Hihi! Can you do dogday x Reader, Like where the reader is very stressed and just upset?? Have a nice day/night!!
Autor's note: I'm sorry for the delay, I couldn't finish your request sooner because Tumblr didn't notified me >_< Also I wasn't sure if you wanted it romantic or platonic but I decided to make it platonic, sorry if that bothers you :<
DOGDAY X STRESSED AND UPSET READER
DOGDAY
• Today was an exhausting day, Hoppy made you jump with her, Crafty kept using you like a slave so you could pass her brushes and colors, Bobby hugged you too hard and almost killed you and Kickin made you play with him without resting for god knows how long.
• You were stressed, upset and tired, everyone forced you to do things you didn't want to do and your body felt like noodles, if someone else spoke to you right now you are—
"hey Y/N!"
• you must be kidding...
"You want to play with Bubba at- huh, what's going on? You look just as tired as someone who hasn't slept for eighteen days"
• one of your closest friends, Dogday, was looking at your face of complete exhaustion and annoyance
"... i'm fine"
• you tried to sound cheerful but you sounded even worse
"Don't lie Y/N, I know when a friend is tired and your face says exactly that"
• After a few seconds you let out a long sigh.
"almost everyone forced me to do things I didn't want to do, I've been walking from one place to another all day and HUGH! IT ANNOYS ME THAT OTHERS DON'T CARE ABOUT MY OPINION!!"
• You sounded more and more upset, Dogday hugged you while gently giving you a small massage on your back
"Mhm...I understand, do you want to hang out at my house? We could watch a series or vent to me, I don't mind!"
Dogday broke away from the hug and smiled as he put his hands on his chains.
"Tomorrow I can talk to the guys about it, for now you could relax"
• You nodded and you were both at Dogday's house watching drama series and eating vanilla ice cream.
~ B O N U S ~
"....umm....Dogday...?"
• yup, Bubba was like almost three hours waiting for Dogday who forgot to tell Bubba that they should play another time
I'm not at all good at doing these kinds of things but I hope you like it😿
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opening scene tag
tagged by @reneesbooks! name of the game is to post the opening scene of your wip and tag as many people as you like! gonna use wb's opening scene and tag (no pressure!) @macabremoons, @sidhewrites, @lorenfinch, @sapphos-scientist and @squarebracket-trick, plus open tag as always!
anyway, on to the actual excerpt. under the cut for length
“Zee-zee! Don’t go!”
The cry tearing out of her throat is one of desperation, and she latches onto the edge of his coat just barely, stopping him in his tracks. Five long seconds - they stand there, unmoving, locked in position. She watches the frame of his shoulders shake. The world falls to pieces around them.
She can taste it, the tang of something bitter and bloody in the back of her throat, feel the way it whispers and rattles around inside her bones, reverberating through the room and the house above: wrong, wrong, wrong. The Burrow – the tiny, sealed-off cellar beneath the house that they’re in now, fortified and stocked with rations for emergencies – is shaking, dust raining down from the low ceiling, and she knows, instinctively:
Whatever magic that had been holding this house, this village, together, isn’t any longer.
“Zee-zee.” Her voice wobbles, near tears. She drags in one long sniff, trying to keep her snot from bubbling out. “Don’t go.”
She does not know where Kas is and mama and baba had run out with nothing more than “stay in the Burrow” and if he leaves too -
“I don’t wanna be alone,” she begs.
Zephyr whirls, finally, snatching his hand back from the trapdoor like it’s burned him at those words. His coat flaps from the motion – normally, something he’d do for dramatics, normally, something Kas would snark at him for. Normally, something the two would have an entire argument about, Zephyr cheekily teasing him while Kas just gets redder and redder and she tries to mimic Zephyr’s coat flapping on the side, arms windmilling –
But, once again, Kas isn’t here and everything is wrong.
Zephyr crouches down, right eye glowing blue through his eyepatch in the dim light, left eye wide and brown and serious. Perhaps the most serious she’s ever seen him. He puts his hands on her shoulders and says, soft: “Little magpie, you know I have to.”
She shakes her head furiously. “No. No no no no no, I don’t wanna –”
“Kas is still out there. Kas is still out there, and something’s happened. My father –” His face twists, like he’s tasted something bad, and he corrects, “Mors, he did something. Kas is in danger.”
“Is that it?” Her voice comes out petulant and huffy, and she knows it is unfair and mean and a horrible thing to do but she doesn’t care. “You’re leaving? ‘Cuz you care about him more than me?”
“I –” Zephyr’s eyes go wider still. “Of course not, Madge, what makes you think –”
“Then bring me with you!” she bursts. “Bring me with you, I can handle myself, I know a few spells already and I’m not just a little kid anymore! You’ve all – you’ve all been tiptoeing around me and hiding things and whispering like I’m still some kind of baby and – and –”
The recent things, built up events, always on the periphery – the bags under Kas’s eyes and the glass vials under his bed and the lacerations on the back of his hands, hands that had patted her on the head absentmindedly and said “It’s nothing, don’t worry” when she’d asked, hands hidden by his fingerless gloves; the hollowness that had come back to Zephyr’s gaze more frequently; the broken mirror, how he’d smiled and waved off her concern while his palms and knuckles bled. How had she not seen until everything imploded in on itself? Why hadn’t they told her?
He swallows. “I can’t,” he says. “It’s too dangerous. I can’t. You know I can’t.”
“But it’s not fair,” she sobs. “It’s not fair that I have to stay here not knowing what’s gonna happen, how is that fair –”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, magpie.” His hands come to swipe away her tears, thumbs smudging her cheeks, and she tries to bat them away halfheartedly, ineffectively.
“I’m not crying,” she insists. “I’m not crying. Nine-year-olds aren’t supposed to cry. Nine-year-olds don’t get scared.”
“Okay.” He goes back to squeeze her shoulders once again. “You’re not crying.”
“’M scared, Zee-zee.”
“I’ll come back. You know I will.”
“But what if you don’t –”
“Okay,” he says again. He takes a deep breath, reaches up to the gleaming metal pin in his hair – silver, engraved with wind motifs, something her and Kas had worked on cleaning and restoring and polishing for months – and pulls it free of his dark curls. Ruffles her hair and clips it on, shoving several strands of her fringe to the side. “Here. How about this, then? Now I have two reaaaaally important things I need to come back for. So, you keep this safe for me” – another hair ruffle, she sniffles – “and I’ll go get Kas, and I’ll be back in no time for you.” He tilts his head to the side, amends, “Both of you. Got it?”
“I –” She reaches to touch the metal pin. It’s cold. She frowns. “Is this… is this okay?”
“Yeah.” His smile is soft and fond. “Because it’s really important to me, and so are you, and so is Kas. You and Kas especially. So no matter what – no matter what – you know I’ll always come back. Okay?”
She nods, finally, hesitantly. “Okay.”
His breath whooshes out of him in a rush, and he envelopes her in a hug. He smells like wind, like the trees, like spring. (A brief flash of memory, then, she is six and he is thirteen and he tosses her up into the air with the wind, and she giggles and exclaims “Again! Again!”, arms stretched wide as if she wants to envelope the entire world. Kas, on the side, looks like he is about to have a heart attack, watching the entire thing with wide eyes, and he shouts, “Zephyr! You better not drop her!”).
Zephyr’s voice trembles, now, here in the present. He says, “Promise me one thing, little magpie. Promise me you’ll be brave. Promise me you’ll be brave even when you’re afraid. Promise me you’ll be brave especially when you’re afraid. Please.”
She nods again. “Promise. But… you too. Promise you’ll come back?”
Zephyr laughs, and his body shakes with it, even though it is a little wobbly. “Of course. I promise. Better than that, pinkie promise.”
She is nine and too old for pinkie promises, but they hook pinkies anyway, still hugging. Zephyr clings to her like she is a lifeline. His fingers are long and graceful and pale. A pianist’s fingers. Not ones built for fighting. He adds: “Also, Kas would hunt me down if I ever made you upset, so it would be pretty dangerous for me if I didn’t.”
One second, two seconds, three seconds more. He says, “Okay. Okay.” He has said a lot of okays in the past few minutes. One last time, he squeezes, and then he draws back and straightens up, waves his hand and mutters under his breath. The wind whispers, the trapdoor pulls open on its own, the noises outside instantly get a thousand times louder and the ladder unfolds –
And then he climbs up, and disappears out of sight, and he’s gone.
The Burrow, around her, shakes for hours on end, lit by nothing but a handful of lirstones. She tucks herself into a corner and wraps a threadbare blanket around her and tries to make herself as small as possible. Sometimes, she thinks she can hear shouts from above. Sometimes, she thinks she can even hear screams. She loses all track of time, goes through the rations box when she can’t stand her hunger any longer, pulls out a bedroll and eventually slips into sleep, dozing fitfully, Zephyr’s cold pin clutched in her still-chubby hands.
All in all, she waits for five days.
He never comes back.
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