#and like somehow making this wasn't agonizing??

[pickles4nickles]

RUN AND GET YEWR MEGAPHONE, POKEY

[shdysders]

a cold table

pairing: vada cavell & reader

summary: in which your anniversary with vada didn't turn out like it was supposed to.

word count: 4.8k

author’s note: proof reading this honestly just makes me throw a tantrum bc it’s ridiculously bad in my view. but i’m posting this in hopes of you liking it.

You and Vada were the epitome of "opposites attract."

On the surface, it seemed almost impossible that you two would end up together, let alone be the type of couple that made people smile just by looking at you.

Vada was the kind of girl who looked like she just grabbed her dad's clothes from the laundry basket and made it work. Putting together outfits that made no sense to anyone but her.

Oversized flannel shirts, baggy jeans and sneakers that had seen better days—she wore it all with an air of confidence that dared anyone to question her choices.

She didn't care about trends, and you couldn't imagine her spending more than five minutes deciding what to wear.

You however, were the opposite—always put together, wearing clothes that you knew looked good on you because you liked feeling confident and in control.

When it came to school, Vada was effortlessly good at everything she tried.

She could ace a test without studying, participate in class debates with barely any preparation, and somehow still find time to be the laid-back, carefree person everyone admired.

She had a mind that worked faster than most, but she didn't flaunt it.

You, on the other hand, had to work hard for your grades. School didn't come easily to you, but you cared enough to put in the effort.

You stayed up late studying, agonized over assignments, and took pride in every hard-earned B+ you received. Your determination was something Vada admired, even if she never said it out loud.

Although she would tease you about how seriously you took school, but when it came down to it, she'd show up for study sessions, sometimes even surprising you by actually helping.

And even though you weren't a natural at school, you made sure she didn't slack off too much, reminding her about deadlines and sometimes dragging her to the library when she'd rather be anywhere else.

Everyone at school saw how different you and Vada were. Some people were surprised when you first started dating, while others seemed to have seen it coming from a mile away.

Vada had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the room, even when you were surrounded by people.

She listened to you, really listened, like your thoughts were the most important thing in the world. When you talked about your day, no matter how mundane, she would look at you with those deep, thoughtful eyes and nod along.

And you were always there for her, too. Vada might have been the laid-back one, but she had her moments of doubt, and you were the first person she'd turn to.

People noticed how you two balanced each other out. You didn't try to change one another, but you definitely influenced each other in subtle ways.

You brought some structure into Vada's life, and she taught you how to loosen up a bit. You didn't make a show of your relationship, but the way you naturally gravitated toward each other said a lot.

Everyone could see that, even if you didn't make a big deal out of it, you were good for each other.

And even though people didn't really talk about you and Vada much—there wasn't any drama, no on-again, off-again stuff.

You were just there, solid and steady, the kind of couple everyone figured would last. It was easy to imagine you two growing old together, the high school sweethearts who actually made it.

You thought so, too. For the longest time, it just felt like you and Vada were meant to be, that nothing could really shake what you had.

But that was before you started to doubt everything the two of you had.

Before the incident.

You were in the library that day, tucked away in a corner with your books spread out in front of you. Vada had class, and you were trying to focus on an assignment due the next day. It was just another ordinary afternoon, where everything felt routine and predictable.

Then, out of nowhere, you heard it—a loud, sharp sound that made you freeze.

At first, you couldn't quite place it, but then it happened again, and suddenly the room around you shifted.

The quiet murmur of students working turned into panicked whispers, and then, in what felt like seconds, chaos erupted.

Gunshots.

The next thing you knew, people were scrambling, and you were being pulled down to the floor by someone you didn't even know. Your heart was pounding so hard you thought it might burst. You could barely think, your mind racing with fear and confusion.

Meanwhile, Vada had been in the bathroom, just down the hall from where the first shots were fired. She wasn't alone—Mia, the popular girl everyone knew but no one really knew anything about, was there too.

When the first gunshot echoed through the halls, they both froze, their eyes wide with terror. Without a word, they rushed into the nearest stall together, instinctively pulling their feet up onto the toilet seat to stay hidden.

In the days that followed, everything felt like a blur.

The school was closed, news crews swarmed the area, and you were left trying to process what had happened. You tried to be there for Vada, but it was hard to know how.

She was different—quieter, more withdrawn, like she was lost in her own head. You wanted to help, to say something that would make it better, but nothing felt right. It was like a wall had gone up between you, and no matter what you did, you couldn't get through to her.

Vada barely talked about what happened in the bathroom with Mia.

When she did, her voice was flat, detached, like she was telling a story that had happened to someone else. She wouldn't look you in the eye, and that scared you more than anything.

You could see the fear and anger simmering under the surface, but she wouldn't let it out. She tried to act like everything was fine, but you could see the cracks forming.

You knew she was probably feeling a million things—guilt, fear, anger, maybe even shame for surviving when others hadn't. But she didn't talk about it, and you didn't know how to bring it up without making her shut down more.

Every time you reached out, it felt like she was slipping further away, retreating into a place you couldn't follow.

The carefree attitude that used to define her was gone, replaced by a tension that never seemed to leave. You noticed how she avoided certain hallways, how she liked to be alone now, and how she wouldn't talk about it. It was like she was trying to hold it all together, to not fall apart, but you could see how much it was costing her.

Vada didn't go back to school for a long time.

But eventually, you did go back due your parents forcing you. It wasn't easy, and you felt guilty every day.

The hallways felt different, quieter, like everyone was holding their breath. You went through the motions, trying to keep up with classes and pretending things were normal, but they weren't.

Not for you, and definitely not for Vada. It was hard walking into school every day, knowing she was at home, struggling with things you couldn't fully understand.

You tried to keep things normal, to talk about school, or movies, or anything that wasn't about what happened. But even then, you could feel the distance growing.

At first, the way Vada acted—or didn't act—around you didn't really matter. You understood she was going through something unimaginable.

You were patient, giving her the space she seemed to need, even when she seemed distant or didn't respond much.

What really caught you off guard wasn't the silence or the way she sometimes snapped at you, which you could understand given everything she was dealing with.

What hurt more was when Vada started disappearing.

You'd try to check in on her, but she was often unreachable, and you had this sinking feeling she wasn't just avoiding you—she was spending time with someone else.

You'd seen Mia post something on social media, little hints that made it clear Vada had been with her. It wasn't like you blamed her for needing someone who understood what she'd been through, but it stung all the same.

The fact that she was turning to Mia instead of you made the distance between you feel even wider, and that's when the doubt started to creep in. You knew she was hurting, but you couldn't help but wonder if this was the beginning of something you weren't prepared to face.

And as the days went on, Vada started staying out late, not telling you where she was or who she was with. The first time it happened, you tried not to worry too much, but it kept happening.

You wanted to talk to her, to see how she was really doing, but every time you tried, she seemed to slip further away.

Then, one night, you decided to go over to her house, hoping to finally have that conversation.

When she opened the door, you could immediately tell something was off. She was unsteady on her feet, her eyes a little glazed over, and you could smell the alcohol on her breath.

She was drunk, and it had shook you more than you expected. This wasn't like her at all.

You tried to ask her what was going on, why she was drinking, but she just brushed you off, slurring something about needing to forget for a while.

It worried you, seeing her like this, knowing that she was hurting so much that she felt the need to numb it with alcohol. You wanted to help her, to pull her back before she fell too deep, but she wasn't letting you in.

Even with everything going on, you held onto the hope that Vada wouldn't forget about your three-year anniversary. It was the one thing you thought might still matter, even with all the changes and distance between you.

Every year, you and Vada had always done something special to mark the day. It was your tradition—whether it was a simple picnic in the park or watching the stars from the roof of your house, it was always something that brought you closer together.

You thought that this anniversary might be a turning point, a chance for both of you to reconnect and maybe find some of what had been lost in the chaos.

You knew things weren't the same as before, but you hoped that this day would remind Vada of what you had, of how much you meant to each other.

You spent weeks planning something small but meaningful. Nothing too extravagant, just something that would show her you still cared deeply and that you wanted to make this work.

You spent weeks planning something small but meaningful. Nothing too extravagant, just something that would show her you still cared deeply and that you wanted to make this work.

You had arranged everything perfectly. After some careful planning, you talked to Vada's parents about your idea, suggesting that they and her little sister Amelia spend the night at Vada's grandmother's house.

You knew your own parents would never approve of the two of you having the house to yourselves on a school night, but Vada's parents were different.

They saw how much you meant to each other and, more importantly, how much Vada needed something to remind her of the good things in her life. They agreed without hesitation, eager to give you both the space you needed.

With the house to yourselves, you planned to cook dinner for her—nothing fancy, just her favorite comfort foods, something that would make her feel safe and loved.

You'd set the table in the dining room with candles, making it feel cozy and intimate.

After dinner, you were going to to watch the movie you saw on your first date. It was your way of trying to bring things back to the beginning, to remind her of who you both were before everything got so complicated.

You wanted the night to be perfect, not in some grand, over-the-top way, but in a way that would show Vada that you still believed in what you had together. This was your chance to reconnect, to pull her back from the distance that had grown between you, and you were determined to make it happen.

As the day got closer, you tried not to let your anxiety get the best of you. Vada had been distant, but you convinced yourself that she wouldn't let this day slip by.

This was your day, after all—the one day you could both take a break from everything else and just focus on each other. You were counting on it, needing it to bring you back together, at least for a little while.

The day finally came, and you had everything set up just the way you imagined.

You spent hours in the kitchen, carefully preparing all of Vada's favorite dishes. The table was set with candles, the lights dimmed just right to create that warm, intimate atmosphere. Everything was perfect, down to the last detail.

The whole thing was meant to be a surprise—you hadn't told Vada anything, just that she should come straight home after whatever she had planned for the day. You imagined her walking through the door, seeing the setup, and maybe, just maybe, something in her would shift back to how it used to be.

But as the minutes turned into hours, the excitement started to fade, replaced by a growing sense of worry.

Vada wasn't coming home.

You waited and waited, watching the food grow cold on the table. You tried calling her, messaging her, hoping for some kind of response, but there was nothing. Each time your phone stayed silent, your heart sank a little deeper.

You knew deep down that just waiting around probably wasn't the smartest idea. Maybe you should've told her, given her a heads-up so she could be sure to come home.

The hours passed and the house stayed empty, you couldn't ignore the sinking feeling in your chest. The night you'd planned so carefully, the night that was supposed to bring you closer, was slipping away, and with it, the hope you'd been clinging to.

You kept glancing at the clock, the numbers glowing dimly in the quiet room. It was nearly 11, and you were clinging to the hope that she'd come through the door any minute.

If she did, you'd just reheat the food, relight the candles, and try to salvage the night. It wasn't ideal, but you were ready to make the best of it.

Then, the front door creaked open, and Vada walked in. You jumped up immediately, eager to greet her.

When she saw you, her expression was a mix of surprise and something else you couldn't quite place. She looked at you weirdly, as if you were weird for being there.

She seemed off—her steps were unsteady, and there was a distant look in her eyes that made you worry.

"What... What are you doing here, Y/N?" she mumbled, her voice slurring slightly. She seemed distant, making you worry even more.

You tried to smile, but it felt stiff and uncertain. "Today's our three-year anniversary," you said, your voice filled with hesitation. "I was hoping we could spend some time together. You know, like we always do."

Vada let out a scoff and began to walk toward her room, her steps slow and uneven. She glanced at you with a weariness in her eyes, as if the effort to respond was too much. Her shoulders were slightly hunched, and she seemed to be struggling to focus on you.

"Do we really still care about this?"

It hit you harder than you expected. You tried to hold onto your initial excitement and positivity, but her tone made it hard to ignore the distance growing between you.

As she took those two steps toward her room, you felt a mix of disappointment and confusion, unsure how to reach out or fix what seemed to be slipping away.

Vada walked closer, and you could smell the strong scent of alcohol on her breath.

As she moved into the light, you noticed her eyes were red and puffy, and it was hard to tell if it was from crying or something else.

You hoped it was tears—something you could understand and help with. The thought of it being anything worse made your heart sink. You stood there, struggling to reconcile the image of her pain with the reality of what was happening.

You took a hesitant step forward and asked, "Are you drunk?"

Vada's face reddened with anger. "Are you seriously judging me right now?" she snapped.

You were taken aback by her reaction, and a wave of nervousness washed over you.

The fact that she was drunk only seemed to make everything worse.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady, said, "No, I was just wondering where you've been. Have you been drinking alone?" Your words trailed off, unsure how to continue as you watched her closely, hoping she'd open up.

Vada's anger seemed to wane as she noticed your genuine concern. "I was with Mia," she said simply, her voice a bit softer.

You hesitated for a moment before asking, "Have you done drugs?"

Vada's face flushed with anger as she spun around, muttering, "Oh my god." She shot you a fierce look, clearly irritated.

You quickly followed her, trying to explain yourself. "I was just worried because you've been spending a lot of time with Mia, and I was just wondering what you two were up to. I didn't mean to... I just wanted to know." You felt yourself rambling, hoping she'd understand your concern.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your emotions in check. "I just need to know if there's something more going on between you and Mia."

You knew the question was direct and might come off as rude, but you were desperate to understand what was happening.

You needed to know if this was the end for you both, if there was something significant you were missing.

Vada's eyes widened in surprise, her face flushing with a mix of anger and guilt. For a moment, she looked taken aback, as if the question had cut through a fog of confusion. Her response was immediate but hesitant,

"What are you talking about? There's nothing between us." But her tone betrayed a hint of uncertainty, leaving you more unsettled than before.

Your curiosity was driven by the fear that everything you had might be unraveling, and you were grasping at any answers that could provide clarity.

You were grasping for understanding, your voice trembling. "I don't know. It feels like you've just—"

Vada cut you off, voice loud enough to make you flinch. "Why do you always have to question everything?" she slurred, her speech thick and unsteady. "Just because we're dating doesn't mean you need to know everything I'm doing or feeling! I'm so fucking tired of you prying into every little thing!"

Her movements were uncoordinated; she stumbled slightly as she spoke, her balance wavering.

The alcohol and possibly drugs made her seem disconnected, her eyes glassy and unfocused. She swayed slightly as she continued, her anger barely masking the haze of her intoxication.

You struggled to keep calm, knowing her anger was intensified by the substances she'd consumed. "I didn't mean to pry," you said, your voice trembling. "I just wanted to understand what's happening with us."

Vada glared at you, her frustration still evident. "What, do you expect me to lay out every detail of my life for you?" she snapped, her voice laced with bitterness.

"Do you want me to explain my feelings all the time, like it's some kind of control?"

You shook your head, your voice trembling as you quietly replied, "No, that's not what I meant." Her words and actions seemed disjointed from what you were trying to address. Vada's gaze remained fixed on you, her anger unyielding and her eyes burning with frustration.

Her words and actions seemed disjointed from what you were trying to address.

You had only been seeking clarity about your relationship, not demanding control or constant explanations. Her response felt out of touch with your intentions, leaving you confused and hurt as you tried to make sense of her accusations.

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest, and asked, "What did you guys do?"

You didn't expect anything shocking or out of the ordinary. You just hoped she'd tell you they hung out, talked, maybe drank a little—nothing more.

You weren't trying to accuse her of anything; you just wanted to make sure they hadn't done something reckless or dangerous.

The thought of her putting herself in a risky situation was what really worried you.

That's why you asked—to ease the growing unease in your chest, to hear something that would put your mind at rest, and to reassure yourself that everything was still okay.

Vada's eyes flashed with irritation as she responded, "Nothing."

Her tone was dismissive, but you couldn't ignore the gnawing doubt inside you. You glanced at the clock on the wall, noting the time. "Vada, it's almost 11 a.m. You've been with her all night. Of course, you did something."

The air was thick with tension, almost suffocating. Vada's posture stiffened, her shoulders tensing as she tried to process your words. You could see her face flush, her mind clearly racing as she grappled with the confrontation.

She had always hated these kinds of direct confrontations, and it was evident she was struggling to come up with a believable excuse.

For a moment, there was a charged silence. You watched as Vada's gaze darted around, her eyes betraying her panic.

She opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again, her face a mixture of frustration and fear as she searched for a way to deflect or minimize the situation.

Her hands fidgeted at her sides, clenching and unclenching in a futile attempt to steady herself.

The silence dragged on, and you could almost see her internal struggle as she failed to come up with a satisfactory answer.

Her frustration began to bubble over, and her composure started to crack under the pressure. Finally, with a sharp intake of breath, she snapped.

"Fuck it," she burst out, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation.

"I smoked weed with Mia, got high and I slept with her, alright? Is that what you'd like to hear?"

Her admission was blunt and raw, a revelation that she hadn't intended to make but couldn't hold back any longer. The anger in her eyes and the way her voice wavered revealed the depth of her frustration and the extent of her emotional turmoil.

Her voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a knife.

Her confession hit you like a punch to the gut. The words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding, and you could feel the room closing in around you.

The shock made it hard to breathe. You tried to stay calm but struggled to process what she'd just admitted. "You slept with her?" you repeated quietly, your voice trembling.

For a split second, you saw a flash of regret in Vada's eyes, as if she realized the weight of what she'd said.

Although that look quickly faded, replaced by her defensive stance.

The moment of vulnerability was brief, almost as if she was trying to erase it before you could fully grasp it. You were left reeling, trying to make sense of her sudden, raw honesty and what it meant for both of you.

Did she actually sleep with her? Or did she just say it out of anger or because she was under influence?

Mia had always been someone you thought was a friend to Vada, someone who was there for her in ways you couldn't be after everything that happened.

You never saw her as a threat, never imagined that Vada's connection with her could be something more than just two people sharing their trauma.

But after every late night that Vada seemed to spend with her,  the doubt had tightened its grip.

You thought you had tried so hard to be there for Vada, to break through the walls she had built up, but now it felt like those walls were never meant to let you in. They were meant to keep you out, while Mia was welcomed in.

The realization that Mia, the girl Vada used to mock for her obsession with popularity and appearances, could have become something more to her, stung.

Vada had always rolled her eyes at the way Mia cared about what people thought, about how she looked. It was something that made you believe Vada and Mia could never be more than friends.

But now, you couldn't help but wonder if all that bashing was just a cover, a way to hide the truth even from herself.

Had Vada's complaints been a way to deflect from feelings she didn't want to admit?

You could feel the tears welling up, your lips trembling uncontrollably. You didn't try to hide it, but it felt irrelevant since Vada seemed to look right through you.

Her gaze was unfocused, her pupils dilated, wide and glassy, as if she was barely seeing you. Her mouth was twisted into a slight, almost mocking smile that made your heart sink even further.

You hoped and prayed that she didn't actually found this funny.

You tried to convince yourself that she would regret this later, that she'd understand the pain she was causing, and that the real Vada—without the haze of alcohol and anger—would recognize how deeply she had hurt you.

But not even your hopes seemed to be on your side as Vada let out a heavy sigh, the anger seeming to drain from her as she suddenly looked exhausted.

"I'm going to bed," she mumbled, her voice still slurred, but now quieter, almost as if the fight had taken all the energy she had left.

She turned on her heel, swaying slightly as she started to walk away.

But then she paused, her hand gripping the edge of the wall for balance, and looked back at you with a cold, detached expression.

"And clean this shit up before my parents get home," she snapped, her voice filled with disgust as she gestured vaguely at the table where the dinner you had so carefully prepared now sat untouched, cold.

"It looks fucking ridiculous." She spat out, her words like shards of glass cutting through you.

You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, feeling the sting as you glanced back at the table.

Her words echoed in your mind, and as you looked at the half-heartedly arranged candles and the untouched dinner, you had to admit—maybe she was right.

It did look ridiculous.

Without waiting for a response, Vada turned away, her frustration palpable as she stormed off toward her room. The silence that followed was heavy, the flickering candles casting long shadows that seemed to mock the effort you had put in.

You stood there, feeling like a stranger in a house you had once felt so welcomed in, like an outsider in a place you had imagined as your second home.

As you cleaned up like she told you to, the weight of what had just transpired settled heavily on your shoulders.

You packed the leftover food into containers, trying to salvage what you could for Vada's parents. Each movement felt mechanical, your hands moving on autopilot while your mind was consumed by a torrent of thoughts.

You sobbed quietly, tears falling onto the remnants of a dinner that was meant to celebrate love and commitment, that was meant to fix what you guys had.

It wasn't a formal breakup, but the reality was clear.

Vada's behavior, whether from being drunk or high, had made it clear that things between you were over, even if no formal words had been spoken.

There was so much left unsaid, so many questions swirling in your mind.

Although as you walked out the door of the Cavell house, you knew the answers no longer mattered.

[strngegirl]

a/n: wrote this because the other thing im working on doesn't seem to be going so well and i need a break from it. (⁠´⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠.̫⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠`) just an idea i had, so not very good.

cw: unestablished relationship, gn reader, you and gojo are coworkers in an office, you give him a disinterested handjob and he's really into it, gojo is kind of a pathetic loser and kind of a pervert, not proofread.

!! nsfw !!

"Do you want to give me a handy?"

That's the first sentence that left your coworker's mouth when he plopped down on the seat next to yours.

It was only you and the insufferable Gojo Satoru left in the office, both unfortunately having overtime. Your head was aching from the amount of workload you have to do, and now it ached even more when he just said the weirdest shit you've ever heard in your whole life.

You swivel your chair to look at him, exasperation written all over your face once you take in his rare serious face.

"A handy?" You blink slowly. "A handy."

"A handjob, yes. I'm asking you for a handjob." He says, and again, his voice lacks the usual playfulness. He's serious about this. He's talking about this like it's a business proposal.

Satoru didn't know what washed over him either. He just thought you looked so good like that, all tired and fatigued and hardworking and then the more he thinks about it the harder his dick gets. He's not beating the weirdo allegations. And then he decided to shoot his shot for whatever reason.

When you continue to stare at him with the same expression, he starts to get a little nervous. Maybe he should retreat.

Ready to exude his charm and play it off, a nod came from you and that stops him in his tracks. Now it's him being the shocked one. He wasn't expecting you to actually agree, considering he's well aware of how much you find him irritating.

"O-oh, seriously?" His voice comes out a little quiet as he stares at you dumbfounded, watching you turn back to your computer. You nod again.

Feeling like he's in a fever dream, he unzips his pants and pulls his cock out almost too quickly as he scoots a little closer to you, eyes wide and eager. He thought you were gonna give your full attention to him but no, you start typing on your keyboard again. Now that makes him feel a little embarrassed. He's almost tempted to push his boner back into his pants before one of your hands reaches out and blindly searches for his cock. He stiffens when you finally find it, gripping it firmly for a few seconds before you slowly start to jerk him off.

Satoru literally doesn't know what's happening, but the fact you're continuing to jerk him off even as you refocus back on work is oddly hot. The sight of it almost makes him cum on the spot even if you've barely started. God, that's pathetic.

You, on the other hand, are still a bit confused about this whole situation. At first, you lowkey wanted to tell him off and report him to HR tomorrow, but at some point through your mental debate, you just thought, 'why not'. Maybe work really is driving you insane.

At first, it was a little awkward. You have one hand on your keyboard, one hand on some cock and a guy next to you, whimpering. Soon it turns into white noise for you as you completely immerse yourself back into work, forgetting what you're doing. Your hand on Satoru's cock is just moving on its own, having gotten the rhythm and moves itself up and down on his aching length at an agonizing pace. But somehow, Satoru really likes it. Like, really.

He leans back in the chair, his chest heaves up and down as he watches your hand slowly stroke his cock while your attention is entirely elsewhere. It's been barely ten minutes, and you've hardly sped up, but Satoru already feels like he's about to cum. His hips buck up into your hand a few times, muttering soft curses as his face grow pinker every second your hand is on him.

"Fuck." You suddenly say, your hand unintentionally tightening around his dick and that was his breaking point. He lets out a breathy moan as cum spurt out of his tip in thick, white globs, coating your hand entirely. You flinch at his orgasm, wide eyes flying towards him then you remember that you were giving him a handjob.

Slowly, you pull your hand away from him and subconsciously wipe away his sperm on his thigh. He doesn't really argue about it, though.

It was a little awkward after he finished, and you're about to stand up to go wash your hands but Satoru suddenly grabs onto your arm, still panting like a bitch in heat.

"That was-" he gulps. "Good. Can we- I don't know, do this again? Like, you can do whatever you want but like, also jerk me off at the same time."

He's running his words through his dick first right now. You gave him the most mind shattering orgasm through that alone and he feels like it unlocked something inside of him.

"...I mean, okay, I guess." You shrug. "But can you pay for my lunch-"

"Yes. Yes I will."

"Okay."

[siddyyyyyyyy]

Comfort

Damian Wayne x Batsis!Reader

wc: 1.3 K summary: your younger brother tries to comfort you when you're sick. warnings: none, fluff, platonic, no y/n used a/n: I'm doing this because i dont want to live, so here you go. (divider)

It started with a sore throat after patrol. Nothing too scary and you made yourself a warm tea to make it go away before going to sleep. But it was bold of you to assume that it won't get worse overnight. Tea isn't medicine after all.

It started to get worse in school, the next morning. You noticed the tremors going through your body and light sweat covering your skin as you went through each period, but you didn't want to skip the day just because of that. So, you powered through, even when you felt like a walking zombie by the end of it. After you managed all your classes, you get back home and make the agonizing way upstairs. Entering your room felt like heaven, being reliefed that it's over, but now you have to take care of yourself somehow.

Settling down in the kitchen, you make another hot tea and slice up some fruits, in hopes the vitamins will make you fitter. You sit down at the kitchen table with a light grunt, only now noticing the terrible aching of your limbs.

To make your throat hurt less, you take a few careful sips before you take a few small slices and try eating them. It feels refreshing but swallowing them down feels like getting sand paper getting shoved down your throat. And taking sips of hot tea doesn't help your case. So, you give up on eating the whole plate and leave it half-finished at the table. After downing the last sips of your cup, you move back upstairs and snuggle into your fuzzy blankets.

It feels heavenly and you wait for the shiver to go away, starting to warm up slowly under the mountains of blankets. Still in school uniform, you take a short nap, which didn't feel satisfying or restful at all. Your body keeps shivering and your head is pounding with a dull ache, not even being able to relax fully by yourself. Being fed up and still sick, you slowly creep your way towards the Batcave since your first aid kit in your room doesn't have medicine, and the most useful stuff should be down there.

Your aching limbs manage to carry you down to the elevator, eventually getting to the medical section of the batcave. The cold climate of the cave doesn't help you, only making the shivers become more violent. But you find the needed items for your fever and some for your runny nose, eventually turning around to get back upstairs.

There stands the smaller but chilling creature, your younger brother. You jump up and almost let the packets of medicine down before you compose yourself quickly

»What are you planning with the medicine? Are you sick?«

It's clear by his tone that he's worried, but he still frowns up at you, arms crossed tightly.

»Uhm... « That came more as a croak, clearing your throat as you try to speak up properly. »Yeah... fever. « You finally manage out and sigh out afterwards, which only results into a coughing fit.

Damian leans away lightly, even though you're coughing into your inner elbow and try not to face him while doing so. With narrowed eyes, the younger teen gets the medicine from your hands and nods to the elevator.

»Please go upstairs and try not to slip and die. I will handle this for you.«

Despite his rough approach at this, you know that he only means well. With a softer expression, you get back into the Mansion and you make your agonizing way upstairs all over again. Finally there, you change into more comfortable clothes and collapse back onto bed. Waiting for Damian to return, you do nothing but stare up at the celing tiredly, and wish last night wasn't so rainy during patrol.

But you don't have much time thinking about it, hearing a short knock before Damian steps in with a bigger tray in hands. He comes closer and sets the tray on to your night stand, looking you over again.

Damian prepares a few pills and hands them over to you with a cup of water. »Take these.«

After swallowing down the few meds, you finally take in what's on that tray he brought in. There's a steaming cup of tea and a bowl of soup, a smaller plate with garlic bread and there's also a banana. He rubs the back of his neck as you take it in, eventually taking the bowl and almost salivate.

»I wish my nose would be working right now...« You rasp out, voice being mostly broken due to the fever and your stuffy nose. Damian presses his lips tightly together, eventually gesturing to the tray.

»Eat up. I know it's not the best, but at least you'll be better afterwards... do you need anything?« You shake your head at his words and start eating the warm soup, feeling like you might just descend into the sky. Your younger brother eventually quits your room and trusts you to rest up, even though he'll make sure to check up on you every now and then.

After finishing some of the soup and fresh garlic bread, you got back into your sheets and took a proper nap. Your fever went slightly away during that time, still feeling a bit cranky when you wake up. It's later into the evening and you're unsure if you can patrol tonight. Your determined mind, however, comes up with every excuse to go out anyway. A few moments later there's a short knock at your door before Damian enters again, checking up.

»How's your fever?« He asks straight away, coming up to the edge of your bed. You shrug lightly, leaning back against your headboard.

»Better, I think I'm healing up. Was just a bit dramatic earlier.« Knowing him, he will definitely be against going out on patrol with you tonight. So, you wait for his answer, but he doesn't and simply presses the back of his hand on your forehead. He frowns lightly, letting go after a moment.

»You're not dramatic. But that fever is dramatic. You need rest.« He stubbornly crosses his arms and tilts his head up, trying to look down at you this way. It makes you huff out, shortly after getting another coughing fit. Damian proves himself right and grins lightly, eventually handing you the banana you didn't finish up.

»Eat. I'm sure father won't you let out tonight either.«

And with that, he turns on his heel and leaves your room without further argument.

You stay in your bed for the rest of the evening, getting another portion of food from Damian for dinner. This time it was a salad and some warm mashed potatoes, saying that you should eat some light food but with enough nutrition. It does make you feel satisfied and you take another nap without even realising.

He quietly takes the dishes out of your room while you sleep, eventually leaving you alone again to rest up plenty. And indeed, when Bruce finally goes up to check up on you, he won't let you go out to patrol and instead makes sure that Alfred will keep an eye on you, ensuring him that you won't sneak out.

Now bored and sick, you do your studies as best you can, but eventually give up on them as well, after being unable to concentrate due to your growing headache. Falling asleep another time, Damian comes back inside after patrol and tucks you in properly, carefully laying your studies away and takes you in briefly before leaving to his own bed. He would be lying if he said he isn't worried. He almost panicked when he saw your pale and tired face back in the Batcave, having thought something way more serious has happened. But even after taking care of you like this, he still feels a tiny bit concerned. Be assured you'll be made fun of once you get back on your feet.

←MASTERLIST

[madelynraemunson]

NEED…MORE…EX-HUSBAND!EDDIE…I AM FERAL AND FOAMING AT THE MOUTH PLEASE BLESS US MORE I’M BEGGING

IT’S ANGST O’CLOCK!!!

𝐢 𝐰𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 (𝐬𝐨 𝐢 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠)

ex husband! eddie x fem!reader

“all that still matters is ‘love ever after’ — after the life we’ve been through” — life after you // daughtry

WC: ~950 words

3AM. The witching hour.

The air smells of twilight musk and marinating dew. It's pitch black all around you, the nearest gas station being an agonizing 1.3 miles away. You're also 10 miles from Hawkins, pulled over in nothing but platform heels, a black mini dress, and expired pepper spray in your purse. To make matters worse, the only friends up who seem to be up at this hour are hungry bears and obnoxious, chirping crickets. And skinwalkers if you're where you think you are.

A horrible ending to a girls night out. Just what you needed.

Alone and afraid, you decide to call the number one person on speed dial, whose gradual distaste towards you renders itself very evident from the moment he answers the phone.

"What?! I'm trying to sleep."

"Eds." you whimper into the phone. "I need you."

There's a long pause in response to your petrified sobs, followed by the clicking noise of a phone keyboard before you hear cursing and the frantic ruffling of sheets.

"I’ll be there."

"Well?"

You watch as Eddie crinkles his forehead in concentration, examining your car while his soot-tainted hands explore every crevice of your hood. Routine maintenance has never been as issue because you've always had a personal mechanic at your feet. But since the divorce, you've gotten pretty bad about it. Otherwise, the you and Eddie wouldn't be stuck in this situation. Obviously.

"Weeelp." Eddie sighs, stretching out every bit of the syllable. He slams the hood shut. "She's just about blown out. You're lucky that thing didn't overheat too much with you in it."

You've prided yourself in not needing a man to change your tires, wiper fluid, OR oil nowadays. But in the midst of your journey towards self love and independence, you somehow forgot that your car could also overheat.

"Oh..”

You try not to watch intently as Eddie cleans his hands off with his hanky, the one he keeps neatly tucked into the back pocket of his flattering dark, denim jeans. Your eyes then trail towards his leather jacket, which housed his broad shoulders and delicious waist so nicely, you would've thought it had been tailored just for him. And you could just about fall right into him when he angles his torso towards you, his sculpted jawline glistening in the moonlight — but nearly not as glistening as those gorgeous chocolate eyes, the ones he used to his advantage during your marriage to get you to forgive him for whatever mistake he seemed to make that week. Before you could fawn any further, Eddie snaps you back to reality.

"When was the last time you put some coolant in this thing?"

"Some what?"

"You keep Prestone at the house?" Eddie pesters. "Antifreeze? Peak?"

Cheeks reddening, you shake your head. "No.”

"You get this thing examined often?"

“Not unless you do it," is what you shamefully admit. “For the most part…”

Eddie's face scrunches out of frustration. He knew this would happen.

"God, I hate when you do shit like this," he snaps. "For all I know your engine light could've been on for weeks."

"But it wasn't." you mutter softly. You're already scared. This is the last thing you need.

"You know your car in particular needs to be serviced every half year?" Eddie mutters. "Oil changes, tire rotations. Your break pads have also seen better days. Which is concerning."

"Ok.”

"And how many times do I have to say you gotta pay attention to this fucking radiator?!" Eddie hisses, slapping at the hood again with his open palm. You shudder at the loud *THUNK* noise that echoes across the woods. "We wouldn't be out here in 3AM if you had just taken proactive measures.”

"Stop YELLING at me!" you whine, a piece of your inner child spewing outwards to combat Eddie's belligerent word vomit.

"I'm not yelling." Eddie firmly insists.

He turns his back to you and starts towards your car again.

"Yes, you are, you always do." you croak miserably, balling your fists up in frustration. “You always do Eddie, and I'm sick of it! You always want to be right, and you always kick me when I'm already down to-"

“Okay, okay, okay." Eddie hushes you. He runs a frantic hand through his hair. "Agh, fuck, okay — I’m sorry.”

He looks at you with guilty, glimmering eyes as you shift your body away from him. Guarded, tense. Closing up all access of you towards him because he lost those rights a long time ago. Muttering to himself now, Eddie scrapes at the pebbles beneath his feet, fiddling with the chain of his wallet before he dares to speak to you again.

"I just worry about you a lot."

You peer back over at him. "Deadass?"

He snorts. "Well yeah."

With your permission Eddie stalks closer to you.

"I don't want to wake up to a phone call talking about my wife's car bursting into flames — with her inside." He rolls his eyes. “All because she hasn't been maintaining her shit.”

"I have been," you fib just a bit, though most of it rings true. just forgot to iron out some little details."

Eddie relaxes his shoulders.

"I know," he surrenders. “I guess there's a part of me that secretly hopes you'll still need me somehow. Some way, or another."

"I'll always need your presence," you reassure him.

Your ex husband softens up. He always thought that during your separation you had found another Superman to save the day. Some other handsome devil to fix your car and maintain all the leaky faucets inside your once shared home. But as you've always insisted, nobody has your back like Eddie. Your very own George Reeves. At your disposal for you and you only.

He suddenly wraps his arms around you, and as you predicted you ease right into him, the comfort and familiarity of Eddie melting away any ounce of hostility you guys have ever harbored against each other. You both have your days, but the love you two have for each other has always remained the same. Just changed form, is all.

"I'm glad you're okay," is all he says.

'I'm glad you're here," you sniff. "Always playing hero, per usual..."

"Well for you, always."

He plants a gentle kiss on top of your forehead as you two sway around in unison. You hum to showcase your endearment.

And he'd do it again.

———

🏷️ tagging peeps who seemed interested in this lil universe 🫶🏼✨ thank you guys for reading :)

@highinmiamiii @potatobeans99 @mediocredreams @joshlmbrt @eddiesxangel @enam3l @mmunson86 @davidblowies-blog @thatissonnina @oskea93 @aurora-austen @lesservillain @madeofmunson @xxbimbobunnyxx @eddiesghxst @munsonssweets @nailbatanddungeon @swiss-mrs @winchester-angel @belokhvostikova @curlyjoequinn @strangereads @marrowfrog00 @shadyunknowncreation @tuolcaniacoc @catherinnn @prestinalove @pleuviors @cinemabean @calumfmu @littlexdeaths

[pregobirthlvr]

Please post this version 😉

For the story ideas:

Please make it male/male, he can give birth through a pussy (trans or not) or anal, what you prefer

3

Breeding cage

Extremely long

Agonizing

Owner/Breeder

Breeding cage, maybe the Breeder lets them give birth to the last in a bed

First baby standing, second squatting, third laying

Head first

Brutal, last one impossible

Birth denial

Third person

Thank you for the prompt! (Hopefully i did it justice!)

Caged Birth

word count: 1997

-----------

Carrier 2C had been in this cage for a while now, he wasn’t sure just how long but by the pain in his expanded abdomen he knew it was at least 10 months. He was impregnated the first night he arrived, he was sure of it. His breeder forced him onto his hands and knees and filled him with his cum, quickly turning him into one of his many carriers. 

About a month into his pregnancy, his breeder introduced him to his breeding doctor. This doctor confirmed there were 3 babies inside of him. He somehow knew there was more than one. 

Now knowing there was more than one he quickly became his breeder’s favorite. Even with three babies growing inside him, the use of his holes never ended. If anything, it only became more frequent the bigger his stomach got. It started to become normal for his breeder to start moaning how excited he was to see his best carrier birth 3 babies while he came. 

When he finally went into labor his breeder made the best of it. His breeder waited until his carrier was 9cm dilated, then dragged him from his usual spacious cage to a small one, reserved for birthing and in the center of a larger room. This new cage had handcuffs hanging from the ceiling. His cage wasn't the only one in the room. There were many others lining the walls. The carriers inside were also in the middle of labor. They would cry and scream as they were forced to birth his breeder’s babies in the cages next to his.

“One thing to make sure the baby stays inside until I'm ready for you to push,” His breeder says, pulling a chastity belt around Carrier 2C.

His breeder clicked the lock closed, making sure the belt was tight. Then he moves on the handcuffs. His owner locked his wrists inside the cuffs pulling the chain up until he could lower his arms a bit but he was unable to squat or sit.

“There’s a few others that I need to see give birth before I can come back to watch you,” His breeder says between his contractions. His breeder turns and leaves without waiting for a response, locking the cage behind him. 

Now he was forced to practically hang there and labor. Each contraction causes him to moan and scream. His labor lasted what felt like days, later he would learn it was only about 4 hours. During that time he writhed as contraction after contraction ripped though him. Half way through he was screaming for help. An hour later those cries turned to begs as he pleaded for someone to let him push his baby out. Once his water broke and his contraction got even more intense those screams and please turned to mumble garble. 

Now with one of the waters broken his labor had gotten even more painful. His massive belly hung lower between his legs as he tried to keep his balance. Just as he was able to take a breath, a new rush of pain would start to grow. He’d cry out, the next contraction taking over. He pulled at the cuffs until his wrists were red, as his belly contorted again and again.

The metal of the chastity belt rubbed against his hole as a constant reminder of how he was stuck like this until his owner would come back and grant him the ability to push his babies out. It wasn’t much of a problem until he started to feel the head of the first of his babies start to move down his birth canal. Then he realized how bad this was going to be.

He tries his best not to push, no matter what his body is trying to tell him. Sooner then later he ends up failing. He starts to push the first of his baby’s out of him. The head painfully pushed through his cervix to fill his birth canal. He was harshly reminded of the chastity belt around his waist when the baby’s head is starting to crown.

What seems to be some luck for him, his breeder reappears right as he feels the head get held in by the chastity belt. That idea of luck is quickly dissolved when his owner doesn’t even come inside the cage. He just stands outside it and watches his carrier attempt to push the first of his babies out, screaming and pushing hard. Again and again, the baby pressed into the belt before sliding back inside.

Eventually he turns his attention to his breeder to beg, “Please, undo the belt. It needs to come out.” 

“It’s almost time. Just a bit longer,” His breeder responds. 

His breeder watches him suffer through 5 more contractions before he decides to step into the cage. He slowly crosses the cage and stands in front of his overdue carrier, who’s gasping and constantly begging for him to remove the belt. His breeder grabs the lock to the chastity belt and holds it for a moment. He waits until another contraction starts before he slowly unlocks it and removes it from the belt. 

“I want you pushing as soon as i take this belt off,” His breeder says. 

“Yes, I’ll push!” The carrier yells as best he can, his voice coming out hoarse. “Please take it off!” 

The belt begins to slide off his hips and falls to the floor with a hard clank. With the belt no longer holding the baby in, the carrier begins to push. The head started to move further out, stretching his hole until the ring was bright red. 

“It burns!” He cried out when the baby's head was at a full crown. “I’m going to split in half.”

“Just one more push,” His breeder encouraged, reaching up and running a hand over the tear drop shape the carrier’s hole had become. 

With one more push the head popped free with a gush of fluid. The carrier screamed in pain in response. Now the head hung loosely between his legs while he waited for the next contraction to hopefully push the rest of the baby out. His wish didn’t come true as the baby’s shoulders got stuck halfway out. He was forced to stand there stretched out once again waiting to push. Finally after what felt like forever, he was pushing again. The baby slipped free and fell perfectly into his breeder's arms. 

“A perfect baby boy,” His breeder says, holding the baby up. 

The doctor, almost on queue, came in. He cuts the cord and takes the first baby away. The breeder while this is happening starts to lower the handcuffs. The carrier sank down onto his knees, exhausted. 

“How long until the next one,” He asks his breeder. 

“That’s up to your next baby,” His breeder answers. 

Turns out the wait wasn't long. He starts to feel the same tightness in his belly as before. That tightness quickly becomes unbearable contractions. He is pulling at the cuffs in pain trying his best to breathe through contractions. He keeps begging his breeder to help him but he doesn’t move from the side of the cage.

“I’m pushing!” Carrier 2C cries out and begins to push at the same time.

“Looks like your next one will be real soon,” His breeder says, approaching. 

The carrier’s grunts and cries start to fill the room as he tries to push his baby out. With much struggling and no help from his breeder, he manages to get into a squat from on his knees. The position was harder to balance in but it felt easier this way. He pushes again, this time the head moves faster. 

This baby was bigger than the last one, he could feel it. The head started to peak out of his already ruined hole when his breeder’s hands were on his opening again. He felt them rubbing the tight skin around the head in an attempt to help stretch him open even more. He screamed in response but the head seemed to move a bit faster out of him. After a few more pushes the head was at a full crown. His already abused hole ached each second it was stuck there. Finally with one big push and blood curdling scream, the baby's head popped free. The body came a moment later with another painful scream.

Again, the doctor appeared and took this baby like he did the last. Announcing it was a girl before he closed the cage door behind him. 

His breeder stuck his fingers into the carrier’s abused hole. He looked over the carrier's deflated stomach. “Just one more to go.” 

“I think it's coming already,” He says back. He grunts as the next contraction rips through his abdomen. He sways on his knees as he tries to push the baby out. 

“Let's get you laying down,” His breeder says. He unlocks the cuffs around the carrier's wrists and lowers him onto the small bed in the corner of the cage. 

“I-I can’t. Not laying down. It hurts!” He screams at the sudden pressure on his back. He writhes in pain while his body forces him to push. 

“Just bring your feet up and push,” The breeder says from his spot looking at his carrier's abused hole. 

He tries his best to move his legs but they were so weak they just fell open. He couldn't even hold them up long enough to make it through one contraction. He had no choice but to accept his position and try his best to push this baby out laying down. 

Not only was this position more painful, but it soon became apparent that this baby was much larger than the other two. He started to scream even louder when the head barreled through his hips, “It’s going to break my pelvis. Help me. It’s not going to fit” 

“You’ll be okay,” His breeder says in return. “Just keep pushing” 

He didn't want to but his body did not stop pushing, no matter what. Each push felt like knives in his entire lower half. He laid there, in pain, unable to do anything but push the baby inside him out. When the head started to reach a full crown, he knew it wasn’t going to fit. After a few unfruitful pushes he turned to his breeder.

“You have to help me,” He pleaded. “It’s stuck. I can't push it out anymore.” 

He had tears running down his face as he begged. His breeder nodded and in response pushed on his stomach. The carrier screamed out in pain. 

“Stop screaming and start pushing,” His breeder ordered coldly. 

“I-I can’t” He mumbled out, barely holding on. 

His breeder didn't care, he pushed on his stomach, once again screaming at him to push. The carrier tried his best to push. The pain was excruciating, he couldn't stop screaming, tears were now flowing down his face.

“Stop your crying and push,” His breeder yelled at him. 

He nodded and once again mustered up as much strength as he could and pushed. He let out a shriek as the head burst out of him, tearing him open as it did so. He collapsed back against the bed. He felt another contraction and weakly pushed the rest of the baby out of his gaping destroyed hole. He started to fade in and out, as he was told it was another boy. The doctor was suddenly there again, taking care of the last baby. Then started on him before he finally lost consciousness. 

Carrier 2C woke up a few hours later back in his original cage. His whole body ached and he knew he couldn't stand even if he tried. 

“You’re finally awake,” His breeder said from outside the cage. “You did good. I’ll let you rest for a few days before we start trying for your second pregnancy. Hopefully you’ll be just as fertile as your first.”

[kentsjohnson91]

𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐄, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐈’𝐌 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄ˡʰ⁴³

in which luke longs for the one person who understands him.

warnings; sad luke, crying luke, weddings, prom

part one here

part two here

Luke stood at the edge of the reception hall, watching the newlyweds glide across the dance floor. The bride, radiant in her white gown, laughed as Matt, Luke's cousin and her husband, spun her around, their joy infectious. The room was filled with the soft glow of fairy lights and the gentle hum of conversation, but Luke's mind was far away, lost in the memories of the relationship the two of you once shared. Jack and Quinn were talking beside him, reminiscing on the childhood memories the three of them shared with Matt, but Luke could've cared less. Instead, he zoned in on the couple with longing eyes, his face expressionless - that should've been him twirling you around on that dance floor.

It had been nine months since he and you had parted ways, but it felt like a lifetime. The two of you had met in high school, two awkward teenagers drawn together by a shared love of sports, music, and movies, and a mutual disdain for the superficiality of your guys' chemistry teacher. His first dance with you had been in your living room, the two of you clumsily stepping on each other’s toes to a scratchy vinyl record your father had given to you. The two of you shared so much laughter that day, the sound mingling with the music. Luke didn't think he was capable of laughing that much, but somehow, you had brought it out of him. In that moment, Luke had thought that your relationship would last forever.

As Matt and Amelie continued their dance, Luke remembered the night he had taken you to prom. You guys had spent weeks preparing. You agonized over your dress to the point where Ellen had offered to fix it up however you wanted to. She spent a week sewing this, and hemming that, but that dress couldn't have been more beautiful. It complimented you perfectly, the red satin fabric allowing your eyes to radiate. You laughed as Luke fumbled with the corsage during pictures. At the time, he didn't appreciate it, but now, he would give anything to hear your laugh again. When the two of you had finally arrived, the gym had been transformed into a magical wonderland, complete with twinkling lights and a live band. You guys had danced until your feet were sore, holding each other close as if the world outside didn’t exist.

Luke felt a lump in his throat form as he continued to watch the first dance. There was an empty seat beside him, designated for another one of his cousin's who couldn't make it, but Luke couldn't help but feel like it was for you. It was just another reminder that you weren't with him, but you should've been. All he wanted was to look away, but it's like he was frozen. It felt like a god damn punishment. And then, as if things couldn't get any worse, he realized what song they were dancing to - 'Like Real People Do'.

No, no, no. This was your guys' song.

Tears sprang into Luke's hazel eyes immediately, and he jumped up from his seat to excuse himself. Quinn and Jack looked at their little brother like he was crazy, but Luke muttered some half-ass excuse about having to use the bathroom before walking out of the reception hall and outside the building.

As soon as he was outside, Luke tightly gripped the red brick of the building. He felt that if he didn't, he would've collapsed right then and there. He tried to take some deep breaths to calm himself down, but it felt as though nothing was working. So, he whipped out his phone and opened his contacts.

As he hovered over your contact, Luke tried to convince himself that it was because he wasn't in a clear state of mind. Maybe he could even blame it on the drinks that Jack had snuck over to him earlier in the evening. But deep down, Luke knew that wasn't true. He missed you, and maybe, just maybe, his longing for you would decrease if he heard your voice again. The night was quiet, which only seemed to amplify his thoughts. He missed you - every laugh, every conversation, every moment the two of you had shared. He missed you more than he could bear.

But the longer his fingers hovered over your contact, the more hesitant he became. The two of you had broken up nine months ago. The last time he had seen you was the night (or morning, he didn't even know) you showed up to his apartment, where he was sleeping with another girl and practically yelled at you for coming to see him. And it was the night that you needed him most. You were missing your dad and needed comfort. That was it. He had royally fucked up.

Was this a good idea? Would you even want to hear from him?

Doubts crowded Luke's mind, but the ache in his heart overpowered him. He took a deep breath and pressed call.

The phone rang once, twice, three times. Four times, five times, six times.

Luke was about to hang up when the dial tone went away. Static ensued and then he heard exactly what he wanted to hear.

"Hello?" Your voice was soft, cautious.

Luke let out a whimper, a tear falling from his eye, "Y/N/N, hi. It's Luke."

There was a pause, then, "Luke. Hi. It's been awhile."

"Yeah, it has. I-" he struggled to find the right words, "I know it's sudden, but I just needed to hear your voice. I miss you, Y/N."

The line was silent for a moment, and Luke feared that you might've hung up. But then you spoke, your voice trembling slightly, "Why'd you call, Luke?"

He let a sob ring from his lips, his tone heavy, "Matt got married today, and him and Amelie just looked so happy. And I looked at them and it was like I couldn't even see them, I just saw us," another sob rang out, "I just... whenever I looked at you, Y/N, I saw my future. I would've married you if I had the chance." he admitted.

The line went silent again, this time for even longer than the last. Boy, did that scare Luke. Had he said too much too soon? He wouldn't be surprised if he did - his brothers had always told him that that was his fatal flaw. Thirty seconds had passed before he spoke up again, pure desperation evident in his voice, "Y/N/N?"

He heard you sniffle over the line. A few more seconds of silence followed before you spoke, your voice trembling a little more than before, "I... I miss you too, Luke. I think about you a lot."

Relief washed over him, but it was quickly followed by regret, "I messed up, Y/N. Remember that night when you called me an asshole? It's all I've thought about since that night. You needed me and I kicked you out and..." Luke had to pause as he felt his chest tighten. His breaths were ragged and it felt as though he couldn't catch his breath.

"Luke? Luke, are you okay?" you asked him, concern evident in your tone.

Luke was able to compose himself just enough to keep talking as he heard your voice, "I was an asshole. I can't believe it's taken me seven months to admit it, but I was the asshole, and I am so fucking sorry, Y/N."

You took a shallow breath on the other end of the phone, your own eyes welling with tears.

Luke continued, "Listen, I don't know if we can ever go back to what we had, but I just needed you to know how much I miss you."

You sighed softly, tears of your own now slipping from your eyes, "That was hard for me, Luke. It hurt. But hearing you say that means a lot. And I'm not going to sit here and pretend that I didn't fuck up, too. We both made mistakes, and here we are." you faked a laugh.

Without thinking, Luke whispered through the phone, "Can we meet?" There was a lace of hope in his words as he spoke. Maybe it was a little bit of a facade, just to trick him into thinking he had more of a chance than he actually did, "Just to talk. Maybe start over, even if it's just as friends."

There was a long pause, and if it was as if Luke could almost hear you weighing the decision through the phone. It felt like hours had passed before you spoke again, your voice gentle, "Luke... it's not that simple. I miss you - more than you know - but I think that we both need to heal and move forward, even if it's hard."

"Y/N?"

"Yes, Luke?"

"It's pathetic really, how much I still hope it's you and me in the end."

"Take care of yourself, Luke," you said, "Goodnight."

Luke wiped the tears from his cheeks, feeling the weight of your words. As you hung up, though, he felt a mixture of relief and sorrow. He knew you were right - you both needed to move on, to heal. But at least for tonight, he had the comfort of hearing your voice, a small connection to the woman he had loved and lost.

[mya-valentine]

Teasing in Silence

Synopsis: Wanderer’s usually teasing and confident girlfriend suddenly grows quiet, leaving him unsettled and worried that she no longer wants to be with him. As her silence stretches on, he steps out of his usual detached demeanor to give her more attention, only to discover she was afraid her teasing had pushed him away. In the end, they both realize their love doesn’t need to change, and they accept each other as they are.

The sun was setting over the rolling hills of Sumeru, casting a warm, golden hue over the land. Wanderer and his girlfriend had made it a habit to explore the wilderness together—him, ever the aloof and quiet presence, while she was the teasing, confident counterpart that kept things lively. She loved poking fun at him, playfully commenting on how stiff he was or how his expression rarely changed from its usual brooding look.

"You know, you should smile more often, Wanderer. Might make you a little less terrifying," she'd often say, a grin tugging at her lips.

And Wanderer, who had never been one to let people get too close, somehow found comfort in her teasing. Her confidence, her light-hearted jabs, the way she never took anything too seriously—it all balanced out the weight of the world he carried.

But today was different.

They were walking along a familiar path through the forest, the same one they'd taken dozens of times before. Normally, she'd be chattering away, throwing in her usual playful remarks, but today, she was silent. She walked a few steps behind him, her gaze fixed on the ground. There was no teasing, no quips about his serious expression or how he always seemed to be lost in thought.

Wanderer glanced back at her, frowning slightly. It wasn't like her to be this quiet. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice its usual calm, controlled tone.

She blinked, seemingly snapped out of whatever trance she had been in. "Hmm? Oh, yeah. I'm fine," she replied, but there was a tightness in her voice, a forced lightness that didn’t quite match her usual carefree attitude.

He didn’t press her further, deciding to give her space. But as the day went on, the tension in the air became palpable. She barely spoke during dinner, her usual teasing absent, and Wanderer found himself growing uneasy. It wasn’t like him to care so much about another person’s mood, but with her… it was different. Her silence felt like a weight pressing down on him.

As the days passed, her strange behavior continued. She wasn’t avoiding him, but she wasn’t herself either. Wanderer noticed the way she hesitated before speaking, how her usual confidence seemed to falter. He would catch her staring at him sometimes, a strange look in her eyes, but when he asked her what was wrong, she would just shake her head and smile that same forced smile.

The more she withdrew, the more Wanderer found himself unsettled. What if she no longer wanted to be with him? What if she had grown tired of his cold demeanor, his inability to express himself like a normal person? He had always been afraid of letting someone in, afraid that they would see the broken, hollow person he was and walk away. And now, it seemed like his worst fears were coming true.

He didn’t know what to do. Normally, he would shrug off feelings like these, bury them deep inside where they couldn’t bother him. But with her, it wasn’t that simple. He couldn’t just ignore the way his chest tightened every time she looked away from him or how the silence between them seemed to stretch longer each day.

Finally, after days of agonizing over it, Wanderer decided to act. If she was pulling away because she thought he didn’t care… he would show her otherwise.

The next morning, he sought her out. She was sitting by the river, her knees pulled up to her chest, staring out at the water. Normally, he would wait for her to come to him, but today, he went to her. Without a word, he sat down beside her, his shoulder brushing against hers. She glanced at him, surprised by the sudden proximity.

"You’ve been quiet," he said, his voice low but filled with an uncharacteristic vulnerability.

She blinked, caught off guard by his directness. "Yeah… I guess I have," she admitted softly, her gaze drifting back to the river.

Wanderer was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. This wasn’t something he was good at—talking about feelings, being open. But if he didn’t say something now, he was afraid he might lose her.

"I’ve noticed," he finally said, his tone a little more forceful than he intended. "You’ve been… distant."

Her eyes widened slightly at his words, and she turned to face him fully. "I—what?"

Wanderer clenched his fists, his usual cool demeanor slipping. "I thought…" He hesitated, his gaze flickering away for a moment before he forced himself to meet her eyes. "I thought you didn’t want to be with me anymore."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and raw. His chest felt tight, and for the first time in a long time, he felt uncertain. She was the one person he had let get close to him, the one person he had allowed to see beyond the mask he wore. The thought of losing her was more terrifying than he had ever anticipated.

For a moment, she stared at him in stunned silence. And then, to his surprise, she burst out laughing. It wasn’t a mocking laugh, but a genuine, hearty laugh that made her shoulders shake. Wanderer blinked, completely thrown off by her reaction.

"What?" he asked, his voice flat with confusion.

She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, still giggling. "I… I thought the same thing about you!" she admitted, her voice breathless from laughter. "I thought you were getting tired of me teasing you all the time, so I backed off because I didn’t want to push you away."

Wanderer just stared at her, processing her words. "You… you stopped teasing me because you thought I didn’t want you around?"

She nodded, her laughter dying down but a smile still on her lips. "Yeah… I thought I was annoying you. So I figured I’d dial it back."

He shook his head, a small, almost exasperated smile tugging at his lips. "You’re ridiculous."

"Hey, you’re the one who thought I didn’t want to be with you," she shot back, grinning now, her usual playful spark returning to her eyes.

Wanderer sighed, leaning back on his hands as he looked up at the sky. "We’re both idiots, then," he muttered.

She shifted closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Maybe. But I guess it’s kind of sweet in a weird, dysfunctional way."

For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, the tension that had been building between them finally dissipating. Wanderer found himself relaxing, the familiar warmth of her presence grounding him.

"I don’t need you to change," she said softly, her voice more serious now. "I like you the way you are. Teasing you is fun, but I don’t want to push you away. I’m happy with you, Wanderer."

He felt something inside him loosen at her words, a weight he hadn’t even realized he was carrying lifting off his shoulders. "I like you the way you are too," he admitted, his voice low but sincere. "Don’t… don’t change that."

She smiled, her hand reaching for his, their fingers intertwining. "Deal."

And just like that, the silence between them was no longer heavy with unspoken worries and doubts. It was a comfortable, peaceful silence—the kind that only existed between two people who truly understood each other.

For once, Wanderer didn’t mind the quiet. He had her by his side, and that was enough.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[thinkinonsense]

Magnetic ──★ Logan Howlett x fem!oc: Chapter One

╰┈➤Summary: After years of torture, Daphne decides how she wants to spend the rest of her life; at the bottom of a lake. Out of nowhere, Logan pulls Daphne from the water and finds her help. Now they must navigate how to live with their decisions.

╰┈➤C/W: mentions of death, suicide, cursing, age gap, mild violence, issues with infertility, slight sexual themes. ᯓ★ mdni.ᐟ ᯓ★word count: 2.1k+

ᯓ★ reply to be added to the tag list <3 ᯓ★ spotify playlist link

ᯓ★ next chapter

✮⋆˙ At the bottom of the lake was cold water and silence. Years of running can bring you to the edge of a cliff. A lifetime of pain needs to be healed somehow and suddenly, life never felt so peaceful for Daphne.

Finally Free.

Until someone jumps in, wrapping his arms around her unconscious body; lifting her to the surface. Panic began to run through the man's veins as he laid her on the ground. Her heart is beating slowly which helps steady his own.

Daphne coughed up some water while blood rushed to the cut above her eyebrow. The man uses the sleeve of his brown flannel to soak up some of it.

Without a second thought, he scoops her up in his arms again; knowing exactly where he must take her.

──★

"Where did you find her, Logan?" Jean asked, watching over one of the monitors.

"Down by the lake," Logan answers, tapping his foot impatiently.

Daphne's body has barely regained consciousness before her mind starts racing as memories flood yet none of them answer her questions. Logan carefully runs his calloused fingers down her left leg, knee to ankle. 

"Charles was able to build a report on her. She's a mutant." Jean explained. "Her mutations can cause agonizing and illusionary pain, self-healing, telekinesis, and attraction control. She is quite powerful."

"Attraction control?" Logan tilts his head, never having heard of the ability. Jean bites back a smile.

"People find an attraction and gravitate towards her."

"Just sounds like an attractive woman." Logan shrugs, still not quite understanding.

"The government created her years ago; tortured and altered her as they pleased. Magneto was even after her for a while. He wanted to create a weapon out of her. She finally ran away a few months ago. I'm not sure what she was doing at the lake. Perhaps she accidentally fell in the water? I don't believe she was pushed or-"

"She was trying to kill herself," Logan states, eyes not leaving Daphne's soft features. "I saw her jump. I-I wasn't sure what she was doing at first and then..."

Jean places a hand on Logan's back, rubbing a smooth circle.

"She is going to be fine, Logan." She assures him.

He nods, trying not to worry anymore. Honestly, Logan wasn't sure why he was worried. In the past, he's felt protective over Rogue and his teammates but this woman was a stranger. It must've been due to the nature of her attempt to take her own life, he justifies.

Daphne's hair rests damp and curly against the table Logan laid her on when they arrived. On one of the monitor screens behind Logan, Jean notices a rapid change in breath, and the tables around them begin to shake. Before Logan could get his claws out, Jean and him hit the floor, groaning in pain. 

Charles had been right, the pain was agonizing. Jean felt as if someone was closing her throat; making her unable to focus and stop Daphne. Logan's pain was in his chest and abdomen. His claws break through the skin of his knuckles but he can't move.

"P-Please.." Jean begged, gasping for air. "Let us e-explain."

Reluctantly, Daphne releases them both. Logan and Jean noticed her glowing eyes as they shifted back to normal. Her top was ripped from when Logan tried to give her cpr and her pants were still soaked. She was shivering like a dog, Logan thought. Quickly, he shrugged off his flannel and offered it to her; an olive branch. Daphne knew better than to take offerings from handsome strangers. 

"Where am I?" She asked.

"Charles Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters," Jean answers, catching her breath. "You were found unconscious at the bottom of a lake. Do you remember any of that?"

Daphne's gaze lands on the floor. She remembered all of it.

"No." She lies. "Who are you?"

"I'm Jean and he is Logan." Daphne flickers her attention to both of them as Jean continues. "Logan pulled you from the lake."

Before Jean or Logan could ask her anything else, the doors opened revealing Professor Xavier. The man in the wheelchair rolls next to the table where Daphne sits. 

"Hello, Daphne. I am Charles Xavier." The older man says to her. "Can we talk?"

"A-About?" Her voice comes out broken and shaky. 

"What were you doing at the bottom of that lake?" 

In all truth, he already knew. He could see those last moments before she jumped and he knew the pain that lived inside of her. 

"I don't know." She lies again, this time more effortlessly. "I already told them. I don't know why I am here either."

Charles was aware that it would be difficult to get her to admit why she wanted to end her life. His heart ached for her. Similar to how it did for all the other children here. Carefully, he placed a hand over her own.

"You're safe now, dear." He says. "Get some rest." 

As he turned away, he ushered Logan to follow him; leaving Daphne and Jean alone. Jean helped Daphne change into a white tank top and pajama bottoms with the school's logo on the pocket. Now, that Daphne is awake, all of the cuts and bruises that adorn her body can heal themselves. Once dressed, Jean led her to one of the empty bedrooms. As they exited, Daphne snatched the flannel left on the table.

"Some of the older children are on a mission right now but they should all be back soon for dinner." Jean's voice echoed ever so slightly down the empty hallway. "It's quite incredible to watch them and their powers evolve."

Daphne couldn't help but mumble, "I wish I had something like this when I was a child."

"You're welcome to listen in on one of the classes if that interests you." Jean smiles. "There's a lot to learn about yourself and your powers."

Daphne nods as they approach one of the bedroom doors. Jean unlocks it and both women step inside. The room was comfortable, Daphne thought. A real bed and some privacy. She was lucky to get even three hours of sleep a night due to frequent nightmares or someone pulling her for testing. There were no glass cages or lingering eyes. 

──★

On the other side of the mansion, Logan sat in the chair by Charles' desk. He wasn't sure what the other man would have to say. Instead, his thoughts moved towards Daphne and how she must be doing; If she was still cold and shaking from the lake. 

"You did the right thing by bringing her here, Logan" Charles said, capturing Logan's attention again. "She's going to be fine."

"Why'd she do it?" Logan grunted. 

Charles sighs, unsure if he should tell Logan. 

"She was tortured and used as a weapon for decades, finally having made her escape from them she discovered that they stripped away her ability to have children too." 

Logan wasn't sure if he understood exactly. He knew that the government had done that to female mutants in the past to eliminate the rise of mutant children but this girl was still young. Why would she be worrying about having children right now?

"The attraction control was only further torment installed on her," Charles explains. "They trained her to cause pain knowing how gentle her heart is. She was forced to take the lives of people she wanted to help. She is afraid to live, that's why she jumped."

Logan exhaled sharply. He wanted nothing more than to rip apart the people who tortured her with his claws. Daphne's image appears in his head again; soft features and shivering hands. How peaceful she looked with her eyes closed; and beautiful. Logan brushed the last part as the attraction control got to him. 

"She is young. She can still live a full life, get married, and settle down if she wants." Logan said. 

She looks incredibly young, Logan thought when he first pulled her from the water. Old enough to live alone but not nearly as old as him. 

"Daphne believes that she is cursed. Everyone that she has ever caused pain to has left her."

"The pain was bearable."

Charles stares at Logan and then says, "If you think so, tell her that."

"It's not like that." Logan squints at him while lighting the cigar that was in his pocket. "She's too young."

"She stops aging in two years at thirty." Charles lets slip.

"She isn't even thirty?" Logan mumbles to himself. "Jesus."

"I can see how you found her and brought her here."

"You said it yourself, I was just doing the right thing."

Charles chuckles, letting it go. Logan gets up and leaves since they both know there are more important things to worry about.

──★

The mansion is dead silent. Odd considering how many people live here, Daphne thought while staring at the ceiling. All the children were in bed by nine while the adults roamed the halls until midnight. She wrapped herself up in the flannel and locked herself away shortly after Jean left her alone. Around six, Jean knocked on the door a few times to invite her to dinner but Daphne didn't move from under the warm beige sheats. She lay there for hours staring out the window or at the ceiling. Sometime at four in the morning, Daphne figured it was a safe time to make a run for it. This place was lovely and so were the people but she had already decided where she wanted to be. 

"Where do you think you're going, bub?" Logan's voice made Daphne spin on her heels to face him. Her gaze moves up his body he's dressed in a fitted white tank top and plaid pajama pants. It was difficult for her not to stare but she fought the urge. 

"Making your life easier and leaving," Daphne responds, reaching for the door when his hand lands on her wrist with a small pull. 

"I can't let you do that." 

"And why can't you?"

Daphne glared into his hazel eyes, trying to intimidate him but he only found it amusing. 

"Because I don't want to have to save your ass again."

Daphne couldn't help but laugh. Did he seriously think she cared about how this affects him?

"I don't need you to 'save my ass'."

"You sure did earlier." He cockily adds. "Plus they want you to stay."

"Why? So they can use me how they want and discard me when they are done? Look, I've done that whole thing before and it never ends well." Unknowingly to Daphne, her eyes glow maroon again, causing Logan's claws to peak out a bit in case.

"I get it. Trust me, I do but running won't help you either." He says, attempting to calm her before deciding to jump into action. "These people won't hurt you, Daphne."

Daphne's hand drops from the door, releasing his grip and her eyes roll back to their original shade of green.

"Are there any leftovers from dinner?" She asked, seeing one corner of his mouth curl up a little.

Logan led the way into the kitchen, pulling out the leftovers and a beer. Daphne made a plate and warmed it up while he pretended not to watch her. So many questions left unanswered about each other yet neither of them wants to be the first one to ask. It was silent while Daphne twisted spaghetti on a fork and Logan slowly drank his beer.

"Where are you from?" He asks, breaking the silence.

"Not entirely sure." She shrugs. "How old are you?"

 He didn't look much older, she thought. Maybe mid-thirties?

"What's it matter to you?" He answers in a rough voice, almost sounding irritated by the question.

"Curiosity."

"Curiosity killed the cat, ya know?"

"Good thing I'm no cat." Daphne smiles for the first time. Now he knew he had to give in.

Logan sighs, looking defeated. "I'm over 200 years old."

He moves on immediately, not giving Daphne any time to respond.

 "Parents?"

"None."

"None?"

"Nope. I'm nobody's daughter." 

Daphne avoids Logan's stare. He thinks back to his talk with Charles earlier about her life; isolated, tortured, and trained to cause damage. How lonely she must be.

The grandfather clock reads five forty-five. Everyone would be awake soon. Daphne had to ask this question while she had the chance.

"Why did you bother to save me in the first place?" She asks quietly, not looking up from her plate. 

Logan didn't answer for a minute but he watched her intensely. Something about being under his microscope intimidated me.

"You were dying." He states in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Regular people die every day. I bet you don't save all of them." The response flies out of her mouth before she can catch it.

"You aren't a regular person."

"Right," She sighs. "The mutant of it all."

Suddenly, she rises from the stool and places the plate in the sink, no longer feeling hungry. Logan calls after her twice but neither time does she turn back. Instead, she shut the bedroom door and crawled back into the bed alone again.

[overnighttosunflowers]

Once again I essayed in the tags of something a few weeks ago and have been meaning to pull it out into its own post, and I guess there's no better time than twelve hours before we see Bell's Hells again:

It absolutely breaks my heart that after Imogen has spent all this time agonizing over whether to trust her mother, it's come to this. Because I can so easily imagine that guilt is going to tear Imogen apart. She's the one who didn't tell her mom to come with them to Exandria, worried about endangering herself and the Hells and the world by doing so, and instead she abandoned Liliana to this fate. In the weeks since, you can see her agonizing over that choice. She's been moving in the direction of the one she didn't make then: to trust her mother. She told Liliana she loved her. She let herself get Power Word Stunned by the Matron's facsimile. She stood in the top of Caleb's tower wondering if that trust was dangerous, if she would ultimately doom the world by wanting a mother. And then none of it mattered. She didn't doom the world. She doomed her mother instead.

That's not what happened. But it's how she's going to blame herself, I think.

And it kills me, because like so many of the things Imogen destroys herself with guilt about, it wasn't her responsibility. Liliana chose to leave. Liliana chose to stay gone. Liliana has been dwelling on a version of her child that doesn't exist anymore, and she fell so deep into a cult to protect that long-ago child that it took her months of Imogen begging and begging and begging to realize that her daughter was a person and not just an idea. That she was hurting that daughter more than she was protecting her. And that the way to save her was to listen to her. And she was so unmoored and lost by then that she looked to Imogen to make her choices for her—looking to her daughter the way a child looks to their mother.

None of that is Imogen's fault. None of it.

I have a deep well of empathy for Liliana—who has not been a good mother, but whose daughter wants more than anything to let her relearn it now—but Liliana is where she is because of herself. And I know that even if Imogen is somehow able see that, if she's able to feel at all angry at or betrayed by Liliana alongside the guilt and grief, she'll feel even more confused and guilty and agonized for it.

But, god. All Imogen has ever wanted was a mother. And she deserved to have a mother who stayed, who loved her plain and simple in that quiet-life way she wants to be loved. She deserved to have a mother who prioritized the daughter in front of her in over the abstraction in her memory. And she deserves to have a mother who will come out the other side of this, not because Liliana intrinsically deserves that, because Imogen wants to give her a second chance.

How devastating, then, to get this different version of a mother she deserves: one who will, for her, face and maybe fall to the danger she's created.

Because ultimately, that's the reason the Hells had her stay on Ruidus: it wasn't just about trust, it was about where she could help. And she has. And now her story might be bookended by doing things for Imogen that break Imogen's heart.

Anyway, what I want more than anything for Imogen to get to save Liliana, and hold her close, and cry on her, and yell at her. I want her to get to have a mother who's in a position to do small things for her, not just awful sweeping ones. And I want Liliana to have the opportunity to struggle with how she can earn the second chance her daughter has given her. To learn how to be a mother to a real live daughter and not a memory.

I don't know if Liliana deserves that. But Imogen does.

Liliana left Gelvaan for Imogen, and in doing so helped doom the world. Liliana stayed on Ruidus for Imogen, and in doing so she might've helped save it.

Maybe one of these echoes has a mother who dies for her. And maybe one has a mother who lives.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

I've been having this idea ever since I've been slowly going back into pokemon/pokepasta (and how I've been reading some of your writing which is just. So good)

how about a pokepasta reader based on the Trapped In A Cave pokepasta? They are more of a ghost, and are seen more at places where it has food and such. They just make sure that Pokemons are fed and keep them away from places where they might be able to get trapped in forever-

I just got around to reading Trapped in a Cave and it's short but SAD AUGHH :(

...........

It was a rather sad and tragic end to your life...

Being trapped in a cave that had collapsed, freezing cold, without food or water.

And having no companion except your partner, your ace, your first first Pokémon: a Charizard who had to resort to...desperate measures to keep their hunger at bay.

As much as they tried to ignore their rumbling stomach and cried and whined and refused..you insisted that they ate your limbs.

And one by one, they did until only your head and torso remained.

It was agonizing, although the frostbite numbed some of the pain of their teeth tearing into your flesh and breaking your bones.

You had no strength left to scream anyways.

You hoped it would give them the energy they needed to burn their dying flame a little brighter and the strength to break out of the cave.

But after you closed your eyes for the last time, you suddenly found yourself floating outside that very cavern.

All of your limbs were attached, aside from bearing deep bite marks and exposing your muscle and bone.

You went inside, only to realize that a lot of time must have passed, as your Charizard had succumbed to starvation.

The only traces of you left were your hat and backpack, which they used as a pillow in their final moments alive.

With tears staining their face and your blood around their snout, your heart was broken.

You couldn't save them, but deep down..you expected this.

Your efforts only prolonged the inevitable.

However, their ghost showed up sometime later, and...while explaining that you were both dead wasn't easy, your beloved Charizard was happy to be with you and could receive all the pets they wanted now.

You two couldn't battle anymore, but instead made it your mission to ensure something like this never happened to another Pokémon nor trainer ever again.

Somehow your souls were tethered to the vast network of caves across the region, allowing you to travel from one to the other instantly.

You were also naturally drawn to areas where there was plentiful food. Such as the forests where berries grew in abundance.

You've spent most of your time ensuring Pokémon who wandered deep into caves didn't get lost and had enough food.

For caverns you sensed were unstable, you'd "spook" trainers to deter them from further exploration, with harmless techniques of course.

Eventually your travels led to you meeting other haunted trainers--such as Grey and Steven, who were exploring the cave Shinto ran into.

Steven almost flew into a rage upon seeing your Charizard's ghost, confusing them for Miki and accusing you of trying to "steal" her.

Only for her to show up a second later, confused.

Poor Grey is scared out of his wits, so you explain your story to them while Miki and your Charizard mingle (with Steven being lowkey surprised that they can see her as a normal member of their species and not as the broken, glitching mess she is).

After that, you meet Glitchy Red, Blake, and Gold, deciding to relay your story to them, too.

Much to Blake's and Grey's relief, you weren't another spirit/entity out for blood, but rather you wanted to help whoever you could to ensure they didn't meet a fate like yours.

Even though you couldn't travel everywhere with the trainers, you can warp from cave to cave to hang out with them, keeping their Pokémon well-fed and happy.

Most of them didn't need food anymore, but you like to pretend you're helping them.

[bekaroth-reads]

Baldur's Gate 3 Characters x Reader/Tav with childcare habits

[ Not sure what to title this. I work with toddlers and very small children, and there are so many habits that leak over into other things I do. Thought that it would be funny if Tav had the same problem. Not necessarily romantic relationships, it can be platonic too. This is written gender neutral so it can be any reader or Tav.]

Gale- There was a general air of exhaustion that hung over the camp. But, on the bright side, at least Gale could rest easy in the knowledge that there was a very powerful, easy to consume artifact in his hands. While he usually liked to go through the whole song and dance of this unfortunate requirement by himself, he didn’t mind if you were there. You had both seen each other in stranger situations by this point. Add to this that you looked like you were about to fall asleep at any moment, there wasn’t much to be self conscious about.

Just as Gale put the artifact to his lips, you suddenly moved his hand away, giving it a few gentle taps.

“Ick, ick! Makes a Gale sick.” You mumbled, not conscious enough to be considered awake before you rolled over and fell asleep proper.

Gale gave a tickled chuckle that was slightly tinged with the bitterness of the truth in the situation.

“Oh, believe me. I know.” He patted your shoulder and got back to the deed at hand.

Halsin- Everyone else had retired to their tents except Halsin and yourself. The both of you had offered to clean up the mess from dinner. You had talked for awhile, but finally got around to actually cleaning. The pot that was used to cook dinner was left too close to the fire, so it was still too hot to touch with your bare hands. You had used a cloth to move it away, and were waiting for it to cool off when Halsin came over to pick it up.

Moving faster than your thoughts, you moved away his hand while instinctively saying.

“Hot, hot for Halsin!”

You were hoping that he somehow didn’t hear what you had said exactly. And, when all he responded was a polite, “Thank you for the warning,” you thought he might have not. However, Halsin was literally biting his tongue to try not to laugh.

A few days later, he teased you by taking a lit torch from you and gently scolding, “Hot, hot for Tav.”

Astarion- Things haven’t been great for him lately. And, by lately, he meant decades. However, he could wallow in self pity later. Right now he needed to feed, and animal blood wasn't cutting it. Lucky that you seemed to put your bed roll a bit farther from the fire than the others in the group.

He quietly sneaked his way over to you, and prepared to strike. However, when his fangs hit your neck, things took an unexpected turn.

"No bites! Not nice!" You scolded in your sleep as your hand moved to rest on his forehead and gently push him away.

You suddenly woke up. The two of you stared at each other, neither saying anything. After an agonizing awkward few minutes, he walked away.

The next morning he pulled you aside from the rest of the party and sternly whispered, "Look- you don't mention that I'm a vampire and I won't tell them about the baby-talk."

Shadowheart- She and Lae'zel had gotten into an argument. Nothing new for either of them. This one really got under Shadowheart's skin this time.

"Can't believe that slimly toad of a woman thought she could pull something like that..." She grumbled as she stomped past you.

"Hey, are you using your kind words?" You asked.

This stopped her in her tracks and she turned to look at you, her anger almost completely replaced by myrth. "I'm sorry, what did you just say?" She questioned, her voice sounding as devious as she felt.

"Are you speaking well about our teammates?" You rephrased.

Raphael- He had insisted that he recite a new poem that he was working on, even if he had to wake you up to do so. Despite trying to stay awake, you couldn't help but doze off on Haarlep's shoulder. They didn't mind as, though they weren't physically tired, they would also rather be anywhere else. The two of you both being Raphael's quite literal captive audience.

"Oh, no. That most certainly is NOT what you asked me." Shadowheart teased. She wouldn't let you live this down for a long time. She's never too hard on you though.

Once the cambion had finished, he looked at the both of you expecting praise for his prose; Haarlep elbowed you just in the nick of time so you could sit up before Raphael noticed.

"Well?" He goaded.

"Truly, you have outdone yourself." Haarlep gave a purposefully unconvincing cheer.

Raphael rolled his eyes before moving his attention to you. "And, you, Tav?"

Still not fully aware of how you sounded or anything in the actual contents of the poem, you said, "Oh, how pretty, Raphael!" like you would have to a child that just gave you a finger painting.

The next thing you knew, Haarlep was rushing down the hall, you slung over their shoulder, their wings hitting your head with every movement, as they were laughing so hard it almost turned into a coughing fit. The quick escape must have been from the vaguely Raphael shaped fire right behind you, snapping and flinging blazes your direction while cursing and yelling about you not knowing what true art is.

Haarlep- They had heard that you had taken a pretty nasty hit to the head. Still, they hadn't quite expected what they were greeted with when they went to take stock of your condition like they were asked to. (Nurse work wasn't usually in their duties, but Raphael couldn't be bothered to do this himself.)

They appeared in your room to see you sitting on your bed, staring at nothing.

"Knock, knock, little mortal." They announced their presence which tore your eyes away from the space you were looking at.

You looked at them for a moment before giving a exasperated sigh.

"Where are your clothes?" You asked.

They blink a few times, not knowing how else to respond. "I beg your pardon?" They eventually asked.

You walked over to your closet and started digging through it. Eventually you walked over with a completely mixed matched set of clothes. "You have to wear something. You can't just run around in your undies!" The last part was very exaggerated as you lightly pinched and wiggled their nose.

They immediately returned to Raphael with you in tow. "It's worse than we thought." Was all they said as they sat you down and walked away.

Gartash- To say that Enver Gortash's work and habits were messy would be an understatement. It was certainly no different tonight. He had gotten blood and viscera all over him. And, seeing as he loved to get a rise out of you, he chose not to wash it off before going to find you.

When he saw you reading, he took a moment to compose himself to seem as though nothing was amiss, and walked calmly up to you.

"Anything interesting in your books today?" He asked, barely holding his excitement to hear you yell at him.

You started to say something, but when you turned to look at him you took a cloth from your pocket. Reaching up, you rubbed the blood from his face; each pass of the cloth was acompanied with a sing-song, "Wipe, wipe, wipe, wipe, wipe."

Gortash was baffled and indignant that he didn't get the reaction he wanted. He smacked your hand away and yelled, "What in the hells was that?!"

"Sorry," you offered sheepishly, "force of habit."

[afreakingdork]

Writing Request: Reader x Donnie's V-Card 💜

Hey, guess what?! I do these anonymously too!

This one goes out to a lovely anon! Thank you for your support!

From now until the poll closes if you can prove to me that you voted hassan/mikey in this poll then I will write any short 100-400 word request like below or draw you a doodle of your chosing!

ᴰᶦˢᶜˡᵃᶦᵐᵉʳ: ᴵ ᵃᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ ᶦⁿ ᵃⁿʸʷᵃʸ ᵃˢˢᵒᶜᶦᵃᵗᵉᵈ ᵒʳ ᵉⁿᵈᵒʳˢᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵉᵗᶦᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᵒʳ ᶦᵗˢ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉˢᵗᵃⁿᵗˢ.

Under the cut for spice, but it's not explicit!

Donnie had meant to do this so sweetly. He had a plan. He was going to do exactly what you were supposed to. Despite his proclivity otherwise, he was going to lay out rose petals. He was going to set the mood with lighting that made up for that garish red and avoided the danger and smell of scented candles. He had four different playlists prepared and an algorithm ready to switch based on what tempo best suited the night. He had a multitude of condoms in their different texture and make-ups because there should be a choice and he definitely didn't get overwhelmed looking at the yokai selection. he had lubes of the same, but that had thankfully been an easier choice.

So why were you sinking down his length in the bathroom while he sat on the toilet of all things?

Family.

He wasn't thinking of them.

Friends.

They were the furthest things on his mind.

What wasn't was the start of this intimacy. The romantic plan had gone as discussed. You were both ready to take the next step. You inaugurated the evening with a date. There was light dinner that was walked off in cozy arm and arm. There were the lights of the city and a few breath taking jumps to get your heart rate elevated. Though he had taken you to see the city from above, there was a new connotation as New York sparkled in your eyes.

The moment you turned to share the sight with him, you saw his vision and that was it.

You kissed.

It grew a little hotter.

You whispered against him to take you home.

it was another shot of adrenaline as he carried you straight down the closest underground entrance that led to the lair. You whimpered in his arms as he shot you amorous looks throughout. You mewling thing were all the more ready and he equally so even if there was a certain clamminess to his hands.

You got to his room.

He locked up the door tight.

The roses.

The light.

The playlist.

The assortment of choice.

You were thankful in your saunter and plied him with kisses. It made all the agonizing and embarrassing preparation worth it. Those cheek pecks once again drew heat from his core. His heart swelled. It was his turn for the flood of endorphins and you steering the pair of you to bed was your confirmation that you were game. You wanted him. You chose him.

What sweet validation.

As you teetered on the bed, it began. First Leo, who portalled straight in because only the lab had that kind of anti-mystic protection. You squeaked knowing your misdeed, but to the outsider, you looked like you were doing nothing more than making out. Donnie raged at the interruption, but Leo brushed him off saying he needed back-up in dinner choice. Donnie oh, so kindly reminded him that he had already ate and the date was long logged in the family calendar. Leo not so hopelessly stared at him and second guessed the decision before he was run out. Donnie was left fuming at the door as he added a 'DO NOT DISTURB' sign.

"It's alright."

Your voice was sweet nectar.

It beckoned and soothed.

He floated back to you and never reached your lips when the pounding came.

Michelangelo in a tizzy because he'd dropped his ant farm. His latest hobby and the colony has somehow unionized. He spoke of how they were taking over the room with domain expansion ready for the kitchen provision and Donnie screamed over his shoulder for Mikey's to just ready for once in his life. There was a popped syllable and bashful apology before the air hung heavy. The littlest made his review of the three words as loud as possible before he cited comparatively non-nonchalant apologies and annouced to Raph that they were going to war as peace talks fell through.

The oldest brother groaned somewhere not too far away.

A little close for comfort as you shudder where you were beneath your boyfriend.

"I'm starting to realize the others are... right there..."

The first signs of uncertainty flared in his mind, but he could fix this. He enacted sound proofing. He set his entire room to do not disturb. This measure was typically saved for crashing on particularly hard nights, but it was worth it. This was his fault for not remembering how tenacious his family was. He was the one making the best nest for you and his folly had been in placement. Once again secure, you reviewed his preparations with some meter of affection.

There was still a chance.

A kiss.

Shy and sweet that simmered as the burner was on. The heat percolated in bubbling pops of lips leaving for air and little soft moans. They lead further down with your hands shaping his plastron and his at your sensitive sides. Down until your back hit the bed and you pulled him with. His knee slotted between your legs and your heads dipped to share a little more than oxygen.

"PURPLE!"

Splinter's voice was a bucket of ice water in some old time challenge and Donnie could only turn his head before all his carefully constructed provisions were broken through in a second. Mystic prison hadn't been able to hold his father; the man was too powerful for his own lazy right. Especially when he demanded his remote be fixed after the ant army had taken its batteries to power their remote controlled tanks.

Donnie was starting to think he may have to help that endeavor as he marched over to get his dad two triple A's.

You.

You with your kindness.

You with your patience for him.

You talked to his father in the meantime.

Yes, the date was wonderful.

Me and Donnie were planning to spend more time together tonight.

No, we won't be eating dinner with you.

I hope you get the clam chowder you're craving.

When Donnie returned, you looked a little to comfortable on his bed. No longer were you ready to be splayed, but you were sat ready on the edge. A sight of someone in the midst of changed plans, Donnie relegated the union of your love to another night. You would go now and have at it on the battlefield before your war torn bodies enjoyed whatever dinner option Leo presumably wanted instead.

That would be nice.

Be it laying beside you with a sheen of sweat from coupling or conflict, you would look just as radiant.

You finally stood, your face determined, and took his hand to go.

He was putty in your fingertips and only sort of noticed your detour to his table of choice.

Then you were in the hallway where the distant sounds of the fray leaked out.

You didn't go that way.

You turned, presumably ready to get suited up in his lab.

You led him right into the bathroom.

He had been stunned, but you continued to move him.

The door locked.

You worked his fly.

He took a cold seat with a bare thighs on porcelain.

You stripped only the necessary bottom layers.

You prepared yourself.

You prepared him.

Back at where his mind had left him, you had descended upon him with little force. Only the angle was a tricky one, but you were certainly managing. A slow up and down that spread your love out from its fluttering wing beats in his heart to between his legs. The steadily increasing moisture of the right whipping filled the air before you caught him. You shared his distraction with a hopeless smile. You accepted him in all parts, family included and you were his beating heart. It was his pleasure to watch your reassurance slip into little breathy moans and he left behind his place as bystander. In one twitch of his thighs and his hands to your hips, his angle improved and you draped over him to share in the sweetness.

The story for old would include the bed.

it would include the petals.

The gorgeous lit neon.

Playlist number three.

You had full say in the memory he'd print, but this, you framed with the shower curtain in the background, working yourself as hard as you could for him, whispering his name like a plea and your salvation, that part he would leave in for your future generations and he leaned in to make sure you'd agree to it the same way.

[stuffymcstuffsworld]

My pupils

Ungrateful, Arrogant, Lazy, there were many words Kalego could use to describe his students. Many of them were imbeciles. Undisciplined. Hence why he was placed in charge of such a rowdy bunch.

He had had troublesome students before. It was no different than any other year he taught at the school. However... he never took into account how difficult the next few years would be.

To think it all started with one brat! The grandson of the chairdemon himself. He honestly wished he could have gone back in time and retired as soon as he heard about the attendance of such a creature.

His foolish pride had thought he could tame such a wild child within a few days. Having him easily under heel. He couldn't have been more wrong.

That little menace had the nerve to prove him wrong! Having no respect for authority and tuning him into a familiar. The audacity!

It wasn't just him that caused the teacher such a headache. No, he had twelve other rascals to handle as well. What did he do in his past life to enable such torture?

Individually, it probably wouldn't be so bad. But no... he had them all together. Everyday... for the next 6 agonizing years.

He often wondered if he'd survive such a daunting task for so long. Of course, his pride wouldn't allow him to quit. It would be shameful on both the school and his name if he were to do so.

So, as much as it pained him, he would stay. Despite the urge to resign. Truthfully, someone would probably drag him back even if he were to do so. Another irritating reality.

Some things were easy to brush off. Such as Allocers constant questions and interest in obtaining more knowledge. Just answer plainly offering research materials for reference.

Or working around Kerori's work schedule as an idol. As well as sending her study aids so she doesn't risk lowering her grades. Practically child's play.

Now, dealing with Jazz's sticky fingers could be annoying. Forcing apologies out of the young demon and attempting to keep the greedy child humble.

Not that it helped since he had an enabler like Lied. The cocky little imp thinking he could get away with such childish pranks so easily. He often had to discipline the pair.

Speaking discipline... he still needed to figure out a proper punishment for Kamui... again. Why is it so difficult for that bird brain to understand that the female students don't appreciate such actions? He has the nerve to call himself a gentleman with such an attitude.

At least he could say he's also seen growth in some of his students. Take Sabro, for example. That prideful attitude of his was far more manageable than when the child first arrived. Far more humble.

Or Soi, who constantly hid. Now, he actively participates and interacts with his classmates. A vast improvement.

If only he could get Picero to stop sleeping in class. That would be preferable. Instead, he constantly has to smack the drowsy teen awake.

Goemon has a rather interesting positivity. Now if only he could somehow apply that to his grades. That would certainly make things easier.

He wasn't amused by Elizabetta's attempts to get better grades by using her bloodline magic or flirting. He constantly had to remind his coworkers not to go easy on her just because of her looks. Although he was quite proud of how she handled the music festival.

Then, there was the matter of Iruma's two main subordinates. Or friends as he called them. The chaos that those two caused alone was a mountain of paperwork.

Never in a million years did he think that such a vigorous student like Alice could be so blinded by one individual. It's as if the boy forgot about his own growth. Does he have no dignity?

... thinking that he probably doesn't. Seeing as he's so obsessed with his superior that it's borderline insane. Not that clara is any better.

Her grades aren't exactly the best. Her loud, rambunctious attitude disturbs the other students attending any class she's in. Honestly, he's not sure what to do with such a wild thing.

He's half tempted to keep her on a leash to ensure she doesn't wander off. Although knowing that gremlin, she'd easily escape. If only she focused that energy on her assignments.

Still, despite all their flaws. Ignoring their constants defiance to the higherarchy. He would still admit they were his pupils.

He was their teacher. He would guide them into becoming powerful demons. He'd see them all graduate on time even if it'd kill him.

[atoltia]

Just lean on me

March is grumpily affectionate when sick. Somehow it became the farmer's problem.

Warnings: swearing, panic attack

-0-

Things were going so well.

The mountain of orders were done, all of the ore he outsourced was paid for, and all of the paperwork was filed in record time. It was all perfect, first of all, since that was the base standard that he required.

If it wasn't perfect, it was garbage.

He would have continued his other projects, ones that he started weeks ago, that would be sold in the shop or handed over to Balor to sell. He's had an idea for a particular design of shield for a while now, and only started on it some time ago after seeing some of the illustrations from a book the Eiland lent him. With some modifications, of course.

It would have been nice. It would have been magnificent. It could have been the first of his next armor line and possibly win him another award. It would have been glorious.

If only he didn't get fucking sick.

-0-

Nine-thirty-two in the morning and he was still in bed.

His body was sore, bruised in places he didn't know had the capability to be bruised, and was set aflame as if he was still standing beside the very forge that was essential to his livelihood.

His throat was parched, he couldn't move, and there was no one else in the shop since Olric travelled two towns over since they've gotten a lead that someone was offering up perfect silver ore for trade. March didn't know when Olric would be back.

If this was the way the universe decided he would die, he would be extremely annoyed.

But nothing would happen if he just laid around in bed. If he was gonna die, might as well be doing something productive.

With considerable effort, he swung his legs towards the side of the bed before his head exploded into a mass of lights and stars, his hands flailing until it found purchase on his bedframe to keep him from completely falling.

His arms burned, his breathing was akin to inhaling broken glass, his entire body was shaking like a leaf, and his brain was pounding like his hammer to the anvil.

His heart lurched as panic gripped him like a vice, eyes darting for some semblance of stability and the entirety of his room spun and blurred. He couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe, couldn't fucking breathe-

"Hey now." Cool, blissfully cool hands gripped his arm, hauling him from his position on the floor back onto his bed. With every labored breath he inhaled a bit of sweetness, a light, floral scent alongside the hints of sweat and sun. March blinked his eyes as he tried to focus on the person handling him at that moment.

"I've got you," her gentle voice whispered as she lifted him up, her smaller, calloused hands rubbing his back as she encouraged him to calm down.

"I've got you, March. Look at me?" She watched him blink at her, those dark, proud eyes now dulled and struggling to even focus on her.

It hurt her heart.

With a gentle nudge, she cupped his chin and had him focus on her, her other hand rubbing light circles on his back in an attempt to calm him down. "Breathe with me, March, okay?"

"Sandra?"

"Yeah, it's me. Focus on me, okay? Breathe-" she watched him closely as she inhaled, long and deep, encouraging him as he struggled to do the same.

"Can't-"

"You can," she coaxed, making sure to keep her voice modulated. "Again, with me?" And she inhaled through her nose, held, slowly exhaled through her mouth. Repeated until he was following her to the best of his capabilities. It took them several tries, many agonizing minutes, but finally March was able to breathe a bit more easily.

It was quiet for a while with only the sounds of their breathing in the room. Sandra could feel the exhaustion emanating from him in waves as she let him lean against her shoulder, frowning when a shudder or two rippled along his back.

It scared her, she admitted. To hear the crash when she entered the shop, see him on the floor, eyes wide and darting around looking for anything familiar. Trembling, in the time that she's spent here in Mistria, Sandra never imagined that she'd ever see him trembling. Never even thought of it as possible.

But here she was, holding him during this fine, spring morning as he was burning up like a flame.

It rattled her when she touched him, the way his skin scorched her hand when she got him up. She imagined it only got this hot when he was right next to the forge. This wasn't normal.

"W-" he coughed into her shoulder, making her continue her ministrations as she folded him into herself. "-water?"

"Okay." Fuck. She didn't want to leave him in this state. But she had to. "I'm gonna settle you back down, okay? I'm gonna get you some water."

But he held on, his grip on her only tightening when she tried to move him back. "March, please? I'm going to get you some water." And a doctor.

He grunted, loosening his grip as she once again pushed him back to bed.

"Make sure you breathe as I showed you when it gets difficult, okay?" She took the grunt as an affirmative before giving him another long glance and headed out his bedroom.

It wasn't difficult to navigate the shop as she's been here several times before. She gathered drinking water quickly, before grabbing some towels and another bowl of water. Sandra knew she had to rush, but she needed to cool him off first before she headed out to get the doctor.

March laid still besides for the steady rise and fall of his chest. He could barely make out the shapes inside the room, blinking hard to try to get them to focus, and yet that floral scent was present in his nose.

When the door opened, he tried his best to tilt his head, frowning as he watched Sandra whisk in with a glass of water and a bowl.

She didn't speak as she busied herself beside him. The woman was quiet with her steps. If he hadn't seen her come in, he might've been unaware that she was there in the first place.

"March." He blinked, startled when her face moved into his view. She wore her black hair loose today, judging from the way it tumbled down her shoulders.

He felt her hand on his back again, gently lifting him up, up, until he was in a sitting position.

"Can you drink this by yourself?"

He watched the glass in her hands, grumbled before weakly trying to get at it. She breathed out when he fumbled, keeping firm on her hold on the glass to keep it from spilling. "Come here."

Slowly, she tipped the glass to his lips without so much as a protest. She tried not to think about how his lack of reaction displeased her so much.

"More."

"Alright."

March ended up finishing the entire glass, which impressed her, before trying to settle back into bed. She kept her grip on him before he managed to.

"I need to cool you off, March," she said as she sat on the side of the bed. "I'm going to take off your shirt, okay?"

If anything was to go by, the scoff that he let out just gave her the reassurance that he'll be okay.

Still, he grumbled at her, still a bit delirious from the fever. "If you want to get me naked so much, you should have just said so."

The laugh was almost music to his ears, a low tinkling of chimes being blown by the breeze. He blinked enough to see the amusement twinkle in her eye as she gingerly slid his drenched shirt off of his body.

"Let's put a pin on that for next time, yeah?"

More grumbling, more snarling, even though the coolness of the damp cloth over his skin was complete and utter bliss.

He watched her as she ran the towel over his skin, those cold, winter blue eyes locked in focus. And yet the rest of her face was warm, inviting even. There was a smile on her lips, a gentleness to her touch as she cleaned him, ridding him of the sweat that covered him from the heat.

He realized he wasn't even completely listening to her.

She knew he wasn't listening to her. She's familiarized herself with many of his expressions that she was aware of the moment he lost his concentration. And yet she still spoke to him just to keep the quiet at bay.

"-and I'm going to get Valen in a bit."

"No."

"Yes."

"Absolutely not."

"I absolutely will."

"I'll keep you from getting her."

"I'd like to see you try."

March snorted as he pushed his weight up - with considerable effort - before taking her arms and using the rest of his weight to topple her onto the bed.

It wasn't as if it was a hard push. But Sandra didn't want to potentially hurt him by pushing him back.

Sandra sighed from her position under him, looking up as his shaking arms caged her from both sides. She tapped his chest.

"March," she chided. "As much as I would love to have an attractive, shirtless man on top of me on such a fine summer day, I'd much rather we get you checked by a doctor first, yeah?"

"No."

"March."

He bit back a cough, masked it as a snarl, as he let himself collapse on her, biting back a curse as it winded him out more than he anticipated.

Sandra rolled her eyes, patted his back. "Off."

"No."

"Come on, March."

He responded by pressing closer to the warmth of her chest, just right over where her heart was. "Your heartbeat's picking up."

She chuckled, giving up for the moment. "I think that's understandable, given the circumstance."

"You think I'm attractive?"

Sandra blew air out from her nose, suppressing a laugh, as she rubbed his back. "I think you're cute, at least."

He grumbled. "You said I was attractive."

"Did I now?"

"You did."

"I can't seem to remember."

"Sandra."

"March?"

He gave up, grumbling even further into the cloth of her shirt.

They stayed quiet for a while, listening to the hustle and bustle outside his window, the hand that was rubbing the man's back now carding through his hair. It needed a clean, though she knew that March was often at the bathhouse so this was most likely due to the sweat that covered him through the night. She remembered them having a bath inside the shop's bathroom, and while it wasn't Juniper's restorative water, it will have to do.

Sandra patted his back, nudged him along. "I need to get Valen now, March."

March snarled, burying his face deeper into her chest. "Fuck. Off."

She rolled her eyes. "I can't actually fuck off when you're holding me tight like this, come on now March."

It took her a bit more effort, with her trying to pry off his still rather strong arms around her waist, to convincing him to go back to bed while she makes a run to town.

-0-

He was asleep when she came back with Valen. The sheets were in disarray, his shirt was tossed to the ground, and his blanket barely covered his chest.

In two strides she was at his bedside, one hand immediately reaching to touch his forehead. Sandra pursed her lips as she looked to Valen and shook her head as he stirred.

It intrigued her, Valen admitted, to see the way Sandra soothed the man as he woke up disgruntled. It intrigued the doctor more when the redhead just mumbled as she got him up before pressing his head to her shoulder.

"He's grumpy."

"I can see that." Valen chuckled as she moved in, pulling in the chair that was askew from the other side of the room. "March," she said in a soft yet firm tone. "I need to check you, okay?"

A grunt, followed by him pressing his eyes into Sandra's clavicle. "No."

"March," Sandra clicked his tongue, nudged him off. "The sooner we can get this done, the sooner you'll get back to the forge."

"The forge is just outside my bedroom, dumbass."

"Can't even lift a hammer now, can you March?"

They glared at each other for a moment. Valen was thoroughly amused.

Eventually they managed to wrangle him enough for Valen to check him over, with the whole ordeal exhausting their sickly blacksmith to the point of sleep.

"Seems to be a standard fever," Valen started as she wrote into her chart. "But you said he was having difficulty breathing earlier?"

"Yes."

"Hm, I'd hate to say pneumonia at this stage. It could also be he had a panic attack when he fell. We'd have a better chance at knowing conclusively if we get him to the clinic."

Sandra's brows furrowed, but the rest of her expression stayed cold. "He wouldn't be pleased with that."

"Most definitely not."

Sandra looked to Valen, and the doctor could see the worry seep from those dark blue eyes. "I admit I'd much rather he stayed here and be comfortable. It's selfish-" she cut in before Valen could say a word. "I know but I don't want him to panic like that again."

Valen hummed, looking at her and then at March who was still asleep. "Alright. But he'd be needing round the clock care and I couldn't leave the clinic for long."

"I understand." Sandra already made the decision to stay the night, anyway. "I need to get some things in order first, though."

"Alright, I can stay for a while."

And with that, Sandra hurried back to the farm, got herself cleaned up and pack a few extra sets of clothes, some food, her ledger, and a sketchpad.

It took a bit more finagling but she managed to wrangle her animals into Hayden's care for the time being, even with Henrietta's displeased clucks. Hayden also offered to care for her crops while she took care of the town blacksmith, which she graciously accepted.

It was just after lunch when she managed to get back. A little later than she wanted, but she was here.

Valen left a few minutes after the farmer came back, making sure to brief her on the medicine that he should be taking and what times, the things that he should be able to eat.

March was still asleep, and it gave her enough time to tidy up the place. She knew that he and his brother had a system, and knew full well he can get bitchy if his tools were out of place. So she did her best to clean all the while placing things back to where she found them.

He didn't know what time he woke up.

There was barely any light outside his window, except for the slight glow of the streetlamps. It was evening, then. He was out for a while.

March looked around the room, he could focus and see a bit easier now. His body still ached, still hot even to his touch. His throat still raw from all the coughing he did in his sleep.

He wondered if he was alone. There was no sound around him, none that he could hear, anyway. But her coat was at the foot of his bed. A rather hefty bag sat on one of his chairs. She was staying, he supposed.

"March."

He looked up, saw her standing by his door holding a steaming bowl of... something. But it smelled delicious.

There was relief in her face when she saw him, those lidded eyes twinkling with amusement as she watched him try to sit up to no avail.

"Come here." She helped him up, propped him to a more stable position with another pillow that she got from another room. It was still early in the evening, and she was just about to wake him for supper, so to see him awake and stubbornly trying to get up by himself was a welcome surprise. "Can you eat by yourself?"

He answered with another grunt, something that he liked to do while sick, it seemed. Making sure she set the bowl on another pillow, she turned to his drawers. "You're gonna have to take a bath after this, can do you that by yourself?"

March stared at her, a spoon on his mouth, before shrugging.

"Alright, then."

So he ate as she busied herself around his room again, taking out a clean set of clothes from his dresser. He didn't know why the sight of her being so comfortable around his space appealed to him, but he wasn't gonna mention it now. Not to her.

They staggered to the bathroom, with her tightly holding on to him as he had his arms slung over her shoulders. It pissed him off that he still couldn't walk well, it pissed him off that he had to depend on her for something as basic and mundane as eating and taking a bath. It pissed it off him that he even had to depend on her at all.

But here she was, spending her time taking care of him instead of tending to her own business, which he knew was a magnitude more than the average citizen. And she was doing it without complaint, doing it without reservation, doing it without payment.

It baffled him.

Even when she helped him into the tub already filled with warm water, she didn't fuss. Especially when he was already embarrassed enough that he had to strip into the nude while she was with him in the bathroom. She had the decency to look away, and he appreciated that, but it was still pretty awkward to do in the presence of someone he just met a little over five months ago.

"I'm gonna keep the door open, so just call me if you need anything, okay?" She offered a smile as she stood by the door. "Don't worry. I've locked the front door. Don't drown or I'll be mad at you."

So she left him to his devices in the tub. He didn't know what she did, but the water smelled lightly floral, lightly medicinal, and somehow he could feel the aches just... dissipate.

March groaned, leaning back to submerge his body more into the water, just letting the bliss of it seep into his body, deep into his bones. He closed his eyes, hummed and just said: "fuck."

What the fuck did he get himself into? How the hell did he get so far into illness that he had to rely on her of all people? And still the feeling of her warmth in his arms flitted through his mind, the scent of her unrelentingly devouring everything inside of him.

It didn't make sense, she didn't make sense.

Why was she even doing this?

He didn't know what to do, didn't know what the fuck to do.

"March?"

He blinked, frowned at her. "I'm bathing."

"You're sitting in the bath. There's a difference."

He hissed when she crossed the threshold, striding towards the counter with bottles and tubes, watched her hand him one.

"Wash."

The glare that he gave her was weak, he knew that, but he took the tube, lathered himself clean. He didn't bother to think about the way she took another bottle and started cleaning his hair.

Her fingers were long, gentle as she scrubbed his hair, her short nails scratching wonderfully at his scalp.

He thought he was gonna faint.

"You okay?"

"M'fine."

"Rinse."

He rolled his eyes but complied, taking his time mostly to make sure she leaves him the hell alone in the bath.

It took longer than he wanted, but he was done. He was clean and clothed and wouldn't have to face the mortification of her possibly seeing him naked again. That alone was enough of a reward.

He managed to walk out the bathroom, into the main shop. It only took him a few steps to feel his legs buckle as the wind got knocked out of him again.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Strong, yet different hands got him up. Familiar still, but different from the ones that was handling him since morning. "Chill out, bud. I've got you."

"Ry?"

"Yep."

The face of his friend came into view, and while there was glee there, a surge of disappointment ebbed through him, pissing him off all the more. "Did she leave already?"

Ryis raised a brow before he grinned. "Nope. She is tossing your room top to bottom, though."

"God's above."

Ryis helped him onto his stool, gave him a glass of cool water and medicine that Sandra set down there minutes after he arrived. March was panting as he slumped his head onto his work table. He clicked his tongue as he grabbed a towel. "Your hair's still wet, dude."

A frustrated groan came from him, but March took the towel from his friend's hand before forcefully scrubbing his hair, forming it into a mess of spikes.

"Stop that before your brain rattles too much."

He glared as Sandra stepped out from his bedroom, bedsheets and covers in hand. March watched her smile at Ryis, handed the dirtied sheets to the man as she made her way towards him.

"Did Ryis make you drink your medicine."

"Don't patronize me."

"But did he?"

"Yes."

She bypassed his glare as she looked him over. Sandra was more amused at his reaction more than anything, and she knew that he was fully aware of that.

"Alright, let's get you up."

She hefted him up, lightly stumbling back when he lost his balance and fumbled into her. It took both her and Ryis to swiftly get him back to the bedroom. The problem now, however, was that March refused to let her go.

"March, bed."

"No."

"March."

"You're warm."

Sandra sighed dramatically, smiling at him then at Ryis, who was curiously watching them from the door. She carded his mussed hair with her fingers, noted the color of his roots showing. "Your hair is getting longer."

"Hn."

"Gonna have to get Vera to look you over this weekend. But first, you need to sleep."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Don't make me shove you under the covers, March. You know I can."

More grumbling, more coaxing, but finally he relented and collapsed into bed.

"He's docile with you."

She raised a brow at Ryis, who brought over a cup of coffee once they've made sure March was asleep. "If you call that docile, I'm gonna eat a copper ingot."

He laughed, soft and sweet, as he sat down on the other chair beside the bed. "You really should see him with his brother when he's sick. Man's a menace."

She grinned at the image as she folded her arms, crossed her legs as she got comfortable on the seat. "I'd pay to see that, honestly."

"You're good to him." The expression on Ryis' face was soft, a gentle expression that she couldn't quite place. "I'm glad. Most people would have turned away from him from the get go."

A shrug. "I don't really take the sort of thing personally. Got used to it growing up."

There was something there, something more. But Ryis knew that pushing things that were personal wasn't the best of ideas. He was friends with March, after all.

So he let it go.

They sat in silence for a while, just watching March. A few more people dropped by. Reina with more food, Adeline and Eiland checking in, doctor Valen asking for an update and giving March another once over. Even Juniper stopped by with Dozy.

Ryis left a little later so she was left alone with March.

His temperature has gone down considerably after the bath, thank goodness. Whatever medicine Valen said to add to the water did its job, apparently.

Sandra wondered how her farm was faring as she made herself as cozy as possible on the armchair beside the bed. She had to trust Hayden to be able to manage it, and Celine offered to check on her crops when the blonde dropped by that afternoon.

She didn't realize she's nodded off late into the night. Didn't he saw he had awoken. But that was fine. He could do with a few hours without her fussing over him.

She was still when she slept. March couldn't imagine how comfortable sleeping on that chair could be, but she seemed to be fine with it, though she'll probably have a bitch of a stiff neck tomorrow.

The sharp throngs that bombarded his head that morning was now reduced to small throbs. The fog that clouded his brain was gone, and the aches was almost nonexistent.

He remembered the things he did, remembered how he was all over her in his delirium, how soft her hair was when it tickled his face, how her touched glided over his skin, at how much even in his sleep he yearned for her scent, the way her voice all but lilted his name in a way nobody said it before in his life. All of that did not at all please him at all.

And still he kept watching her sleep, watched the way she slowly breathed in, out, in out. It calmed him enough to slowly lull him back to sleep. Until her breath hitched.

Fingers clutched the blanket she had, her calm face contorting into distress. Her breathing shallowed and small whimpers huffed out of her mouth.

It startled him to see her like that, enough so that he pushed himself to sit up, pushed himself to stabilize himself.

"Sandra." His voice was almost a whisper as he didn't want to distress her even further. "Sandra, wake up." He nudged her foot, one, two, four times, as he said her name. Kept saying it. "Sandra-"

She jolted awake, eyes wide and a little crazed. "I'm fine, I'm fine-" There was a heave to her breath, a tremble to her hands as she focused those blue eyes on him.

"Breathe." He took her hand as he held her eyes as he breathed in the way the she showed him hours prior. "Breathe with me, Sandra."

And she did. She calmed down far quicker than he expected, as if she was already used to something like this.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." Her eyes were closed, but still she forced a smile as she nudged him back to bed. "I'm sorry for waking you. You need more sleep."

There was something in her eyes that told him not to argue any further, so he just grumbled but assented.

Sleep took over him as quickly as his head hit the pillow.

-0-

It was the banging of a hammer to the anvil that woke her up.

Sandra bolted out of the chair, looking around and swore in frustration when March wasn't in the bed. She opened the window and glared.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He merely flitted her a glance before turning back to the forge. "Working."

"March I swear to the gods that if you collapse again-"

"I won't," he hissed. He set the hammer down and crossed to the window, rolling his eyes at her as he leaned against the windowsill. "Whatever the hell that medicine was made me good as new." And her fussing but he didn't dare tell her that.

She actually snarled. "Come back to bed. Now."

He smirked, leaned up to her face. "Gee, if you want to sleep with me that bad, you could've said so last night."

Her eyes flashed, not with anger but with amusement which she knows he saw judging from his widening smirk, but she kept it up. "Come back here before I make you."

"Fine, fine."

And the bickering commenced, much to the amusement of Elsie that saw the entire thing from her place at the fountain.

-0-

oh my god i am so sorry this got so long afsdfsad

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[ckret2]

Chapter 25 of human Bill is the Mystery Shack's prisoner and somehow befriended Mabel: in which Bill and Mabel make friendship bracelets. It's heartwarming. Bill is not, I repeat, not secretly up to anything nefarious.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the chapter, Bill is secretly up to something nefarious.

####

"I'll be back in exactly one hour," Ford said. "Be finished showering by then. You've got everything you need, as well as..." He looked disdainfully at a baggie of shampoo and conditioner sample bottles, "your gift from the Northwests."

Bill eyed the Northwests' little care package skeptically. Four entire separate products that were supposed to be used all in one shower. He was drowning in mammal-cleaning slimes. What a waste of his time. "You don't expect me to use allthis junk, do you?"

"Frankly, as long as you aren't bald and don't smell like gnome urine in an hour, I don't care what happens between now and then."

"You're the most merciful warden I've ever had, Stanford."

Ford wasn't sure if that was supposed to be sarcasm or an awkward glimpse into Bill's sordid history, so he just shut the bathroom door. "One hour."

"One hour!" Bill waited until he couldn't hear Ford's footsteps; and then he turned on the shower, fished a crushed cider can and eight candles out of his hoodie, and stood on the wooden crate by the window.

Over the last few days, he'd spent every spare private moment using toothpaste and toilet paper to polish the bottom of the can into a perfect, shining, concave mirror. Now, he held it up to the window with one of the candles, using the mirror to focus the sun into a point on the wick of the candle... and...

It took a couple minutes of agonizing patience, but finally the wick smoked and then ignited. Yes. Moving carefully so he wouldn't douse the flame, he used the burning candle to melt the bottoms of the other candles just enough to stick them to the floor, lit them in turn, and in the middle Bill quickly made a (frankly terrible) drawing of Kryptos by finger painting with a tube of toothpaste.

And then he knelt in front of the candle circle, and—quietly enough that the shower covered the sound—he started chanting.

Some humans called Bill a dream demon. It wasn't exactly wrong, even if calling him a dream demon was kind of like naming the entire human race "the mountain bikers."

Which was to say, if Bill was a "dream demon," then so were the rest of his people. The other surviving shapes could cast themselves like shadows onto the walls and floors of other dimensions, slip through the cracks in reality that were too thin to accommodate the depths of three-dimensional creatures, and wander through the higher dimensions' mindscapes.

It was just that it was only one of their many side hobbies rather than their main pursuit as a species—and not a particularly popular hobby, at that. Most shapes weren't into taking safaris through aliens' dreams.

Out of the shapes Bill still hung out with, Hectorgon wouldn't do it; he appreciated why Bill went on his psychic excursions for the everyone's benefit, but skulking in a higher plane's second dimension made Hectorgon feel voyeuristic—and he'd only gotten more uncomfortable with the idea since his three-dimensional makeover. Bill could wheedle a majority of Amorphous Shape into a sightseeing trip once a millennium or so, but they were just a passive tour group who would be lost without Bill as their tour guide. Kryptos alone had taken enough of an interest in alien mindscapes to make the leap from "occasional tourist" to "frequent traveler." He was the only one other than Bill who spent enough time on Earth to network with the locals; and he was the only one other than Bill who had bothered to set up a summoning ritual, in case an earthbound buddy wanted to ring him up for a party.

Kryptos's party line was going to be Bill's salvation.

Which was a shame, because Bill just knew Kryptos would be annoying about this for the next million years. He'd worry about finding a way to bully Krypt into not lording it over him after he was safely back home in the Quadrangle of Qonfusion.

But when Bill called, nothing happened.

That wasn't right. Nothing wasn't supposed to happen. Even if Krypt didn't pick up, Bill should feel the spell working. The sound of the shower should pause. The air should go still and cool. Everything should be gray.

Bill opened his eyes. Nothing was gray. He checked each candle to make sure they were all lit, checked his drawing to make sure it looked right—it wasn't exactly flattering, but the lines were straight and the angles were correct, and anyway it was recognizable enough to work for the summoning. He remembered the words, he knew he remembered the words.

Try again. He shut his eyes. "Rhombus sapphirinus. Fraternitas, caritas, veritas. Te invoco, te invito." And then, not because it was necessary but because he was getting mad, he tacked on, "Responde mihi, quadrum defututum! Culum tuum calcitrabo!"

Nothing. The world went on un-paused. Bill remained awake. He opened his eyes to the vibrant, colorful, tragically real world around him.

It didn't make sense. Even without his powers, he should be able to reach Kryptos. Any human could do this ritual, and Bill knew a whole lot more than any human. Either Kryptos was dead (unlikely; but without Bill there...), or something was blocking Bill. The block could be inside him—maybe the Axolotl was sealing off even this paltry little magic—or outside, some sort of shield blocking the mindscape. But whatever the source, the result was the same:

He couldn't get a call out. Nobody, not even his oldest friends, could hear him.

He stared at Kryptos's ugly mug for a long moment; then blew out the candles, hid them and the crushed can back in his hoodie, used toilet paper to wipe the toothpaste and wax off the floor, and got in the shower.

If he wanted to get out, he had to make new friends. He'd been making some good progress lately, particularly with Mabel. Perhaps it was time to test just how far her compassion could get him.

####

Prisma the Rainbow Fairy said, "Gee, Sunny Cat, I haven't seen you spending time with Teddy Tender lately. What happened?"

"He's a killjoy," Bill said, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV. "He's a wet blanket."

A sunshine-yellow bipedal cat said, "Teddy's so sad today, and it's making me sad. I don't want to hang out with him when he's like this!"

"That's what I said," Bill said. Heckling the characters helped distract him from the urge to scratch the exposed skin on his arms until he scraped it off his bones. After showering, his hoodie had been confiscated for a round of emergency post-eye-bat-repellant laundry, and he was temporarily back in a reject gift shop t-shirt. He felt exposed.

Prisma said, "Sometimes when our friends are sad, all they need is another friend to give them a hug or tell them they care. It'll help them feel happier."

"I don't know," Sunny said. "When I feel sad, being around other people makes me feel worse."

"Everyone's a little different, Sunny. Why don't you offer to hold his hand and see if that makes him happier?"

"I guess I could try."

"Nah, it's too late for Teddy," Bill told the TV. With some glee, he added, "The most caring thing you could do is put him out of his misery."

Mabel, sitting up on the couch with three colors of embroidery floss tangled around her fingers, lightly kicked the back of Bill's head. He grinned wider. Mabel said, "Bill, I don't think you're taking this seriously."

"Was I supposed to?"

"It's a beautiful June day and I'm inside with you, so you could at least pretend to. I thought you were a good liar."

"I've never told a lie in my life," lied Bill. "But okay, fine. I've seen the error of my ruthless ways. Maybe there's hope for Teddy yet."

Mabel nodded, mollified. She set aside her current project and rummaged through her bag of embroidery floss. "Hey Bill, what's your favorite color?"

"Gold!"

"Why did I ask. What's your next favorite color?"

"Every color simultaneously superimposed over each other, instantly blinding you!"

Mabel tried to picture that. She imagined a rainbow that was also a laser that was also iridescent. Her mental image looked a lot like Prisma's combat magic. "You have such good taste."

"It takes good taste to recognize good taste!" Bill mentally reviewed the last couple minutes of conversation, saw an opportunity to bolster the "reforming monster" image he was trying to sell to Mabel, and added, "By the way—thanks for sticking around just to keep me entertained!" (See: he can say thank you unprompted.) "This sure isn't where I'd want to spend my afternoon," he laughed wryly, "but unlike me, you have a choice in the matter."

"Yeah," Mabel sighed. "It stinks. I wish you could go outside with me."

Bill quietly, smugly filed that statement away for later use.

Mabel pulled a couple fresh rolls of embroidery floss out of her bag and got to work with them. "We can't set off fireworks inside the shack. Or play with Soos's paintball guns."

Bill's smugness vanished, leaving behind only the hollow feeling of missing out on a lot of fun. Fireworks and paintball guns. Those were three of his favorite things: explosions, colors, and interpersonal violence.

Mabel went on, "And Candy's saved up three years of Magic Vision Poster calendars to wallpaper the inside of her closet. She read online that if you cross your eyes just right to make them all look 3D at the same time, you can hallucinate going inside them! We're gonna try it out tomorrow. That seems like something you'd like."

"What!" Bill groaned. "I've always wanted to see an autostereogram poster with two eyes! Now here I am, stuck in a stupid meat body, and I don't even get to enjoy the only thing binocular vision is good for?"

Mabel patted his shoulder.

"Back home I've got a chair with autostereogram detailing. I've never actually seen it work. And where is it when I've got two eyes?"

"I think they've got Magic Vision books in the kids' section at the library," Mabel said. "Do you want me to check one out for you?"

Bill glared at the TV, silently fuming. Then he muttered, "Yeah. I'd like that. Thanks."

The low-stakes drama on Color Critters was resolved when Sunny asked Teddy Tender if he wanted to maybe hug or hold hands until he felt less sad, and Teddy revealed he felt bad because he was lonely when he hadn't had a play date with a friend in a while. Sunny and Teddy went to the playground together, the gray swings and slide and seesaw blooming orange and yellow as they played. Crisis of the day concluded. Prisma watched proudly, before joining in the play herself. Bill was not jealous of their freedom to go to the playground.

As the credits rolled, Mabel said, "There! Give me your hand!"

Bill stuck his right arm straight out to his side. "Why—?"

Mabel wrapped something thin around his wrist, and there was a quick tug as she tied it off. "Bam! You just got friendshipped!"

"What?" Bill pulled back his wrist to examine Mabel's handiwork. It was a bracelet made out of embroidery floss knotted together into a flat band as wide as his thumb. "What is this?" Stupid question.

"A friendship bracelet!" (Of course it was a friendship bracelet; he was passingly familiar with the art form, he'd seen it centuries before they were called "friendship" bracelets.) "Make a wish."

He wished to get his body back.

"You've gotta wear the bracelet until it breaks, and then the wish'll come true."

And if he believed that, he'd already be chewing through the knot. "And, why am I getting this?"

"Because we're friends!"

"Oh." Well. Yes. Obviously.

He examined the bracelet more closely. The band formed a zig-zag pattern of black and metallic gold triangles; and Mabel had tied glass beads that looked like eyes over several of the gold triangles.

"I didn't have every color simultaneously, but I thought the black would make the gold pop." Mabel pointed at the triangles. "Look! It's you."

"I can see that." She'd used nazar beads for the eyes—a dot of black ringed in blue and white. A little eye-shaped lucky charm humans had been using to ward off the evil eye for millennia. Cute. He laughed, pointing at the beads. "So is this supposed to protect me from the evil eye, or am I the evil eye you're protecting everyone else from?"

Mabel was thirteen. Mabel hadn't put any deeper thought into it than these look like eyes. All the same, Mabel didn't hesitate before replying: "I'm turning your face into a protective charm! Now you've got to keep everyone safe!"

"Oh." And that, too, Bill quietly filed away.

"I expect you to take your new job seriously," Mabel said, pointing at him. "Don't let me down!"

"You give me a gift with my face on it and then tack on a bunch of extra terms and conditions. Very slick, kid." He admired the bracelet. It really was a pretty fine offering. He hadn't been gifted textiles in a while. "But all right! I've never gone back on a deal before," lied Bill.

Though it galled him to get something without a way to pay back the favor. It felt uneven. People don't want a god who grants miracles worth less than the tribute he'd been offered. He ran down his usual list of tricks—he couldn't snap his fingers and summon up a dream gift, he didn't have any useful info he could offer without prompting an interrogation session with his jailers, right now he couldn't even call somebody else to pull some strings on her behalf... His gaze drifted over to Mabel's bag of embroidery threads. He could see beads and a couple more friendship bracelets inside. "How many of these are you making?"

"A bunch! I'm giving one out to each new friend I make this summer."

That'd do. "Teach me."

"You what?"

"Teach me." He turned around to face the couch and pointed toward the bag. "You're making them anyway, right? Just show me as you go."

Mabel stared at him in disbelief. Was he serious? She thought he was serious.

A broad smile stretched across her face. "Okay!" She dug beneath her supplies for a little dog-eared friendship bracelet pattern book. "What kind of jewelry making experience do you have? Especially involving beads or knots."

"I can tie a living creature's blood vessels into quipu knots that spell my name—all without breaking the skin!"

"That's great! Can you do it with embroidery floss instead of blood vessels."

Bill eyed the bundle of floss Mabel held out. "Yes."

"Perfect!" She shoved four thread colors in his hands, a pair of scissors, a jar of pony beads, thought better and quickly took back the scissors, and added a roll of parachute cord. "I'll teach you everything I know. Even my secret trick to keep the edges from going all wobbly! We'll start you on chevrons and then move up to teardrop loops and triangle ends." She put her hands on Bill's shoulders, looked him in his uncovered eye, and said, "I'm gonna make you a friendship bracelet master."

Solemnly, Bill said, "I'm ready."

####

Ford squinted blearily into the living room.

Sitting alone on the far side of the room, Bill was bent over the living room table, fussing with several multicolored strings and a few beads.

Bill glanced at Ford from the corner of his eye, and then—with a faint smirk—turned back to his project without a word. Oh, he wanted Ford to ask. He was dying for Ford to ask.

It was too early for this. Ford wasn't dealing with it before coffee. He shook his head and shuffled onward to the kitchen.

Stan was already up, eating eggs with some unidentified liquid meat poured over them. Over the past year, typically Ford had been the earlier riser; but this summer Stan had gotten used to Ford pulling late nights downstairs as he worked on his research, so he didn't comment on Ford's sleeping in as he poured himself a mug of coffee.

But Stan did look at Ford's face and immediately ask, "Okay. What's the latest Bill bullsh... soup? Bullsoup."

"He's..." Ford tried to figure out what Bill was doing. "Making jewelry in the living room, I think."

Stan grunted and nodded. "Yeah, he was doing that yesterday with Mabel."

"Well, now he's doing it by himself."

Stan raised a brow.

The Stans leaned around the living room doorway to watch Bill. 

Bill was engrossed with picking out a mis-tied knot, frowning deeply in concentration, one eye squeezed shut and the other squinted. He smoothed out the thread, his face relaxed; and then he glanced at the doorway, did a double take, and his shoulders went up around his ears. "What am I, a zoo attraction? Shoo! Scat!" He waved them away. "I'll throw salt at you!"

Ford raised his palms defensively. Stan said, "Okay okay, we're going."

They retreated to the kitchen.

"Well?" Stan pressed. "Is he up to dangerous voodoo stuff?"

"I'm fairy certain Bill doesn't practice Vodou."

"Answer the question, smart aleck."

Ford ran through every form of magic incorporating strings or knots he could think of. It was a pretty short list, and most of it was used for protection or binding separate things together. "Not that I know of," he said dubiously. "But it's more likely he's up to something I don't know about than it is that he's doing arts and crafts. Don't you think?"

Stan considered that. He shrugged. "Eh," he said. "It can wait 'til after coffee."

Eh. Ford was tired. He didn't want to go to red alert over some string and plastic beads. He sat down with his mug.

####

"I'm home!" Mabel called. "Biiill, I couldn't get you a Magic Vision book! The pictures in Candy's closet started moving, and I don't know if we were hallucinating or if we accidentally summoned an invisible holographic horse you can only see when you cross your eyes, so we decided to burn the posters and library books to be safe! Do you know if Magic Vision Posters summon things...?"

"I wish," Bill said. "But hey, I've got something better. Gimme your hand."

Mabel held out her hand, half pulled it back, and said, "Why?"

"Relax." Bill grabbed her wrist, tied on a bracelet, and said, "Make a wish!" He grinned. "You're impressed, admit it. Tell me you're impressed."

Mabel studied the bracelet. "Whoa." Purple, green, and orange threads formed lacy loops around a central thread, forming an endless wave that rolled up and down. The threads passed through several star-shaped pony beads, making the wave look like the tails of shooting stars. "A Peruvian wave with a perfectly straight center cord. That takes crazy precise string tension." She looked at Bill. "I have nothing more to teach you."

"Thank you, teacher."

"Is this supposed to look like my sweater?" Mabel asked, studying the pink in the tassels tying the bracelet on. "The one on your zodiac thing?"

"Sure! You gave me one that looks like me, I gave you one that represents you. Friendship's supposed to go both ways, right?"

"Bill! Is this why you wanted to learn to make friendship bracelets?"

"Am I that obvious?"

"Biiill! You're being so nice!" Mabel flung her arms around him. "I love it!" And then she took off, running laps around the living room, cackling madly and waving her braceleted arm in the air. Abuelita, who'd been watching TV, calmly turned to watch Mabel zoom around.

Oh, this was great. Look at this, Bill was the best at being a friend. Everyone who'd ever ditched him was a moron who didn't know what they were missing out on. They could've gotten personalized friendship bracelets. Maybe he should have offered Ford a friendship bracelet? No, that was stupid, why would Ford prefer a friendship bracelet over unimaginable cosmic power. But then it didn't have to be either-or, did it? Ford's favorite color was red, what went with red?

When Mabel had gotten the enthusiasm out of her system, she trotted back out to the entryway and hugged Bill again. He endured it. "You won't stop making friendship bracelets now that you've made this, will you?" Mabel asked. "You're such a natural at it! And you need more hobbies that are constructive instead of destructive."

"Ouch, kid. I'll have you know I have plenty of constructive hobbies."

"I don't believe it. Name one thing you like creating."

"Weirdness bubbles."

"Name one thing you like creating that doesn't terrify people."

Bill pursed his lips. "Agree to disagree. Anyway, I'm not getting out of the friendship bracelet game just yet. In fact, I've already got another few projects in mind."

####

Bill plopped down at the kitchen table across from Mabel. "Hey star girl. Guess what."

She looked up from her cereal at the dark rings under Bill's eyes. He had one eye squeezed shut; he could usually keep both open when he'd just woken up. "Were you up all night?"

"Doesn't matter. Time is an illusion and I can see the projector. I'm counting that as your guess. Look." Bill tossed two matching bracelets down on the table between them, deep watermelon pink and minty green, shaped like macrame chains with hearts where each link of the chain met.

"Aww, little hearts."

"Thought you'd like the hearts."

Mabel picked up one end of the bracelet and slipped it on—and then noticed the long coil of embroidery floss connecting the end of one bracelet to the other. "Bill? What's this for?"

"Didn't you say a few days ago that you wished we could go outside together? I thought up a perfect solution!"

With a sudden sense of dread, Mabel realized that the chain pattern and the string connecting the bracelets made them look like an extremely long pair of handcuffs; but before she could take off her half, Bill picked up the other bracelet and said, "There's a little magic in these, look. When both ends are being worn—" He slipped on the bracelet, and Mabel felt its matching pair gently tighten around her wrist. The string connecting them vanished into thin air.

Mabel gasped. "What—?"

"Poof! It's like a ghost: still there, but invisible to human eyes. We could even go into separate rooms and it'll connect us through the walls." He demonstrated by waving his hand under the table. "But we can't get farther apart than the length of the thread. I gave it about ten yards." He plucked up something invisible and gave it a tug, and Mabel felt the bracelet go taut against her wrist. There was no force, no matter how hard Bill tugged she didn't feel like the bracelet was pulling her; rather, it felt like the other end of the thread was tied to an immobile boulder preventing her from moving further away, until she moved her hand closer to Bill's to give the thread a little slack. "And..."

Mabel tried to jerk the bracelet off her wrist; it stuck around her hand. "How do I get it off?! Bill—!"

Bill put a finger on her hand, stopping her. He said, "Neither of us can take our end off until we both decide we're ready. Like... now." He winked; and the bracelet suddenly loosened again.

Mabel pulled it off with a sigh of relief.

"Unless one of us dies or something, I guess," Bill said thoughtfully. "That'd deactivate the magic. It'd be pretty gristly to have to keep sharing a friendship bracelet with a corpse!" He laughed. "Anyway—"

Mabel chucked the bracelet in his face. "That was mean!"

Bill blinked in surprise. "What was?"

"You tricked me!" She cradled her wrist against her chest, heart still pounding from the brief unexpected captivity.

"I did not!" He took the bracelets back and started coiling up the thread between them. "You put yours on before I even said anything."

"But you could have warned me before you got us stuck together!"

"Sure, I could have, but would you have kept it on then?"

"No, you jerk. That's the point!" She looked around for something else to chuck at Bill's face, plucked a dry piece of cereal from her bowl, and flicked it at his nose. 

Bill endured his punishment without flinching. "Well, sorry, but I had to demonstrate how they work somehow." He twirled the bracelets around one fingertip. "This solves your whole 'can't let the big scary triangle out unsupervised' problem! Slap these bad boys on, and I've got automatic supervision that I can't escape! Maybe this'll convince the adults that I can be trusted outside, right?" He ate the piece of cereal. "So? What do you think?"

She thought he was still a jerk. All the same, she studied the chain bracelets. "Did you just make me a gift that's actually a gift for yourself?"

He didn't even look a little bit ashamed. "I prefer to think of it as something we'll both benefit from!"

"Bill."

"C'mooon. You know you want me out there." He lowered his voice. "Who else in this town will help you break into the pet shop to dye the dogs' fur?"

Oooh. Mabel should not have told Bill about that ambition. "Well..."

"Or help you grill hamburgers with sprinkles. You know Stanley's never gonna do that for us again," Bill said. "Or what if you need a drive somewhere, huh? The guys with licenses are gonna get tired of trips to the craft store eventually."

"You can't drive!"

"Of course I can drive, didn't you see me during—?" Bill's eyes widened. "Oh no, you didn't see! I can't believe you didn't see my car. You, you would have loved it."

He seemed serious. Maybe he could drive. "You... shouldn't get to drive."

"What if it's an emergency and I'm the only one who can do it. Do you want me in the driver's seat with or without a leash?" He spread his hands in a shrug. "And anyway... think of everything else we could be doing together outside. Purple poodles and pink pugs are just the start, my friend."

Mabel hated when she knew she was being manipulated but Bill still made a good point. She bit her lip and glanced at the clock over the sink. A tour had just started; the gift shop should be empty and the vending machine safe to use.

She got out of her seat, taking her cereal with her. "I'm gonna run this by the household magic expert."

Bill rolled his eye. "Fine. Tell Sixer we're out of apple cider."

####

"Tell Bill we got three packs last time," Ford said. "If that's not enough to hold him one week between grocery trips, then he has a drinking problem."

"Okay, but what about the bracelets?"

Ford set aside the book he'd been reading and studied the bracelets. He slipped one on his wrist.  "Mabel, would you mind putting on the other side?"

"Sure!" She pulled on the bracelet. It tightened around Ford's wrist and the thread between them disappeared. Fascinating.

After a few minutes of experimenting to see how they worked, Ford was fairly sure this was a spell he'd learned about years ago, although he'd lost the details when he tossed his second journal in the bottomless pit. Usually it was done with metal chains—but the spell should make the bracelets nigh on indestructible while the magic was active, so, as promised, it would contain Bill. As long as he didn't murder the person on the other end of the spell.

"So can I take Bill outside?" Mabel asked, hands laced together and eyes wide. "Please please please?"

"You did hear what I just said about murder, right?"

"We'll bring someone else along! Bill wouldn't try to kill me if someone else is standing guard!" (At least she still recognized that there were circumstances where Bill would try to kill her.) "He's been stuck inside for weeks. That's not healthy! He needs to stretch his legs, get some sunshine!" She smacked Ford's desk as a thought occurred to her, "And we need to take him clothes shopping. I can tell he's uncomfortable in gift shop t-shirts and Abuelita's skirts. Does he even like skirts?" She dropped her voice to a whisper. "Does he even have underwear, or is he still wearing Soos's old swim trunks?"

Ford winced. "Melody was kind enough to pick some up a few days ago." But he could admit it had taken them longer than it should have.

"What about the rest of his clothes? Does he have a bra?"

"Wh—" Ford sputtered. "Does he want one?"

"I don't know, I haven't asked. It might be more comfortable. He has a lot of chest."

Lord. Ford closed his eyes. He did not want to think about bras.

"Pleeease?" Mabel said. "I wanna take him clothes shopping. He's probably never explored human fashion before! He's got to find his style. I can be his style consultant."

Aha. So that was what Mabel was getting out of all this: a person-sized dress-up doll.

Truth be told, they probably should take Bill outside. Depending on how Fiddleford's research proceeded, destroying Bill could take weeks, if not months. If there were ever an emergency, they might need to relocate Bill quickly—so it was better to ensure the bracelets worked as advertised before they became necessary.

"Fine. But this won't be a regular thing," Ford said. "Ask Stan when he can go. And your brother—I'd rather Bill know the numbers are stacked against him. And he's not allowed to talk to anybody outside the shack. You, Dipper, and Stan will have to intercept anybody he might speak to."

"Don't worry about that! I've got the perfect solution," Mabel said. "What if Grunkle Stan doesn't want to go?"

"Ask him to talk to me. I think I can convey the importance."

"You don't want to come? Are you too busy figuring out how to kill him?" Mabel's gaze moved to the books Ford had been reading.

Ford suppressed the urge to shut the books and hide the papers beside them. Mabel wouldn't be able to understand the books anyway: it was an ancient Roman historian's description of augury—fortunetelling with birds—and a Latin reference dictionary he was consulting to help him translate. He was more afraid Mabel's gaze would fall on the pages next to the books, where a few vocabulary words from the mystical, mythical language of the birds had been scrawled out in Bill's distinctive chicken scratch.

No, Ford wasn't busy figuring out how to kill Bill. He was still waiting to hear back from Fiddleford about the feasibility of synthesizing or replacing the quantum destabilizer's Dontium; and, in the meantime, he'd allowed himself to believe there was nothing else he could do on his own... and by now, he'd gotten thoroughly distracted. Going through Bill's notes, verifying his claims, following up on the leads he'd subtly slid in. Bill's miniature grimoire was the most dense magical text since the Emerald Tablet. Opening it up was like a cryptography puzzle mixed with a dissertation research project, and each sentence was a fractal flower of information, a bud that bloomed into a dozen more buds that each bloomed into a dozen more.

It was amazing. Enthralling. This was the kind of research Ford was made for. He was the most relaxed he'd been in weeks.

He hadn't told anybody what he was doing while Fiddleford worked.

"No, not that," he told Mabel, "I just don't want to spend time around Bill. Especially on what's essentially a social trip. Stanley can... handle it better."

"Oh," Mabel said. "That makes sense, I guess."

Ford glanced uneasily at Bill's papers, then looked away before Mabel could see.

He was so caught up in his own shame at getting caught toeing at one of Bill's traps, he didn't notice the quick shameful look on Mabel's face for the same reason.

####

(Thanks for reading! Please drop a comment or reblog if you enjoyed, y'all's commentary is what helps keep me writing. ❤️

Also I feel like Google translate can handle the Latin pretty well if you wanna see what Bill's saying at the start, but it's important to me that you know Google is wrong about "quadrum defututum" and it can actually be more accurately translated as "you square slut.")