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thexsilentxwordsmith · 3 months

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Dad!Simon Riley x Fem!reader

Simon Riley: Girl Dad

From the request here ; pic screenshot from this video

“Can I come in now?” you ask, popping your head into the nursery as Simon finishes getting your 3 month old daughter Anna ready for the day.

She wriggles in his grasp, babbling away as he mutters in a hushed tone to her about keeping still for daddy.

"Ya think this is funny yeah," he teases her, tickling her chubby tummy before trying to wrangle one of her legs in his grasp.

It’s like music to his soul the way the happy talking sounds she makes touches his heart and it only makes him want to do whatever he can so that she will keep making them for him. That’s why it always takes longer than usual to get her dressed when he does it.

You crane your neck trying to sneak a peak, but his voice stops you. “Not yet,” he says and moves his body to block your view.

He doesn’t want you to see before he’s ready. The outfit is one he picked up the other night on a whim, the moment he saw it he knew Anna had to have it for today, and he wants to get it all on to give the full effect. He finishes straightening her up and tucks her body sitting up in the crook of his arm. She is content as can be being snuggled at the side of his chest, happily clapping her little hands together as they turn to face you.

“Well?” he asks, brow furrowed and body slightly tense as he waits for your critique. “How'd we do?”

You match your daughter’s vibrant smile as you see the outfit Simon’s bought all on his own: a bright yellow corduroy romper with frill capped sleeves, little socks with suns on them, and a big yellow bow to match. Your heart swells full of emotion at the sight; it’s just an outfit, sure, but it really means so much more than the sum of its parts. You know just how far Simon has come in his journey with her and it truly warms your heart to see him so smitten with the little babe this way.

When she first came home, there wasn’t a moment when Simon wasn’t on edge around her, nervous that somehow, someway, he would end up hurting her. She seemed so small to him in those first days, so incredibly delicate as she lay sleeping in her bassinet like the most perfect doll, that he was certain that someone as rough around the edges as him would never be able to be near her without breaking her and that was something he was not willing to risk.

She is his gift, his light, a treasure that came from out of all the years of heartache and hardship and he would never let anything bad ever happen to her.

It took some time and a lot of encouragement on your part, but finally Simon found his confidence and never looked back. Any chance now that he can get he is holding her, changing her, feeding her; anything and everything he can do to show her his love by his actions alone. And whether he gives himself the credit for it or not, he is doing a marvelous job.

“How did I know you'd choose something yellow?” you laugh as Simon glares at you, trying not to crack that fake tough facade.

It is becoming a pattern for him to choose yellow things when it comes to Anna. When she came home from the hospital a few months ago in that yellow onesie, it was like a flip and been switched and that was it; that was her hue from then on. It is strange, Simon never really had a favorite color before that special day and then suddenly yellow was never the same. Now he cannot imagine his life without it.

His face breaks into a smile as he shakes his head, not ready to admit that he is becoming predictable. “Come on, did I do it right or not? Just want to be sure it looks fine on her. We got a big day and I want it ta be perfect.”

Your face brightens as you look her over again. “She looks adorable, Simon,” you reply cheerfully. “You did good, baby. I think you’re really getting the hang of this dad thing.”

Looking down at her in his grasp, he beams with a sense of accomplishment and his tense shoulders ease. Parenting is not something Simon ever thought he could be good at, he never thought he would be the one with the chance at having a family, but each day he is making strides in the right direction to becoming the dad he desperately wants to be.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own today?” you ask as you watch Simon place a delicate kiss to the top of Anna’s small, wispy-haired head. “Cause I can stay if you need me to. All I gotta do is make a call and let them know I can’t go.”

Simon shakes his head and reaches for you with his free arm, pulling you by the wrist until you step close enough that he can wrap his arm around your hip to pull you against him opposite your daughter. “Ya worry too damn much, sweetheart,” he says as his hand finds your cheek, his thumb stroking across the soft skin before he is leaning his face in towards yours.

His full lips catch you in their tender embrace, a kiss that is full of emotion, and in an instant your eyes flutter closed as you relinquish yourself to him. You let all those worries fall away as the gentle touch of his lips, the heat from his breath, the passion flowing through his kiss calms your mind. He conveys so much without ever speaking a single word and in a flash you are put at ease.

Slowly he breaks away, already missing your taste the moment your lips part. Eyes still shut, he rests his forehead against yours, rocking all three of you back and forth a moment as he enjoys the feeling of having his entire life resting comfortably in his arms. You both open your eyes after a time and look down at Anna babbling away to herself, before looking back at each other. This is all still new and unchartered territory, so the both of you are working to figure it all out, but so far it has been anything except bad.

“I promise, I got ‘er. We’re gonna be just fine,” he says quietly. “Isn’t that right, princess?”

At the sound of his voice Anna turns her face to find his and it lights up as it always does whenever her favorite person talks to her. She even employs her recently-learned skill of giggling happily to punctuate that she agrees with whatever it was she was just asked, even though she doesn’t understand a word of it.

Simon kisses your forehead to be sure the worry is completely gone. “It’s just a couple hours on base and then we’ll be home the rest of tha day,” he says. “Besides, might be nice to show her off to the guys. She does look real pretty today.”

“That she does,” you agree as you quickly check the clock on your phone and with a kiss to your baby and one more for Simon you are gone, leaving the pair alone.

Simon gets to work double checking everything in his backpack that he has to bring for her: extra diapers, wipes, bottles, toys, anything he could need while he is out. It’s in his nature, years of military training has come in handy as he is prepared for it all. Satisfied, he turns back to the baby at his side. “Alright princess,” he says, “ready to go see where your dad spends all his time when he ain’t at home?”

The moment he’s walking on base, black backpack filled with essentials strapped to his back, tiny baby girl dressed in bright clothes tucked in his arms, he’s drawing curious stares from everyone he passes. This is the first time she has gone to base with him, so of course people are going to be inquisitive about things. How can they not? Simon looks like… well, Simon: intense, stoic, intimidating. Even in just his black t-shirt and jeans, with his lightweight balaclava on, he is still an imposing figure. Never one to be shy per se, Simon still does not like the attention on him, but since he is with his little angel he doesn’t care. He is proud to show off the best damn thing he has ever helped to create.

The contrast between him and his daughter he knows is jarring and Simon laughs to himself at how absurd this must look for someone like him with such a coarse demeanor to be handling such a precious, sweet thing. Who would have thought that the scary skull-masked military officer would have a family of his own? It is a shock he is sure.

“Seems we’re gonna be the talk ‘round ‘ere today, princess,” he says as he looks down at Anna, secure in his grasp as they continue on towards his office.

She is too busy looking everywhere her little head can turn to be bothered by anything. Being out and about with her father, seeing things she’s never seen before, which is pretty much everything, has her interested and engaged with the sights around her. Those small brown eyes, the ones that are a carbon copy of his, stare on as she silently takes everything in.

He makes it to his office and gets set up, grabbing everything that he needs in one tight spot as he sits Anna up in his lap with a toy for her to play with. She is content for a while as he goes through paperwork, occasionally he gives her a tickle or readjusts her on his thigh, something to show that he hasn’t forgotten she’s there with him.

Barely an hour has passed before Anna begins to whine and fuss and Simon knows what that means: she’s hungry. He grabs the prepped bottle out of the bag and walks to the small microwave in the corner of the room, warming it and testing it on his wrist before he moves back to his desk and sits back down in his chair, cradling her in his arms against his chest as he places the nipple of the bottle in her mouth.

“There ya are, luv,” he comforts her until she settles into him, “I gotcha. Daddy didn’t forget.”

Unknown to Simon, there is an unexpected guest that has just appeared near his office door, though before the person can even knock to announce themselves, they are caught by surprise at the sight before them. Johnny, who’s come to deliver something from Price, stops right in his tracks and stares at the scene before him.

He stands there, watching as Simon tenderly holds this little infant in his arms, quietly rocking back and forth as she drinks her bottle. Every now and again he speaks to her softly, the skin around his eyes tightening to indicate there is a smile underneath the mask. There is an ease to his movements as if he knows exactly what he is doing and it genuinely shocks the young sergeant. Who could have ever guessed that this would be something Simon would be such a natural at?

As Anna is finishing the bottle, Simon looks up as he feels a pair of eyes on him to see Johnny standing there, obscured by the doorframe, silently watching. He sets the empty bottle down on his desk and moves Anna to sit upright on his thigh, leaning her against the crook of his arm so that he can pat and rub her back until she burps.

“Can I help ya, Mactavish?” Simon’s distinct voice calls out, catching Johnny off-guard as he realizes he’s been caught staring.

“Sorry, L.T.” Johnny stutters out as he hurriedly steps inside the office, remembering why he is here in the first place, and sets some papers upon his desk. “Price sent these; says he needs ya to look ‘em over.”

Simon nods in understanding, his hand still rubbing the baby’s back. “Will do,” he agrees, thinking this will be the end of the interaction, but Johnny still lingers. “Anything else?”

“I heard ‘round base that ya had your little one here today. Had to come see if it was true fer myself,” Johnny admits with guilt.

“Well, ya could meet ‘er if ya like, ‘stead a standin’ there just starin’.” Simon nods his head down at the baby. “Johnny, this is Anna.”

The sergeant observes her as she begins to coo, her eyes catching the tattoos along Simon’s muscular arm, her petite fingers tapping and poking along the lines and patterns with delight as she loves to do when he holds her like this. She’s so engrossed that she hasn’t realized there is another person in the room yet.

Johnny clears his throat. “Didn’t mean ta stare, ya know. It’s just a surprise ta see she’s actually real, I guess.”

The original members of the 141 know about Anna, it wasn’t something that Simon could hide once she was about to make her way into the world, but it’s a bit jarring for the Scot to see someone that he had previously known to be so toughened by the world change so drastically. Anyone who gets close enough can see it in the lieutenant’s soft gaze: he adores the little girl and that is… interesting, to say the least.

Simon chuckles at the clear surprise in Johnny’s voice as Anna is still playing with his arm. “Bit absurd, innit Johnny?” he questions while watching her with a prideful twinkle in those brown eyes as she giggles. “Me with a kid? Doesn’t seem possible, does it?”

“Ya seem a natural ta me,” the Scot admits in awe of how easily he makes it seem, as if he was given some secret knowledge that made him know exactly what to do and how to do it. “Then again I don’t know the first thing ‘bout babies. Wouldn’t even know where ta start.”

Simon is reminded about how when he first found out he was going to be a dad he had started reading all the books, researching all the things like a good, capable soldier would, but how all of that prep was nothing in the end as the moment she came into the world everything was turned on its head. It’s not like in the books, it’s so much better and it is days like today that make it worth all the worry and fear and anxiety he had to break through to get here.

“Easier than ya think,” Simon replies with a chuckle as he moves Anna around facing forward now. “Once ya get the hang of it.”

“Don’t tell my girl that,” Johnny laughs back. “Can’t afford one right now.”

Anna’s attention is stirred away from Simon’s tattoos and towards the other man standing in the room with them. She looks up at Johnny in awe, not having much experience with others outside of Simon and you, but Johnny shoots her his classic smile and he has her giggling again in a flash.

“Well hey there Anna, nice ta meet ya,” he introduces himself before turning back to Simon. “I think she likes me.”

“It's your hair she's eyein’,” Simon points out, following her eye line.

Sure enough as soon as Johnny runs his hands over the mohawk cut into his hair her eyes light up. “Can she touch it?” he asks Simon and he nods in agreement.

Johnny falls to one knee in front of the little girl, leans his head down, and lets her put her hand in it. Her short, chubby fingers pull the strands as she laughs, the short, spiky pieces pricking her fingertips. She pulls away quickly before bringing her hand back in again, a sort of game that she repeats a few more times before Johnny gets back to his feet.

“He’s a funny one, ain’t he, princess?” Simon questions his little one as he strokes his thumb around the smile that fills her tiny, round cheeks. “Ya like him, yeah?”

She coos, her little lips forming an ‘o’ so that she sounds like a dove. That’s the closest to a yes as they are going to get.

“I sure ‘ope ya do, seein’ as I’m your dad’s best friend,” Johnny picks, looking to Simon to see his reaction.

He rolls his eyes at the statement, but stays silent and doesn’t correct him. Instead Simon opts to end the conversation there, needing to get finished here anyway so that he can get back home. As much as Johnny’s company isn’t as grating as it first was, he is ready to spend some alone time with the baby before you get back. “Well, if ya don’t mind, I need to get back to it. Say goodbye Anna.”

Johnny agrees, though his mouth twitches like he wants to ask a question, but ultimately decides not to ask it in the end. He turns to leave, but Simon guesses at what he is wanting and calls out behind him so that he stops.

“And ya can tell the others they can come see ‘er if they want,” Simon assures, “I know they’re probably itchin’ to get a glimpse of her too. That’s why they sent ya, yeah? See if I was up for company?”

Johnny turns around and nods his head. Fuck, they’ve been caught. “Will do, L.T.” he says. “Can ya blame us though? She’s pretty damn cute.”

And with that he turns back around. As Johnny leaves the office with the sounds of Simon and Anna at his back, he can’t help but smile to himself at seeing his friend finally have a bit of happiness; if anyone deserves it, it is Simon. Wait till the others see just how much things around here are going to change.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #cod mw2 #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon #ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley fluff #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #ghost #cod ghost #ghost call of duty

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corroded-hellfire · 4 months

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I just realized it's them. Eddie, the Reader, and my kids.

It would be funny if they were watching the movie and Eddie teases them that they look like kittens and some say it's actually them as a family.

I needed to write this. Was very compelled to write about Eliza making everyone watch this movie lol. I hope you like what my crazy brain came up with!

Previously talked about on this ask too 😻

Words: 1.4k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Family movie nights have become rarer as the boys have gotten older, but the tradition hasn’t been altogether lost. Once in a while you can wrangle the boys down for an evening of snacks and family bonding.

Luke is laid out on the floor as per usual, on his stomach and pounding down Doritos and Mountain Dew like a man starved, not a 14-year-old boy who just had three large helpings of baked ziti not an hour ago. Ryan occupies the La-Z-Boy lounger that is effectively known as Wayne’s chair, it being the older man’s favorite spot in the household. The older Munson brother’s attention is currently half on the movie and half on the girl he likes at school.

Eliza is sitting cozy on the couch between you and Eddie. At some point during the movie, she’ll end up snuggled against either you or her father, but right now she’s content enough to sit on her own, her pink unicorn blanket spread out over her lap and little legs.

Eddie is slouched against an arm of the couch but has his arm draped along top, the tips of his fingers just barely able to brush over the back of your neck. So, of course, that’s what he’s been doing since the movie started. You sit hip to hip with your daughter, a bowl of popcorn balanced on your thigh that she and you keep taking kernels from.

As the song Everybody Wants to Be a Cat ends, Eddie smiles to himself. He sees his children in all three of the troublemaking kittens that were just singing and dancing around on screen.

Ryan notices and raises an eyebrow at his father. “The singing cartoon cats making ya happy, Dad?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and flicks a pretzel in his eldest child’s direction.

“No, smartass. I was just thinking how they remind me of you guys.”

Luke rolls on his side so he can look at his dad over his shoulder.

“Did I grow a tail I wasn’t aware of? I’d like to think you’d keep me updated on that kind of thing, Dad.”

“You’re the little wiseass cat,” Eddie says, gesturing to the screen with his chin. “The orange one that tries to act all tough.”

“Toulouse,” Eliza says, as if her father should’ve known his name and it offends her that he didn’t.

“And he’s the one who’s most like the dad,” you point out with a shrug. It’s no secret that Luke is basically Eddie’s twin.

“He’s not their dad!” Eliza says with a small huff. Her parents are disappointing her with their Disney knowledge tonight.

“My point still stands,” you say before pressing a kiss to the top of your daughter’s head.

Luke shoves another handful of Doritos in his mouth and goes back to looking at the screen.

“I’m not a ginger,” Luke says, though with his mouth being full it sounded more like, “M’not a jinjuh.”

“Who’s he?” Eliza asks as she points to the black and white cat on the screen.

“I thought you knew all the names,” Eddie says. Eliza rolls her eyes, looking identical to her father as she does it.

“No. Luke is Toulouse so who Berlioz?”

“Oh, okay,” Eddie says now that his daughter has cleared up his confusion. “Definitely Ryan. He’s the quietest one but he can still be mischievous.”

“Silent but deadly,” Ryan says.

“Like his farts,” Luke adds, making Eliza giggle.

“Who me?” Eliza asks, looking up at her father with the same big brown eyes that she inherited from him.

“Marie, of course,” Eddie says as he musses her curls. That name he knows by now. “You’re the spoiled, pampered, sweet girl of the gang.”

The word “sweet” doesn’t seem to matter to Eliza, only focusing on the first two. Her little round face pinches up in a frown; her brows coming together over her dark eyes and her lips forming into a puckering pout. You try, and almost fail, to contain your laughter as your daughter stares at your husband with the cutest menacing look you’ve ever seen.

“What?” Eddie asks when she doesn’t look away.

“Not a spoiled kitty,” she says.

“You asked!” Eddie scrunches up his face and sticks his tongue out at her. She does the same in return, proving that your husband is as mature as a three-year-old.

Luke finishes the Doritos in his mouth and wipes his cheesy hands off on his White Sox shirt.

“You know, I think our whole family is like theirs,” he muses.

“What?” Ryan asks. By the tone of his voice it sounds like he’s over everyone talking and just wants to watch the movie in silence again.

“Yeah,” Luke says and gestures to the screen in front of him. “Stray, scruffy alley cat gets the pretty, sophisticated girl that’s out of his league?”

As unsubtly as possible, Luke jerks his head back towards you and Eddie on the couch.

“Hey!” you pout. “That’s not true.”

“Pretty much is,” Eddie admits with a laugh.

You move to scoot closer to your husband, little Eliza getting caught in the middle. The small girl hisses like a cat when she gets squished between her parents.

“Jesus,” Ryan groans as he rubs a hand over his eyes. Any form of overt affection between you and your husband has been annoying the teen boy lately. Eddie finds it amusing and whenever the two of you are alone your husband quietly surmises to you that your son is more annoyed by the fact that he can’t express the same sort of affections to the girl he likes. It makes sense since Ryan has always been one to express his love physically with hugs and such.

Now, Eddie presses a smacking kiss to the side of your head—almost to spite Ryan’s attitude—

before looking down at your daughter squeezed between the two of you.

“I think you even look like a kitty!” he tells her.

Eliza pushes her way to her feet on the couch with a huff. Watching her trying to stand in the cramped space has you tucking in your lips to avoid laughing. Once up, Eliza shoves at her dad’s shoulder as she’s seen her brothers do to one another many times.

“My little kitty!” Eddie teases, finding her reaction comical. He snatches Eliza and holds her in his lap as he tries to press kisses all over her face. Stubble scratches and rubs against Eliza’s soft skin, making her squeal and wiggle around in Eddie’s grip.

“If we’re all cats, do you think another family will adopt me?” Ryan asks in a sullen adolescent tone.

“No,” Luke answers simply. Thank God he hasn’t become a brooding, moody teenager—yet, anyway.

Eliza manages to slip free from her father’s grip and runs over to jump on Ryan’s lap.

“Save me!” she wails.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got ya,” Ryan says as she snuggles into his lap, tucking her head beneath her eldest brother’s chin.

Eddie takes advantage of the newly empty space between you, and he pulls you flush up against his side. You give Eddie a soft kiss before laying your head on his shoulder.

“Ick,” Eliza complains, looking over at you on the couch.

“Yeah, ick,” Ryan echoes.

“Wasn’t he the one who wanted us to have a baby practically as soon as we got together? Now he thinks it’s gross that I kiss you,” Eddie says softly to you, but not soft enough that Luke didn’t hear.

“Yeah, but now we got what we wanted,” Luke says with a shrug.

“Maybe now you guys can get fixed,” Ryan says with a smirk.

Eddie opens his mouth to retort but Eliza holds her arms in the air, an immediate call for silence.

“Shhhh! This good part!”

She snuggles back against her big brother, who sticks his tongue out at his dad.

Casually, Eddie wraps his arm around your back so he can flip his oldest son the bird without Eliza seeing. Ryan just laughs and goes back to watching the movie, curious to see what’s so special about this part. The sixteen-year-old’s laughter brings a smile to your face. You haven’t heard it as often as you’d like to lately.

After Eddie situates his arm around your shoulders, you snuggle up to him and drape Eliza’s unicorn blanket over your lap. The Disney movie is not as enticing to you as your husband is, so you press a kiss just below Eddie’s ear before whispering to him.

“I love our kittens. No matter how ferocious they like to pretend they are.”

Eddie chuckles his agreement.

“The cutest little feral monsters around.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #older!eddie #eddie munson imagine #dad!eddie #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #AYW #AYWS #request

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totaly-obsessed · 6 months

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Falling

Mackenzie Arnold x reader

-> Reader and Macca's daughter watch her win 8-0, even if it is way too early

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Watching your wife play for her country would never bore you, not even when it was an 8 – 0 win and you barely get to see her on the screen. Your daughter, however, was bored. Isla had woken up bright and early as it was a Sunday.

While you would travel the world for Mackenzie and her games, pulling Isla out of school was difficult, so you stayed home for the Asian Olympic Qualifiers – watching from home as well as you could. Kick-off was at 07:10 in the morning for the two of you in the UK, but the small blonde in your lap was Macca's good luck charm, so a short phone call before was mandatory.

It was six in the morning when Isla started jumping on your bed. “Wake up! Wake up! Game time! Mo- Ahhh!” you had snatched her out of the air, cuddling her close to you. “Game time later baby, give your mommy some cuddles.” With all her might the brunette girl wrangled herself out of your hold, sitting herself down on your chest. “Call Mama?” With a defeated sigh you grabbed your phone from the bedside table, knowing that your daughter would not give in until she had talked to her mom. “Here baby, you call her.”

The five-year-old knew just enough about phones, to know where she could call your wife and put it on speaker. Today the young girl decides to go for a Facetime tough at six in the morning – how nice. Especially when you had barely gotten any sleep, worrying about your wife.

It rang a couple of times before Mackenzie picked up, being greeted by her daughter’s face, way too close to the camera. “Good morning Bubba! How’d ya sleep?” Excited noises left Isla’s lips as she saw her mom on a dark bus, she had pulled the curtains by her seat close, trying to concentrate. “Good Mama! You?”

“I slept well babe, where is mommy?” Your child threw the phone at you before she slipped under the blanket, joining you in the warmth of it. “Oh, now you wanna cuddle, hmm?” Mackenzie watched with a fond smile as her carbon copy cuddled into your chest, with you holding the phone now, being able to see everything.

“Hi, beautiful.” She would never get tired of how blushy you got, whenever she complimented you in such a vulnerable state – even after six years of marriage and a child. “Hi, baby. How are you?”

With Isla nearly falling asleep on you, Macca and you quietly talked until the bus arrived at the stadium “Isla? Baby? I have to go now. Mama loves you, have fun!” A tired wave at the camera was all that she got, blowing you a kiss as well.

After making coffee and cleaning up a little you pulled Isla to the couch, wrapping both of you in blankets and handing her a breakfast sandwich. “Is Mama going to play?” Just seconds later they showed the Tillies in the tunnel, Mackenzie in pink, a little girl holding her hand.

“Oi! That’s my Mama!” You could not help but burst with laughter, the little girl appalled to see someone else holding her mother’s hand. “That is her Mascot baby. You were one as well, do you remember?”

Isla had been a mascot plenty of times, for her mother, Sam, Steph, Caitlin, Alanna, and even Courtney when she had joined Leicester City.

After the two of you had marveled at the dress the singer of the Philippines national anthem was wearing, it was time for the Australian anthem. As fast as she could Isla was out of the blankets, standing with a hand on her heart, belting the anthem with the singer on the TV. Sneakily you took a video of it, immediately sending it to Mackenzie who was laughing next to Sam, behind the singer.

“Look there’s Auntie Lani! Oh and Stephy, And Cait!” The young girl could not help herself, stopping her singing and waving at her aunties instead.

The stadium was filled, and your eyes could not help but tear up a little, seeing your wife stand there, making her country and family proud in front of so many people. “Where’s Mama?” Isla was now back at your side as she tried to find her mother’s pink kit in the colorful mix. But Mackenzie was nowhere to be seen as the rest of the Matilda’s tried to take the team picture, looking for her as well. The commentator explained that she had gone to warm up in goal, forgetting the picture - but she sprinted back just in time.

Seconds before kick-off Isla sprinted off to her room, returning with bright blue hair ribbons and a hairbrush, wordlessly gesturing you to style her hair just like Raso’s. Once you were done you also sent a picture of that to your wife, knowing that she would show the girls everything that Isla did.

Caitlin’s first shot on goal was saved by the keeper, Isla next to you restless in her seat. And just a few minutes later the Philippines had a long shot at goal, your daughter jumping up and down. “Get up Mama!” Mackenzie had fallen on her way to save the ball, but luckily it did not meet the back of the net.

It was Mary Fowler who put the Matilda’s in front with a gorgeous goal in the 14th minute. That first goal set off a series of goals and by the end of the first half, the Matilda’s were leading with five goals.

Isla however had dozed off as her excitement had lessened during the game. While she loved all of her aunties with all her heart, she was only watching for one person. Her Mama. But with such a lead and the Philippines’ not being a real threat Mackenzie was barely seen. Once or twice, she collected a loose ball, sending it back but otherwise, it was an entirely calm game for the goalkeeper. The second half brought three more goals and a hat trick for both Sam and Caitlin.

With nothing else to do in the day you decided, to let the young girl sleep until Macca called, which was three hours later. She was back in the Team hotel, freshly showered and alone in her room. “There she is! My beautiful wife!” As expected, you blushed, hiding your face in a blanket on the couch.

Isla apparently heard your phone ring, as she burst into the room, now fully awake. “Mama, you won!” Your wife could barely contain herself at the cute smile her daughter gave her – a smile that reminded her so much of you it was scary. “I did, Baby! Did you watch me?”

Isla’s hair was a mess, the ribbon had nearly fallen out by this point. She had always been an aggressive sleeper. “I did, but I got bored.” Mackenzie could not help but laugh at the carelessness in her daughter’s voice. “Little Miss was asleep before halftime, huh?”

“Huh! How mean of you! Such a mean Mommy didn’t even wake you up.” The small brunette that was jumping in her seat rolled her little eyes at her mother’s sarcasm, well accustomed to it by now.

“You fell when the ball got to you, Mama.” Mackenzie was flabbergasted “So you fall asleep but that’s what you see?” The two of them bantered back and forth in true mother-daughter fashion, but you couldn’t help but admire them.

And you were so happy to have them, so much fun in a home that you loved.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #woso #woso imagines #auswnt x reader #mackenzie arnold x reader #mackenzie arnold #matildas x reader

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mediumgayitalian · 2 months

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“Sit down, Solace, you pain in the ass, I’ll get it.”

Will huffs moodily, trying in vain to continue hobbling towards the cupboards against the infirmary wall. Nico has to physically wrestle him back to his cot, which in theory should be way harder, but luckily he’s weak enough from the pain meds that once Nico manages to shove him against the cushions, he can’t get back up.

Ha. Karma.

“You can’t get it,” says the most dramatic drama queen alive, dramatically, “on account of you not know what ‘it’ is.”

Nico smiles patiently. It resembles, to the outside eye and perhaps the inner one also, the bared teeth of a grinning shark. “Tell me, then.”

“No.”

“Then tough shit for you.”

“I’m just gonna wait until you’re turned away again,” Will calls against his retreating back. Nico flips him the bird. “So this was futile, really.”

He’s stubborn, but he’s not an idiot, Nico reassures himself. Surely, the many years — formative years — he’s spent as head medic have made him smart. Surely, Mr. Nagging Nag shall heed his own advice, lest the entire camp descend upon him in swathes of shrieking, not quite righteous fury, intolerant or hypocrisy. Surely.

He hears the creak of a rickety bed, a thunk of something hitting the wooden floorboards, and a soft oof.

He closes his eyes and exhales deeply.

For fuck’s sake.

When he turns around, he sees William Andrew Solace, Best Healer in Generations, Paraded Progeny of Apollo, Also Notably Naomi Solace’s Son, That’s Kinda Sick, Isn’t It, sprawled on the floor, ridiculously long limbs outstretched, attempting to wiggle across the floor to the cupboards.

“Solace, I am going to kill you.”

“Some healer you are,” Will mutters, as if Nico is not playing healer right now purely because he is the only one in the entire camp with a half a chance of wrangling the dumbass head medic himself. He continues to wiggle.

Wrapping a hand around his uninjured ankle, Nico drags him bodily back to his cot, ignoring the shrieking.

“One day on bedrest, you dipshit. One. Day. That is all anyone is asking if you.”

“My binder!” he insists, because he is difficult. “I don’t need to sit down and do nothing, I need to run my infirmary!”

“You need to sit the fuck down and heal your body before it schedules healing for you,” Nico snaps. “For fuck’s sake, Will, does it matter to you at all that other people would like to see you safe and healthy, even if you couldn’t give a shit?”

For a glorifying moment, Will stares at him, eyes wide, face frozen. Nico meets his gaze, glaring, his own chest heaving where Will appears to have held his breath.

Then, Will bursts out laughing.

“That!” he says, wheezing. “That is what I have been trying to nail through your thick skull! Karma, you little turd!”

Mouth opening, and closing again, it’s Nico’s turn to freeze.

“Oh, gods.”

The horror in his voice is tangible. Will laughs harder.

“Oh, gods, I’m becoming you.”

He stumbles to the closest cot, sitting down quickly before he gets any dizzier than he already is. Nausea builds up his throat.

Gods, that was a direct quote.

“Not so fuckin’ easy to wrangle you clumsy shitheads, is it!”

Nico cradles his head in agony. No. No! It can’t be! He refuses to lend any credibility to Will’s mother-henning! He is obnoxious, and overbearing, and hell-bent on restricting Nico’s freedom; there is no way Nico is emulating him right now, because that would mean he has a point when he’s bossing Nico around, and — no. Cannot be.

“I told you,” Will says, smug as a godsdamn rooster in a hen house. (Oh, gods, now his stupid cowboy idioms are ringing in his head? He needs to spend less time with Will. Better yet, he should take another dip in the Lethe — willingly, this time. Anything is better than this.) “You clumsy fucks are the sole reason I am going to die from stress-induced heart failure at twenty-two, and then I am going to resurrect myself as a ghost through sheer stubborn will alone to haunt each and every one of you for eternity.”

Nico chooses to focus on the part of the sentence that he can conveniently argue with. “You don’t get to call anyone a clumsy fuck, on account of you shattering three bones in your ankle because you stomped your foot too hard when you were trying to make a point.”

“What was the point I was trying to make, again?”

Nico keeps his mouth shut.

“Something something reanimating entire dragons to scare the shit out of Cecil is going to drain you to dangerous levels of energy and make me have to drag you from the brink of death yet again something something.” He pauses. “Even if it was really funny and he nearly actually pissed himself.”

“Well, whatever,” Nico says, elegantly changing the subject. “You’re an idiot, and if you don’t let yourself heal than you’re worse than the rest of us and can never lecture us ever again. So. And I’ll rat you out, too, they’ll believe me.”

Will glares at him. Nico glares back.

“Get some rest,” Nico orders, still glaring. Will pulls a face and repeats his words back to him, mockingly.

“There’s a difference between me and the rest of you idiots,” he grumbles, petulantly ripping loose the blankets and shoving himself under them. Nico smacks his hands away, tucking them around him for him, checking his pillow, and then his forehead for good measure, just in case his stupid ass somehow gave himself a fever. Will squirms, just to make things difficult, so Nico, as acting healer in the room, has to smack him. “I can feel my limits.”

“And yet you pirouette right on over them. I think that makes you worse, actually.”

Will, son of the god of truth, has nothing to say to that.

“Stupid,” Nico says, fondly, squeezing a gentle hand in his cheek. “Sleep, okay? You can go back to being dictator of the infirmary when you’re healed.”

“Tomorrow,” he insists.

Nico rolls his eyes, smiling, and pulls his hand away. Will darts out and snatches his wrist before he goes far, eyes pleading, and Nico caves immediately. Will’s skin is warm, and smooth.

“If you’re healed by then.”

He traces his thumb across Will’s freckled cheekbone, shivering slightly as his long eyelashes tickle the tip of his fingerprint.

“Mhm.”

He’s already puffing out small, quiet snores, head lolling against Nico’s hand, body exhausted from working overtime to try and heal.

Shaking his head, Nico ducks down, pressing a kiss to the space between his eyes before pulling away. He watches him for a moment, peaceful, face smooth and un-creased, delicate cupid’s bow pink and poised, skin spattered with paintbrush freckles. Heart skipping, he can’t resist another quick peck, lingering, at the top of his nose, the middle of his cheek; again at the dip of his brow. It furrows, briefly, under his touch, before relaxing again.

“Goodnight, Will.” He brushes a knuckle over his cheek. “Thank you, you dork ass.”

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nov4-rocket5 · 3 months

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Of all the potential characters and players we might see in Season 2, I definitely think St. Michael is the one I'm most interested in (especially since Viv kind of teased him in a Discord Chat).

Though it'll be a pretty big plothole unto itself to try and explain how he's been around, but not taking any part in the Exterminations.

Being on Lucifer/Demon wrangling duty is his job. But he's also one of the friendliest and chillest of the angels in all 3 Abrahamic religions.

Even in the Paradise Lost, the story written from Lucifer's biased perspective, Michael is still a merciful guy who wants humanity's redeemption. He could easily be open to Charlie's project.

Meaning Vivzie will interpret him as either:

An abusive asshole who enjoys being the Favorite after kicking Lucifer from Heaven (though that's just... Adam all over again, which would feel really redundant).

Charlie's tough but fair, goodhearted uncle who hasn't been in touch with his brother and actually kind of misses him.

Personally I prefer the later option. Maybe have an episode where Mike disguises himself to check the hotel out for himself (because Lucifer won't let him anywhere near Charlie), and after seeing a lot of the attendees only there to avoid punishment instead of an actual desire to be better, gives Charlie some hard criticism, but leaves with some encouragement and advice.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin analysis #hazbin hotel theory #michael morningstar #hazbin hotel michael #vivziepop #vivzieverse #hazbin lucifer #lucifer morningstar

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itsmeatballworld · 22 days

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| it ends in heartbreak |

pairing | daryl dixon x f!reader

summary | you both knew he would break your heart. he couldn't help himself.

wc | 1400

warnings | cursing, sadness/heartbreak [aka the title]

a/n | I've had this in my drafts forever lol I forgot about this one! Also this is the first time I've ever written pure angst so go easy on me <3

You always knew this day would come.

There were signs pointing to the downfall of your relationship, signs you chose to ignore to enjoy the moments of happiness.

But the signs couldn’t be any clearer–it would never last. It couldn't.

It was the end of the world, for starters. Life was always in shambles. The group never stayed in one spot long enough. Even the prison wasn’t safe. With everything unstable, it should’ve been obvious this would happen, but you were naive to think you’d would be any different.

Because the reality was: this was always how it was supposed to end.

He was built on a fractured foundation. He set up walls and built his life around a broken base, worn down by his past that he couldn't escape. First, parents had cracked and hardened his outlook on life. Then his brother taught him he meant little to others by leaving him behind. Not once did he ever learn how to fix the ache in his heart.

Yet when he met you, things changed.

It was gradual. Pieces of him started to align and heal. The tough outer shell wasn't as indestructible as he first imagined. After some time he opened up and let you in.

But you both knew he would break your heart.

He couldn't help himself. It was in his nature to push back, to fight and wrangle away from anything that became too real. Too good.

But for the time being, you enjoyed the blissful moments of his affection.

When he kissed you goodnight it was over.

He lingered, almost as if he was allowing his lips to memorize the feeling of your skin on his. His fingers fell against your curves as you pressed into the cellblock’s cool cement wall. It was in these seconds of quiet where you both had a chance to breathe.

Pulling back, Daryl rested one arm above your head. He leaned in close, gazing sweetly down at you. His other hand slowly traveled to your face and Daryl’s thumb brushed against your bottom lip.

Without hesitating you whispered the words he never imagined hearing from you.

Love you.

There. Right there. You saw the spark in his bright blue eyes dim. The crystalline color washed away into a deep ocean blue. Rocky and turbulent. Daryl’s eyes were no longer filled with love, but rather, fear.

You lost him, right there, pressed against the concrete wall of Cellblock D.

This was destined to fail.

“Please don’t do this.”

“Have to.”

“No…no you don’t have to, Daryl.” Your chest tightened. It was like the air was on fire. No matter how deeply you breathed in and out, pain still resided in your chest. He was crippling you.

“Daryl–”

��Ain’t up for debate.” He stepped back, snatching his crossbow from the watchtower’s metal flooring.

Your hands fumbled to find your shirt, hating how he sprung this on you in the middle of the night. He didn't have patience to wait, apparently. Just break your heart and go, like it was nothing.

“I’m not trying to…I just…” you groaned. “What happened? Was it me? Did I do something?”

His eyes went wide. That scared, fearful expression washed over him once again.

Fuck, you squeezed your eyes shut. That was it. That look. It was just like the other night. When those stupid words stumbled out of your mouth, falling to the ground at Daryl’s feet. Just before he crushed them with his silence.

“Was it something I said?”

He didn't answer and his silence (unlike most nights) wasn't good enough. You needed answers.

“So that’s it then. You say ‘I’m done’ and leave before sunrise?”

The broody man fought to glance in your direction. Instead, he focused out towards the tree-line. He grabbed onto the windowsill and squeezed so tightly that the white of his knuckles appeared. But his tactics to avoid the conversation at hand weren’t getting past you tonight.

You shot up from the floor. “Daryl.”

“I ain’t got time for this.”

“You fuck me, say we’re done, and leave? Like this was all nothing? Like we mean nothing to each other?”

Daryl paused. He turned to you with lips curled into a tight frown. Even in the darkness of the watchtower, through the bright white moonlight, his frustration was clear.

“I said ‘I love you’, Daryl.” There was a desperation behind your words. Your voice was so deeply distressing it made your chest ache. It was heavy and exhausting to display your feelings out to him in the middle of the night. But you wanted more–deserved more–than a shitty ending to whatever you had with him.

“You think this is love?”

You gawked, “yes!”

He paced the small room like a caged animal ready to pounce.

You love this man.

“This ain’t love.”

You love this man. This jerk.

“Then what the fuck is this, Daryl? Tell me.” You paused, tears welling in your eyes but you refused to let them fall. “Fucking tell me!”

The shirt in your hands balled up tight around your closed fist. You were hurt. Everything about him was trouble and you let him in.

“I said ‘I love you’. I said it and now you’re pulling away.”

As he watched you, just for a moment, his eyes didn’t fill with fear or confusion. There was something there. Between the declarations, he looked apologetic. His blue eyes softened, letting the emotions he desperately tried to conceal slip past those walls he built back up.

“Well, shit! I’m sorry I said it. I fucked this up, didn’t I?” The gravel in your voice scratched your throat. Everything burned.

The apologetic stare turned pitiful. A deep scowl crossed his face and your heart sank. “Can’t mess it up when there was nothin’ here, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. It was so condescending as his drawl pulls at the syllables. That tightness in your chest balled into a pit of rage. Fire that burned you before ignited an anger inside.

You moved closer towards him. “You sleep with me every night. You kiss me before leaving on runs. When you think nobody’s looking, you hold my hand. We talk about our past. Our future. This is real, Daryl.”

“Nah.” He grabbed his belt, twisting it through the loops. “This ain’t real.”

Your fingers tightened on the fabric as you tugged the shirt on. “That’s not true—“

He huffed, staring out into the cloudy night sky. “You’re better off without me anyway.”

“Don’t. Don't say that. I’m not better off without you. I’d be worse.”

Daryl paused.

But the hurt and anger fueling your body didn’t stop. “So don’t make me feel crazy for falling in love with you. Like it was a choice? If I was fucking smart, I would’ve ran far away from you the second we met. But I didn’t. Because I saw you for more than the asshole you pretend to be. So excuse me for feeling blindsided by your decision to leave me.”

“Leave you?” He spat. “Get it through your head, girl. You ain’t mine! You’re just some bitch I screwed.”

The frogs croaking down by the creeks ceased to exist. Trees stopped rustling in the breeze. Crickets no longer sang under the stars. The world froze as his words were thrown at you with such haste. Like he didn’t think twice.

Your arms wrapped around your waist, tugging at the fabric clinging to your body.

He didn’t look back at you. His eyes seemed to drift anywhere but you like he couldn't face the fact that he said it out loud.

No, no. He doesn’t really think that…

Your voice cracked as the tears from earlier were not going to wait much longer. “Daryl–”

He turned on his heels and was out the door. Down the ladder, each step was louder than the last. You paused, bawling your fists as the tears finally spilled across your cheeks. Loud and heaving gasps, muddled together with hot tears.

He broke you down within seconds. The tears and sobs continued on for what felt like forever until you finally had a moment of rest. The tightness in your chest subsided, thankfully, but this was the easier part. Tomorrow will be harder when you’ll have to put on a fake smile, wipe away tears in the dark prison hallways, and avoid him.

Forget him. Forget him…right like it would be easy. It’ll be fucking impossible to forget him.

You wished you could hate him. But you don’t.

So for tonight, you let yourself feel the heartbreak and planned to stand taller tomorrow. Because in the end you knew it would never last.

But it didn't matter.

You loved that man.

Yet after everything, he might have been right. You weren't truly with him.

And maybe he never really cared for you at all.

-xx-

a/n 2.0 | daryl PLEASEE {as if I didn't write him to act this way}

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #dary dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #y/n x daryl dixon #reader x daryl dixon #you x daryl dixon #angsty angst #sad reader and broken daryl #daryl twd #daryl x reader #the walking dead daryl

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yuurei20 · 19 days

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Short translation from Twisted Wonderland: Bakery Day

"Yuuya hands over the money he had promised to Ace and Deuce, then lines up for his usual lunch set, alone.

There are fewer people in line than usual, and soon it is his turn to order. Today's menu is salmon cream stew.

Yuuya manages to secure seats for the group and his stew is still steaming hot when Grim arrives, a particular spring to his step.

Grim is carrying a variety of little packages; enough to fill both hands. He unloads them all onto the table and lifts the largest into the air.

‘Nyahaha, look at this, Yuu! I snatched the very last deluxe menchi katsu sandwich!’

‘Wow, that’s amazing. Didn’t they say that’s their most popular? And you managed to get one.’

A tired-looking Ace and Deuce walk up from behind Grim.

‘An upperclassman was trying to buy it when Grim stole it from him.’

Hearing Deuce’s explanation Yuuya breathes a secret sigh of relief, silently reflecting, ’It’s a good thing I didn’t go with him.’

Ace glowers at the proud-looking Grim. ‘He’s stupidly fast, so the upperclassman thought I took it! He was seriously pissed off.’

‘Grim tried to steal just everything—it was tough trying to wrangle him.’

‘Are you guys all right? Were you able to get what you wanted?’

Ace and Deuce smile as they place several white packages on the table in response to Yuuya’s question. Here and there Yuuya can see thick slices of roast beef and vibrant green lettuce. There are round breads bursting with cream, baguettes topped with melted cheese, and more—it seems they were able to buy quite a considerable amount.

But they still have change leftover, which they pass to Yuuya, so the prices must be student friendly. It makes sense that bakery days are so popular.

Still smiling, Ace and Deuce sit across from Yuuya.

‘Thanks for the food!’

‘Gonna dig right in!’

‘Of course. Thanks for helping with the repairs to Ramshackle.’”

#twstnovel2 #twisted wonderland

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otteranha · 1 year

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Eddie’s trying not to beg Steve to stay. Harrington’s already gone above and beyond for him, he deserves a night to sleep in his own bed. But God, does it have to be now? No one will talk about it except to pat his hand and tell him with tight lipped smiles that there’s nothing to worry about- legally the mob can’t do anything. Eddie’s been declared innocent, a tragic victim of the copycat killer.

It doesn’t change the fact that there’s been a group of people standing vigil outside the hospital since he got there. It doesn’t change the fact that the group has been growing in numbers until all of Hawkins seems to either be fleeing in desperation or taking up camp four floors below the room where Eddie lies unable to walk as far as the bathroom without help. It doesn’t change the energy of the mob, steadily humming louder, faster, with the intensity of a hive about to swarm.

“Should have known he’d be hightailing it when trouble came,” Wayne tells him. He’s furious on Eddie’s behalf that Steve would leave now, when the police protection detail has been declared no longer necessary. When the mob below is bigger than ever and angry enough that Eddie can feel it all the way up here.

“He didn’t want to go, he needs to sleep.” Eddie saw how badly Steve wanted to stay, how he was sweating and jaundiced and worse looking than he had since that first fight with the demobats. Steve needed to go home, deserved to go home. But part of Eddie, most of Eddie, wails inside for Steve not to leave him. Not tonight, please not tonight. He’d tried not to let Steve see it, doubted how well his subterfuge had worked.

“I wish I could stay but I just can’t, not tonight. I’m so sorry. But I promise- Anything goes wrong Eds, I’ll be here. I have to go now but if anyone needs me, if you need me, I’ll be here, I swear it.” He’d done a strange thing then, pressing Eddie’s hand to his brow before kissing the back of it like something out of one of the tales of courtly love Eddie had devoured as an Arthurian-legend obsessed kid. And then Steve was leaving. It was almost nightfall. He stopped in the doorway and looked back at Eddie, his face anguished.

True to form, Eddie rallied. “Go on, and don’t worry about lil’ old me. I’ll be fine.”

The mob waits until just after midnight, then comes for him. They drag him from his bed, and Eddie has an insane thought apt to this insane situation that he’s glad he wore sweatpants under his hospital johnny so at least he’s not going to die bare-assed in front of the remaining population of Hawkins. Or maybe he jinxed himself by assuming the worst when he decided to wear them that night.

He sees the kids being held back by their parents, screaming for him as he’s hauled to the elevator, hopes desperately that Claudia and Karen and Sue and Charles will be strong enough to restrain them. The kids aren’t babies anymore; they’re tough and too used to fighting to protect their own. But this isn’t a fight they can win and he prays that parent-adrenaline will be enough let them wrangle his stupid, brave friends away from his side. He couldn’t keep Wayne away, they’d shouted at each other, all terrified love, him trying to make Wayne go, until the moment the door broke down and he was being dragged, his uncle’s grip still white-knuckled on Eddie’s wrist hard enough to bruise.

Everyone is shouting, himself included. He’s pleading his innocence, swearing he never hurt Chrissy. Until he sees the pyre and all the words evaporate inside him and he’s just screaming. They’re jeering at his tears, his terror. Calling him killer, devil-worshipper, Satan himself and worse. And then- something in the atmosphere shifts.

Eddie doesn’t see why the mob’s screaming changes, he’s hypnotized by the pyre. Do I weigh more than a duck? He thinks. You can’t burn me if I weigh more than a duck and then oh I’m hysterical.

“Get away! Get away from it!” They sound higher pitched now, a note of vibrato in the clamor. The shift in his captors’ tenor finally seeps in and Eddie looks around. The number of people buffeting him to a hideous end is shrinking, people peeling off and running. He can hear gunshots and then-

Snarling. Crunching sounds. Someone- something roaring into the night. It’s just the men holding Eddie now, Carver’s crew mostly. Wayne’s run up beside them and they don’t spare him a glance as he wrenches Eddie away from them. There’s a wolf. Massive, tawny, scarred, absolutely furious- lunging for them, slashing them with razor sharp claws until none of them are left standing. When the last of the mob is gone the wolf pads close and presses against Eddie’s side with a whine.

The kids come sprinting to him. “Jesus Christ, Steve! Well now they’re definitely going to think Eddie’s the lord of evil!” says Mike.

Eddie looks down at the wolf. He still feels like he might have a heart attack any minute, but the warm, soft fur is grounding. Steve Harrington looks up at him under the light of the full moon and wags his tail.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things hc #stranger things au #werewolf steve harrington #mob violence #violence cw #steve/eddie #st steddie

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horzagobuchul · 8 months

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Just wanted to throw it out there in case it’s not being said enough, but I really appreciate your work ethic!

I know how tough it can be to wrangle AI image prompting, and the fact that I can pop on Tumblr and see TENS of new sequences from you, all in easy-to-watch formats, it’s just fantastic.

Cheers to you.

Thank you! Comments like this make me really happy!

It could be because I really enjoy making these, I'm also very motivated from all the kind comments and replies I get~

My output is getting slower the more I learn though, somehow I'm getting more and more picky about what I think passes as a good sequence...

Here's an alternative version of the 3 000 followers post I made a few days ago. I think this one's a bit cuter~

#ai generated #ai #fat #fat anime #fat girls #ai art #weight gain #before & after #animation #stable diffusion #horza #my asks #magical weight gain

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chadfallout76podcast · 2 months

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"Deah Shroud!: A Nick Valentine Mystery" EXPLAINED and AMA

It never occurred to me to do this last year, but a lot of people have asked me questions about our Fallout 4 play in the last year in the Discord, so I wanted to open an AMA but also explain "Death Shroud!" and some of the broader themes involved in it.

**SPOILERS AHEAD**

Part 1: Pre-production

Before I get into the story, I wanted to explain how this production even came about. Over the years after working together on some official community projects with Wes Johnson through Bethesda, we became good friends. I took a couple of his acting classes and he talked about the Fallout For Hope charity initiative I started and asked for help in organizing the gaming community for his Alzheimer's Association fundraiser. The idea was to host a month-long digital event of discussion panels, game shows, improv and a play with as many different voices of video games, film and TV as we could round up. In our second year of his VoiceAPalooza fundraiser, I wanted to do an original old time radio show and see if could bring back as many of the cast that we could from Fallout 4. It was Wes who first suggested an adventure with his Silver Shroud character (that he voiced in Fallout 4's radio plays) teaming up with Nick Valentine (voiced by the amazing Stephen Russell). Valentine is, for me, one of the best written, unique companions in Fallout lore.

So, I reached out to Stephen Russell who had joined us before for charity work and he was all in on bringing Nick Valentine back to life! After that things moved fast with Bethesda's Pete Hines and Emil Pagliarulo joining us to have some fun for a good cause. We tried to get EVERY companion from Fallout 4 that we could, but schedule wrangling is tough, and some people are just impossible to track down or find. Matt Mercer would've loved to have joined us as Macready, but unfortunately scheduling didn't work, so the best we could manage would be a holotape (the only reason our snarky gun running merc had to take the big sleep in the story).

After having everyone plugged in to reprise characters, it was time to put fingers to keys and find the story...

Part 2: The Deep Lore

The origin of this story started with a thought: how would the NPC's and characters we love perceive modification of their universe by us? We, as players aren't the true creators of this universe or these characters (Bethesda is). If anything, we the players are the equivalent of "lesser gods", reshaping it in new ways, unexpected and subjective ways, and sometimes even chaotic ways (I'm looking at you avalanche of adult mods with realistic jiggle physics and Thomas the Tank Engine Vertibird).

It started with a mental image of the small ways in which we start out modding games, or even the first mods we (using the "Engine of Creation) actually create. I had a mental image of Magnolia doing her thing, singing away sultry in a crowded and smoky third rail when she looks one way, back the next and sees new curtains. A subtle thing, something a little startling, but in a universe where recreational drug use is met with a YEEE YEEEE WHEEEE...a change you simply dismiss as being overtired or a little too juiced.

I'm a sucker for old time radio. I grew up listening to classic radio horrors like The Whistler, Suspense, and Lights Out on vinyl records and cassette tapes when I'd spend summers with my grandmother on a little island off the coast of Canada. Getting the tone, feeling and sound to stage an old-time radio show was the easiest part of this whole process...it's baked into my brain lol. The key of course is finding the right narrative voice.

Enter: Bill Lobley. If you play Fallout 76, he is the announcer for the "Tales from the West Virginia Hills" holotapes, but before that he's a prolific voice actor, maybe best known for his role as the truly vile Jeremiah Fink in Bioshock: Infinite. He has a FANTASTIC transatlantic voice for old time radio and was perfect as narrator in the script.

Part 3: What Is Going On?!?!

I had the base idea, the voices to pull it off, but what was the meaning and message of the whole thing? I always start there. From a meta experience level, the story is about dealing with subjective reality that’s being torn apart. After Fallout 4 launched in vanilla, we the players changed that world and reshaped it with mods. The small changes in perceived reality are meant for the omniscient player (us) and are not meant to be perceived by the characters themselves...and yet, what if they were? And if they were...WHY?! The answer was right in front of me: there's a difference between something born into a world and something MADE into a world.

You take someone like Magnolia or Nick, both synths, that obviously weren’t naturally born from two people. They were conceived as an idea...a human idea sure, but still they were made, not born. Without even needing to say in the script, the Trickster from the Grognak comic books who shouldn't exist yet does IS also an idea. Some MADE into a world but not born...a different world sure, but still the creation of it. Nick, Magnolia, any synth as ideas themselves would sense that the world was wrong and being changed in a way no one else would because of fundamentally who they are and what they represent.

Everything that unfolds is because Nora as a keystone event in the Commonwealth, a focal point of the causal nexus making her a unique entity in that world. A causal nexus is the link between a cause and its resulting effects and ignore the science mumbo jumbo, because here's an example of how that works:

The Sole Survivor, Nora, listened to Kent's message, chose to answer him and put on the outfit of the Silver Shroud. As a unique figure she shifted perceived reality of everyone in the Commonwealth by becoming the Silver Shroud, acting like him and making people believe that a fictional character exists.

Unfettered belief and faith in an idea = manifested reality.

Rejected belief and faith in the idea = dispels that reality.

This HAS happened before in Fallout lore in the instance of people with horrifying backstories and personal tragedies choosing to become someone else such as the Mechanist (Fallout 3 and Fallout 4) or even the Ant-Agonizer (Fallout 3). This time however it was a unique figure who did this, a figure fated and meant to reshape the Commonwealth for good, bad or ugly.

This opened a door, the door through which another figure could influence and enter a new universe provided it take the form of something already in it...a reality side-step into the form of the Mechanist. Concurrently, the moment that happened, reality counterbalanced by making the Silver Shroud who was already believed to be real BECOME real as the ying to the Mechanist/Trickster's yang.

Now at home in reality, the Trickster found himself very much alive and unbound by story but had very little power to do much at all. He needed something more, an idea and faith that already existed in the Commonwealth with the infinite universe of ideas made, but not born like himself. His goal wasn't power, it was to sow chaos, reshaping reality into a realm for any and every idea despite the consequences to reality itself.

So what did he need? The belief in the Old Gods and a focus point of belief in the idea: a staff. The universe is as adaptive as it is remarkable and where the Mechanist had its opposite: the Silver Shroud, the Trickster needed its twin: enter Sheogorath...because what better staff to tear apart and reshape reality than the Staff of Sheogorath. There is a quest added in the new Skyrim Anniversary Edition in which you can build it for yourself with a few items: Branch of the Tree of Shades, Ciirta's Eye, Fork of Horripilation. In this universe it would have to fashioned with things FROM this universe.

Two eyes were needed:

The eye of a True Believer: Kent Connolly

The eye of a True Seer: Mama Murphy

Affixed to the top of a staff of the purest heartwood from a Twice Born Tree. Living wood from Harold, born a man who eventually mutated into a living tree.

Lastly, it had to be soaked in the tears of ages end: barrels of radiated blessed waters courtesy of the Cult of Atom.

The Trickster had no magic of his own in this universe in which to act, but thankfully courtesy of some powerful allies, he was able to make contact with shadowy cults and worshippers of the old gods who gave him the name of someone truly of faith in the old magic to make all of this work: Jebediah Blackhall, who in this spin of the universe did unfortunately get his hands on the cursed book: the Krivbeknah.

Finding allies was all too easy, as the events post main quest left the Commonwealth changed. To many, the Sole Survivor and his/her companions would be hailed as heroes. To others, they would be villains, particularly in light of what Nora CHOSE to do to the Railroad to end the synth threat for good. That's a lot of blood on the hands of heroes...

As the Mechanist/Trickster, Blackall and the Lombardos began using the staff, its changes and shifts in reality rippled backwards through time, as changing one specific thing would change its entire existence. You change some curtains and the manufacturer of those curtains only every made one pattern...the world object becomes changed universally. Tapping into the Engine of Creation to make these changes, leaves anyone MADE not born aware of them as they don't fit into the design as it shifts around them. Nick, Danse, Magnolia would all feel and see it, be thrown off for a bit before settling into the changed reality state.

At the climax when everything starts falling apart and you get everyone from GlaDOS and the Joker strolling on in, the only way to end it all is to separate the Trickster from the Staff and restore the saved intended state of reality. The Silver Shroud finds himself powerless against the Trickster...only someone from this universe would be able to intercede, hard wired into the Engine of Creation itself as an existing element connected throughout its framework and history. After sending the Trickster off packing to the moon (thanks GlaDOS), but its a little too late for reality. It collapses around them, finding themselves elsewhere...the point between the mind, creation and the outcome of reality.

After the Shroud fades away, Nick has the power and choice to roll the universe, his universe back along the tapestry of choices that led him here. They all were haunted by the choices they made the first time around, something Nora couldn't live with...that ultimately led her relationship with Danse to fall apart. So Nick decides to go back further, as far back as he can go and he finds himself back in his office with Ellie waking him up.

There are consequences to what he's done, that he's not yet aware of, ones that will become clear in our next episode. The synths remember, as he remembers...Danse, Magnolia and everyone else remembers the fall of the Institute. They all find themselves at their starting point, moving towards their intended fated position to encounter the Sole Survivor. For Nick? He's starting down the path that will led him to be held prisoner and meet the Sole Survivor for the first time.

As he'll soon discover however, things don't play out the same way this time. Moreover, while he was rolling back reality to an early saved state, he made a huge mistake and completely forgot about something and someone so incredibly important...

You'll have to wait to see what that is...

#death shroud #chad: a fallout 76 podcast #chad: a fallout 76 story #fallout 4 #fallout for hope #wes johnson #fallout #fallout fanfic #nick valentine

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chrisevansonly · 1 year

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Chris’s Little Family 🤍

pairing: chris evans x momma evans (little duck au)

summary: chris can’t help but take every little moment to admire his perfect little family

warnings: tooth rotting fluff

a/n: i know i’ve been slacking on little duck and writing, this is short and things are just really tough for me right now and i haven’t been in a writing mood :/

The sun was out in Boston, the air warm for the spring which meant you were already outside just after breakfast, Arlie adamant on riding her bike and jumping on the trampoline. She’d always loved the outdoors and being active, so after a laugh you followed her outside with Wesley strapped to your chest, he was fast asleep after nursing, so you expected a quiet few hours from him. You sat on the outdoor swing on the edge of your patio a soft knitted blanket across your lap, a perfect few of the small barn and pond further down the yard, arguably your favourite view to admire each day. Chris eventually came out after cleaning up after the waffle making that took place in the kitchen that same morning. Chris’s favourite view by far was the one he saw right now, his little girl giggling away as her blonde hair flew around as she jumped on the trampoline. Then his eyes moved to you, cuddled up with his boy, your eyes lighting up in excitement anytime Arlie said something to you, your hands rubbing Wes’s back to keep him sleeping. Of course, he loved the view his home provided, but his family was his favourite, and they were something special that he would always cherish and hold close to his heart

“Daddy see me jumping!!”

You turned to smile at Chris after Arlie yelled to him

“I see you princess, getting higher and higher every time!”

He chuckled making his way over to sit next to you, his heart warming as you lifted the blanket so he could get under it

“Thank you for cleaning up after breakfast my love”

His lips pressed a kiss to your cheek before letting you lean on his shoulder a content hum escaping your lips

“I should be thanking you for wrangling these two monsters every morning, they have the best mother in the world”

“Are you trying to make me cry Christopher?”

He laughed rubbing your arm gently

“No, no, I just want you to know how much I appreciate you, and this life we get to have together, our little family is-it just makes me so happy, and I know I say this to you a lot, but I couldn’t imagine experiencing this with anyone else”

Each time he expressed his feelings, even if he said it to you one hundred times, it was enough to get you teary eyed and emotional, so pressing your lips to his to convey just how much it meant to you, was all you could muster in this moment

“I love you, and I am just and thankful for our family-”

“Momma, Daddy!! Been callin’ you for ages!”

Chris was the first to laugh at his daughter’s sass, she definitely got all of that from you

“Oh you were huh?”

“Mhm.”

She stood in front of him, hands on her hips as if she was getting ready to scold him, you were trying hard not to smile at her antics, especially when she huffed dramatically and climbed up to sit with Chris, her head leaning on his chest

“What were you saying baby, I’m listening now”

“Was gonna ask for help with my bike, but I comfy now, don’t wanna move”

Chris tucked her under the blanket, letting out another quiet laugh as he held her to his chest

“Well, if you’re comfy then you stay right there duck, we can go bike later”

If Chris wasn’t listening closely enough, he would have missed the soft “thank you daddy” that fell from her lips. This was Chris’s favourite view in the whole world, he had his family all bundled under a blanket on the porch swing that already had many memories for you and Chris. He wouldn’t trade this in for anything in the world, he’d be crazy if he said he didn’t want maybe one more little one running around, but there was time for that, he was more than happy with his little family right now and so were you, that was all he could ever ask for.

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lewmagoo · 10 months

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the ferris wheel | rhett abbott

description: in which a fearless cowboy isn't so fearless anymore

pairing: rhett abbott x gn!reader

warnings: angst, fear of heights, toxic masculinity (aka rhett trying to unlearn all the harmful things his father taught him about masculinity), mention of a broken arm, slight panic attack, vomiting, working through familial trauma, rhett learning how to communicate, therapy, i think that's it

*inspired by a convo with @damrlova :)

Rhett Abbott hated being perceived as weak.

More specifically, he hated being perceived as weak by you. His light, his love, his darling. You were so sweet, so loving, and you looked at him as if he’d set the very stars in the sky.

You always told him how strong he was. You’d squeeze his big arms and marvel at his strength after he’d just finished hauling bales of hay or wrangling a stubborn horse. You’d cheer the loudest in the stands when he managed to have a good ride, and you’d come running to him and exclaim what a wonderful job he did, how proud you were of him.

In your eyes, he was your hero, your protector, your knight in shining armor. And he was terrified of tainting that view. He didn’t want you to think of him as a failure. Yes, it was irrational. He knew that. But he was terrified of losing what you shared. The healthiest, most loving relationship he had ever taken part in. So he fought to keep on that mask of strength for as long as he could.

Until it all came crashing down one night on the tippy top of a Ferris wheel at the Amelia County Fair.

You were teeming with excitement over going to the fair. It was always your favorite event of the summer. You loved the energy, the atmosphere, and the nostalgia of it all.

You also loved being able to watch your man ride. This year, however, was his first year attending the fair as just a spectator. The year prior, he’d finally hung up the reins, so to speak, and decided to step away from bull riding. It was not a decision he took lightly, but ultimately, he did it for himself, and for you.

His father had always dreamed of Rhett following in his footsteps as a bull rider. Riding was the only thing that earned Rhett a hearty “good job” or “proud of ya, son.” The only time Royal ever seemed to be truly proud of him. And Rhett chased that feeling, the elation, the satisfaction, the warmth that bloomed in his chest when his father said those words.

But it was never enough. No matter how many good rides he had. How many dislocated shoulders or fucked up wrists. He would never get his father to look at him the way he looked at Perry. The golden son. The boy who could do no wrong.

Rhett loved his brother, he really did. But his entire life, he’d been endlessly compared to Perry. Held up to an impossible standard. And Rhett knew he would never measure up.

Even so, he still tried in vain to make his rodeo career work. But why was he so determined to do so? Was it because he was truly passionate about the sport? Or was it only because he craved validation from his dad?

You posed these questions to him well into your relationship, after you’d seen him fall too many times. After you’d watched in horror as a 1,500-pound animal’s hooves nearly clipped him in the head. After you’d come home together at night after a ride and listened to his pained groans in the shower as he tried to wash his hair, but couldn’t, because he was in too much agony to even do so.

It weighed heavily on you. You didn’t want to tell him to walk away from his dream, but there was a part of you that knew this wasn’t his dream. It was Royal’s. And you wanted Rhett to come to that conclusion on his own.

It took a little tough love, but eventually, he did come to that conclusion. Unfortunately, it took shattering the radius and ulna of his riding arm under a bull’s hoof to bring him to that point.

He realized, finally, that the blood, sweat, and tears were not worth it. None of it was, not compared to the excruciating pain he was in. Rhett had always considered himself to have a high pain tolerance, and he did. But even the highest pain threshold was no match for this sheer misery.

He was out for the rest of the season. And in his heart, he knew he’d never ride again. His arm wouldn’t be the same after this. It would be too weak to hold onto the back of an angry, thundering bull. It was suicide to climb onto the back of another one of those beasts again. And Rhett didn’t only have himself to think of anymore. He had you. And he would never forget the frightened look on your face as he was being placed into the back of an ambulance. He never wanted to be the cause of that look again.

So he walked away from the rodeo circuit. He stopped using it as a crutch to receive his father’s praise. Instead, he put his focus on you, and your relationship. He worked to build a good life for you both.

His injury had begun to heal after many months of recovery and physical therapy, and after he was given the go-ahead to get back to normal, he set about making arrangements to build a home for the two of you.

And through that process, he watched you stare at him in awe. You were deeply moved by the way he cared for you. You admired him for his strength and resilience, and he wanted to show you that he was a man of his word, that he was going to give you the house you deserved, the life you deserved.

He was your guy. The one who always took care of everything. The one who made sure you had gas in your car. The one who wasn’t afraid to go check out a mysterious bump in the night just to give you peace of mind. The one who was brave. That was why he struggled so much with being perceived as anything less than that in your eyes.

He never would’ve thought a damn Ferris wheel at the county fair would be his undoing. But he should’ve known it from the second he walked through the gates.

He admired the way your eyes lit up as you took in the sights and sounds around you. You were on cloud nine, and he was glad he was able to fully experience it with you this year and be a spectator, rather than being a spectacle.

He was perfectly fine at the beginning. You dragged him into the barn area to see the horses and other livestock. You insisted on stopping by a lemonade stand to grab one to share. You visited each vendor and made sure to say hello to friends that were working the fair that day.

And then there was the Ferris wheel. The second you saw it, a grin broke across your face, and you grabbed Rhett’s hand. “Oh, babe! Let’s go on the Ferris wheel!” You exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of your feet in excitement.

It would’ve been fine, except for one very small issue: Rhett was terrified of heights. For an adrenaline junky, it was an interesting predicament to be in. He could handle sitting on the back of a raging bull. He could wrangle spooked horses. He could go up against his own brother when he went off on one of his fits of rage.

But he couldn’t handle being high off the ground. It made his heart race, his head spin, and his palms sweat. But when you tugged on his hand and gave him your pretty doe-eyed glance, he tried to swallow that nauseating fear and follow after you. If it made you happy, it was worth it.

However, as you stepped into the line for the ride, Rhett found himself looking up at the wheel, and his knees went weak. It was so much bigger up close. It loomed imposingly overhead, and he forced himself to look back down at the ground so he couldn’t get dizzy.

His heart had begun to race in his chest, and he focused on his footsteps carrying him forward. Right, left, right, left, right, left. Then you were at the entrance to the wheel and he climbed into the seat, trying desperately not to react when the seat began to rock a little.

The entire time, you were talking animatedly about what you wanted to do after the ride, but he hardly registered a word you were saying. He sat there and stared ahead and willed himself not to throw up.

The chill of anxiety bubbled to life within his chest, and he bit the inside of his cheek. He knew anxiety, he felt it every time he climbed onto a bull, just before he shot out into the ring. But that anxiety always melted away the second the gates opened and he was thrust out into the ring. During those few seconds he felt high off of adrenaline, he felt invincible.

But here, sitting on a simple Ferris wheel seat, he didn’t feel invincible. He felt like a scared child. Suddenly he was small again, crying over a crushed bouquet of wildflowers he’d just picked, only for his father to tell him picking flowers was for girls, and that he needed to man up.

And that’s what he tried to tell himself as you settled in beside him. Told himself to ‘man up’. Even though the term was ridiculous and incredibly harmful. It was difficult for Rhett to unlearn this ideology because it was all that had been drilled into his head.

Men don’t cry. Men don’t show fear. Men are strong and steady. But Rhett didn’t feel like any of those things, especially not when the seat suddenly jerked forward and made him jump out of his skin.

You noticed it, and you looked at him. “Are you alright?”

He nodded. “Y-yeah, ‘m fine. Just wasn’t expectin’ that, is all.” He thought it must’ve been convincing enough, because soon, you settled beside him, your shoulder touching his.

The ride ascended higher and higher, and Rhett was already white-knuckling the bar in front of you. You noticed he was tense, and this time, when you looked at him, his eyes were squeezed shut.

That’s when you realized he was trembling.

“Rhett, baby, look at me,” you gently coaxed.

He let out a soft sound, a whimper of fear, and he mentally cursed himself for it. But he couldn’t help it. “No,” he whispered.

“It’s okay. Just turn your head and keep your eyes on me.”

Slowly, he turned his head, and you lifted your hand, gently cupping his cheeks in your hands, moving them high enough so that your fingers blocked his peripheral.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. “You’re safe. Just keep your eyes on my face. Don’t look anywhere else but at me, alright?”

There were tears glimmering in his cerulean eyes. His bottom lip quivered. And all at once, you felt terrible for even suggesting this ride in the first place. You didn’t realize he was frightened until it was too late.

But instead of asking him about the fear, you made an effort to distract him. You could have a discussion when you were back on solid ground. For now, you kept his focus on you.

“That’s it. Doing so good, baby. I’m right here. I want you to keep your eyes on me and tell me five things you see, okay?”

“O-okay,” he breathed. His eyes flickered about your face. “U-um…I see your…your eyes. I see your nose. I, uh, I see your mouth. I see your cheeks.”

“Good job. That’s four, I need one more.”

“And I see your chin.”

“There you go, that’s it.” You gave him an encouraging smile. For the next part of the grounding technique, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to get him to take his hands off the bar to find four things he could touch. So, instead, you skipped to the next step. “How about three things you can hear?”

He took in a deep gulp of oxygen. “The…the music from the merry-go-round across the way. I can kinda hear people talking. An’ I can hear machines movin’.”

You kept your voice steady as you replied. “You’re doing so great, Rhett,” you encouraged. However, at that very moment, your seat reached the tippy top of the Ferris wheel, and it stopped.

That jerked Rhett entirely out of the calm headspace you’d been guiding him into. “Oh, God,” he breathed. “Fuck, why did it stop?” Panic started to heighten his tone.

“Baby, look at me. It’s part of the ride, they stop it at the top for a little bit before you go back down.”

“No, no, no. Why the fuck would they do that?! I can’t…I can’t do this.”

You kept your hands where they were, cradling his face. “Yes, you can. I’m right here with you, I promise. We’re doing this together.”

Tears had begun to well in his eyes again. Your heart ached for him, and you longed to wrap your arms around him, but you knew it would cause your seat to rock, and you didn’t want to send him further into panic.

“I-I’m so fuckin’ scared,” he whimpered.

“It’s okay to be scared. But it’s almost over, I promise. Just keep your focus on me. I’m gonna ask you another question, okay?”

He gave you the go-ahead. “Okay.”

“What are two things you can smell?”

His brow furrowed as he breathed in deeply. “Your, uh, your perfume. And your shampoo.”

You beamed at him. “Great job baby.”

You continued to gently speak to him, keeping him distracted as best as you could. You had him focus on breathing, placing your hand on his broad chest as you told him to breathe in and out slowly.

And little by little, the ride began to descend back to the ground. “We’re almost there, just a little more,” you assured him. Now that you were lower to the ground, Rhett was able to look away from you, his eyes flickering about to take in his surroundings. His shoulders began to visibly relax.

It was all going to be okay. Just a few more moments and his feet would be back on the ground. He found himself counting down in his head, until finally, the seat stopped at the bottom. Without hesitation, Rhett bolted from the ride, nearly tripping over his own feet as he did so.

As you trailed after him, you passed Trevor Tillerson and his new Flavor of the Week, waiting next in line for the Ferris wheel. You should have known the eldest Tillerson would run his mouth, because that was what he was prone to do. Especially after he’d had a few drinks, and judging by the fact that he smelled like a bottle of Jack Daniels, he’d had more than a few.

He snickered as Rhett bolted past him. “Ain’t no way the big bad bull rider gets sick on kiddie rides!” He jeered, eyes wide in disbelief.

The comment sent fire through you, enraged that he would pick on Rhett after what he’d just endured. A surge of protectiveness drove you forward, and without a second thought, you whirled around. “Shut the fuck up, Trevor!” And then you sharply slapped him across the face.

You didn’t stick around to see his reaction. Instead, you promptly turned back around on your feet and rushed after your man, driven by your need to make sure he was okay. Just ahead, Rhett skidded to a halt beside a trash can, and promptly lurched forward, letting nausea overcome him, releasing the contents of his stomach into the trash can. Your heart ached as you trailed behind him, placing a comforting hand on his back and rubbing slow circles with your palm.

“I’ve got you, honey,” you assured him. You hated the sound of his pained heaves, and you felt terrible knowing that they were all because you had insisted that he go on the Ferris wheel.

Groaning lowly, he rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Shit,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Are you done? Or do you think you’ll throw up again?” You asked.

He nodded, grimacing slightly. “I-I think ‘m done,” he replied.

“Okay. How about you sit down here for a minute? I’ll go get you some water,” you softly coaxed, taking his arm and gently guiding him to a nearby picnic table. “I’ll be right back.” Then you slipped away to request a cup of water from one of the nearby food vendors.

Meanwhile, Rhett lowered his head to his hands, groaning to himself. “Fuck,” he cursed. He was so embarrassed for the way he’d reacted on that stupid Ferris wheel. Surely you thought he was a complete idiot.

But that couldn’t be further from the truth. And when you returned holding two cups of water, and saw that his head was in his hands, your heart broke. “I’m back,” you quietly announced, placing the water in front of him. He grabbed the cup, his large hand engulfing the plastic container, and eagerly gulped down the cool liquid.

As he did so, you sat across from him, slowly sipping your own water. He wouldn’t look at you, and you could see shame burning brightly on his cheeks. “Fuckin’ embarrassin’,” he grumbled.

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Rhett,” you soothed.

“Yes it is. What grown-ass man goes up in a Ferris wheel and fuckin’ cries?”

You shook your head, your eyes filling with tears. “Baby, stop. That has nothing to do with you being a man or not. It’s okay to be scared of things.” Then you leaned forward. “You should have told me you were scared. I never would’ve had you go on it with me.”

He shrugged sheepishly, still refusing to meet your gaze. “Didn’t want you t’ think I was weak.” And there it was.

“Look at me.”

He did.

You reached out and placed your hands over his own ever-fidgeting ones. “I could never, ever think you were weak. Nothing you have ever done says “weak” to me. You are the strongest man I know, and being emotional or scared is not a sign of weakness. It’s a sign of strength. To be that vulnerable in front of someone? That takes courage.”

Rhett’s bottom lip quivered. “I…I know it’s stupid to think that way, but it’s just so fuckin’ drilled into my head. I can’t get rid of the mindset.”

A hot flash of anger flared in your chest, because you knew who was responsible for instilling that mindset in him. But you couldn’t let your anger come to the surface, so you kept it at bay. “I know it’s hard to shake it. But those are lies, you hear me? It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be scared.”

“It’s just…I’ve been on the backs of some of the meanest bulls in the rodeo. I stared down the barrel of a shotgun when I was a teenager when I got caught trespassin’ on someone else’s land. I’ve had m’ own fuckin’ brother throw punches at me. You’d think I’d be able to handle a measly little fair ride.”

“We all have our limits. And I want you to know something. You don’t ever have to do something you don’t want to, just because of me, okay? I don’t want you to feel like you have no other choice, or like you have to make me happy. Because your own well-being is more important than making me happy. You hear me?”

He nodded slowly. “The thing is, I know all that. But…how do I get myself to start believin’ it?”

You squeezed his hands. “Well, for starters, you don’t have to do it alone. I don’t want you to shut me out. You aren’t supposed to carry your burdens by yourself. I wanna carry them with you.”

That was so difficult for Rhett to wrap his mind around. He was so used to being alone, to navigating his warring emotions all by himself. It had been a point of contention in your relationship. You were always telling him you didn’t want him to shut you out. That you wanted him to communicate and tell you how he was feeling. But that fear of vulnerability was crushing. Even so, he knew he needed to be better about expressing how he was feeling. He just wasn’t sure how to go about it.

“Will…will y’ help me figure out how to share ‘em with you?” He asked earnestly.

“Of course, baby. I’ll help you navigate it all, I promise.”

He nodded, his eyes glittering with emotion. Then he looked down at your intertwined hands. “Y’know how you kinda…hinted at seein’ a therapist?”

You nodded, because you had. You didn’t want Rhett to feel pressured into it, but in passing, you had mentioned to him that seeing a therapist was helpful to you. He hated to admit it, but he knew he needed to start seeing someone to help him navigate the muddled mess that was his brain. There were years of unchecked trauma and repressed emotions that needed to be dealt with.

Before you, he wouldn’t have been caught dead admitting that he needed help. But you had made him see that it was okay to ask for help. And after the moment on the Ferris wheel, and how terrified he’d been to show you “weakness”, it hit him like a ton of bricks that, in order for your relationship to thrive, he needed to get a handle on those feelings.

“I think it’s time I started seein’ one,” he continued, his voice soft, as if he was afraid of admitting such a thing.

You reached out and gently tipped his chin up so he was looking at you again. “Oh, baby, you have no idea how happy that makes me. I know that couldn’t have been easy for you to say. I’m so proud of you, Rhett.” You lifted his hands to your mouth to press your lips to his knuckles. “I’ll help you find the perfect therapist just for you. I won’t let you do this by yourself, alright? I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

He managed a small smile. “Alright. I trust you.”

Those three words were music to your ears. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he answered with conviction.

“We can talk more about this at home if you want. But I’m sure you’re exhausted after that awful ride. Do you wanna head home? Or stay here a little longer?”

He hesitated. “I…know you had your heart set on comin’ to the fair, but…I think maybe I need t’ go home and rest after that ordeal.”

You offered a warm smile. “That’s okay, we can go right home. Whatever is best for you, I don’t want you to force yourself to stay just to please me.”

You rose to your feet and held your hand out to him, which he gratefully accepted, allowing you to pull him to his feet. You leaned in to kiss him gently, and he melted into you. “Let’s get you home, cowboy.”

“Wait,” he said, as you began to lead him away.

You stopped to look back at him.

“D’ya think we could, uh…get some funnel cake before we go?”

Your face broke into a grin. “Of course we can.”

Happily, you led him to a funnel cake stand, where you purchased the sugary treat to share. Then, you walked out of the fairground, with you nestled against Rhett’s side as you ate bites of the fried cake while you walked. It was a lighthearted end to a rather difficult night, but both of you were at peace, because the difficulty had lead to some revelations that would soon improve your relationship and deepen your bond.

Rhett had a long journey of healing ahead of him, and the thought was rather frightening. But with your unwavering love and support, he knew he could do it. And you knew he could, too.

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@xoxabs88xox @alexandra8484 @kmc1989 @elusive-honeydew @vallyb @cdauni @happyrebelruins @bobfloydsbabe @myfandomchangesalot @mikpieboo @krys-orion @petersunderoos96 @eighthwvnder @mastercontrol123 @powerlvr25 @audri-janis @yanna-banana @bradshawsbaby @seitmai @chieflawyerpastatoad @roosters-girl @wkndwlff @acatwriteshere @backupcasmitchell @marchingicenotes7 @percysaidnever @cherrycola27 @diorrfairy @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @milesmillergf @damrlova @thedroneranger @bradshawsbitch @bobfloyds @sebsxphia @rhettabbotts @withahappyrefrain @up-thereinthesky @peachystenbrough @lovinglyeternal @laracrofted @callsign-magnolia

#rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbott angst

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comradeboyhalo · 5 months

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it's really sweet to see how comfy dapper is with bad (and this could also extend past rp and to the admin but obvi we cant know that). dapper loves showing off their knowledge and meeting new people, but his social battery gets drained faster than other eggs. bad always notices when dapper starts hanging back, and then talks to him one on one and always gives him an out. when dapper takes it, they go off together to build in a more quiet environment.

and its there where dapper acts so talkative and childish and cute! the perception dapper gets from the rest of the island is that he's this mature, tough, knowledgeable egg who is stuck wrangling his cringefail dad. and yeah, his dad certainly is cringefail, but dapper is such a kid around bad. how many other characters know that dapper throws tantrums and struggles with object permanence and hates when their dad leaves them without notice? its not the characters' fault for not knowing, it just goes to show how unguarded dapper is around bad. he loves his dad so much, and his dad is one of the few on the island who just get him.

#im aware that other eggs are like this with their respective parents #tallulahs brattiness around her dad comes to mind #but i think its super apparent with dapper because he has SUCH a strong reputation among the islanders #that is a bit off in who he actually is

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hoedamn-eron · 9 months

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what he didn't do

Being Miguel O’Hara’s partner was exhausting.

Warnings: Angsty. Not a happy ending. Edited on phone so prone to mistakes. Word count: 2,441 GN!Reader, no use of Y/N.

Inspired by What He Didn't Do, by Carly Pearce. Sorry this is also late, I was supposed to post it yesterday.

Your relationship with Miguel O’Hara was…stagnant. Unaffectionate. One-sided.

But it never used to be. You both used to be head over heels in love, almost sickly so. Everyone would say that you were ‘good for each other’, that you were both what ‘everyone wanted to be’, and you would always shy away from the compliments, but you knew they were right. You and Miguel were soulmates, and you couldn’t help but feel a little smug when your friends gushed over you both.

He used to show up at your office, randomly, with flowers or a new outfit, claiming you would be going on a date after work. He’d take you away on spontaneous romantic trips, and you would be all over each other when you were together. How could you not be? He was gorgeous, and a wonderful man. You knew this was the man you wanted to settle down with and marry.

But now he was distant, and ignorant, and you barely spent time together. You didn’t know what changed.

You grimace to yourself. That was a lie, you did know what changed. He became obsessed with keeping the canon events rolling, so much so that you hadn’t really seen him in months. You don’t even remember the last time you kissed. All he did was spend his days sat by that screen, watching old memories of him and his daughter. You felt for him, truly, but he was so obsessed with the past, that his future was fading from him, and fast.

The last straw for you was when he missed your anniversary. You waited for him for two hours, in your apartment, where he said he’d pick you up after work. Your calls got ignored, and you eventually stopped leaving a voicemail every time. When you saw him the next day, coming home to your shared apartment late and in a blatant bad mood, obviously having no idea what he’d done the night before, you mentally checked out of the relationship.

You moved out of the apartment in Nueva York slowly, not that he’d notice, since he was never there anyway. You managed to wrangle the help of Peter every now and then, for the bigger pieces of furniture. After a month and a half, you were gone. You took your name off the lease and emailed a copy of it to Miguel. If he didn’t think so before, he definitely knew now that you were done.

But he didn’t…do anything. It was as if you were strangers. He didn’t approach you, didn’t come and beg you to take him back. He didn’t apologise, didn’t make it up to you. You gave this man years of your life, which now, you realised, obviously meant more to you than they did him. After this devastating conclusion, you tried to avoid Miguel as much as you physically could. Despite how pissed off you had been and how you had already mourned the relationship, it still hurt to see him, or even talk about him.

However, you worked within the Spider Society as a general PA. It was tough to get through this particularly tough period of your life when your friends kept talking about him.

“He’s more pissed off than he usually is,” said Jess as you meet up with her and Peter for your weekly lunch date at your local Spider King.

You choose not to answer her as you eat your fries.

“He isn’t getting laid anymore,” joked Peter before giving you a wince. “Sorry.”

You shrug. “It’s whatever. He wasn’t getting laid anyway, at least not from me.”

“Is that why you broke up?” Jess asked. “Did he cheat on you? I’ll kill him for you, if he did.”

“No, he didn’t,” you say quickly (you don’t want any rumours floating around) before you shrug.

“So what did he do?” Jess asked.

The question through you for a loop, and you frowned, thinking about it.

It wasn’t what he did, really. It was what he didn’t do.

He didn’t put you first. It was always about the canon events, how they had to keep ticking over. Despite there being thousands of Spider People, Miguel seemed to always have to be the one to fix it. He couldn’t just be with you, at home, just because he wanted to be at home, where you would have planned a movie night, or arranged a date night for you both. He didn’t fight for you when he found out you had left, he didn’t hold on to you for dear life, that you were worth something; he just seemed to accept the fact that you were gone.

But you won’t tell anyone that. You won’t tell them the Hell that Miguel had put you through, that you’ll leave people to guess about what happened. So you shrug at Jess’s question. “We just...fizzled out.”

It wasn’t technically a lie.

“That’s a shame,” Jess said. “I thought you guys would be end game. I was sure you were both going to get married.”

You snort an unamused laugh. “Me too.”

Your tone indicated that you didn’t want to carry on the conversation, and Peter, bless his soul, changed the subject to Mayday’s new daycare, since MJ decided she needed to socialise with ‘regular people’. She’d apparently found it hard to fit in. After lunch you give your friends a goodbye before you make your way back to your office. You try to keep your head down these days, since you want to avoid conversations like you just had with your friends (and honestly, you still couldn’t bear to bump into Miguel). You usually had no problem avoiding anyone but today, someone, somewhere, just wanted to see you suffer.

He was stood, outside your office, looking as gorgeous as he always does. For once, he wasn’t in his Spider Suit, just a pair of sweatpants and a too tight white t-shirt, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, looking down at the floor with that frown on his face, then one where he was deep in thought. Back in the day, you would have jokingly ‘smoothed’ out the lines in his forehead before giving him a kiss, telling him he needed to come out of his own head. You push the feeling of familiarity away before clearing your throat, pulling out your keys to unlock your office. “Can I help you, Miguel?”

“We need to talk,” he replied, his face as stony as always.

“What about?” you ask as you open your office door, walking through, still not looking at him. You felt sick. You weren’t expecting this today. You thought he had moved on, since he hadn’t spoken to you since you moved out over a month ago.

Miguel strides into your office and closes the door. “You know what about.”

You pause minutely before taking a deep breath and sighing through your nose. “Right. Okay.”

You take a seat at your desk, finally looking at him as he sat opposite you. He looked tired; or more tired than usual. Those dark circles that were now a permanent feature on his face were darker than when you last saw him. You wanted to tell him he had to take it easy, to start looking after himself, but that wasn’t your job. He wasn’t yours to worry about anymore.

You cross your arms and lean them on your desk, trying to come across as nonchalant, but you probably looked uncomfortable. “You wanna talk about the break-up?”

“Yes,” Miguel said. You both stared at each other in silence for a few moments before Miguel breaks it with a, “You broke up with me.”

You’re study him for a minute before you nod. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“If you have to ask, then it was the right decision.”

He gives you an incredulous look. He was always more emotive with you. “I know that I was working more - “

You couldn’t help it. You let out a snort of a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “That’s an understatement. By the time I moved out, I hadn’t seen you in person for at least a week. And I was taking my stuff slowly for a month before. You didn’t notice.”

“I have to keep the canon events going, I can’t...I can’t not,” he says, sounding fed up; drained. “And coming home to you was the only thing that kept me going.”

You shake your head. “Don’t say that.”

“Say what?” he asks, his tone slightly harsh.

“Saying that I was the only thing that kept you going, like I was everything to you,” you say.

“You were - “

“Do you know how many times I caught you staring at your screen of old memories of you and Gabriella?” you asked. “How I waited for you every night for you to not come home? How you forgot important dates, like our anniversary?”

He cringes at that.

You look at him with an almost desperate look on your face. “I know that Gabriella was an important part of your life. I understand how you’re hurting, and you blame yourself for what happened, but you cannot let it overtake your life, Migs. You’re letting your past affect your present, your future, and look what’s happening.”

“What am I supposed to do? Just let universes collapse?”

“No, Miguel, I’m not – “ you sigh, closing your eyes as you pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration. “I know that you need to keep the canon going. I understand that it’s your job, but…it’s not your only thing to worry about.”

You open your eyes and his expression breaks your heart, especially after a few moments he whispers out, “I’m sorry.”

The room falls silent again. Your heart skips a beat like it normally does when you find yourself staring at him; he was so good looking, and rough around the edges, his soul calloused and scarred from years of hard work and demanding tasks, and the battles he's fought but you know he’s not as tough as he seems. He’s a real softy, really. You knew from when he used to be with you more, earlier in your relationship, when he would come home after a rough day and practically whine to be in your arms, his face snuggled in your chest.

Or when he would come up behind you when you were cooking in your kitchen, and he would wrap his arms around you. He towered over you, so he practically enveloped you every time he did it. And he’d always slowly sway you, even though there wouldn’t be any music. You’d always end up having a slow dance break from cooking, and you’d always end up giggling before telling him to go wash his hands because dinner would almost be ready.

And he was soft in the way that he used to whisper to you how much he loved you, how he was so happy to have found you, that he felt whole to have you, that he truly felt at home when you were around. He used to give you this smile, that you never saw around everyone else, but only when you were alone; it was a reverence that showcased the depths of his affection for you, that he trusted you, that he was safe with you, and you with him. You found solace with each other.

But that was gone now.

“All I wanted was to be put first,” you whisper, your eyes swimming in tears you hadn’t realised were there. “Just once in a while.”

“I can work on that,” Miguel says quickly. “I can…I can take a few less jobs, I can be at home more – “

“Migs,” you say, already shaking your head, a few tears slowly falling.

“Please, mi amor,” Miguel whispers, reaching over your desk to hold your hands tightly. Your chest tightens at the familiar nickname you hadn’t heard in so long. “Please, come home. I’ll get better, I’ll be better. I’ve been miserable without you.”

You want to make a quip about how he’s miserable most of the time anyway, but you hold back the comment. It would be spiteful, and you had moved on from being angry, and upset, and you were far from being spiteful. “I can’t, Miguel.”

“Please, mi amor,” he says again, his hands squeezing yours just a little tighter.

You don’t know what to do. This was the most you’d spoken to him in weeks…probably months, and he was begging you to come back to him. You were so torn. What if you take him back and he goes back to his old ways again, down the line? Would you be willing to give up more years of your life for Miguel O’Hara for him to throw them in your face again?

You’re ready to tell him no, to tell him to never contact you again, but you remember your relationship before. Now that he’d seen what his actions had done, would he put in the effort? Would he be willing to work on himself, to work on your relationship? You know that you couldn’t go back to the way things used to be, your trust in him has dwindled to almost nothing. And you were alone, picking up the pieces of your broken heart and he hadn’t even realised until you were long gone.

“I can’t,” you finally say, removing your hands from his. You swiftly wipe at the tears on your face, averting your eyes from his. “I can’t…put myself through that again.”

You can see his chest rising and falling just a little more heavier than before, and you knew you couldn’t look at him. If you looked at him, you would cave, and you’d be back to square one.

After a few moments, Miguel answers. “Okay.” He stands, and you still can’t look at him. You hear him walk away from you, reaching your door but he pauses. “I’m sorry, again. For everything. And for bothering you today.”

He quickly opens your door and stalks out, and you wince as he closes it with a slam. You feel your shoulders go slack, unaware that you were so wound up in the first place. You let yourself sit alone, silently crying for the end of your relationship with Miguel, romantic and otherwise. Maybe with some space and time, you could look into being friends again, but for now, you will close this chapter of your life and think back on your relationship with Miguel as a hard learning curve.

In the end, you’ll be okay. You always are.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x f!reader #miguel x reader #miguel x f!reader #into the spider verse #oscar isaac

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