#reader's regrets

𐕣 Abbadon x the vessel's mother reader 𐕣

You are a mother without her child.

This is a fact that has been drilled into you for nearly 300 years. Three hundred years of wandering, of dying and not staying dead, of lifting frail, sick boys into your arms and holding strangers as they slipped away to a peace you do not deserve. Three hundred years of trying to keep other people alive because you failed the one that mattered. Three hundred years of the colonies growing into something new and observant, changing without you barely noticing until it begun to tie trouble to your identity.

𐕣 Abbadon x demon reader 𐕣

👻🏨👻🏨👻🏨👻

You were never partners, but your paths did cross on occasion. He admired your wit and ruthlessness; you admired his poise and control. There was always something unspoken between you.

Overprotective Will Turner/Reader

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

The docks were unusually calm that evening, the sun lowering itself into the sea in a wash of amber and rose. Sailors hurried about their work, ropes slapped against wood, and gulls circled overhead, but Will Turner barely noticed any of it.

He was too busy watching you.

👉👈

William & Jackson Hillwalker x reader

Fluffy headcanons 🔪🪓🔪🪓🔪🪓🔪

The dynamic between you and the Hillwalker brothers has settled into something strange yet warm, like a crooked piece of furniture that fits perfectly in a room. You aren’t family, but you’re not just another outsider either. You occupy a space somewhere in between, and they treat you accordingly.

i was thinking fluff really, nothing too amazing, honestly you could throw scraps at me and i’ll be barking for it like a dog. anyways, love your work, thank you 🙏

Jackson Hillwalker x Gn reader

🐖🔪🐖🔪🐖🔪🐖

Romantic head-canons and a tiny oneshot. (TW: implied gore, religious delusion, obsession, etc.)

headcanons

You’re the only person who’s ever matched his energy without needing to fake it all the time, other than William.

There’s a chair nobody else is allowed to sit on, not even William, just for you to watch him work. He can never concentrate when you sit on it though, always loses track of what he's doing and gives up all his attention to you. Please feel free to abuse it, He wants you to.

He’s the one who designed all the machines in the farmhouse, he set up the pig rodeo, the gutting station, the jack in the boxes. He made those for himself, imagine what he’d make just for you if you asked.

You’re the only one allowed near Hilda. He gets twitchy if someone else even looks at his cleaver too long, but you? You can hold her. Clean her. Even mock her and he just laughs.

Once, he stitched your name into the inside of his flannel collar. When you noticed, he shrugged and said, “Just so nobody forgets who I belong to.” You know better, you saw him blushing.

Jackson thrives in chaos, and you better be able to play along without losing control. You’ll scream in the woods like prey just to see which survivor he kills first when they try to “save” you.

You once nicked your finger on a piece of wire. Jackson stared at the drop of blood like it personally insulted him. He dragged William away, and they disappeared for an hour and returned later to announce your own personal trap-free path through the house. “No sharp corners for you, Tiger.”

Jackson is touchy, but not smooth. He fidgets with your clothes, tugs your sleeve, leans on you like a needy dog. Sometimes, when you’re resting, he’ll lie on the floor beside you, arms crossed under his head, just listening to your breathing.

He doesn’t just like having you around. He needs it. If you disappear for even a little while, he gets sloppy. Meaner.

He doesn't get jealous easily, He knows you like him, and he likes you, and you settle for something you didn't like, but there's still moments. Jackson once killed a survivor just because they made you laugh. “That wasn’t even a funny joke,” he said, wiping blood off his jaw. “You laugh way prettier when it’s me.”

He builds you to think. All the time. A box that plays your own laugh. Rigs the lights to play your favorite song when you flick them on in your workroom. Sets up a dumbwaiter from your bedroom and the kitchen after you got sick one day.

At night, when everything is quiet and the survivors have stopped screaming, he talks more slowly. Sometimes you wake up to him brushing a thumb across your cheek, looking confused by how calm he feels. “Didn’t think I could like anyone this much,” he’ll mumble, then pretend he didn’t say anything.

Sometimes, when the day’s done and the blood is dry, he’ll lay with his head in your lap and ramble. About anything. About his brother, about the barn, about some stupid memory from when he was a kid. He never asks you to talk. He just wants you there.

And a little oneshot because its been rotting in my docs

You didn’t expect a honeymoon. Not really. But you sure didn’t expect this either.

Jackson’s strung up lights infront of the porch. Real ones, yellow bulbs borrowed from god knows where. They're draped around meat hooks nailed into anything high enough like party decorations, swaying gently over rust and dried foliage.

He gestures with a dramatic sweep of the arm, looking far too pleased with himself. “Ta-da!”

“…It’s beautiful?” you offer, stepping over what might’ve once been a person.

Jackson beams. “Knew you’d like it! Nothin’ else I could think of that i hadnt done before.”

You watch him toss Hilda from hand to hand, his suspenders slightly askew, a faint smear of something red on his cheek. He’s sweating. Not from effort, excitement.

“Wait,” you say, sniffing. “Is that… lemon?”

He straightens proudly. “Cleaned the patio with that citrus oil you mentioned. 'Cause I’m romantic, darlin’.”

You laugh. The sound echoes. And before you can say anything else, Jackson’s crossing the space in three long strides, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

“Married now,” he whispers, lips brushing your neck. “That means I get to hold you whenever I want.”

“You already did that.”

“Yeah,” he grins. “But now it’s a legal right.”

You cackle as you lean back into him, tilting your head so he can nuzzle under your ear. “You gonna be a good husband?”

“Oh, I’m gonna be the worst husband,” he breathes, voice low and dangerous and reverent. “I’m gonna cause so much trouble for you, they’ll name caution signs after us.”

You turn to face him, fingers slipping into the loops of his suspenders. “Promises, promises.”

He barely reacts to your teasinng, just admiring you.

“…You’re really mine, huh?” he whispers.

You nod. “'Til death-”

💵🔪🐖Jackson Hillwalker/Gn reader🔪🐖💵

You had been working the late shift long enough to recognize the usual suspects: the midnight snackers, the caffiene chuggers, and the “I swear this is for a science experiment” weirdos.

But nothing could have prepared you for him.

The man in the overalls appeared suspicious from the moment he set down his basket. You noticed how he hovered near the self-checkout, only to abandon it at the last second and shuffle nervously to your register instead.

“Evening,” you said, scanning the first item. “Hmm… rope, duct tape, industrial-strength bleach…” You raised an eyebrow. “Haha, what is this, the starter pack for a murder?”

You intended it as a joke, a small quip to lighten the silence.

But the man froze. His eyes widened, and sweat broke out across his forehead like someone had turned on a faucet.

“I- uh- n-no. No murder. I mean- Not at all. I would never. You think I- I look like someone who- ? Lord, no.” His words tumbled out in a rush, his voice cracking halfway through.

You blinked as the receipt printer whirred. “Sir, it’s fine. I was kidding.”

He wrung his hands, looking as though you had uncovered some unspeakable truth. He looked so nervous.

“…Unless,” you teased again, leaning on the counter with a grin, “you are a murderer, and now I know too much.”

His head snapped up so fast it was almost audible. “No! Don’t say that out loud!” He hissed, glancing around as if the security cameras were watching him like FBI drones. “You’re going to get me in trouble!”

You laughed, which only made his ears turn bright red.

“Relax sugar” you said, bagging his definitely-not-murder-supplies. “I’m not a cop. You look too much like a… like a guilty dog to be a crook.”

Jackson blinked, and your words seemed to short-circuit his panic, melting him into something softer. He shifted, unsure whether his hands should be in his pockets or holding the bag.

“You… think I’m sweet?” His voice was smaller this time, hopeful.

You smirked. “Depends. Planning to use that bleach responsibly?”

He nodded so fast it was almost comical.

“Good,” you said, sliding the bag toward him. “Then maybe come back next time for something less suspicious. Such as… I don’t know, flowers?”

Jackson nearly dropped his wallet. “…Yeah! Okay. Flowers. I can do flowers…”

And when he left, still sweaty but smiling this time, you figured you’d never see him again.

At first, you didn’t know his name. You only recognized him by his guilty posture, poor hygiene, and serial killer shopping list.

When you teased him the first night, you thought it would be a throwaway joke, a nervous laugh between cashier and customer. But the way he panicked? It felt like you had ripped open a secret, and that stuck with you.

And so did he.

The very next night, at almost the same time, Jackson shuffled in again. He clutched his basket like a lifeline, his hood pulled low. He set his items down with trembling hands.

You glanced at them: a bouquet of dandelions (clearly yanked from the side of the road), a can of tomatoes, and three crumbling slices of pie.

Your lips twitched. “Wow. Upgrading from bleach and duct tape. Is this the bait for whoever you're planning to murder?”

Jackson’s ears turned red instantly. “N-no… These are- these are normal. People buy these all the time.”

“Mm-hm.” You leaned on the register. “Lots of people bring me weeds.”

“They’re not weeds,” he muttered. “They… grow strong. Even where no one wants them. Thought you might like that.”

That caught you off guard.

For a moment, you just looked at him, the sweaty, jittery mess of a man trying desperately not to be suspicious. It was a horrible idea to enforce any of this behavior from a strange man, but the thoughtfulness was clumsy and… so sweet.

“Hillwalker,” you read what you thought was his name embroidered onto the crumpled wallet he held up as grabbed cash out of it, “are you trying to court me with roadside dandelions and canned goods?”

His head snapped up, his eyes wide, and a tiny, betrayed squeak escaped his lips.

But when you slid the bag across the counter, you tucked one of the flowers into your apron pocket. “Payment accepted.”

He blinked, confused yet hopeful. Slowly, Jackson smiled.

🪡 Human in Threadville Headcanons🪡

🧍‍♂️ Your body makes you stand out immediately. The puppets, all made of bright and colorful felt and thread, are endlessly fascinated by the softness and warmth of human skin, the way you blink and breathe in a way they never do.

📏 You’re way taller than most puppets. Your movements are smoother too, and maybe a bit too fluid in their eyes.

👁️ The puppets are fascinated by you. You’re the only human around, and honestly, you’re a walking mystery to them. Sometimes they just stare at your skin or watch your nails while they're chatting with you, things they don’t really understand but find captivating.

🤲 Some puppets, like Charlotte occasionally find themselves reaching out to touch your hair or fingers, just to confirm that they’re not some elaborate costume.

🪶 Skin is a frequent topic of conversation. Veena once tried to gently touch your arm, then pulled back, whispering about how strange you feel. You’re a work of art made from a totally different material.

🧼 Veena asked to brush your hair once and was shocked at how strands fell out so easily. Veena also thinks bellybuttons are horrifying. Can’t stop staring at yours.

🌞 They like how warm you are. Most folks here are soft and cool to the touch felt or corduroy or cotton. But when your arm brushes his, he feels skin. He feels heat. He swears you’re like holding a pocketful of summer. And it confuses him. Because puppets don’t keep warmth. So where are you getting it from?

🎤 Your voice sounds so different Patty-Ann sometimes asks you to sing or talk, just because it’s soothing.

😂 Your laughter sounds different. Not stitched together like the others. Oliver didn’t know laughter could crack like that. He likes it. He really does. But now and then, he stares too long. Like he’s wondering if it’s real, or if you’re just really good at pretending.

🍽️ Your way of eating biting, chewing, swallowing is a constant source of bewilderment. Puppets have never really needed to chew; they “absorb” food or nibble in strange ways. Oliver especially likes to watch, fascinated by how your teeth work.

👀 Eating is a whole other level of curiosity. Since you chew and swallow, puppets like Rocky or Veena will watch you with wide eyes, fascinated by how you can eat without needing to cut up your food as much.

🦷 Veena’s a bit obsessed with you, especially your teeth. You don't know why, she’s not even sure herself. She just gets a little flustered when she sees you use your teeth for anything other than eating.

💦 You sometimes get weird looks when you snort or sweat, but the puppets don’t mean any harm, they’re just genuinely curious.

🩸 Oliver once saw you bleed. Just a scrape, barely more than a paper cut. But the moment that red welled up, thick and metallic and not cotton? Pandemonium.

🧵 Veena tried teaching you how to sew a button one afternoon, You pricked your finger on the needle and bled. A single drop bloomed scarlet on the thread. Veena stared. You offered to finish it. She said no. She doesn’t know why she felt so weird about it, but it felt like you pricked something deeper than a finger.

💔 The puppets worry about your fragility. After all, you can get bruised or sick in ways puppets never can. Patty-Ann tries to fuss over you like a mother hen, worried about you, you sleep under her roof after all.

🧬 The puppets struggle to understand how you heal, Since you don’t have a stuffer. You explain skin and blood cells, which sounds like magic to them. A visiting Doctor Dulldrum is particularly interested.

🪡 While the puppets sometimes need stitches or repairs, You can’t be “fixed” with thread and needles. This mystifies the puppets.

🧠 Rocky keeps asking how your bones don’t rip through your skin when you bend. Rocky once tried to poke a vein with a fishing hook. You had to explain what blood pressure is. He kept his distance for a bit after that.

🩻 Doctor Dulldrum doesn’t blink once while staring at you in the clinic. “So your insides move on their own? Intriguing.”

You cracked your knuckles once in front of Doctor Dulldrum once. He nearly jumped out of his chair if he didn't have better control of himself than that. “Was that your hands making that popping?” He leaned in, eyes curious and excited. “Certainly no stuffing in there,” he whispered. He spent the next few days doing nothing but thinking about you in his free time, wondering what else inside you could bend without breaking.

🌾 You once helped Oliver with some harvest you took a moment to stretch and cracked your back with an audible pop, Oliver nearly fainted. Later, he told Veena that you “took a good crack at helping him.”

“Your joints bend strangely,” he says while handing you tea. “Do they click like that often?”

🧷 The town collectively panics the first time you get a small cut.

Doctor Dulldrum was not impressed, the nurses are just happy to finally meet you.

The nurses Max and Min laugh every time you sneeze. At least one random puppet who doesn't know about you screams and runs. It never stops being funny.

📣 You often use expressions or idioms the puppets don’t get 

 at first, leading to funny misunderstandings. For example, “break a leg” causes genuine panic, until explained that it means “good luck.”

📚 Patty never hesitates to ask you questions once you're alone, sharing stories, memories, and customs from your life that fascinate her and broaden her understanding.

Because you’re the only human, you’re a bit of a freak-show. Puppets sometimes ask you to describe what your world looks like, and you share information about hippos, whales, old legends like   things the puppets can only imagine.

Patty, after you sneezed for the first time, whispered, “What was that?” like you'd summoned a demon.

🌊 One day, you fell into the creek trying to save a bunch of fish bait that fell in, Rocky yelled so loud that puppets could hear him from the hospital. He was so scared he barely even noticed when you emerged soaked, but alive. Rocky blinked in shock, maw agape, as you climbed back up the small but rocky cliff, bait over your shoulder, once he could reach you he pulled you up so hard he nealy dislocated your shoulders.

The next time, he made sure to keep you in his sight and the line on his rod extra strong, just in case.

🛡️ Puppets like Rocky and Pierre feel a bit protective of you. They’re already aware you can’t withstand the same dangers they can shrug off, like falling down somewhere deep or getting crushed.

🌈 Being the only human in Threadville is weird, but the puppets are weird too.

They’re curious, cautious, and occasionally grossed out. But they’re learning.

LIKKEE personality wise think Momoko from the Ghost Stories Dub. ALSO the gender can be neutral, but THERE AIN'T ENOUGH LADIES IN THE BUTCHERY!! So just 𝑚𝑎𝑦𝑏𝑒 more feminine leaning.. 🤧

ALSO I DON'T THINK I NEED TO CLARIFY THIS, BUT I DON'T BELIEVE THAT YOU SHOULD HARM OTHERS IF THEIR BELIEVES DON'T MATCH YOUR OWN. It's just for the story, I like dramatic characters who are passionate about questionable things

🔪 William x Religious Female Reader

To the town? You're a beautiful, sharp, capable woman with a mysterious air and the soft voice of a lullaby. They worry, of course living out by Cottonwood like that, all alone, but you smile so kindly when you come in for sugar and thread, they hush their concerns.

To the survivors? You're a monster in modest dress. A born-again beast who doesn’t scream, you testify. You walk with a Bible in one hand and a hammer in the other, quoting the Lord in the same breath you talk about skinning sinners to let the light in.

You live in the only building close to the cottonwood farm, it's far from town and plenty of the survivors who escaped the farm come running straight to you. Life’s pretty good for you, less for the people William picks up later.

You preach in your home Like It’s a church, You arranged the furniture. Set up pews from broken tables. Lit candles that Jackson nearly burned his eyebrows off trying to help with.

You never married Will legally, but you're bonded together by “the lord”.

You don't kill anyone you catch in the gardens, You wait for them to wake up and try to give them a chance to convert, they always disappoint you.

Once forced a survivor to sit through the entirety of one of your sermons before one of the brothers came to grab them.

You’re not some crazy evangelical, you embody your new master. You don’t talk about the Lord like a distant deity. You speak like someone’s always in the room with you. And if you think someone is a heretic? You're the exorcism and the execution.

William’s a little obsessed with how unhinged you are. Jackson'd not the most dramatic one anymore. You scream louder and preach more violently than his baby brother ever did. Sing-song telling sobbing survivors, “you’re going to be reborn! You're a part of something far greater now!” He lives for it.

Watched you scrape meat off a rib bone like a snake once, “The Lord sure gave you a tongue to testify.” He had to sit down for a bit after that. (Freaks)

He started bringing you offerings chunks of ribs like in the bible, white feathers, and bracelets.

His favorite reward is when you asked him to kneel before a “sermon.”  (Freeeeaks)

William thinks You’re an Angel, not a good one. Not a pure one. A sword-wielding, fire-breathing angel that fell far from heaven and shacked up in the old shed one night, quoting Proverbs and calling blood “the Lord’s ink.”

He was obsessed from the first sermon you gave over a bleeding, weeping “guest” that was unlucky enough to think they were safe in your cellar.

William was halfway through a laugh when he realized he had goosebumps.

You don't kill without a Lesson, You’ll dress wounds. Offer tea. Talk about their mamas and what they believe in. And then You’ll ask them what they think happens after. And when they answer? You’ll hold their hand, smile sweetly, and say “Then you won’t mind what happens next.”

You Help William and William Set the Traps. You carve scripture into the wood of doors. “The Lord is known by his acts of justice, the wicked are ensnared by the work of their own hands.”

You and Jackson are terrible actors, William is embarrassed to be related to people who scream “WELCOME TO COTTONWOOD!” as loud as you two.

The first time William hears you preach, it actually makes him uncomfortable, which is saying something. He’s used to Jackson shouting about the Lord in bloody basements and rooms full of rot, but Jackson’s voice has the cadence of a bad showman introducing the newest freak show. Yours is more like an executioner reading out the charges before raising a blade.

The Lord doesn’t need you to soften these tests like the brothers do. He doesn’t ask for lambs, He asks for lions! And if these faithless mongrels won’t open their eyes, then you’ll take the damn things from their skulls yourself.

He should be way more unsettled by you than he already is, but instead he’s entranced. You’re everything he wishes he could be, passionate, unquestioning, righteous beyond reason. Where he wavers between compassion and cruelty, you bulldoze straight into divine fury, unrepentant and theatrical.

You and the brothers together become an even more terrifying trio, William’s coals stoking your fire, his steady certainty grounding your explosive outbursts. 

Sometimes, William catches himself staring at you mid-rant. Not because he disagrees, but because for once, he’s found someone louder than his baby brother, and he doesn’t mind.

Random comments she would make as an enemy in the game because I have no self-control. 

If She has not spotted a player:

❝Now don't hide forever! The lord's testing you, and I'd hate for you to fail.❞

“I bet you've seen plenty of cows, pigs, and horses already, but did you ever wonder why you see no lambs? Look in the mirror…”

“Now, don't make me get the boys in here!”

After spotting a player:

“Where are you off to?”

“Stay right here!”

“Hello, friend!”

“Found you!”

After losing a player:

❝I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help you. But if you don’t want it… I can make you into someone who does.❞

“The wicked shan't escape their penance.”

After killing a player:

❝You see, darlin’, when you open someone up, you see they're full of grace. But others? Its just rot.❞

❝You think I’m wicked? Oh, honey… I'm hunting down the wicked.❞

“The Lord did not give us bodies so you could blaspheme with them, darlin’. Might as well take 'em off your hands if you’re going to waste ’em.”

If a player goes into an area that she can not:

❝You LEFT sermon!? I wasn't FINISHED preaching! GET BACK HERE!❞

“Oh darlin’, Won't you come back here…? Fine, be like that”