#vidia’s daydreams

[blushstories]

mini-fic !! jackson has its own problems, sometimes. (this is a rogue idea, like comes from a random dream weird)

joel miller’s first impression of you isn’t ideal. you’ve been on your own for months now, the only partner you’ve had during this shitshow long gone. he went on a supply run one day and never came back — you assumed he had been swarmed by infected, but didn’t mourn him. you’d known him for a month and he was the most uptight, manipulative, misogynistic idiot you’d ever met. you’d been pleasantly surprised to find that you fare better on your own, finding the high ground and preferring to snipe with your bow or shiv with your flipknife.

somehow, youve ended up near what used to be a small town, the stores’ windows boarded up with rotting wooden planks. the nails were on the outside, though. these were to keep infected in. the further you walk, the thinner the rows of houses grow, and you see a mighty fence grow bigger on the horizon. you wonder for too long, feeling the zip of something fly past your ear. the bang echoes through the sky moments later. your hands fly up, “don’t shoot! don’t-“ you shout loudly to the sniper, a sour taste in your mouth that you could’ve been snuffed out two seconds ago. you freeze, not wanting to make a wrong move but hoping mercy still existed these days.

there’s silence, nothing but your own shaky breaths. then dusty footsteps approach behind you and something icy cool is pressed to the skin at the back of your neck.

“jesse.” a gruff voice murmurs behind you, and someone gently but firmly grabs your wrists, using a ziptie to keep them behind your back. you don’t say anything, afraid that you’ll get a bullet through your head. the cool pressure disappears and someone grips your bicep firmly, dragging you in the direction of the looming fenced area. the man isn’t old, his hair, scraped into a low ponytail, makes him seem quite young. the other man with jet black hair has said nothing. a pistol in the hand closest to you, half heartedly aimed in your direction.

“tommy, don’t you think—“ he seems hesitant, uncomfortable.

“save it, i’m not in charge.”

you’re pulled through the gates, watched by crowds of people who whispered among themselves. there were children here, families. the warmth in your heart feels foreign at the idea that people were living like this; safely, with love.

through winding streets the two men direct you into a small house, one that certainly hasn’t been lived in, and by the washed away bloodstains on the floorboards, you don’t think you will be for very long. there’s a chair in the middle of a very neglected living room, where you are pushed to sit down.

the man with the ponytail squats in front of you, sighing. his rifle is slung over his shoulder and he runs a hand over his mouth. “look,” he says. “we don’t want to do this. on a normal day, we’d have introduced ourselves out there, asked if you needed a place for the night, yknow—“ low voices sound out from behind the door, and the man frowns. “i’m tommy. that’s jesse. we’ll—“ the door flies open, bouncing sharply off of the wall behind it. tommy stands up, backing away from you.

and your jaw drops. your partner, the one you thought had died, saunters in, followed slowly by another man with dark hair, a plaid shirt, and a cracked watch sitting on his wrist. he glares into the back of the prior man’s head, but your nerves are burning and rage bubbles in your throat.

“you weasel! you good for nothing, son of a bitch!” his smirk only riles you up more, as he slowly crouches in front of you. the other three men in the room share a look with each other.

“well, i’m surprised to see you’ve survived this long without me,” he says, voice dripping with arrogance.

“i was doing better without you, asshole. you left me for dead!” you say. the black haired man clears his throat. john rolls his eyes and then glares at you.

“john. you did what?” he asks, voice low. an unspoken threat leaks through his words. you see jesse’s grip tighten on his pistol.

“john! oh, i’d forgotten your name. feel sorry for the people whose lives youve forced yourself into.” you say. the man who just spoke glances at you, eyes narrow.

“john.”

“alright! i did. couldn’t stand it anymore. found you lot, and you all believed me! amazing what people let you do once you say you’re ex-military.” he steps around you, wraps a fist in your hair and yanks your head back. something cool rests on your throat. a knife. you only just glimpse the black haired man’s hand disappear behind his back.

“so all those people you said to interrogate…” jesse says.

“just felt like it. as i do now,” he grits, knife dragging against the left of your neck. “especially—“ you feel the wet splatter against your cheek before the bang hits your ears. you don’t move, eyes locking with the man in front of you, who has smoke coming out of his pistol. the tie is cut from behind you and you launch yourself away from the chair. john lies lifeless behind the chair.

“joel!” tommy says, surprised. jesse slips his knife back into his belt. ‘joel’ ignores him, his hand warm on your upper arm as he hauls you up.

“been wantin’ to do that for too long.” joel murmurs. “you alright, now?” he asks, ducking into your eyeline. you nod, sniffing and wiping your cheek with the back of your hand. smudges of red come away with it, and you take a moment to process. but it’s the apocalypse, you process this stuff every day. and he was an asshole, so you say, “yeah. good riddance,” turn around, and leave the house.

sure, joel’s first impression of you was a hothead that got herself into difficult situations. but your impression of joel was that he was someone who could do whatever it takes, no matter the cost. you didn’t want to find out what he was capable of.

[couriernewvegas]

those tinkerbell pixie hollow things were crazy . tmi but i remember being on a long road trip as a kid once having an elaborate daydream about tinkerbell and vidia having some scary gay thing going on because i was a deranged lesbian child with deep seated issues

[mogai-sunflowers]

HI HI back with the pronoun and name requests! Also the song was VERY good :D

Land my request is pronouns related to whimsical vibes like being a little forest creature who lives in a tree >:3

And like mythical creatures like fairies, merfolk, nymphs and such if you need any more specifics I will gladly give some!!

sorry for the late reply!! i hope these are alr!!

PRONOUNS-

fae/faer

mys/mystia

mage/mages

myst/mysts

magic/magics

sylvia/sylvias

mist/mists

misty/mistys

illusion/illusions

fanta/fantasy

day/dream

daydream/daydreams

dream/dreams

dreamy/dreamys

myth/myths

mytho/mythos

glim/glimmer

magia/magias

sir/siren

siren/sirens

enchant/enchants

hypno/hypnos

hypnosia/hypnosias

mystery/mysterys

willow/willows

will/willow

sea/seas

song/songs

whisp/whisper

fairy/fairys

fai/fair

nyx/nyxem

stella/stellar

enchant/tress

elf/elfs

elf/elven

gem/gems

story/storys

ever/every

whim/whims

whimsy/whimsic

magi/imagines

imagine/imagines

wing/wings

ether/ethers

etherea/ethereas

aurora/auroras

aura/auras

light/lights

shine/shines

star/stars

glow/glows

🧙‍♀️/🧙‍♀️s

🧙‍♂️/🧙‍♂️s

🧙/🧙s

🧚‍♀️/🧚‍♀️s

🧚‍♂️/🧚‍♂️s

🧚/🧚s

🧜‍♀️/🧜‍♀️s

🧜‍♂️/🧜‍♂️s

🧜/🧜s

🧝/🧝s

🧝‍♂️/🧝‍♂️s

🧝‍♀️/🧝‍♀️s

��/✨s

💎/💎s

🎵/🎵s

🎼/🎼s

🎻/🎻s

🌸/🌸s

🌺/🌺s

🌷/🌷s

🌼/🌼s

🌹/🌹s

💐/💐s

☀️/☀️s

🌙/🌙s

🌈/🌈s

💗/💗s

NAMES-

fae, fey, freya, reyna, cleo, chloe, gwenivere, gwendolyn, nymph, noel, mage, magia, mystia, mystery, mystique, illusion, enchanter, chant, hypnosia, fleur, flora, sol, solea, iris, iridessa, rosetta, vidia, silvermist, fawn (don't judge me /lh), sereia, astra, sylva, sylvia, forest, ocea, ocean, seatress, willow, celestia, harmony, harmonia, artemis, athena, persephony, faye, cassandra, calypso, medusa, aurora, evelyn, pixie, sky, skye, titania, hera, lark, amara, althea, asteria, hecate, lilith, luna, nyx, nixie, verity, aether, ether, eden, eve, atlas, apollo, delphi, jupiter, neptunia, zelda, sapphire, twilight, lily, ivy, lila, shimmer, starla, starlight, aurelia, thalia, farah, melody, electra, delphine, violet, crystal, lilliana, meadow, fleur, irene, ariel, celeste, nova, ari, rhea, lyra, lyric, lavender, rainbow, mist, mysteria, star, daisy, blossom, imagine, imagina, imogen, maeve, story, forever, storyglow, starglow, faeglow, faeren

[samhainmade]

if you could hook up with ANYONE and it would be fine who would you hook up with?

HONESTY HOUR WEEK

"I love to window shop, how much time do you have?" It's always been fun to watch & wonder who would be down for a good time, and a girl can still daydream. "Vitani. That is inevitable. Angelica for sure and Vidia. Taura because i'd love to get one up on Luis and could take care of her. I'd totally go back and have another night with Dacia too." Was she taking it a little too far? Maybe, but you asked. "Mertle is pretty hot when she's not being a bitch. Emilio is literally a riot but he's a bit of a do-gooder so he loses points. Still hot though. I still would."

"Woody could totally get it if he wasn't such a fucking narc. Victoria looks like she could cure my sleepless nights, delicious. Marie too if she wasn't such a princess but I'll give anyone a chance. Malina could probably end my mommy issues. Jack Frost-- there's something so hot about a guy who keeps it cool all the time. Barley is sexy in a nerdy way, Dipper too, I would love to destroy thier souls. Fred Jones is kind of easy on the eyes but I'd a shot or two to keep interest. And-- Mayor Reed. What i'd give to have just 20 minutes in a locked room with him."

"But obviously none of that will ever happen. Still it's pretty sweet to pass the time thinkin' about." Isn't there like one more?

"And Hades. Call me basic but I love a man in despair."

[prillaq]

“I have a talent! Tink, I have a talent. My talent is eating.”

( x )

Name: Prilla Quirtle Nicknames: None Age: 22 Birthday: September 1, 2002 Height: 5'0" Sexuality: Bisexual Occupation: Youth gymnastics instructor

Prilla was born in England, to a mother named Sara and a father who died when she was very young; she doesn’t really have any memories of him, however she’s always been very close with her mum. She was the first and only child of two only children, so she had no siblings or even cousins to play with, but her grandparents were very present in her life and instilled a sense of good manners in her—always addressing elders with proper titles and saying “Please” and “Thank you.” 

She never had many friends growing up, never fitting in with the other kids for one reason or another. Prilla was often lost daydreaming in her own world, being hyper-active and unable to sit still, or else missing certain social cues that everyone else seemed to pick up on naturally, and while she was never outright bullied, she knew her peers thought she was weird and tried to avoid including her in their groups.

It was only when she moved to Echo Isle during high school that she made real friends for the first time: Tink, Terence and Rani being the first of those. With their support, she really blossomed and came into her own, gaining confidence to put herself out there no matter what anybody else thought. She joined so many clubs and activities in high school that she ended up carving a place for herself in almost every social circle and making many more friends.

Because of her childhood, she especially never wanted anyone else to feel left out or alone, so she would go out of her way to befriend anybody who looked like they needed somebody in their corner, their own personal cheerleader…even if that somebody was a voluntary lone-wolf like Vidia. (And Prilla did join the cheerleading squad, for the teamwork and spirit and gymnastics of it all!)

Having plenty of friends is a blessing, but one major issue is that she’s so willing to put her own needs aside to be helpful to others that she can end up wearing herself out or letting herself be walked over like a doormat—and that, not because she’s a bad judge of character, but because even those with good intentions can’t always tell she’s overwhelmed by putting too much on her own plate.

When she first moved to Echo Isle, something else started to happen, more inexplicable than her figuring out how to make friends. Something unlocked inside her, a level of magical ability she had only ever dreamed of when she was a little girl imagining that she was a fairy. For the most part, her magic is general and minimized in comparison to those with a very strong singular ability, but she’s able to pick up various little tricks such as teleporting, making things invisible or making them float, especially when she learns from somebody directly (Rani was able to teach her how to manipulate water on a small scale.)

The most intriguing aspect of her magic is that she seems to be a good conductor for magic in general; other people with special abilities find their potency increased in her presence, like she gives them a boost. Perhaps the root of her talent is uplifting others with her belief.

In her life in general, Prilla’s optimism is a force to be reckoned with; positivity has power, and that’s something she’s lived by throughout all the struggles in life. When you could choose to lift others up by your words and actions or tear them down, she sees no reason to spread any more negativity in the world than already exists.

She currently works as a gymnastics teacher for children. They might not have cared for her when she was one herself, but kids love her lately—maybe because she never really stopped being one herself, at heart. She performs “magic tricks” for them which delight them endlessly, and she’s so exuberant and fun-loving that she never tires of playing games like their parents might. Her lessons are a good way to get out their energy as well as to learn gymnastics.

Two of her favorite things besides acrobatics and magic are fashion and food. Prilla has loved playing dress-up her whole life and finding the cutest clothes she could get her hands on. She got into costume design when she joined the theatre club and still loves making her own costumes for special occasions. She’s also a huge foodie and loves baked goods, always willing to stuff her face when opportunity comes.

[brokendoor16]

Who was your first fictional crush? Vidia from tinkerbell 😭😭

What's the first colour you think of when I tell you to think of a colour? Maroon

Which fanfiction emotionally scarred you and still makes you shudder to this day? Crimson rivers by Bizarre Stars. I have actual TRAUMA from reading that fic (it's also amazing, 10/10 would recommend to any other marauders fans)

l'm coming to your house for dinner, non-negotiable, what are you making me? Macaroni cheese (I have a limited amount of meals I can actually cook) and some fancy dessert (my baking skills are actually fab)

Do you prefer lions or kangaroos? Lions

Which fictional villain do you brush past the glaringly obvious issues for because you really like them? Barty Crouch Jr <33

What would accompany your picture in the burn book in mean girls? Probs 'opinionated bitch' and a couple stickers (although 'Janis is a space dyke' wouldn't be too far off)

How many days would you last in the universe of your favourite fandom? Good omens? Hopefully forever, but knowing me I'd piss off the wrong demon and get discorporated within the day

Have you heard of Mischief Theatre? Nope

Do you feel sorry for Medusa? Yeah- as much as a lot of people say she wouldn't want pity, the way her story got distorted alone deserves ALL the pity, not to mention what actually happened to her

Which song makes you think of your OTP? Good old fashioned lover boy by Queen

Which song makes you disassociate and daydream the fastest? Currently? Either Ancient dreams in a modern land by Marina or Be by Hozier

My own get to know you game:

Who was your first fictional crush?:

What’s the first colour you think of when I tell you to think of a colour?:

Which fanfiction emotionally scarred you and still makes you shudder to this day?:

I’m coming to your house for dinner, non-negotiable, what are you making me?:

Do you prefer lions or kangaroos?:

Which fictional villain do you brush past the glaringly obvious issues for because you really like them?:

What would accompany your picture in the Burn Book in Mean Girls?:

How many days would you last in the universe of your favourite fandom?:

Have you heard of Mischief Theatre?:

Do you feel sorry for Medusa?:

Which song makes you think of your OTP?:

Which song makes you disassociate and daydream the fastest?:

Tags: @weltato, @snarky-wallflower, @feathertru, @barclaysangel, @fanficwriter284, @silvershewolf247, @shadowbrightshine, @luxury-nightmare and anyone else who wants to have a go, feel free!

[sinssquad]

svarth/muscan oneshot thingy

«Hey. » Svarth turned around with both of her hands grabbed around a warm cup. The scent of a red berries tea was just making its way around the room when she heard hard footsteps that did certainly not belong in her playlist of cosy and calm songs. Muscan’s tall figure was standing in the doorway between her tiny living room and even tinier kitchen. He had not even been bothered to take off his shoes on his way in. It was raining cats and dogs outside and yet he chose to wear his beloved leather jacket over a pink, now wet, shirt which slightly revealed the tattoo on his chest. Of course, she knew he was coming, he had been polite enough to tell her he wanted to come over but come on. Svarth had nearly had enough time to drag on sweatpants and a clean shirt before making sure her bedsit was looking at least somewhat decent.

“What’s up?” That was literally the only thing she could come up with when she saw his face. Beneath those raindrops filled glasses, his eyes were hard and he didn’t break into his usual smirk at her approach. Perhaps it was a dumb question. She knew something was up. Muscan wouldn’t just invite himself over and then be here in such a short time if it wasn’t something important.

“I just need someone to vent at, and Ikaros is acting intolerable.” He grabbed for a napkin from the counter as he removed his glasses to wipe them free from the raindrops. Svarth knew from experience this would probably last longer than she expected, and therefore grabbed a biscuit package before retreating to her couch in the living room.

“What did he do?” Muscan came tumbling after her, seating himself next to her with one arm resting on the sofa’s backrest behind her. His mouth was forced into a thin line as he just watched her, trying to find the words. Svarth sipped her tea, her face reddened as she remembered she had not offered the other anything. The poor lad, his curls were just now drying from the nearly flood outside. It was unusual to see him without any products in his hair. Even though she had forgotten to ask him about tea, he didn't seem to have any desire for it anyway.

“He didn't do anything. It's not him I came to talk about, or mainly I didn't come here to talk about him.”  His gaze dropped as the words left him. Svarth thought maybe he was acting a bit dramatic. She knew Ikaros could act cold towards people, but he always seemed so loving whenever Muscan was around. They were so comfortable with each other, and assuming from Muscan’s previous rants about the perfect Ikaros their relationship was adorable. Svarth knew though, Ikaros acted cold-blooded around Zakade. They were old classmates from middle school, and sometimes Svarth still found herself in receiving Zakade’s moaning through text whenever Ikaros showed up at the ICT. Zakade had told her all about him about the time when she had just met Muscan.

“Ikaros was, and always will be the biggest pompous scumbag cry baby you will ever meet, and this comes from me. You know perfectly well how little I care about pretty much anyone who’s got an attitude against me, but this guy, I swear to god. If you stand in his way of whatever he wants to achieve, you will feel his revenge in one way or another. Say you are someone like me, who does not give two fucks whatever the dick might think about me, and offend him even the slightest, he will throw curses and ugly looks at you. The thing is it bothers me so much, because he knows things about me. He knows, and he understands he can use these things against me. I think we almost got into a fight once. He told me, wait, I do not think I even want to tell you. It involved so much shit about me, and the very few people I surround myself with. I wished in that moment to kill him in the worst way. Back when we were kids, we had at least a somewhat decent relationship. We could discuss our common interests and play some at each other’s houses, but as we grew older I guess I got more and more tired of him bossing me around. He was the kind of kid who would cry the instant moment someone denied him something. And now he walks around, at least not crying anymore, but thinking he can still manipulate his way to things. How the fuck someone can have any sort of romantic feelings for him is beyond my imagination. Tell the dude I pay my condolences.”

Sometimes he made her uncomfortable, giving off loathing looks. Oh, she could feel so worthless after interacting with him. Ikaros was not a person close to her. They did not speak that much, luckily enough according to her best friend. It was usually the looks whenever Zakade or Muscan stumbled upon him while being out with her.

“It’s just everything with Avarit is stressing me out. She keeps getting more and more intense.”

“Oh no. How?”

“She is literally spamming me at all times. There is never a second alone. Like, it’s getting to the point where I get worried if she is not sending me anything.”

“Did you mute her?”

“Of course I did. Sometimes we hang out, okay, because I am a nice guy.” Svarth lifted her eyebrows at this statement. It was mostly in a way to tease him, but Muscan wasn't exactly the nice guy either. When Svarth came to think of it, she didn't really know anyone who would fit the “nice guy” description at all. Maybe Muscan only thought not acting like Ikaros would make him a nice guy? But Muscan is dating Ikaros. Maybe Svarth and Zakade were the only ones thinking of Ikaros as a not-nice guy. Whatever a nice guy was in Muscan’s eyes, Svarth could not imagine a nice guy being cold hearted and whining over simple things. He did not like to admit it, but Muscan could get bothered over even the smallest things. Much like his boyfriend, according to Zakade. Svarth thought Ikaros sounded worse, though. Muscan tried always to somehow solve the problem, but mostly to make it go his way. To see things from another perspective, was not something he was good at.

“What is she like when you hang out then?” she asked.

“It feels a bit like she is expecting too much of me. She tends to get really rude for no reason.”

‘Like your boyfriend much?’ Svarth wanted to say that, but she did not dare. There was no way she could just talk of Ikaros like that when she did not even know him that well. All she had to judge from was Zakade’s accusations against him. Muscan would probably not appreciate it if the one he was trusting all his feelings onto, would judge them. So instead of the smug remark, she said “Maybe she just doesn't know you well enough to know your limits and what you are actually like. I mean, you haven't known her for that long, have you?” Muscan shrug his shoulders.

“At least more than half a year. Ikaros have known her for a way longer time though. She is an old school friend of his, like Zak.” Zakade had never mentioned this, probably because Svarth didn't really know Avarit, she was Vidiae's girlfriend and they had met once but other than that Avarit was just a name occasionally mentioned by her friends, and had therefore never asked him about it, but it also gave Svarth a little more perspective into Avarit’s background. The school Zakade had attended along with Ikaros was a private school, where you had to pay a tuition so high Svarth would not even dare to suggest that school for her parents. If you were to attend the school, you had to be wealthy or have a scholarship, but scholarships were not for middle school, were they? So she was most likely wealthy, and that would maybe explain her interest in Muscan as well. Money had never been a problem for him, and Svarth found it hard to make him relate to her own situation. If Muscan had grown up in their city, he would probably attend the same school. And I mean, the guy was pretty good looking, and sometimes might actually show some of this “nice guy” he claimed he was. He could be funny, and he was conscious about what he wore. With a little daydreaming, he could be the prince every girl who dreamt of boys, dreamt of. Wait.

“Is she still dating Vidiae? The last time I talked to her, they still were.” The curly head- no the other curly head that was not Svarth rolled his eyes. Svarth had a tendency to lose track in conversations, and come up with another topic just to bring herself back in.

“Svarth, I'm not here to talk about Vidiae. Listen, she is nuts.”

“She's just in love with you. Tell her you are not interested.”

“I did that.” His voice began to tremble. The blue-green eyes of his widened as if they were struck with lightning. A sudden realization perhaps? Suddenly, Muscan seemed so much more aware of something. The intensity of his stare made Svarth shift in her seat. She placed her tea cup on the table next to the couch, and grabbed his hand in a way of trying to calm him down. His hand grabbed hers so hard, she thought she could feel the blood circulation stopping. Svarth had never seen him this way, and it made a sickly worried feeling grow in her stomach.

“What happened?” she asked, but she realized soon enough she probably shouldn't have, or? She wasn't sure. The grip around her hand strengthened, and Muscan just looked at her with tears forming in his eyes. His mouth trying to find the right words to explain. To say something was not right, was an understatement. Never had Svarth seen him like this. She didn't know Avarit, but she knew she must have been a terrible fucking person, to cause Muscan this much pain. Whatever the fuck she had done, Svarth hoped she felt pretty fucking bad about it.

“I-, I-, she-, I- “As quickly as he stuttered the words, he just threw himself over her, burying his face in her chest. This forced her to lean against the corner of the couch. The tall, and somewhat chubby guy laid heavily on her, but she couldn't do anything but hug him closer and let her hand stroke his back. What could she do? The guy was sobbing, and she could feel warm tears through her shirt. Sobbing was a terrible sound, Svarth had always thought, unless they were happy, but most of the sobs she heard were sad. They cut like knives through her stomach, and sometimes she couldn't bear to watch the person crying. The sight of some other’s tears, made her own eyes form some. When a person like Muscan cried, it hurt even worse. Despite him being a “nice guy”, he never failed to smile. If he were not, like today, something was terribly wrong. He was always the guy to make life, to wear a proud attitude, the only feelings he would show were the positive ones, and that had made even Svarth think he was somewhat incapable of sad feelings. She realized now she was wrong. Everyone, even Muscan, could cry sometimes.

“Take your time. I have all night.” She told him, before placing a soft kiss on his curly head. It felt as if minutes on minutes went by before Muscan bared to do anything but sob. He muttered something into her chest. The words were hard to make out, so Svarth asked him to repeat himself. He lifted himself from the awkward position, and sat up again, wiping his now red eyes.

“She hit me, and I fell. It didn’t hurt, I swear. I was just really confused, and I still am. I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I. Maybe she became a little frustrated, but that’s still not an excuse.”

“I tried to tell Ikaros, but he tried to twist it into something worse. I couldn’t bother to tell him the whole story, because I knew he would just become furious.” Svarth was a little relieved to know Muscan seemingly had not taken the violence too hard, and that the crying probably came from Ikaros’ attitude to the problem. It was not hard to imagine how Ikaros felt though. His boyfriend had been hurt by one of his friends, of course he would become a bit angry and want payback. It sounded a lot like something he would do, from what she knew about him. But also, she did understand Muscan as well. He seemed a bit embarrassed by it all. Maybe later he would pull himself together and talk to Avarit.

“Will you tell me the whole story?”

“No. I don’t think so. I just need someone who won’t freak out, and stop listening to how I am feeling.”

“That’s fine. You do you.” Suddenly Svarth became aware of the biscuit packet she brought in with her, and handed it to the other one.

“Take one. Maybe you’ll feel a bit better. Sweets always help.” She smiled.

[blushstories]

you and joel miller travelling across apocalyptic america, having met at a checkpoint two weeks prior as coworkers doing supply runs. slowly getting used to each other over time; mannerisms, what different sounds mean — differentiating between your cry of surprise at a clicker, or a spider. one day, a clicker grabs you and a gruff “hands off!” precedes the weight being thrown off you. you collapse against the wall, recovering, as joel’s hammer smashes into its face. a snap follows the last blow, bits of clicker flying in a small radius around its head. you and joel eye the hammer, head hanging by a splinter of wood. your eyes meet briefly, then his scan you from head to toe as he lazily chucks the useless weapon away, the creases between his eyebrows deepening. “you alright?” he checks, speaking softly. you nod as he approaches you, bringing his hand up to your chin. with two fingers, he nudges your jaw left, then right, eyes studying your neck for bites. it’s just business, precautions. but your heart skips a beat anyway.

[blushstories]

i am thinking about butcher teaching self defense because he wants u to be able to defend yourself :(

[blushstories]

i just think butcher’s hands are so big and warm that when yours predicably freeze he holds them to share the warmth

[blushstories]

the boys have a different strategy with you as their insider in vought that, unlike annie, won’t have the same surveillance on them. butcher hates it. every day he stops himself wondering whether homelander has discovered you yet.

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i think butcher is a self sacrificer

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this, but billy waking up from the nightmare instead to find comfort in r :o

UR WRITING FOR BUTCHER NOW?! this is the best news i could have woken up to, vidia! the best news!!! can i request a billy x reader drabble where she wakes up from a nightmare and thinks that he’s been taken or killed etc bc he’s not beside her in bed. and so she’s panicking and frantic, stumbling around the safehouse to find him but then he’s just in the kitchen getting some water and a lot of comfort ensues? idk if i’m making sense here 😭

OH MY GOODNESS the way i had to write this IMMEDIATELY!!!!! your mind is unmatched rosa , and you always make sense don't even worry <3 (and AHH am thrilled you like the boys too!!)

cw: blood, swearing (ofc) , but if you watch the boys you won't be disturbed, 1.2k

The sheets are crumpled under your vice-like grip, eyebrows scrunched in the way that daylight never sees. With a start, you wake. But imprinted in the darkness of your bedroom are after-images of the horrors experienced behind your eyelids; the memory of which you can't seem to shake from your mind -- blood on the floor, a thick glossy trail leading somewhere, but you can't quite see where. Footsteps have carelessly marched through it, a superiority in their gait as speckles decorate the floor, as if it had been kicked through like a puddle.

Your stomach churns, heart aching because Billy was right there. An image of a shred of Homelander's cape caught on a nail flashes across your vision, and makes bile crawl up your throat as you fling your arm to the side, for reassurance.

You find none; it's cold.

You sit up, ramrod straight, and feel again. Maybe he's about to roll off the edge. "Billy?" You whisper, not wanting to disturb the darkness. Nothing. Just cool, cotton sheets underneath wandering fingers, covers thrown away without a care. A struggle? It fills your stomach with lead as you're unable to decide if you have just woken from a nightmare, or a dusty memory.

Deep breath.

You bite the inside of your lips while swinging your legs off of your bed hastily, skipping the slippers and accepting the icy concrete floor beneath your feet. The lights are on, illuminating the wooden beams that hold up the basement you're hiding out in. It's silent, and the silence eats at your stomach. The worry gnaws at you as you scan every room for a sign of something, anything. Anyone.

You're chewing on the tip of your finger with an arm wrapped around you and pinpricks behind your eyes. Everywhere is empty, empty, empty. Your walk morphs into something quicker, more urgent as each corner contains only the flickering of the overhead lights. Something possesses you to look under the couch, you trip over somebody's shoes and narrowly dodge a beam emerging from the floor.

Your breaths quicken, the lights flicker, you trip on air. Nothing feels right, or safe, or real.

Until you enter the kitchen. His broad frame hides the kitchen sink, one arm bracing himself on the countertop while the other elbow is pointed upwards as he drinks a glass of water. You could cry in relief, you could turn around and head back to bed, but that's unfathomable when every fibre of your being is being attracted to him like a magnet. A terribly strong magnet.

You collide with his back gently and wrap your arms around his middle. The force jolts him forwards with an 'oof,' and water splatters onto your hands and fingers.

There's a glassy clink on the countertops, and he shifts in your arms, standing straighter. Calloused hands feel along your own before fastening around your wrists gently, swiping a few times and then gently coaxing you to loosen your grip. He turns around in one step, slowly and concerned.

"You alright?" He says quietly, narrowed eyes flicking between your own as he assesses your shaken state. You nod with a sniffle, face crumpling in relief as you wrap your arms around him again. The thin cotton of his shirt allows you to hear his heartbeat, steady as a drum. Real.

While you listen closely, one of his arms wraps around your shoulders, and the other hand presses your head closer into him. His thumb continues to swipe against your temple and cheek in time with his pulse.

Thump, thump, thump.

"What's gotten into you?" He says, head bowed, concerned with a tint of urgency. You take a few breaths you calm yourself, and the hand on your shoulder tightens. You don't reply, shaking your head. He places both hands on your shoulders and creates a little space between you. Your own hands hold onto his wrists, swiping the underside of them to assure yourself that he's here, he's breathing. You look away, where countertop meets floor. He waits a moment, inhales deeply, and tries again.

"O-Okay, alright, it's alright," he soothes. "What's the matter?" With the knuckle of his index finger, he hooks your chin and encourages you to look at him. "You look like you've seen a bleeding ghost!" His gaze is steady, in control. Just as he always his. "For a second I thought I did," you admit, and at the deepening lines on his forehead you continue. "There's no dignified way to tell you I had a nightmare, is there?" You laugh wetly, deflecting any embarrassment with some sort of humour. But Billy's expression doesn't budge.

"What about?" You hesitate, but his hand squeezes your shoulder. "There was-- I was just--" You pause and start again. "There was Homelander, way too much blood... you. Then you disappeared. I didn't know what to do,"

For a split second, you can see flames behind his eyes, a murderous rage that always begins to boil when anybody mentions Homelander or Vought. But then, it's like he remembers himself and his position in front of you; his eyes soften, he presses his lips into a thin line and looks down. When he looks up at you again, the rage has vanished. Confidence and reassurance replaces it, hinting at the side of Billy Butcher reserved for you, and you alone.

"Now, don't you worry, love," he begins, "the fucking cunt won't do anything to me. To us. Especially not while we're holding Vought by the bollocks and waiting to squeeze after Starlight's stunt yesterday." You nod, wipe away the beginnings of any tears stirring in your eyes, and cup his face in your hands. He closes the gap before you have a moment to think, his tender movements telling you everything that he can't find the words to convey. You pull away after a few moments.

"What if something--" He silences you with another peck on the lips. "The 'what if's don't matter, Y/N. Right now does. I swear to you, I ain't got any plans to go anywhere." "But every time you meet Homelander, there's a chance that I won't see you again!" You say desperately, in a low voice. "Says who?" His tone is lighter, all of your worries like water off a duck's back. "Cos I know I don't."

"You promise not to do anything stupid around him?" Your hands drift to cup the back of his neck, fingers playing nervously with the tufts of hair that live there. His hands hold your waist lovingly, grounding you to the spot. "I promise, love," he says, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he sways a little on his feet. You raise an eyebrow, finding it difficult to believe him based on his history.

So, you pull a hand away from his neck and hold up a pinky finger in front of his face. You can tell it takes everything in him to not roll his eyes, or do something to that degree, but he sighs and hooks his finger with yours. You stand on your toes to get closer to his face. "Those are sacred, you know." "I know. You remind me every time, you muppet." "So, don't break it, please."

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currently

this scene,,, every time im smiling like a giddy kid they are so cute