#maddie x rhonda

[amyyythestarry]

Omgomgomg-

School Spirits.

Is the best.

I heavily recommend it.

No spoilers, but nobody is telling me Maddie doesn’t have a harem.

[mcufan1066]

School Spirits ship

I like Maddie and Wally, but I ship Maddie and Rhonda. Xavier can go eat a bag of dicks.

[take-it-on-the-run]

The End

Wally Clark x Reader

Two people died on September 23rd, 1983. One laid out on a football field before hundreds of people, and the other left behind on the cold floor of the boy's locker room.

Word Count: 1.7k

Tags: Sexual assault, semi-graphic depictions of SA, including: almost direct aftermath, reader is naked in the beginning, mentions of blood, and implied loss of virginity via SA, flashback to SA; death, reader's death is overlooked, ANGST

Characters: Wally Clark, Reader, Dalton (OC)

Read it on AO3!

A/N: The Doors title. Hey ya'll. I cannot believe the love I've been getting on this page, and it's driving me past my writer's block more than anything. With school starting, I can feel the academic anxiety kicking in, but I use my writing as a coping method when I can. This story has very intense topics (as stated in the tags) and is not meant to idealize any topics in any way. This was inspired by @general-fanfiction's Hopes and Fears series (GO READ IT RN), and @whoopsyeahokay's October Sun series (ALSO GO READ IT RN). If this story is well received, or I just feel the urge to, I'll probably turn it into a series (bc this sucks as a one-shot). As always, please heed the warnings, and read only if you're comfortable.

Part 1 | Part 2

Wally Clark Masterlist | School Spirits Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

Blood was everywhere.

It slid down your legs and dribbled onto the cold floor of the locker room. Every inch of your skin felt like it was too tight for your bones, and all you wanted to do was reach down your throat and rip out your heart.

Copper flooded your mouth. The tang brushed against the back of your chattering teeth, and all you could think about was how you wanted to crawl to the nearby shower and let it run until one of the coaches found you and dragged you out.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Move. You told yourself. All of your limbs ached. Nothing felt real.

You didn’t want this to be real.

It was supposed to be kind. Gentle. An act out of pure love.

Standing up proved to be hard, and it was like no one was able to hear you screaming out for help. Filtered out by the people flooding the halls, hustling to the big homecoming game going on that night.

The tiled walls provided little help as you brought yourself to a standing position, walking slowly as you felt your feet brush against the pile of your shoes, pants, and underwear on the floor. The touch stopped your heart, breaking a new tier of hate and regret across your body.

He said he loved me.

You turned on the shower, cranking the knob to the hottest setting, knowing that the water wouldn’t get anywhere near warm. Water slid harshly over your body, and you felt it pelt against spots of dried blood on your thighs.

You wished you never come to this stupid football game.

You wished you weren’t as ignorant, or as gullible, or as love-blind as you had been in the past three months.

You wished you never met him.

His face felt bitter and sharp in your head, poking and prodding, as if trying to stick the memory of his hands on you for eternity.

Time passed irregularly, no one came in or out of the locker room, and you were sure that the football game had to have reached its end by all of the cheering and yelling you heard outside.

After using all of the hot water in the gym wing, you slowly walked to the lines of lockers, trying even glimpsing in the direction of your clothes. tried to open every locker until one popped open, revealing a pair of grey sweatpants, a sweatshirt, a muscle tank, blue gym shorts, and a matching varsity jacket with #57 stitched on the arm.

You grabbed the matching sweatsuit, balling it in your arms and silently apologizing to the boy you’d never return the clothing to.

He probably won’t even notice, you told yourself.

You turned the corner around a line of lockers and you could swear you were going crazy. A bare foot poked out from behind the last line of lockers, limply tilted against your pile of clothes, painted a chipped wine red.

You blinked hard, looking down at your own chipped wine-red toes, and you clutched the clothing you stole to your naked body. The cotton was soft compared to the cold tile bracing against your feet, and you brought your eyes to look back to the pile of clothing on the floor.

Bile pooled at the back of your mouth as you hesitantly stepped closer to the foot that hadn’t disappeared. You’re going crazy, you told yourself, but the more and more you stared at the limp, pale body - your limp, pale body - whose features were more of a brutal mass than a face, the less it was going away.

You barely made it past the urinals and into an open stall before you dry-heaved into a toilet.

You were dead.

You couldn’t be.

As you zipped up the stolen hoodie and sweatpants, you tried to remember it all. Kissing under the bleachers before the game, him asking you to come with him while he grabbed something from his gym locker.

Every agonizing second you asked him to stop, to stop pressing you into the lockers because one of the locks was digging into your back; his decrepit hands sliding at your waistline, pushing and prodding past the fabric of your clothes.

Nothing would come up from your stomach.

Could ghosts vomit? You asked yourself, slowly standing to your feet and walking back over to your dead body.

Conversations started to flood the hallway, every muscle in your body coming briefly to attention before you flew out the door and screamed into the rushing crowd of students.

“Hello?” You called out, reaching your arm into the crowd, only to watch it get run through like something out of Star Wars.

Your body became hot, and even though you knew deep down that no one could see you, you pushed your tears back down your choking throat and felt your cheeks heat up with shame.

You walked into the crowd, who was thinning out the further you got from the hallway. Your body tensed for a moment, seeing the lights of police cars and ambulances pulling up to the school. Expecting to see the paramedics rushing toward your body, you waited for them to split the crowd, to start heading toward the school, but they were bolting the other way.

Straight toward the football field.

This school has to be fucking cursed.

One of the players was splayed out on the field, his head gently being lifted as paramedics were tugging his helmet off his head. The football team from whatever school yours was playing against was sitting on the bench, whispering and pointing to another one of their players who was talking to a police officer further down the field.

57.

The number sewn on the jacket hanging among the clothes you stole stood out against the dark blue of the player’s helmet. People gasped and a woman cried out as the paramedic set the helmet aside, revealing the face of the school’s resident golden boy; a dark bruise crawled up his neck, and his mouth guard slid between his lips as his limp head hung unnaturally over his shoulder.

You walked closer, straight through the forming line of police officers, and looked into the field. At the edge of the bleachers, waving his arms around and yelling into a silent group of people, stood Wally Clark.

Wally Clark is dead.

Just like I am.

You took off running, the activity coming easier to you when you were alive.

Alive.

“Wally!” You called out, and the football player snapped his body to your voice, his eyes wide and seeming relieved that someone was talking to him.

You stopped, resting your hands on your hips as he hopped down from the bleachers.

“What’s happening? Why- why is no one talking to me? What did I do?” He asked, skipping the formalities. He came to stand on the field before you, the football gear he was wearing sending a rush of debilitating shame through your body.

You faltered for a moment, his face flashing in your eyes before you rubbed your face back to reality.

“You didn’t do anything, Wally.” You managed to push out, pushing your eyes anywhere but on him.

“Then what is happening? I feel like I’m going crazy, one minute I’m running with the ball, and boom- I’m at the bleachers, trying to get my mother to talk to me and she won’t even look up at me. I know she’s pissed at me about going on the bench, but I mean I got back in the game, and now I’m guessing coach is pissed at me on insisting to get back in and-”

“You’re dead.” You cut off his rambling, forcing yourself to meet his face without looking away after a second, “I mean, I think we’re both dead.”

First, he smiled. Like what you said was some kind of joke. After you said nothing, he started toward the sidewalk, where his mother was now alongside a stretcher being lifted into an ambulance. You could see the tears on her face from where you were, each step you followed Wally, the easier it was to see her sorrow.

Then, as he was following his mother, he suddenly was gone, like he was plucked off the Earth by God himself.

That was until you turned to see him standing on the football field, right where his body was previously lying, tugging at the roots of his hair.

You hovered your foot, leveraging that if you stood on the sidewalk, you would be slingshotted back to the men’s locker room.

You decided to trust your gut and instead talked to Wally.

“I can’t be dead, I mean, that would mean you’re dead, and I literally saw you in the hallway this morning,” Wally said as he paced in a small area before you, “and I know for sure that I saw you because you were hanging around Dalton’s locker, which was weird because everyone on the team thought he had some college girl or something he was hanging out with-”

You didn’t register some of the words he was saying, instead you tried to control your thoughts from ripping you back to your last moments on earth at his name.

“-I mean, do you even know how crazy this sounds?”

You took in a shaky breath, wiping your hands over your face to poorly conceal any emotions that unwillingly spread onto your features, “Yeah, but that’s the thing, Wally. I am dead.”

Saying you were dead for the first time out loud was a lot heavier than you thought it would be.

You’re pretty sure that if the insanity of Wally being killed hadn’t overridden your brain, you would be somewhere huddled up and screaming for some greater power to give you eternal rest.

“What? That’s not possible, I mean, the people you were here with would’ve noticed you were gone. Dalton would’ve noticed you were gone.”

You didn’t want to give his name as much power as you did, but your body tightened up hearing it. You didn’t correct him, instead opting to stare at the dark woods on the far end of the field, your eyes burning once more.

“Y/N,” you were a little surprised that he knew your name, and even more when he stood in front of you with the most gentle expression you’d ever seen, “what happened after school? How did you die?”

[whoopsyeahokay]

Masterlist

October Sun

Wally Clark x fem!reader

you had a secret. one that you'd been sworn to keep since your first conscious thought. you hadn't planned on making your abilities known, but when devilishly handsome Wally Clark—died October 1983—accidentally reveals that your classmate and friend is among the community of ghosts haunting your high school, you throw caution to the wind. suddenly, you find yourself completely immersed in the mystery of Maddie's death while also at the mercy of a wayward lust connection between yourself and Wally, desperate to keep your head above water as your relationship to the spiritual world is tested.

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

below is the complete list of chapters of October Sun. you can also find all related content HERE as well as reformatted chapters on AO3.

~ 🧡👻

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5

PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8 | PART 9 | PART 10

PART 11 | PART 12 | PART 13 | PART 14 | PART 15

PART 16 | PART 17 | PART 18 | PART 19 | PART 20

PART 21 | PART 22 | PART 23 | PART 24 | PART 25 | PART 26

PART 27: SEASON FINALE

[blac-ivy]

School Spirits season 2 confirmed, apparently coming in their Autumn/Fall. I need y'all to show up and show out. I'm so excited.

[uchihashurin]

Posting some of my School Spirits fanart here

[nine-is-not-a-ten]

School Spirits SPOILERS

i just finished School Spirits

why didn't anyone warn me about the ending.

okay firST OF ALL WHAT THE FUCK

JANET DIDN'T FUCKING CROSS OVER? MR. MARTIN'S A BITCH? SIMON DOESN'T BELIEVE HER ANYMORE? AND WORST OF ALL:

SHE DIDN'T GET WITH WALLY??

simon is not worth it honey ;-;

[bisexualmultifandommess]

So, in the finale we find out that Maddie technically isn’t actually dead she was just pushed out of her body by Janet which means that eventually they could find a way to get her back to normal and set Janet back to being a ghost.

This means that Maddie will be back with her friends and will be alive but she’ll also not be able to stay with Wally or stay friends Rhonda and Charley 😭😭

I think for the first time ever I’m wishing that a character I love would stay dead lmao

[reporterleroux]

hey chat so low-key losing it rn

this may be such an obvious detail but i think about it so much that is definitely the flower from maddies dress that rhonda went through the effort of asking dawn to add, which imo seems very unlike her for the most part

lesbians your honour

[wallyclarksnewmom]

Btw this is the argument when Wally and Rhonda find out about Simon (in part)

Rhonda: Trying not to lose it in front of your crush?

Wally (yelling): Okay, you dont have to be mad at me Rhonda, I didnt do anything, be mad at [Charley]-

(Rhonda: I am mad at him!)

Wally: -you said you wouldnt bring that up again!

[crazy-together-cambria]

please tell me i’m not the only one who ships maddie and simon

[mcufan1066]

Maddie is Bi

I believe that Maddie is dating Wally, Rhonda, Dawn, and Mina. She's dead, so it's time for her to finally start living her life.

[take-it-on-the-run]

No Safety or Surprise

Wally Clark x Reader

Following a double death at Split River High, two souls acclimate with their new reality and the fellow ghosts that inhabit the school's grounds.

Word Count: 3k

Tags: Aftermath of sexual assault, no flashbacks to SA, mention of SA, reader's death is overlooked but Wally 's isn't, angst, comfort

Characters: Wally Clark, Reader, Dalton (OC, mentioned), Mr. Martin, Rhonda (brief), Janet (brief), Jasmine (OC, brief), William (OC, brief), David (OC, brief)

Read it on AO3!

Taglist: @xocellyy, @maggiecc, @pancake-flipper, @littlestxli, @trinitybaby6666, @somethingsomethingcranberries, @sst4r-ddu5t, @ghostlyaccurate

Want to join (or leave) the taglist? Click here!

A/N: The Doors title. Sequel to 'The End', which has gotten so much love that I don't even know what to say! Super thank you to everyone who wanted to be tagged, ya'll might make me cry. Thank you for clicking/reading my story, and I hope that you enjoy this one! This is my first time writing a sequel to a story, as I'm more partial to one-shots writing-wise. Unbeta'd, please heed the tags, and enjoy!

Part 1 | Part 2

Wally Clark Masterlist | School Spirits Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

You left Wally without saying a word, climbing to the top of the bleachers and curling in on yourself. You wanted to spit in his face and tell him that Dalton wasn’t the perfect teammate, average-grade goofball he played himself to be, that he had taken your life, soul, and body in one fell swoop. Instead, you left him more confused than before, still clutching at the stolen jacket draped on your shoulders.

Your non-beating heart ached for the first time since you found yourself on the locker room floor. For every second you spent with your legs up to your chest, heaving, a deeper hole was burying its way through your chest.

Your death went twenty-three minutes unnoticed, and when you were finally found, it was only because the football team was told to change after the game stopped.

You didn’t know how long you were up on the bleachers, finally praying for the first time in your life before someone approached you. You assumed it was Wally, hoping that he had finally realized what had happened to you, but you turned your head to see an older man dressed in a tweed jacket and glasses walking up to you.

“Y/N?” the stranger asked, sitting a level below you to meet you at eye level, “is that your name?”

He was skinnier than most teachers you knew, and his suit outdid anything they would be wearing.

He’s dead too.

Nodding your head, you brought yourself to sit on the bleacher level above him, scooting down to make distance between him and you. He didn’t move, instead placing his hands in his lap and sighing gently.

“My name is Mr. Martin. As I assume you’re already aware, you’ve passed away.”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.

“I’ve been a local of Split River since the 50’s, and-”

“Are you some kind of grim reaper or something? You finally get off your ass to bring me to whatever’s supposed to happen after I die?” You interrupted harshly, glaring at your reflection in his square glasses. His slight trans-atlantic accent in his voice ticked you off on top of how you already felt.

“-Unfortunately, I’m not here to take you to the great hereafter,” he said, his voice a touch softer, “I am, however, here to offer you support if you are willing to take it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You asked.

“I know what happened to you, Y/N.” He said matter-of-factly, adjusting the way he was sitting as if he was uncomfortable with the statement he’d made.

Chills crept up your spine. “What?”

“I was there when the paramedics brought your body out from the locker room,” he rubbed above his lip tensely, “I’m here to let you know that there are others here that can help you get through this, a support group for the ghosts of Split River High.”

Scoffing, you move to get up and away from him and his proposal of an afterlife anonymous meeting. He didn’t follow you, instead raising his voice so you were able to hear him.

“If you change your mind, we meet in the gym every afternoon. Nothing formal, but it seems to have helped others in similar situations to yours.”

People speculated if you and Wally’s deaths were connected in some way- a jealous ex that found out the two of you had been together, a suicide pact; someone even started to say you poisoned him and then yourself because you were hopelessly in love with him.

No matter what people said, somehow, the blame always landed on you and never Wally.

It took three days for you to work up the courage to go back inside the school. Every time you approached a door, your feet wouldn’t move. When you finally got the courage to go inside, it was because the rain pouring outside pelted against the metal of the bleachers, and the sound was going to deafen you if you heard it any longer. It didn’t register that you were in the building until you saw the back of a familiar football player, no longer wearing the gear he died in.

“Wally?” You called out to him, making him spin around to face you.

The air of confusion he’d carried the night you two died was gone, instead replaced by a brightened smile and somewhat brighter eyes.

“Y/N, hey,” he walked towards you, mirroring posters plastered to the wall mourning him, “I was worried you weren’t going to come in any time soon.”

You knit your eyebrows, shifting at his open display of friendliness after not talking to you for the twelve years you were in school together. You knew of him— it was impossible not to, and the two of you had been in a few classes as you’d grown up.

He stood before you, hands tucked in his pocket, as you turned to look at the posters on the wall.

Rest in Peace - Wally Clark.

Son, student, friend to all.

Memorial - September 31st, 4:30 PM, Gym

Poster after poster, taped to every few lockers and pinned twice or three times to every corkboard. His graduation picture lined the halls and mocked you every step of the way. Wally’s death rocked the school like a thunderclap, and any whispers of your tragedy were drowned out by an outpouring of grief for the star athlete.

No memorial. No justice. Not for you.

Hundreds of posters, his locker transformed into a shrine, and there were even some candles lit despite the fire code of the school. All the while, your locker remained untouched—just another metal door collecting dust.

A hand gently touched your shoulder, causing you to spin on your heel and jerk your attention to Wally once more.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, taking a step back, his hands raised in surrender. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

The phantom beating of your heart thudded dully in response. You hadn’t been touched in days, not since your body was hauled out of the locker room like a broken piece of equipment.

“What do you want, Wally?” you asked, sharper than you intended. His brow furrowed, but his smile didn’t waver.

“I wanted to check on you,” he said simply. “Mr. Martin said he talked to you, but you didn’t come to the gym. Thought I’d see if you were okay.”

You let out a harsh laugh, glancing back at the posters. “Do I look okay? I’m dead, Wally. Just like you.”

And yet, it seems no one gives a shit that I died.

He tilted his head, studying you like you were an unsolved puzzle. “Yeah, but… you don’t have to do this alone.”

“And you’re suddenly the expert on post-death coping mechanisms?” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Why do you care anyway? You didn’t even know me.”

Wally flinched, his smile faltering for the first time. “That’s not fair,” he said quietly. “We were in different worlds, yeah, but I knew who you were— who you are. And I know what the living are saying about us. None of it’s true.”

“Which part? The suicide pact? Or the one where I poisoned you because I was obsessed with you?” You spat the words like venom, your eyes stinging with unshed tears.

“The part where they act like you’re the villain,” he said, his voice steady. “Like you’re not worth mourning.”

That stopped you cold. You stared at him, waiting for the sarcasm, for the punchline. But his eyes held nothing but sincerity, and it made your stomach twist.

“You don’t owe me anything, Y/N,” he continued, stepping closer. “But I’ve been to that group a few times. It’s weird, and Mr. Martin talks like he’s out of some old self-help movie, but it’s… not awful. And it’s better than being alone.”

You wanted to snap at him, to tell him to back off, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you swallowed hard and looked away, your eyes falling to the scuffed floor.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and unyielding. Wally shifted, the rubber soles of his sneakers squeaking faintly against the floor. His patience grated on you, not because it annoyed you, but because it chipped away at the courage you’d been building up for the past two weeks.

“What’s the point, Wally?” you muttered, your voice cracking. “What’s the point of sitting in a room with other dead people, pretending like it makes any of this better?”

He exhaled sharply, almost like he’d been holding his breath. “It doesn’t fix anything,” he admitted. “But it’s not about fixing it. It’s about… not letting it bury you. We don’t have to be forgotten, Y/N.”

Your throat tightened at his words. The posters, the memorial, the tears shed for Wally Clark—they felt like they came from a different world. A world where your name didn’t matter, where your death was just a footnote. But his voice, steady and sure, pierced through the bitterness threatening to consume you.

“Fine,” you whispered, the word barely audible. You forced yourself to meet his gaze, the bright sincerity in his eyes almost painful. “I’ll go. Once. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Wally’s grin returned, slow and genuine. “That’s all I’m asking.”

The gym was plain, almost too small for the group of souls that had gathered. Mr. Martin, with his stiff posture and small accent, sat in the corner, his hands folded neatly in his lap. The group was sparse, and each person’s presence piled more and more nerves as you swept your gaze over them.

You felt the tug of skepticism as you sat in an empty chair. The group didn’t move to acknowledge you, a few eyes lifting from their spots, but no one spoke. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but the lack of judgment felt almost alien.

Wally had sat next to you without a word, his presence oddly comforting as he simply offered a silent companionship. His clothes matched yours, save for his jacket, which you still had yet to remove. Some of the ghosts looked your way, but one’s gaze lingered between the two of you. She sat next to Mr. Martin, dressed in a short, colorful, and rectangular dress similar to things your older cousins would wear to events.

Mr. Martin cleared his throat gently, breaking the silence.

“Hello, everyone. I want to again thank you if you’re a returning member and welcome you,” he shot his eyes at you, “if you’re a new member. Since there are newer faces here, why don’t we go around the circle and just say our names.” He smiled, something uncanny lingering on his mouth as he turned to the girl staring between you and Wally.

“I’m Janet.” She said simply. Her voice was soft and concise, crossing her legs as the rest of the ghosts in the group introduced themselves.

“Hi, David,” said a man dressed in construction clothes, who was noticeably older than others in the group.

A boy not much younger than you piped up, a tie peaking past a Letterman jacket he was wearing, “I’m William.”

“Rhonda,” said one girl dressed like your estranged beatnik aunt, who had a seemingly never-ending supply of blow pops.

“And I’m Jasmine.”

The group wraparound had landed on you. You looked between everyone, searching out the chance they’d just let you past the introductions. Rhonda shot you a look of Come on, we’re waiting, and your lips were moving.

“I’m Y/N.” You hated how much your voice shook after you died, but the calm washing over you as Wally prepared his introduction was enough to make you forget it.

“I’m Wally.” He said, the sound of his golden smile ever-present in his words.

“Well, since we have a newbie,” Mr. Martin began, his voice soft but carrying pressure that you found hard to ignore, “Y/N, why don’t you start by telling us what brought you here today?”

All eyes turned to you, and the overwhelming need to jump from a top-story window returned a shock to your senses. The group waited once more for you to speak, some members exchanging glances that you’d catch in social settings when you were alive. Before you knew it, your lips were parting again and spurting words you were regretting the second you said them.

“I didn’t want to be here,” you started, your voice unsteady but not cracking. “I didn’t want to be dead, either. But what does it matter? It’s not like anyone cares about why I’m gone. They’re all too busy mourning him.”

You slung a hand towards Wally, not looking up, unable to see the faces in the room as you continued. “Wally gets all the posters, all the memorials. He was the star. The one everyone is giving a damn about. And I— I don’t even get a proper goodbye.”

Wally shifted beside you, but you didn’t want to hear him. You leaned your elbows on your knees and played with your fingers as you let the silence around you linger. You didn’t want to hear the words he or any of the other ghosts were going to say, and yet you prayed for the silence to end with something.

Mr. Martin, for once, didn’t jump in. Everyone around you was dead silent— pun not intended— and before you knew it, you were moving out of the gym and to a bench in the hall outside, tucking your knees under your chin.

You had no idea how long you sat there, your legs curled up underneath you, eyes fixed on the dirty hallway doors. Your chest felt hollow, and the anger had boiled down into exhaustion so deep you didn’t know if you could ever feel whole again.

The silence in the gym had crushed you. It wasn’t the kind of silence that made you feel at peace; it was the kind that forced you to confront all the things you hated about yourself, about how little people turned their heads at your murder. You’d never felt more alone, even when you were alive with your family as your only friends. Here, stuck behind glass to witness the aftermath of your death, you couldn’t do anything but watch as you were forgotten to time.

But you weren’t truly alone for long.

Wally’s presence, soft but steady, came through the gym doors, and you didn’t need to look up to know it was him. You felt his gaze on you before you saw it. His footsteps came slowly, as if he wasn’t sure how to approach you this time.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice unsure, though his usual easygoing nature had managed to bleed through.

You didn’t answer at first. The weight of everything was still crushing you.

You didn’t know what to say to him. All of it—every question, every unspoken feeling—was stuck in your throat.

“I just…” you began, the words coming out in a rush, “I don’t get it, Wally. How come it’s all about you? We both died, and yet there aren’t any memorials held in my honor or any remembrance of me being alive in the first place.”

Wally sat beside you, quiet for a moment. He didn’t touch you, didn’t speak right away. But you could tell he was thinking, his mind racing for something to say that wouldn’t make everything worse.

“Dalton surely isn’t going to forget you, I’m sure he’s already planning something in your honor— something, something better.”

Your resolve cracked suddenly, shattering in one fell move as you bowed your head and cried for the umpteenth time. Wally was silent but tried to offer a comforting hand on your back that you scooted away from instantly.

His presence was steady, but you could feel the tension radiating off him. You didn’t look up to see if he needed confirmation as to what your body was telling him.

“He… he was a monster. They’re letting him get away with it, I know they are, and it’s like no one cared that I was left for dead. People didn’t call me an ambulance or even see my body when it was still warm. Heleft me to rot in that locker room, and now he’s just strutting around like he’s lost something great, and I’m-” you hiccupped as you smeared tears away from your eyes, “I’m starting to feel like I’m going crazy because no one’s going to ever believe it happened. Even when the cops check out me, I just don’t think they’ll believe he’d do that kind of thing.”

Wally remained silent as you turned to look at him, his face pale and mouth slightly agape. Part of you wanted to know what he was thinking, what he wanted to say, and the other part wanted to burst up from your seat, run through the side doors, and condemn yourself to an eternity of sitting on the bleachers.

“I believe you.”

Out of everything you thought he was going to say, that didn’t even reach your mind. You turned to him, face beating to the rhythm of your heart, probably soaked from your tears and red from your crying.

“What?” You asked.

“You’re not crazy, Y/N. If anything, I think you’re braver than anyone I’ve ever known.”

“What?” You asked again, a small smile turning the slightest curve in your lips.

Wally laughed softly, slowly raising his hand to your face and thumbing the tears off your cheeks.

“You heard me,” he brought his hand to rest against your face, and you could feel the suffocating heat starting to leave you.

“What’s bravery have to do with any of this?” You questioned heat flooding in from where his palm remained against your cheek.

“It’s got to do with you sitting here, telling me,” he brought his other hand to lightly skim over the top of yours, “it’s got to do with you coming in and standing in these halls and bearing witness to the aftermath. I know you think the rest of the world is going to forget you, but, Y/N, I’m going to give my damnedest so you’ll never feel like that, ever again.”

[imahoeforsokka]

NyQuil, Yoga Mats, and Golfcart Bowling

notes: i love them, also based on the fact that we learned ghosts can still get sick and stuff :)) also know i did not edit this before going to bed 🫡

Maddie sat in a random classroom watching the sunset. It was Friday, so she was without Simon for a few days. She was almost glad she wouldn’t have to think about her murder, even though she knew she couldn’t. It was like a single movie real in her head, constantly playing.

The sun was eventually gone, well as far as she could see. Pinks and oranges still littered the sky. She was lost in thought, staring at the sky, when she heard a not-so-quiet knock against the wooden door.

Wally stood there leaning against the door frame with a wide smile and glassy eyes. He look bad, well not bad, but sick.

Maddie lifted an eyebrow at him, “Are you okay?”

This seemed to through the guy off, he looked down at himself, “I thought I was?”

He walked over to the desk she was sitting on, and scooted next to her. She smiled the small smile she gave whenever he was being funny, stupid, sweet, etc.

“You sure?” she started, as she poked him on the nose, “you look sick, can ghosts get sick?”

“I don’t feel sick,” he frowned, the expression didn’t last long though, “ghost can get sick, but I haven’t ever.”

“Ever?” she questioned, Maddie didn’t believe him, he could tell by the look on her face.

“Ever.”

“I hate to tell you this hotshot, but your streak is coming to an end.” She felt his forehead, for dramatic effect.

“Blasphemy!” He yelled.

“Yeah you feel warm and everything.”

Wally put his own hand to his head, he was warm. Very un-ghost like. He frowned, which again didn’t last long, because Maddie laid her head on his shoulder.

“What do ghosts even do when we get sick?” She asked.

“Just dig around in the nurses office and suffer, but I wouldn’t know.”

“Right because you’ve never been sick.”

“Bingo.”

“till today.”

“Yea-no, I’m not sick!”

Maddie lifted her head and stared. He made eye contact immediately, excepting defeat with a sniffle.

“I’m sick.” He sighed.

“Yeah I know dumbass,” she stood from her spot on the desk, “let’s go to the nurses office.” She rolled her eyes and smiled.

Wally stood up and they started towards the hallway. They walked in silence for a moment. Before he dramatically hooked his arm around her shoulder and leaned on her, as if he was painstakingly ill.

“How will I ever go on,” he said, dragging his feet.

She attempted to shove him off, but to no avail, as he was to heavy, “Wally!” she laughed.

“Sorry Mads, I think I’ve got polio or something,” he shrugged, “can’t walk.”

They eventually made it to the nurses office, and she started digging through the drawers.

“Y’know you should’ve been a theater kid, you seem to have a love for the dramatics.” She picked up a bottle of NyQuil, “why would she have this?” Maddie mumbled to herself.

“Me? Dramatic? Never.” He said, laying back on the nurses cot-bed thing.

Maddie rinsed out the cup and poured a shot of NyQuil. Wally held it with a disgusted look on his face.

“Modern medicine is gross.”

“Just take it.” She said with an eye roll.

“Won’t it make me tired?”

“The suns down.” Maddie pointed to a window.

“It’s literally 6:30.” He counter pointed to a clock

“Oh my god, shut up and take it.”

He smiled, “you’re bossy.” He took it.

“I’m not bossy, I’m looking out for you.” She said, shoving his arm.

“Yeah, bossily.”

She rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile.

A few hours passed and sure enough he was tired, he did feel better though. Maddie stayed with him, as they wander around the school.

“Where are you sleeping tonight?” He asked.

Maddie had been moving from spot to spot, trying to find her ‘room’. Rhonda slept in the faculty lounge on the couch, Charley slept in some teachers office, and Wally started sleeping in the weight room a few decades ago when they installed it.

“I don’t know, definitely not on top of the lockers,” she said stretching her neck, “painful.”

He smiled, “been there.”

They kept walking and talking about whatever. Eventually finding their way to the weight room. Wally sat on his stack of yoga mats. Maddie sat down next to him.

“If you get passed the smell, I have the most comfortable room in the building.” He grinned laying back, patting the spot next to him. She laid back with him.

“I think you might be right.” She said, rolling on her side to look at him. He slid his jacket off and laid it over them.

“Crafty.” She joked. The jacket worked surprisingly well as a makeshift blanket.

“I’m good that way.” He smiled. His eyes looked sleepy and she though they looked pretty that way.

She couldn’t help but to push his hair out of his face. He glanced over at her, and she pulled her hand away. He almost grabbed her hand and put it back in his hair. He closed his eyes smiling a little, hoping she wouldn’t leave the room. She didn’t. He liked that. Wally put his arm around her shoulder, and pulled her in a little, before fully dozing off.

After a little bit she debated getting up to let him sleep, and begrudgingly decided she shouldn’t bother him while he’s sick. She started to move, until his arm pulled her in a lot closer than before.

“Is this okay?” She asked.

“Yeah, stay.” He mumbled.

So she did. Maddie finally pulled her self fully against him. She easily fell asleep.

He woke up first. He found her laying there, burrowed into his chest. It made him glow, but god was it odd to see her look so at peace. He smiled to himself and looked at the clock on the wall.

8:37.

He wondered how late she usually slept in. He wondered if she’d be weird about this. He hoped not. He wondered if she’d do it again. He wondered if he was still sick.

9:03

Her eyes twitched a little, and her breathing got heavier. Maddie opened her eyes.

“Hey,” she said, “how long have you been up?” She sat up a little and rubbed her eyes.”

“Like 20 minutes.” He said, his voice was lower than usual.

“Is that your ‘I just woke up voice’ or ‘I’m super sick voice’?” She smiled, but he could see a bit of concern I her eyes.

“You tell me doc,” he grinned.

She felt his head again, “You feel more dead, so all better.”

He rolled his eyes with a small smile, and sat up.

“What do you want to do today, new girl?”

She thought for moment, “run things over with the golf cart?”

He smiled widely, “Yes ma’am!”

——

that was really fun but it is now 1 AM so.. yeah.

let me know your thoughts and theories on the show, and your thoughts on this and if you want more, i think i wrote maddie a little out of character but let me know lol

[olives-and-sunshine]

Fandoms and Characters

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Here is the list of characters from fandoms that I will write romantically. I will write queerplatonic fics for any character I write romantic fics for. I will also write platonic fics for any character and familial (whether sibling or parental) fics for most characters. I have indicated what characters I will write about parentally.

If you have a question about whether I will write a character or in what way, feel free to ask.

I'm open to writing for other fandoms even if I'm currently not writing for them or in them. I'm also open to writing for characters from these fandoms that are not on this list. Just ask!

(I put the characters in alphabetical order, but I indicated my favorite/favorite characters to write for with a star.)

Prodigal Son

Ainsley Whitly

Dani Powell

Edrisa Tanaka

Malcolm Bright ⭐️

Parental

Gill Arroyo

Jessica Whitly ⭐

Martin Whitly

Stranger Things

Chrissy Cunningham ⭐

Eddie Munson ⭐

Gareth Emerson

Jonathan Byers

Nancy Wheeler

Robin Buckley

Steve Harrington ⭐

Parental

Joyce Byers

Hopper

Criminal Minds

Spencer Reid ⭐️

School Spirits

Dawn

Maddie Nears

Rhonda

Wally Clark

The Imperfects

Tilda Weber ⭐

My OCs

Nala Lavigne⭐

Characters I will not write for:

Billy Hargrove

[correlance]

Going by the timeline, Rhonda only had Mr. Martin and Janet to interact with until Wally died in 1983 - as she had no interest in befriending Dawn - so it makes sense that Rhonda and Wally became best friends, even if Rhonda loudly referring to Wally having a crush on Maddie, within earshot, was a dick move on her part. I just find it hilarious that Rhonda knew Wally so well that she was immediately able to tell. I can just imagine how that conversation went.

"Oh my God...you like her!"

"What? No...I mean...yeah, she's pretty cute, and nice, but..."

"Wally, we have been friends for almost 40 years. I may be dead, but I am not blind. You practically have goo-goo eyes every time you look at her, and don't think that I didn't see your little interaction in the hallway. 'I can help you fill your holes'? Really?"

"Okay, I didn't mean for it to come out like that!"

"Oh, I'm sure you meant to say one thing, but apparently, your other brain spoke for you instead."

"Jesus Christ, Rhonda! Maddie and I are just friends! That's all!"

"Yeah, and I'm sure people who are 'just friends' start furiously blushing whenever someone starts talking about their crush."

"Rhonda, I do not have a crush!"

"If you didn't have a crush, you wouldn't be losing your temper right now." [beat] "Anyways, if you do really like this girl, you should try asking her out."

"Ask her out? What, you mean, like...on a date?"

"Well, of course, Captain Obvious. What else would I mean?" [beat] "Look, the Homecoming dance is coming up. You've gone alone for the past 37 years. You should ask her to be your date. You obviously like her, and she needs a little time to relax and have fun."

"Fine! I'll ask her to the Homecoming dance, but only as friends."

"Sure thing, Dead Astaire."

thinking about wally canonically telling rhonda he has a crush on maddie. they're besties your honor