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pekoehoneyncream · 27 days ago

Text

Ghoaptober # 31

Prompt: Knife

Words: 1500~

TW: Allusions to Torture (sfw)

This version of Ghoaptober was created by @spadesandshovels

This is the last one folks! All good things must come to an end, I suppose. This has been really fun to do! It's been great to stretch my writing skills, I feel like I improved over the course of the month, at least I hope I did, I definitely had to do less grammar and spelling corrections as we progressed, so there's that.

I wanted to thank everyone who's left such kind comments for me, you're feedback really does mean the world to me, Thank You!

If you want me to write more please do drop me an ask, I'd love to hear from you!

And with all of that said, onto the fic

Enjoy!

A shriek echoed out from the microscopic kitchenette crammed into the back of the disused officer’s rec room that the one-four-one had co-opted, Ghost and Price launched off the sagging sofa towards the noise. They charged into the kitchenette, Ghost wielding a knife and Price his hand-gun, ready to end any threat to their Sergeants.

There was no threat, just Soap trying to hide his awkward blush in his mug of coffee while Gaz stared at him with something close to abject horror.

“Tav, mate, what the fuck is wrong with your tongue.” Gaz demanded, willfully ignoring that he’d just screamed like an arachnophobe confronting Shelob and the fact that his superiors hadn't hesitated in running to his hypothetical rescue.

Price huffed and reholstered his gun, Ghost putting away his knife much more slowly. “Just what exactly is going on?” He demanded with an edge to his voice that suggested he was already regretting that he’d asked, “Why are you screaming over Soap’s tongue?”

“Well, Cap,” Soap started with a lewd tilt of his eyebrows and a goading grin,

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Gaz cut over him with a biting tone, “but, I didn’t expect to be confronted by the fact that Soap is an actual fuckin’ demon on a casual Thursday afternoon, Price.”

“Garrick, we talked about this,” Price scolded,

“Yeah,” Ghost agreed, “Johnny can’t be a demon, his rosary'd burn him.”

“Wha!” Soap sputtered in sheer disbelief, “Youse thought Ah’m a demon?!”

“No one’s that lucky, Tav.” Gaz said with flat seriousness, “There’s gotta be some kinda something going on.”

“Would a deal with a demon make you demonic?” Ghost mused in an exaggeratedly ponderous tone, casting his gaze up to the ceiling tiles so that the flabbergasted expression Soap’s face was stretching into couldn't make him laugh.

Gaz perked up, snapping and pointing at Ghost in a eureka-esque motion, “Yes! That’s totally it!” He exclaimed, practically bouncing on his toes with his triumph.

“Riley-”

“I cannae make a deal wit’ a demon!” Soap cut over Price, slamming his mug down to free up his hands for incensed gesturing, “Mah Grannie would disown me!”

“Then how do you explain-” Gaz flailed a hand in the direction of Soap’s mouth, lacking the words to describe just what in fuck was going on in there, “-that!”

A look of cartoonish offence slid onto Soap’s face. Ghost watched him brace his hands on his hips and draw himself up to his full height, hamming it up. Trying to make it into an easily deflected joke. Concern kicked at the back of Ghost’s sternum, if Johnny was deflecting it meant the real answer was nothing good.

Ghost had learned early on that Johnny was one of the most open, shameless, oversharing freaks that walked this earth. He had watched Johnny laugh his way through retelling stories and anecdotes that would have sent consummate exhibitionists blushing through the floor on multiple occasions. Ghost had also been quick to cotton on to the fact that it was for the best to follow up on the topics that Johnny tried to deflect, as they were generally things that would have a therapist crying and Johnny really was better off getting them off his chest. Ghost usually let it go and tried to circle back around to those deflections when they were alone and Johnny was feeling safe, but with Gaz latched onto this like a starved dog with a butcher bone, that wasn’t an option.

Sure, Ghost could probably distract Gaz and help Johnny wiggle out of this, but debriding old wounds is always a good team bonding experience.

Gaz and Soap had stagnated into their usual pattern of bandying insults back and forth. Having a grand time of pretending to be sputtering in high dudgeon whenever the other would quip back with something particularly clever. Ghost cut his eyes to Price, and jerked his chin at Johnny upon catching the Captain’s eye.

Yes, Ghost wanted Johnny to talk about it, but he didn’t want his boyfriend upset with him either.

“Right,” Price cut in after giving Ghost a roundly rancorous look, “Soap, why is Garrick accusing you of having a demonic tongue. Without!” He hastily amended when Soap turned overblown fuck-me eyes on him, “any chirpsing if you would.”

“Aye, right. Uh-” Soap hesitated, staring down at his feet and rubbing at his nape as he tried to gather the right words to explain this, “Reckon he mean’ this.” He gave up and just stuck his tongue out.

Soap could admit that he got a bit of a kick out of watching their uncomprehending looks warp into horrified incredulity when his tongue split down the middle. He wiggled the two sides up and down in opposite directions of each other and briefly twined them into a coil to drive the image home, then retracted it back behind the safety of his teeth with as much casual finesse as he could muster.

There was a beat of silence, then a cavalcade of questions. Soap’s personal favourite was Ghost’s ‘how did I not notice?’ said in the tone of a man on the edge of a revelatory breakdown. A close second was Price’s muttered ‘that can’t be within regs.”, but topping the charts for sheer volume was Gaz.

“What!” He shrieked, “What the fuck! When’d you get that!?” his voice dripped with a queer mix of awe, horror, and morbid fascination.

Soap hummed uncertainly, casting his mind back, swallowing against the phantom taste of blood creeping up his throat to pool at the back of his mouth, “Mus’ a been aroun' twenty-sixteen? Some’hing like tha’,”

“Twenty-sixteen.” Price muttered, mentally rifling through Soap’s file, there was something about that year that had the klaxons spinning up in Price’s subconscious, “Not October twenty-sixteen?”

“Aye,” Soap nodded, keeping his eyes on the ground, “Tha’d be the one.”

“Corporal MacTavish was detained by enemy forces eighth October twenty-sixteen and was successfully recovered twelfth October twenty-sixteen. In enemy custody, Corporal MacTavish was subjected to physical maltreatment, most notably manifesting in substantial damage within the oral cavity. Injury permanent but non-disfiguring. Corporal MacTavish states that no intelligence was provided to the adversary while in custody.” Price quotes -impressively word for word- from the truncated after action report that had been the script for far too many of his nightmares, “That October twenty-sixteen?”

“Got ‘er in one, Cap.” Soap confirms, idly grinding his tongue between his teeth, “Yanno, they did offer tae fix it. The medics.” He spoke on just to break the heavy silence that had conquered the room, “But they’d have had tae open it up again, cause it’d been cauterized, so Ah said no' tae bother.”

They'd told him that as it was a 'non-invasive procedure' only local numbing would be provided and Soap would not be letting anyone else come at his tongue with a knife unless he was unconscious, dead, or dying.

“Tav," Gaz pressed out slowly, hesitantly, “That’s fucked, mate.”

“Aye,” Soap nodded, staring down at the kitchenette’s cheap linoleum. Blinking to force the floor back into dingy tiles when his brain tried to twist it into stained concrete. He huffed a small flat laugh, more to force the scent of iron and dank stone from his nose than anything else, “Aye, twasn’t mah idea ae fun neither.”

“Johnny,” Ghost drew his name out into a devastated whine and lunged forward to coil around Soap in a protective embrace. Heart splitting at the shakiness he could feel in Johnny’s shallow breaths as he clutched his boyfriend to his chest.

“Ah’m alrigh’,” Johnny assured, but the tear-fighting sniff he tried to conceal in Ghost’s pecs said something different.

“You’re alright,” Price agreed, lay a grounding hand on Soap’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Gaz poked at Soap’s sensitive sides to force a wet giggle out of him, “Course you’re alright, Tav. You’ve got us and if those fucks aren’t already dead I’m sure Ghost is drafting up like ten different plans for how to track ‘em down and kill ‘em slow.”

Ghost was glad that Gaz’s joking was making Johnny feel better, and gave an intrigued pensive hum into the fluff of his warhawk to play along.

It was actually fifteen different plans.

“Okay. Okay.” Soap barked, shaking them off once he was absolutely positive that he wasn’t about to start bawling like a bairn as soon as they let go, “Mah goddamn coffee’s gonnae be fuckin’ cold now ye muckers.”

“Do you want me to make you a new cup, so you don't have to microwave it?” Ghost offered, love surging within him for the wide blue eyes that swung his way.

“Would ye, mo chridhe?” Johnny begged prettily.

Ghost hooked a thumb under his balaclava, lifting it over his mouth just long enough to press an adoring kiss unto Johnny’s lips, then turning away to make him the promised fresh cuppa, fluidly stealing his mug to dump and refill it.

Both men were content to ignore the way Gaz faked a retch over their sappy mush, as he practically stepped on Price’s heels following after the Captain on his tactical retreat back to the sofa.

Thank You For Reading!

Some nice hurt/comfort to round off the month. It didn't make it into the fic but the reason that his captors split Soap's tongue is because he wouldn't stop talking back, just a fun fact for y'all.

Did anyone want me to make a masterlist for all of these? with ratings and short descriptions or something? there's already links to the full series on my masterlist, but that just has the prompts, so I was wondering if a masterlist would be helpful. Let me know!

PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist

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ddejavvu · 2 years ago

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Could you plz write abt Eddie x gf reader? The gist is Jason constantly picking on him + being cruel, but Ed never pays any mind + just responds in his Eddie fashion. But as soon as Jason says something about the reader, he defends her and goes ape shit on him. Sadly Ed loses the fight and comes home w/ a black eye and reader tries to figure out how he got it, but he doesnt have the heart to tell her what Jason said + tries to lie. Reader comforting Eddie would be nice to see for a change :'))

You don't bother turning when you hear the door to Eddie's trailer open, knowing you'll be jammed against the counter in a hug faster than you can. But when you don't feel Eddie's face smashed into your own you frown, spinning on your heel to see what the hold up is.

It's a black eye. And a split lip. And a mysterious trickle of blood down his cheek. There's a smattering of scrapes and rouge at his knuckles, too, and he's standing off-kilter. Your boy is beaten.

"Eddie!" You shriek loudly in alarm. You realize too late that he's got a headache, only realizing when he winces and a battered hand shoots up to cover his left ear.

"I- I'm sorry," You hastily babble, rushing to his side, "What happened? Who- who did this, are you okay?"

"I'll be fine," He assures you, though the nod of his head is wobbly, "I'm just gonna clean up in the bathroom, alright sweets?"

"No- no! Eddie," You rush to stop him, only slightly guilty to hinder progress in the name of information, "Please, just tell me what happened. I'll help you clean up, I- I just need to know!"

"It was Jason," Though he answers your question, he evades the underlying question after it with a sad smile, "'Should'a known one of these days he was gonna swing."

"I don't get it," You sniffle, moved to tears by Eddie's black-and-blue eye. You lead him into the trailer's bathroom, fumbling with disinfectant and a cotton ball, "He bothers you every day. He's never punched you before. What- what did he do? What was different?"

"Just felt like starting shit, I guess." Eddie shrugs, but his eyes are deep with concern. You bite the inside of your cheek, hating how defeated he looks as his eyelashes flutter shut for you to dab at the injury.

"I won't be mad at you, you know. If you were the first to swing. I- I'm not calling you a liar," You assure him when he goes stiff, "This just seems.. off."

"Yeah." He nods solemnly, eyes firmly shut even after you're done cleaning his cuts, "It- it was off. He just.. fuck, I know he was just saying it to get a rise out of me, I know he'd never say it to you or anything but I just couldn't let it slide. I didn't know his friends were gonna see us, I- I wouldn't have started anything if I knew I couldn't have finished it."

He rambles with the vigor of an excited child, all slurred words and hand gestures, though he's more like an accused in court. Your brain catches on one sentence and pulls the thread from the scene he'd woven you, and you fray it while you bandage his cut.

"To me? He'd never say it to me?"

His eyes scrunch even tighter shut, and you know he's realized his mistake.

"I didn't mean to say that," He grits his teeth, "Just- Just please pretend I didn't say that? I feel like I got threaded through a meat grinder," He huffs, rubbing at his good eye with a bloodied hand, "Do I get a deathbed wish for that?"

"You always say your deathbed wish is gonna be to buzz Steve's hair," You murmur, cupping his bandaged cheek as light as a feather, "Please tell me the truth, Eddie."

He sighs; you've got him.

"He said shit about you. He said- said you'd regret dating me. 'Said I'd drag you down until you were 'trailer trash' just like me and Wayne. I- God, I'm so scared of that, Y/N, I just.. I freaked out."

"I like your trailer," You hum after a tense moment of silence, prolonged eye contact between your sympathetic ones and his glossy ones.

He cracks a smile, but it doesn't reach his good eye.

"You're not dragging me down," You promise him, "You make me happy. I don't need to live in a penthouse to be successful, that comes from emotional fulfillment."

"Yeah? And you, uh, you think I fill you up?"

It's a joke; you're back in his comfort zone. He shoots you as much of a smirk as he can with one bad eye, and you bite your lip to stop from grinning too hard.

"You stuff me full," You gush, "I'm all filled up with ooey gooey, mushy gushy, sappy sweet love, Eddie, and every time you hug me it oozes out of me like slime."

"My slimy girl," He croons, laughter bubbling up in his chest even though you suspect it aches, "So sticky."

He yanks you in by your waist from where he's sitting on the toilet lid. He buries his face in your stomach and you're worried he'll aggravate his black eye, but he sighs in content.

"I know it was stupid," He sighs, nose prodding at your skin, "I just.. I don't like it when he sees through me like that. I always thought I kept everything pretty hidden, but I guess I'm afraid of what everyone else is. Ruining you."

You think he says it into your stomach so he doesn't have to look you in the eyes. You sigh, running a hand through his curls and cringing when one is caked in blood. His arms tighten around your waist at the contact, and you speak without planning ahead, a heartfelt ramble.

"You couldn't ruin me, Eddie. You make me happy, even if no one else wants to admit it. I don't care that you're still in senior year. I don't care that your uncle is your dad. I don't care that you live in a trailer. I don't care that you play dungeons and dragons. If I disliked any of those things I wouldn't be with you. You- you have to know how much I love you," You breathe shakily, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes, "Eddie, I have dreams about you. Just- mundane stuff, like vacuuming. Last night I had one where you were organizing your socks. And I woke up smiling. Our lives aren't boiled down to anything besides us, Eddie. I love you, and you love me, and that's why I'm happy."

Once you stop talking, shut your brain down from where it had been tipped on its side and gushing love, you realize your shirt is wet. He's shaking, shoulders trembling as he sobs into your stomach. When he looks up at you it's with a pathetic puppy-eyed pout, split lip wobbling.

"You dream about me," He wails, "I dream about you too! I dream about- about marrying you, about living together, trailer or no trailer. And- and I dream about falling asleep with you every night for the rest of my life," He chokes on his emotions, "I love you, sweetheart."

"I love you too, Eddie." You smile, watery as it curls over your face. He rushes to stand, nose bumping your own as he nuzzles his face against your skin. His shaky exhale washes over your face and smells like the blood caking his lips, but you let him press them to your cupid's bow without protest.

"I want to rearrange my socks now," He admits, a teary chuckle in his throat, "You can sit on the bed and watch. Be pretty, n'all that."

"I think you should rest," Your eyes are smiling just as much as your mouth is, sparkling with adoration, "But tomorrow can be sock day."

"Deal," He nods, one of his tears pressing into your own cheek and wetting your skin, "Tomorrow, and every day for the rest of our lives."

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pixiesfz · 10 months ago

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Okay brutal to be hit with the transfer news and the angst… any chance you want to make a part 2 with a little “reunion” 👀 either reader transferring to a different NWSL team or maybe going to see Jessie since the WSL and NWSL are on breaks at different times, or just any happy redemption, I’m already hurting from the transfer and want some happiness

I am back from my holiday.

this may be a three-part series idk if I can restore their relationship this quickly.

hey there? j.f

plot: a year later you transfer to Gotham after not getting enough game time at Chelsea and you run into Jessie.

warning: angst

You sat on your mattress in your apartment with your hands in your lap as you fiddled with your fingers.

"Are you regretting it?" Sam asked as she sat next to you, Millie at the door leaning on the frame with her arms crossed.

You sniffed and wiped your nose, trying to stop your overthinking "no I know it's better for me” you declared as they both nodded “But I really am going to miss you guys" you admitted and Sam wrapped her arm around you "well if it makes you feel better you're already being forced to see us two more times for me and Mil's weddings" she shrugged.

"Does me moving affect my chance at best man?" you asked Sam who laughed "Oh c'mon you know you had that role in the bag" you laughed, leaning into her embrace.

"You'll do great at Gotham, they've offered you starting eleven and full 90 minute games plus, you've got some friends in the NWSL" Millie shrugged and you looked at her "I wouldn't call her my friend"

"It's been a year y/n/n you both have to talk about it and plus Sinclair loves you so much she'll go behind Jessie's back to help you out." You laughed at your friends very true comment.

"Kristie may have also threatened to hurt any of the Gotham girls if they mistreat you"

"Kristie!"

After that day Niamh volunteered to drive you to the Airport, there was silence. You and Niamh had become less close after Jessie told her what had happened but she soon figured out why you did it after the third match after she left, you had scored a goal and usually you would celebrate with Jessie.

Niamh watched your eyes gloss over when you turned around and remembered that the Canadian was gone. Niamh always stayed in contact with Jessie as the two were peas in a pod.

"does she know?" you asked softly in the car and Niamh nodded "She asked me if it was true and I said yes" Niamh told you and you looked out the window "what uhm- what did she say?"

"Y/n-" "I know" you cut her off "I'm sorry" you apologized, you couldn't dive into their conversations like that.

"She said that she missed you"

You sunk into your seat at your friends' words "Yeah well I miss her too".

You sat in your airplane seat in first class shortly after bidding Niamh goodbye, trying to get comfortable so that you could sleep but your mind was running about Jessie.

You had seen the comments that were left under your post where you had announced your leaving.

'is she moving for Jessie'

'finally her and Jessie will be reunited'

You rolled your eyes at the comments and turned off your phone.

You tried to sleep through the flight, waking up every now and then to go to the toilet.

When you finally landed you weren’t expecting anyone to pick you up but when you saw Christine Sinclair with a piece of paper that read your last name with a childish grin on her face you knew one of your friends from London had tipped her off.

You hugged her tightly when you saw her “I missed you y/n/n” she smiled and rubbed your head “I missed you too Chris” you sniffed and she grabbed your shoulders “excited to be in the NWSL?” She asked and you smiled

“A new challenge will be good” you shrugged and you began to walk to her car “Chelsea not doing you justice?”

“They like their new and shiny toys”

Christine smirked as she opened her trunk, you put in your luggage and jumped in the front seat.

“I don’t think I’ve driven you around since I had to pick you up from Jessie’s hotel room in friendlies” she joked and you turned your head.

Christine watched as you looked out the window “she told me what happened” she said and you looked at her “you don’t hate me?” You asked.

“Would I be here if I was”.

She smiled at you to ensure you that she did not in fact have a hatred for you “actually it made me respect you more even though I dealt with a heartbroken Jessie”

“I did what was best for her”

“Was it best for you?”

You shook your head “going to Gotham is best for me” you said and she nodded “I have a small confession to make” Christine said and you furrowed your brows “what?”

“I may have also sent Jessie to your house to help set you up”

You shot up in your seat.

You were not ready to see Jessie right now.

“Christine!”

“I’m sorry but we should just rip off the bandaid, I don’t want your first meeting back to be on the pitch” she defended as you both pulled in to your new house where another car was.

Jessie’s car.

Christine opened her side of the door and walked out to your side, tapping on you window which you rolled down slightly.

��Are you going to get out?”

“No”.

Christine rolled her eyes and unlocked the car door herself opening it and forcibly dragging you out of the car, you hoped Jessie wasn’t looking back.

“Does Jessie know it’s my house?” You asked as you walked to her car “I’m pretty sure it’s best if I don’t tell you that”.

You took a deep breath as you saw Jessie get out of her car “hey you said that-“ she started but stopped when she saw your figure next to her teammate.

“Hey there” you said softly and Jessie stood in her spot next to her car “hey” she muttered.

“Cool let’s go!” Christine clapped her hands together before making her way to your front door as you and Jessie still stood looking at each other.

#woso #woso x reader #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming #jeff #jflem

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genshingorlsrevengeance · 9 months ago

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can i request yukari and minako (seperate) reacting to their s/o finding their evoker laying around?

(Persona 3) Yukari and Minako's S/O finding their Evoker

Minako's part has a 3D render for her because I am heavily biased.

Yukari had gotten so used to having only the members of S.E.E.S enter her room, it didn't even occur to her that having an Evoker wasn't normal.

A fact she was quickly reminded when her S/O came through the door, and that was the first thing they noticed.

(S/O) "Yukari is that a gun?!"

Yukari's heart stopped for a brief moment before regaining her train of thought.

(Yukari) "Oh, jeez! Sorry, that's not actually real! It's for a club I'm part of!"

(S/O) "T-The Archery Club?"

Yukari tried her best not to act nervous, something she hoped S/O wouldn't pick up on.

(Yukari) "No, it's a different one. It's the one that you see me, Minato, and Junpei in."

(S/O) "That would explain why I see you with them all the time, but what even-"

(Yukari) "I-It's a prop basically. It looks pretty real and everything, but it's all just for show. You can't even fire bullets out of it."

It was clear from S/O's expression that they weren't buying it entirely, but upon closer inspection, they could tell that it couldn't be used.

At least, not in the way they were thinking.

(S/O) "Whew, next time warn me before you just have something like that lying around."

S/O eased up a little, chuckling as they decided not to press Yukari any further on the subject.

Something she was thankful for.

(Yukari) "Yeah, that's my bad...H-Hey, don't bring that up to anyone, alright? Last thing I need is for a rumor to go around that I'm carrying weapons."

(S/O) "Like the rumor of you and Minato going out?"

(Yukari) "Are people still going on about that?! They know we're a couple!"

Now her mind was wandering off, anger reigniting as she put her Evoker away and out of sight.

At least S/O didn't find her actual weapons hidden, including all the weird medicine, bombs, and elemental items she had stashed.

Minako was in the middle of preparing her gear for tonight's expedition into Tartarus.

She had put on the SEES uniform for a brief moment, making sure there weren't any holes in it.

The last time they went, she had been hit by a particularly nasty shadow, and she wasn't entirely confident if she had come out unscathed.

There was a knock on the door, and Minako didn't think anything of it.

(Minako) "It's unlocked!"

She replied in a peppy voice. Minako was expecting her teammates, not S/O.

(S/O) "Hey, sorry to pop in like this! I just wanted to-"

S/O stopped when they saw her evoker laying on the nearby desk.

(S/O) "W-What the- Is that a gun?!"

Minako quickly snatched up her Evoker and holstered it, quickly clearing her throat and trying to play it off.

She waves her hand dismissively in response.

(Minako) "That must've scared the heck out of you, sorry, I should have mentioned that sooner!"

S/O looked at her holster, then back at Minako.

(S/O) "Does your club make you wear that red armband?"

(Minako) "Red armba-?"

Minako clears her throat before responding.

(Minako) "It's kinda like a theatre club, but it's pretty exclusive. I was lucky enough to be invited! Mitsuru-senpai is the one who leads it."

(S/O) "A theatre club? But we don't-"

Minako cut them off before they could ask any further questions.

(Minako) "Anyways, I'm a bit busy, so what did you need?"

(S/O) "Well...T-To be honest, that gun kinda made me forget-"

(Minako) "Alright, I'll be out in a second, just close the door! I gotta change, don't make me throw the pillow at you!"

She almost forced S/O out by pushing them towards the door, quickly locking it behind her and sighing deeply to herself.

(Minako) Hopefully they bought that...Actually, who the heck let them in the dorm anyway?!

Much to her dismay, it was technically herself.

Minako had told her friends that S/O was allowed to visit her room, and that explained how they were able to come in basically unannounced.

She quickly regretted that decision. At least S/O wasn't active during the Dark Hour, thank god.

#persona 3 imagines #persona 3 headcanons #persona 3 x reader #yukari takeba x reader #minako arisato x reader #yukari takeba #minako arisato #yukari takeba x y/n #yukari takeba x you #minako arisato x y/n #minako arisato x you

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jerreeeeeee · 7 months ago

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"Don't think I didn't notice you slip out when we had Lucretia over yesterday," Lup says. She and Barry had a nice enough lunch with her, did their best to pretend they weren't all drowning, but the third member of their household had made himself conspicuously absent all afternoon. In fact, this is the first time she's been able to catch him still, not in between some task or other. He's kept himself busy lately.

Taako rolls his eyes, trying, in the way he does, to hide the way his shoulders start to creep towards his back-angled ears. "It's not really a secret I don't want to see her."

Lup sighs. "Taako, she's already apologized. What more do you want from her?"

"I don't want anything from her," he says, voice tight, eyes down. "I thought I made that pretty clear."

Lup flinches, despite herself. "Then what, you just.... never talk to her again?" Could he really just cut her out like that? After everything? Could they really go back to how they used to be? After everything?

His eyes stay on the floor, and he shrugs like he doesn't care. Maybe he really doesn't anymore. "That's the idea."

Read on ao3 or continue below

"That's awful," Lup says. "For both of you. That doesn't make you sad?" She wants to believe it does, but she just doesn't know anymore. Her brother has always had hidden depths, but they've never been hidden to her. Is his anger and hurt really stronger than the bond he and Lucretia had built? What if—

"It makes me less sad than the thought of you left to rot in an umbrella for ten years. I robbed your body, Lup." Taako only meets her eyes then, and his are so anguished, she knows there's no convincing him. From the tiny slivers of the intensity of his hurt she's seen—all that he's allowed her to see—she's starting to understand why.

Still, she tries for defense. "She didn't mean for any of that—she couldn't have known—" It's weak, and she knows it.

Taako scoffs, carefully avoiding her gaze. She wishes he'd just look at her. "It still did, though! It all still happened!"

Her heart sinks in her chest and she tries one more time. "She only did what she thought was right!"

His eyes would be ablaze, if she could just see them. "Well, she was wrong!"

"Stop blaming her for my mistake!" Lup finally shouts, and it all comes rushing out. "I came up with the relic plan in the first place, Lucretia only did what she could in the face of my mess! It was all me! I disappeared! I left you!" I'm the one you should be angry with, she doesn't say. I'm the one you are angry with. You just can't say it.

Taako can only stare at her, openly shocked. "No," he says, "no, Lup, I don't blame you—" He does, though. Everything he'd said was true of her, too.

"It doesn't matter if you blame me," she says bitterly. "It's still true." Of course he doesn't want to blame her. Of course it's easier to foist it all onto Lucretia and then cut her off—but it's not quite the full scope of the thing. He was left alone before Lucretia ever made her mistake.

Taako looks at her helplessly. "Well. I... I will make up with her. If that's what you want. I don't—I don't think I can forgive her. But I will move on. For you."

"I'm not—I’m not asking you to do anything you aren’t ready for," Lup says, regretful. She should've known this is what he'd say, but she wouldn’t ever try to pressure him into anything. "Your relationship with her is your business. I didn’t mean to make you think you have to do anything for me. I just—I've already lost too much from my mistakes, and gods know you have. So I don't want you to push her away as—as a proxy. She did her best with what I left her."

"She's an adult, Lup," Taako says, his eyes flinty and cold. "I know you have a hard time seeing her as anything but the Starblaster's baby, but I got to know Madame Director. She made her choices. And she knew the consequences. For all of us.”

“Yeah. So did I.” Lup looks away, eyes watering. “Gods, don’t you get it, that’s why I feel so bad for her—she didn’t know how bad it would get, she didn't know the consequences. ‘It’s only for a little while,’ that’s what I told myself, too.”

“But you—no,” Taako says, “no, I don’t see it that way. You didn’t betray us. Lup, it’s not the same. If everything had gone right you would’ve been right back. And it's—you sacrificed yourself, you know? I don't think it was a good decision, but it was your decision. You and your fucking martyr complex—" It's meant to be teasing, but now's not the time, and it comes out bitter.

He continues, "But she made the decision for everyone else. Lucretia always knew what she was doing. She doesn't get to do that to us. To me. Take away everything good I've ever had. Even if it had only been a year—even if it had only been a day! I’m not only angry because she took time I could’ve spent finding you, because she's the reason you were trapped so long, I was fucking miserable, too, it hurt like half my fucking life was missing, like everyone I loved was gone, all the time, and I couldn’t even understand why—"

He cuts himself off, eyes wet, jaw set, and looks away, like he doesn't want her to see. Like he can’t bring himself to let her see how badly he’s wounded; and it's her fault. "And she saw how it left me, she could've ended it any time, and she didn't. It’s not the same, Lup, it’s not.”

“It’s close enough,” Lup says, swiping at her eyes. “We both hurt you. You wouldn't be so angry—so hurt—if I'd stayed. You can say you would, but we both know you wouldn't. I didn’t betray you, but I abandoned you, she and I both thought we could fix things alone and we were both so stupid for it—“

“God damn it, stop!” Taako shouts, flings his arms out from where he'd been still and tense, takes a step forward, and another, closing the gap between them, the gap Lucretia left, the gap Lup left, shrinking it by explosive force of will. “Fucking stop. You don’t get to decide, Lup! You don’t get to decide if I forgive Lucretia and you sure as hell don’t get to decide if I forgive you. Stop pitying yourself and just fucking listen to me!"

His eyes are wide, he looms as she shrinks back, and isn't that an odd reversal. She's almost glad he's angry with her. She knows she deserves it, and he certainly deserves to get it off his chest. It's just more volatile than she'd expected. She's not afraid of him, she never could be, but she is afraid for him. Something's broken and wild in him now, and she doesn’t know how to restore it.

So he just raves, untethered, "It’s not up to you! It’s too late! I already forgave you! I forgave you as soon as it happened! Just fucking let me!”

“Taako,” Lup gasps, finally weeping, as he takes the last step to bring them together, and she lets his arms sweep around her, falls into them. Her eyes squeeze shut and she wipes her tears in his shoulder, lets his words sink in.

“It’s over,” he says, holding her tight. “It’s all over now.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, one last time.

He only grips her tighter. “Stop being sorry.”

They stand there for a few minutes, and Lup does her best to quell the guilt that threatens to rise like bile in her throat. It won't do any good to hold on to it. Taako said he forgave her. She should believe him. She still feels she shouldn't be letting him hold her while she tries to get her tears under control. He's more hurt, she shouldn't be making him comfort her, it's not fair that he always has to be the one propping her up, holding her together while she falls apart, just like before, and then she just went and left him all on his own—

"I said, stop being sorry," Taako says quietly, after she's been silent.

Lup becomes aware of herself, like waking up for the first time, like being in her body for the first time again—it happens sometimes, she doesn't realize she's been caught in her mind until she's back. But she's here now. This is real. She feels her soft sweater, Taako's arms around her pressing the fabric into her back, his hair tickling her face, a little longer than she's used to, and she realizes she's gripping the shoulders of his shirt in tight fists.

"It's not that easy," she mumbles, unwinding her hands. "But. Thank you."

"'Course." He pulls away and holds her by the shoulders, looking suddenly sheepish. "Uh, sorry for yelling at you." He softens for her, makes himself gentle as best he can, like always, though it's slow and awkward now. He's out of practice.

"Nah," she says with a small smile, reassuring, "I needed to hear it." He's spent too long not being listened to. They both have.

"I did mean it," Taako says. "I'm not angry at you. I'm really not. I should've—nothing I said about Lucretia was about you. I didn't mean to make you think that. And I... I will make up with her, someday."

"You don't have to, Taako," Lup says. "I shouldn't have come at you about it. You're right, it's not for me to decide."

"Yeah, but..." He trails off and then switches to another thought, sure she'll be able to follow, and she does, of course she does. "I just have a hard time getting it into my head that Lucretia's the same person as Madame Director, you know?"

"Yeah," Lup says. She almost knows, but she only has the one memory, and even after everything she still can't look at the old, weary woman without seeing their Lucy.

"I just—I might take a while," Taako says, squeezes her shoulders even as his eyes drift away. "I don't know."

"That's okay," Lup says. "Babe, you don't have to rush anything."

"I do, though, don't I?" He frowns, face open, eyes flicking toward her. "We're mortal now. Most of us," he gives her a fragile smile.

"Some of us are also grim reapers, bud," she says, and takes his hands, holds them between the two of them. "And Lucretia looks older than she is. From stress, not just magic."

"Yeah," he says, unsure. "Maybe."

"Are we..." she starts, suddenly afraid, her ears tilted back, and this time it's her that glances away. "Are we okay?"

He gives her a strange look. "Yeah, I just said so."

"I mean, in general," Lup says, voice gone thin. "Everything's different, it's..." She can't express it. After a lifetime of profound understanding, the tiny space still left between them feels vaster than words.

But even still, after everything, Taako understands her. He tugs on their clasped hands, pulls her closer, and step by step, the gulf shrinks. "We're gonna get there," he says. He lets her hands go, and for a moment she's lost again, floating in endless darkness, but then she's shocked back into presence as his hands cradle her face, and he's right there in front of her, eyes locked to hers, trying for a reassuring smile. He presses their foreheads together and she finally feels solid, real, safe.

Lup tries to push her uncertainty down, and then thinks better of it. Taako's never cared about nobility. Martyring herself hasn't ever helped anyone she loves. He'll never be able to lean on her if she doesn't trust him enough to lean on him first. She lets her voice be small and scared. "Promise?"

"Yeah," he says, quiet and something approaching gentle, only a little hoarse around the edges, but he's getting there. "Yeah, Lup, I promise."

#just something short i liked that didnt fit in with any of my wips #taz balance #taz #the adventure zone #taz taako #taako taaco #taz lup #lup taaco #taaco twins #the twins #mine #fanfic

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neverpathia · 7 days ago

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i got bored

so have a little parahero thing i'm spontaneously coming up with on tumblr to pull me out of writer's block

-- -- -- -- --

"Seriously?"

The Paranoid was seriously starting to regret becoming the Long Quiet's resident healer. Not that he'd really had a choice at all, mind you, given how he was the only one that was even half-competent with medicines and the like.

Fortunately, the Hero was one of the better patients. Quite frequent—where did he even find all the time and space to go around adventuring?—but still cooperative enough nonetheless. Besides, ever since the Decider left, they'd had plenty of time together. They were quite close now. He liked it.

If he had one complaint about Hero, it would be...never mind. Paranoid urged himself to focus on the task at hand. Please.

Hero sat upright on the edge of his bed and leaned forward, facing Paranoid and not helping his cause.

"Yeah. I'd like to say otherwise, but..." Hero sighed. "Seriously."

Hero had brought the Cheated with him on his latest Hero-ic expedition. The voice of the Cheated. Of all the voices here, did he really have to bring the most reckless? And the most prone to injury? And the one that took the longest to heal?

Paranoid sat down next to Hero. Hero promptly averted his eyes, but he couldn't hide his grin.

"Great," Paranoid rolled his eyes, though he couldn't help but smile a little. "So now I can enjoy even more work than usual."

He glanced at the bed next to Hero's, which was occupied by a sorry mass of bandages. A sorry, spiteful, seething mass of bandages that happened to be vaguely Cheated-shaped.

Yeah, the Cheated was definitely not happy.

Hero shrugged. "Sorry, Para."

"Not that this hasn't happened before," muttered Paranoid. "Does he have any common sense at all? Getting hurt this much, I swear Cheated runs on pure spite."

"Para, you run on pure anxiety."

"Yeah, it's true, but at least it's efficient. Meanwhile, you run on pure righteousness..."

"Like a true hero, right?"

"...and then you make horrible decisions. But yes, very heroic of you."

Hero blinked. "They weren't all horrible!"

"Well, okay, you also made a lot of good ones. I can't deny that, so fine."

Hero proceeded to break into the most sunshiny possible expression ever. Paranoid rolled his eyes, and tried to ignore the fact that he felt like he was being melted all warm and fuzzy.

"They weren't all horrible," said Paranoid. "They were just mostly horrible."

Hero laughed, but it faded out when Paranoid abruptly froze in place.

"Para?"

No response.

"Paranoid?"

The other voice began to tremble a little, and there seemed to be something tightening inside him. Fear. Panic.

Hero was on high alert now. "Are you- Are you okay? Is it coming again?"

"Hero." Paranoid buried his face in his hands.

Paranoid released a little nervous laugh into his palms. For some reason, he'd lately developed some habit of mad-laughing when he was extremely scared, but then again, he was always scared. Still, that might not be a good sign.

"Hey." Hero inched closer to Paranoid and put an arm around his shoulders. He tried for a friendly smile. "Don't worry, you'll fix him right up. This wouldn't be the first time."

"Yes, I know I'm good at my job, thank you very much—" Paranoid cut off his words, slumped against Hero, and paused for a bit before speaking. "No. It's not about that."

They simply sat like that, shoulder to shoulder, Paranoid's head resting against the strong, carved lines of Hero's neck.

"Are you tired?" When Hero spoke, his tone was kind but cautious, as if he were trying to search for the right words but couldn't tell which ones they were. Still, something small in Paranoid relaxed.

"Yes," he admitted. Soft. Barely a whisper, barely spoken at all.

"Do you...want to say what you're thinking about?"

"I- Okay, what about you? Doesn't it tire you out, having to hear what I have to say all the time again and again and again and again—"

"No." Hero took Paranoid's hand and gave it a firm squeeze. "Maybe it's not okay, but I care for you. And I want to know. Just tell me, if you want to."

Paranoid laced his fingers between Hero's. His hand was clammy and a little shaky.

"I'm just...Look at Cheated. And you, you put yourself in danger all the time, always doing the right thing, these wounds, what if it happens to you? What if you're injured and I can't bring you back or you hurt so much and I have to do something about it and I can't or-or-or-or-or—"

Before he could say any more, Hero pulled him into a hug.

"I'll be careful. I promise."

#slay the princess #stp #slay the princess fanfiction #voice of the hero #voice of the paranoid #stp hero #stp paranoid #just only realising the entire second half was happening while cheated was angrily third wheeling and now im wheezing

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fernles · 7 months ago

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LEAVE YOUR LOVER (LEAVE HIM FOR ME) ––––– CHARLOTTE / MIA

rating: general audiences warning: just the general feeling of anxiety, but nothing major! fandom: the nursery nurse (webseries)

link to the ao3 version of this is here.

★ in which charlotte's old habits die hard, and mia's there to comfort.

Charlotte had never felt such anxiety.

When she was a child, she would constantly bite at the beds of her fingers, leaving them scarred with ridged edges as she attempted to release any nerves that plagued her mind. Of course, as the years went by, she lost the habit and eventually went away completely, her fingernails left alone. Seemingly, it was as if she had found a coping mechanism to use instead of biting her fingernails down to their beds. Well, that was until the whole fiasco with Jodie and Mia went down, and the overwhelming emotions she felt in the room when she unfolded the information revealed bits of her plan that she had to get rid of Mia.

Mia. The guilt churned in her stomach, threatening to spill over. Her thoughts raced; her heart pounded in her ears. It had never been this intense before — not in years. Charlotte couldn't bear to meet anyone's eyes, her gaze fixed on the floor. She tried to listen to the conversation, but emotionally, she was already gone. She had confessed that it was Mia — despite knowing full well that she had filled in the sheet. Charlotte should feel relieved that Mia was potentially getting fired instead of Jodie… So why was she feeling this overwhelming guilt? Why did she feel Mia’s actions were justified and she wasn’t to blame? Why was it that when Charlotte looked at Mia, she could see the whole world in her eyes, reflecting her guilt?

She forced herself to stop, to not think about the potential consequences. She told herself it was pointless, that she wasn’t the one in the spotlight, not the one facing the consequences. But deep down, she knew it was a lie. The future was a vast, uncertain void, and she was the one who had set it in motion. She was the one who had to live with the guilt and the aftermath of her actions, struggling to find a way to rationalise what she had done.

“I’m sorry, Roger, but isn't this serious misconduct? Her name is on here! Laughing at a child's pain,” Marjorie's voice cut through the air, her disgust palpable as she held up the paperwork that Charlotte had filled in.

“Well… Having admitted it, I would say that there is gross misconduct and grounds for dismissal,” Roger said, speaking slowly as though he would regret saying those words aloud. Marjorie exclaimed excitedly, celebrating the successes that they had gotten from getting rid of Mia. Even Autumn managed to crack a smile, and Charlotte’s guilt started to manifest into anxiety as she glanced up from the ground towards Mia, her eyes placed on Mia’s face as though she was trying to commit it to memory as if this would be the last time. But it was only a second before she looked away, back to the same spot on the ground.

“Are you actually firing me, Roger?” Mia said as she crossed her arms, tilting her head towards him.

“Yeah, I’m afraid I have no other choice—”

“That’s right! You’re out of here,” Marjorie interrupted as she crossed her arms, a victory smirk implanted on her face. Charlotte should also have a victory smirk; she should be celebrating; she shouldn’t have this feeling of ‘clouds covering the sun’, left in the cold as her chest heaving slowly. She could already feel her fingers fiddling with each other; it wasn’t long before she would start biting her nails, feeding her anxiety even more.

And it didn’t help when she could feel Mia’s eyes on her. It didn’t help when Charlotte decided to look back at her. She was surprised that Mia even had the guts to look at the person who helped remove her. Charlotte held her gaze, remembering all the attempts she had taken to get here: all the fake flirting, all the parents that Mia protected from Charlotte, and… the fact that she had switched her wedding ring without hesitation. She didn’t think it would impact her as much as it had against her. She fiddled with the ring as if she had manifested herself to do so—feeling its smooth surface and the coldness it gave her for the past three months. It was as if, just for a moment, she felt the warmness of it, but it didn’t come from her husband, but from…

And all Charlotte could do was look away from Mia.

“Excuse me,” Charlotte spoke softly, her voice barely able to be loud enough to disguise itself as confidence. She turned on her heel and went straight towards the door without hesitation. She didn’t think to look back, knowing that if she had, she would confess right there that Mia hadn’t done it. Charlotte continued walking out until she stopped in the middle of the hallway, pausing. Her heart pounded against her chest, loud enough to take over her hearing in her ears.

Slowly, Charlotte felt her fingers overlap each other before she reached up, slowly biting the edges of her fingernails. She closed her eyes, fighting back the tears that appeared as she took deep breaths. It didn’t help when she continued to bite her nails; it brought her back to when she was a child again. The desperation to be held flooded her brain, but she had no one she could reach out to; it had been too long since she felt comfortable.

——–

It had been a few minutes, and Charlotte still stood in the hallway, biting her nails. She wasn’t aware that she was still present in the middle of the corridor, but it was almost an excuse to keep listening to the conversation. She’d caught glimpses of some words, but she knew if she digested the words, nothing would subdue the guilt. It was complex, and she wished it was simple, but nothing was easy for Charlotte, especially not for the past few months.

“Hi, Charlotte,” a familiar voice spoke, catching Charlotte off—guard as she turned around, facing Mia. She blinked, unsure what to say, but she breathed slowly, nibbling on the thumb’s nail. Her eyes almost pleading for any sense of comfort or some familiarity in terms of banter with her, something that would take her mind off the overwhelming sense of guilt, feeling it crawling up her throat, wanting to be free.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to bite all your pretty nails off; it’s okay,” Mia said softly, and her sudden change in voice took aback Charlotte.

For a second, Charlotte was desperate for Mia to be mad, have some frustration, create a vendetta, and feel something to hurt Charlotte. And yet, Mia was soft—spoken, almost looking through a façade of who she was, and Charlotte was surprised. Charlotte’s heart stopped momentarily when Mia reached out to grab her hands away from her mouth and hold them gently in her palms. Charlotte was quiet, afraid to make a sudden move, but her gaze turned to watch Mia’s face.

God, she was so gentle with her that it scared Charlotte. Not because it was from Mia, but because it was from Mia, and she had wanted some contact for so long. It was desperation for gentleness, and Charlotte had craved it for ages. She had never experienced it this way, feeling some recovery from the old habits of biting her fingernails, but now… She craved Mia's gentleness and compassion. She almost wanted to say something, but she was too distracted by how her knuckles were caressed, each touch feeling like a soft kiss against them. A kiss that she craved.

It wasn’t long before Mia pulled her hand away, but it had felt like centuries to Charlotte.

“I’m not mad at you.”

“How can you not be mad? Like… You just lost your job because of me!” Charlotte exclaimed, and Mia shushed softly, reaching out as she touched Charlotte’s arm. Charlotte’s skin shivered at the touch, goosebumps appearing slightly, and she kept looking at Mia.

“Because you finally grew a backbone. Truthfully, I’m happy to have been the one you did it for,” Mia said with a slight chuckle, which supposedly put Charlotte at ease rather than nervous. Maybe it was because Charlotte knew that Mia could tell her the truth or that it was nice to hear that compliment from Mia herself. Sure, it would be nice to get that sort of thing from someone like Marjorie… But it isn’t straightforward. It’s… Different, and Charlotte cannot explain why.

“I don’t understand, you… you’re so nice to me, but I overheard what they just said in the office: You took money from their dad to torment them,” Charlotte said, almost confused about the whole deal, but Mia was reassuring — a rare moment from a character such as her in previous moments.

“I did, only because I thought I would be getting something in return.”

“What could you have wanted to warrant putting them through that?” Charlotte said as she raised her eyebrow, confused even more. Mia sighed softly as she placed her hands on her hips, and Charlotte waited. She fiddled with her fingers, but the urge to bite her fingernails slowly faded as her gaze softened in vulnerability for Mia.

“Roger promised me that if I did what he told me to and came in between them, he would tell me where my dad was,” Mia spoke, and Charlotte’s eyes widened slightly, surprised at the notion. She went to speak but paused to see if Mia continued. “He walked out on me and my mum when I was just a child.”

“I don’t understand why Reece and Autumn’s dad would know where your dad was?”

“Because my dad ran off with their mum,” Mia said as Charlotte’s eyes fluttered in shock. She took in the information and tried to digest it, running it over her fingers and processing it through her brain. But the more she tried to think about it, the more that nothing strung to mind about anything.

“I always assumed she was—“

“Dead? To Autumn and Reece, she may as well be. They’ve never forgiven her for what she said, but she’s alive and kicking out there right now, swanning around with my father.”

“Wait, so all this time… You’ve just been doing what Reece and Autumn’s dad told you to do? Because… Because he promised you information about your dad?” Charlotte spoke softly as she looked at Mia. Suddenly, she could see past the façade of who Mia was and saw who she was: someone who wanted answers. And Charlotte understood everything. “But… You’ve been doing this for 20 years, why? Why have you carried on for so long?

“Is there a time limit on how long you’d spend looking for a parent? Particularly if you had questions about why they were so comfortable walking out and breaking up a family. Because we both know that Autumn and Reece didn’t grow up in a happy household,” Mia said as she sighed again, crossing her arms across her chest, and Charlotte’s shoulders slumped a little.

“I… What about when you kept breaking up with Reece and getting back with him to try and come between him and Autumn all the time?” Charlotte questioned, and all Mia could do was give a soft laugh — a beautiful sound that warmed Charlotte up; had her husband made her feel this way before? She shook the thought away, but her presence didn’t help either.

“Yeah, well, quite a few times I’d break up with Reece and try and find my dad on my own, but then when I hit a brick wall, I’d come crawling back to Roger and beg him for the details. He’d say he’d only do it if I returned with Reece and got him on a short leash again.”

“So… You were like Roger’s puppet?” Charlotte spoke quietly, her voice cracking slightly, feeling her fingers fiddle with the edges of her fingernails.

“Yeah, that’s why he always got me out of trouble. It was a chance for him to keep me close so I could watch Autumn and Reece for him.”

“Oh my god, what… Wait, does that mean you didn’t want to be with Reece all these years?” Charlotte questioned, and Mia grinned as she rolled her eyes, seemingly amused by the conversation.

“Please, I didn’t want to be with Reece any more than he wanted to be with me. Plus, I don’t know if you noticed… But Reece isn’t exactly my type,” Mia said as her eyes scanned Charlotte and tilted her head to the side, almost as if she was analysing her, waiting to see what she would do. Charlotte’s cheeks started to show a pink tint across, feeling flustered as she looked away to compose herself as subtly as possible. As a force of habit, she reached up, placing her fingernail on her lips, contemplating before she cleared her throat to change the subject.

“Why crash Marjorie’s car? Everyone thought you did that out of jealousy?”

“Hah, God no, it wasn’t out of jealousy; she’s welcome to him. I was just a bit annoyed that day. If Reece is with Marjorie, and he’s not with me, then he’s not on a short leash. I’ve got nothing to offer Roger in exchange for the details of my dad. Crashing Marjorie’s car was me letting off a little rage. I’m a little toxic like that,” Mia said as she ran a hand through her hair, adjusting it as she moved it out of the way.

Charlotte burst out a chuckle by accident in response to the end of her sentence, a sense of friendliness as she stared at Mia, raising one eyebrow. “A little?”

“Okay, a lot,” Mia said, and Charlotte could have sworn she saw her lips tug at a slight smirk (not that Charlotte was watching her lips, no, she wouldn’t. She swears).

“So… What’s going to happen now? Is Roger going to give you the details?”

“No… It’s taken me a long time to realise that he probably never had the details. Going to try to find him on my own. And when I do find him, I have a few questions for Reece and Autumn’s mum, too,” Mia said as she scoffed softly and shook her head, quietly frustrated. Charlotte’s gaze softened as she continued to listen to Mia, knowing full well she could walk away, but she couldn’t, she wouldn’t. “She knew exactly the kind of monster she was leaving her children with when she walked out on them.”

“You… almost sound like you care about them.”

“I did… Once upon a time, Autumn was like a little sister to me, and Reece was like a best friend. Everyone says how awful it was after prom night, but what about me? Sure, they lost each other, but I lost both. All because Roger has his claws dug into me,” Mia spoke, her voice borderline, almost pleading as if she needed someone to understand.

Charlotte took a deep breath, realising that the person in front of her, a person who had tormented two of the Nurseries with chaos, wreaking havoc with relationships and plans for things, all of it, was because she needed things to be recovered. Charlotte’s heart panged at the thought of young Mia being left alone by two people she cared about and continued to have this tear between them for years, all because of what? Because a man couldn’t admit that he didn’t have answers. Charlotte was conflicted between feelings, and as she kept looking towards Mia, all she could do was look into her eyes and piece together the pieces of the woman to understand the coldness balancing the warmth.

“I… I feel confused. You’re acting like you care, but you’ve done atrocious things since you worked here!” Charlotte said, reaching to fidget with her fingers, and Mia slowly tilted her head, her smirk still present.

“Such as?”

“Such as? You just tried to get Jodie fired!”

“Jodie? That baffoon that cannot be left unsupervised around children in case she tries to eat the plastic fruit,” Mia spoke, and she noticed the hesitation from Charlotte and sighed as she folded her arms. “Do you know how many toy apples we’ve had to replace because Jodie keeps eating them all? Ultimately, it got a little too exhausting, and I tried to get rid of her.”

“What about that little boy you would not let sit on a chair?”

“I had a bit of an argument with Roger that morning, so I was in a bad mood. I was trying to pick a fight with a parent.”

“Mia, she punched you!” Charlotte exclaimed with concern.

“I know, really makes you feel alive, doesn’t it?” Mia said, and Charlotte couldn’t help but admit that Mia did have a certain charm about her. There was something sweet about it that was unexplained; certainly, Charlotte did not have the words to describe any of this feeling. Even then, she had noticed that she stopped biting her fingernail a while ago, and… Charlotte had to admit that Mia was a good distraction.

She could feel the guilt she had previously started to subdue quietly the more she understood Mia’s motives for her actions. However, she hadn’t forgotten one thing. Charlotte’s arms stumped to the side, tense momentarily as she folded her arms. “And what about Carly?”

“Ah, you mean when I made—“

“Made her feel embarrassed about her period, yes.”

“… I hate Carly.”

“What! Why?”

“Because? I see way too much of myself in her,” Mia admitted, and Charlotte was astonished at first, shocked, because she didn’t see any similarities between the two. She tried to go through all the possibilities but to no avail.

“Carly is happy, friendly, and bubbly? I’m… Failing to see how you can see yourself in her,” Charlotte admitted, her voice soft to prevent further instigation.

“Yeah. Exactly how I was at that age before Roger got to me,” Mia spoke, and Charlotte’s heart broke. She never thought about how Mia was before all this manipulation, all the emotional blackmailing that Roger had done to Mia all these years. The more that Charlotte looked at Mia, the more she realised that there was an empty shell of who she was, and all Charlotte could do was say nothing. She continued to look at Mia, unsure how to reach out to comfort her and whether Mia even wanted to be comforted, but all she could do was look at Mia.

“She reminds you too much of yourself…” Charlotte whispered after a while.

“It’s not Carly’s fault. It’s just… She holds up a mirror I’d rather not look into,” Mia admitted, and Charlotte nodded for a moment, leaving the silence between them to be a comforting feeling for a moment.

Then, a thought came into Charlotte’s head. A string of words she never thought would be put together for someone such as Mia. She fiddled with her wedding ring, remembering the smoothness of it, the guilt that she previously fought against, the loneliness. All those feelings merged with newfound feelings that were too confusing for Charlotte. But instead of running away from them, she decided that maybe, perhaps, it wouldn’t hurt to explore them. All she had to say was four words:

“And what about me?”

Mia was momentarily confused, furrowing her eyebrows inwards as she focused on Charlotte. “I never did anything to hurt you.”

“Exactly, why… Have you been nice to me?” Charlotte said, unaware she was being timid about the situation. Mia paused momentarily before piercing the dots together, a smirk slowly appearing when she concluded what Charlotte had meant.

“You think I had an ulterior motive?”

“Can you blame me? Given everything else I know about you, I was just…” Charlotte sighed as she shrugged her shoulders, and Mia nodded slowly. She was oddly quiet about Charlotte’s question, almost as if there were layers to her, and Charlotte was nervous as her fingers latched on to each other.

“No ulterior motives with you,” Mia said, and Charlotte waited to see if she was lying, but the way her face softened when Mia had spoken, Charlotte believed her, and as she went to say something else, Mia spoke again. “Char, I just like you.”

Charlotte’s body tensed up from using the nickname, but it quickly faded when she realised she liked how Mia said it. She reached up, placing some hair behind her ear, turning away as she felt the warmth on her cheeks again. Charlotte’s mind was racing; plenty of thoughts went through the phases of her brain, none of which she could answer right away.

“But I definitely don’t deserve to have you, so I need to work on that.”

“Mia, you can’t have me, I’m married…” Charlotte said as she looked back to Mia, unaware of what she was saying. Mia’s eyebrow perked up when she heard what Charlotte had said.

“Are you saying if you weren’t… I could have you?” Mia questioned, and all Charlotte could hear was her heart beating fast, the drums in her ears as the pounding overtook her senses. She stared blankly at Mia, her eyes fluttering as her chest heaved slowly. Charlotte couldn’t look away, her fingers still as she processed the question.

The truth was, Charlotte couldn’t say anything out loud, but her thoughts were clear as day. She bit her lip, holding back the words on the tip of her tongue, afraid to confess, knowing that it would become reality when she did. The separation would be real, and Charlotte wasn’t ready yet. She needed more time. But fuck she hated being lonely in an empty house when the kids were over at their dad’s place. Charlotte hated the silence, wishing something to fill that space, someone to hold her in the night to cure the starving touch.

All Mia could do was look at Charlotte up and down with a smile that made Charlotte weak in the knees. “You just said a whole lot without uttering a word. That’s good to know for when I come back,” she said, tilting her head coyly, and Charlotte felt her chest take a sharp inhale.

Charlotte’s head snapped back, facing towards Mia, focusing on her words instead. “What do you mean come back? You can’t come back; you don’t work here anymore?”

And something happened. Charlotte watched Mia tilt her head again before giving one of the warmest smiles that she had ever seen from her—a smile that made Charlotte shudder within her skin. The genuineness was rare, and Charlotte was the one to witness it. “When I come back for you,” Mia spoke softly and turned away as she walked down the corridor.

“Wait, Mia!” Charlotte said as she hurried over to Mia, who turned around to face Charlotte, her facial expression soft. Charlotte knew she had to say something regarding the guilt she felt in her stomach. Otherwise, she couldn’t sleep tonight, her anxiety overtaking her dreams instead. “Why… Why didn’t you say anything in the office about the accident form? All they had to do was look at it and see it was my handwriting.”

“Truthfully, I was so proud of you,” Mia said as she shrugged her shoulders lightly, and Charlotte had to take a deep breath to hold in her thoughts. Hearing the praise did something to her soul; she hadn’t heard it in a while, and Charlotte held it close to her chest. “Plus, I wouldn’t do that to you anyway.”

Charlotte sighed as she gave a slight nod but paused as Mia took one step closer towards Charlotte, making her freeze as if she were a deer in headlights. “But while we’re on the subject of looking at you… If these people you adore so much took the time out of their lives to do that, they’d see what I saw.”

“What are you talking about?” Charlotte said, confused, biting down the anxiety crawling its way up.

“That switching your wedding ring to flirt with me was the closest you’ve come to being brave enough actually to take it off,” Mia said, and Charlotte gasped, her shoulders tense. She looked at Mia, the distance acting as if it held a secret between the two. She could feel her anxiety strike as she started fiddling with her fingers before reaching up to bite her fingernails, but Mia grabbed her hand softly and held them down. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone, sweetheart. That’ll be our little secret,” Mia said as her thumb caressed Charlotte’s knuckles once more, giving her the familiar feeling of warmth from Mia’s fingernails before she let go, walking away.

Charlotte watched her walk out the door, standing in the middle of the corridor. She glanced down at her wedding ring; doubts were plaguing her mind, but nothing related to Mia. She glanced up towards the door Mia had exited and waited momentarily to see if she would return; she hoped. Her hand clasped in front of her as she held her fingers together before letting her thumb run over the same knuckles that Mia had done, avoiding the ring, just as Mia had done. It was new; the touch had a new meaning that replaced the bad.

And despite the guilt, the anxiety, and the thoughts that Charlotte had, nothing was on her mind except for the way that Mia had held her. And for the first time in a long time, even since the separation, Charlotte genuinely smiled.

#mialotte #the nursery nurse #nursery nurse #charlotte tnn #mia tnn #amelia roberts #mia x charlotte #tnn #ao3 fanfic #FERNLES WRITES !

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short-honey-badger · 1 year ago

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please more daddy shanks smut…your writing is amazing…🥹👉🏾👈🏾 can you please write one where he spanks the reader for teasing him…and it ends in him praising y/n for taking her punishment…she has to make it up by getting on her knees..she’s a lil inexperienced but it turns him on and he guides/praises her through it…at the end she gets rewarded with a mating press, lots of kisses & praise, creampie. 🥺🥺🥺 and then more praise and cuddles all soft n subby n fucked out by the safety and dominance of daddy shanks 🥺🥺🥺😩

Anon, this is for you. Thank you for a lovely prompt and I hope you enjoy it! I tried my best to get in what you asked!

Distracted

"Did you even pay attention to a word I just said?" Yasopp grunts at his Captain and Shanks just gives him a crooked grin. It wasn't his fault! How could he be blamed for not paying attention to his sniper when You were fluttering around the bar like a busy bee with such a low-cut shirt on? He swore that you wore his favorite shirt just to tease him, so yeah. There was little inside the tavern that could get his attention away from how nicely your tits bounced. He couldn't wait to get you back to the Red Force, Shanks needed to make sure you knew better than to tease him like this in front of everyone.

"Nope," he drawled, popping the p of the word. He doesn't even look at his sniper, unwilling to take his eyes off you for even a second. "Didn't hear a word."

Yasopp scoffs at him and shoves off the bar to go and join his other crew mates. There was no speaking to Shanks when he got like this. Not that the sniper blamed his Captain. You were beautiful, and everyone in the crew knew that Shanks would move the world for you. That didn't mean that his Captain wasn't a possessive bastard though, and he didn't like it when other men looked a bit too long.

Shanks hardly notices that his crewmate leaves, too absorbed by you still. He watches you for a while longer, eyes shadowed by his hair and face with the lip of his mug. He isn't jealous or angry with you fluttering about and having fun. He isn't that kind of man, but if he has to watch one more unworthy sleaze ball try and make a grab for your ass, he was going to level this entire establishment.

As to not have the entire island chasing his crew away from the island, Shanks finishes off his drink and drops more than enough cash to pay for it all. He hops off his stool, keeping you in sight as he crosses the tavern to the exit. He waits patiently for you to breeze by and then snaps his hand out to grab your waist. He tugs you to his chest, and a weight lifts from his shoulders at having you close to him,

"Hey there, little lady." He purrs and then kisses the shell of your ear, "How about I show you a good time."

You snort in laughter at his antic. It's been a few years since Shanks had stolen you away, and you've not regretted it since. He'd given you more freedom than you ever had on your own, "Aw," you coo, and a grin comes over your face, "Does Daddy need my attention?" You feel brazen with the alcohol in your system. Usually, it would be Shanks to instigate this.

Shanks chuckles and nods, "Daddy always needs his baby's attention," he nudges his hips against your lower back and your grin widens when you feel his hard length pressed against you, "Let's get outta here."

Before you can even think of a response, your Captain is already dragging you out of the establishment and out to the streets of the sleepy little town. Shanks presses you up against the door of his room when the two of you make it to the Red Force, easily slipping his arm under your ass and lifting you up. Your legs wrap around his waist and Shanks groans when his cock grinds against your clothed core. He kisses you like it's his last day on the planet, drool leaking past your swollen lips when Shanks sucks your tongue in his mouth.

He sucked at the wriggling appendage and ruts his hips into your own. He feels sixteen again, a boy trying to find any pleasure he could while out at sea with a ship full of men. You must focus on breathing through your nose, your expression lust-filled and open for Shanks to see. When breathing gets a bit too difficult, you grab him by his shoulders and shove yourself back with a gasp. Shanks doesn't let up, instead focusing his attention on your neck where he leaves behind a masterpiece of of harsh bites and hickeys.

"Sh-Shanks." You whine and are punished with a more painful bite than the rest. You were the one who instigated the agreement the moment you called him Daddy back in the bar. You are his little girl now, so you had best call him by the correct title.

"Sorry, Daddy." You correct yourself softly and feel your liver grin against your neck.

"Good girl, Baby." He praises and you flush in glee. It was no secret to him that he knew that you enjoyed it when the powerful man smothered you in sweet words and affirmations. However, a nervous dread wells up when Shanks pulls away and you catch the considering look he was giving you. You are suddenly sat down and Shanks steps away to sit on the bed, leaning back and cocking his head to the side. You shift in front of him, nervous at his sudden change in attitude.

"You made Daddy jealous today, ya know." He begins and you look at him in confusion. "Don't play dumb, Sweetheart. You wore my favorite shirt, how could I not think that you wanted to tease me all night?" He presses and you glance down to see that you indeed are wearing his favorite shirt. The one that makes your tits look damn good. You hadn't realized that you had put it on earlier.

Your cheek burns at the accusation, "I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to tease you," you murmur and look away from his piercing gaze with a frown.

Shanks lets out a world-weary sigh and then pats his lap," Come 'ere, Baby," He orders and you scramble to go to his side, "lay across my lap, face down." You do what he asks slowly this time, movements unsure as you settle across his lap. Shanks jerks your pants down and you shiver when the cool air of the cabin ghosts over your bare ass.

His hand feels huge as it rubs over the globe of your ass and you tense when his fingers dip between your legs to gently pet your folds. He plays with you for a bit, just long enough that he can feel you begin to get wet on the tips of his fingers before he pulls away. You are about to ask why he stopped when his hand comes down and he spacks your ass Hard.

"Gah!" you exclaim and jump forward on his lap in shock. He lands another smack that has you yelping again, eyes wide as you glance back at him. His hand gently rubs your ass, taking some of the pain away before he strikes you again three more times in quick succession. Tears have started to fall, staining your cheeks and the fabric of his pants.

"I'm doing this for your own good, Sweetheart," Shanks coos down at you, tone apologetic and he gently rubs your sore cheek again, "You gotta remember that I don't like it when other men see you and think they can have you. Think that they can touch you," his hand digs into and you whine at the pinch of his nails. You can't see it, but the grin Shanks wears is mean, his annoyance with the other men from earlier rising up.

"I-I'm sorry, Daddy!" You tell him loudly, voice thick from the tears in your throat. "Only want you. No one else can do what you do."

Shanks shushes you quietly, "I know that, Baby," he assures you and his grip lessens, hand stroking your red flesh, "But sometimes I just can't help myself. I wanted to tear that whole place down when I seen that guy try and touch you," he admits and you shiver at his dark tone. It's rare that Shanks gets this way, but it turns you on every time.

Your thoughts are interrupted when Shanks delivers another smack to your opposite cheek and fresh tears slide down your face, "So I think I deserve a reward for holding back."

You find yourself nodding frantically, "Anything for you, Daddy," you tell him and peek over your shoulder to look at the redhead, "I want you to feel good too."

Shanks grins down at you, "Yeah? You wanna make Daddy feel nice?" He repeats and you nod again, moving to stand up from his lap and he lets you, eyes never leaving your shanking legs and exposed tits from where your shirt had ridden up. You could kick him while he was down, and Shanks would still say thank you. Others called him whipped but he couldn't care less what they thought of him. "Then get on your knees for me, Baby. I wanna see your lips wrapped around my cock."

You gulp as you settle on your knees in between his legs. While you didn't mind sucking him off, you didn't do it very often, so you weren't very confident in your skills. Shanks had always been a giver, so it was rare when he wanted this.

However, your worries are easily assured cause of course Shanks had spotted your rising nerves, "Don't worry Babygirl," Shanks reassured you and his hand met your chin, tilting your face up and brushing his thumb along your lower lip, "I'll help you."

A relieved smile crossed your face and you pressed a kiss to his plan, "Thank you, Daddy," You murmur and then reach for his pants when he drops his hand. You pull the elastic of his flashy pants, and like usual, your Captain isn't wearing any underwear, so his cock springs out when you shove them down his thighs. You admire his cock, mouth watering at the sight of the red tip smeared with precum. Shanks takes his dick in hand, leading it so that the tip presses against your lips. He smears the sticky fluid across your lips and grins at the way your eyes flutter.

"Open your mouth, Seastar," Shanks urges gently and taps the head twice against your lower lip. Slowly, your jaw drops open and Shanks groans when your tongue smooths across his leaking cock. You click your tongue at the taste, it's salty but doesn't taste bad.

"Now wrap your lips around the head, Sweetheart," Your Daddy orders and you do as told, stretching your mouth wide to accommodate his girth, "Now suck. Use your tongue on the bottom side, Baby," Shanks coaches.

Your brows furrow in concentration and focus on breathing through your nose. Shanks slips in further and sighs happily when he feels your tongue work against his shaft. You look so damn pretty with your lips taunt around his dick, "That's it, Baby, You're doing so well taking my cock. Not too much is it?"

You know that he expects you to answer, so you make a positive sound in the back of your throat. Shanks nods once and then finds one of your hands, tugging it up and having you wrap your hand around his dick. He helps you find a rhythm for the length of him that you can't fit in your mouth yet and then lets his hand fall away so you can do it yourself. You feel full, mouth stuffed with nothing but Shanks, and you can taste the kind of life he lives.

The Yonko's eyes never leave your face, dark gaze memorizing the way your face flushes when you catch him watching you. His hips buck at the sight and you sputter when the tip hits the back of your throat. His hand slips in your hair to hold you still and Shanks pushes even further and you whine at the uncomfortable feeling. He tugs gently on your hair, "Relax your throat, Baby," He growls out.

You struggle to do what he says, eyes clenching shut and Shanks finds himself slipping. He can't help himself when his hips twitch again and he thrusts shallowly, trying to wait so you can get used to him. You choke more than a few times, spit, and precum leak from your lips and Shanks can't get enough of watching you take him like the good girl you are.

"Come on, Sweetheart. I know that you can take the rest of me," Shanks says but it sounds more like a demand to your ears. Your hands grip his thighs tightly and you dare to open your eyes to look up at the Yonko. His blissed-out expression makes all the discomfort worth it, and hearing this powerful man moan for You sent shivers straight down your spine and had you leaking from your core. However, the Yonko was big and you were already struggling to take him now. How were you supposed to take more?

You find out when Shank suddenly grips your hair tightly and shoves most of his cock done your throat. You sputter, hands gripping his legs and digging your nails in harshly. Your breath is raspy even through your nose and the fullness of it surprises you. Instead of retreating, Shanks holds himself there, dark gaze never leaving your face as he watches you struggle to take him, "Relax, Baby," he coos to you and you are left to try and do what he says again.

Shanks loses track of how long he has you on your knees, but he is so proud of the progress you have made. You are so close to being able to take all of him, but he didn't want to push you too far tonight. the pirate finally takes pity on you and pulls out of your mouth with a love-stricken look, "You did so well, Seastar," He tells you and you breathe deeply and rest your head on his thigh. He strokes your hair, pulling the damp strands away from you're face, "I think it's your turn now, huh?"

You nod dumbly, not quite ready to speak right now. Shanks lifts you easily, disposing of your clothes and then laying you on your back on the bed, and tucking a mound of pillows under your hips. Another one that smells heavily of Shanks is tucked under your head and then your lover disappears for a moment. He comes back with a glass bottle and hands it to you, "Just water, Sweetheart. Don't want you to get dehydrated."

You drink deeply and then hand the bottle back. When Shanks comes back, he settles between your legs and pushes your ankles together with ease, "Hold these up for me, Honey," He tells you and you reach out to grip your thighs, pulling them back until your knees bracket your ears. He places kisses on your inner thigh and then closer to where you want him most. He doesn't make you wait, gathering spit and laving over your cunt. Shanks needs you wet and quick. the redhead had teased you both long enough.

Your legs shake but you keep a good hold on them. You come embarrassingly quick, but Shanks only groans as you gush over his tongue. It makes it easier for him to coat his middle three fingers. It may hurt, but he knows that you can take them.

The instruction is swift, and you bow off the bed, crying out his name on accident, "Fuck! Sh-Shanks!" your legs twitch and his finger curl just right to send you into another orgasm. The sounds in the room are positively filthy as Shanks eats you out, and you know that he won't let you forget tonight for a long time.

"Shit, Baby. I can't wait any longer," Shanks huffs out and rises, and you get a good view of your Captain stroking his cock from between your legs. He shuffles forward and positions himself at your entrance and with a hiss sinks balls deep into your pussy. You whine, high-pitched and loud as he fills you up just the way you like it.

Shanks doesn't waste any time and sets a brutal pace, hips pounding into your own hard enough there is sure to be some tenderness later on. Even pussy drunk and snarling like an animal, Shanks was careful to not hurt you. You know he is close when his pace falters and becomes erratic, and soon he is bowing over you and capturing your lips in a bruising kiss as he comes deep inside of you. You pulse around him, creaming around him seconds after and you milk his cock greedily.

"That's it, Baby. Take Daddy's cum. Let me fill you up," He snarls against your lips and then seals them together again as he continues to thrust until you are wincing at the overstimulation and pushing weakly at his shoulders. Shanks stops quickly when he notices the signs of true pain, pulling out with a groan and grinning down at the sticky mess that coats his cock and your thighs.

You grimace at the lewd sounds and Shanks laughs at your curled lip. His expression is soft and he sits back so that you can lower your legs, and your face shifts to a wince at the change in angle, "You okay, Sweetheart?" He asks and has already stood to retrieve a wet cloth to clean the both of you up.

"I'm fine. Haven't broken me yet, Daddy," You tell him, voice still raspy and slurred. Shanks huffs at your remark, and curls around you, tucking you close then burning his face in your hair to breathe you in. The two of you would rest for a bit and then be back up to continue to party. It had been too long since the crew of the Red Force happened upon such a nice island, so it would be a shame to miss out on the fun.

#fanfic #one piece #reader insert #smut #red haired shanks #shanks #shanks x reader #shanks x y/n #shanks x you #answered #daddy shanks

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skeletboi · 14 days ago

Text

Intridimensional AU part 20! (So many parts 🤔)

First /// Previous /// Next

Also part 19.5 (silly extra sketch) here!

______________________________________

Ford took off his sweater vest and laid it carefully over Stan's sleeping form before returning to Fiddleford's side. They had spent the last hour speaking with the other creatures hiding out in the cave and had come up with somewhat of a plan of action, but had decided to stay here for a few hours and rest.

Stan had easily fallen asleep, turns out being used to napping wherever and whenever you could came in handy when you accidently fall through a portal. Ford and Fiddleford on the other hand, could not so easily shut their brains off.

“Do you need help?” Ford asked as he watched Fiddleford attempt to organize the pile of gadgets the other refugees had given them with only one hand.

“Definitely. But not with this.” Fiddleford replied.

“Right.” Ford said, looking away.

Fiddleford stayed silent as he continued to mess with the gadgets, and Ford accepted the silence for all of 30 seconds before speaking up again.

“Fiddleford, I'm so sorry.” He said quietly.

Fiddleford put down the gadget he was holding and looked up at the rocky wall across from him.

“I know. Ya said that already, Stanford.” He said.

“I know I did. I just need you to know that. I never meant for any of this to happen. I had no idea what Bill was really like. I still haven't wrapped my head around it.”

“Well maybe ya shoulda told me ‘bout him sooner.” Fiddleford sighed. “But then again, ya wouldn't a listened ta me then, either.”

“Or maybe you would have erased that memory.” Ford replied, immediately regretting it as Fiddleford finally turned towards him.

Ford expected to see anger on his face, and wouldn't have blamed him if he did, but all that he saw was sadness.

“That's prolly true.” Fiddleford said quietly. “I don't know how to deal with any a this, and honestly I'd like to erase it all right now and never turn back, but I have a son, Stanford. A son that will die with the rest of our dimension if we don’ do somethin’.”

“Your son…” Ford replied quietly. “I was so caught up in all of this I forgot all about him.”

“Yeah, well I didn't. I never did. Even when I left him behind to help you.” Fiddleford said with a humorless huff of laughter. “I ain't innocent in all this, Ford.”

“Maybe not innocent, but I'm the one who believed Bill and caused this.” Ford noted

“And I coulda said no from the beginning, but I couldn't bring myself ta do it… I left my son behind second ya called me.”

“You planned on going back in barely a month, Fidds. You can't blame yourself for that.”

Fiddleford looked back at the wall across from him before replying. “I didn't come to Gravity Falls to be part a history or whatever yer always sayin’. I came to Gravity Falls because ya asked me to, Stanford.”

Ford frowned at him in question and Fiddleford glanced back over at him.

“Fer bein’ so smart, ya sure are dumb.” Fiddleford said, huffing out a laugh. “I came when ya called ‘cuz I love you, Ford. I've loved you since ya burst into our dorm room talkin’ bout math. I tried to move on and started a family ‘cus I thought I'd never hear from you again.”

Ford floundered for a second before answering. “Fidds, I'm so sorry. You must know how I lov-”

“No.” Fiddleford said, cutting him off. “Don't go sayin’ that ta me jus’ ta make me feel better. Even in college I knew yer work would always be more important to ya than me. Maybe if I had focused on my own work instead a you we wouldn't be here.”

“You know how much I care about you, Fiddleford. Can't I love you and my research? You love me and you love your wife! Why can't a man love two things?”

“That ain't the same. I love my wife, but not in the way I love you. The way I love you is destructive, Stanford.”

“It doesn't have to be!” Ford practically yelled, then caught himself and lowered his voice. “Maybe destructive is what we need. I know we wouldn't be here if I had listened to you in the first place. Maybe you don't want to hear it right now, but I do love you, Fiddleford, and I'm finally ready to listen. I need you. You keep me grounded.”

Fiddleford looked at him in silence for a moment before responding. “Maybe destructive is what we need. Jus’ promise me ya ain't gonna keep more secrets from me, and I'll do the same.”

“I promise.” Ford said, then leaned in and kissed him.

“Fucking finally!” Stan said, making Ford and Fiddleford tore away from each other and look over at him.

“I was about to knock your heads together if you didn't get over yourselves.” Stan continued, ignoring their obvious embarrassment. “Watching you two pine over each other was more painful than getting my leg cut off.”

“Stanley! I thought you were asleep!” Ford said.

“And miss all that drama? Fuck no. I'm a light sleeper. Nerd arguments wake me up.”

“I don’ know if I'd call that a ‘nerd argument’.” Fiddleford noted.

“Well it was!” Stanley responded. “We get it. We all fucked up. We're two amputees and the stupidest genius in the galaxy hiding from god-like geometric shape in a rock floating in space! But believe me, as someone who is close personal friends with rock bottom, it could definitely be worse. At least we all fell into the portal! Imagine if it was just you two! I wouldn't have a damn clue how to bring you back. The only way to beat a three-sided triangle is by being a functioning trio. That's math!”

“That was surprisingly inspiring.” Ford responded.

“I'm inspiring as fuck!” Stanley said defensively. “The point is I'm happy you two nerd-idiots finally got your shit together. Now I can focus on interdimensional babes instead of trying to steal Fiddleford from under you, Ford!”

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed in response.

“Prolly for the best, it was startin’ to work on me.” Fiddleford said thoughtfully.

“It what?!” Ford asked, nonplussed.

“I told ya he was charmin’, didn't I? Yer lucky I've loved you so much longer, Stanford.” Fiddleford said with a laugh as Ford glared at Stan. “Speakin’ of you bein’ charmin’, take this.” Fiddleford continued, handing Stan a watch-like gadget. “It's a translator. I'm thinkin’ you'll be the best at talkin’ to different people until I can get the supplies, and an arm, ta make two more.”

“Well it ain't a Rolex, but it'll have to do.” Stan said, putting it on his wrist. “But you two should actually get some sleep. We don't know when we'll be able to next. Just no fucking where I can hear it.”

“Goddammit, Stanley. Maybe you shouldn't be the one with the translator.” Ford said as Stan laughed.

“I think that's ‘xactly why he needs it. Quick thinkin’ to come up with those terrible jokes.” Fiddleford laughed. “But he's also right, we should be gettin' some sleep. We got a long journey ahead.”

________________________

I try to make Fiddleford's accent more dramatic when he's stressed, but I'm not sure if that translates well? Whatever.

Next will be a comic, which may take me a bit of time to finish because I started my new job and it's like an hour and a half commute one way. So I spend 3 hours of my day driving, and 8.5 hours at work. Which means I am home not often. 🤷🏻

#Intridimensional au #gravity falls #stanford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #gravityfalls #fiddauthor #ford pines #stanley pines #gravity falls au #bill cipher #youncles #younguncles #???#idk how to spell that #skeletboi tag #skeletboitag

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hr-twink · 10 days ago

Text

"Hello?"

The person on the other end of the call tried to get her attention.

"Ms. Guy are you there?"

Louisa came back to herself and tightened her grip on the phone she held to her ear.

"Yeah, sorry could you repeat that?"

"Um, Yes." The lady on the phone said. "As I said, you are listed as the emergency contact for one River Cartwright. We regret to inform you that he is deceased."

Louisa couldn't wrap her head around this.

"I don't understand–"

"Thats quite normal, Ms. Guy. You are entitled to counseling through our health program–"

Louisa cut her off.

"No– I don't understand how he can be dead if he is literally in the same room as me right now."

Hearing that he was included on this phone call, River perked up at his desk. He shot Louisa a look that was as confused as she felt.

The voice on the phone crackled as Louisa put it on speaker. "Pardon?"

"River Cartwright is in the office with me right now. Not dead."

The phone was silent except for the sound of rapid typing on the other end. Louisa looked at River who had scooted over to her desk in his office chair. The woman came back,

"Um. Are you sure?" Her voice was at least an octave higher as the realization that this was a mistake dawned on her.

Louisa turned the phone to River who leaned closer.

"Yeah Hi, this is River. I'm very much not dead right now."

More frantic typing, this time with some worried muttering.

"Uh, hello Mr. Cartwright. Sorry I am just trying to figure out how this could have happened. Could you provide me some of your details for me to verify?"

Louisa handed off her phone to River who rattled off his service ID number and some personal data. Louisa rubbed a hand over her face at how ridiculous the situation was. She got lost in thought for a moment, thinking about the last time she had thought River was dead... jesus what a fuck up this was. She tuned back in when the phone-lady started talking again.

"Mr. Cartwright we are very sorry about this. You have indeed been marked deceased in our internal files. These can only be changed by high-clearance staff so I'm really not sure how this could have happened. I don't know why but someone must have changed something up in HR–"

Louisa's eyes snapped up to River's which were the the widest she'd ever seen them. They spoke in unison.

"It can't be." / "You have got to be fucking kidding me."

River sounded awed. Louisa groaned.

"I'm sorry did I say something wrong?" Phone lady asked.

Louisa shook her head in disbelief. She reached over and took the phone, taking over the conversation as River had been struck dumb. "No sorry. We know what went wrong now. Could you please just amend the profile?"

"Of course. I'll do that right away. Sincerest apologies for any distress, Ms. Guy... and Mr. Cartwright."

Louisa hung up the phone and let it clatter onto the desktop.

They both sat there in stunned silence for at least a few minutes until they heard footsteps skipping up the stairs.

Roddy came into view but stopped dead when he saw River.

"You're supposed to be dead!"

River turned to him, "Gee, thanks Roddy."

"How the fuck do you even know?" Louisa spat.

Roddy recovered his composure, "I know everything."

River rolled his eyes, "Clearly not as I am fully alive."

"What's all this about Cartwright being dead?" Lamb's greasy voice made them all jump as he appeared like a spectre in the doorway.

Louisa sighed. "I got a call from The Park saying that River was dead, which he is not." She nodded in his direction. "Also not dead? Spider apparently."

Even Lamb could hardly contain his surprise, trying to play it off with a "Like herpes, that one. Can never get rid of 'im."

She continued past the vile image Lamb had just put in her brain. "He clearly decided declaring River officially dead would be a charming way to let us know he was alive."

Roddy, who had lost interest in the situation once he realized that he once again couldn't pilfer River's belongings, had left. Lamb merely grunted at this information and also took his leave. Louisa and River were once again alone.

She scanned his face which was going through an expression journey between shell-shocked, angry, bursting with glee, back to anger again. She interrupted his thinking,

"Go."

She shook her head and rebooted her forgotten computer.

River looked up at her. "Wha–"

"Just go. You know you were going to. Go now and save me from watching you stew...or pine for the rest of the day."

River didn't say anything. But he did get up and go to the door. He turned back sheepishly.

"Don't." Louisa held up her hand to stop whatever pathetic thing he was about to say. "Just go and don't tell me anything about it ever. Just don't do anything that will have me telling you 'I told you so'."

River smiled and have her a thumbs up.

She yelled after him as he went down the stairs.

"Give him my hate!"

based on this obviously: (maybe there was seduction somehow)

#honestly so proud that i banged this out #something something bang out joke #slow horses #cartwebb #river cartwright #james spider webb #louisa guy #crackfic #kinda?#jackson lamb #roddy ho #roddy the graverobber fr #slow horses fic #will probably post this on ao3 but not toniteee

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tatumrileyslover · 1 year ago

Text

Redemption

Sequel to Solace

Pairings: Tara Carpenter x Fem! Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Hurt again, angst, some fluff

Warnings: violence, stabbing, character death

Word Count: 7.4k

Authors Note: thanks so much for all the patience you’ve shown me, I’m been very stressed these past few days with uni quickly approaching I’ve had no time to write, if you like this, I might make a third part about the final act. Hope you all enjoy

As (Y/n) lay quietly by Tara's side, her heart weighed heavy with guilt and love, as she gently caressed Tara's hair, trying to be a source of comfort in the dimly lit hospital room. Her fingers moved with tender care, tracing soothing patterns as she whispered words of reassurance. The events of the night replayed in her mind like a haunting melody, the fight they had before the attack now etched in her memory, making her ache with regret. She knew there was no way she could have predicted what would happen, but the guilt gnawed at her nonetheless.

Tara's eyes struggled to stay open, the exhaustion from the ordeal pulling her into a dreamless slumber. Her body was weak, but the warmth of (Y/n)'s touch gave her a sense of solace amid the chaos. The room remained enveloped in a profound silence, broken only by the faint hum of hospital equipment, and the gentle symphony of Tara's quiet breaths. (Y/n)'s heart swelled with love, vowing never to leave Tara's side again. She had come so close to losing the person she cherished most, and the fear of that loss had shaken her to her core.

The tranquility of the hospital room was shattered by the sound of frantic footsteps racing toward the door. Tara's heart pounded, her body tensing in anticipation. Despite the pain that shot through her as she attempted to sit up, she refused to remain vulnerable and defenseless. Beside her, (Y/n) held her hand tightly, her expression a mix of worry and determination.

The door swung open, and their friends burst into the room, a rush of relief and concern on their faces. (Y/n) stayed by Tara's side, never letting go of her hand, a steady anchor in the whirlwind of emotions. Wes stood at the foot of the bed, trying to sound confident in an attempt to reassure Tara that everything was under control.

"Don't worry, Tara. My mom's got everything under control," Wes said, his voice trying to sound reassuring, but there was a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. "She's conducting interviews, and there's a curfew in place to keep everyone safe."

Chad chimed in with his own contribution, his tone tinged with sarcasm, "Yeah, Sheriff Hicks even interviewed me. Amber here thought I was the killer because of some football bruises!"

Amber raised her arms defensively, "I was just stating the facts. It's always someone you know, right?"

(Y/n) sighed loudly, interrupting the argument, her frustration evident. "Guys, seriously! This is the last thing Tara needs right now. If you're going to argue about petty things, just leave!"

The group fell into an uncomfortable silence, but it didn't last long. Mindy spoke up, her words laced with suspicion, "If we're going by Stab rules, how do we know it's not the love interest? I mean, isn't that what always happens?"

(Y/n)'s glare could have cut through steel, feeling hurt and betrayed that one of her closest friends could suggest such a thing. Tara squeezed her hand gently, offering her comfort and assurance. "It couldn't have been her," Tara said, her voice soft but firm. "(Y/n) was texting me the entire time. She scared off the killer before they..." Her voice trailed off as the memories of the terrifying ordeal washed over her, the pain and fear still fresh in her mind.

(Y/n) swallowed hard, her guilt gnawing at her. She knew she couldn't have arrived any earlier, but she still blamed herself for not being there to protect Tara. "I feel guilty enough for not being there in the first place," she said, her voice choked with emotion. "Please, can we talk about something else?"

As Chad tried to change the topic, the door to the room burst open once again, revealing a familiar face. Everyone stood on defence only to see Tara's sister Sam, she had changed a lot since (Y/n) had seen her last, her eyes were more sunken in, she had lost all the baby fat on her cheeks, but she had looked much healthier. (Y/n) could see the look of longing and relief that had rushed over Sams face seeing her sister, all beat up in the hospital bed.

"Sam?"

As the door swung open, the occupants of the room stood up abruptly, shock and surprise etched across their faces. Amber's expression seemed to hold a mixture of disdain and disbelief. It was no secret that Amber harbored resentment toward Sam for leaving her family abruptly, and (Y/n) couldn't shake the feeling that there was a hidden reason behind it all, something she couldn't quite fathom.

"You came?" Tara's voice was almost a whisper, carrying a mix of astonishment and emotion. Tara's eyes raked over Sam's features, as if trying to take in every detail she had missed during their time apart. In that moment, the absence of their mother, who had yet to visit, seemed insignificant. Sam was here, (Y/n) was here, and Tara was not alone anymore. "Of course I came. This is my boyfriend, Richie."

Richie offered a polite smile and extended his hand. "It's nice to meet you, and I'm sorry if I'm intruding." Tara managed a small grin, finding Sam's newfound openness endearing. She replied, "It's nice to meet you too." Richie seemed a bit awkward, almost hovering by the door, a stance that (Y/n) understood – he was an outsider in a situation fraught with tension. Sam went around the room, exchanging hugs with the friends who had become like family to Tara. She turned back to Richie, who appeared even more nervous now. A soft smile played on her lips. "These are Chad and Mindy, the twins, and Wes. I used to babysit them all."

(Y/n)'s gaze shifted to Richie, who seemed uncomfortable, fidgeting with the string on his backpack. An odd intuition nudged her, suggesting something was off about him, but she dismissed it as her own apprehension. Sam's call to her name brought her back to reality. "And (Y/n)'s been friends with Tara for as long as I can remember!" (Y/n) offered a smile, her grip on Tara's hand tightening briefly. "Girlfriend now, actually," she said, emphasizing the change in their relationship status. Tara's smile echoed the sentiment.

Sam's attention shifted to Amber, who stood opposite (Y/n) near Tara's bedside. She greeted her, only to receive a reluctant response. (Y/n) couldn't help but notice that Richie had only introduced himself back to Amber. Odd, she thought. The conversation turned to their absent mother, and Sam's inquiry highlighted her noticeable absence. Tara began to explain, "She's stuck at a conference in London, she called me earlier-"

Amber, ever the blunt one, cut her off, a clear note of resentment in her voice. "For all of ten minutes." Tara's gaze dropped to her lap, struggling to hold back her tears. The impact of Amber's words resonated through the room, prompting Amber to change the subject hastily. "Look, guys, Tara's really tired. Maybe we should just give her some space?"

The room seemed to agree in unison, with everyone beginning to leave. Tara's words, however, halted Sam. "Not you, Sam. I want you to stay." Sam's surprise was evident, but she nodded, her eyes welling up with gratitude. (Y/n) remained rooted by Tara's side, determined not to leave her.

"If it's okay with you, I can sleep here tonight?" Sam's voice was gentle, filled with the understanding that she was walking on fragile ground. Tara offered a smile, her heart warmed by her sister's presence. "I'd really like that."

(Y/n) reached out and took Sam's hand, offering her a genuine smile. "I'm glad you're here, Sam."

A soft shuffle drew their attention to Amber, who was still in the room. Leaning down to Tara's side, she whispered, "Do you have your extra inhaler?" Tara reassured her, and Amber left, with Richie following suit, his unease palpable.

As the door closed behind them, (Y/n) turned her attention back to Tara, her grip on Sam's hand not loosening.

Looking back to the sisters, (Y/n) noticed the intense exchange of looks between them, a telltale sign that a very private moment was about to unfold. As Tara's body trembled, (Y/n) instinctively moved closer, her presence offering a silent promise of comfort and support.

Tara's emotions began to well up, and (Y/n) could tell she was on the brink of tears. With a gentle shift, she positioned herself closer to Tara, her arm finding a reassuring place atop Tara's intertwined hands. The sisters seemed to exist in their own world, yet (Y/n)'s presence was a steady anchor, a reminder that they were not alone in this moment of vulnerability.

"Sam, I was so scared," Tara's voice quivered, the vulnerability in her tone exposing the depth of her feelings. Sam immediately slipped into her role as the older sister, tenderly brushing a strand of hair away from Tara's face and holding her close. (Y/n)'s touch provided an additional layer of comfort, a subtle gesture of solidarity that only she and Sam could offer.

"I know," Sam's voice was a soothing balm, a simple affirmation that carried the weight of understanding.

(Y/n)'s eyes fluttered open as the door to the hospital room closed with a soft click, momentarily rousing her from a light slumber. Her gaze scanned the room, searching for any signs of movement or activity. The absence of Sam's presence in the chair next to Tara's bedside was noticeable, but (Y/n) assumed she had stepped out briefly, perhaps for a bathroom break. She allowed her eyes to drift shut again, intent on drifting back into a peaceful doze.

However, her tranquility was shattered like fragile glass when a quiet scream sliced through the air, instantly jolting her into a state of wide-eyed alertness. Her heart raced, and her body tensed as she sat up in bed, the remnants of sleep clinging to her senses. Her gaze honed in on the corner of the room, where Richie was seated, his head bowed, eyes glued to the screen of his iPad. The chilling atmosphere was heightened by the unmistakable sounds of a horror movie playing – sounds she recognized all too well.

Confusion and alarm etched across her features as she tried to make sense of the situation. The eerie background noises were unmistakably from one of the "Stab" movies – a franchise born from the real-life horrors the town of Woodboro had endured, which has resulted in Tara's unfortunate circumstances. Her voice trembled slightly as she found the words to break the silence that had descended like a heavy fog.

"What is it? What's wrong?" she demanded urgently, her eyes locked onto Richie's figure, searching for any signs of explanation or rationality. His sudden shift in attention, his fingers hovering over the iPad's screen, was a testament to her abrupt intrusion into whatever he was engrossed in.

Richie's gaze lifted from the screen, his eyes wide with surprise at being caught. He seemed momentarily flustered by her presence and her questions, his attempt at playing it off failing to mask his unease.

(Y/n)'s frown deepened as the unsettling sounds of the movie reached her ears once again. She couldn't deny the familiar disquiet that they stirred within her, the haunting echoes of the past becoming tangible in the present. "Are you watching... Stab?" Her voice held a mix of incredulity and incredulousness. It was as if her mind couldn't quite grasp the reality of the situation – the fact that Richie, someone on the outskirts of their ordeal, would be voluntarily subjecting himself to this eerie re of trauma.

A shy, almost apologetic smile tugged at the corners of Richie's lips. It was a blend of embarrassment and hesitation, like a person caught red-handed in the act of something they knew wouldn't be well-received. "It's on Netflix," he explained, as if the familiarity of the streaming platform justified his choice of entertainment.

(Y/n)'s puzzled look lingered, her brow furrowing as she tried to understand the reasoning behind his actions. His next words only added to her confusion. "I want to be prepared in case—"

An exasperated sigh escaped her lips before she could even stop herself. Her frustration at the bizarre scenario was palpable, and she found herself standing up from her seat with an urgency that demanded an explanation. She was careful not to disturb Tara, who continued to sleep soundly nearby. "If you wanted to be prepared, you'd be on Wikihow," she retorted, her tone a mix of sarcasm and annoyance. With a quiet but determined resolve, she left the room, needing a breather from the disconcerting situation that had unraveled before her.

The tension in the air seemed to cling to her as she stepped into the corridor, her thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and bewilderment. The strange confluence of events left her grappling with a sense of unease, a nagging feeling that there was more to Richie's actions than met the eye. She couldn't shake the distrust that had taken root, like a seed of doubt that had been planted deep within her mind.

Navigating the hospital's corridors, (Y/n)'s steps were measured and her thoughts a mixture of concern and confusion. She couldn't shake off the unsettling encounter with Richie, his bizarre fixation on watching horror movies as some twisted form of preparation. She needed a moment to herself, a sip of water perhaps, to distance herself from the eerie undercurrents that seemed to be flowing through the hospital.

Approaching the break room, the quiet hum of the hallway was disrupted by an alarming cacophony emanating from within. Banging, clattering, and muffled grunts created an eerie symphony that sent shivers down her spine. Perplexed, she slowed her steps, her curiosity warring with her instinct to flee the chaos.

Just as she was about to reach for the door handle, the scene before her shifted in a blur of motion. Sam burst out of the room, her features a mask of shock and desperation. (Y/n) barely had time to react as Sam collided with her, the impact sending her sprawling to the floor. Sam's startled face met hers, their eyes locking in a brief moment of shared astonishment.

(Y/n) felt Sam's arms gripping her own, attempting to pull her up in the midst of their collision. The urgency of Sam's movements hinted at a deeper turmoil, a frantic need to escape whatever had transpired within the break room. But their awkward positioning and the chaos of the situation only added to the confusion.

In the midst of the chaos, the attempt to stand turned into a clumsy shuffle, a precarious dance of limbs and urgency. Sam's grip faltered, and (Y/n) found herself slipping from her grasp. As if guided by a malevolent force, Sam's foot landed in an unfortunate spot, her heel connecting with (Y/n)'s temple in a jarring impact.

Pain exploded through (Y/n)'s head, and her vision blurred as a high-pitched ringing echoed in her ears. The world around her swirled in a disorienting haze, and she struggled to make sense of what was happening. A blurry figure moved in the periphery of her vision – Ghostface.

As abruptly as the chaos had begun, it ended. Ghostface retreated, leaving behind an unsettling void. (Y/n) remained on the floor, dazed and immobilized by the shock of the encounter. The echoes of Sam's pleas and the ominous sounds of struggle gradually faded, replaced by the hospital's familiar, muted hum.

Amid the disorientation, a nurse arrived on the scenel. (Y/n) blinked, her vision gradually clearing as the nurse's calm voice and gentle touch reassured her. With the nurse's support, (Y/n) managed to rise from the floor, the ache in her temple a persistent reminder of the chaotic collision.

Guided by the nurse, (Y/n) walked, her steps unsteady, back to Tara's hospital room. Tara's attack, the encounter with Richie, the tumult in the break room, it all felt like an eerie dream that she couldn't quite shake off.

(Y/n)'s head throbbed mercilessly, each step feeling like a hammer strike against her temples. The hospital's harsh lights pierced through her skull, sending shockwaves of pain radiating in all directions. She squinted, her hand instinctively shielding her eyes from the blinding assault. As the door to the hospital room drew near, her gaze shifted to Richie, who stood outside with an eerie intensity. His arms were crossed, his ear pressed against the door – a disturbing sight that set her on edge.

Intent on addressing Richie's unsettling behavior, (Y/n) was about to confront him when a sudden, shrill voice rent the air, tearing through the tense silence.

"GET THE FUCK OUT!"

Tara's raw, strained voice reverberated, piercing through the room like a knife. The scene froze, every person in the vicinity arrested by the unexpected outburst. Even the deputy stationed by the door widened his eyes in surprise. Richie, his demeanor shifting from curiosity to apprehension, swiftly moved out of the doorframe. (Y/n)'s light steps closed the gap between her and the unfolding situation, her heart pounding in anticipation.

With a strange sense of déjà vu, the door opened before her hand could even touch the handle. Sam stood before her, her face marred by blotchy redness and tear tracks. Clearly shaken by whatever had transpired inside the room, her eyes traced a path from the floor to (Y/n)'s face, finally settling on the bandaged temple. A quiet sniffle escaped Sam, her voice trembling as she spoke through her emotions.

"I'm sorry," (Y/n)'s lips curved into a small, reassuring smile, her gesture aimed at offering comfort amidst the chaos. She gently reassured Sam of her well-being before guiding her aside, her focus shifting to the heart of the storm – Tara.

Tara sat on the bed, her demeanor distant and lost in thought. Her gaze seemed to penetrate through everything, fixated on some invisible point in the distance. (Y/n) recognized that look – it was the expression of someone grappling with a truth too painful to fully comprehend. It was a mix of disbelief and realization, a storm of emotions brewing beneath a seemingly calm surface.

Whatever Sam had divulged in that room had clearly struck a deep chord within Tara. The weight of that revelation hung heavily in the air, casting a pall over the room and enveloping everyone in its shadow. (Y/n)'s heart went out to Tara, her desire to be a source of solace stronger than ever. As she approached the bed, she sent Tara a gentle, supportive look, silently offering her presence.

(Y/n) held Tara tightly, feeling the tremors coursing through her body as tears soaked her shoulder. Tara's voice wavered as she struggled to find words in the midst of her emotional turmoil.

"Why, (Y/n)? Why did Sam lie? Why did my mom keep this from me?"

(Y/n)'s own voice was laden with confusion as she held Tara closer, her heart aching for her girlfriend. "I don't know what you're talking about, Tara."

Tara's grip on (Y/n) tightened, as if she was seeking an anchor in the midst of the storm. "He was a killer, a psychopath. How could she be Billy Loomis' daughter?"

(Y/n)'s brows furrowed, her mind grappling to make sense of the pieces Tara was unveiling. Her mind was racing, trying to piece together the puzzle of their shattered reality. "Wait, are you saying Sam is... Billy Loomis' daughter?"

Tara's voice cracked, a mixture of anger and sorrow. "And my mom... how could she let me believe Sam was my sister all this time?"

(Y/n)'s fingers rubbed soothing circles on Tara's back, her own heart heavy with the weight of Tara's pain. "I can't even begin to understand, Tara."

Tara's breath hitched, her voice hollow as she questioned her own identity. "Who am I, (Y/n)? If Sam's not my sister, then... who is she?"

(Y/n)'s grip on Tara tightened as if trying to hold her pieces together. "We'll figure it out, Tara. We'll find the truth together."

Tara's voice wavered as she fought back a fresh wave of tears. Her eyes bore into her girlfriend's, seeking comfort from the sudden betrayal of her family. "I thought I knew my family, (Y/n). But now... everything feels shattered."

(Y/n)'s voice was a quiet reassurance, even though uncertainty gnawed at her. "You're not alone in this, Tara. I'll be here for you every step of the way."

Tara's voice was barely above a whisper, her pain palpable. "I don't even know who my mother is anymore."

(Y/n)'s own confusion mirrored Tara's, her voice filled with empathy. "I can't imagine what you're going through, Tara. But we'll face this together."

Tara's tear-streaked face turned up to (Y/n)'s, eyes searching for something she couldn't quite name. "(Y/n), promise me you won't leave. Promise you'll stay, no matter how messy things get."

(Y/n)'s voice was a fervent vow, her heartache mingling with her commitment. "I promise, Tara. I'm not going anywhere."

The familiar chatter of Dawson Creek filled the hospital room, Tara had turned it on as background noise, to drown out the violent flashes that seemed to submerge her mind. Frustration etched lines on her face as her gaze darted repeatedly towards the door, her impatience festering like an open wound.

A sideways glance at the television in her heightened state snagged her attention, the unfolding scene appearing almost like a twisted mirror to her reality.

"Are the doors locked?"

"Yeah we should check the doors. Joey and Pacey, get the front door. Jen and Cliff, get flashlights-"

A guttural sound reverberated from the corridor, followed by a heavy thud as something crashed to the floor. Goosebumps prickled on Tara's arms, though she tried to dismiss the noise as inconsequential, perhaps a clumsy officer dropping an item or the sound of (Y/n)'s return with her food.

"Hello?"

Her voice carried down the corridor, swallowed by the eerie silence that remained.

"Hello?"

Tara's desperation seeped through her words now, a desperate plea for any sound to shatter the oppressive quietness. Dawson's Creek, once a comforting companion, now seemed to taunt her vulnerability.

"Please. Quit tripping out. This is just Dawson up to his old tired tricks. There's no psychopath in this house."

"Fuck this."

Tara's patience wore thin, her nerves on edge as she disconnected herself from the monitors, their shrill alarms underscoring her own helplessness. With deft movements, she unhooked the uncomfortable nasal cannula from her nose and braced herself, the sharp pain from her cast colliding with the wheelchair's leg serving as a painful reminder of her limitations. Suppressing a cry of pain, she hoisted herself into the seat, the effort eliciting a whimper as her injured body strained. Clinging to the wheels, she propelled herself towards the door, the wounds on her palms reopening and drenching her bandages in fresh blood. Soft whimpers of agony accompanied her every move as she struggled to reach (Y/n), to alert her of the ominous sounds that could threaten them both.

She couldn't bear the thought of (Y/n) enduring the same horrors she had faced.

Reaching the end of the bed, a deafening ringing of her cellphone pierced the air, rendering Tara motionless. Her gaze dropped to her bloodied hands, the pain radiating up her arms like a symphony of agony, the shrill sound clamouring for her retreat. But the possibility of Saffron's danger galvanized her resolve, overriding her own suffering.

The corridor stretched before her, devoid of life, its emptiness heightening the chilling atmosphere. Ignoring her aching body, Tara maneuvered herself towards the reception area, a mixture of tears and sobs punctuating her progress. Desperation hung in the air as she hoped for a lifeline. The creaking of the wheels subsided, replaced by a wet, gurgling sound that sent shivers down her spine. Slowing to a halt, she observed the gruesome scene before her. An officer lay sprawled behind the reception desk, his uniform soaked in blood that spewed from a savage gash on his neck. Tara's face contorted in a mask of anguish, her hand flying to her mouth to muffle the horrified gasp that escaped her lips. Dreadful realization gripped her – her fears were not unfounded; Ghostface had returned, and (Y/n)'s absence was far too long for Tara's comfort.

A sudden noise, the echo of a door closing, shattered Tara's stupor. Hastily, she wheeled herself into a nearby storage closet, a groan slipping from her lips as the blood-soaked bandages abraded her skin with every movement. Swinging the door shut, she left a slender crack through which she observed the corridor, her grip tightening on a landline she'd found, her trembling fingers desperate for a lifeline. Another door opened, and Tara's breath caught,

"Holy shit," she muttered under her breath. The footsteps grew closer, the thud of boots resonating like a heartbeat. Her fingers clenched around the phone, her only defense in this macabre dance.

As the heavy footsteps made their way towards the door, a blanket of black covered the small room, sending Tara into darkness. Her breath hitched as she attempted to stay quiet, gripping the phone tightly into her hand, knuckles turning white. A figure quickly popped their head in through the door, as Tara swung the phone in her hand with as much power as she could physically muster.

"Ow! Ow," Richie's pained cry echoed as he crumbled to his knees, his grip loosening on his throbbing head., "Goddamn it!"

"Richie?" Tara's gaze bore into him, suspicion lacing her voice. She inched her wheelchair back, her movements cautious and deliberate, as if he were a wounded animal on the verge of attack. Slowly, he pulled himself upright, using the door handle for support. "What are you doing here?"

"Sam called. She said that... you were in trouble." Still touching the spot on his head where he was hit he trailed off, thinking for a moment before his eyes glanced at the phone hanging from its cord.

"Did you hit me with a phone?"

Before Tara could answer, a familiar figure popped up behind Richie. Raising its knife to strike him, "Look out!" Richie swung around being face to face with the killer and their knife.

Richie's reflexes saved him, his arm instinctively raised to defend himself, but the blade still found purchase, carving a deep gash. The sickening sound of metal slicing through flesh reverberated through the room. Richie fought back, grappling with Ghostface in a desperate bid for survival. He clung to the wrist holding the knife, muscles straining as he wrestled for control. The room bore witness to their struggle, the tension suffocating.

Ghostface overpowered Richie, slamming him into the doorframe with a brutal force that left him limp and unresponsive. The scene hung in the air, frozen in time, as Tara absorbed the sight of Richie's motionless body and the shadowy figure that stood ominously before it. Ghostface turned towards her, tilting their head almost mockingly. The only chance of being saved she had was now lying in a heap before her, she was trapped.

With a surge of adrenaline, Tara shoved a monitor off a nearby table, sending it crashing onto Ghostface. As they grappled with the equipment, she seized her chance, propelling herself out of the room. Each movement was an agony, the searing pain from her injuries an unrelenting torment. Her eyes darted around the hallway, seeking an escape route. The elevator stood at the far end, a glimmer of hope beckoning in the darkness.

But it was a sight just outside the elevator that froze her in her tracks. (Y/n)'s bloodied form slumped against the doors, her pallor unnaturally ashen, eyes barely open, her body drenched in a grotesque tapestry of red. Their eyes met, the depth of their shared anguish unfurling between them in an instant, as Tara let out a scream of anguish.

Ghostface's chilling presence reappeared, the masked figure stalking towards Tara, savoring every moment of her terror. This was a twisted game to them, a sadistic symphony of agony orchestrated for their amusement. Tara could feel the walls closing in, every avenue of escape closing off one by one, the air thick with desperation.

They only wanted one thing, their sick and twisted game was going to end with both girls suffering the same fate.

Death

(Y/n)'s rhythmic foot-tapping on the cool pavement outside the bustling hospital entrance seemed like a minor rebellion against the day's clinical monotony. Overhead lights hummed with a steady cadence, while the cacophony of voices and footsteps surged like a river each time the door swung open. Sympathy and guilt had compelled her to venture out, bringing a taste of the outside world back to Tara – a meal that bore no resemblance to the sorry hospital fare.

The crispness of the air was a stark contrast to the confined, stuffy room she had been sharing with Tara. She had needed this brief reprieve, a moment to clear her mind and shake off the heavy emotional burden that had been pressing on her chest. As she let herself drift in the serenity of the moment, the world around her dissipated into a blur.

But then, a sudden thud shattered the tranquility. Her body tensed, a wave of unease crashing over her. It was as if a switch had been flipped, yanking her out of her peaceful reverie and back into the harsh reality. A chill raced down her spine as her senses sharpened, her heart pounding a staccato rhythm in her chest. The tranquility had been a facade – a fragile mirage that now lay shattered around her.

Her movements were slow, deliberate, as she turned to face the source of the noise. Dread knotted her stomach, and a cold sweat formed on her brow despite the gentle breeze that tousled her hair. The alley stretched before her, a corridor of shadow cast by the hospital's imposing structure. Trash cans lined the walls in uneven intervals, creating pockets of darkness that whispered with hidden potential.

Her gaze flitted from one corner to another, her pupils dilating as they fought to make sense of the murky gloom. Time seemed to slow as her heartbeat thrummed in her ears, the sound of her own breath growing louder in her ears. It was the alleyway that was her blind spot all along, a trap that she had unknowingly set for herself.

The feeling of being watched crawled under her skin, a persistent sensation that refused to relent. Her muscles tensed, her senses on high alert as she scanned every inch of the alley, seeking out the slightest sign of movement. Her fear was no longer an abstract emotion; it was a tangible force that gripped her like a vise.

The uncertainty gnawed at her, her mind racing through scenarios and possibilities. Was it just her imagination, or was there a real threat lurking in the shadows? Her every instinct screamed at her to flee, to retreat back into the safety of the hospital's embrace. But her body remained rooted, a strange mix of curiosity and terror keeping her in place.

In the shifting dance between light and shadow, her imagination began to conjure shapes – figures that could have been lurking, waiting. Every whisper of wind seemed to echo with menace, every rustle of garbage sent a shiver down her spine. It was as if the very fabric of the alley had come alive, a living embodiment of her fear.

In this chilling tableau, (Y/n) stood at the precipice of action. The alleyway, once an inconspicuous backdrop, had morphed into a stage for a silent, sinister drama. The weight of her decisions pressed heavily upon her, each moment stretching into an eternity as she grappled with her next move.

Amidst the tense backdrop of the alley, a sharp and jarring ring erupted from (Y/n)'s pocket, the sound piercing through the heavy air like a sudden warning. Her phone's vibrations reverberated against her leg, a stark reminder of the urgent reality that was beginning to unravel around her. With a swift and practiced motion, she fished her cellphone from her pocket, her fingers trembling slightly with a mix of apprehension and adrenaline.

The screen illuminated, revealing the caller's name – Sam. Her heart raced as she registered the significance of the incoming call. In a world where danger lurked in every shadow, a call from someone close could carry critical information or a vital warning. Her mind raced as she weighed the importance of answering this call against the potential threat that lingered in the alleyway.

Before she could even consider her next move, the abrupt sound of a door slamming echoed through the confined space, a stark reminder of the lurking peril that demanded her attention. The killer – the very embodiment of the threat that had been gnawing at her senses – was out there, somewhere, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. The reality of the situation surged back, and her instincts kicked into overdrive.

Frozen in shock, her hand still clutching the phone, she could feel her pulse pounding in her ears, each heartbeat a reminder of the perilous situation she was in. Her heart waged a battle with her rationality – answer the call and possibly get much-needed information or stay hyperaware of her surroundings to avoid a potentially deadly encounter.

With her senses on high alert, she managed to answer the call, her voice edged with tension. She held the phone to her ear, her eyes sharply focused on the alleyway, her breath held as she strained to hear any sound – any hint of the danger that might be lurking in the darkness. The voice on the other end became a distant murmur as her attention remained riveted on the shadows, her mind racing to analyze every movement, every flicker of movement, ready to react at a moment's notice.

"(Y/n)?" Her urgent voice cracked through the phone's speakers, each syllable carrying a weight of concern that matched the gravity of the situation. "Are you still with Tara?"

(Y/n)'s eyes remained locked onto the oppressive darkness before her, her senses on high alert. The words poured from the phone, a lifeline to the outside world in a moment that felt far from safe. "I'm just standing outside the hospital, waiting on food," she replied, her voice carrying a tremor of unease. But Sam's call wasn't just a casual check-in, it held an undercurrent of urgency that (Y/n) couldn't ignore. "Why?"

A pause hung in the air, heavy and fraught with tension, as Sam's next words crashed into (Y/n)'s consciousness like an oncoming storm. "Wes and Officer Hicks were murdered and the deputy is here—" The news hit (Y/n) like a physical blow, a gut-punch of shock and horror that reverberated through her entire being. Wes, one of her best friends since childhood, was gone. Along with his mother who was the head of the entire investigation on Ghostface.

(Y/n)'s body went rigid, her grip on the phone tightening as her mind raced through the implications of Sam's words. Panic surged within her, the realization striking like a bolt of lightning – if the deputy was gone from his post at the hospital, who was guarding Tara? Her thoughts spiraled into a frenzy, every worst-case scenario playing out in her mind's eye, a cruel montage of potential threats.

Before Sam could continue, before her mind could fully grapple with the sheer vulnerability of the situation, (Y/n)'s voice cut through the connection, her urgency and fear spilling forth. "Sam, get here as fast as you possibly can—"

It was a decision born out of desperation, a gamble made in the haze of fear. The door, positioned halfway down the ominous alley, loomed before her like a lifeline – a portal that could potentially lead her back to the safety of Tara's side. (Y/n)'s heart raced, each thud a reminder of the seconds ticking away, the precious moments that separated her from danger and sanctuary.

Without hesitation, fueled by adrenaline and a singular purpose, (Y/n)'s legs churned as she sprinted down the alley. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her shoes barely touching the ground as if propelled by sheer willpower. The thought of Tara, vulnerable and alone, provided a pulse of urgency that propelled her forward despite the terror gnawing at her heels.

The door, unassuming yet laden with potential, drew closer with each stride. Her trembling hand gripped the handle, the cold metal a stark contrast to her heated skin. In her frantic rush, even the simplest action felt like a monumental task. The door resisted, a stubborn barrier between her and the haven she sought. With a surge of determination, she managed to wrench it open, her body propelled into the relative safety of the hospital's stairwell.

The rush of relief was fleeting, quickly replaced by the stark realization that safety was a fragile illusion. She glanced around, her eyes scanning for any means to secure the entrance, to lock out the danger lurking in the shadows. Her gaze settled on a latch positioned overhead, a glimmer of hope in the dimly lit corridor.

Her fingers, slick with sweat and trembling with urgency, reached for the latch. Stretching on her tiptoes, her heart hammering against her ribs, she managed to engage the lock. A sigh of relief brushed her lips, a fleeting moment of victory as she turned to ascend the stairs that would take her to Tara.

But destiny is a cruel mistress, and the instant she turned around, a cold wall of black fabric met her, halting her progress. Panic surged like a tidal wave, her heart leaping to her throat as she gazed into the abyss of a familiar and malevolent presence.

They hadn't remained trapped in the alley, they hadn't faltered in their pursuit. They had anticipated her move, outmaneuvered her once again. And now, in this suffocating confrontation, the balance between life and death seemed as fragile as a spider's thread.

(Y/n)'s weary gaze remained fixated on Tara’s figure as she battled through the torment in her body to reach her. The moist, sickening sound of her bloodied hands against the wheels echoed in her ears as she desperately moved away from the looming presence of Ghostface, who lingered ominously behind her.

Numbness had spread through (Y/n)'s body, the pain becoming a distant sensation amidst the overwhelming chaos. Each movement sent shocks of agony, a relentless reminder of her recent ordeal. Her hands, coated in her own life fluid, struggled to propel her fragile form across the sterile hospital floor, leaving a macabre trail in her wake. The weight of exhaustion threatened to collapse her, her weakened form almost crumpling as she ventured away from the reassuring support of the wall.

The taste of desperation mingled with the metallic tang of blood in her mouth, as if her very life force was seeping away with every agonizing inch she managed to cover.

Richie’s cell phone erupted into a shrill ring, and Ghostface spun around, reaching toward Richie's slumped body to extract the phone from his pocket. Their gloved fingers cautiously pressed a button near the bottom of their mask, causing it to start flashing red. (Y/n) strained to make out the concerned tone of Sam’s voice through the phone's speaker, though the words remained elusive.

“Hello, Samantha!” Ghostface's distorted voice sliced through the air, stalking closer to a terror-stricken Tara, who had managed to put some distance between them, but the gap could be closed quickly.

“Richie can’t come to the phone right now. He’s finding out what happens to people who stick their noses in business that doesn’t concern them.”

“I’ll tell you what you can choose; I’ll only kill one,” the distorted voice continued, chilling (Y/n) to her core.

Sam's voice, desperate and pleading, cut through the phone's crackling. (Y/n) shifted her gaze briefly to Tara, who was putting more space between herself and the advancing Ghostface, her sobs growing louder.

“Who do you want to hear die?”

Amidst the fear and tension, Sam's desperate cries carried through the line, and Ghostface reveled in the torment, his taunts aimed at the terrified girls. (Y/n) knew that Ghostface's intention was to kill both of them, but she clung to a flicker of hope that Sam's plan might ensure Tara's survival.

“Really? You can’t save your own sister? All you have to do is say 'Kill Richie,' because I don’t think (Y/n)’s making it out either way!”

With an adrenaline-fueled surge, (Y/n)'s resolve solidified. If she couldn't escape this nightmare, she was willing to give her life to protect the person she loved most.

“Fuck you!” Tara's scream echoed through the hallway as Ghostface charged toward her. The wheelchair crashed to the floor, and Tara began crawling toward (Y/n), her fingers desperately gripping the cold linoleum.

“Or say 'Kill Tara!' And I’ll make sure to hit all the organs I missed last time!”

Tara's fingers found (Y/n)'s side, gripping her as she attempted to shield her from Ghostface’s impending attack.

“Last chance to save one, choose!” Ghostface's taunting voice pierced the air, echoing the desperate plea from Sam through the phone.

(Y/n) heard Sam's voice, laced with grief and pain, clearer than ever, “Why are you doing this?”

“You want to know why, Sam? Maybe it's because you’re a selfish bitch, who can’t even make a decision to save the life of someone you love.”

“Maybe you’re too weak for this franchise!”

Ghostface's legs closed in around both girls, (Y/n) straining to shield Tara from the imminent danger. She was prepared to bear the brunt of the attack, if it meant giving Tara a chance to escape. Tara's grip tightened, and her voice rose in defiance.

“Maybe you’re right?” Sam's voice sounded broken, defeated. (Y/n)'s heart sank; had Sam truly given up?

“Or maybe I’m just stalling for time, fuckhead!”

A sudden ping signaled the opening of the elevator doors, interrupting Ghostface's impending strike. Startled, Ghostface looked away for a fleeting moment. In that instant, (Y/n)'s heart raced, her hope rekindling. Through the elevator doors stood Sam and Dewey. Dewey fired off several shots down the hallway, sending Ghostface retreating and disappearing into a different corridor.

Dewey sprinted to Richie's side, who was sprawled a few meters behind, while Sam rushed to (Y/n) and Tara. (Y/n)'s vision wavered, the agony in her body muddling her perception of the chaos around her. She strained to hear Tara's soft whimpers amidst the commotion as Sam worked to move her sister.

Guiding Tara toward the elevator doors, Sam reassured (Y/n) that she would be back for her as soon as Tara was safely inside. Dewey, with his arm under Richie, led him back, but their progress was abruptly halted as Ghostface reappeared. In the ensuing struggle, Richie was thrown to the ground, and Dewey and Ghostface locked in a fierce grapple, colliding into walls and grappling each other.

The fight escalated, both men grappling and wrestling for control, until they crashed onto the floor. Dewey's gun skidded across the tiles, out of reach. Ghostface lunged, attempting to strike Dewey, but the seasoned officer managed to use his strength to headbutt Ghostface, buying him a moment to seize his gun. When Dewey turned, Ghostface charged once more, knife poised for a lethal strike. Dewey acted swiftly, firing several shots into Ghostface's chest, propelling him into a glass shelf with a shattering crash.

With Richie in his arms, Dewey retreated, heading back to (Y/n), who lay motionless on the floor. Gently lifting her, he heard her faint whimpering—a sign that she was alive. He swiftly pressed the elevator's call button, ushering them inside as the doors slid open.

The events inside the elevator remained a blur to (Y/n), her consciousness slipping. Richie's arms provided a faint anchor, and Dewey's voice seemed distant as he vanished from view. The resonating ring in her ears drowned out the ensuing conversations, though she surmised that Dewey was likely heading back to deal with Ghostface for good.

“Dewey, who cares?” Sam's voice echoed, her urgency palpable as she sought to ensure no further lives were lost.

The elevator doors began to close on Dewey's retreating figure, his final words reaching (Y/n)'s ears like a distant echo, “I do.”

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