hugging him even more. You give the other man a slight nod as you rush to grab your purse, locking the house and rushing out to his car. He doesn't push you to talk and he pretends not to notice the silent tears streaming down your face.

When you arrive to the hospital, John walks you through the secure areas in the military hospital and leads the way to your father's room. He holds the door open for you and you inch inside.

Ghost is laying on the stiff hospital bed, eyes shooting toward the door as he watches you enter. His eyes crinkle from under his balaclava, a tell-tell sign that he is smiling. "Thanks, Johnny. Mind givin' us a minute?"

"Not at all, sir." John closes the door behind himself leaving you and your dad in the silent hospital room.

Your dad is the first one to speak, "How are you, love?"

You crumble. Your eyes fill with tears as you stumble toward your father's bedside. His arms immediately open and you jump straight into them, careful to avoid his bandaged wounds. He shushes you softly as you beginning to release hiccuping sobs.

"I'm s-so sorry! You got hurt and I didn't even give you a fucking hug before you left! I'm s-sorry, Dad!"

"Enough of that, no more Scrikin', now." He wipes your tears away, taking one hand to pull his balaclava off. He never liked wearing it around you. "I'm sorry for not hearing you out. I just can't stand to think of something happenin' to ye. But, I promise we will talk about it. Don't go jumpin' into anything just cause your old man said you couldn't."

You laugh, rubbing at your ruddy cheeks with the sleeves of your shirt, "Ok."

"Love ya, kid." He ruffles your hair.

"Love you too, Dad."

Thank you for reading!

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fatgumsurpremacy-remastered · 5 months ago

Text

Listen dude listen-

Yandere Vox with a fat fem reader is insane to meeeee I need to write

Tw: Vox being creepy, time period fat phobia (1950s), 50s diet culture shit, reader doesn’t fucking care bc that shit was stupid and the only time she’s self conscious is when Vox is being gross n weird, Gossip, inappropriate behavior, stalking, coercion (nonsexual), noncon touching, Vox saying nasty shit but no actual smut, hypno later in the story.

When You’re Just You- Yandere Vox x Fat Fem reader

Being alive was always a hassle, and being dead was even worse. Because in death you realized quickly that the freak on TV was the same freak who plagued your existence when you were alive… and he was untouchable.

When you were alive you lived in a teeny tiny little suburban neighborhood; with white picket fences and houses in pretty neat rows. You were surprised your parents made it to the neighborhood but supposed you’d be grateful for the gifts god had given you. So you grew up, graduated high school and delved headfirst into the 1950’s!

What a time to be alive.

Men fawned over ladies they saw at the parlor or even at the grocers, with little respect for themselves making it a sight to see a man fumble only to speak to you normally.

Because you- were approachable.

At least from what they could see.

Yes, they’d grown to expect a petite woman with 'flowy' dresses and perfect hair. A beautiful skirt, they chased, hoping to catch and mount like a trophy on the wall. To their credit- a good amount of women in your town fit the bill- and let you know it. Though that truly didn’t matter, you’d smile happily at them and tell them they were lucky, and loved, and beautiful.

But you’d throw in just how nice your dress looked on you and with that they’d compliment right back. While some were backhanded others genuinely agreed, and those were the ladies you spent your time around.

Men seemed to not care and would spare you only 'good mornings', or quick and casual chats at the diner when their fling hadn’t waltzed in.

It was cozy until they made comments that would make you screw up your face in disgust.

“And I suppose you’d know all about a woman’s body wouldn’t you Dick?”

The man would pull at his tie with a sheepish grin, turning away in embarrassment, not bothering to close the conversation. And for a while- it was nice.

Till Tom Leery introduced you to a friend of his. The man was only introduced as Vox- a nickname obtained in high school; a tv salesman extraordinaire, and an eligible bachelor of 34.

When Tom broached the subject to you on a sunny afternoon visit to your parents porch to deliver some mail you’d wanted to scoff.

“Please Tommy, you hardly speak of me much less brag about me. How would this man even know I exist!” But Tom would insist-

“I’m tellin you! He popped up one day and started yappin away about you. He’s love sick, and has been crawling up my spine beggin me to ask you to see him for a date!” Tom begged, hands clasped together so hard you could see them going from white to red, to white again.

And so you relented.

You’d see this “eligible bachelor” and tell him off so royally for ruining an evening you could spend listening to jazz and shooting it with your family.

But when you went outside that fateful night you thought your eyes decived you. A handsome man in a boxy navy suit, light blue undershirt, and a red tie. His black hair seemed to catch every highlight from his outfit. He was more tan than others but his eyes were this... piercing blue.

He looked like a regular Superman, and his smile fit the bill.

It was a damn shame his mouth didn’t.

That’s why your father didn’t approve.

The moment he caught your form he smiled wildly, and it would’ve been a small fairytale moment had it not been for the sharp whistle that came after.

“Well! Look who it is, how are you doing gorgeous?” And for a moment you were flabbergasted, you checked behind you to only spot your animals in the window, and dad barely hidden in the small crack of the doorway.

“Excuse me?” You’d say to his amusement as he started his way up to your home.

“Gorgeous!” He’d repeat, before stopping in front of you, tall, broad frame leering over you before he’d take your hand and give it a kiss that lasted entirely too long. You’d ponder giving the date up and moving back inside had it not been for Tom’s insistence. “You ready to burn rubber?”

“I’d rather not be in the car with an arsonist thank you.” You replied, and the response etched itself into a part of Vox’s brain.

“Smart woman!” He’d say, which would've sound condescending if it weren’t for his posture, stiff and shaking, eyes lidded and foot tapping impatiently. “Should’ve known you’d be witty, not like the rest of the girls here huh?”

And that wouldve rubbed you the wrong way. Had you been less polite you might have bit out a cutting remark on his own beauty, but you held back. After all it was time you let yourself be treated to something nice.

So soon you were off. And the date started when his black Coronet whizzed down the road, barely giving you time to click into the front seat and adjust to your chair.

“So- what’s your favorite time of day? You got a favorite dog breed? If you were put in a room with 3 men who would you feel safest around and haha- you don’t have to say me. I wouldn’t be offended. If you did though- why?” Vox would spew questions at a rate that made you wonder if he just liked hearing himself talk- meaning you barely got time to answer one before he insufferably pulled you up and into a huge restaurant nearly two towns over.

“This is a tad-“

“Shabby? Yeah I called for reservations uptown but your dad said no. So here we are,” Vox would sigh as if your father’s judgement was so wrong before smiling again and grabbing your hands with his, “But maybe you can convince him to let us next time!”

Reservations grasped at the strung nerves in your body the more time you spent with him, as his hand met yours any chance it could get. As he yapped away about sales and meetings, or pitches for shows that he would air on tv.

“So I sent the script into Dan around two o’clock that afternoon and he never got back to me!”

“Uh huh…”

“What kind of a cop out is that? You think you know a guy… do you want to hear what it’s about?”

“Have you even ordered yet?” He’d be taken aback by this, smiling shyly before coming back full force.

“I’ve actually been waiting to see what you’re getting… I have trust in your appetite…”

The insinuation wasn’t lost on you, it surprised you however- was his tone alongside the hand that only seemed to crawl further up your arm resting on the table.

One you withdrew quickly into yourself as you blinked owlishly back at him.

“I’m sorry?”

“You want me to order for you? Why didn’t you just say anything- oh and hey! You don’t worry about seconds or anything I’ve got it covered. Have to keep my girl well-“

“Just get me a salad.” It was his turn to act baffled as he pulled out his wallet and looked at you incredulously, throwing his hands out like you insulted him before looking around and leaning an arm on the table.

He spoke like he was telling you a secret and expecting one in return.

“You’re beautiful- don’t let anyone else in this place get you down because you- are one of a kind.” He leaned in really close, too close and poked you square between your collarbone, knowing if he got further he would’ve poked between your tits and he smiled. “I actually like ladies like you, I’ve found they can handle more...” His gazeonly drifted lower, bit lip caught between his upper cainies as he unabashedly attempted to peer down your dress.

"...Thrilling Endeavours~"

Needless to say you were uncomfortable.

Suddenly you felt ten sizes too large and sat back with an obvious look of disgust on your face. Something everyone else around you seemed to notice. And so the whispers started.

“I… want a salad thank you.” You’d say again, grimacing as his smile dropped and he rolled his eyes. “Is everything-“

“Yeah yeah everything is fine- fuckin phenomenal no issues here… can’t go one night without fuckin' things up-“ Vox grumbled, hands shoving a card and some money back into its case before childishly flipping the menu up and going silent.

Eyes seemed to burn into you and you felt shame and embarrassment crawl up your neck. You turned your own to your wine and sipped it slowly before placing it down and crossing your arms over your lap, accentuating their weight.

Vox looked over the menu with a small glare before speaking too loud for comfort.

“They’ve got three different salads and all of them only have one ingredient differences, are you su-“

“Positive.” And he would huff, setting the menu down harshly before flagging a waiter over. One who had been snickering at a table in front of you only a few minutes earlier.

You let your head down as he spoke to Vox, who seemed to notice your discomfort and was at least sorry he pulled a stunt like he did. His hand was back in the center of the table as if he was inviting you to grab it.

In an effort you stepped up and lightly touched it, which willed him to grab it so hard it felt like it would break. “Ah-“

“Don’t- if I give you the chance to, will you order something… better?”

“I said I want a salad Vox." You answered with a glare. His eyes seemed to darken at this, flitting back to the waiter as his jaw set in annoyance.

"That'll be two steaks for the table, and ugh-" he snapped his fingers - " Do me a favour and dont take all night, I'm trying to treat this little lady to something nice, and shes just being difficult." The waiters smirk was pointed as he wrote down the order. "That'll be two of our house special steaks, and bottle of vintage for you and your sist-" Vox's shadow loomed over the table as he prepared to chew the young man out, his ears growing red from agictation.

"Friend!" Was what you cut in with, a hand resting soothingly on the back of Vox's, thumb interlocked with his, causing his pupils to blow wide as the waiter straightened his posture. "He's taking me out as a courtesy dinner on behalf of our friend Tom Leery." You said succinctly, watching the stress melt off smoothly from Vox's shoulders.

The waiter looked between the two of you, nodding understandably, as he was clearly grateful you deescalated the situation he started.

"Mhm, my mistake ma'mm, and... sir. We'll have your food out shortly." *To be continued.*

#vox x reader #yandere vox x reader #vox x female reader

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ellielatinagf · 8 months ago

Text

“Your hairs getting long”

Summary: Let’s pretend Dina, Ellie, and JJ are living happily ever after in Jackson:) Ellie and Dina exchanging conversations and a nice haircut for Ellie

An: believe me I’m working on Lacrosse ellie part 5 and I think part five will be the last chapter I just wanna figure out how I wanna end it LOL. This is a little bit of both Dina and Ellie’s pov. Enjoy:)

Warnings: angst????

*knock knock knock*

Dina slowly opened the door and peeped her head in the small room. Ellie whipped her head around to meet Dina’s gaze. Her expression softened when she saw those brown eyes. The same ones that light up her world, the ones that shine light in the darkness. Dina walked over to her now wife. Yup, wife. After Ellie got back from California of course Dina had to smack some sense into Ellie.

Flashback

“Are you hurt?” Dina squeeked softly. She held JJ in her arms. JJ was was already getting bigger. His hair was longer too. Thankfully Mr. Robinson, the Jackson Barber, had been patient in giving the little boy a haircut. Bless the poor man his eyesight has gotten a bit worse.

Ellie shook her head. She was too ashamed to look up at Dina. Much less look at JJ. She couldn’t bear the sight of seeing him more grown up. It would remind her of how much she had missed. The pain she would feel knowing he probably doesn’t remember her is unbearable.

Dina placed JJ don’t in front of her feet. She didn’t know why. She was so over flooded with emotions. Anger, sadness, relief. They all took stabs at her heart at the same time. JJ looked up at Dina confused but the looked at the sunburnt, green eyed, auburn woman.

Now Ellie was forced to look at the child. Her eyes weld up. His hair was longer. And choppily cut too. It wasn’t Dina who’d cut his hair, Dina does a better job. He resembled Jesse. Her heart ache. Her mind flooded with pictures of her last moment with the child’s father. She took a deep breath. Ellie opened her hand to reveal a small toy elephant. Ollie. She’d won it at the Jackson festival so long ago and had kept it. She remembered how JJ used to sleep with it at night.

JJ looked at what was in this mysterious woman’s hand. He smiled and waddled towards her. The blue dusty color caught his attention and likeness. He touched Ellie’s hand and look at Dina for approval of the toy. Dina hesitated but nodded slightly. JJ let out a happy chuckle and took the blue elephant. Ellie couldn’t help but smile.

Dina slowly walked forward. Maybe this was a dream. The same dream she’d had for the last year. Ellie in front of her. Ellie’s dead. This isn’t real. Her mind is playing tricks on her again. It often does this. When she is putting JJ to sleep she’ll think she caught a glimpse of Ellie’s figure in the shadow. This is the same thing.

*Smack*

Not exactly how she planned to prove the realness of the situation. Ellie winced. She knew she’d deserved it. To be honest she deserved worse. She would have preferred Dina slap her 100 times than to remind her of how much she had screwed up.

Dina looked at the hand print mark on Ellie’s cheek. The damage was worse due to her horrible sunburn. Dina looked around for JJ. Now she wonders if she had made a mistake to smack Ellie in front of Jj. She catches the boys rowdy hair and looks in his area. He was playing with a random street dog. Clutching Ollie in his little chubby fingers. Dina sighed and looked back at Ellie.

Ellie looked at Dina with teary eyes. Dina noticed something different in them thought. They weren’t the same dead eyes she used to have. They weren’t dull. They were bright and glossy. And not just because Ellie was crying a tsunami.

“I know” Ellie whispers “I know nothing will ever make you love me again”. She sniffs her nose so she can make out more words. “I know than no amount of apologies will ever be forgiven from me”.

Dina felt sadness hit her.

“But I love you”

That was it for her. Dina cried. Hard. She threw her arms around Ellie. She finally felt it again. She felt that same bubbly feeling in her heart. She doesn’t want to admit it’s love at the moment. But she feels it. Ellie took the girl in her arms and held her. She held Dina and wouldn’t let go. She secretly promised to never let her go.

After that day Ellie agreed to stay in Joel’s house. She wanted to give Dina and JJ time to create that bond with her. She didn’t want to force herself in their lives. She slowly started seeing Dina more and more. And JJ loved playing with Ellie. Ellie always said ‘I love you’ to Dina. Even if Dina never said it she knew that with time, she would.

JJ loved Ellie of course. And if wasn’t because of the fact that she always brought him something after patrols. One day ellie found something that caught her eye. A shiny diamond. It had already been 2 years since she saw Dina again. Dina always invites ellie over and Dina had been saying ‘I love you’. It’s time.

That night after JJ got his presents Ellie bent down on one knee in front of Dina. Part of her was thinking it’s too soon and was about to fake tie her shoes. But she asked Dina and showed the ring. Dina was over joyed and cried if happiness. She couldn’t have said yes any faster.

Flashback end

“JJ sleep okay?” Ellie asked.

“For a six year old, he was okay” Dina replied. She bent her head down to kiss Ellie’s forehead.

“Are you gonna head to bed?” Ellie asked. She looked at the canvas in front of her. She wanted to do a still life drawing of bowl of fruit. Was it cliché? Maybe, but she wanted to improve her art.

“Once you do” Dina said. She looked at the auburn hair. It was long. Probably an inch or two below Ellie’s mid neck. “Your hairs getting long” Dina thought out loud.

“Wanted to ask if you’d cut it for me” Ellie hummed softly and looked at Dina.

“Not Mr. Robinson?” Dina asked resting her head on Ellie’s shoulder. Ellie groaned quietly and Dina chuckled. Dina got up and grabbed a pair of scissors and a comb. Ellie put down her art supplies. She could finish tomorrow. Dina started to part Ellie’s hair and began cutting.

“Can I take JJ hunting?” Ellie asked.

“Don’t you think he’s a little too young?” Dina answered nervously.

“I only wanted to take him to the chicken field” Ellie asked. She didn’t want to throw the boy in the forest with clickers and wild boars. She probably would be hesitant for him to go out there even if he was 30 years old.

“The one in Jackson right? By Tommy’s house?”

“Mhm” ellie confirmed.

“….okay” Dina approved “but if either of you get so much as a paper cut, we’re getting food from the market for a year”. Ellie chuckled.

“You have my word babe” Ellie smiled.

“Are You scheduled for patrol this weekend?” Dina asked.

“Yeah, you need something?” Ellie asked.

“Do you think you can find some more shoes? His old ones will grow out soon” Dina said.

“That’s what happened when you feed him so much” Ellie chuckled.

“He’s a growing boy” Dina rolled her eyes. “It’s not my fault he liked my cooking”.

“Can’t blame him for that. Unless it’s pasta.” Ellie chuckled. She smiled after she took a jab Dina by mentioning at the time Dina had burnt pasta sauce and let the water boil so much it overflowed. It wasn’t entirely her fault. In a way. Dina just took a nap.

“Don’t piss off the one with the scissors” Dina replied playfully tugging Ellie’s hair. Not enough to hurt her, but enough to prove her point.

“Still ate it” Ellie laughed.

“That’s what she said” Dina replied. Hanging around Ellie so much was severely effecting Dina’s humor.

After Dina finished with Ellie’s haircut they both had taken a shower together. Ellie laid in bed next to Dina and faced her. The two shared a kiss and locked eyes.

“I love you” Ellie said. Dina felt happy. Ellie had never been one to say I love you first. Not in a serious way that is. After she came back however, it’s like her motivation had changed. And Dina was glad that Ellie’s family is her priory.

“I love you too” Dina replied. Ellie sighed. The feelings of immense love was reciprocated. Everything was okay. Finally, she was at peace. She could breath again. Ellie could sit and stay in her mind and not feel herself be destroyed. She could stay like this forever.

Ahhhh thank you so much reading!!! Let me know if you enjoyed it! I loveeeee writing one shots and as much as I love writing Ellie x reader! I just Love writing Ellie x Dina! Uhhh not proofread.Have a great day and remember your all amazing! Free Palestine 🇵🇸

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#ellie the last of us #ellie williams #tlou #tlou2 #ellie tlou #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #ellie x dina #dina tlou #dina woodward #dina the last of us #dina x ellie

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