#rewind chapter one | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

enigmatist17 · 8 months ago

Text

Rewind (Part 7)

---

The first thing he does is hug Alonna, his little sister confused but taking in the comfort. Gunn really wasn't the touchy-feely type even on the best day, but when you're constantly fighting for every sunrise, it's not surprising.

"What's this for?" Alonna blinked when Gunn gently tucked some hair from her face, looking far older than he did a few minutes ago when she'd left to get them some water after wrapping up a training session.

"Did I ever tell you you're the best little sister a guy could ever have?" She grinned, offering a water bottle he drained without a second thought.

"Sometimes, could stand to hear it more." Gunn rolled his eyes, before eyeing the room with a slight frown. 'What?"

"Oh nothin', just have to make some adjustments for the joint. Later, though, I have a friend to see."

"You have friends?" Alonna giggled, earning herself a flick to the forehead. Gunn just smiled to himself, shaking his head before taking in the sights of his crew he hadn't seen in so long. They're young and in the prime of their vamp killing days, faces of the turned or murdered laughing and filled with life, and it hits him that they could survive this time. Sure, he doesn't remember every little battle, but enough to keep his people alive, and maybe to teach that not all demons were nasty.

Later that afternoon he does go to see one specific demon, Caritas is a welcome sight when he rounds a corner. He makes it about one step inside before a familiar face weaves through the crowds, drawing Gunn into a welcome hug.

"Oh Gumdrop it's so good to see you!" Lorne grinned as the younger man chuckled, the two parting after a moment. "It is you, right?"

"Yep, future Gunn is in the building! I'm assuming you tried to say hello before?"

"Getting chased out into the street wasn't very fun." Lorne flashed a nervous smile, drawing Gunn to a private table. "Give me a few, and then we can chat alright?"

"Take your time my man." Gunn waved, scowling at someone who gave him the side-eye. Lorne took charge of the floor like a natural, though there was a weariness in his step that hadn't been there before, the grief of another life lingering in his shadow. The empath returns soon enough with a free drink, and Gunn sighs in contentment when he takes a swig. "Missed this."

"Found Nicky right after I got back, can't have a certain someone try and ruin things." Lorne shook his head, sipping his Seabreeze with a pleased hum as some food was delivered to the table. "I've also gone ahead and fixed that little sanctuary spell of mine, plus a few other improvements."

"I don't blame you there, I'll be doin' the same myself soon enough." Gunn nodded, tearing into his meal eagerly. "Helps to know about a few things."

"Hear hear." Lorne raised his glass with a smile, clinking it against Gunn's when he did the same. The two sat in companionable silence for a few minutes as various patrons sang their hearts out on stage.

"So, have you heard from anyone?"

"Angelcakes actually called me about a week ago, and as far as I know, it's just him and our darling Cordelia. Well, the two within driving distance, I think Wesley is...wherever he was before Sunnydale, and I'm not sure if Spike had been contacted."

"So, sounds like we can at least go get Fred." Gunn shrugged, the Pylean giving him a weary, if amused, look. "Might know a crew that can help storm that place and bring her home, if she doesn't beat us to it."

"As much as I appreciate you wanting to march off to war, Angel is way ahead of you. In fact, you chose the perfect day to join us in the past, whoever he contracted out should be returning from Pylea in the next few days with our Freddikins." Gunn stared at Lorne for a solid second before letting out a laugh, shaking his head.

"Damn, who doesn't Angel know?"

"When you're around for 200+ years, you tend to make friends." Lorne chuckled, waving at a small group of humans heading out for the evening.

"I should probably head out too, don't want to make anyone back at base nervous." Gunn shook his head, draining the last of his drink before standing with Lorne. "I'll drop by soon though."

"You're always welcome here."

Gunn didn't hear from Lorne for over a week, which passed in the blink of an eye with how busy he was. While he wasn't upfront about the whole time travel thing, Gunn explained that things could change for the better if they tried to expand their horizons. While most abhorred the very idea of working with random demons, when Gunn was able to net them a steady food supply from a small grocery chain run by a small family in exchange for clearing out a vampire nest, it turned heads. Alonna was his loudest voice of support, just as confused as everyone else with his sudden turn of ideals, but willing to try and see if this new way of handling vampires and the not-so-friendly demons if her brother said it could work. He was in the middle of a training class one morning when it happened, a loud excited squeal by the main entrance startling everyone from his lesson.

"Charles!" Gunn whipped around faster than he thought possible, grinning at the short figure that launched into his arms.

"Who the hell is this?" He vaguely heard Rondell ask, but the chattering of the tiny Texan in his arms practically drowned out just about every other noise within a five-block radius.

"Everyone, go ahead and take the day, I've got a friend to catch up with!" Gunn motioned after freeing one arm, getting a few curious looks as everyone bolted for some rare free time.

"I-I didn't know if I'd find my way here, but I did!"

"It is so good to see you Fred." Memories of signing a piece of paper and a small body on a hospital bed flashed through his mind, and he smiled despite the pain.

"Same here Charles." Fred is smiling at him, despite everything, and hugs him tight. "Have you heard from anyone else? I-I don't have a phone anymore, or an apartment, but I guess that doesn't much matter at the moment because we know Lorne an-"

"I know at least Angel is...back? With us?" Gunn shrugged, releasing Fred from the hug they'd both kept for a good while. "Other than that I don't think anyone else is...here."

"I see." Fred looked at the floor with an intense expression before shrugging and smiling, reaching up to touch his cheek. "I don't blame you, ya know. Wolfram and Hart did what they always did, dealin' with all sorts of devils we never even saw. Long as you get your head on straight, we can do better."

"Think I can manage that." It was a fragile road that lay before the two, but it helped to know that they weren't going to be alone on their path, and Gunn glanced at the floor with a sigh. "I'm so-"

"Don't be, what's done is done." Gunn jumps when his head snaps up, eyes blue as ice staring back at him as Fred tilts her head.

"Illyria." The god stared at him before walking past, matted brown hair taking on shades of blue as Illyria examined some of their training equipment.

"Time displacement cannot undo what was done to bring me here; do not presume otherwise." Illyria paused when she lifted a stake and examined the wood before, in the blink of an eye, she was Fred once again.

"She forgot to mention I've got the reins, or sorta, anyways." Fred smiled nervously, setting the stake down with a small shrug. "Hey, can we get some tacos?"

"Tacos it is." Gunn offered a hand without hesitation, and watched some of Fred's tension roll off her shoulders as she accepted it. They stopped long enough for her to take a quick shower and change into some clothes from one of the areas where they kept extras for everyone, before heading for Lorne. Fred is munching on her third taco when they entered the club, and before she can do more than step forward, Lorne is hugging her with a happy cry.

"Oh Freddikins my dear!" Fred smiles as she hugs the empath back as tight as she can manage, taco falling to the floor forgotten. "I don't think I've ever been so happy to see you!"

"Aw, that's awful sweet of you ta say." Fred buried her face into his shoulder, Gunn gently pulling the duo away from the main traffic area. "Missed you so much..." She really had missed him terribly, long before she had died as Wolfram and Hart had pulled them all away from each other.

"So, tell me everything about how you got out of Pylea." Lorne finally cleared his throat, snapping his fingers towards the bar. "Unlimited tacos on the house my dear."

Lorne and Gunn were surprised no one was blinded by her smile that lit up the room.

Fred tells the tale of waking in Pylea with Illyria, the god taking over to protect them from a hunting demon that the Pyleans had been using to track her in her early years. Ripping one of the beasts in half had sent the villagers screaming and, for the most part, left Fred alone as she tried to figure out the fastest way out and away from Pylea. Salvation came in the form of a guy in a fedora, the man amused as he was confused when he offered a disbelieving Fred a way home to L.A. It was a bit of an anti-climatic escape considering the first time she'd left, but as far as Fred was concerned, being back home with two of her dearest friends was all she really cared about.

"So where is Angel? He's not here, right?" Fred asked once she had finished her tale, sipping her drink as the nearly empty bar began to be cleaned up for the next night.

"He's still in Sunnydale, but said we were more than welcome to come visit if we want." Lorne answered, running a finger around the rim of his glass. "Might do that, always wanted to see the fabled town that ensnared two vampires with the same woman."

"I'm always down for a trip." Gunn shrugged, stifling a yawn. "Never knew seeing old friends could be so tiring."

"Well, why don't you head home, and I'll get Fred here set up until we get something more concrete set up." Gunn nodded and got to his feet, Fred and Lorne standing with him. "Drive safe."

"Will do, I'll drop by tomorrow when I can." He smiled, giving Fred another hug which was returned with a hum, heading out of the club shortly after.

A few days later the trio makes plans to head for Sunnydale, all of them a little nervous as they head out of L.A. in a rental car at the end of the day they'd all chosen. Charles wasn't sure if Angel was even going to want to see him, still able to hear the horrible noises of crunching bone and the smell of blood oozing from the vampire-turned-man, still haunting his nightmares from the fall of the city.

If Angel was upset, he'd more than understand.

Fred was nervous about how Angel would react at seeing her and the god that lurked in the back of her mind. The fall of L.A was mostly flashes for her, knowing that Spike had done a lot to keep her safe the times Illyria lost control of their shared body, and only felt guilty at the thought of her body hanging around Wolfram and Hart after her death.

You did not control your shell, why do you feel guilt?

"Because it was still me," Fred murmured, watching the desert pass by as the sun slowly began to hang lower and lower in the sky. "even if it was technically you."

I do not understand. Angel is a warrior, he will understand.

"I hope, Spike too." Spike protected both herself and Illyria with all of his being, and Fred hoped he'd eventually show up.

"Something on your mind, lemon drop?" Lorne glanced over as he changed lanes, and Fred just smiled.

"Talkin' to myself, it's all good." The demon accepts her answer with one of his mysterious smiles, and keeps his attention on the road. He seemed the most at ease out of the three but was unable to keep a weight out of his gaze that she'd never seen before, and once more, she wondered what could have caused it.

Welcome to Sunnydale

"Welp, here we go kiddos."

#personal #rewind #buffy the vampire slayer #angel the series #charles gunn #alonna gunn #fred burkle #lorne #time travel #time travel fix it #I struggled with this chapter #but it's because I have my thoughts for the next one dogging me

1 note · View note

revelboo · 4 months ago

Text

Transformers x Reader Masterlist

Or ‘look, I organized the nonsense.’ Only the first chapter appears here, with previous/next navigation added to the parts to make it easier to read. This is an 18+ blog.

Buy me a coffee: https://ko-fi.com/revelboo

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RevelBoo/works

About/Warnings/Assorted Headcanons and Scenarios are here

IDW/G1

Starscream x Reader/ Soundwave x Reader/ Megatron x Reader Everything Is Alright Everything Is Alright-full chapters

Wheeljack x Reader Circuits and Wires

Jazz x Reader Over it Now

Soundwave x Reader-stand alone When You're Around

Thundercracker x Reader Better Open the Door

Bluestreak x Reader Where I Belong

Prowl x Reader Stand Too close

Cliffjumper x Reader TKO

Sideswipe x Reader, Sunstreaker x Reader Can't Finish What You Started

Optimus Prime x Reader Gravity

Bumblebee x Reader Last Night

Skyfire x Reader Floating Down The River

Rumble x Reader Alcohol Eyes

Skywarp x Reader Stop Talking

Ratchet x Reader Feel Like Rain

Waspinator x Reader Worker Bee

Ironhide x Reader Hold Me Down

Vortex x Reader I Can't Decide

Grimlock x Reader Shiver

Constructicons x Reader Drive

Insecticons x Reader You (Don't) Know Me

Trailbreaker x Reader Too Tired To Wink

Hound x Reader Heavy Boots

Sunstorm x Reader Love Me Dead

Alternate Takes

Megatron x Reader Skin and Bones

Metroplex x Reader I Can Feel You

Seeker Trine x Reader True Romance

Soundwave x Reader, Shockwave x Reader Clumsy Heart

Rainmakers x Reader No Strings

Megatronus Prime x Reader Give It Up

D 16 x Reader Fight For You

Silverbolt x Reader Save World Get Girl

Lost Light

Megatron x Reader Invisible Monsters

Drift x Reader The Samurai Code

Rodimus x Reader Attractive Today

Whirl x Reader Delirium

Scavengers x Reader A Lifeless Ordinary

Ultra Magnus x Reader The Conversation

Swerve x Reader Lose Control

Swindle x Reader Hangman

Tarn x Reader L.G. Fuad

Pharma x Reader Pulp Fiction

Skids x Reader Hysteria

Starscream x Reader Overdone

Sunder x Reader Whipped Cream

Rung x Reader Anything For You

Brainstorm x Reader My Way

Chromedome x Reader x Rewind Circles

Tailgate x Reader x Cyclonus Chain Me Free

First Aid x Reader Hum Along

TF Prime

Soundwave x Reader Bad Idea

Ratchet x Reader The Weakends

Knockout x Reader My Favorite Accident

Megatron x Reader Broken Arrow

Wheeljack x Reader Crooked Ways

Shockwave x Reader Point of Extinction

Starscream x Reader Bottom Feeder

Dreadwing x Reader Anything At All

Smokescreen x Reader Resolution

Steve and Vehicons x Reader Coin-Operated Boy

TF ONE

Megatron x Reader It Had To Be You

Starscream x Reader Inside Out

B-127 x Reader The Coma Kid

TF Earthspark

Tarantulas x Reader Disappear

Megatron x Reader Give Up/Give In

Bumblebee x Reader The Future Freaks Me Out

Soundwave x Reader Son Of a Gun

Starscream x Reader Disaster Hearts

TF Armada

Starscream x Reader Even If It Kills Me

TF Animated

Optimus Prime x Reader Broken Heart

Blitzwing x Reader Hello Helicopter

Bulkhead x Reader Time Turned Fragile

Blurr x Reader A-Ok

Shockwave x Reader Safe In The Dark

Megatron x Reader The Devil You Know

#starscream x reader #megatron x reader #soundwave x reader #wheeljack x reader #jazz x reader #ratchet x reader #transformers x reader #prowl x reader #bluestreak x reader #sunstreaker x reader #optimus prime x reader #transformers #tarn x reader

1K notes · View notes

thebearer · 8 months ago

Text

making the bed |carmen berzatto x reader| part one

prompt: carmen's stressed. food critics, a newborn baby, balancing work life and married life and now dad life; he's bound to break, everyone knows it. but no one ever thought he'd lash out on you.

or, part one of the devastation fic. based off this ask from the other day. two more parts to come.

contains: mega angst. mega angst, with no resolution in this part. hurt, no comfort (in this chapter, will be later in part 3). mean!carmen, very mean. mom!reader x dad!carmen with newborn teddy. fighting, language, carmen says mean stuff he doesn't mean. past mentions of trauma, family trauma, mikey mentioned. very angsty and a little heavy, please read at your own discretion. word count- 3.5k+.

"Are you ok?"

Carmen now understood why that phrase used to send Donna into such a blind rage, lips pursing and jaw clenching more and more every time he heard it. First at work, then with you, it felt never ending.

It was beginning to feel like critic season with how many were coming in, snooty and demanding to be impressed. It couldn't have come at a worst time, right in the middle of busy season with the start of the holidays. Days at The Bear were filled with frantic panic, running around, making sure everything was perfect, accounted for, and Carmen always had the sinking feeling it wasn't- that he'd forgotten something, messed something up.

It wasn't rare for him to work himself up like this, a normal that you always warned him about, but he'd always had a solitude. As long as he'd known you, he'd had a place to go, to unwind, to let himself rest and reset with you. And he still did, it was just shared now with a newborn.

Dorothea Michelle. Teddy, for short. The light of his life, yours too. Nearly two months old with a set of lungs that sounded much louder, much more developed than that. Nights were long, sleepless, spent trying to lull Teddy back to sleep, awake even if he wasn't up with her. Carmen couldn't allow himself the selfishness to relax, to rewind, to "take it easy" like everyone told him to. At work, he was the boss; at home, he was a dad.

"Fuck, fuck," Carmen's sleepy stare was broken by a lick of bubbling heat, the lamb's roux popping with the high heat, splashing all over Carmen's chef whites.

"Jeff, c'mon," Tina clicked, shaking her head, moving the pan to lower heat. "What're you doin'?"

Carmen grit his teeth, snatching a rag off the stainless steel counter tops, scrubbing the burgundy stain, huffing when it only spread the stain.

"What happened?" Sydney turned, looking from the burnt sauce to Carmen's stained chef shirt. "Oh,"

"Do we have a spare coat?" Carmen huffed, throwing the rag down with a firm smack against the counter.

"I don't think so, Carm." Sydney shook her head. "You took the last ones home with you two days ago. The wine-"

"-I know, Chef, I know." Carmen snapped, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck, I-I can't fuckin' serve the critics lookin' like this. With shit all over me- fuck."

"Hey, easy, easy," Richie turned the corner, his hands held up. "What's goin' on?"

"Jeff got sauce over him. He doesn't have any clean clothes." Tina muttered, irritated that she had to fix his mess, more irritated that he wasn't taking care of himself. You have a baby, Jeff, you need to rest and take some time, she'd told him. Carmen only waved her off.

"Okay, okay, hey, that's no problem." Richie's voice raised, lifting over Carmen's. "You go home and change, get your spare, check on my beautiful goddaughter, and then come back with your A game. Yes?"

Carmen didn't even humor him with a snarky remark, yanking his coat off and stomping towards the office to grab his things. Richie and Tina looked at each other, shaking their head gently.

"Kids runnin' thin, T." Richie muttered with a sigh. "He's gonna break. It's gonna be bad."

"Yeah, he is. Gonna wear himself out before then." Tina shook her head. "Jeff needs a vacation." They both jumped at the slamming of the backdoor, Carmen's angry exit shaking the foundation.

"Needs to be fuckin' medicated. Fuckin' lunatic." Richie scoffed, rolling his eyes at Carmen's dramatics.

The drive home was filled with silence, Carmen's iron grip on the wheel, tearing through the traffic towards the house- his house, his home.

Home, but it didn't provide the same comfort that it usually did. Carmen's shoulders still stayed tense, buzzing with rage, not dissipating when he thought of you, or of Teddy, knowing you'd both be there, excited to see him.

You jumped at the sound of the car door slamming, peeking out the window to see Carmen's parked next to yours, furiously stomping up the front steps. You frowned, grabbing the baby monitor, walking towards the front door.

Carmen nearly hit you with how fiercely he flung the door open. "Woah," You reached for the door, stopping it before he could flick it shut. "Carm, don't slam it. Teddy's asleep. I just got her down." You frowned at him, shutting it slowly.

Carmen looked at you but didn't speak, looking through you with a rage that had your spine tingling before he finally broke his gaze, stomping towards the laundry room. "Carm? What’re you doing home? Don’t you have dinner soon?" You hesitated slightly, lingering in the doorway with an uncertainty you hadn’t felt with Carmen before.

Carmen didn’t answer, his jaw still ground tight while he rummaged through the clean clothes, carelessly unfolding and shifting the folded clothes.

"Carmen," You said more firmly, caching his gaze. He didn't speak still, just stared at you- through you. "Are you ok?" You lifted a brow, features softening in worry.

Carmen paused, eyes closing, shoulders tensing in agitation. Are you ok? His ears rang, a familiar rage that he hadn't felt in years bubbling up deep in his chest. Frustrated and blinding and rampant, heat rushing through his veins, pulling himself further and further from reality into someplace different- someplace darker in his mind.

"What's wrong?" You pressed, he could barely hear it, ears ringing at your question. "Did something happen? Did the critic come-"

"-Where's my chef whites?" Carmen barked, cutting you off, his chest tightening more and more with every heavy heave of his chest. You flinched at his tone.

"Uh, I-I haven't seen the whites. I washed your white tee-"

“-You what? Y-You what?” Carmen spat, eye widening with a wild, raged glint in his eye. Your stomach flipped and fell with fear, stepping back instinctively.

“I-I washed your tee, Carm, that’s all that you left in the laundry basket-”

"-Are you fucking kidding me?" Carmen boomed, his head spinning, body buzzing with rage. Your breath hitched, frozen in fear at the anger in his tone, the roar of his voice bouncing off the walls, echoing through your ears in a painful drum.

Carmen moved, snatching the dirty clothes basket, dumping it into the ground with a shake until the dirty chef coat fell on top. He gripped the basket, flinging it across the room with a hard throw. The final push to his bad mood that sent him right over the edge, crashing into a pit of blinding fury, aggravation, breaking him from the inside out.

"Fuck!" Carmen roared, his voice shaking the walls, your breath leaving your lungs in a trembling exhale of fear. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! This is- This is- Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

You tensed in shock, gripping the baby monitor in fear, maybe surprise, as it started to buzz to life with Teddy's startled whimpers. Her small cries pulled you out of your frozen state, something deeper than fear replacing the ache in your stomach.

"Carmen-" You gaped, voice wobbling with uncertainty, taking slow shuffled steps towards the stairs. “Carmen, calm-calm down. Ok? Calm down.”

“Calm down? You want me to fuckin’ calm down?” Carmen sneered, an angry red flush blossoming in splotchy deep hues up his neck, towards his cheeks. “You don’t do shit, nothin’ that I fuckin’ ask for! Just sit around all fuckin’ day an-and I’m supposed to calm down?”

“Carmen,” Your voice wobbled, throat tight with tears, hurt and fear strangling your words. “I-You didn’t ask me to wash them. I-I didn’t know. They weren’t in the hamper-”

“-I shouldn’t have to ask you to wash them!” Carmen roared, eyes so wide you thought they might pop right out of his head, neck vein protruding on exemplifying his rage. “You know what I’m going through! You know how much fuckin’ stress I’m under! I go to that-that shit hole, an-and work my fuckin’ ass off so you don’t have to! Then I come home, and I-I can’t even get a second of peace!”

“Stop,” You hiss, finally regaining your composure, his words fully sinking into you now, feeling the full effect of them. “I-I just had a baby. I’m still on maternity leave taking care of a baby- our baby, and I’m tired too. But I’m not yelling at you-”

“-Oh, right. Right.” Carmen laughs sarcastically, humorless as he runs his hand down his face. It felt mocking, left you feeling small and too vulnerable for your liking. “Because in between your napping an-and feeding, you couldn’t stick a fucking jacket in the wash, right? You’re so busy.”

“What is wrong with you?” You snap, hoping he can’t hear the tears in your voice, the way your voice shakes with emotion.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me?” Carmen scoffs, throwing his hands out. “I get no fuckin' sleep, go work my fuckin' ass off, a-and then I come home so I can go back and work my ass off some more, and-and you can’t do one simple fuckin’ thing? You can’t help me out? And then you wanna know what’s wrong with me? When you sit on your ass all fuckin’ day-”

Teddy’s piercing wail pulls you out of your shocked trance, nose and throat burning with hurt filled tears you refuse to shed. Instead, you turn, climbing the stairs on shaky legs, the sound of Teddy’s cries growing louder and louder. Anchovy watches you from the top of the stairs, sensing the tension, your upset, sliding against your leg as if to comfort you.

Carmen scoffs, hands buzzing and trembling with rage, the ringing in his ears growing louder and louder with each of your footsteps on the stairs and down the hall. He can barely hear Teddy’s sobs, hands threading through his hair, pulling at his scalp. He sees you walk towards the bedroom, quickly, hugging Teddy to your chest.

“Oh, don’t go fuckin’ do it now!” Carmen roared, your ignoring him only infuriating him further. “It won’t be ready in time now. I’ll just look like a fuckin’ idiot for the critic tonight! Not that you care! Why would you, huh? I-I mean just our livelihood, just our fuckin’ income!”

You swallowed back your tears, head tilting towards the ceiling, hands shaking with every shove of your things into the overnight bag. Just enough to get you through the night, the next day. A few essentials, Teddy’s spare onesies, a charger, your wallet- you stopped mid-shove of your items into the weekender bag, the sun’s rays catching in your wedding ring. Your heart fell, more and more, you weren’t sure how that was even possible.

Carmen’s furious voice was still booming from downstairs, ringing and shaking in his furious fit. Richie and Sugar both warned you about Carmen’s tantrums, brought them up to embarrass him, tease him about it until he was red faced and hissing hushed threats at them. You never, never in your wildest dreams thought you’d be on the receiving end of one.

You jumped, another slam of something Carmen had thrown, maybe hit in a fit of rage, causing Teddy to wail louder, Anchovy skittering nervously away. Tears leaked out of your eyes, twisting the ring off your finger, setting it on Carmen’s bedside table. Pulling the carrier out of the closet, Anchovy got in much easier than usual, which you were thankful for.

Carmen was gripping the marble of the countertop when he heard you again, walking from the bottom of the stairs, quick steps towards the door to the garage, Teddy’s voice nearly hoarse from her crying. You kept your head high, tunnel-visioned towards your car, ignoring his heavy breathing and frantic pacing.

“Wha-What are you doin’?” Carmen’s voice was softer now, still with a jagged edge that was cutting and harsh. The car door opened, the baby carrier hooked into the car seat.

“Hey, wha- what are you- where’re you goin’? What’re you doin’?” Carmen’s heart dropped in a damning rush of hour, stumbling on heavy legs towards the garage. You ignored him, shushing Teddy gently, running a calming hand over her wet cheek, trying to coax her paci into her mouth.

“Baby, no-no, no. Hey, no, I-I- What-” Carmen’s chest felt tight, mind numbing and racing, stuttering nervously. You reached for your bag, his hand reaching to grab the strap. “Whe-Where’re you-”

“-Don’t touch me.” You hissed, teeth bared, eyes shining with tears. Carmen flinched, pulling his hand back like he’d touched a hot stove. “Don’t you dare fucking touch me.” You sneered, pinning him with a watery glare that had his stomach turning in sickening fear.

“Baby, hey, w-wait-C’mon, d-don’t-You don’t, you don’t need to do this, ok? I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Carmen choked out the words, frantic and unsure, his hands shaking when they ghosted over you back just for a moment. Wanting to touch you, to hold you, to grab you and keep you from leaving, but too scared to. Instead, he grabbed the car door you flung open, holding it when you tried to yank it closed.

“Let go.” You hissed, sniffling back wet, snotty tears of fury and hurt.

“Please, don’t-do-don’t do this. Please, baby, I-I’m sorry.” Carmen begged, blue eyes deepening with the burning red hues of tears, bloodshot and lashes wet. “Don’t-Don’t do this-”

“-I didn’t do this.” You sneered, leaving Carmen flinching at your words. “Don’t you dare try to say this was me. After how you just talked to me? The shit you said to me in there? You think I’m going to stay?” Your voice cracked with emotion, lips pressing together to keep a cry in.

“No, no, no, no, no, baby, please. Please, ju-just come inside. Come inside, please? Please, don’t-”

“You don’t get to talk to me like that. To say that kinda stuff to me. That hurt, Carmen. That was mean.” You glared at him, tears leaking out of the corner of his eyes. “I don’t care if you’re stressed. I don’t care what’s going on- nothing, and I mean nothing, warrants you talking to me like that. Just because you fucked up, because you forgot to ask me to do it, because you’re stressed out- I don’t care what it is. You don’t talk to me like that, say those things when I’ve been home all day taking care of my ch- our child.” You nod back towards the sniffling baby, whimpering and crying half heartedly, her little eyelids drooping with sleep that was interrupted.

Carmen felt sick, his knees tightening in fear, he was sure they might give out, that he might fall to the ground right there. Looking at the tiny baby, lip jutted and shaking in the mirror hooked on the back of the seat, then back at you, eyes red-rimmed and glaring at him with a hurt filled anger.

“Don’t-” Carmen’s chest shook, a white-knuckled grip on the door.

Your own hand curled around the door’s inner handle, yanking it away from him. “Move,” You hissed, pulling again.

Carmen wasn’t sure why he let it go, why he let you shut it, locking the door in case he tried to open it again. Why he let you pull out of the driveway, why he didn’t stop you, why he didn’t run after you, only taking soft shuffles down the drive like a zombie as you drove away. Standing in the drive, Carmen swallowed down the spit that pooled in his mouth, stomach churning, sure he was going to be sick.

He managed to trudge back to the garage, mind racing and far away, the ringing in his ears dulling but still deafening. It felt like he was in a dream- a nightmare, a hallucinating trance that felt like a sick, sick dream- Carmen was hoping it was. That he’d wake up and find you next to him asleep. That he could hug you, pull you into him, nose buried in your neck, still warm from your slumber.

As the sun began to sink low into the sky, minutes turning into hours that Carmen sat motionless in the garage, staring in a trancelike state, he realized that this wasn’t a dream or a nightmare. No this was his reality, a horrific reality that he’d made into his own. Carmen sat, eyes trained on the concrete of the garage, voice racing and blending in his mind- his words, yours, Teddy’s cries, Natalie and Richie’s, flashbacks of his mother screaming fits.

He didn’t move, frozen in chilling, eerie fear. What ifs and terrifying possible scenarios, consequences to his own actions that left him feeling sick, hands trembling. A spiraling of fears that only drug him deeper and deeper with every haunting replay of his outburst. Even the flashing of headlights turning into the driveway, filling the garage with light, didn’t pull him from his trance.

“The fuck is he- Cousin!” Richie roared, laying on the horn. Carmen didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge that he heard it, only stared. Richie frowned, turning the car off, throwing the door open.

“Cousin? Carm? What-What are you doin’? Dinner service started an hour ago. Syd is freakin’ the fuck out.” Richie threw his hands up, walking towards the man who still didn’t move. Richie’s heart skipped, flashbacks of Mikey flooding into his vision, parallels of the two brothers blurring before him.

“Yo, Carm, you-you good?” Richie stepped into the garage, his spine tingling with icy fear. It was quiet, an eerie, unsettling quiet. “Cousin, hey, what-what’s wrong?”

Carmen's chest rose and fell, tighter and tighter. He was suffocating, head spinning and mind racing so fast he felt light headed. He could barely hear Richie’s voice over the noise in his head, Richie’s hand shaking his shoulder finally breaking his trance enough to meet his eyes, rounded in fear filled question.

“Carmen, what’s wrong? Is it- Don’t fuckin’ tell me it’s the baby. What the fuck is goin’ on-”

“-She left.” Carmen’s voice shook, raspy and scared. His tongue still felt too thick, head still spinning. He wasn’t even sure he said it, Richie’s widening eyes the only thing confirming that he had said it.

“What? Who-Who left? Who?” Richie looked around, like the clues might be there, sure that Carmen wasn’t talking about you. No, he wouldn’t- he couldn’t. Not you.

Carmen’s breath hitched, a strangling of a sob caught in his throat, running his hand over his face. Richie didn’t miss the way it trembled, shaking even as it rested over his eyes. Your car was gone, the house too quiet, no baby Teddy crying, nothing but silence was left.

Richie’s heartbeat crawled into a rapid, scared pace. “Why? Wh-Why would she-” Richie looked at Carmen, eyes wide but still, reading his expression. “No. No, Cousin, no. What-What did you do? Carmen,” Richie grabbed both his shoulders, shaking him lightly until he met his gaze. “What did you do?”

Carmen’s face began to crack, behind his eyes, Richie could see flashbacks of something- something he didn’t know what, but whatever it was, it was painful. That was evident by the fear that glossed over Carmen’s eyes, realization and horror. Carmen’s shoulders shook, frame rocking with a sob he tried to swallow, but couldn’t. Deep cries, guttural sobs breaking out of his frame, heels of his hands pressed to his eyes, fingers curled and clenched around his greasy curls in agony.

The damning realization flooded over him, that you’d left.

You’d left, you’d taken Teddy, taken Anchovy- you’d left because he’d driven you away. His angry outburst, petulant, mean, hurtful- he’d been so cruel to you. You. His wife, the love of his life, mother of his child, the one person who loved him endlessly without stipulations or boundaries, the one person who truly understood him.

And he’d driven you away.

He wished he could blame his mom, his dad, his family for fucking him up so severely, maybe Mikey, even, for leaving him the shit show that was the restaurant, making his anxieties worse and fuse shorter. But sitting in the empty garage, Richie standing above him in silent shock, his sobs and angry sniffles echoing off the cement floor, Carmen knew he had no one to blame but himself.

He’d fucked up. Really fucked up. Fucked up in a way that made all the other times look obsolete.

Carmen had fucked up, and for once, he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t avoid it, ignore it, deflect it like other times. Half hearted apologies and promises of change wouldn’t work, you weren’t here for him to even try to give them to you, and he didn’t know where you went.

Carmen wasn’t sure where you went, how to fix this, why he’d done what he did, and a million other things that raced through his mind. What he did know, sitting in the too quiet garage, chest stuttering with heaving cries, was that he’d do anything.

Anything, to get you back home. To make it right. To fix this and make it up to you.

He wasn’t sure how, but he’d give up everything. Anything. His restaurant, his dreams, his hopes, his life, at this point, to make it up to you.

2K notes · View notes

huicitawrites · 2 years ago

Text

The Hunt

Yandere! Miguel O' Hara x Fem! Spider! Reader

T/W: yandere (slow-burn(?)), dark fic, violence, assault, spoilers for across the spiderverse.

Status: rewritten.

Next Chapter

Word Count: 2,4k

"Y/N! Get. Back. Here. NOW", swinging away from an infuriated Miguel O'Hara wasn't something you had planned or ever thought would occur, never entertained the thought of it. At least not until now, as you desperately attempted to get away from him and somehow escape him- for your dimension-travel watch (as wild as the concept of it sounded) had been snatched by the same man that was madly hunting you down.

How did it even all come to this? Let's rewind, back to the beginning.

Part I

After being bitten by a radioactive spider in a school trip to Alchemax at the young age of 15, you obtained enhanced spider-like abilities: a sixth sense for perceiving danger, incredible reflexes, amazing parkour skills, extraordinary strentgh and flexibility.

And for the past ten years, you have been New York's one and only Spider-Woman.

Learning to use your powers was a whole trip on itself. They awakened rather clumsily -nothing a leap of faith could not fix- as you began to grasp the ropes of being a masked hero in your teenage years [it's safe to say that your teenage years were truly a heck of a rollercoaster].

Handling a double-life was not easy, that is something you have learned with your ten years experience. You saved a bunch of people and thus many lives, you won many times and saved the city countless more. Yet you also earned a bunch of dangerous criminals and villains tailing behind your back that would want to kill you without hesitation and harm you in any way possible.

In spite of the times you were beaten down, left made a mess in the ground, or at the brink of death- you would always get back up because you were Spider-Woman.

Sometimes, getting back up was hard.

The weight of the sake of the city was on your shoulders. And sometimes, that weight crushed you. When you lost your parents it was devastating, because not only had you failed as a hero, but as a daughter.

[Your dad perished in an attempt to save you from an attack of one of many enemies- the Green Goblin . You two happened to be on a ‘father and daughter’ outing in a nice dinner when the Green Goblin tried to draw out Spider-Woman from her hiding place in Brooklyn (unbeknownst of your true identity and much to your own misery and guilt.) After battling the Green Goblin and imprisoning him, you rose with your dead father in your arms, and an huge crack in your heart that would leave a deep scar.

Months later, your mother's followed suit. That day was chaotic, panic filled the streets of New York as The Rhino, a veteran soldier with super human strentgh and a high-techno advanced armor resembling a rhinoceros, laid waste to the city. You were evacuating all civilians nearby, swinging across and into buildings, picking up and scooping anyone you could encounter and putting them out of danger.

It happened as you held falling debris with your arms. You picked up wailing in between the many cries of people, and your spider-sense guided your eyes up from the ground.

A child, no older than five, was crying. He was glued to the floor, too overwhelmed by the calamity surrounding him. A wall from a building was falling on him and your heart beat raced. You still had people below you that were crawling out and the child was a or two block away. Your thoughts raced in your head, you had to save everyone, down to the last live.

"Come on, come on, come on" you muttered in between gritted teeth as you gathered power and lifted the debris into the air. With the help of your web shooter, you pulled all the remaining civilians out and casted aside the courtesy of double-checking as you swinged toward the child.

You could see how the wall fell over him, and you reached out your arm with your forearm out desperately, attempted to pull him out with your web but the wall was already about to touch his head and-

She pushed the child out of the danger, motherly instincts impulsing her feet at the cost of her own life. The child was pushed onto you and you brought him flush against you with your web, arms encasing him as you witnessed the wall collapse on her.

In shock and disbelief, you gently lowered the child to the ground and ran to the fallen wall. Once again in despair, you clawed through the debris and searched for your mother’s body.

You found her bruised and crushed, her face deformed. You brushed the dust off it. Her pained groan was faint, and you begged her right there and then not to leave you. Not to leave you alone, again.

“Is the kid al…?”

“Yes! Don’t, don’t talk. Help, help is coming. You have to stay, you have to.” But her eyes were already fading, and her limbs growing weak. Your disguised hand snatched up hers and you cried,

“Mom!”

She recognized your voice, the one she cherished the most. Her fading eyes gathered all the warmth they could muster and she reached out a quivering hand to your cheek. Her fingers slid into your mask, and she felt your tear stained skin.

“Ah my baby…[Y/n]…I’m so proud... Your father would be so proud... keep it up”. Her last words were voiced with strain, but you would always remember them.]

They became the fuel for your mission, and no matter how many times you were beaten to the ground and wounded to no end, you stood back up. You would save everyone else, no more deaths, you swore upon your parents' last moments.

Now in your adult life, you found yourself in a stable life besides the implications your side hustle not-so-side -hustle brought. You had an adequate job as a writer for small titles in a decent newspaper, and you had a department you shared with your childhood best friend, Peter Parker [who eventually became your tech-desk guy. Hiding your true identity from your best friend and roommate would have never lasted long anyway. You remember clearly the day you climbed into the living's window, beat up, bruised and tired, when the lights suddenly turned on and a Peter with crossed arms and an eyebrow raised was waiting for you like a parent whose child was past curfew. You were without your mask on. Nonetheless, after stuttering uncontrollably and failing to explain and just simply breaking down in front of him. Without saying any words, he took out the first aid kit and reassured you with a smile. You were so grateful to him.]

So now here you were, crouching on the top of The Clock Tower, the moonlight casting its light on your back and darkening your silhouette. Earlier in the day you dealt with some thugs and minor crimes, but since the sun fell nothing happened. That was odd, NYC was never quite, least of all times at night.

But your spider-sense was running, not rampant, but definetely there like annoying itch on the nape. Something had to be off, you knew it.

"Um, I'm not picking up anything, (Y/n). Maybe you should be calling it a night, you've been doing good work so far. You did lower the crime rate, after all."

"You sure Pete? There's this feeling in my gut and-"

"Your 'spidey- thingy' ?".

"Spider-sense, spidey-thingy sounds dumb" you answered with a small groan, rolling your eyes although he could not see the.

He chuckled, "Yeah, yeah, whatever," he turned serious " but I'm not getting anything from anywhere. From police radios and stations to our own hidden cameras"

"Nothing? Sure?"

"I mean everything is awfully quiet now that I think about it... All I can pick up is glitching, let's see... let me do my thing and-" you could hear frantic typing through the comms of your suit within the mask, you could even picture Peter hunching and fixing his eyeglasses.

What he said left you pondering. Glitching? It couldn't be a coincidence that all the radio signals he could pick up were glitching.

"Aha! Here it is, your spidey-thingy was right." this time, you chuckled as if saying 'see?'. He continued, "-this should be a very hidden signal from the special forces team. Seems classified, man they should really put a little more money into whatever software they use to protect their privacy" and he pushed on one final 'enter', the glitching and static got louder almost startling you to which your friend apologized softly, but it evened out.

"Report the situation, Lieutenant Stacy"

"Requesting back-up right now, suspect is armed with advanced equipment, we are at the Port, South East, many of my men and women have been wounded and- oh, shit, shit" The man's words died down with the sound of something big crashing and breaking.

Well, that's your cue. You stood up on your toes and balanced you body weight forward, diving to the ground. With your limbs extended, you stretched your forearm and extended your wrist, web shooting out from the slick web shooter Peter designed.

Swinging from building to building under the night sky, you jumped across billboards and slid past tight spaces as you were heading to the location of the conflict, and the closer you swinged, the wilder your spider sense got.

When you arrived at the port, you saw a SWAT truck that was flipped over, it had a huge dent in the form of a what seemed to be a claw mark, and the windows had been broken. There were a few members on the floor, and you noticed there were two trying to lift the heavy vehicle.

"Let me help," you announced your presence and they whipped their heads. Their faces were glistening with sweat and dirt, and you could notice their equipment was damaged. You crouched and lifted the truck, there was one member there below, and his leg was twisted the other way, but he was breathing- well, panting.

Without further a do, the soldiers went and dragged out their friend. A soldier's face lit up, though they seemed hesitant [after all, your line of work was kind of controversial among the government and its forces] but they were thankful. "Thank you, Spider-Woman", their voice was genuine and you smiled below the mask.

"Your welcome, leave it to me" winking at them through your lense, you nodded and propelled yourself to the ceiling of the warehouse. You noticed a roof canopy at the center, lucky you, and brought the palm of your hand to it. Utilizing your sticky finger pads, you carefully removed a pane of glass and entered the building without making a sound.

"Be careful, please" Peter voiced with worry.

You hanged the web from it's strongest point at the peak, and slowly lowered yourself down until your hand gently brushed the cold floor . You got off the web and crawled in direction of the tingling of the spider-sense. You found some warehouse crates, pressed your back onto them, slowly leaning your head out to take a peak.

A man stood there, a middle aged man by the looks of him. He had a round pair of black sunglasses on and a large leather coat on, but the most outstanding feature was apparently behind him. Four metal tentacle-like arms sprouting from his back, with threatening looking claws. That had to be the thing that put such a dent in a SWAT vehicle, the advanced equipment you heard of in the interception.

He was ranting about something, speaking to himself. "The power of the sun at the palm of my hand, only to be ruined by that fucking-"

‘What is this man even talking about…’

His words died down in your ears as it took a few seconds for your spider-sense to peak, and you scrunched your face features. Your eyebrows furrowed and your eyes squinted, cheeks squeezing up and causing the lenses of the mask to stretch and flatten.

"(Y/n)? Found anything yet?" Peter inquired.

"This man... I think I know him... but also not..." At this point, your spider-sense was rampant. Your gaze still confused as you tried to decipher him. Your spider sense was alerting you of this oddly familiar feeling. It was someone you had dealt with before, but also someone new. Simply off-putting.

Then the realization fell on you, his tentacle-like arms.

"Is that Doc Ock!?" Without getting a hold of your reaction, you accidentally raised your voice and revealed your location. Your spider-sense tingled again, this time, sensing imminent danger as you backflipped and dodged the incoming attack. The crate you were hiding behind of was broken into splinters.

"Come on out, Spider-Man!" he shouted, his voice in pure anger.

Spider-Man? As long as you remember, you never referred to your disguised self as Spider-Man...

"It's Spider-Woman, mind you" You revealed yourself off the shadows, and the light basked in your costume, revealing its signature colors and design. "Do I know you by chance?" you tited your head, inquisitive in your tone as you were trying to figure things out.

The man's expression fell, and his rage was replaced by annoyance.

"Is this some kind of sick joke, Spider-Man? Have you forgotten the name of the man whose work of life you ruined, Otto Octavius." His tongue rolled of his name with spite and you widened your eyes.

"Doc Ock? But, you are different. You are totally human". Last time you checked, Doc Ock was a mad scientist that turned himself half-octopus by bioengineering his genetics in the name of some sort of sick evolution idea. He had tried to turn the city into mutants like himself for 'the sake of humanity's future' and you managed to stop his plans. Furthermore, he had been sent to a high-security prison for villains, where an anti-serum is being developed to turn him back and halt his aggression.

"Are you pulling my leg Spider-Man?" He said with disbelief, and he began to appear more and more angry by the second. He muttered something below his breath, and you swore you saw one of his tentacles turn toward his face as if it were sentient and listening...

"I've told you it's Spider-Woman." You huffed out, chest puffing out. You had a bad feeling about this...

The man's hand ran down his own face and he groaned, visibly tired. "Well, whatever, but you do appear to be an ally of Peter Parker's, your costume and your name leave little room for further speculation". The mention of your friend raised up your guard, how did he know Pete? Any doubts and hesitation erased themselves of your mind, for your friend could be in lethal danger.

"Oh? What's the matter, 'Spider-Woman'," he sneered.

"Picked right on the web, hmm?" He edged on, a dangerous smirk dancing on his face and two claws raising up in the air, ready to pounce.

There was not much to it, as you jumped sideways to dodge whatever that clawed-tentacle-armor was. You found yourself right back at the gig, fighting a villain as the one and only Spider-Woman.

Or so you thought.

A/n: Hi! So when I first saw this fictional man I KNEW I had to write about him, originally, it was going to be a long one shot, but I decided to break it into parts. I expect this story to be up to 3 parts or 4 as most. Anyhow, I hope you come to like it!, and sorry for the long- ass intro, I really wanted to dwelve deeper into reader as a spider person. Next is the real thing. I have seen some people have asked me to tag them, so don’t be shy to ask too!

#yandere #yandere x reader #self insert #yandere blog #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #miguel o hara x reader #yandere miguel #yandere miguel o'hara #miguel o' hara x reader #across the spiderverse #yandere across the spiderverse #female reader #yandere spiderman 2099 #yandere spiderman #spiderman 2099 x reader

3K notes · View notes

mo0nfairy · 2 years ago

Text

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ UNCHAINED MELODY, PART ONE !

summary :: surviving raccoon city together, you catch the affections of leon kennedy, ada wong, jill valentine, and carlos oliveira. six years later, you reunite with them and realize their obsession with you has increased tenfold.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 5.7k.

content warnings :: mdni!! yandere!leon, yandere!ada, yandere!jill, yandere!carlos, noncon touching, drugging, kidnapping, ptsd, violence, explosions, weapons, death, mild sexual themes, sexual harassment (done by some random npc), car crash, hospitals, reader breaks their arm.

──── Rain.

It's the first thing you are able to scrutinize once you come out of your state of comatose. You listen to the tumultuous melody as the droplets batter against the roof of the car. Even with your eyes locked tight, you are able to figure out where you are just by the rumble of the car engine, jostling you around when the tires hit a crevice in the road. A fuzzy, knitted blanket is adorned around your body. Your headphones are set on top of your head, a playlist of your favorite songs playing on a low volume. The sounds come out distorted, somehow, as if the lyrics were tripping over themselves and the tunes were awkwardly dancing with one another. It's almost as if you had been drugged.

The right side of your face is squished against something, which you now perceive as somebody's neck. The surface pushes your headphones uncomfortably into the side of your head. In a fruitless attempt to take them off, you realize you are paralyzed from head to toe. An arm is draped around your shoulder, the other firmly around your legs which are draped among their lap. Whomever this stranger is, they are quite brawny as they tighten their thick arms around you. They press gentle kisses to your forehead, the stubble of their beard tickling your skin. A deep voice whispers sugary affirmations against your temple, but you are unable to dissect them through the warped music and white noise. Have I been kidnapped? Who the fuck is this person?

With what little strength you have left in your body, you are able to peel your eyes open just a crack. You find yourself in the middle of the backseat (the safest spot in the car, which was certainly done on purpose). You find the arms draped around you are tan, adorned in heaps of black hair. Casting your gaze forward, you look to the driver. You see a woman with short, dirty-blonde hair whose slender fingers grasp hold of the steering wheel. The identity of these two people remains unknown to you. Looking at the windows, the rain cascading down the glass prevents you from pinpointing any potential landmarks. The only thing you can do is slump against this stranger and let yourself be driven far, far away.

You rewind into the past to collect any memories that would help decipher the current events. All you are able to garner is a crisp October evening, where you snuggled beneath a blanket in the safe expanse of your bedroom. You remember wrapping the blanket around your shoulders and strolling into the kitchen, where you would then make yourself a hot cup of tea. This was your normal night routine, you recall in defeat. The last memory you had would be of no use, considering the large gap in your mind once you drank the first sip of tea. So, you rewind even further to see if anything abnormal had occurred during the day.

You remember how you had spent your morning journaling in the garden, analyzing the faces of other patients and doctors wandering through your memory. Nothing stuck out, however, so you abandoned your reminiscing of this past morning. You then think back to group therapy at noon, where others would express their traumas from Raccoon City six years prior. You would tell your own story of the agony you endured and how you met several people who had protected you with their lives. Leon Kennedy, Ada Wong, Jill Valentine, and Carlos Oliveira — four names you would never forget.

Then, you would express the grief you felt when you were told none of them had survived the night. You had never felt so alone after. But, fortunately, you were then taken under the wing of this sanctuary built just for survivors. You have stayed in their habitation since.

The faces of those listening to your story were people you have seen every day; none of their features matched the physicality of the people in this car. With that, you fast forward further into the afternoon to find anything that sticks out. The heightened security that seemed to be reserved for you made you furrow your brow. However, it was nothing explicit enough to explain your current circumstances. Several guards stood outside your room as you lost yourself in the book you checked out from the sanctuary's library. The headphones you wore blared your favorite music and tuned out any and all outside noise. Even the hushed noises straight from your kitchen.

The hours of the afternoon faded away while you read through your book. It wasn't until a friend had come to your door to remind you of your plans to go stargazing did you realize the sun had begun to set. As they left, you decided to brew yourself some tea before you would join the others outside. You remember sitting at your frail kitchen table, blanket adorning your shoulders like a cape as you watched the tea kettle on the stove. Silence pervades and you can't help letting your mind wander. It has been six full years since the incident in Raccoon City. Still, your brain always seems to saunter back to the memories of that night.

You think of Leon Kennedy that night. You remember those pale blue eyes, freckled innocence, puppy-soft hair; you remember how he had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. Working at the Mizoil Gas Station, sitting right on the outskirts of the city, you're bound to face your fair share of weird regulars. And Leon Kennedy, by far, was the weirdest. A week before the night that sent your life into a tornado, you had met the new rookie who just arrived in town. And for seven days, you would always spot that familiar green jeep outside your workplace. His relentless appearances made you worry he had a hole in his gas tank or something. However, his visits weren't to grab gas or a quick snack for the road, it was to awkwardly lean against the counter and pathetically try to win your heart.

"Oh, hey Y/N! Funny running into you here..." The twelve visits a day spoil his attempts at being suave. "Yeah. I work here, Leon." His name sounds like nectar on your tongue, to a point where he is on the verge of outright begging you to say it. Even once more.

You then think of how during your closing shift, a coworker had become something ghastly, something monstrous. It all just happened so fast. You think of how you shielded yourself in your cramped work locker, limbs jutting out against the uncomfortable metal walls. To this day, you can still feel the suffocating tightness in your chest from holding back your sobs. All while you helplessly listened to the horrific sounds of your coworkers and customers being torn apart. You're entirely shaken with trauma, but with your brain in survival mode, you know this was no time to rest. Who knows how many more of those things will arrive? Now was your only shot at escaping this hellhole. So, you begrudgingly peel open the locker door and carefully inspect your surroundings. You grab a six-pack of beer on the desk beside you and take one of the bottles out. It was your only available weapon against your zombified coworkers, after all.

Blood paints your sneakers red and cheap beer stains your uniform as you fight your way out of the station. The sight of the entrance feels like a light at the end of the tunnel. Your lungs tighten with exhaustion as you continue to run towards it. That is until a firm grasp on your wrist halts your intentions. Swinging the bottle towards the assailant, they block it with ease and disarm you. It wasn't until a stuttering, concerned voice gasps your name do you realize that you almost just stabbed Leon Kennedy in the face. But God, you never thought you would be so happy for the persistent neediness of this cop.

You don't even know what had overcome you, but the sight of something human fills you with so much relief, you engulf the man into a hug. It lasted a mere second, but it was more than enough to get Leon's heart thumping in his chest. Even in the face of death, a smile tugs at his lips with any crumb of affection he can extrapolate from you. Muttering an apology to him, Leon disregards it entirely and stares at you with that dumb, love-struck expression. Your drop-dead gorgeous self; your witty comebacks that have his ribs tough with laughter… You, of all people, initiated affection with him, you actually wanted to touch him!

The roar of something inhuman cuts Leon off, to where he then bends down and scoops you into his arms. Without a second to resist, Leon (who is far too elated for comfort) sprints through the door with you and books it to his jeep. You're too busy staring at the store in trepidation to stop Leon from opening the car door for you, placing you in the passenger seat, and fastening your seatbelt for you. Almost as if you were a child, incapable of using your own hands.

The car ride to the Raccoon Police Department is quiet. Other than a few hushed reassurances of comfort from Leon, a heavy silence sits between the two of you. It's so bewildering that the people you had spent every day with are all dead. Not even dead, but zombie-fied creatures groaning to tear your flesh asunder. Your brain drifts to one coworker, in particular. One who was a master at getting under your skin. Manipulating your time alone to ask you out to dinner for the umpteenth time while tracing his hands over your skin. You never agreed, but with every attempt to bring this problem to your manager, it was always swept under the rug. And at last, you would have to endure the eerie smile and roaming hands of this middle-aged creep.

But now, things are different. You think about how he is now dead and can never touch you again; you think of how sickeningly good it felt to drive the rear end of a half-shattered bottle into his skull. Looking at your hands, you find your palms caked with his blood. Leon takes notice of this, taking one hand off the wheel and using it to grasp your hand into his. Electricity tickles through him from the contact. "You didn't have a choice" he assures in that soft tone reserved for you, but he is wrong. You did have a choice, and in the end, you wanted to hurt him.

"I wanted to. I wanted to kill him." Your gaze is locked on your red hands as you confess; Leon's gaze is fixated on you. "I just couldn't put up with him anymore. I finally got to fucking get back at him for once, to take advantage of him while he was weak." You don't even notice the tears streaming down your emotionally-drained expression.

You especially don't notice the sheer affect your words have on Leon. Tense jaw, flared nostrils, chest rising up and down with short breaths. What the fuck did he do to you? What had he done to push you, the angel of Leon's life, to such violent measures? He imagines his disgusting hands, dirtying your heavenly form; he imagines your face scrunched up with dismay, tears brimming in your eyes. And it absolutely destroys him. His heavy stare remains locked on you, entirely oblivious to any outside sources. No zombies, no eight-foot-tall tyrants — all that mattered was the audacity this dead man had to put his hands on you. And god, it makes him red with rage.

"Leon- LEON-!!" You shout out to warn him before the jeep then collides into a car wreck. It is pure mayhem as you shield your head with your hands and prepare for your demise. Leon’s arm stretches out over you in a desperate attempt to protect you. How ironic that in the face of a zombie apocalypse, you would die because of someone's poor driving skills.

You reluctantly open your eyes; you're alive. With your ears ringing out and your vision fuzzy, you manage to wrestle your way out of the jeep that had been flipped upside down. A grunt escapes from your chest as you make contact with the pavement. Something wet trickles down your head and from your nose, which doesn't take much for you to perceive as blood. You are so disoriented, you entirely forget about the man who was driving you just moments before. So disoriented, in fact, you don't hear the weak whimpers of your name from Leon as he watches you stumble further and further and further away from him.

You think of Ada Wong that night. You remember the click of her heels, her expensive perfume, her manicured nails; you remember how she had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. Somehow in your bewildered state, you had found yourself in one of the holding cells of RPD. You had collapsed against a metal bench, catching sight of a blood-stained first aid kit just within reach. You then tend to your wounds with feeble efforts. Soon, your senses clear, to where horrifying screams of agony echo through the large expanse. An unseen force rattles the room, and chunks of wall soar through the air from the cell beside you. There's a pop! before a deafening silence settles in the room.

All that is left in the air is your rapid breathing, waiting for your inescapable demise to embrace you. But, there is simply nothing to greet you but you and your thoughts. The gentle tap of quiet footsteps fills the permeating quiet. A woman then enters your train of vision, dressed in a trench coat, sunglasses, and stiletto heels. She stops in her tracks upon seeing you, seemingly inspecting you from behind her eyewear. With a tilt of her head, the woman steps through the threshold of your cell, where you then bundle yourself in the corner of the room. And you are just so adorable how you cave into yourself, almost like a bunny. So frail and terrified; too damn cute.

The way she walks to you is as if she were on a catwalk. Your trauma-ridden body trembles in fear with every step she takes closer. When she is just within reach, you act on instinct and push her away from you, racing past her and out of the cell. She barely stumbles from your attempt at an attack, an amused chuckle vibrating from her chest. You get a good several steps away before you finally discover what had made such a booming noise before. A man lies dead on the ground in the locked cell beside yours with a punctured hole in the wall. His dry mouth is hung agape and his body sits lifeless. Both eyes have been popped out of their sockets, blood seeping down his face and to the ground below. The woman follows you in your footsteps as you stare in horror. She merely tuts at the sight, a sigh of disappointment filling the empty air. How in the world is she not as terrified as you are?

"Come with me." Her voice is feminine, oozing with sultry confidence. It's soothing to listen to.

"Why?" Meanwhile, your voice is nothing like hers. Your speech comes out shaky and quiet, adorned in the fear this woman was apparently immune to.

"Well, you wouldn't want to end up like Ben, would you?" Your silence serves as your unspoken agreement. "Come now." In addition to her poised nature, her voice is also flat with demanding dominance. You find yourself blindly following her as she struts away.

Accompanying this woman as she walks through the police department as if she were the headline of a fashion show, you soon make it to the grimy streets of the city. During that time, she had introduced herself to you as Ada Wong, a spy working to retrieve the G-Virus. Why is she telling you the whole truth about herself, she doesn't know. Why did she make you follow her when she knows she works better alone, she doesn't know, either. There's just something about the way you cower into her when a zombie growls and the way your eyes glimmer with gratitude when she annihilates the monsters in your path. It makes her feel worthy, for something other than violence or money. As if she were the big, bad wolf who had fallen for the helpless bunny rabbit.

Now standing at the end of the street before the sewer entrance, you stare below in apprehension for what you have now learned lies within. This whole time, all the secrets Umbrella have were hidden right beneath your nose. Or better yet, right beneath your feet. A tank truck lies on its side several feet away from you and behind it, a trail of fire travels closer and closer. The flames and oil mending together then causes an explosion to erupt. Before you even had a chance to process anything, you're in the air, where you land in a patch of grass with a loud crack. Permeating pain courses through your right arm. From the time you had broken your wrist in 5th grade from attempting to climb a tree, you can tell your arm has suffered the same fate.

A leather-gloved hand then places itself onto your cheek. You look to see Ada, now with no glasses, tousled hair, and her coat discolored from grass stains. A dandelion had managed to wrangle itself with one of the dark-colored strands on her head. Playfully, you pluck the dandelion from her hair and gift it to her. Then, you make some joking remark about how it's a "thanks for the save earlier" with a weak chuckle. Your hand touches hers and something flutters within Ada's stomach — something grand, something scary. Something... warm. It stuns her into silence and catches her entirely off guard.

Her gaze shifts to your lips. Despite how chapped and dry they are, your bottom lip seeping with blood after the tough fall, they couldn't look any more appetizing to Ada. The mere idea of pressing her lips to yours causes her to relentlessly fall further and further into this unfamiliar, twitter-pated oblivion. You are just so benevolent, softhearted, and so, so bright. Ada's head is so fogged up with all sorts of devoted insanity, she doesn't take notice of the mass of zombies treading closer. While Ada is crouching beside you, she is then tackled to the ground. A pandemonium of zombies roaring ensues, and you're attacked by the undead, as well. With a hard kick to the skull of your assailant, you're able to wrangle yourself out of their grip on your leg. You stand to your feet and search for Ada to no avail, the heaps of zombies restraining you from any clarity.

With that, you turn tail and slam open the doors of the closest shelter you could find: Gun Shop Kendo.

You think of Jill Valentine that night. You remember her calloused hands, her rough-edged attitude, her scent of gunpowder; you remember how she had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. When you enter the gun shop, you're met with a man and a woman, both disheveled with dirt and blood. They point their guns at you upon your rushed entrance and in response, you raise your hands to surrender. The pummeling on the doors then has you all racing to barricade the entrance, using abandoned shelves and boxes as impromptu defenses. With heavy panting and a hefty barrier, the three of you stand, exasperated, trying to catch your breath. You sink to the floor and hold your arm, flashes of agony pumping through the broken limb.

Despite the danger just outside and your arm overcome with pain, this is the best you'll get in your current state. Shelter and weapons. You'll just have to endure how the shop owner shoved the barrel of his gun in your face and how the cop beside him sees you as gum beneath her shoe. Jill treats you like she does everyone else: ice-cold and blunt. She doesn't say a word to you; she barely acknowledges your presence. For that, you assume she hates your guts. Considering the circumstances, however, you don't take it to heart. Instead, you thank the two for allowing you to stay in the shop while the storm of zombies outside dies down.

However, things are quite different on Jill's end. The simple way you exist — it stuns her. Throughout her entire life, this dull ache has resided in her chest. She feels nothing. She would try and garner any feeling whatsoever; she'd do something adrenaline-inducing to feel fear, she'd do something ignorant to feel guilt. She would do everything to fill this hollow void within her. But, her incessant efforts were all brought to no avail.

That is until you came along.

Even though you're just some helpless civilian with no other desires than temporary protection, something foreign pervades her brain. Jill has come to realize you are far more than just the pretty face on the surface (although the idea of others witnessing your beauty causes her stomach to churn). She then tends to your broken arm, acting as if her heart wasn't running a mile a minute from the close contact. Meanwhile, lust-driven fantasies that would make even a harlot blush muddle her brain. To have you beneath her, staring up at her like that. You can't expect her to not swoon at the mere thought of how you'd taste, how you'd sound, how you'd tremble from her touch. Her mouth waters at the mental image alone.

Without thinking, Jill leans in to kiss you, fully ready to take you here on the floor of this filthy gun shop. The cock of Kendo's gun brings her out of her haze. You, on the other hand, assume this woman views you as nothing but a burden despite the clear display of infatuation in front of you. She informs you with a flat tone how survivors would be taken to the subway station, where they would then be transported out of the city. You thank her again for her hospitality, but mostly out of culpability. With your arm now covered with swiftly-made bandages, you reach with the other for an abandoned gun. Now that you've accepted the assumption this woman doesn't want a thing to do with you, the only way you'll get out of Raccoon City is by yourself. However, she blocks your attempt with a gentle grasp of your wrist.

"No need." Her voice is rough, but beneath the facade, it is timid and fearful.

"Why not?"

"You have me. I won't let anything happen to you." You stare at her, completely flabbergasted at the sudden alter in attitude.

The journey to the subway station was a breeze, to say the least. With your new bodyguard there to obliterate any danger in your path, it was practically a stroll in the park. She tells you her name and you tell her yours. Y/N Valentine has kind of a ring to it, Jill thinks. But with only just a few blocks to cross, something large, something beastly, something entirely inhuman stops you in your tracks. Incredibly massive with its large teeth protruding from its mouth, it groans a deep "S.T.A.R.S" before it begins to stomp towards you. Terror submerges your senses and immobilizes you. A red laser points from the rocket launcher in its hands, the dot sitting right by your feet. Jill then grabs hold of your hand and tries to run off with you, but her futile attempts were too late. A rocket then strikes the pavement and its force sends the two of you into the air. Your bandaged arm lands first against the unforgiving ground, anguish permeating your entire body.

You think of Carlos Oliveira that night. You remember his gruff voice, his kind heart, his dirt-caked skin; you remember how he had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. The pain in your arm is so blinding, there is nothing else you can think about. Not Jill, not Ada, not Leon, not the myriad of monstrous creatures on your tail. The only thing that exists right now is the torturous misery coursing through you. You're writhing on the cold pavement as you cling to your arm, cries of distress and exhaustion trembling from your chest. God, when will this nightmare fucking end?

The gut-wrenching entrance you're in is broken when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You expect to find Jill and her stone-cold, yet concerned expression, only to turn over your shoulder and see a complete stranger. He has a head full of messy, dark hair, with loose strands shielding his face; a strong body, with his military vest filled with heavy weaponry. His expression, however, was the most memorable. God, he looks at you as if you've hung the moon. His appearance is unkempt and dirty, but still overwhelmed with cheesy rom-com levels of infatuation. Why is this stranger looking at you as if you were walking down the aisle on your wedding day? You don't know. Besides, there are far more important matters to concern yourself with.

The heavy slam of Jill's boots reverberates as she sprints over to you. She helps you to your feet, not without a quick glare at the man beside you that reads "don't you fucking touch them." Jill puts your intact arm around her and leads you into Moon's Donuts, all while the deafening sounds of gunfire and grisly roars echo from behind. You don't dare turn around; you couldn't bear to look at that abomination once more. The quiet hum of heavy rock welcomes you as you enter the deserted donut shop. You practically collapse into one of the booths, Jill following behind and sitting across from you. With an exhale of relief, you relax into the seat and hold your arm in an attempt for temporary comfort. The man from before enters shortly, as well, then barricades the entrance with ease.

Your bandages are now torn and peeling. In an effort to fix it yourself, that same agonizing pain satiates through your arm instead. You hiss in response, alerting the two others. The man leans down before you, introducing himself as Carlos Oliveira, then eagerly asking you to inform him of your name. You oblige and he visibly shivers when your skin makes contact with his, an expressed concoction of nerves and irrepressible obsession. Upon gingerly grasping hold of your arm, he uses medical equipment from the various pockets around his chest and tends to you. His touch is careful, delicate — as if you would drift away if he applied any pressure. With every whimper and groan of pain from you, shocks are sent straight to his heart. Carlos had just met you moments ago yet still, he can't fathom the idea of you in pain. He assumes it's merely empathy, but when he feels tears brim in his eyes at the sight of you suffering, he knows this isn't normal.

With Jill's hand on your shoulder, consoling you through the pain, Carlos finishes swiftly before reluctantly breaking physical contact with you. He then gives you his canteen bottle, allowing you some water after your exhausting efforts to survive. You down the water like you've been parched for years. In the process, you are entirely oblivious to the heavy breathing from Carlos, who is left stunned at the prospect of an indirect kiss. Your lips against his — he feels his cheeks heat up from the idea alone. He doesn't realize how totally deranged he looks in his lovesick hysteria before the sharp snap of Jill's fingers brings him back to reality. Her possessive stare, her physical affection with you. Carlos feels his world crumble at the revelation that falls: you belong to Jill. The partner of his dreams is sitting right in front of him, but at the same time, is entirely out of reach. And it shatters him.

With that being said, Carlos isn't always the most articulate with his attempts at garnering information, hence why he stuck to the guns. So, as Jill and Carlos guard you like feral dogs with a bone while you travel back to the subway, he lets his facade slip.

"So... Are you two-like... Are you guys-um? Like, together?" Smooth as silk, Carlos. Smooth as silk.

Jill rolls her eyes in response. Mostly due to how annoying she thought him to be, but especially due to the fact that you aren't actually hers. Meanwhile, you tilt your head in confusion like a lost puppy (and you miss the way they visibly melt from the sight). After another fit of relentless stammering from Carlos, Jill finally clears the air.

"No, we're not dating." It hurts her to say it, evident in the way she clenches her jaw in an attempt to suppress her protruding emotions. Meanwhile, Carlos is sent to cloud nine.

Despite the blood, death, and gore he had witnessed in a single night, he had never felt so elated in all his years alive. Jill scoffs at his thinly-veiled euphoria, before grasping your hand and treading forward. Through trial and error (and more zombies than you could count), the three of you finally make it back to the subway station. You could cry, it's almost over. However, you can't help but notice how Jill and Carlos are perceptibly devastated by the idea of letting you go.

You hug Jill. It was nothing intimate, merely a thanks for the help she had provided you. Still, her body goes rigid and her heart flourishes with every kind of emotion she has never felt before. Through all the revelations that have taken place in this hellhole of a night, none of it compared to the earth-shattering emotions you have given her. Fear, lust, jealousy, devotion — it's all so overwhelming and she loves it.

You hug Carlos next. Again, nothing intimate or ulterior about the act of affection. But just like Jill, his heart practically detonates from the close contact. If only you could see his love-struck face; his expression is practically straight out of a cartoon. Cupid's bow through his chest, bluebirds swarming around his head and all. When the friendly hug soon started to turn into a romantic embrace, you push yourself off of Carlos, excusing his actions as nothing short of post-traumatic nerves.

With that, you join the other civilians on the train. The subway doors close behind you as you look at the survivors around you. All of them are riddled with trauma, shaken and silently weeping from the sights they have witnessed. Despite the harrowing circumstances, you're alive. That is all that matters and you could not be more grateful. Sitting on an empty seat, an exhale of relief escapes your chest. The train whirs as it begins to move. You turn your shoulder and look through the filth-stained windows to find Jill and Carlos, eyes blown wide with emotion as they watch you leave them. They stand in the same place you had left them, gazing wistfully at the love of their life. Picking up speed, you are soon out of their sight and they are now without the one they love most. And the sheer affect it has on them is gut-wrenching.

Fortunately for you, the ride out of the city is plain sailing. And with no S.T.A.R.S. members on the train, there is no 8-foot-tall creature there to set everything ablaze. You have now become one of the very few people who can say they made it out of Raccoon City alive.

You think of Raccoon City the morning after and the consequences that came from surviving. You think about what Carlos had said to you in the midst of danger. "I'm not gonna die on you and leave you in a cold, cruel, Carlos-less world." Liar.

Upon escaping the city safely, you and the other survivors were sent to a local hospital. From thereon, you would spend the next several days there (and finally receive proper treatment for your broken arm). After several days of anxiously anticipating the well-being of your friends and the entirety of Raccoon City, a doctor you had never seen before enters your room in the dead of night. Introducing himself as Dr. Matt Gorkis, he then reveals the news of the missile strike sent to the city and how there were no other survivors. A wave of devastation and helplessness washes over you. Weeping softly, the doctor bluntly provides details of the matter.

He then informs you of a sanctuary being built just for survivors of the incident. There will be provided shelter, basic necessities, and all sorts of therapeutic activities that will help you during your healing journey. And with your job, your home, and all of your friends eradicated to dust, you know you have no other choice. With another month of being tested for infections and going through physical therapy, you are released from the hospital and sent away with the doctor. For the past six years, this sanctuary is what you have learned to call home.

The hissing of the tea kettle makes you jump, bringing an abrupt halt to your road trip down memory lane. And while you pour yourself a cup of tea, you realize that your memories will be of no use for your current circumstances. For now, you'll have to let yourself be lulled to sleep in the back of this stranger's vehicle, driven far away to god-knows-where. But, the embrace the person has on you is so warm, so inviting. Your body can’t help but succumb to the relaxation this stranger provides.

You just hope that when you wake up, whatever welcomes you isn't anything reminiscent of the nightmare you faced six years ago.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 ۫ you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ MY LOVE, MY DARLING

I'VE HUNGERED FOR YOUR TOUCH . . . ❞

not a single person had asked for this, but it has been all my brain has been able to think about. i hope u all can appreciate some breadcrumbs from the ramblings of my heart hehe.

3K notes · View notes

tan1shere · 4 months ago

Note

hi bb 🥹

could you do like a deep comfort with Billie? where reader is feeling really anxious and we’re just sitting in the bed and she just helps talk out our troubles and thoughts and just holds us and is physically intimate with us (fluffy) to help us calm down <3

New Chapter

Billie Eilish x female reader !

A/n: I saw this tiktok and ugh I just needed to write something like it. Hope you enjoy nonnie ! (Ok so embarrassing update. Sad update LMAO but I forgot Ms billie can't get us pregnant -i just didn't think the idea through- so I'm making it a bit creative and I'm praying you enjoy, just try not to think of it as legitimate and focus on the comfort okur :D) - also sorry if it's short 😔 - also kinda went way off your request :( I hope you like this tho nonnie

Summary: you're always an anxious mess, so once you find out this news you have a complete breakdown.

Warnings: angstyish, comfort, suggestive mentions ??? Anxiety attack, I think that's it !

Masterlist

Uh oh. Was all you thought this morning when you felt ill. You had so much work to get done you did not need to get a cold or the flu ontop of that. Then it hit you on what it could be. Surely not though.

Rewind to a few weeks ago. You and Billie had just had a date night and you wanted to try something new, per her suggestion. Slightly drunk you both decide to use the ejaculating dildo. But last time which wasn't that long ago, you were trying for a baby. You had been finding anonymous donors for a while and she finally found one. You ended up forgetting about it, so you thought nothing could happen because I mean, it was old. Surely nothing could attach to anything right?

Wrong. This feeling was getting worse as the morning went on. Billie was over at Finneas' working on some music related things. So she wasn't there. You had bought pregnancy tests like a month ago when you and Billie came up with the random idea. You were ready then, kind of. Now? Fuck no. Your job had been getting worse and you were honestly thinking of quitting. But you couldn't do that. Even if Billie insisted that it'd be ok, she could pay for the both of you she says. But you said she shouldn't ever have to do that.

Working was your everything even if this job was the putz, you've always loved working. You procrastinate looking at this stupid test. The whole baby thing was merely a thought you guys weren't 100% on it. Atleast you weren't. A human growing inside you, that's so much to think about. Children are a huge responsibility. Your head soon feels light, trying to calm your nerves. "Don't be stupid, this is just nothing. Turn it over." You try and convince yourself. Your hand trembles as you do, fully expecting 'not pregnant'

Wrong again. Your eyes widen tremendously. "Fuck, no no-" You accidentally drop it starting to freak out. Your chest feeling extra heavy. And just in time to freak out more, the front door opens. "Hey baby! I'm back." Baby.. Baby. Ones growing inside you. Your mind races. Shit, fuck. Your freakout continues. Your breathing becoming labored. Trying to calm down as your heart rate picks up. Pointless. "Y/n?" You try desperately to think of something, how on earth do you even explain this to her. 'Oh hey, yeah I'm pregnant.' Not to mention how scared you were.

You didn't want this not now, and you honestly weren't sure if you ever would. That's probably just the anxiety talking, but all you could think about was how scary this all was. Scared wasn't even the right word for how you were feeling. And the pain in your heart was telling you that. She comes into the bathroom looking at you with worry. "What's going on-?" Then she saw your teary eyes, panic flooding her. "Hey, hey. What's up?" She grabs your face gently. "Talk to me, please." But she stops herself realizing you were about to have a panic attack.

"Ok, look at me, I'm right here." Her hands grab yours going to put it on her heart like she always does, but you retract them. Shoving them in your hair. "I cant do this." You say breathing heavy. Still stuck on what you had just read on that stupid stick. It's all you could think about right now. "Do what babe?" That worried her more. What on earth were you talking about. "This can't be real- I have to be dreaming." You then say clutching your beating heart, shaking your head in disbelief. She grabs your face again, never harsh. "What. Is going on." Her thumb swipes your tear stained cheeks.

In attempt to calm you, and it worked for a moment. How do you even tell her. "I-.." You began but tear up again. You couldn't find the words at first, buy you try so hard. "I'm pregnant." You decide to just blur out, ripping of the bandaid, the stuck. Sticky. Bandaid. She gives you a confused look. "Babe-" She doesn't believe you, you wish you didn't believe you. "You do realize-" But you turn around before she could finish, grabbing the test and putting it in her hands. She widens her eyes, seeing it. Even more confused than she was before. Then her brain clicks. "The dildo.." you hear her mumble.

You're pacing, but she grabs you. "Hey, it's ok. I promise this will be all o-" "No. I can't do this, I don't think I ever could. This is so scary and." You stop feeling your chest heave. "Baby." She then says. "Yeah, ones growing in me. A human, I can't do that." She grabs you again, spotting how another attack was coming on, her hands grabbing yours and instinctively putting them on her heart. One of your coping mechanisms. "Look at me, we can do this I promise." You sob. "It was old how'd it even-" She brings you into her. Wrapping her arms around you. "I don't know my love... I don't know." But that's all you needed to stay calm, her warmth was incredibly comforting. Her voice calming every nerve inside you.

Just like it always did. You wrap your arms tightly around her. Burying your head into her chest. Lettung the initial shock die down. Heart going back to normal after awhile. Her hand gently caresses your hair, kissing the crown of it. "I'm here, which will be the main thing and we will get through this together no matter what." Her soothing touches and voice was all you needed. That's what helped in the end. You kinda wished you had done it when she was home, knowing that if she had been, you could've potentially avoided a anxiety attack. Still holding you close as you did so, letting you know that all of this would be ok. "What if I suck, what if it hurts-"

But she stops you, really not wanting you to think about this right now. "Hey, don't worry about that right now ok?" She pulls you back getting you to look at her. "I know you're scared. Fuck, I am too. But we got this." Her finger moves a loose strand out of your face, holding it once again. "You're good with kids, so good with kids. I'm just worried that I won't be good with it." Her head shakes. "You'll be amazing. You've got so much love in you, I know once it's here you'll be the best. Mother. Mark my words." You smile at her brightly. Everything she was saying soothing every worry. You were so glad to have someone like that in your life.

"I love you." She then says, making you cry out of happiness this time.

"I love you more. I'm so glad out of anyone in this world, you're the one I'm doing it with."

"And that's never changing."

Lil note, since I felt like I didn't get your request like you wanted and it's kinda bugging me (a lil mad at myself) I'll do a little blurb of a small idea that I got !

#billie eilish #billie elish icons #billie ellish lyrics #billie #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish fanfiction #billie elish moodboard #billie eilish x you #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish angst #billie eilish comfort #billie eilish x y/n

253 notes · View notes

ckret2 · 8 months ago

Text

Chapter 58 of human Bill Cipher in a quantum uncertainty state between being and not being the Mystery Shack's prisoner:

Everything you've wondered about how Bill survived his execution.

Let's rewind a couple of days.

####

Friday, 11:00 p.m.

"Welp," Mabel said, "I've got the rest of summer to try to get the whole story out of him! Goodnight, Dipper!"

Dipper's stomach flipped with guilt. "Yeah." The rest of summer. Mabel left for Portland in the morning. "Goodnight."

He lay down, pulled his sheet back up, and stared at the ceiling.

####

Friday, 11:04 p.m.

It took less than five minutes before the guilt won.

Yeah, no, nope, nuh-uh, Dipper couldn't do this. Not to his sister. He rolled over and hissed, "Psss, hey. Mabel."

"Hm?"

"Listen," Dipper said. "I hate Bill, okay, but I care about you, and also I think Bill might be part of a prophecy, so, because of that—I... There's something I need to tell you."

####

11:15 p.m.

Bill hadn't even had time to start dreaming before something dragged his mind back into the waking world.

There were white points of light as he passed through the hazy twilight of half-sleep. Those lights were his eyes. Lately, every time he started to wake up, he'd been seeing his eyes in the distance.

This time, there was one right in front of him, so bright it almost blinded him. He thought he could see something in the light.

He touched it.

And then he woke up, laying on his cushion bed as usual, watching as Mabel slid out of her room, crept near, and knelt beside him. She shook his shoulder. "Hey, Bill. Wake up."

And then he woke up—which was strange, considering he'd just done that—and stared at the dark inside of his hoodie.

He pushed back his hood. There was Mabel, crouched next to him, just like he'd "dreamed." Huh. Well done, Cipher, it seems you've just learned a new trick.

He tamped down his excitement; he could figure out what to do with this trick later. For now, he had a higher priority. "'Sup, kid?" He pushed himself up on an elbow, roughly flipping his hair out of his hood so it wouldn't keep tickling and choking around his neck. "It's the middle of the night." He yawned and mumbled, "Not that it makes a difference to me, but..."

"Shhh! We've gotta stay quiet," Mabel whispered. "I need to get you out of here. They're gonna kill you."

He sat bolt upright. "All right," he said. "You have my attention."

####

Dipper refused to say how, but according to him they'd synthesized just enough fuel for one shot with their fancy quantum whatever gun, and they couldn't make any more. They planned to execute Bill once Mabel was gone.

Mabel could just open a door for Bill and let him escape in the middle of the night—but that had dangers of its own. Bill would have to travel to a hiding place on foot—and his shoes were crap for hiking—his feet were also crap for hiking—and he'd only have until the adults started waking up and realized he was gone. Even if he kept moving all night, the adults would probably be able to cover the same amount of ground in a couple of hours, he'd probably inadvertently leave a trail a mile wide, and the forest's local supernatural population would definitely snitch if one of the Stans asked if they'd seen anything.

Plus, it wouldn't be very hard for the adults to figure out that Dipper had cracked and Mabel had helped Bill escape, and then everyone was in hot water.

They needed a way to cover Bill's escape to make it harder for the adults to pick up his trail, to give him as much time as possible to get some distance from the shack, and to delay Mabel getting in trouble. ("And Dipper," Mabel said. "Sure," Bill said unenthusiastically.)

But if they could, it would be best if they found a way to ensure the adults never even thought to look for Bill, Mabel never got in trouble at all, and the Quantum Destabilizer could never be fired again.

It was possible, Bill said. It wasn't guaranteed, but it was possible. They had a good chance. A very good chance. In fact, never mind, he'd decided it was guaranteed, they'd pull this off easily.

All they had to do was fake his death.

He knew a way.

####

11:45 p.m.

Dipper was stirred out of a drowsy near-sleep by the door creaking open and a couple sets of footsteps shuffling in. He rolled over and squinted across the room.

Mabel was quietly collecting craft supplies—pens, papers, her small starter sewing kit she used for repairs. Bill climbed into the loft to grab some musty pillows and blankets that had been stored for years in a cardboard box.

"Mabel?" Dipper mumbled.

Mabel put a finger over her lips. "Hey Dipper," she whispered. "You can go back to sleep, we'll be up in the loft."

"Doing what?"

"Scheme-y stuff. Don't worry about it." She flung her arms around Dipper, whispered, "Thank you," and ran across the room to grab her backpack and the height-altering flashlight.

Dipper glanced toward the loft. Bill was waiting at the top of the ladder, a dark vaguely-triangular silhouette, only his eyes visible as they reflected the dim light like a cat's. Dipper had had more nightmares than he could remember about waking to find Bill hovering in the dark above him.

Bill's gaze flicked from watching Mabel to staring at Dipper. They made eye contact. Bill didn't say anything.

Then Mabel climbed up the ladder, supply-stuffed backpack slung over her shoulders. Bill gave Dipper one last silent look, then turned away to follow Mabel to the back of the loft.

Dipper rolled over and tried to fall back asleep.

####

The plan was to create a dummy that looked like Bill to take the Quantum Destabilizer's shot in his place, while the real Bill got as far from the shack as the weirdness barrier around town would allow.

Bill told Mabel that the dummy didn't need to be complicated: he had an enchantment that could make it completely convincing. All he had to do was write out a spell and leave the paper over the dummy, and anyone who looked at it would be convinced it was really him in the flesh.

Similarly, sneaking Bill out of the shack didn't need to be complicated. They could shrink Bill down and stick him in Mabel's backpack, and all she'd have to do was come up with an excuse to get out of the car and set him free before they left town.

The hard part would be the choreography of the whole thing. They needed Bill to put in an appearance that morning, to prove it really was him walking around; and then go somewhere that Mabel could hide him away without anybody noticing; and then ensure that nobody would see the Bill dummy until they were safely out of range, just in case. "The enchantment's pretty good," Bill said, "but the more people see it and the longer they get to look at it, the less potent it gets. And all it'll do is make the dummy look like me—it won't be able to walk and talk. It's best if the only person who gets a good look at it is my executioner."

The word executioner made Mabel shudder. It would probably be Ford, wouldn't it? She knew he thought he was doing the right thing. She knew it wasn't the first time he'd tried to destroy Bill. She knew she'd been fine with it last summer. She even knew that Bill would be okay. But all the same, she wasn't sure how she'd look at Ford the same way.

Once they had the dummy set up somewhere away from the family's prying eyes, they had to discourage everyone from trying to approach "Bill" until they were ready to kill him. And, ideally—just in case the executioner tried to speak to Bill or the enchantment otherwise failed—they should stage it all in a way so that no one would think Mabel had been involved in the escape plan.

The solution was obvious.

"I live to cause drama for no reason," Bill said. "I upset mortals recreationally. Can you act?"

"Can I act? Pshhh!" Mabel flipped a hand dismissively. "Maybe you were too busy badly impersonating my brother to watch, but last year I kind of staged an entire puppet show performing and singing as every character."

So it was a plan: they would stage a fight.

They were sitting in the very back of the attic loft, behind stacks of forgotten boxes and abandoned junk, beneath the meager light of the loft's window. Bill didn't need the light. He had a pen and paper and was writing out his enchantment's spell while they talked, long lines of inscrutable text. It was so dark that Mabel couldn't even see what language he was writing in, but that was fine; Bill had said that if she read his spell—if anyone read it—it would break the enchantment.

"Whoops," Bill said, "yeah, afraid I missed your whole show! I was too busy backstage trying to avoid your friends and looking for a way onto the catwalk."

Mabel shook her head in disapproval. "You would have liked it. There were live pyrotechnics and lasers and fog machines and a giant tentacle monster war and seventy-four songs and puppets!"

"I'll admit, sounds like a killer show. How about gore?"

"There was a whole song about my love interest getting his legs chewed off in the war," Mabel said. "The sock puppets don't have legs, but everyone knows your own imagination is a lot scarier than anything you actually see."

This kid could have a brilliant artistic career as a serial killer. "That's familiar. Is this war based on that 'cats versus the giant octopus' dream you keep having?"

"Yeah, and you'd have known that if you'd actually watched the opera! Too bad you missed the whole thing," Mabel said. "I guess you were just too busy being evil to appreciate the simple joys of a good, clean, non-villainous puppet show."

"Oh no, I can't believe my actions have consequences," Bill said flatly. "What would I ever have done if you hadn't enlightened me."

"Died, probably."

Bill glared.

"You know! Like you did last summer? As a consequence of your—"

"You shush."

Bill shoved Mabel away when she started to laugh, and held the enchantment up between their faces so he didn't have to look at her. He read his work over, then folded the paper in half and half again. "Hey, maybe you can put on an encore presentation sometime." Bill carefully inscribed four symbols in a square on the folded paper. "I promise I'll laugh at the jokes and fake cry at the sad parts."

Mabel shuddered. "No way. I'm never touching that show again. Too many bad memories."

"Awww, how come?"

Mabel stared at Bill.

Bill said, "Oh, right."

"Yeah," Mabel said coldly. "Thanks."

Bill shrank back. He leaned against a cardboard box, not sure where to look, drumming his fingers self consciously on the floorboards. Trying to figure out the right thing to say to make it better.

"Hey," he said. "If you ever change your mind about reviving the show... can I play the reverend again?" He grinned.

Mabel wadded up a paper and chucked it at Bill's face.

####

They agreed that scripting out every bit of the argument would make it sound too fakey; and anyway they were going to do this on no sleep and with no time to practice, if one of them forgot a line mid-argument it would ruin their entire plan. Bill said he was great at improvisational acting (which Mabel suspected was his way of trying to make "great at lying on the spot" sound good), and Mabel was a pro at getting into character for pretend games, so this should be easy. They just needed to choose a few topics they could realistically argue about.

So they started making a list of things that would totally infuriate each other.

"I can't think of anything that would make me furious," Bill said. "Outside of something serious like a murder attempt, anyway. I'm an even-tempered triangle! I don't sweat the small things!"

"You got sooo mad when I forgot to tell you about my Summerween plans."

Bill grimaced. "Right," he muttered. "That."

Teasingly, Mabel asked, "Are you still grumpy I made plans?"

"I was not grumpy you made plans. I wasn't grumpy at all! I just would have appreciated if I'd known sooner, I planned my whole evening assuming I'd have somebody around to open doors—"

He saw Mabel's increasingly amused smirk, stopped himself, held up a hand, and said, "I'll save it for tomorrow morning."

Mabel wrote down the idea beneath four ideas she'd already scratched out. She'd temporarily removed the crystal from the height-altering flashlight so she could illuminate her paper while she wrote. "The concert will definitely come up tomorrow morning! And you can act like that's the first time you heard about it."

"Sure, no problem. We haven't talked about the concert where your uncles could overhear, have we?"

"I don't think so."

"Then that's perfect. I can pretend to be mad you didn't tell me." Bill forced a smile. "All right, your turn." He rested his elbow on his knee and his cheek on his fist. "I realize that, apart from the unfortunate meat suit, I'm the most flawless person you've ever seen—" he ignored Mabel's raspberry, "—but for the sake of argument, just imagine something you might get mad at me for."

"Um... insulting Dipper?"

"Now that sounds fun. But no, can't risk it, he'd be too tempted to jump into the argument," Bill said. "Besides, what if I said something you agreed with?"

"What! Why would I agree if you insulted my brother?"

"He smells like a sweaty ferret and when he has a crush he turns into a creepy little stalker."

Mabel laughed. "Yeah, he does. Okay, um..." She went silent for a moment, tapping the butt of her marker on the paper.

She stopped tapping; and then quietly said, "I'd be so mad if I thought you were trying to keep me from hanging out with my friends."

"Oh, I could do that easily." Bill reviewed his wording, decided a human could take that as a threat, and quickly amended himself, "Could pretend that I'm trying to do that easily. You know I'd never, but hey, the adults here are ready to believe the worst about me—"

"You promise?"

"Sure I promise!" He processed the question after he'd already answered it. "Hold on—you think I'm the kind of person who would do that?" He was, but he didn't want her to see him that way.

She shrugged, looking down at her idea list again. "You've done it to other people."

"Name one!"

"Grunkle Ford and Old Man McGucket."

Oh, of course. That snitch of a backstabbing ungrateful ex-student, bane of Bill's entire miserable postmortem existence. Had to find as many ways as possible to make Bill look bad, didn't he. "All I did was tell Stanford that hick was a coward and a flake. I didn't make him do anything! If he agreed with me, that's on him." Bill crossed his arms irritably. "And Specs was a coward and a flake. Is it a crime to be right?"

"But you ruined their friendship on purpose, didn't you."

Bill tried to find a graceful way to wriggle around the direct accusation that excused his actions without contradicting whatever she might already know. "Did not," he said.

Mabel frowned at him.

Bill averted his gaze. "So! That's great. Trying to keep you away from your friends. Something I've never done to you but would be a really good thing to fight about. What else."

Mabel sighed and looked over her list again. She wrote something, scratched it out; started another line and scribbled it out; and then said in exasperation, "Your morals are terrible."

Bill had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep his sudden laugh from waking Dipper. "You've got too many morals, it's your biggest character flaw. How many does one person really need, two or three? That's an easy topic, arguments about morality can drag out for hours!"

"We probably only need to fight for like ten minutes, right?"

"Sure. List done! That's everything we need."

Mabel heaved a sigh of relief. She read over the list, glanced at the flashlight she was reading with, and said, "I should get extra batteries. It'd be the worst if we got you way out of the shack and then the batteries died while you were still small."

Bill wasn't sure about that. Being so tall for weeks on end felt awkward and wrong. His limbs were always in the way. He bumped into things he should have been able to slide between. The more time he spent in this body, the more he wanted to spend a month at the size and thickness of a greeting card. He joked, "Hey, I don't know; it'd be easier to hide..."

"Yeah, and easier to get squarshed." Mabel turned off the flashlight and picked up her backpack. "I'm getting batteries."

While Mabel was downstairs, Bill picked up her list to see what topics they'd found to argue about so far:

Weirdmaged

Making me think you were Blendin to get the

Kitten fists meow meow

Almost killing me

Not sharing Summerween plans

Trying to make me kill myself by

Ruining Glove Story

Insulting Dipper

Insulting Waddles??? (too lovable!)

Weirdm

Mabeland Isolating me from everyone

Spray painting your eyeball

Weir YOU'RE TOO EVIL!!

I'M TOO NICE!!! ♡

He reread the list, feeling his guts writhe and twist involuntarily.

Yeah. Those were all the things he'd decided not to bring up, too.

At least they were in agreement on what they didn't want to talk about. That was true friendship, right? Friendship didn't mean never hurting each other; it meant mutually agreeing never to talk about it again.

He read the list a third time.

####

A spare pair of Bill's black leggings and a pair of black socks would serve as half of the decoy body, stuffed with old bedsheets and half a pillow that Mabel had sized up with the flashlight so it was closer to Bill's actual torso size. For the time being, the top half of the decoy was constructed out of a flannel shirt; Bill would have to put in an appearance downstairs in his hoodie, and then they could quickly go upstairs and put it on the decoy to complete the look.

He'd miss that hoodie almost as much as he missed his own face. But it was a small price to pay for his life.

"I don't know," Mabel whispered, inspecting the dummy with the flashlight from near the edge of the loft. "It doesn't look super convincing. It's kind of lumpy all wrong." She knelt by it and tried to poke the fake thigh into a slightly more convincing shape.

"Don't worry about it," Bill whispered, waving the folded paper with the secret spell written inside. "The enchantment will hide all that. As long as the dummy looks mostly human at a glance, no one will notice anything."

Mabel gave it one last worried look, but nodded and turned off the flashlight.

####

Mabel crept out of the office and eased the door shut. "Got it," she whispered, holding up a faded black umbrella. "Are you sure you don't want a better umbrella, though? Some of the spikes are broken and I think it's supposed to rain today."

"The other humans will be less likely to notice a broken umbrella going missing," Bill said. "Anyway, this one saved my life once. I'll take it."

"Then that's the last supply we needed to pack," Mabel said, sighing in relief. "It's still a couple hours until morning. Should we get some sleep?"

Bill considered it, and shook his head. "No. Better not."

Sleep scared him. Sure, he endured it when he had to—he had no choice—and, under the circumstances, although it was a close call, he grudgingly preferred sleeping to dying of sleep deprivation; but he kept it at bay as long as he could, sleeping irregularly, infrequently, and briefly. Knowing it was necessary didn't make the fear go away.

It was the helplessness of the whole thing—knowing that, once his mind had shut off, anything could happen around him, anything could happen to his body—and not only was he ignorant and defenseless, but he was also powerless to wake himself up any sooner than his tyrannical circadian rhythm dictated. He lacked even the power to think about waking.

If Mabel hadn't woken him tonight, he might have slept through his own death.

He continued, "What if we sleep in and don't have time for the fight? I'd be doomed." Bill didn't even have the luxury of an alarm clock.

"Oh—good point," Mabel said. "So we should probably do something to keep us awake."

"Right," Bill said, wracking his exhausted brain for an idea. "Overdose on caffeine?"

Mabel was quiet for a moment. "If this works, it might be a long time before we see each other again," she said. "You'll probably have to keep hiding until Grunkle Ford and Grunkle Stan leave town in the fall. And by then summer will be over, and I'll be back in California..."

She was right. If they pulled off this plan, he might never see Mabel again. It wouldn't exactly be safe to ring up the Mystery Shack. Sure, sooner or later he'd find a way to restart Weirdmageddon, and then he could invite her into his gang... And she'd join, wouldn't she? Of course she would. He just needed a chance to talk to her about it away from the closed-minded killjoys in her family that were holding her back. But until then...

She groped through the dark to grab at Bill's sleeve. "Dance party? While we still can?"

"Sure, star girl." Where had this lump in his throat come from? "Sounds fun. Dance party."

####

5:30 a.m.

It was the first time Bill had danced since his death.

All Mabel had to offer was Sev'ral Times, upbeat kid's show soundtracks, unlistenable synthesized junk, and whatever was playing before dawn on the radio stations that could reach Gravity Falls; the stained yellow shag carpet and homely plaid wallpaper made him miss the dark smoky rooms and strobing multicolor lights of a real club; he couldn't risk drinking this early in the morning if he wanted to have a head clear enough for escape; and he never forgot that, outside of the living room, the halls were empty and silent.

But he'd danced to music that made his eye bleed and his memories howl and he'd danced to no music at all; he'd danced in millions of crummy makeshift dance halls and night clubs and dive bars that had tumbled into or been cobbled together in the Nightmare Realm; he'd danced when he was so brutally sober that time in all its sharp cruel clarity seemed to have frozen to turn a spotlight on him; he'd danced with his worst enemies and he'd danced all alone; and there wasn't any force on this planet that would stop him from dancing now.

After spending four songs in a row making fun of Bill for attempting to figure out how to puppet a human body into some approximation of a dance, Mabel asked, "What were dances like on Flatworld?" It made Bill internally wince each time he heard it called that.

But he welcomed the opportunity for a break; he leaned back to half sit against the living room table, breathing heavily, arms trembling. "Dif—difficult question." He had to pause to catch his breath. His lungs and muscles couldn't keep up with him; this body was too hard to keep moving, so inefficient, 90% of the fuel that went into it was wasted uselessly. It was already beginning to atrophy in the few short weeks he'd had it, muscles withering from days stuck indoors with nothing to do but sit and stare out the window. He'd been made of pure energy for so long that maintaining all the little systems to keep a flesh body energized—food, water, sleep, exercise, not too much exercise, oxygen—felt like a Sisyphean torture. "S'like asking—'what're human dances like'? There's a—lot of variety."

"You know what I mean!" Mabel was still half dancing, bouncing from foot to foot. Bill wanted that kind of energy. "How do you dance?"

Bill shut his eyes, seeing colors flash behind his eyes—gyroscopic, kaleidoscopic, shapes spinning and whirling in spirals. "I'd show you, but there's not enough room in here for me to do a cartwheel."

"Seriously, Bill."

"I'm being serious! Plus I can't float. It wouldn't look right in a human body." It would look better if he cut his silhouette out of a piece of paper, taped it over a flashlight, and projected the shape onto the wall. "Tell you what—as soon as I'm back in my real body, I'll show you how I dance, all right?"

"Come on, Bill! You're just trying to wiggle out of—"

"Mabel," Bill said, "I can't do those dances in this body."

Mabel's teasing smile faded. "Really?"

"Unless you know a way to dislocate my shoulder so I can slide my entire arm from one hip over my head and down to the other."

"Ew." Mabel grimaced.

"It looks cooler on a triangle." Bill smiled wanly. "But hey, I spent all day yesterday teaching you everything I know—you can teach me something. I haven't used a human body in thirty years! What dances are popular these days, I haven't learned anything new since the moonwalk."

Mabel's eyes widened. "You know how to moonwalk?"

"Sure! It's easy. I figured it out in Stanford's body."

"I don't believe you. Prove it."

Bill pushed off the table. "Oh, yeah? Are you ready to look stupid?" He effortlessly glided backwards across the floorboards. He pointed at Mabel's gaping face as he passed. "What do you think of that?"

"Show me how to do that and I'll teach you every dance I know."

Bill grinned. He loved deals that were unfairly biased in his favor, and he loved it more when he didn't even have to propose them himself. "You've got yourself a deal, Shooting Star." It would keep them occupied for the next hour.

####

6:32 a.m.

About fifteen minutes ago, Bill had warned Mabel that he'd just glimpsed the beforeimage of Ford crossing the living room in the future; and then they'd kept partying, wanting to get in every last second of joy they could before he arrived in the present.

But once Ford was no longer approaching but actually there, seeing his face was like a bullet to the head. Bill had been having so much fun, for a few minutes he'd almost forgotten that today was execution day.

And it wouldn't be execution day if he had anything to say about it.

Bill demanded, "What's with the sour face?" (Ford's eyes were so dull, his expression so heavy; Bill had never seen him wear that look, not even any of the previous times he'd tried to murder Bill.) "Hey, am I not allowed to dance now?" He squeezed Mabel's hands tighter.

Ford just gave a tiny shake to his head and hurried past them, not even deigning to look at Bill, as though he were telling himself he'd only imagined he'd heard the voice of a ghost.

I know what you're up to, Bill thought at top volume silently in his head. But you won't do it. You won't do it.

He met Mabel's gaze. She gave him a tiny nod. Party was over. Time to get to work.

####

6:36 a.m.

Over the course of the night, Dipper had been woken twice by bursts of quickly-hushed laughter; three times by random bumps and thuds; once by Bill falling off the loft and Mabel's squeal of alarm; and several times by Mabel waking Dipper to ask if it was okay if she gave Bill Dipper's old shoes (so Bill could finally walk in the woods properly), his sleeping bag (so Bill didn't have to sleep on hard rocks under a single sad Pony Heist bedsheet), his "Edible Plants of Oregon's Blue Mountains" booklet (self-explanatory), and several other things he also said "yes" to without hearing properly. It had better be one heck of a prophecy that Bill was involved in, because Dipper was this close to just murdering Bill himself.

When Dipper went downstairs, he couldn't even look at Mabel and Bill—terrified something in his gaze would give the whole conspiracy away. He didn't even know what they were planning. Was dancing in the living room part of it? Was it some distraction? He'd hoped Bill would already be gone by now.

He couldn't meet Ford's eyes either, for the guilt of betraying his trust. He didn't deserve these scrambled eggs.

He couldn't meet anyone's gaze.

He really, really hoped Mabel and Bill had a plan. He hoped it was a good plan. Because whatever the heck they were up to—Dipper was afraid it was on him to prevent Ford and Stan from intervening too soon and finding out.

####

6:49 a.m.

After they'd escaped the kitchen, Bill glanced over his shoulder toward the stairs before Mabel got the attic door closed. "Do you think Ford noticed something?"

Mabel was already running across the room, retrieving her phone charger and phone to stuff in her backpack and pocket, making sure she'd packed everything she needed for her trip—everything except for Bill. "I wasn't looking. Did he?"

"I don't know." Bill flashed one last worried look at the door; but he couldn't afford to slow down, he had a dummy to finish. He hurried up the ladder, took off his hoodie, pulled on a tank top, tried to fish his pre-written enchantment out of his pocket in the same movement, and fumbled and dropped the paper over the edge of the loft.

Mabel had been checking her bag for the concert tickets when a paper fluttered down on her hair. She instinctively grabbed it and unfolded it before she registered the four sigils written on the outside and realized this was the enchantment Bill had said would stop working if anyone read it. She'd reflexively read the first few lines before she could stop herself. She froze. Her gaze jerked up to Bill, eyes wide.

Bill dropped down the ladder, snatched the paper out of her hand so quickly it almost tore, and immediately climbed back up. "I told you not to look." He carefully refolded it.

"Is that...?"

"It'll work," Bill hissed, with an insistence that said he wasn't sure it would work at all.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" He held up the dummy's pillow torso and yanked the hoodie on top of it.

When Mabel didn't say anything, Bill sighed. "Even if it doesn't—this only needs to work until we're on the road. They can't stop us then."

"Bill—"

He shakily inhaled, and then he raised his voice loud enough he'd be heard downstairs. "What do you need to spend all that time around those two brats for, anyway?! What, am I not good enough company for you?!"

They didn't have time to adjust the plan. They were in the middle of it, right now, and the guys expected to hear an argument. Mabel swallowed hard and raised her voice as well. "Not when you're acting like this, you aren't! You're a bigger brat than—than both of—and my friends aren't brats!"

Bill bit his lip, brows drawn in pain, eye squeezed shut, trying not to laugh.

Mabel chucked a sock at him, don't you dare. "You can't say I can't hang out with my friends, that's stupid!"

"I never said you can't!" Bill held the folded paper a foot above the completed dummy, the square of symbols face up, and tapped it twice so it hovered in place when he let go. "Hang out with your stupid friends, I don't care! But two whole days is ridiculous—!"

####

7:02 a.m.

"I THOUGHT you were my FRIEND!"

All three eavesdroppers cringed—Dipper hardest of all. His heart was hammering out of his chest and his t-shirt was at least 50% sweat by volume. Was this part of the plan? It sounded like an insane plan. This couldn't be the plan. It had to be the plan. He'd already prevented Ford from intervening, what if they were really fighting? But what if this really was the plan?

"WELL! If you're gonna act like this just because I wondered what you're up to, maybe NOT! What kind of fun are you good for, you wouldn't even be into burning a house down!"

Dipper messed up. He'd actually ruined their friendship right before Bill was about to die and Mabel would be miserableand it was all his fault. This fight was real. They were furious. They hated each other—

####

7:03 a.m.

"OH YEAH, WELL—" Mabel faltered as she struggled to think of a fitting retort. "YOU WOULDN'T EVEN BE INTO—into—n-NOT BURNING A HOUSE DOWN!" She cringed at herself, struggling not to laugh.

Bill had been fighting the urge to laugh so hard that his face was turning red. "OHHH WOW, GREAT COMEBACK."

Mabel's voice went shrill with suppressed hysterics. "SHUT UP!" Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she socked Bill's arm. If he made her lose it when everyone was outside listening—

The door opened. "Hey—!"

They both rounded on Stan. "STAY OUT OF IT!" Mabel snatched up a discarded sweater. Stan shut the door just before the sweater hit it.

Mabel quietly wheezed, "Do you think he saw anything?"

"No, n—" Bill had to clap both hands over his mouth and nose to keep silent. Mabel wrapped her arms around him and smushed her face against his chest to muffle herself. They stood there, shaking, until the hysterics passed.

The stress was getting to them.

####

7:06 a.m.

"Fine!!" Mabel lifted the height-altering flashlight. "Then you can just stay here all weekend!"

Bill had on his backpack (Dipper had "agreed" Bill could take his) and was clutching his umbrella. He gave her a thumbs up; ready. "FINE!"

"FINE!" Mabel turned on the flashlight. When Bill was around four inches tall, she turned it off, knelt down, and offered her hand for him to climb on. She stuffed the flashlight in her backpack, carefully set Bill in a sweater nest (how had Gideon flung her and Dipper in a jar so cavalierly? she was terrified of snapping Bill's bones like toothpicks), zipped the backpack and gingerly put it on; and then Mabel was storming out of the room.

"Leave him in there," Mabel snapped, pointing at the door. She was shaking with fear. "He's in TIME OUT."

Dipper glanced nervously at the door, "Um..." He looked so worried. She hadn't had a chance to explain the plan to him.

Mabel glared into his eyes. She summoned up all her mostly placebic Twin Empathy Powers to beam her thoughts into Dipper's brain. Don't. Please don't. If you say anything you'll ruin it.

He raised his hands. "Okay, fine."

Mabel rushed past him to the stairs, trying to escape as fast as possible without jostling her backpack.

####

7:08 a.m.

Buckled into Mrs. Grendinator's car, voice shaking, Mabel said, "Can we just go? Please?" Now, before someone ran out of the shack and waved them down to demand Mabel explain where Bill had gone. Her hands were trembling in fear, clutched protectively around her backpack with its secret cargo. One of her best friends was in there. She couldn't let anything happen to him.

Mrs. Grendinator nodded. "Of course."

As they pulled around the Mystery Shack and toward the road, Mabel glanced toward the attic bedroom window, afraid the adults might have already gone in and discovered their trick; but no one looked back.

Now all she could do was hope the paper Bill had left floating over the dummy would do its job.

####

(Shoutout to the one person who theorized the size changing flashlight could be involved, I'd @ you but I don't want you to see this before you read the chapter. You may claim credit in the notes. Based on the messages I received, one person guessed Mabel got involved halfway through the fight, no one guessed she was in it from the start, and NOBODY guessed Dipper got involved.

For a fun time, go back and read last chapter and this one in chronological order via the timestamps!

But first I wanna hear all your thoughts.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #mabel pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

453 notes · View notes