#very much if i was a worm would you still love me

[deerspherestudios]

I’m super curious about Atom!!!! Firstly, they’re so cute :(((( I would be so nice to them right off the bat. I could match that energy (maybe not the…liquefying people part, but I can Definitely meet the upbeat “get to know you” energy!!!!)

But I’m also curious about their little “worm transform-y” ability. There are a TON of implications to what they said about it, and I’m very interested to know which of those implications are true

So maybe I’m taking Atom too literally, but I’m pretty sure at one point they said “I can make your air.” Which, they WOULD need to make MC air, if they were to keep you in space forever. Air is limited.

But you can’t breathe in worms. So that means Atom’s worm (body?) transformation legitimately BECOMES whatever they will it to. Not just imitates. That dog food wasn’t worms, it was dog food. And the air isn’t worms, it’s air!!

And then that stretches into other questions. Could Atom take any form they wish? What would happen if they transformed all their worms? Can they feel when their worms (body??) are being transformed?

You don’t have to answer that slew of questions at the end lmao—maybe I’m reading too much into it. But!! I LOVE Atom and all the implications that their existence holds. I had a lot of fun playing the game :DD

Aaa I'm really glad you like Atom as much as you do!! I don't know if it's just new blorbo energy but I get excited to talk about them, especially in detail like this haha! I'll try to explain below the cut about their ability to create things (tw// it's long!!) but to keep it short, you're actually correct!

TLDR: Atom reconstructs their worms into different forms of matter (whether solid/liquid/gas) to produce whatever you need to survive. Because, uh,,, science. <3

Here's the lengthy explanation of what Atom can do. I'm not smart enough to explain it but I'm stealing this from another website:

Transmutation or nuclear transmutation is a process that involves a change in the nucleus of an atom. When the number of protons in the nucleus of an atom changes, the identity of that atom changes as it is turned into another element or isotope.[1] This transmutation process can be either natural or artificial.

Simplifying it further for my character, when Atom talks about being better than a planet, they kinda are! They can make anything as long as they know what it is (I've yet to come up with 'how' they discover new elements,,, it's implied in-game but I wanna flesh it out more; ask me again later keheh), and the worms that make them up is an unlimited resource/material for those exact transmutations. And if something turns into waste, like the rejected dog food, they just crunch them up to be re-used all over again.

Remember what they said about being your 'angel'? Not to be too on the nose but in a way they turned the Bidadari into your own personal terrarium, with it being the ecosystem keeping you alive in space. Which, in my personal opinion, makes the ending much more terrifying.

Here's a lightning round to answer your questions because I don't know when I'll get these kinds of questions again!!

Could Atom take any form they wish?

Nope! They're still just worms! When they 'make' something it's no longer a part of them.

2. What would happen if they transformed all their worms?

Highly unlikely to happen, but let's say for experimentation's sake Atom is forced to use up all their worms and the end result is separated from it so they can't absorb it back into themselves like the dog food. It has to leave one single organism behind, but it can't really do anything. That single organism eventually will multiply all the way back to its former (mass wriggling) glory.

3. Can they feel when their worms (body??) are being transformed?

Nope! They don't really feel anything, at the most they feel pressure and temperature changes but that's it.

THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY TEDTALK HAVE A NICE DAY! HERE'S YOUR REWARD <3

[teecupangel]

Hate to be that person crouding your asks but... you know the thing girls say to their boyfriends?

'would you still love me if i was a worm?' ...that but with Desmond actually turning in to one

As long as you don’t mind how long it takes me to answer asks or reply to you guys, cloud away XD

We have a Worm!Desmond idea before but the caveat for that one is that Worm!Desmond has the ability to actually turn into a big worm.

In this one, Desmond has no special power.

He’s absolutely just a normal worm.

But to give him a ‘helping hand’, we’ll make his life a bit easier by having a ‘fated meeting’ with his human ‘partner’ (there is no way in hell that Desmond would let anyone call them his master, even if he is, for all intent and purposes, absolutely the pet in this situation.

For Altaïr, he actually meets worm!Desmond while he was hiding to stop other people from seeing him cry over the death of his father. He takes Desmond in and actually hides him in their room, slowly building a habitat for him while he’s training. By the time Altaïr is an Assassin, Desmond already taken an entire wall for his ‘room’ and is living the best worm life XD

For Ezio, we’re going for a more angst-y version. He’s actually Petruccio’s pet that Petruccio was nurtured. When they were attacked, Desmond’s ‘home’ was destroyed and Ezio actually found him when he came back to get Giovanni’s robes. Desmond had been crawling towards him and Ezio almost stepped on him before taking him in.

For Ratonhnhaké:ton, we’ll spice things up and make him connected to Shay. Specifically, Shay and Liam are actually the ones taking care of him, giving him a home in the homestead. When Shay defected and killed Liam, Achilles didn’t have the heart to kill the worm and just gave it food and left it alone in the office. Ratonhnhaké:ton started taking care of him afterwards and would sometimes talk to him, mostly to complain about Achilles and to tell him what has happened in the homestead.

Edward, Arno and the Frye twins have similar setups.

For Edward, he already had a home in the captain’s quarters in the Jackdaw and Edward just continued to feed him. Desmond actually didn’t know Edward was a Kenway until much later. He just thought Edward was some pirate dude that didn’t mind feeding some random worm.

In Arno’s case, Desmond’s home is right next to the chest that held the cafe’s profit and Arno learned the tradition of leaving Desmond food whenever anyone put or took money from the chest. He would learn later on that the one who started that tradition was Bellec who saved Desmond from being used as fish bait. (Bellec was absolutely plastered when he announced that he was keeping Desmond as a pet and is too proud to go against his drunk self’s proclamation)

The Frye twins have no idea where Desmond came from. He was already in a very nice home (kinda like a repurposed aquarium) and no one felt the need to be a dick and kill him so he just eats and watches the drama unfolding between the Frye twins in the comforts of his home in the train the twins hijacked.

Kassandra’s of a similar ‘boat’. Desmond was already part of the Adrestia’s décor and no one really bothered to tell her if Desmond was meant to be there or not. Everyone just feeds him and keeps him safe in a little home inside.

Bayek, on the other hand, travels with Desmond because… he really has no idea why. The worm had been Khemu’s and Desmond just tried to follow him even after Bayek tried to give him to a friend he knew would take care of him. No, Desmond will not become any kind of Hidden One symbol. He’s so small, barely no one notices that Bayek carries him around XD

Okay, so I’m fusing Eivor’s and Basim’s idea because they’re connected. Basim actually keeps Desmond for one single purpose. After Enkidu refuses to come near him, Enkidu visited him once and left a worm by his feet before flying off. Desmond is actually the last ‘gift’ Basim got and he named Desmond ‘Gilgamesh’. Did his Loki senses ping anything about Desmond? Who knows XD What matters is, after Basim gets suckered into Yggdrasil, Eivor took Desmond off Basim’s clothes and gave him to Hytham. She knew that Basim cared for the worm (most of the time, talking to the worm as if the worm could understand him) and it felt right for the worm to be given to Hytham. … Desmond is just reeling from the fact that he spent years accompanying some kind of human being possessed by an Isu or something (he doesn’t know that was a thing XD)

[saccharind]

from Prokaryote Season by Leo Fox

[1pcii]

if Zoro asked Luffy 'would you still love me if I was a worm?' Luffy would be vibrating out of his skin with excitement detailing how he would take care of Zoro and build him a special little enclosure and make him little swords out of sticks so he can still achieve his dream of being the world's greatest swordsworm and feed him worm sized portions of meat and booze everyday and carry him around everywhere so they can still do everything together.

he also delightfully rambles about how he could be a worm also and they'd go on worm adventures together and make friends with all sorts of other bugs and how much fun they'd have.

edit: there's fanart for this scenario now! show it lots of love it's absolutely adorable!!!

[yandere-daydreams]

Potentially dumb question but I just don’t know who else to ask, what is smau? I’ve tried parsing it out letter by letter but I’ve got nothing!

social media alternate universe!!! it's basically those fics that are told via fake social media posts + texts with little to no traditionally formatted writing. a lot of people think they're cringe but i just think they're so silly and fun T-T the kids really popped off this time T-T T-T

[waitineedaname]

every now and then i remember "yes you're the roundworm in my stomach" "I don't want to be a roundworm :(" why are bingqiu so weird <3

[satancopilotsmytardis]

I'm over here also thinking about shape-shifter dabi I know you said you probably wouldn't tackle it anytime soon.

But what if shig wanted to see how dabi truly was, behind the shifting and the fake personas and used sensory deprivation or something else to overwhelm dabis senses so much he had no choice but to go back to his standard form.

That would be interesting, but if Dabi was going to show himself, I would probably have that written to be a moment of vulnerability that he chooses rather than one the Shigaraki has to trick out of him

[thevegetablewhichnoonedaresname]

I'm starting Mission to Zyxx Season 5 now, and I have feelings about that.

First, it generally scares me when people hype anything up at all because there is no guarantee that anyone values the exact same thing I do to the same degree. Even if I trust the creators of a thing to value something and try to do right by it, that doesn't always necessarily mean it will be successful, especially if that involves doing something wildly different than what made it good in the first place (I have been burned this way before). I guess I'm just hoping they continue the format of goofy improv shenanigans for the majority of it with something more planned and emotional in the finale if they want, like they've been doing all along. I'd think they would, and I've heard nothing bad about the ending, but I guess it still makes me nervous because I'm so close to the end and I want it so badly to stick the landing. I'm setting my expectations on the floor so I can be surprised instead of disappointed, but honestly, I don't need it to be better, I just need it to be on par with the rest.

Second, and more briefly, I'm happy it's (hopefully) ending before it has a chance to decline. I am so on board with that philosophy. But on the other hand, finishing a thing that I really, really like and knowing there's not another one out there gives me a special kind of heartache. Like, I know there will be other good media, and stuff that's good and unique in other ways, but I know for a fact that there are no other podcasts out there that have the same mix of a balance of off-the-wall improv and structured narrative, quality comedy, fantastical sci-fi setting and loveable characters, and high quality production. There are other things out there with many of those qualities, but nothing that checks every one of those boxes. It's a lightning-in-a-bottle thing that very much feels like the right people had to be in the right place at the right time to do it. Attempts to do it again would feel hollow because it had to be born out of necessity and passion and the talents of the people involved, so if you switch out the people it loses the reasons it's great, and if the same people tried to do it again it'd feel tired. That makes me so, so grateful it exists, but also so, so sad that it doesn't, and I'm 80% of the way done. When it's over, it's over.

Anyway. Now that that's all out there, I'm just gonna finish listening and have fun. Wish me luck.

[ghxstkn1fe]

i just woke up in the middle of the night, started immediately like catastrophising because that’s just what my brain does. and then, not 30 seconds into it, the concept of Jay Ferin was inserted into my mind. i instantly felt better. she’s like my guardian angel <3

[themyscirah]

This is technically a Diana's age poll but I framed it partially around Julia's rescue because that's the event I need to contextualize and whether or not Diana is a thing yet is p important for my purposes. I would keep the Pérez run and postcrisis continuity in mind when answering this bc that's when this is relevant but I'd keep in mind that even though Diana is very young there (like early 20s) we don't know I don't think if she ages differently as a child (esp as a themysciran AND being made from clay) and in some versions she is older than she looks and was made earlier

Edit: I accidentally logic-ed this out in the tags lol 🤦‍♀️but feel free to still vote however you want. Going to publish this anyway bc I think I made some good points later in my tags

[jazzykurl]

Trying out new stuff! arts kinda old lol

[gaypinebabe]

.

[fruithoughts]

PRINCESS TREATMENT

‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤh. joshua x fem!reader  ⪩⪨

01.ㅤۗㅤ𝙼ember .  ⎯⎯⎯  joshua.

02.ㅤۗㅤ𝙲𝚆 .  ⎯⎯⎯ multiple pet names, possessive thoughts, mentions of blowjobs(m.) and sex, just a very gentle guy who loves his girl more than anything.

⪩⪨ boyfriend!joshua whose instagram is filled to the brim with pictures of his beautiful girl, sometimes he forgets to tag you but it’s okay because it takes no sherlock holmes to figure out your username since he only follows your account and a naruto fanpage. 

⪩⪨ boyfriend!joshua who wants you to meet his parents in less than a month into the relationship, it’s extremely important to him to make it as clear as possible that he is serious about you, leaves no room for overthinking at all, always a step ahead of you in the “would you still love me if i was a worm?” department, the best boy indeed. 

⪩⪨ boyfriend!joshua who would rather take a bullet than let you pay for literally anything, because how dare you even suggest paying for your own things? as if you don’t know the only reason he works so hard it’s exactly so he can pamper you endlessly? the absolute nerve of you, better get on your knees and start apologizing.

⪩⪨ boyfriend!joshua who is the sassiest and most dramatic guy you’ve ever been with, but can not for the life of him handle the thought of you doing any work at all, in every aspect, which, ironically, sometimes makes you work even harder to get what you want.

⪩⪨ boyfriend!joshua who makes it the world’s most difficult challenge to accept receiving head from you for the first time, he enjoys being the one doing all of the work to make you feel good, he just couldn’t see how blowing him off would please you at all so he kept denying(while completely ignoring the tent forming rapidly in his grey sweatpants) until you begged too sweetly, so softly, looking at him with so much adoration and love, like you wanted nothing more than to please him, he could have finished right there but instead he shook his head and sat down in the bed, ready to give his princess anything she could ever want, just like he promised he would! even if what she wanted was to kneel in front of him and try to fit his thick cock into her little mouth for a while.

⪩⪨ boyfriend!joshua who uses every opportunity that stumbles across his way to show off his huge arms, it’s a win-win scenario, he gets to feel all hot and manly and you get to hold onto your boyfriend’s strong biceps everywhere you go and get carried on bride style after a night out that, honestly, didn’t even leave you that drunk, but since he offered to carry you, who would ever say no?

⪩⪨ boyfriend!joshua who adores your nails and is always super excited to see the results of your nail appointments, asks for pictures during the whole process, sends you food when it’s taking too long, and finally when the nails are done, he’s there to pick you up in his shiny car, more than ready to do the last step of your nail day, which is putting them to the test, the scratch test. 

⪩⪨ boyfriend!joshua who just can’t help but adore when you leave him all marked up, he loves it, and how can you blame him? was he supposed to be normal about having proof straight on his body of just how good he made you feel last night? how could you even consider he'd do such a thing? this man is not normal about you in general. 

⪩⪨ boyfriend!joshua who knows your entire wardrobe like the back of his hand, half of it because he bought it, the other half because of how often he’s watching you, definitely a “i look at you more often than you think” kinda guy. he’s very proud of just how well he knows his baby.

⪩⪨ boyfriend!joshua who remembers all of your food preferences and orders, knows all of your allergies, all of your icks and all of your friend’s gossips because he’s just so well behaved! he won't tell anyone, he never would! he's your joshy! you can trust him to keep all of your secrets, forever.

⪩⪨ boyfriend!joshua who’s very open about the fact that he wants to marry you, live the rest of your lives together, maybe with a kid if you’re into that, maybe just dogs if that’s better for you, he got his own wishes when it comes to creating a family, but at the end of the day; this man has one priority, and she has a name. whatever is best for you, it’s the best for him.

⪩⪨ husband!joshua who no matter how long it has passed since you got married, has not lost even a little bit of his obsession with you. his precious flower, his cute little thing, his darling, his sweet girl, that’s all you’ll ever be to him, all his to love and protect, forever.

[okwonyo]

FLEURS DE CERISIERS ── cute scenarios。

( 桜 ╱ CHERRY BLOSSOMS ) 𓈒𓈒 are a sign of new beginnings ; many poets would refer to sakura in the springtime to symbolize the start of a romantic relationship. ❜

INTRODUC𝓲NG 𖥔 엔하이픈 ୨୧ f .. r 11OO fluff early relationship 、 kissing skinship slight jealousy

ˊᗜˋreblogs&feedbacks · C𝑙𝑖CK

HEESEUNG｡｡ with his huge doe eyes staring at you while you get ready for bed, he would already be tucked under the blankets before you. it would be obvious that he wants something.

you would make him wait, taking your time to get under the covers as well, thinking that he would speak up soon. with a sigh, you would ask, “what do you want?”

he would give you a shy smile, biting his lower lips as he watches your eyebrows shoot up, “can i be the little spoon tonight?” his eyes would look anywhere but you.

a blush would appear on his nose when you coo, “of course, turn around, big baby,” and he would do as you say. he would comfortably lean in your embrace as you hug him from behind.

JAY｡｡“pookie bear,” would come out of your mouth as you poke your boyfriend’s cheek. he would try to give you a glare, but it would end up being more if a fond stare.

he would set the knife he would be using to make dinner on the counter, “veto,” and you would gasp— the ninth petname he would refuse. he would laugh when you gently beat his chest with your fist, “this is really no use.”

“what?” you would exclaim, utterly offended. “this is really serious” you would huff and he would just give you an unimpressed look. but then, he would blush when you whine, “baby!”

he would come hide his face in the crook of your neck while you tease him, “don’t call me that,” he would say as he wraps his arms around you tightly.

JAKE｡｡ would have a weird— and very funny— habit you would like to test. everytime you kiss, you would wonder if he is ready to do that in public.

you would come closer to him, tapping his shoulder while calling his name during one of his very focused inspections of ingredients in cereals.

“what is it, my love?” he would respond, attention still fully on the box he would be holding in his hands. you would hold his cheek that is not facing you to turn his head to yours— and then mwah! a kiss on his mouth.

and of course, he would do exactly what he always does. falling on the floor as if he got shot in the chest, the box of cereal doing a loud thud on the floor but nothing louder then the impact of his body of the floor. laughing you would tell, “okay, you gotta stop doing that everytime kiss you.”

(he won’t.)

SUNGHOON｡｡ there is nothing you would like more than sitting on the couch with your boyfriend by your side. leaning your back on the armchair, your legs resting on his thighs, his hand on your skin.

you love it all, even his silly questions. “darling,” he would call you. you would only hum as you watch the television, “would you still date me if i turned into a worm?”

and of course, you would think about it in all seriousness. even taping your chin as you does so— he wouldn’t like that. you would tell by how he pinches you and gasp, “why are you taking so long to respond?”

you would take your feet to slap his cheek slightly, he would groan. “of course i would,” the smile on his face would be beautiful. “you are basically one already,” you would add and he wouldn’t talk to you for the next ten minutes.

SUNOO｡｡ would lean in, you huge eye looking up at him. waiting, wanting, so beautiful and so well harmonized with your face. he would lean in, so close, and then—

“you are doing it again,” you would giggle, putting your hand over the one he would be using to hide your eyes. and he would groan, you would continue, “why do you do that?”

he would stay silent for a while, as if he was holding a big secret before sighing heavily, “whenever we kiss, i blush too much, i can feel it,” your laugh would make him whine, “this isn’t funny!”

“that’s it?” you would chuckle. “sunoo… you blush all the time,” his eyes would grow wide and he would reach for the pocket sized mirror on your nightstand, “you—you are blushing right now.” and his reflection would confirm your words. he would groan again, hiding his face, getting even redder.

JUNGWON｡｡ it would be your seventh date with him this month and not the last one, for sure. as if he would let it be the last one, anyway.

he would take you for a walk, with your arms locked as you wander around the city. when his fingers would intertwine with yours, you wouldn’t mind, pointing out the restaurant a few steps ahead.

would fidget with your jewelry as you talk his ears off, with a more than satisfied smile on his face. would even take a bite of your food and propose his own to you.

would walk you to your appointment after refusing to let you pay. his body would be so close to yours that your side might melt into his. he would lean on the wall next to your apartment’s door, “i don’t want to leave yet,” he would whisper.

opening your door, you would give him a knowing and teasing look, “you don’t have to,” you would affirm before opening the door and entering your place. he would follow without much hesitation.

RIKI｡｡ jealousy is a disease, and he would pray for him to get cured soon— especially since it would be so silly and embarrassing.

he would blush when you crack your eyes open, catching him staring. “are you watching me sleep?” you would ask, voice muffled by the pillow you hold so tight under your cheek.

he would wish he could explode the said pillow with his mind. “uh, n-no!” he would exclaim. this should be his chest where you hide your smile like that. “can we, uh, like cuddle or something?” his voice would get progressively quieter as he goes on.

if you wouldn’t be so sleepy, you would probably choose the ‘or something’ option before giving him what he wants. but for now, you would put his worst enemy (the inanimate object) to the side and come replace it with your boyfriend’s chest. he would sigh in relief as he wraps his arms around you.

ㅤㅤ𓈒ㅤㅤ𓈒 taglist open！

(..◜ᴗ◝..) this is just a bunch of cute scenarios i thought about, hope you enjoyed this and thank you for reading ! ♡

[theother-victoria]

Mr reca word vomit bc the brain worms won’t leave my brain!!! I promise I’m Very Sane abt this man

TAGS: not proofread, written before his release so potentially ooc and I’m too lazy to rewrite it post-release, secret relationship trope, reader wears lipstick, making out eheheheheh, reader is smaller/shorter than him, this is my propaganda and sign for u to become a reca kisser too

TAGLIST: @akutasoda, @https-sourlimes, @tragedy-of-commons, @mitsvriii (putting you on the reca kisser agenda >:3), @harque, @hazyue, @gabile18, @khoncore, @moineauz

Ok so imagine being in a secret relationship with the man himself…

Like the two of you HATE each other’s guts in public. As a rival film producer, the public loves to pit your films against each other, and the two of you as well apparently. There have been so many instances of you making small digs and sly remarks toward each other during interviews that it’s become somewhat expected by now. You have a gripe with the pacing of his films and his fame. He has a bone to pick with your cinematography.

“That manic director’s most recent film? I would give my thoughts, but unfortunately I fell asleep not even halfway through.”

“That uninspired, dreadfully dull and artistically lacking director? All their films look the same. I couldn’t differentiate them even if I wanted to.”

No matter how critically acclaimed your work is, he always has something to say about it.

Even if it was in the back of an alley with his hands gripping your hips tightly and teeth nipping at your neck.

"It took until a quarter of the way through the movie before- hah- your cinematography finally showed some signs of thought put into the shots. I know you can do better than this. So why- mmph- did it take you so long?"

You angrily nip on his bottom lip. A flash of satisfaction runs through you when you hear him hiss and taste blood on the tip of your tongue.

“Like you’re one to talk with the horrendous pacing of your newest film! Tell me, what was the plot of it again? Because I- mmm!?- already forgot the direction it was supposed to be taking twenty minutes in!”

"Well, you just simply lack reading comprehension. Not my fault, of course.”

“Oh, you little piece of-!”

He shuts you up with a rough and messy kiss. Your legs immediately go jelly and were it not for his leg slotted between yours and pushing you up against the wall, you think you would’ve collapsed right there and then.

When he pulls away, your lips are glossy and swollen. There’s a dazed look in your eyes that makes him smirk in satisfaction and without any hesitation, he pulls out his camera to take a few shots.

“Yes, yes, wonderful! That expression really suits you!”

Anger looks good on you, but he much rather prefers this expression.

He leans in for another kiss and because you can’t say no to him, you indulge him- until you hear footsteps nearby. You hurriedly clamp your hand over his mouth and wait until they’re gone before glaring at him.

“Stop running your mouth so much in public! You’ll give us away at this point!”

“Then stop being so loud,” he hisses back, though he’s in no better state than you, his-already-disheveled hair an absolute mess now from you gripping it. His flushed face is littered with lipstick marks and you can’t resist the temptation to add a few more.

“Cheeky, aren’t you?” he huffs out as you place a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. A soft kiss to his eyelid makes his eyes flutter shut and an affectionate sigh escape him. He smells of the chemicals used to develop film and strong coffee…

Then there’s a gasp and the undeniable sound of a camera shutter going off. Caught red handed.

You pull apart from him with a surprised gasp and expression. Strangely, he doesn’t look fazed at all. Still as smug as ever.

You whirl around to see an equally-shocked photographer standing there. Paparazzi, from the looks of it. He was probably going around and looking for some potential shots before accidentally stumbling upon something that would make front-page headlines. When you look back at him, then at the photographer, there’s even more people now snapping away at the two of you in a compromising position.

With the damage already done, you try to leave before he stops you. His jacket resting on your shoulders dwarfs your smaller frame and he yanks on the film strip belt to reel you back in. The crowd of photographers has doubled now, murmuring excitedly to themselves.

“Wh- let go! The paparazzi are having a field day-!”

He silences you with a swift kiss and a pinch to the inner thigh. The cameras flash even more rapidly now.

“Let them see for all I care.”

enjoyed this? my taglist is open!

@ theother-victoria, do not copy, repost, modify, translate, or feed to ai

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Thirteen

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.2k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Nurse!reader. Domestic slice of life. Feelings of fear, self loathing, anxiety, dread. Complicated emotions. Verbal depiction of domestic violence. Non sexual intimacy. Scars from cigarette burns. Very brief daddy kink. Sick character (not reader). Comfort. Confessions.

The park is quiet.

You hoped it would be- middle of the day, in the middle of a work week, in the middle of the city. There are a few people around, walking, running, lingering. Enjoying themselves, the warmth of the sun on their face, a bright spot amid a typically grey winter.

It makes it easier. To look.

To watch.

To wait.

And you do. You wait, and you wait. You sit steady on the park bench, pretending to be remotely interested in the rough paperback cradled in your lap, spine already cracked flimsy by Simon’s grip. It’s Stephen King. Carrie, if you’re precise. A story of stolen girlhood and rage.

You swallow the shards of glass and acid the pages bring forth.

Deep breath. 

The breeze gusts, and your shoulders nearly shake. It’s been a long, long time since you’ve sat out in the open like this.

Easy prey.

You may have always been easy prey. Easy and young and stupid, easy, and naïve and manipulated. You fell for every trick in the book. You didn’t see the signs until it was too late.

Still, you watch. You wait.

You considered, for a while, that if Philip was around, if he was in the city, looking for you- he’d arrive here. Like magic. Like a classic villain, materializing in a plume of smoke.

And while it’s not exactly comfort you feel as each minute ticks by and he fails to appear, there’s relief in your soul for certain.

It’s a risk, to sit here. A question. With an answer, for now.

Will he? Won’t he? 

Today, the answer is he won’t.

Your phone vibrates, and you don’t need to look at it to know, guilt worming its way into the depths of your heart, anxiety piquing as you imagine both Simon and Johnny at their house, their home, worried.

Don’t fool yourself. Don’t give yourself too much credit. Don’t get carried away. 

Someone clears their throat over the back of the bench, and you whirl.

“Hey, sorry.” Your pulse slows from a gallop to something slower, and you shake your head.

“You can’t sneak up on me like that.” The man shrugs his second apology, legs spreading into the spot next to you. You’re practiced at this, familiar. Knowledgeable enough to keep your hands from shaking, even though the tremor builds through your bones.

“Been waitin’ for you to call.”

“I’ve been busy.” You eye the black bag in his hands, a small black fabric pouch, gold zipper glinting in the sun. “That everything?” He nods.

“Can I ask-“

“No.”

“Just seems strange, is all. Pretty, polished thing like you, needin’ all this. Most of my clients are more… rough around the edges.” Your teeth dig into your tongue. Already, this guy is less discreet and more obnoxious than your last purveyor. You wish you had hidden your face.

Like Simon. 

“We’re solid, then?” You unzip the pouch, cursory eye roaming over the collection inside, checking off a mental list. Usually, you would feel relief at this point, but today, it sours and rots. Liberation burns into a roaring wave of uncertainty, and your fingers tighten over the zipper.

“We’re good.” He stands, giving you one last long look, and then his mouth shifts into a half smile. “Good luck.” Your polite nod is strained and forced. A nonverbal fuck off.

He takes the cue, and slinks away, disappearing around a corner and out of sight.

The bag weighs heavily in your hands. A terrible reminder of the truth.

You’ll never have a life. You’ll never have a family. You’ll always be alone. 

You’ll never be pretty or polished or perfect. 

You’ll always be this. 

Scarred. Sectioned off. Scared. 

Desperation wells, and you close your eyes. You see Johnny, and Simon. Their faces. Sunlight in bleak darkness.

Love and family and strength.

The ache in your chest widens. You want to be home, with them. Curled up, with them. Sitting at the table and eating dinner, with them. All these things, these domestic, familiar things that once seemed so unattainable, now within arm’s reach.

But still so far away. 

Your shoulders relax a fraction, dipping lower, the strain on your injury zinging through your muscles as you roll them, and you shove the little bag into the backpack, above the clothes you pulled from your apartment.

Deep breath. 

Johnny’s the first you see after locking the front door. He’s in the kitchen, half leaning on his crutch, fishing something out of a pot, a noodle of some kind, and he freezes, eyes heavy with relief, when you come around the corner.

“Bunny.” His good arm reaches, fingers brushing together, cold against warm. He coos. “Ye’re freezin’.”

“It’s cold.” You agree, unzipping the front of your jacket. He slides cautious and slow touch around your waist beneath it, and you go with him, face burrowing into his chest, just below his collarbone. Your nose is nearly smashed, but you can still breath him in, feel him, be in this moment with him.

His hold tightens. “What is it?”

“Sorry it took me so long.”

“That’s alright, was jus’ worried is all. Text us back next time.” You nod, but stay silent, still taking gulps of air, nosing against the collar of his shirt to find his skin. “Pretty girl,” his hand strokes over the back of your head, warm breath on your cheek. “Ye alright?” You breathe through the threat of tears, though they sting and threaten to sink you.

“Ye-yeah.” You choke, and he tries to pull back, grip steady on your upper arm, but you follow him, still trying to crawl inside and hide, wrap yourself up in him and disappear.

“Hey now,” he clucks his tongue, trying to re-focus you, trying to get your attention, nimble fingers cradling your jaw, “what is it?”

There are no words to explain it, these feelings. The fear. The dread. The bile rioting in your stomach, the anxiety churning like a turbulent sea. It’s like no matter what you do, it all comes back, no matter how deep you bury it or how much you try to change the tide.

It’s easier to lie.

“I’m tired.” You whisper, and he rubs your back.

“Did ye eat?” No.

“Yes. I got something at the hospital.”

“Paperwork all in order so ye can hang out wit’ us until ye’re better?” His smile is infectious, a mirror blooming across your own face, and he dots your nose with his lips. “There’s our girl.” Your toes curl. He tugs the backpack into his grip, and you let him, let him push you up into the counter, drop your bag to the floor, slip his tongue between his teeth. You let it all go to your head, let yourself get lost in him, twist your fingers in his hair, nipples pebbling stiff as his mouth finds the sensitive skin of your neck.

He takes it all away. Every time. 

“Johnny.”

“I’ve got ye.” He finds an opening, a soft spot between your jeans and your shirt, hands roaming upward and over, everywhere. He’s everywhere, effortlessly, and you’re along for the ride, clinging so tight like you’re afraid you’ll fall.

And then-

It stops.

He’s holding your face, blue gaze unwavering, focused. “Bun, talk to me.” Your throat throbs, words sticking like taffy, clawing their way up in a jumbled mess until the only thing intelligible is what spills out.  

“Is this real?” You’re a child. Small and scared, desperate for some sort of reassurance, some semblance of security.

“Is what real?” His fingers close over yours, lifting them to his lips. “This? Us?”

“Everything. All of it… I- I-“

“It’s real. It’s been real since ye held my hand the first time. Or at least, it’s been real for me… since then. Thought ye were an angel. An answer to a prayer.” He cracks a smile, thumb rubbing across the slope of your cheek. “An’ I’m not the praying type.”

“There’s… you don’t know me, Johnny. There’s so much… you don’t know.” Your chest heaves, anxiety stuttering inside your lungs, air turning thin in your mouth.

“I know, shhh. I know.” You press your face back into his chest, words slowing to a stop, a trickle. “Ye remind me of him, ye know. A lot prettier though.”

“Who?”

“Si.” He kisses your temple, your forehead, peeling away to peer at your face. “Guarded… but scared under it all. Ye dinnae even know how life can be, too busy runnin’ away.”

“Johnny-“

“Ye’ve got secrets, I know. But it’s the same thing I used to tell him. Eventually you’ve got to let go, let me in. Let us in, Bun. We’re not goin’ anywhere. We’re not afraid. Let us prove it.” Your lower lip trembles, eyes burning with the brunt of tears. “Shhh, dinnae cry. Ye’re alright, everything’s going to be okay. I swear it.” You do nothing, nothing except stand there, half folded into him, breath and touch agonizingly slow, steady in his hold.

The two of you stay there, in the silence, until the agonized sear of distress starts to fade, and you begin to balance, ship righting itself after a long night in rocky seas.

Penny’s bedroom door is open.

The soft glow of a nightlight floats into the hall, and you peer past, finding Simon with his arms full, reclined in the rocking chair, a nearly asleep Penny gap mouthed in his arms. You wave.

“Hi,” he whispers, “get everything you needed?”

“Yeah, all set.” You nod to the baby. “She’s knocked.”

“Bath time was rough.” He traces her cheek, twirling a finger in her hair. A soft, faultless picture, his features delicately framed by shadow, thick arms the perfect place for a baby, an easy cradle.

It’s an intimate moment, and inside it, you feel out of place.

“I’ll see you downstairs?” You shift away, motioning, and he hums.

“In a few.”

Everything is slow with them in the evenings, you’ve realized.

They move leisurely, dancing around one another, Simon constantly watching and waiting, for both you and Johnny, anticipating. It’s a natural role, one that seems more permanent over necessary considering the circumstances, Johnny falling into an unhurried pace, languishing on the couch after dinner and dishes are done, fingers mindlessly stroking into the soft spot beneath your ear. Simon leans over, kissing Johnny and then settling at your side, an arm stretching around your back. “Should we watch something?” Johnny brightens.

“A movie?”

“If you’d like. Bun, any suggestions?” You blink. It’s a surprise, one that’s never occurred to you, the ability to simply choose a movie.

“Umm… no?”

“What’s yer favorite?”

“I don’t know. Whatever is fine. What do you guys like?”

“We know what we like. We want to know what you like.” What do you like? Comedies, you suppose. Something light and funny, something to distract the never-ending stream of thoughts cycling through your head.

“Uh, have you guys ever seen Forgetting Sarah Marshall?” Johnny chuckles.

“It’s been a while.” He flicks through the icons on the screen, thumbing over to where he starts to type it in. What if they don’t like it? What if they’re humoring you? What if you picked wrong? “Or, if you don’t like that, we can do something else. Anything. I’m not picky. It doesn’t have to be-“

“Hey,” Simon murmurs, warm palm resting on your knee, “that’s perfect. We both like that one.”

“Dracula musical.” Johnny smiles, finding it easily and clicking play. Your breath catches at the ease of it all, of picking a movie and that being that, no anxiety about a reaction or something triggering popping up on screen.

You can just… enjoy it.

The light in their bathroom is a little too bright.

Your toes stretch across the tile, nerves thrashing in the pit of your stomach as you stare in the mirror.

You don’t know who it is looking back at you.

You don’t recognize the girl getting ready for bed, brushing her teeth, wearing a pair of pajama pants and Simon’s shirt.

There’s a disconnect, some semblance of wires crossing, some phantom of someone else, living in your skin.

Because it can’t be you, getting ready to crawl into bed between them. It can’t be you, who fell asleep with her head on Simon’s stomach during the movie, can’t be you who stole a kiss from Johnny as Simon propped his leg up on the stack of pillows.

You’re playing house. Playing a game. 

It won’t last. 

It can’t.

You wrap a finger up in the hem of Simon’s shirt, frayed and torn edges pulling apart below the seam. It’s an old one, something he tugged out of a drawer and tossed on the bed, faded graphic turned from white to grey against a rusted black backdrop. It’s soft, and worn, and comfortable, an article of clothing well loved, and you wonder if Johnny’s worn it too. If it’s been passed around, washed, and dried a hundred times.

“Everything alright?” Simon leans into the bathroom, Johnny in view just past his shoulder. He’s not wearing a shirt, just soft, flannel pants, and you stare at the scars dotting his torso before dragging your gaze away.

“Yeah, sorry… I got distracted.” You turn the tap, rinsing your toothbrush before placing it by itself on the edge of the sink, out of place next to the cup holding theirs, and Penny’s.

You blink slow, allowing your eyes to close for a fraction of second.

“Ready for bed?” Johnny beams at you, lush and sleepy, hand outstretched, reaching.

You take a deep breath. “Yeah.”

Simon’s bedside lamp is still on, barely illuminating the dark. It’s quiet, and warm, and you bask in the space between their bodies, fingers playing idly with the hem of your shirt.

When Johnny’s fingers graze the skin under the fabric, your chest tightens. He strokes back and forth, over your navel, blazing heat from his palm tingling into your skin. You’re being torn in two, swallowed by the ocean, tugged in different directions.

You struggle to regulate your breathing, small draws coming in quicker, and Simon covers Johnny’s hand with his own, stopping the movement.

“Will you show us?” He murmurs.

“Sh-show you?”

“The scars.” Oh.

Will you? 

Even though Simon’s already seen them, this feels different. This feels like a choice. Like you’re peeling something back, baring yourself.

You close your eyes and pull the bottom of your shirt to the top of your ribcage, cool air ghosting over your exposed skin. Johnny makes a sound, a twisted whisper of something pained, and you shiver.

A thumb slides over the raised skin on the left side of your belly. “These are from cigarettes?”

“Yes.” You almost want to look, want to see, but can’t bring yourself to do it, to witness their disgust, their shock. You’re hollow. Drifting. Falling away from them. Someone shifts, the bed moves, jostles slightly, but you block it out. Every muscle in your body is taut, jaw locked, and fists clenched.

This morning was intimate but this… this is something else. Something more. 

“Can ye feel them, still? Do they hurt?” Two hands roam, rubbing gently, skimming.

“No but… they’re hideous.”

“No.” Simon croaks, voice thick. “There isn’t a single part of you that isn’t perfect.” Your heart cracks, and the light touch of fingertips disappears, replaced with a swath of breath and then-

Lips. 

He’s kissing them. 

It stops your heart, dries your mouth. Robs you of your breath, your head spinning into an enormous vortex of disbelief. Simon’s mouth travels, dotting your skin between each ugly, raised bump, carefully pressing a kiss to each one, gradually. He takes his time, and with your eyes closed, you can feel his body hovering above you, holding steady just over your frame. Johnny’s forehead rests against yours, and he cups your face, thumb rubbing the apple of your cheek, sweet and slow.

“Will ye tell us… about how you got them? Who gave them to ye?” Simon cradles your hips, firm pressure folding into your skin, the curve there, and he squeezes, prompting you, expecting. You don’t know how he does it, how he’s so easily able to guide you, and Johnny. It’s seamless.

“I…” You don’t know what to say, if you were to say anything at all. How to answer. How to begin to explain. How to confirm what you know they already suspect, how to start this story. This nightmare.

Are you really doing this? Could you really do this? 

There’s a sliver of sun, begging. Pleading. It rails against the cracks in your heart, desperate.

So, you spit out the only thing you know for sure.

“He liked to hurt me.”

“Who?” Simon’s question is immediate, and your ribs expand with a long breath.

“My… ex.” Stop talking. Stop this, stop it, stop- “He’s a monster.”

“The healed breaks on your x-rays…” He trails off, and you reach blindly, searching for an anchor. Johnny gives it to you, clutching your hand in his, thumb soothing over your knuckles.

“Yes.”

“And more.” Simon whispers, and Johnny draws a sharp breath. You nod.

“And more.”

“Your neck, and shoulder?” There’s a long silence, as you sit atop the wall. As you wait and try to decide if you want to jump off or continue to sit here… trapped at the top, teetering on the edge while they wait below.

You’re in their life now. You said you’d try. They should know. 

You trust them. 

Don’t you? 

“He found me.” You confess, cracked and bleeding and hung out to dry. Three words barely scratching the surface of the truth, saying almost nothing at all and still so much. You stumble, and panic, fear bubbling up to the surface. “I’m sorry, I told you before- I said-“

“And we told ye; nothing is going to get ye while ye’re with us. Ye’re safe, bunny.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about!” you blurt, a near snap, and Johnny freezes. “It’s you guys, and Penny, and your friends, you- you don’t know what he’s capable of. You don’t understand. He’s chased me across the world, he always finds me, no matter what, no matter what I do, o-or where I go-” You’re rambling, nearly hyperventilating, and slipping away, succumbing to the rolling black clouds overtaking your mouth and mind, stuttering and falling, drowning in an endless darkness.

They don’t know. They don’t understand. They can’t. 

You’re weak. You’re stupid. You’re nothing. 

You’re a child again. A lost girl. Alone and scared. Trapped in the dark.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart.” You shake your head, and Simon catches it between his palms, holding you still. You can fight and flail and run, but he’s still there. Strong and safe and beautiful in every way, a foundation of love, of trust. “It’s just us, we’re here. With you. Look.” Johnny tightens his hold, and your bones rattle inside your skin, aching and splintering, shredding you from the inside out.

“I can’t.” You hiss, trying to curl away. You can’t face them, or this. The reality. The truth.

It’s easier to run. Who were you kidding? You can’t do this. You should have already been gone. 

But they won’t let you go. Not now. Not when they have you so close to the light. So close to the sun. 

And maybe it’s time to accept it.

“Look at me, pretty girl.” Johnny murmurs. “Ye can do it.” The pull of his voice drags you closer, comforts you, and you long for him, long to see his blue eyes, overgrown mohawk and gorgeous smile. You long to relax into him, to hear the thump of his heart, steady and strong. He’s a lighthouse in the pitch-black night, a guiding light. It’s enough to lessen pressure building in the back of your skull, and you slowly blink, both of their concerned faces coming into view.

The three of you linger silence, holding each other, decompressing from your confession, your fear that feels too much sometimes. It all fades, night turning long, and eventually you yawn, blinking away the sleepy stars in your eyes.

“There’s our bunny.” Simon kisses your cheek. “My good girl.” My good girl. Turning it over in your mind makes you squirm, allowing it ricochet back and forth with his accent, and you wish you could latch onto it, memorize it, hear it every day. Johnny gives you a bemused smile.

“Ye liked that?” He raises an eyebrow at Simon, and then presses his lips to your ear, whispering. “Ye want to be a good girl for daddy, little bunny?” Daddy. You choke. You anticipate disgust, revulsion, but none of it comes.

Only… intrigue. Warmth.

“I think that’s enough for tonight.” Simon interrupts gently. “Thank you, sweetheart. For trusting us. I know it’s hard.” You turn into Johnny, and Simon rolls to flick out the light, pulling up tight behind you, sliding an arm under the pillows. You burrow deeper into the blankets, snuggling between them to find the warmest spots, and sigh.

“You both… make it easier. You make it easy.”

The world from yesterday is forgotten the next day when Penny wakes up with a fever.

The house is thrown into confined, regulated chaos, but chaos all the same. She wails almost the entirety of the morning, miserable, and you ache for both her, and her dads, who are unmoored and anxious. You don’t even balk when Simon asks you to hold her, explaining he has to call her pediatrician.

“Hey, you’re okay.” You coo, rubbing her back. She’s warm to the touch, but not scorching, and it gives you some comfort, even with what little you know about peds. You rock her, pacing, as Johnny watches uneasily from the couch, typing unending questions into a web search about babies and fevers. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. I know you don’t feel good.”

“It’s 38.1… that’s fine, right? As long as it’s under 39?”

“I think so.” You try to reassure him. “I’m not a little human nurse though, so I can’t be sure. But it hasn’t been that long, Johnny. We don’t need to worry until at least twenty-four hours.” He nods, lips quirking into a small smile. “What?”

“Ye said we.”

“Well… yeah…” you trail off, and he shakes his head.

“Jus’ like the sound of it, is all. Like how ye look, holdin’ our baby.” You give him a look, half exasperated, half doe eyed, as always, because you can’t help but feel a little lovestruck or dazed whenever you glance his way, always taken by him, no matter the moment.

Simon steps back inside from the patio, swooping to rub his nose in Johnny’s hair and squeeze his shoulder affectionately. “The pediatrician says if she gets worse, or doesn’t improve by tomorrow, to bring her in.”

“Good.” You bounce her, propping her up on your shoulder. “That’s good.” She gurgles, croaking through her miserable fever. “Poor baby girl, I’m sorry.” You pat her again, trying to help settle her-

She coughs, and something warm runs down your back.

“Shite.” Johnny curses, Simon immediately trying to pull her from your arms, but you shake your head.

“There’s no sense in her throwing up on you too.” You explain.

“I’ll go grab a towel, and some clothes. Do you want to change your shirt?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” You keep your hand steady on her back. You’ll both need a thorough wipe down now, maybe even a shower.

“Sorry, bun.” Johnny frowns, but you reassure him, still rocking Penny in your arms. 

“It’s fine, really. I’ve been through way worse with bodily fluids, trust me.” The bottom stair creaks, in the way that it only does for Simon, his mass too much for one of the wooden slats.

When you look up, you realize he’s not moving, only standing shock still, clothes and towel and a baby blanket in one hand,

and the contents of the little black bag in the other.

You left it on the dresser. You left it out in the open, unzipped, on the dresser. 

Your blood freezes. Johnny frowns, looking between his partner and you, trying to desperately draw a conclusion that doesn’t come.

Simon holds the little navy-blue book up, the one with your picture in it, but with a name they won’t recognize. A person they wouldn’t know.

A person you don’t even know, yet. A new life. A new identity.

“What’s that?” Johnny’s quizzical, intrigued.

“Bunny.” Simon breathes, and you shake your head. It’s all you can do, just shake your head back and forth until your brain is rattling around in your skull.

You can’t stop it.

They’ll never love you. They won’t accept you. They won’t understand. 

“It’s- it’s j-just in case,” you stammer, panicked and tongue tied. “you… you don’t understand, I have to have it… just in case.”

“What is it?” Johnny demands, and Simon flips the front of the booklet around-

revealing the cover of a brand-new American passport.