#pandorascript

pairing: wednesday x reader

cw: angst, cheating, tyler galpin.

note: you should know that I made morticia and gomez the mean rich type of people to fit this.

summary: catering your ex-girlfriend’s wedding was certainly not what you wanted to do, but it proves to be fruitful as you get to say goodbye— and taunt her.

song: I Bet You Think About Me (feat. Chris Stapleton) (Taylor’s Version) (From The Vault) by Taylor Swift ;).

proof read like once. I’m finding a lot of mistakes because I’m tired LMAO.

SEND IN REQUESTS BASED ON TS SONGS!

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It had been exactly three months since Wednesday had called off your relationship. She claimed you were too childish and that you were just too different from her— that you couldn’t fit into her world. Looking back on it now you can only laugh, the true reason why Wednesday broke up with you was because she was too scared of the consequences.

summary: harley never meant to become what she was afraid of. it seems she did though.

pairing: harley quinn x gn!reader (can be read as fem)

warnings: murder, gun violence, making out.

note: this has been in my drafts for a while, and I fricking love harley. thought she deserved some love, so please send in requests for her!!! <333

-🃏-

Harley turns on her heel, huffing a hot breath into the cold winter air. “You don’t love me no more.”

safe and sound

pairing: katniss everdeen/reader.

cw: death, angst, description of body mutilation, bombs, major character death, gale. LOL.

note: I wanted to make this a cute little fix where Katniss sings the reader to sleep and then heads off to fight Snow, but I was like fuck it let’s kill r. ALSO! MY FIRST KATNISS REQUEST! THANK U!!!

based on Safe & Sound (Taylor’s Version). some lyrics used.

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As Katniss watches the explosions take lives and hope, her eyes catch something for a moment— a bright gleam in the dissipating dust. 

Her feet drag her along the road, tears pricking her eyes. Dead bodies lay scattered across the ground, some missing arms or legs. Katniss stumbles upon a woman, her arms wrapped around a little girl in a yellow jacket— the girl she had seen just moments before, breathing and alive. She chokes back her sob, refusing to let herself be any more somber than she already is. Katniss has to be strong for the cameras and her so-called army. She has to show Snow he doesn’t have an affect on her. 

As she walks around more; dodging bodies of all shapes and sizes— mainly smaller figures, she trips on something hard. A rough cough comes from where she had kicked and Katniss looks down. The idea of a probable survivor makes her fill with hope, but it’s quickly snatched away from her when she sees who it is. 

“Hey, Kat,” you mumble out, exhaustion getting the better of you. 

For a moment Katniss can only stand there, shakily breathing in horror at your fucked up state. There’s a large amount of blood coming from your torso, half of your head covered in it too. Dust sticks to your cracked lips, large, watery eyes looking up at her. 

Katniss sits down, adjusting you off the floor and into her lap so she can hold you and apply pressure. She knows it won’t help, there’s too much damage, but the obvious knowledge doesn’t deter her. 

“You were supposed to be farther back. Why?” she asks, taking a break every few seconds to control her shaky tone. 

Your hand lifts from the ground, a hand that’s no doubt fractured or broken, and holds onto Katniss’ forearm. You give her a light squeeze, a rough cough breaking the silence. 

“I wanted to—“ you hack up again, a little blood staining your lips red, “wanted to help.”

Katniss can’t say anything in the fear she’ll break down. She wants to be strong. Not for the cameras, not for Snow, not for her unwanted army— she wants to be strong for you. You’re dying, and Katniss can’t do anything about it. 

“You did. You did help.”

You nod weakly in her arms, your eyes watching the sunset in front of you. You don’t wanna go, you don’t know what happens when you die. Is heaven really real? If so, did you make the requirements? What if you didn’t? Surely your sacrifice would make up for it? Maybe you’d go to Valhalla, or maybe there was just nothing. Maybe after death you were only greeted by nothingness. With that horrific thought you tighten your grip on Katniss and take a deep breath. It comes out a harsh wheeze and your lungs sting from the effort. 

“Will you sing?” you ask her, a tight cough coming out after. 

Katniss’ other hand has gone to stroking your hair, moving the dried-up pieces away from your sticky forehead. “Yeah.”

You eyes look back to the sunset, Katniss’ soft voice singing in the background. 

“I remember tears streaming down your face when I said I’ll never let you go.”

Her soft voice starts to put you at ease, no doubt with the help of her featherlight touch. The sunset looks beautiful from where you’re laying. If you took out the immense amount of pain you’re in and the conditions of which this is happening, you could almost pretend that it was a date. Like one of those dates way back when you were just two lowly girls in district twelve— fighting and hunting for meals. You didn’t have a family, both of your parents died in the mines, but Katniss took you in. She taught you how to trap, and kill, and skin— Katniss saved you. 

“Thank you, Kat—Katniss,” you spitter out, coughs becoming more violent and frequent the longer you speak. 

Her singing stops and you feel a light, hesitant kiss on your head. 

Katniss goes back to singing, each word getting more cracked and breathy. “Just close your eyes,” she sings, “the sun is going down.”

You eyes flicker close, Katniss’ soothing voice fading in and out. 

“Come morning light, you and I will be safe and sound.”

The pain has stopped now, replaced by a peace as your body begins to shut down. 

“No one can hu—“

Katniss stops abruptly, you chest no longer moving up and down. Everything that she’s been withholding shatters, than dam of tears bursting through and clogging her vision. She presses her head against yours, gasping. “Please,” she whispers, barely coherent through her chocked sobs. “No, no, no.”

Now that you’re gone, Katniss tightens her hold on you, the watery squelch buried beneath her broken sobs. Her face is puffy and red by the time the rests of the troops make it to her, each and every one of them takes off their hat. Katniss doesn’t look up to see it, her eyes shut tight as they all stoop to one knee.

Katniss continues crying for God knows how long, despair and grief filling her body more than the blood that fuels it. 

Katniss doesn’t start screaming until a rebel tries to pick her up, her kicks and shouts not deterring him. Even as she bangs against his chest, is heaved onto his shoulder, she doesn’t relent. Your lifeless body starts getting farther, and father, and farther, and farther until it’s no longer in Katniss’ sight. 

Her voice is raw and husky from screaming, lungs crying out to get a proper breath. Katniss is only filled with rage when she’s set down, Gale’s face blurring into view. 

“You fucker!” she hollers, smacking his cheek. 

He turns slightly, wiping his face from where Katniss had angrily spat, still indifferent to her behavior. 

“Go get some sleep, Katniss.” He walks off, leaving her in all of her thoughts. 

pairing: poison ivy x reader

warnings: mediocre angst, proofread once.

note: wrote this at like twelve last night. I just need to get something out lmao. I’m going to start writing a bit more DC stuff until I get get my spark back. Currently writing another Ivy fic based on the comic, Harleen.

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The door creaks as you slowly open it, peeking in. Pamela’s mixing green and purple liquids, mumbling to herself as they bubble and ooze. 

“Hey, what are you doing? It’s, like, three am,” you say. 

“I’ll be up soon, just need to do a couple more things.” 

You frown, never knowing Pamela to not look you in the eye when she’s speaking. 

“Alright.” You turn to head out, leaving her to her work. “Love you.”

“Yeah.”

You close the door, swallowing harshly. This is ridiculous, it’s been going on for months now. The neglect, the off-handed responses to meaningful statements, and it hurts. It hurts so much, and you swear to God you can feel your heart shattering. 

You blink a coup times, rubbing at them. 

 Why are you crying? She’s got more important things than you, you know that.

You walk up the wooden steps, but stop short. You’re way too tired to climb up another flight just to get to your room. Curling up on a way-too-short step, you let yourself weep. 

The step above you digs into your shoulder every time you let out a sob, but you don’t adjust. The pain somehow grounds you, keeping you from actually bawling your eyes out. Your hand sits in your mouth, stifling what should have been louder cries. You don’t care about the bite marks that will be there tomorrow. 

Pamela didn’t come up to bed that night, not did she bother to put you in an actual room. 

You’re thinking about leaving, ditching Pamela in the night. You cant go on like this, but you’re way too worried to confront her about her behavior. She’ll just put you off, gaslight you and tell you you’re just being dramatic. 

You want her to notice your bruised hand, you want her to notice your puffy eyes the next morning, you want her notice your pain. 

She doesn’t. 

She ignores you all day again, sitting in her lab and talking to her plants. You know she loves those things more than you, she used to tell you that she loved you more. It’s a lie. It always has been. 

You open the door to her lab again, forgetting to knock. 

The creak of the door must’ve thrown her off, because the next thing you know Pamela’s cursing and yelling. Things are spilling over her desk, papers are soaked and burning. 

“Pam! Oh my God! I’m so—“

“Get out!” she yells, pulling her hair as she finally faces you. “GO!”

You close the door with a slam, mortified. Pamela’s never yelled at you before. She knows you hate it, you hate arguing and screaming, she knows what your past was, and she promised to never yell. It was a mutual agreement, and even when you both made each other upset, it didn’t last long. You’d both apologize and talk about it, get over what was causing bumps and come out stronger. You didn’t know if you’d make it out of this one. 

You can still her Pamela yelling, things smashing against the door your head is lain on. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and after that, the only noise you hear is her yelling and your own tears hitting the floor. 

Your knees give out and you slide against bumpy and splintered wood. Your face is soaking, tears painting an ugly portrait on your face. 

As your sobbing against the door, the only thing you can think of is leaving. And right now, it seems like the smart thing to do. 

You don’t bother Pam for the next week, you leave her to be in the greenhouse, actively skirting around her when she leaves for her lab. You don’t like being like this— awkward strangers. For God’s sake, you’ve been dating for five years, you know her inside and out. But she feels different, unstable. It scares you, mortifies you. You don’t know what she’s capable when she’s like this, and you don’t know if you want to find out. 

The letter you write is long, it takes up two full pages of paper, and your handwriting is neat. The only thing screwing it up are the copious amounts of wet spots, which smear the ink. You place the note on her side of the nightstand, and start grabbing essentials. You take everything you can think of, everything that seems important. 

You don’t realize your crying until your vision is completely blurry, but still, you push onwards. You grab a couple sweaters and a couple pairs of jeans. You don’t fold them, instead slamming them into a suitcase as you zip it up. 

“What are you doing?”

Everything stops. Your hand, the loud zipper, your breathing, even your tears don’t flow anymore. It’s like everyone’s waiting, waiting and waiting for Pamela to understand. You take in a shaky breath, finishing the zipper. “Leaving.” 

You don’t turn to face her, instead you pretend to do more with the suitcase, checking empty pockets and extra compartments. You hear her footsteps getting closer and closer and closer, her hand rests on your shoulder. You still don’t face her, you can’t. The moment you look at her you’re screwed, you’ll melt into her and fall into the same pattern. It cant happen. 

“Stop. Please.”

Another hand rests on your other shoulder, slowly turning you around. Pamela looks so heartbroken, and you let out a sob. It’s useless to fight her, you can’t, you’ve never been good at sticking up for yourself. She tucks your head into her shoulder, apologizing from some stupid thing that doesn’t even matter. Pamela cant even figure out what she was doing wrong, she’s reaching, apologizing for yelling, as if the months of emotional neglect aren’t a problem. 

“I’m so tired, Pam.”

You know she’d be crying if wasn’t stopping herself, the last thing either of you wants is you to be covered in bubbling blisters. 

“I’m sorry.”

You don’t bother trying to correct her, to tell her that you miss her. How could you? She’s always there, she’s never not fifteen feet away from you. You cant miss her. But still, you do. 

“I miss you,” you cry out, repeating it over and over again. 

“Hey, hey, hey, I’m right here, okay? I’m right here.” Her voice is soothing, lulling you into hopeful security. It isn’t until your eyes are drooping shut, you’re breathing heavy and loud, that you realize what she’s doing. 

You don’t know what time it is, how long you’ve slept, or where you are, but it doesn’t matter, because the familiar scent of spring wraps around you like a blanket, and you sigh. Everything feels right, a sense of calm eases you, and you really can’t remember what you were so upset about last night. 

“Morning,” Pamela whispers. 

You feel her hand slide up to your shoulder and her chin softly pressing into your head. This is right, everything is okay. 

You mumble back an obscured “G’morning” and bury yourself deeper into her. 

Her chest shakes as she laughs lightly, and you grumble in protest from the movement. 

“Can we just stay here?” you ask, threading your hand in her hair as you do so. 

“I wish, but we’ve got plans, darling.”

You grumble, clearing annoyed. “Yeah but this is so much better.”

Pamela starts playing with your hair, careful not to tangle it. You feel happy at this, happy that she remembers how bad your bed head is. 

“It is.”

“So we can stay here?”

Pamela starts laughing again, her chin rubbing against your head as she shakes her own. “No.”

“Plans, shlamsh! We don’t need to go anywhere.”

“I suppose we don’t need to, but we should. Selina and Harley are waiting on us, though.”

“They’ll entertain each other just fine without us.”

A moment of silence passes through the two of you, each taking in the thought of those two alone together. 

“Yeah we need to leave.”

“Oh God, why did I tell them to wait for us?” Pamela asks, you don’t need to see her face to know she’s mortified. 

“Selina’s probably at Harley’s throat about now. You told her not to bring those mutts right?”

No response. 

“Right?”

“No…. I figured it would be common sense!”

“Harley doesn’t have common sense! She has Harley sense! She probably brought Bud and Lou!”

“We really need to leave, darling.”

Pamela’s up and out of the bed, dressed in a green blouse and black shorts before you even know it. You get up too, looking to the end of the bed. Frowning, you unzip the suitcase. 

“I-I’m sorry, Pam. I don’t know what I was thinking last night. It was stupid, really.”

Pamela closes the suitcase, handing you a sweater of hers and a pair of leggings. 

“It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have yelled.”

You nod your head, still taking the blame. Pamela smiles, giving you a kiss on the cheek. 

LMAO HERE U GO POOKIE. It’s rlly short I’m so sorry. Also, I love angst. I almost replied to this with the most gut wrenching angst but I decided to be nice😋

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pairing: wednesday/reader

cw: light angst, ambiguous ending.

note: go read p1 first. REQUEST MORE FICS BASED ON TS PLS!!🫡🫡

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Wednesday’s foot tapped nervously against the wooden floor. Her eyes watched your expression rapidly, one emotion washing over the next, until hurt was the only thing remaining. 

“You’re joking right?”

“You didn’t want a divorce. It’s an ultimatum.”

“You’re going to take off work for this? You’re going to actually try?” She watches your expression change, the hurt and fear washing away. You were doubtful, so was she. But if you both wanted this, then it’s the next step. 

“As long as you do too.”

Wednesday steps closure to you, taking your hand in hers. Divorce was a drastic measure, and once she had told you about what she wanted you had immediately bawled. She spent hours yesterday consoling you, apologizing, saying that she’ll figure something out. 

So, today she sat you down and showed you a flyer for couples therapy. Wednesday thought it might be worth a try— that you were worth the try, even though she hates therapy. 

“Okay. Yeah, I think this will be good for us.”

“Me too.” Wednesday finally sits down next you, squeezing you hand a couple of times.