#and maybe actually vomit. or possibly cry

[real-life-cloud]

😰😰

#the sky speaks #i need to word vomit ^_^ #and maybe actually vomit. or possibly cry #i was literallyfine this morning and then i took a shower and went to work w my mom and the dysphoria has hit me like a fucking freighttrain #i read my coming out letter to my therapist last week #idk i think saying it all out loud changed something in me. i feel like im constantly going to burst if i dont tell my famyiky soon #i want to rip my chest out and curl into a ball and scream #think i am Finally (after like a decade of wanting one) im gonna get a binder #it sounds so silly now like. idk at first it was a survival thing but. #i couldve safely come out like. 5 years ago? #but i was too afraid of change! and still hoping i would change my mind for good #i still dont know when ill tell my family but my step number one is gonna be gwtting a binder and boxers like ive wanted for forever lol #on another note my dad told me my outfit was giving divorced 35 yr old man who sees his kids twice a week #love to see it 😁

[after-witch]

Title: Are You There, God? It's Me [Yandere Feitan x Reader]

Title: Are You There, God? It's Me [Yandere Feitan x Reader]

Synopsis: You've been held captive by Feitan for months--you're long-since used to seeing blood. But it's the blood from your first period since you've been taken that has you feeling sick.

Word count: 2671

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, descriptions of wounds and violence, mentions of previous physical abuse, reader gets their period

Over the past few months, you’ve seen a lot of blood. You’ve seen clotted blood on festering wounds; fresh blood seeping from underneath knives and nails; spatters of blood on the walls from the sudden trauma of severed limbs, fingers, toes. 

Over time, your stomach has stopped rebelling at the sight of it. Not that it gets easier to see, but it has gotten easier to stomach. Maybe your body refuses to give up the few nutrients that do make their way down your gullet, thanks to Feitan’s dislike of cooking and unwillingness to provide you with a basic grocery stock to work from. Frozen dinners only go so far. 

Whatever the reason, you’re rarely physically ill anymore when Feitan drags you to the basement and makes you watch him torture people. For information, or for fun, or sometimes both in equal measure. Emotionally, mentally, socially, psychologically ill is another thing entirely…

But here, now, in the quiet upstairs bathroom, the sight of your period blood smeared on your underwear has you ready to hurl. Your guts seize together and you wonder how quickly you’d be able to clean the toilet, should vomit make its way out of your throat. 

Your period is… back. 

It’s been a while. A few months. Stress had stolen it away, and you hadn’t thought much about it. You remembered when your dad died years ago--you hadn’t gotten your period for maybe 4 months, then. So it was no wonder that being kidnapped by some crazed serial killer who could turn his nails into knives seemingly at whim might throw your body’s organic clock all out of sorts.

But here, now, in the same damned quiet upstairs bathroom where you sometimes retreat to cry into towels, it’s back. 

What are you supposed to do?

Your first thought was to search the bathroom for period supplies, but of course, there were none. Not a single pad or tampon. 

(The sick thought occurs to you: even if one of Feitan’s victims survived long enough to get their period, it’s not like he’d be letting them take a break to put on a pad...)

No pads. No tampons. Certainly nothing as innovative as a cup.

So you’ve made do with the old standby: folding as much toilet paper as humanly possible and sticking it in your underwear. But you know it won’t last long. It’s meant to be a temporary stopgap on the way home from work or school, or until you can run out to the shop to grab a fresh box.

You can’t just run out to the shop. You can’t go anywhere. Not even outside, not even for a minute. You’re not even meant to freely ask for things; asking for anything--some fresh vegetables, a blanket that’s actually warm, new underwear--is a grueling, draining task that you often prep days in advance. 

And he doesn’t always say yes.

And this? This? No. There’s no way. You are not going to waltz up to your kidnapper and tell him that you’ve started something so personal and intimate. Humiliation doesn’t begin to describe the act. You want to fold up like a piece of paper and blow into the wind whenever you recall the conversation you were forced to have regarding new underwear made from 100% cotton--

Why? He’d asked. And you’d said it was more comfortable. He snorted. And you were worried that he might not think it was  important, so you had to explain that your body reacted poorly to anything less than 100% cotton. And he’d asked, simply: What do you mean? And you’d had to actually explain, voice mumbled and face blazing hot from shame, that you get irritated down there by other fabrics.

You can’t go through that again. For heaven’s sake--you’d have to tell him what sort of supplies you’d need! Did he even know the difference between a pad and a tampon? What if he asked why you needed an overnight pad versus a normal one? 

And there’s other things to consider. The dull ache in your lower stomach… he does have painkillers, but he’s only doled them out for serious things (your broken wrist, for slapping him--and the time you slipped on the stairs and hurt your back; you’re not allowed to walk up or down them on your own, anymore).

A heating pad would be nice. And a body pillow to put between your legs and curl up with. But to get them, you’ll have to ask Feitan. Ask him properly, the right way, at the right time. 

And he’d have questions, wouldn’t he? 

He’d want to know why you need a heating pad (“Because my uterus feels like it’s being clawed out, goddamn it!” would probably not fly) and who knows, maybe he’d tell you to just suck it up and you’d have to deal with the humiliation of being rejected on top of the shame of him knowing you’re bleeding from your most private of parts and--

No

No.

It’s not happening. You aren’t going to tell him, and that is that. You’ll do what you can to get through it--just a few days, that’s all, you used to have to sit through school without pain meds and heating pads and sure it sucked but you lived--and you’ll soldier on like you’ve done thus far. 

You sigh, and carefully flush the proof of your period--toilet paper and blood tinged urine--down the toilet. You’ll have to be careful about where you sit, and how you sit, lest you accidentally stain the sofa or the dining room chair. 

Then the thought comes to you, almost a buzz in your head--

Oh, fuck… what if it leaks on the bed when you sleep? Feitan would know. Feitan would see. You’d have to ask him for cleaning supplies or get caught dragging the sheet to the bathroom or… or…

No, that couldn’t happen. You’d do something. You’d--yes! The solution is simple. Easy as pie. 

You wouldn’t still be sane without quick thinking, so you nab a few towels from the back of the bathroom closet, shove them under your shirt like you used to mimic pregnancy as a child with an overactive imagination and a tendency for dramatic imaginative play times, and prepare to scamper to your bedroom and hide them until night falls.

You’d make a barrier, that’s what you’d do. Simple, easy. Effective. And Feitan never had to know.  

Feitan rarely bothered with you in the evening, anyway--he was too busy with his work. 

It was a perfect plan.

--

It was not a perfect plan.

Everything was going fine. You’d draped a cardigan around your waist in the afternoon when Feitan insisted you watch a film together, although as usual he didn’t sit on the same sofa as you, and simply stared at you now and then from his vantage point on the chair. The same cardigan had come in handy at dinner.

No leaks. No stains. And you’d pushed through the pain and discomfort of your cramps, all the while practicing pretending that something you ate wasn’t sitting well with you, if Feitan had noticed. 

He didn’t.

All you had to do was get to bed, make your barrier, and cover up with the blanket just in case it was one of the nights that Feitan came into your room in the middle of the night to stare at you like some sort of creepy owl. (Did he know you knew, or did he like to think you were unawares)

That’s it.

Simple enough.

Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy.

Right?

Wrong.

Because as soon as you’d finished smoothing out the second towel on top of the sheets, Feitan walked through the doorway to your bedroom.

Where he stands, now, staring at you with a look of false passivity.

“Why,” he asks, in a voice so mild that you know it means he’s absolutely invested in an answer, “you have towels on the bed?”

You’d come up with excuses for cramps; you’d even dabbled with pretending that you’d scratched your thigh or something, if you happened to bleed onto the sofa.

Feitan never really came into your room while you prepared for bed, so the thought of an excuse here never entered your mind. And now your mind whirled for an answer, coming up blank.

“I, uh,” you say, plopping yourself down on the towel as if covering it up with your body would somehow erase his memory. “I was… cold?” You offer, not even believing an ounce of your own life.

Feitan’s expression doesn’t change.

“Why?” The question leaves room for no excuses, no lies, nothing but the truth. There’s an ‘or else’ in his tone that you don’t care to uncover. 

This is sick. This is wrong. This is so unfair.

“I’monmyperiod.” You rush out the words, staring down at your thighs, cheeks so hot you’re sure the temperature in the room has raised by a few degrees.

“Slower.”

You could cry. You might, actually, you feel the pressure of tears building behind your eyes.

“I’m. on. My. Period.” The words come out behind gritted teeth.

You hear a sound you’ve never actually heard from Feitan before: a short, stuttered intake of breath. A surprised, involuntarily, clipped little noise of confusion.

It makes you look up, unable to process what you’ve just heard without seeing it. But what you see is even more confusing: 

Feitan is blushing.

Oh, just a little. Just the tiniest amount of ruddiness on his cheeks. If you were one of his victims or some random person on the street, you wouldn’t notice. But you notice all of Feitan’s little expressions, the nuances of his body language. The difference between how far he raises his eyebrows at you can mean the difference between pain and mild discomfort. 

So yes, you notice this slight ruddiness on his cheeks, and your brain whirs pathetically, trying to process what it means. 

He sees you staring. His hand reaches up to his cheek, and he must realize it--

Because then he yanks his cowl up and turns sideways, leaning against the door frame in a nonchalant way that now seems painfully practiced.

He says nothing for a moment. Your heart thuds the entire time.

When he speaks, his voice is quiet and--you could swear--shy. Awkward. Like he doesn’t want to bring it up. It’s a strange reversal--normally you’re the one who’s left quietly murmuring. 

“You need… lady things?”

Oh, this must be how you die. 

It won’t be from breaking your neck on the stairs or from Feitan getting bored of you and slashing your throat. It will be from sitting on a towel-strewn bed in front of your secretly blushing captor as he asks you what type of feminine hygiene products you need. 

You must not answer fast enough, because he jerks his head towards you. 

“Well?” 

He looks just as uncomfortable as you feel--it almost makes you feel slightly better. At least he’s not lording it over you. He’s never passed up a chance to make you feel degraded, but even this must be too much for him.

It gives you the push you need to speak, although your voice practically chokes on the words.

“Um. I need. Some pads? Over--overnight ones, because I tend to bleed a lot--” Your eyes shut for a fraction longer than normal, why did you tell him that, for fuck’s sake. “And--” Your voice cracks. “And maybe… if it’s not too much trouble, a heating pad?”

He shifts his position against the door frame. You wonder if he’s making a mental list. The thought of Feitan waltzing into some supermarket with a paper list that says “overnight pads” is too ludicrous to consider for long.

‘”Heating pad? What for?”

The sound you make can only be described as a short, painful keening groan. It’s not the cramps that hurt--it’s the humiliation. 

“For cramps,” you say quickly. “Mine get really bad. They were um, pretty bad today, but--”

“Idiot.” Ah, there’s the Feitan you recognize. “Why not say something?”

The towel underneath your fingers isn’t very soft, but you scrunch the fabric up underneath them anyway. “I didn’t want... I mean… I thought that…” 

And then that soft pressure behind your eyes builds from frustration, from the embarrassment, from the fact that you’re being held captive and on top of the many awful things you’ve experienced over the past however-many-months, you’re now having a discussion about your intimate period with someone who seems to delight in tormenting you.

The first sniffle is easily hidden. But not the second, or the third. And by the time your lower jaw is quivering and the tears are spilling down your cheeks, you can only lean forward and cry pathetically into your hands.

You hate this. You hate being here. You hate your period, you hate Feitan, you hate the fact that you can’t just go into the bathroom and slap a pad on your underwear. You hate this bed and these towels and the clothes you’re wearing. You hate everything.

“Fine.”

His clipped, sudden word doesn’t make you stop crying. But it does give you a pause, and you swallow down against your tight throat and look at him through sniffling tears. “Huh?”

“I get you heating pad.” He flicks his hand at you, like he’s shooing away an annoying pet dog. “Go to bed. You need more sleep now.” 

You do stop crying then, if only because your brain isn’t sure how else to react. Your mouth hangs open a little as you curl up on the bed--a nap would be nice--and grab an extra pillow to shove against your stomach. 

Feitan, for his part, snorts and leaves your doorway. You expect him to go into the basement, but instead you hear him putting on his boots, grabbing things from the foyer. He’s going out? Now?

All the while, he’s mumbling to himself. You only catch a few of the words--women, hormones among them--before he leaves. The door’s lock seems louder than ever and you clutch the pillow harder. 

Later, you’re yanked out of a fuzzy dream when something both soft and hard lands with a thunk against your head, and your bedroom light is flicked on.

It takes you a few moments to get your bearings.

There’s something draped against you. You blink and hold it up. It’s a heating pad, the plug-in kind with a remote control and everything. 

Feitan is standing in your doorway, holding a large sack. 

When he sees that you’re at least vaguely awake and aware, he turns it over and dumps the contents on the floor. It’s about 20 boxes of overnight pads--a few different brands. He must have stolen half the shelf. 

He regards you with a pleased expression that’s only half-hidden by his cowl. But you’d know his expression of self-serving pride at a job well done anywhere; you’ve seen it enough times when he’s tortured information out of someone. 

“Well? This enough for the month?”

The choked sound that comes out of your throat might have had a laugh in it somewhere, but you hope he doesn’t hear it. You get the sense that laughing about this would actually bother him more than anything you’ve done lately.

So instead you nod, slowly, and unfold the heating pad so that you can plug it in somewhere. Since you’ll probably be up for a while, it would be okay to ease your cramps a bit before morning. 

But when you look up… Feitan is still there, standing in the doorway.

He looks expectant, like you’ve forgotten something you’re supposed to do, but what--

Oh.

“Thank you, Feitan,” you murmur, swallowing hard, staring down at your lap as the sleep-induced grogginess begins to fade away from your brain.  

He hums, then looks down at the pile of boxes he dumped on the floor. 

“Put these away. Don’t want you tripping on them. Clumsy.” 

For once, you don’t mind the insult. 

It’s better to be back on familiar territory. 

#yandere hunter x hunter #yandere feitan #yandere feitan porter #yandere #afterwitch writes

[dragonmuse]

How to be a Dirtbag Fic Writer

I got to do some talking about writing today and I couldn’t stop thinking about it so here are my full thoughts on the matter of being a dirtbag fic writer.

Being the disorganized thoughts of someone two and a half decades into the beautiful mess that is writing fanfic (and a few non-fanfic things too).

What is a dirtbag fic writer? 

 I am talking about someone who is not cleaning up anything. We show up filthy, fresh out of rooting around in the garden of our imaginations. We probably smell a little from work. We will hand you our hard grown fruits, but we have not washed them and we carried them in the bottom upturned parts of our t-shirts. The fruit is a little bruised. It’s not cut up or put in a bowl yet. But we got it in the house! It’s here. Someone can eat it.  

Why dirtbag it? Because the fruit gets in the house. If you’re hemming and hawing, if the idea you want to do seems to be big or you want it perfect and shiny. If you’re imagining a ten thousand step process, so you’re not taking the first step? Dirtbag it. 

How do I dirtbag? 

That’s the best part. You just write. Sit down. One word after the other. No outline, no plan, no destination. No thought of editing. Just word vomit. Every word is a good word. It’a word that wasn’t there before. Grammar sucks? Who cares. Can’t think of the perfect word? Fuck it, put in the simplest version of what you mean. 

Write the idea that you love. The one thing you want to say. Has it been done 3000000 times? WHO CARES human history is long, every idea has been done, probably more than twice. YOU have never written it before. It’s your grubby potato that you clawed out of the ground and guess what someone can still make it into delicious french fries. 

Now here’s the critical part. Write as much as you can squeeze out of your brain. One word in front of the other. 

And then I challenge you this: at most, read it over once and then put it into the world. Just as it is. AND THIS IS IMPORTANT: DO IT WITHOUT APOLOGY OR CAVEAT.  I challenge you, beautiful dirtbag to not pre-emptively apologize. Do not make your work lesser. THAT IS YOUR POTATO! It has eyes and roots and dirt clinging to it because that is what happens.  We are dirtbagging it today. Hell really confused people at do #dirtbagwriter on it.  

Dirtbag writes id, base, lizard brain. Dig in the fertile garden of your imagination. What is the story you tell yourself before you fall asleep? What’s your anxiety this week? Your fantasy? What is going well? What do you wish things looked like? Who is the feral imaginary character you’ve been crafting to take your frustrations and joys out on? 

But, VEE, I wish to have an editor and an outline, use a cool software like scrivener instead of retching up onto a google doc and making it look NICE and PRETTY!

COOL! DO THAT THEN! IF YOU’RE ACTUALLY DOING IT! You should have a process! That’s cool and healthy and necessary for sustainable writing. But if you’re not writing because all of that seems too much? THEN DON’T. 

Did you know fic is free? That we do this from love? From sheer desire? For the love of the game? If you have a process, and the words are flowing, amazing, I love that for you, you don’t need this essay.  If you don’t, let us continue. 

What does dirtbag writing look like? 

It’s messy. It’s a little raw and tatty around the edges sometimes. It’s weird.  It’s someone else’s first draft. Maybe it winds up being your first draft, Idek, that’s your business. 

It’s jokes that make YOU laugh. It’s drama that would make YOU cry if you read it. You are your first commenter. You are your first audience (and possibly continuing pleasure! If you don’t go back and reread your own work sometimes, you might be missing out on one of your favorite authors cause you wrote it for you! Wait until you’re not so close to it. Years sometimes. Then hey, maybe some of this is pretty dang good actually.) 

It has mistakes. 

Dirtbags make mistakes, but dirtbags have published pieces. They have things other people can read out there. 

What if I don’t get good feedback? 

Look, the most likely outcome of any new, untried fic writer (and even established writers trying something new-ish)  is that you get no feedback. That’s real. Silence. It’s eerie, it’s terrible, it sucks. I don’t want to pretend it doesn’t. But nothing is not negative. It’s a big fic-y ocean out there and we are all wee itty-bitty-sometimes-with-titty fishes.  

You should still do it all over again. And again. And again. You get better at writing by writing. You just do. Nothing else replaces it. If your well is dry? Fill it with new things. Go do something new, read a new kind of book, watch a new film,  (libraries have so much good shit, you don’t even have to spend money for so many things if you have a library card), just go for a walk in a new direction. Stimulate yourself. Got a cup of something hot and eavesdrop on conversations. Refill yourself with newness. 

And hey, speaking of, do you leave comments? Because you get what you give. You can build relationships with people by commenting and that builds community and community means places to get feedback in the end. Comments are gold. They are all we are paid in. Tip your writers with ‘extra kudos’ or ‘this made me laugh’. And hey, when you go back for a re-read so you can tell them your favorite part? Ask yourself how they made that favorite part? What do you like about it?  Tone? Metaphor? The structure? Reading teaches us how to write too! 

BUT, okay. Sometimes. Sometimes there is actual bad feedback and people suck. 

You know the best part about being a dirtbag? Unrepentant block, delete, goodbye. You don’t own anyone with a shitty opinion any of your precious time on this earth. You did it for free, you gave them your dirty, but still delicious fruit and they went ‘ew, this is a dirty strawberry, how could you not make a clean tomato?”  Because you didn’t plant fucking tomatoes, did you? Don’t fight, don’t engage. Block. Delete. Goodbye. 

If someone in person, looked you in the eye when you brought them a plate of food to share at a party and they said “Why didn’t you bring me MY favorite? This isn’t cooked well at all.” You would probably write up a Reddit AiTA question about it just to hear five thousand people say they were an asshole.   Fic is no different 

And hey, when you dirtbag it? You know you did. It’s not your most cleaned up perfect version. So who cares what they think? You might make it more shiny and polished next time! You might NOT. 

Ok, but what if I don’t finish it? 

Fuck it, post it anyway. 

What if it’s bad? 

Fuck it, post it anyway. 

What if it doesn’t make sense? 

That’s ART, baby. Fuck it, post it anyway. 

What if what I want to write doesn’t work with current fandom norms? 

Then someone out there probably needs it!  And what the hell is this? The western canon? FUCK IT POST IT ANYWAY* 

*Basic human decency is not a ‘fandom norm’. Don’t be racist, sexist, ableist, fat shaming, classist or shitty about anyone's identity on main, okay? Dirtbag writers are KIND first and foremost. Someone saying you are stepping into shit about their identity is not the same as unsolicited crappy feedback about pairings. In the immortal words of Kurt Vonnegut: "God damn it, you've got to be kind.”

You’re being very flippant about something that’s scary. 

I know. I know I am. I know it can be scary. But no risk, no reward and hell, you aren’t using your goddamn legal name on the internet are you? (please for the love of fuck do not be using your legal name to write fic) You’ve got on a mask. You’re a superhero. With dirt on your cape. 

That niche thing that you think no one cares about? Guaranteed you will find someone else in the world who wants it. Maybe they won’t find it right away. Maybe they will be too shy to comment or even hit a button. But your dirty potato will stick with them. They will make french fries in their head.

You have an audience. But they can’t find you if you have nothing out there. 

Go forth. Make. 

You have some errors in this essay. 

PROBABLY CAUSE I DIRTBAGGED IT.  But I picked this strawberry for you out of my brain, so I hope you run it under some cold water and find the good bits and have a nice snack. Or throw it away. Or use it to plant more strawberries (I know that’s not how strawberries work, metaphors break when stretched).  

#dirtbagwriter 

Go forth and MAKE

#writing #i'm not an expert #I just have been doing this a long time #and these are my feels #please feel free to throw away this strawberry

[am-i-interrupting]

Hi there! Could I request fem!reader x husk reuniting in hell?

Maybe they used to be together when they were alive but then a misunderstanding happened and they split up/ or one of them just died 😭

Someone from hotel found about it, found her and brought her there or maybe she just came there and met him. Idk I leave it to you.

I know it might be stupid but I really love this trope and want to read something like this with Husk :3

We’ll Meet Again

“So,” Angel began, laying in the bar with a perfect view of Husks’s hands as he fluidly went through the motions of mixing a drink, “what’s the ring for?”

Angel had said a lot of dumb shit. Like, a lot but he’d never said something that threw Husk off enough to actually spill something.

“Fuck,” Husk grumbled.

He grabbed a rag to clean the mess. It was then Angel realized that the only reason he’d ever seen Husk grab the cloth was to clean up someone else’s mess, never his own.

Angel sat upright. “So, I’m guessing it’s personal?”

Husk looked at Angel and paused his cleaning. “No shit.” He continued on.

It wasn’t until weeks later that Angel would see Husk wasted. In fact, all the hotel residents would see Husk truly wasted for the first time.

He came in, barely able to stand much less walk and ignored everyone, promptly flipping Charlie off when she asked if he needed help, and continued to make his way to the stairs.

“Oh, yeah,” Niffty said, “it’s that time of year again.”

“What could possibly have our resident day drunk absolutely plastered?” Angel asked.

“This happens every year?” Charlie asked, much more concern coming from her voice compared to Angel’s snark which covered his own.

Alastor appeared at the end of the stairs. “Ah, the woos of a broken heart strike once again,” he said as he spun his microphone before he leaned on it, staring up the staircase. “One would think after over seventy years, he would be over it, hmm?”

“That’s not fair, sir,” Niffty said as she joined him. “She was the love of his life.”

“And his life is now over,” he said in response.

“I’m gonna go check on him,” Niffty said as she began darting up the stairs. “I don’t want to have to clean vomit out of the carpet.”

“What’s wrong with Husk?” Charlie asked, standing with her hands clutched close to her chest.

“Nothing he hasn’t faced before, my dear,” Alastor said. “It happens every year. For a week expect him to disappear for long periods of time and come back completely zozzled. Although, he may be inclined to stay if I procure him something stronger. I would love a front row seat at a stage play compared to a parade, a rather sad parade but a parade nonetheless.”

“What happened?”

“Hmm? Yes, well, I suppose you don’t know, do you?” Alastor said. “Our dear Husker used to be married, unfortunately before they could grow old together, they happened to get into a lover’s quarrel and before it could be resolved, his darling wife was murdered in a street mugging gone wrong.”

Angel felt his heart sink down into his stomach. That’s why Husk had gotten so defensive. He’d probably been trying to avoid thinking about it and there Angel went with his big mouth, bringing up something that hurt him right around a trauma days.

“That’s horrible!” Charlie exclaimed.

“Yes, indeed but life is hardly kind, my dear. Death is rather the same,” Alastor said before he went to take stock of the liquor at the bar.

It was a long time before Angel learned a name but that’s all he had to go on, was a name and a description of what you looked like with an off hand comment or two about some of your hobbies.

A year paced and Angel was on his way back to the Hotel from a long night at work when he saw a woman crying as she walked. Normally he’d walk on by. It’s not like it was an uncommon sight to see in Hell but he didn’t. Something compelled him to stop.

“You alright, toots?” he asked as he slowed down so he didn’t walk past you.

You looked up at him. You weren’t ugly crying. You weren’t really showing any emotion but Angel knew just how much of a curse it was to bottle things up. He knew a vacant cry wasn’t any less concerning than a violent one.

“I’m fine,” you said as you quickly tried to wipe you tears.

Angel’s eyes flickered down to where you were fiddling with a ring.

“Martial problems?”

You huffed a laugh. “Yeah, something like that.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “Maybe it’s because I’m just bored and noisy but I’ve also been staying at the Princess’s redemption Hotel. Maybe it’s made me a more carin’ person.”

You said nothing. The two of you walked side by side for a few minutes, both going in the same direction.

“It’s my death anniversary,” you blurted out.

Angel winced in sympathy. “Those are rough. I’m sorry.”

You shook your head. “It’s not dying that bothered me. It just—“ you felt yourself getting choked up— “I died while having a fight with my husband.”

“Did he kill you?” Angel asked.

“No, no, someone else did but we were fighting and it was over something stupid,” you clarified. “I slammed the door after yelling some bad things. They were the last things I ever said to him.”

Angel’s brow furrowed. “This is gonna sound stupid if I’m wrong but,” and he asked if your name was the one Husk had given him not that long ago. When you said yes, he laughed a bit hysterically. “Fuck, I didn’t think I was right.”

You followed Angel into the Hazbin Hotel. You were wary. You didn’t believe him. You didn’t want to get your hopes up.

“Hey, where’s Husk?” Angel asked.

Charlie looked up from the charts she had spread across the table as she sat on the couch. “Vaggie helped him go up to his room not that long ago.”

“How was he doing?”

“Not good.” Charlie got up. “Who’s this.”

When Angel said your name and Charlie gasped it gave you a bit of hope. A random sinner on the street fucking with you was to be expected. The Princess of Hell who prided herself on her kindness? That’s as a bit more trustworthy.

“Here, let me take you to his room,” Charlie said as she grabbed your hand and pulled you up the stairs.

The door barely creaked as it was opened. It revealed a damn near exact replica of your home in life and on the bed was a black tuxedo cat with red wings curled up on his side.

“That’s him?” you asked, twisting your ring on your finger.

Charlie nodded. You hesitantly stepped into the room.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Charlie said as she closed the door.

You stood there for a minute. You just stared at the cat that was supposed to be your husband. He looked so tense, even in sleep.

You took another step forward and then another until you were beside the bed. On the nightstand was a hat and tie.

You picked up the loose tie and twisted it between your fingers. For some reason you couldn’t explain, you held it up to your nose. You nearly collapsed as so many memories rushed to you from the smell, from his smell. It smelled like the same cologne he used to dot on before he went to perform or go play a round of cards at the bar.

You tried to keep the sobs bubbling up in your throat at bay but it was all for not. They came out anyway as you curled in on yourself, standing at the bedside.

There was a groan.

“The fuck?” your husband’s voice said.

You said his name, his real name and his eyes went wide as he shot up. He swayed and caught himself on the headboard.

“Am I hallucinating?” he asked.

You couldn’t get words out to answer. Instead you’d hugged him, causing you both to fall onto the mattress as neither of you had the energy to keep yourself up.

You woke up the next morning wrapped in Husk’s arms and wings. You felt safe for the first time since you fell to Hell.

You didn’t want to leave. You didn’t want to let go. Luckily you didn’t have to.

No one was surprised when they didn’t see Husk for the next week. They were surprised when he came out of his room smiling, with you by his side and he refused to let go.

#hazbin husk x reader #husk x reader

[yeondollie]

ɪᴛ ᴀʟᴍᴏsᴛ ᴡᴏʀᴋᴇᴅ ♡ 𝜗𝜚

. . paring ; toxic! yeonjun x fem! reader

. . warnings ; ANGST .ᐟ, fighting, drabble, explicit language, crying, degration, junnie is mean, kinda? fluff, apologizing, good ending, nicknames (baby, pretty girl, princess), i thinkkk that it :D !

a/n ; hiiii guys !! i missed you so so much im so sorry for the sudden break . . i had a lot going on n stuff but i'm feeling better and back to writing fics :> ! i was listening to it almost worked-tv girl this morning and omgg i love tv girl smm but i needed to make a fic about something like this soo enjoy ᥫ᭡

“why the fuck are you so dramatic?” yeonjun scoffed, looking up at you as he sat on the couch. you two had been fighting for what seemed like forever but in reality, it had been on and off for about a week. yeonjun was pisses, livid even because of the way you’ve been acting.

you had blown up his phone, went on a drive at three in the morning, and even blew up his friends phone because after another argument about god knows what he had left. he left without saying anything and to you that meant possibly another woman.

as he stared up at you in anger, you suddenly started to feel bad. maybe you had took it too far this time, maybe you needed to have some trust in him. “jun.. i was just worried. thats all..” you say, in a quiet and gentle voice.

you were never one to get anger or yell or even cuss; he was the complete opposite of you. “_____ i dont give a fuck! you’re so clingy it’s disgusting..” his face made it clear, he wasn’t lying. he meant every word that came out of his mouth.

it was coming out again. not word vomit, not even actual vomit but just pure tears. they started dwelling in your eyes and suddenly your vision went blurry. “y-yeonjun..” he noticed your shaky voice, shaky hands, and most importantly- glassy eyes.

his heart started to crack and he realized just what he had said to you. his mind went blank and all he could do was slowly wrap his arms around you. when you called him ‘yeonjun’ rather than ‘jun’ or ‘jjunnie’ his heart stopped.

“i-i didn’t mean to.. u-upset you yeonjun. i was j-just worried.” while not hugging him back, you just stood there- limp. he desperately held onto you. this was the first time that either two of you have had any type of physical contact in weeks.

his words started to sink in. no not into you but into him. had he really said that to you? his hands were all over you. caressing your face, hugging you, even planting kisses all over your pretty face. “i-i didn’t mean any of that princess.. i-i where are you going?”

before you could reply to him, you walked your way to your bedroom. locking the door before you slumped on your bed and started crying into the pillows. you could hear loud banging on the door accompanied by a few “im sorrys” from time to time.

eventually, you fell asleep. all the crying did really tire you out and you just wanted to forget about the situation at the moment. it was now 7:38pm and it was silent. silent outside, completely dark, and yet you could see your phone light up, over and over again.

jjun !!

im sorry baby i didn���t mean any of it i miss you please im sososo sorry pretty girl r u sleeping? sorry i love you so much

you

im awake now come in my room plz i miss u more baby

you slowly hear the door crack open and your boyfriend walks in, his glassy eyes staining his originally cold ones. “_____ i.. please im sorry i didn’t mean to hurt my b-baby..” he carefully sits in your bed, placing a hand on your head and comforting you.

safe to say it worked, it always did. here was the thing, it was always a cycle with yeonjun. there was no “time apart” or even a break of some sorts. he always convinced you to stay or hear him out. and you did just that, time and time again.

“i-its okay jun.. come here please.” you sniffle and he enters the covers and wraps his arms around you. he was so warm, so comforting it almost made you forget what he made you feel like when you weren’t in his arms. the next hour and a half consisted of his corny compliments to get you back where he needed you.

“you’re so pretty princess, you know that?” he whispers in your ear, planting kisses all over your face. he was trying to butter you but god it was working. you could feel the butterflies in your stomach and the heat rising up to your face. “junnie..” you cover your face in embarrassment.

yet he removes your hands and starts smiling at your flustered face. he cant help it. you look so cute, so gorgeous, so beautiful he couldnt help but continue to stare and smile at you. “its true.. but im really sorry i didn’t mean any of that. i..i really wanna make us work pretty girl.”

god just that nickname got you latching onto him for dear life like he was gonna run away from you. he wanted to make it work. just for you guys? your heart was touched yet a part of you doubted every word that came out of his mouth. but maybe this time he’d be different.

“i know jun.. me too. i want you. i want you more than anything.” you smile, feeling content for the time being.

a/n ; i know i’ve been gone for FOREVER and im so so so so so sorry ! school was stressing me but im on spring break heheheh :0 so expect more fics! (i hope)

#txt fanfic #txt x reader #txt #txt scenarios #tubatu #yeondolliesworks #tomorrow x together #txt angst #yeonjun #yeonjun x y/n #yeonjun x you #yeonjun angst #yeonjun x reader

[moralesmilesanhour]

mad props! 03

summary: you're now officially part of the theater club's latest production! just one small problem... wc: 1282 a/n: Can't believe I was able to type this out within the same week. But I diiiid! The songs being performed are: 'Popular' - Wicked 'Ohmigod You guys' - Legally Blonde: The Musical (Original Cast Recording) | Have fun reading ! Feel free to tell me what you thought in the comments <3 (only warning is that the process of putting a theatre production together is probably not super realistic here lmao) 02 03 04

“One five, four five, three five, two five, one five, four five, three-two-one,”

You clutched the white binder containing your sheet music to your chest as you went through every vocal exercise from middle school that you could remember.

From the diaphragm, you reminded yourself, taking another deep breath.

“One five,

Four five,

Three five,

Two five,

One five,

Four five,

Three-two-one–”

“Y/N L/N?” the casting director’s voice called out to you.

Your stomach lurched as you rose from your seat and approached the stage. You handed the sheet music over to the pianist. The blinding stage lights made you sweat beneath your uniform, but part of you was grateful that it hid the faces of your four-person audience. 

The first chord was your cue.

“Whenever I see someone less fortunate than I…”

You sang the lines through your nose, making your delivery as cartoonish as possible. It even earned a few laughs from the dark void in front of you that bolstered your confidence. 

Now, when playing a character such as Galinda, one may be tempted to keep the squeaky ‘princess voice’ the whole way through. But you knew better. 

You added depth to your voice for some lines, maybe a growl here, a cry there; your performance needed to show that you could do more than just play the pretty soprano lead.

You belted the final note, arms spread wide as if you weren’t just about to vomit from nerves, and curtsied.

There was disembodied applause, and then: “Thank you, we’ll be sure to send out an email on Friday to let you know if you got the part.”

“Thanks,” you exhaled as you stepped down from the stage. 

All that there was left to do was wait.

You were jumpy all Friday afternoon. Even Miles noticed your knee making your desks tremble with the way it bounced up and down in the middle of English class.

“Yo, you good?” he whispered.

You shot him a glare while tapping your pencil frantically. “None of your business.”

“It actually is my business,” he shot back, teeth clenched, “ ‘cuz you’re shaking the damn desk.”

“Is there a problem back there?” the English professor peered over his glasses at the two of you.

“Nope,” Miles sighed. “Not at all.”

Your leg stopped bouncing, and you rested your chin on top of folded hands.

“If you must know,” you muttered, “I had an audition the other day, and callbacks are supposed to be this evening.”

He furrowed his brows. “Oh…kay…?”

“What do you mean ‘okay’? I’m super nervous about it–”

“I mean, why are you telling me this?”

Your eyes widened. Why were you telling him this?

“I…well, you’re sitting next to me, and you asked–” 

“I didn’t ask for allat.”

You kissed your teeth, and went back to taking notes in silence.

-

“Oh, the principal’s gonna love that.”

Joshua Baptiste–current president of Visions’ art club–grinned as he watched Miles add his signature to the wide sheet of paper.

Miles replaced the cap on one of his paint markers with a click, assessing his work.

It was a poster for an upcoming pep rally, advertised in bold, sleek letters that curled in and around each other and ended in sharp arrows. Satisfied, he rose to his feet.

“You think?”

“Hell yeah. Better than anything I could’ve put together,” Joshua ran a hand through loose, sandy curls. “I’m more of a portraits kinda guy.”

The boy’s smile was contagious, showing off two rows of light blue braces. Miles remembered how he used to circle back around to his lunch table just to see them when he laughed with his friends, silver earrings tinkling as he threw his head back. 

He’d done crazier things just to see a crush.

Miles returned the compliment, “Your paintings go crazy, though. You could get into art school if you put a portfolio together.”

Joshua shrugged. “Doubt my parents would ever let me go.”

The other hummed in agreement.

“Anywho, I came over here to ask you a favor. Theater club needs an extra pair of hands working on the set, and I already said one of our guys would help out. You in?”

Miles raised an eyebrow at the sudden new project being dumped on him, but he relented. Not like he had anything better to do today.

“Sure. Where to?”

Joshua’s face lit up, and he gestured for Miles to follow him.

“They’re down in the auditorium. You’re a life-saver, man.”

The auditorium was already bustling with students when the two boys entered. There was one group on the far right busy customizing piles of hot-pink costumes with bows and sequins. On the left side, a bunch of kids clutched wrinkled scripts in their hands, practicing until it was time to run through the first few songs. Miles looked up, and taking center stage was a group of no more than ten girls practicing what looked like stage choreography. 

Regardless of what each group was working on, there was an urgency bordering on panic to their movements and voices. Miles thanked his past self for not signing up to be a part of it.

“Oh, thank god!”

A tall, stocky-looking girl wearing pink glasses scurried up to them, carrying a clipboard.

Joshua gestured towards Miles. “Here’s your guy! He’s got an eye for color, you’re in good hands.”

He gave a quick salute before turning to exit through the double doors.

The girl stuck out her hand. “I’m Sarah Park, junior, and student production manager for, uh, all of this!”

Miles accepted the handshake and nodded. “Cool. What’s your vision for the set?”

“Well, it’s…”

Before Sarah could finish, the lights dimmed, and a voice announced: “We’re gonna rehearse the opening, everyone in ‘Ohmigod You Guys’, please take your places!”

She grabbed Miles’ wrist and led him to a seat in the front row and whispered, “You should probably just see it.”

Suddenly, music boomed from the speakers as the stage lights illuminated the same girls from before, now all standing in a straight line across the stage with wide smiles.

They sang a number he didn’t recognize, but there was plenty of squealing as they passed down a blank sheet of paper as a prop. He deduced from the few lyrics he caught that they were playing sorority girls, but that was about it.

As the “Ohmigods” crescendoed, Miles noticed that there was someone entering from backstage that then stood behind the girls. He wondered what for, until the group parted and stepped to the side.

Nothing could’ve prepared him for who stood in the middle of the stage. In a blonde wig.

“It’s almost there, but…”

Miles’ jaw dropped as you recited your lines fully in-character. 

It hadn’t occurred to him that you could smile without malice, but people were full of surprises: Here was the girl who rarely spoke more than a sentence in class until last week, belting her heart out while twirling across the stage. He would have pinned you as more of the debater type.

The song ended on one final “Oh my god!” in unison before the lights were turned back up.

“Great job, everyone, especially for a first run-through. Everybody take five!”

You sighed in relief, wiping away the sweat collecting around your hairline from being beneath a hot wig and an even hotter spotlight. Wig in hand, you carefully descended down the steps with the rest of the cast and made your way back to your seats.

Sarah brushed past you in between aisles, along with a familiar red hoodie.

You paused and spun around on your heel, confirming your fears. 

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

#miles morales x reader #miles morales x black!reader #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles morales fic #moralesanhour

[0nlythrowharrybeaux]

#4 with lots of angst but a happy ending!😭

Warning: Mentions of car accident, pregnancy complications, 4pre-term birth, hospitals.

Harry had been a bit hesitant to schedule any shows for when you made it to your 6 month of pregnancy. However, you assured him that you wouldn't even start your maternity leave until the 7 month mark because you wanted more time after the baby was born; you didn't want to feel rushed to say goodbye to her. You had a desk job, so you weren't doing anything strenuous and your job also wasn't all that stressful. So during a break in his tour he came home and after a few checks ups where Harry asked a bajillion questions, your doctor assured him that everything was perfectly normal and looking really great.

It's not that Harry didn't want to tour, he actually really did because after your baby came he intended to take at least a year or two to just be there with you both. But he also didn't want to be away from you just in case you needed him during this time. But you reminded him that your mom would be coming in from LA to help out soon and well, his mom was constantly around, doting on you, and other friends of yours and Harry's in town, so you had many people around who would surely lend a hand if you ever needed it. So with that information, plus your doctor's confirmation he gave Jeffrey the green light to add one more month of shows to his tour. After all, it would be the last one for a bit.

He was having a blast, he was making the most of these last few shows because he knew he'd miss it a lot down the line. And right now he was in the huddle with the band, pep talking them all right before they got on stage. They were just about to do their chant when he heard someone call his name loudly.

"Harry!" he turned around to see Brad running over with his phone to his ear looking absolutely panicked and scared and worried all mixed into one. He'd never seen him looking that scared and it made him start to worry. As soon as he was closer to the huddle he lowered his voice, "H, Y/N's been in a serious car accident. It's not good." He said and his stomach immediately sank. Everyone's cheerful and excited expressions shifted into those of concern and sadness, "Your mum just called Jeff, she just got to the hospital, they won't give her any details." he said as he said whatever Jeffrey was telling him on the line.

Harry was frozen though, he wasn't sure what to do. He just knew he needed to get there as soon as possible. People always overthink and ponder about bizarre or worst case scenarios to maybe know how to handle them when they arise, but this is not something that Harry would have ever even considered. He was in shock, he had no control, he had no idea what was going on. He couldn't even cry. His ears were just ringing as he heard the crowd cheering and roaring maniacally as the screens darkened, indicating he was about to go on.

"The show." he finally said flatly as he swallowed the lump in his throat, "I can't do the show."

"Yeah, Tommy's already taking care of that." Brad assured him, "Let's just get your things, we're trying to get you there as soon as possible. Jeff is on the other line with Kris. I guess Kim is in town for work, she flew on her jet." he said and Harry nodded, "C'mon". Brad said and guided Harry back to his dressing room. The band rushed after them and followed Harry to his dressing room. He needed to get changed out of his crazy costume... he was trying to get his shoes off, but his shaking hands were making the simple task almost impossible.

"H, I've got it." Mitch said to him softly as he stooped down and Harry nodded. Once his shoes were off he hurried to get changed into his casual clothes. The rest of the band started gathering his things, getting them into his duffle bag so that he could head out as soon he was done changing. They all frowned when they heard him start to vomit in the bathroom but it was understandable, there are just somethings in life that cause a visceral reaction.

Harry just couldn't believe that this was rally happening. He felt like he was outside of his body in a way, just disconnected. But all that came crashing when he realized that no one had any idea of your condition. No one knew if your baby girl was alright...or maybe they wouldn't tell his mom anything because neither of you had made it...the thought of that just made him feel sick to his stomach. He dropped to his knees and just started to hurl up everything in his stomach. He was coughing through his tears and he exhaled shakily as he wiped off his mouth. He then flushed the toilet and rinsed out his mouth before he finished changing.

"Here, H." Sarah said handing over his toothbrush when he opened the door.

"Thank you." he mumbled as he took it and quickly brushed his teeth.

"Yes! We got the jet!" Brad said to everyone as soon as Kim confirmed to Jeffrey that her flight crew was heading to the airfield as they spoke. Everyone sighed in relief at this news, "She told Jeff that they can get you there in 2 hours." he told Harry and he nodded. He wished he could teleport, but 2 hours was better than nearly three hours of flight, not counting the entire process he'd have to go through at the airport. He'd make it there after midnight if that were the case, so the fact that she was in town and was just letting him take her jet was a heaven ordained miracle, and he hoped it wouldn't be the last of the night. Not even ten minutes later they were off to the airfield.

True to her word, Kim's crew was ready to go as soon as his car pulled up. He and Brad hurried out and they had taken off not even five minutes later.

********

Back at the hospital Anne was in a complete panic because no one was telling her anything. No one was giving her any information or just brushing her off. She knew that you were on your way to get your mother from the airport, so she sent Michal and Gemma to go get her and bring her over.

She was more than relieved when Jeffrey called her to let her know that Harry had been able to borrow a jet and was in the air now. But as she hung up with Jeffrey she started getting a lot of text messages from friends and family asking if Y/N was alright. One person sent her a video that someone had taken of the paramedics wheeling her into the ambulance. She immediately called Jeffrey back and he got to work on making sure that those videos got taken down. But obviously, the internet spreads information like a wildfire and half an hour later there were even news reports on the television. People started to recognize her and come ask her questions and so eventually the hospital staff just let her stay in a private room while she waited for your mum, Gem, and Michal to arrive.

********

Obviously, Harry saw the videos. He didn't think he'd be riddled with messages about this; people were asking him questions that he didn't even have the answers to. The not knowing was the worst part. There was already news that he had cancelled his show and speculation that the rest of the tour was cancelled, which he hadn't even spoken to anyone about but that was true. Even if it was a good outcome, he didn't want to be apart from you after this.

He was afraid though because in the videos he saw your pants had blood on them and you didn't appear to be fully conscious as you were wheeled away. The accident had been bad; your car had been t-boned on the driver's side, so you surely had taken the impact, which he knew couldn't be good. He didn't want to think anymore, he just wanted to get there and do whatever he could to help.

********

Once your mother got there the hospital staff were far more collaborative as they shared information on your condition. And thankfully Harry had arrived shortly after everyone else. He asked to speak to the doctors straight away before anything else, he needed to know what was going on before he faced anyone else.

"Good evening, Mr. Styles-"

"Just tell me what happened please." he cut the woman off and she nodded.

"For now your wife is stable, we're just closing her up from the c-section. In terms of your daughter, she's in the NICU. Unfortunately we're not too sure if she'll make it on her own yet." she explained to him and Harry just felt his heart tighten up in his chest as his throat bobbed. "The impact caused very serious abdominal trauma to your wife. First responders determined that the placenta was moderately detached from the uterus because of the bleeding she had." she explained, "When we opened her up though it was completely detached." she said and he shook his head.

"OK, but what does that mean for my baby?" he asked, slightly aggravated. He didn't understand why these people just never said what they meant. He understood it could be hard to give people bad news, but beating around the bush was far more harmful in his opinion.

"When the placenta detaches it means the baby has no oxygen or nutrients. And in severe cases like this it's standard to perform an emergency c-section as quickly as possible to ensure that damage to the baby is minimal." she explained to him and his tears started to fall, "Unfortunately, we don't know long it was fully detached for...if it happened upon impact or on the way to the hospital. But this can lead to several complications for the baby, but given that your wife is just shy of 31 weeks the baby still has some growing to do and my biggest concern is brain injury, which can cause a lot of developmental delays. We just won't know until later down the line." she explained and he nodded, "We've got her on some oxygen for now since her lungs are not fully developed yet. But in normal, pre-term birth circumstances babies born between 31 to 34 week have a 95% survival rate, which is very good." she said and he sighed.

"But this is not a normal, pre-term circumstance." he said to her.

"No, but we're doing everything we can. Your baby seems to have developed really well from what I was able to see. These next couple of hours are critical though and if she makes it through the night I’ll be very optimistic about her recovery.”

"Can I see them?" he asked.

"I can certainly arrange for that. You might be able to see the baby first, but she's in the incubator and it'll be a bit frightening to see her hooked up to several things, but that's just what we need to do to keep her stable." she informed and he nodded, "Your wife had to have a blood transfusion, so she's out. And I believe they are also treating to her fractures. She may also be out for a few more hours since she also suffered a concussion."

"Jesus..." he sighed shakily.

"Your wife will pull through though. She's in great health, Mr. Styles." she assured him and he nodded.

"Alright, thank you Dr. Mehta." he said and she nodded, "I'll escort you to the room your relatives have been given and someone will come get you shortly to see your baby." she said.

It was about 15 minutes before a nurse came in to take Harry over to the NICU. He had to get into a full body paper suit, hairnet, mask, and gloves before he could get in. Once that was squared away he was led to the little incubating carriage that had your little girl in it. When Harry saw her he was shocked at just how tiny she was, he swore she'd fit in in his hand, she couldn't be bigger than his forearm. He was happy to see her, but like the doctor had said it was also scary to see her so tiny and defenseless hooked up to all those things. It was hard to know that she was fighting for her life.

“Can I touch her?” He asked the nurse.

“Of course. You just put your arm through the hole there.” She explained and he nodded, “Just mind the tubes and monitoring pads.” She said and he nodded, “I’ll give you a few minutes, I’ll be right out there if you need anything.”

“Thank you.” Harry hummed and then he was left alone. As soon as she was gonna he started to cry. You two hadn’t even agreed on her name yet; but he was glad you hadn't because it might be more painful to name her and lose her. It pained him so much to think that she might not make it through the night and that maybe you'd never even get to see her. He hesitated before his gloved hand made contact with her through the hand opening, but he shook off his concern and just touched the top of her tiny hand. He saw the faintest little twitch in her fingers and he chuckled happily at her response as his tears fell even harder, "Hi princess!" he smiled through his tears, "It's me, your dad." he sniffled, "Please, just...just hang on for me, princess. We already love you so much, we can't say goodbye." he cried quietly. He prayed silently to the heavens that his little girl you make it. She had to make it.

********

It was about two hours later that he was told he could go see you. You were still unconscious but at least he got to see that you were alive. Your right shoulder, arm, hip, and leg were in a cast. He was glad that at least your mom was with him so that they could hold each other while they cried. She wanted to stay a while longer so Harry gave her some privacy as he stepped outside of the room. Letting out a sigh of relief that you were alive. A little torn up, but still with him.

It was undoubtedly a sleepless night. He couldn't risk missing anything. It was around 8:30am the next morning when Dr. Mehta came by the waiting room. He hurriedly woke everyone else up as she stepped into the room.

"Good morning, Mr. Styles and family." Dr. Mehta smiled. If she was saying that it meant that it was good news, right?

"Any updates?" he asked and she nodded.

"Your baby is stable. She remained stable all night." she shared happily and every let out a sigh of relief. He felt a weight lifted off of his shoulders, "now this doesn't mean she's out of the NICU, her stay will be a bit longer, I'm afraid, but she is out of immediate danger." she informed him and he nodded, "Your wife should be waking up in the next couple of hours."

"Thank you, thank you so much." he sighed and she nodded.

"I did want to show you something though."

"Of course." he stood and followed after her.

"I was reviewing your wife's chart and I noticed something interesting." she said and he nodded. Harry followed her down the hall and she let him into an empty room with an x-ray projector. She set the file in her hand down and pulled out your x-rays and powered on the projector before she placed them on the screen. "Look at the fractures. They're here on the shoulder, elbow, hip and femur." she said and Harry nodded, "That's why your baby's alive." she said and he turned to her.

"I don't understand." he said.

"I think your wife had enough time to react before she was hit. It looks like she tried to turn her body away was much as possible, which explains the way her shoulder fractured and she probably used her arm and leg to try to shield her stomach so that they took the brunt of the impact."

"That's...so incredible. Thank you for showing this to me." he nodded with tearful eyes and she nodded.

"Of course. My shift is over, but I'll be back again tonight. Your nurses from last night are still on shift."

"Thank you." he said before he headed back to the waiting room and shared with his family what the doctor had told him. He was so proud of you and he couldn't wait to tell you.

When you woke up a few hours later he immediately went over to see you. It all tears for the first few minutes before you asked about your baby. He squeezed your hand gently and sniffled.

"She's alright. I get to see her again later." he explained and you nodded in relief, "She's just a tiny little thing, this big, I swear." he smiled through his tears as he demonstrated her length to you with his hands, "Your doctor said you saved her life. S'why you're all broken, baby." he said and you smiled at him as you cleared your throat to speak.

"I just wanted to protect her as much as I could." you sniffled and he nodded.

"You did, my love. She's here because of you." he sobbed and kissed your forehead and you felt a weight lifted off of your shoulders, "I told you adding more shows was a bad idea..." he said and you chuckled before you winced, "Oh, I'm sorry, not making you laugh's gonna be hard."

"It might be if you were actually funny, baby." you croaked out and he pouted playfully as you smiled at him. "What're we gonna name our baby? We haven't even discussed it properly."

"S'cause we knew it'll get us in a tiff. But considering you're handicapped and all, I supposed your opinion bears more weight." he said and you chuckled again and he grinned, "And you said I'm not that funny..." he hummed as he ran his thumb over your knuckles.

"I'm concussed." you reminded and he chuckled and shook his head.

"Well, I told her that she was so loved...and well, she's our little love. So I think I want to call her Love." he said and you smiled.

"Love Styles sounds like a cheap lingerie brand." you wheezed as you tried to adjusted yourself a bit and he burst our laughing before reaching up and fluffing your pillow up a bit.

"Yeah...that's...definitely not what I'm going for." he smiled and you smiled back.

"We don't have to decide yet." you said and he nodded.

"I'm just so happy that you're still here with me." he said softly and you sniffled and nodded.

"Me too."

********

It had been a few days and Harry just needed to get home and get showered and changed. It felt good to be home and when he walked past the nursery he smiled, he couldn't wait to have you and your baby home. When Harry got into your shared bedroom he haphazardly dumped his bag out on the bed in search of his toothbrush before heading in for a shower. He took his time under the hot and soothing water. After he stepped out and dried off a bit he just dropped onto your bed and before he knew he passed out. He had maybe slept six hours in the the last 2 days.

"Harry." he heard faintly, "Hang on, he's passed out." he heard as he gained consciousness and slowly blinked his eyes open to see Brad hovering over him and he immediately sat up.

"Is everything OK?"

"Yeah, mate. Y/N wanted to ask you something." he said and he grabbed Brad's phone.

"I've been calling you." you said and he sighed.

"Sorry baby, phone's dead. What is it?" he asked groggily.

"Let's name her Violet." You said and Harry smiled.

"I like that a lot." he said with a grin.

"Yeah?" You asked.

"Yeah, it's perfect." he agreed.

"OK. That's all. Get some rest."

"I'll be back soon though, OK? I love you." he said and you nodded.

"I love you." you hummed back and he blew a kiss at the screen before you hung up.

"Love Styles? Really?" Brad asked him and he scoffed.

"Oh, shut up..." Harry huffed before draping his arm over his eyes.

READ MORE PICTURE PROMPT BLUBRS HERE!

#harry styles #harry styles fan fic #harry styles angst to fluff #harry styles blurb #harry reader insert #harry styles reader insert #harry x you #harry x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #husband!harry #husband!harry styles #dad!harry #dad!harry styles #picture prompts 2 #0nlythrowharrybeaux

[nordschleifes]

body work

➝ maybe agreeing to go to saudi arabia wasn't a bad idea…

➝ word count: 4,5k

➝ warnings: dakar!fer, flirting, mentions of bdsm, hot weather

➝ author's note: this last week has been extremely difficult for me, both emotionally and physically. i had a terrible migraine attack that left me practically unable to do anything other than cry or want to vomit. however, when she gave me a break, i managed to finish this one shot. i would really like your feedback, if possible!

You could feel your white t-shirt sticking to your skin, as well as your hair on the back of your neck. The desert sun made even the slightest effort feel Herculean, the hot wind doing little to alleviate the heat you felt even under the tent pitched on a stony plain near Al Wajh.

This was definitely not the way you wanted to start your year, but it wasn't like you had much of a choice. With a practically free schedule and a colleague unable to travel due to personal problems, it was up to you to go to Saudi Arabia to take care of one of the clinic's most famous patients.

— Fernando is almost here — you heard someone murmur next to you. Turning your face, you found a man with wavy hair messed up by the wind and his eyes half-closed as he looked at the horizon, searching for something on the horizon.

— Are you sure, Alberto? — you asked the businessman, raising an eyebrow — It's been ten minutes since people started arriving and nothing about them...

— From what they said, they were right behind another Toyota — he said, while a cloud of dust rose in the distance, indicating that another competitor was arriving at the competition camp — Ah, look at him there.

After crossing the finish line, you accompanied Alberto in an attempt to take the red, white and black painted Hilux to the closest point to the motorhome that had become your base of operations. As you approached the vehicle, which smelled of hot oil and gasoline, you saw the door suddenly open, revealing a figure wearing a blue helmet and a black jumpsuit with white and red trim.

— How it was? — Alberto asked, while the driver disconnected something from the central panel.

— Sand, stone and dust for ten hours — Fernando replied, as he unbuckled his seat belt and removed his helmet, revealing a tired smile — Ten hours! Can you believe that?

— I do — the businessman said, while helping the driver out of the truck. After throwing his helmet on the seat and hugging Alberto, Fernando headed towards the reporters who were crowding around a railing to talk to him.

Watching the driver take off his sandy coveralls, leaving his sweaty white Nomex in full view, you felt something warm rise up your cheeks, teeth finding your bottom lip.

You had never been carried away by the physical nature of your work. The barriers you had placed for yourself were always firm, as were your ethics that dictated that you should never get involved with anyone who requested your services. But since you had set foot in Jeddah, you have seen your own conviction tested every day.

And it was getting harder and harder to resist.

Taking a deep breath, you turned and headed towards the tent set up next to Fernando's motorhome. Upon entering the space, you realized how much needed to be done there before the driver arrived for his much needed physical therapy session. You still had to set up the table, arrange the materials and put on the instrumental playlist you loved. “Let’s go”, you thought as you headed towards your bag.

You were whistling some tune while lighting the scented candles when you heard a clearing of your throat coming from behind. When you turned around, you met Fernando's dark, curious eyes.

— Which song is that? — he asked.

— Ah — you smiled, while shaking the match you had used to light the last candle — I don't know, actually...

— It doesn't sound like that Ayurvedic nonsense you listen to during sessions — the driver slowly approached the massage table, resting one hand on it.

— It's not nonsense, Fernando, it's a way to help you disconnect and relax — you replied — Lie down.

— Edo doesn't put things like that — he murmured, as he sat on the kind of stretcher you had set up in the middle of the tent. Wearing a black coat over a white shirt and shorts of the same color, his hair had damp ends, probably from the shower — He knows that doesn't help.

— And that must be why you're always stressed — you said, giggling — Do you prefer forest sounds, then?

— I prefer the lovely chirping of a V10 engine — Fernando said, as the table he was sitting on creaked under his weight.

— Sounds of the forest, then — you concluded, taking the phone and connecting the device to the small speaker that was next to you. It wasn't long before the rustling of leaves filled the tent, contrasting with the engines and conversations coming from outside.

Putting your cell phone in your pocket, you brushed your hair away from your face as you approached the massage table, assessing Fernando's expression, who seemed bothered by something.

— Any points I need to focus on today? — you asked, resting your hands right next to his leg.

— On the left ankle — the driver replied, the crack drawing your attention to the spot below him. Moving the foot in circles, the sound repeated itself in an almost sickening way — It doesn't hurt, but it didn't make that noise before, so...

Standing next to his foot, you began moving it, trying to understand where the sound was coming from. Your fingers pressed Fernando's skin in search of the tendons and joints, the precise touch in search of what was bothering him.

After a few minutes of thorough exploration, without the driver making a sound of protest, you pressed your lips together. Although the absence of pain was a relief, unusual and frequent sounds meant there was an injury waiting to happen. And considering how much he must use that foot, having a strength problem at that point wasn't a good thing.

— Well, you aren’t injured…

— Excellent.

— Yet — you added, while letting go of his ankle — I think you'll have to do some tests when you get back home to see if you really have any problems.

— Could it get worse in the next few days?

— In theory, no, especially since you're not feeling any pain. But I'll talk to Edoardo and see what we can do. Any other points that worry you? — you asked, receiving a refusal from Fernando — So let's move on.

Turning to the small table you had requested to place your materials, you picked up the bottle that held your favorite massage oil and dripped a few drops into the palm of your hand. Then you walked back to the massage table where the driver was lying, his eyes fixed on the roof of the tent.

— Let me know if you feel anything — you murmured, before taking your hands to his calf and starting to massage it.

The movement of your fingers under Fernando's skin, searching for the small nodules where the stress and, consequently, the pain were, was something that relaxed you, in a way. Maybe it was the way you repeated the movements, the way your chest filled with satisfaction when you found a point where you could release the tension that was built up in his body after ten long hours of driving in the middle of the desert.

When you pressed a specific spot near his ankle, you heard him hiss.

— Did it hurt? — you asked.

— A little — Fernando replied, still staring at the ceiling.

— I'll be careful.

— No need — he murmured, which made you look at his face.

— Fernando…

— I’m fine, you can continue. Pain is good, sometimes...

You couldn't hold back a smile.

— Is there something bothering you? — you began, while pressing his calf muscles again in search of stress points — Or is this your way of revealing to me that you are a masochist?

The driver suddenly raised his head.

— Masochist?

You felt something warm rise up your cheeks. That kind of conversation was definitely not in the appropriate category, as your professor of ethics and deontology in physiotherapy had put it on the blackboard in one of the classes.

— It's just a guess — you replied quickly, turning to the table in search of more oil and a few seconds to breathe.

— Based on what? — Fernando asked.

When you turned back to the driver, you found him raised on his elbows. His gaze had a gleam of curiosity and something you couldn't identify.

— You just said the pain is good — you said, placing one of your hands just above his knee and below the edge of his shorts — I think it's a rather obvious hint of what you like in bed.

Fernando raised an eyebrow.

— You mean you think about what I like in bed?

A nervous laugh escaped your lips, fingers starting to work on his rectus femoris.

— Please, Fernando — you murmured, feeling your heart pounding inside your chest. That wasn't right, you couldn't think about those details about your patients, especially when it came to him.

— Come on, do you think or not? — he insisted, in a challenging tone.

— I'm not going to answer that — you just said, trying to focus on the tension points on his leg — Now you can lie down straight, I need to work on your thigh.

Lowering his head again, Fernando let out a long sigh, his eyes fixed on the roof of the tent. However, if you expected him to remain silent after your denial, you were sadly mistaken.

— I think about it…

— About what you like?

— About what you like — the driver replied, emphasizing “you”.

The statement made you swallow hard, hands running up and down his lightly tanned skin. It wasn't like you tried to get Fernando's attention all the time, quite the opposite. You always thought you were invisible to his eyes, just a face among the entourage that accompanied him during his participation in that competition.

— I wonder if you like to take it slow or if you prefer to get straight to the point. If you like to dominate or if you prefer to be at the mercy of your partner. If you like being touched or prefer to just touch — Fernando said, his voice getting lower, almost hoarse, as he explored the possibilities — I think about your eyes rolling, your mouth open, the noise you would make if I were inside you.

— Fernando — you murmured in an almost reprimanding tone.

He suddenly sat on the massage table, his face close to yours.

— Tell me you don't think about that either. Tell me you don't think about me.

You blinked, cheeks growing hotter.

It was obvious that you thought about him. There wasn't a day that went by that you didn't think about the way he smiled, the way he ran his hand through his hair before putting the white cap with black and red details on his head. There wasn't a moment where you didn't fantasize about what it would be like to kiss him.

— I — you stammered, about to give the answer he wanted, when you realized a particularly important detail at that moment. The most important thing, actually — Linda.

Fernando blinked, looking confused.

— Linda? What about Linda?

— She's your girlfriend, you're not...

He snorted.

— She's in the past, Y/N.

— But, you…

— Just answer me, do you think about me?

The air escaped your lips shakily.

— Yes, I do. All day. All the time.

Your confession made Fernando smile, bringing his hand to your face. The look you exchanged for long seconds spoke more than any dialogue you could have had. There were no ethics classes or girlfriends that could stop what was about to happen inside that tent.

And it was to the sound of the artificial rustling of the tree leaves that you kissed Fernando.

His touch was gentle at first, as if the driver wanted to make sure you were on the same page, wanting this as much as he did. And, the moment he realized that you didn't move away from his touch, Fernando deepened the kiss, his tongue touching yours for the first time.

There was something different in the way he kissed you, a kind of thirst, as if you were an oasis in the middle of that desert. His hands held your face tightly, as if you were going to run away from his touch at any moment. As the sound of the birds was drowned out by your own pulse, you were sure you would never leave that place as long as you were there. And you made sure to make that clear by nibbling on his lower lip when Fernando pulled away slightly, completely panting.

Opening your eyes, you met his green-stained gaze. That made you feel the same heat as the first day, when you introduced yourself to him as the physiotherapist who would accompany him during the competition. There was an intensity that permeated it, a glow that you hadn't identified until that moment, but that became clear in a split second.

It was desire. It always had been.

— Fernando? — you heard someone say.

You didn't have time to say anything before he turned his face away, running a nervous hand through his hair. His gaze went to the entrance of the tent, his expression undeniably tense, as if he had done something he shouldn't have done.

And, in a way, he had. You both had.

Alberto's smile as he entered the tent made his stomach turn. Did he know what you had done? Did he imagine that his best friend had just kissed the physical therapist?

— Is there a problem, Galle? — Fernando asked, in a calm, almost natural tone — Y/N is finishing looking at my foot.

— The one that's clicking?

— Yeah, that one — you managed to say, your hands cold as ice.

— Injured?

— Not yet — the driver replied — Apparently it could evolve if I’m not careful. I'm going to see Edo to do some tests when I’m back.

— Well, if you say so — Alberto murmured — The mechanics were adjusting the axle and wanted to talk to you. Are you done there?

Exchanging a brief look, Fernando knew the answer almost immediately. You wouldn’t be able to touch him again, especially after that kiss.

— Yes, Y/N is done here — he said, while you nodded — Tell them I'm coming.

Alberto just said 'ok' before leaving the tent, leaving you two alone. Fernando's gaze on you seemed to burn into your skin, trying to read your body expression and, above all, your face.

— Y/N?

— Yeah, Fernando?

— See you later? — he asked, in a low voice.

— Later?

— In your motorhome. I think we can… Continue our conversation there.

An involuntary smile appeared on his lips.

— After dinner? — you questioned, as he got up from the table.

— Don't you want me to prepare my omelet for you? — he smiled, before putting on his flip flops.

— Definitely not — a laugh escaped his lips — It's disgusting.

— It was Edo who recommended it to me.

— Because he is crazy. You both are.

— Maybe we are — Fernando replied, walking towards the entrance of the tent — See you, Y/N.

— See you.

#fernando alonso #nordswrites #fernando alonso fanfic #fernando alonso fic #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #fernando alonso x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #formula one fic #formula one fanfic #formula one x you #fernando alonso x you

[stevieharringtonwifeguy]

hey, yall like t4t lesbian steddie? how about transfem eddie beefing coming out to her girlfriend Real Hard?

also on ao3 here

--------------------------------------------------------------

Eddie has never been able to control her mouth. Honestly sometimes she wonders if she has some kind of medical condition that makes her incapable of saying normal things at the appropriate time. 

And this is a real problem when trying to figure out how to tell her girlfriend that she might kinda wanna be a girl too maybe. Because instead of sitting the love of her life down and calmly explaining that she’s been doing some thinking and might want to experiment with her gender more, Eddie just holds it all in until she projectile vomits the information at the worst possible time.

They’re snuggled in bed, hazy in post-coital bliss, Stevie burying her face in Eddie’s neck and nuzzling in with her nose like a kitten looking for milk. It’s adorable. Eddie half expects her to start making biscuits on her stomach.

And so when Stevie sighs contentedly, hums a little, “My boy,” with so much love in her voice Eddie kind of wants to cry, she’s not ready for the wave of wrongness that crashes over her, smashing the cozy, contented vibe in the room like it’s an actual tidal wave ripping the trailer to shreds.

So she does what she always does. Fucks it up.

“No I’m not,” she says, voice choked with panic.

Stevie stiffens against her. “What?” she asks.

“I’m not your boy,” Eddie says. “It’s not- I-”

Stevie draws away from her, and Eddie already misses the warmth. She keeps her eyes screwed shut, doesn’t want to see Stevie’s reaction to the information that her boyfriend is actually her girlfriend. And yeah, the logical part of her brain knows that it absolutely is not an issue. Stevie’s a lot of things (beautiful, wonderful, perfect, a teensy bit of a bitch but just enough to keep things interesting-), but she’s not a hypocrite, so the trans thing is obviously fine. And Stevie was well known for making her way through most of the female population of Hawkins High before she came out, so the girl thing is also obviously a non-issue.

But. That mean little voice in the back of Eddie’s head. The one that listened carefully to every bad thing anyone ever said about her- freak, monster, trash- and quietly stored them away just to take them out again when she’s alone at night. That voice is real loud right now. 

It tells her she’s imagining things, that she’s just looking for another way to be different. That Stevie will just think she’s trying to copy her, and worse than that, she’s copying her badly. It whispers that sure, Stevie liked her as a guy, thought she was attractive then, but she’s probably going to be so ugly as a girl that any attraction Stevie’s managed to muster for her weird lanky man-body is gonna just shrivel up and die. And she doesn’t even really like girly things, which she knows because she dressed up as Frank N Furter that one time they all went to see Rocky Horror, and the makeup had felt gross on her skin and the corset had been too tight and the heels had hurt- and if she’s not gonna commit to femininity what’s even the point of trying to tell people she’s a girl?

Eddie is so lost in her own head that it takes her a second to realise that Stevie has gotten out of bed. Eddie sits up, watching in confusion as her girlfriend flits around the room in search of her clothes. 

“Stevie?” Eddie asks, her voice small. “Wh- what are you doing?”

Stevie sighs, shakes her head a little. “What does it look like I’m doing, Eddie?” Her voice sounds watery, and she won’t look Eddie in the eyes, using her voluminous hair as a shield as she pulls up her jeans with shaking hands.

Eddie’s heart breaks. She doesn’t think she ever expected this, that Stevie would just leave, even on her darkest nights alone. “But- why?”

Stevie finally looks at her then, her face incredulous even as it’s streaked with tears. “Why? Why would I stay, Eddie, if this- what, was it just- just bullshit?” she says, getting more heated as she speaks, hands flying in that way Eddie usually loves because it means her girl is really getting riled up. Now it feels terrible to see, like the final nail in Eddie’s coffin. 

“I can’t believe- fuck- this is the second time I thought- I mean it’s gotta be me at this point, right? Like, fool me once-” Stevie cuts herself off with a sob, before scrubbing her face furiously and looking around the room. “Where the fuck is my jacket???”

“I don’t- what do you mean, second time-”

Stevie scoffs. “I mean, sure, you didn’t actually say the word ‘bullshit’ but that’s- you see how it’s the same right? Like, even if you didn’t- if you didn’t want me anymore, how could you-? You knew about Nancy, Eddie, and you still just-” She scrubs her face again and heads to the door. “You know what, fuck my jacket.”

And Eddie is not the smartest. Her three senior years can attest to this. But she can tell she’s missing something here, because what the hell does Nancy have to do with anything? So Eddie goes over the last couple of minutes, everything Stevie said, everything she said, and- oh. Fuck.

“I forgot the second part of that sentence.” 

She literally cannot believe how stupid she is. Stevie’s already out the bedroom door, and Eddie prays to every god who’s never believed in her that she hasn’t left the trailer entirely, because fuck knows if she has Eddie will probably never see her again. At least not for several months, and even then, only with Robin standing off to the side trying to kill her with her mind.

“Stevie!” She calls, running through the trailer at a speed she frankly didn’t think herself capable of. “Stevie, please wait! I didn’t mean to- I forgot the rest of the sentence!”

Stevie stops at the door of the trailer, turns around with an eyebrow raised in the kind of ‘I’m waiting, make it good’ expression she uses whenever the kids try to explain why they were acting like little shits this time. It’s ruined a bit, by the tears still streaming down her face and the tremble in her disapproving frown, but she’s trying. 

“Baby, I’m so sorry, that’s not what I was trying to say- I didn’t even realise how it sounded- I love you so much and I’m sorry I made you doubt that for even a second,” Eddie pleads, her own tears running down her face.

Something in Stevie’s posture seems to soften a little, but her hand stays on the doorknob. “What- what else would you be trying to say there, Eddie?”

“I-” Eddie can’t look at her, so she looks at her own feet. “I’m not your boy, I’m your- I don’t really know. Girl? Something? Uh. If you still want me to be.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Eddie doesn’t look away from her feet.

But then, strong, warm arms wrap around her. A hand gently pushes her head into a neck. A pair of lips press into the top of her head.

“Oh E- baby,” Stevie says, softly. “I love you so much, no matter what. Of course you can be my girl, if you want.”

Eddie nods into Stevie’s neck, holding her so tight she’d be a little worried about hurting her if she wasn’t well aware Stevie was way stronger than she’d ever be. “Yes please,” she says, voice small.

Stevie presses another kiss to the top of Eddie’s head, pulls back to hold her face gently in her hands. “Love you so much, baby. And it’s with love that I have to ask- what the hell is wrong with you.” Eddie snorts, and Stevie smiles like that’s what she was aiming for. “That was the worst coming-out I’ve ever seen. And I’m including the way I came out to Dustin.”

Eddie fully laughs then, and Stevie smiles too. That really had been awful. Dustin had found Stevie’s collection of feminine clothes and underwear and had taken it upon himself to lecture her on how weird it was to keep ‘souvenirs’, until eventually Stevie had been so mortified by the picture he was painting that she had to come out just to get him to shut up. He’d since made up for it by being her staunchest defender (Eddie and Robin notwithstanding), but the whole thing was still painful enough that whenever he was being annoying Stevie could now get him to shut up with just a particularly pointed look.

“I know, it was- I got all up in my head,” Eddie says. She places her hand over Stevie’s, gently turns her head to place an apologetic kiss on her wrist, right against her pulse point. “I really am sorry. I love you.”

“I know. Now, at least. Although I hope you realise I’m gonna be using this against you for like, the rest of our lives. Good luck trying to get me to turn off the ABBA, considering you very briefly broke my heart.”

Eddie groans, just like Stevie wanted her too, but honestly ‘the rest of our lives’ sounds pretty good to her.

#steddie #transfem steve harrington #t4t steddie #transfem eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #my fics

[sanemisstalker]

Idk why but like I really wanna die in somebody’s arms- it’s like such a beautiful but sad way to die?

(**kny spoilers**)

kinda like how Mitsuri died in Obanai’s arms bc that was such a heartbreaking moment but it also was kinda sweet at the same time? Idek anymore 😭 ty for your time btw <3

Broooo-

I hate to be that guy and point to your username, but I think dying in Giyu's arms would be the worst emotionally. I think it'd be actually devastating.

CW// Death / Implied Major Character Death/ Implied Suicide/ Angst

A part of me reasons that Sanemi could handle it about as well as he handles anything else. Poorly, but he'd continue like he always does. That's all he can do because he thinks anything else is a show of extreme cowardice and he doesn't deserve to feel that way.

But when you're in his arms, dying, more color is dissapearing, and he's fighting to see your face past the tears- he's wailing and screaming, and trying to command you to come back. That normally works. Maybe he's gotten scary enough to scare death, but no. He'll never be enough to fend off the inevitable.

I don't think Shinobu would be much different. She has an astonishing amount of hate in her heart. Enough to patch up the wound long enough for her to pretend it isn't there anymore.

You'd be lying in her arms, and all of it would be beating against her head. Every word you ever said, every piece of medical knowledge she had, and for her to be the only one able to know just how incapable she was of saving you- She'd start begging a higher power, probably, begging you to be strong in her stead- save yourself because she's not strong enough.

Rengoku wouldn't cry until you fully slipped away, doing all he could to muster his voice flat- you needed comfort, obviously. He knew it wouldn't heal the wounds, nothing could, but he was still denying that to keep his smile wide.

You wouldn't be in his arms but on his lap, his hand sweeping hair from your fading eyes. I think He'd sit there for a while. For too long, just trying to prevent tears, because you wouldn't make a move to wipe them.

Tengen would hurt, bad. You're in his arms, and he's rocking you, and he's having a panic attack- He'd deny it the hardest. For the longest.

There's a notable difference, Tengen understood, between the weight of a breathing person, and a dead body. He knew that difference the second you slumped against his shoulder, and his knees hit the ground. He'd try to wake you up, tell you to stop the act, it isn't funny, because God, what else could he do but joke in a half witted prayer to hear your laugh.

Giyu....

Fuck me , man. I don't think he's emotionally strong enough to handle anymore loss. He's already disliked by his peers, by himself, god, and everyone who breathed. You were the only person willing to talk with him- to waste time on him. To love him.

The imagery for this one is vivid- the rain. Ironic. Even in his own element he couldn't save you. He's hunched over you and mimics your shallow breathes, protecting your face from the down pour.

You can't get the words out to say how much you really, deeply love him. He keeps shushing you, trying to conserve your energy- He's panicking, too, hands unsure of their need. There were so many wounds, he couldn't possibly tend to them all.

The poor boy would whisper a beg- to let him go in your stead. He couldn't be left alone to survive again. Not again. He had too many lives he was carrying on his shoulders. Too many souls he was responsible for reaching heaven with, and he was never that good a man.

He's not asking God, he's asking you. And how cruel you were to not let him die.

'I can't- Y/N, I can't do this again.' He'd sound close to vomiting. A certain animalistic sound to his voice. Guttural, almost. 'You-You-God- no-no-n-'

But you'd be gone, unable and unwillingly to give him to permission he so desperately needed. Not deserved, He'd remind himself.

He'd all but rot next to you. The second your last breathe loosed, he'd stop breathing, too. Days would go by. Unmoving. Unfeeling.

I truly believe he'd die with you that day.

#demon slayer x reader #hashira x reader #sanemi x reader #sanemi x y/n #sanemi x you #giyuu x reader #giyu x y/n #giyu x reader #rengoku x y/n #rengoku x reader #tengen x reader #tengen x you #shinobu x reader #shinobu x y/n

[the-squidward-in-question]

I was taking a nice hot bath so naturally I started to look like this image

And I had a good laugh thinking about this image because it makes me happy.

Anyway, here’s my TF2 merc bathing habit head cannons.

Yes thank you I know this is weird to think about

Scout:

Long ass hot ass showers. Annoys everyone because he takes all the hot water.

Soldier:

Dude is in and out in 60 seconds. He’s lucky if the water gets hot before he gets out. Military habits.

Pyro:

Did you know fire is really good at decontamination? Like actual fire. Just burn the dirt right off. First, cover yourself in oil—

Demo:

Bro takes dramatic ass showers. Like leaning on the wall, maybe cry kinda showers. Usually hung over/sloshed at the same time. No immediate consequences if you vomit in the shower.

Heavy:

Only complaint is that the shower head is too low/small to rinse well. Deffo shaves his head in there.

Engineer:

He’s got a routine for maximum efficiency. Has to use special soap because of all the motor oil and mechanical grease.

Medic:

“Don’t touch me I’m sterile”

Sniper:

Camper probably doesn’t even have a shower. Towels-off or waits for it to rain.

Spy:

Is it possible to take a three-course shower? I’m picturing bubble bath, then shower, then an exorbitant amount of expensive skincare products and cologne.

#tf2 #tf2 headcanons #tf2 shitpost

[suckerforcate]

Hi!! I wanted to request something for Brienne. I was gonna try and write it since a friend and I have been talking about it, but I’m simply not as good as you 🥹

Basically a love triangle with reader, Brienne, and Jaime. Reader has feelings for Brienne but everyone has been pointing out how Jaime and Brienne would be a good couple so reader just distances themselves and Brienne notices, thinking that reader is done putting up with her and doesn’t really like her so she confronts them and leads to reader confessing and stuff. And Brienne confesses too.

Thanks!

You, not him

Pairing: Brienne of Tarth x Reader

Word Count: 1617

Warning: Angst, mention of vomiting,

A/n: I didn't want to make Reader too old, as I thought it would be quite unrealistic for her to still be unmarried then. Hence the age gap. Hope that is okay. I thought of Reader as beginning to mid twenty, as Brienne is about end of thiry. I really hope you like what I did with your request!! I really liked writing it.

When Brienne had come back, you had been so happy. You hadn't seen her for such a long time, and you really wanted to tell her everything that had happened. But when she had arrived she hadn't been alone. Jamie Lannister sat on a horse just behind her. You didn't like him, he always had this arrogant, smug look. Like he was better than all the rest. So your initial thought was that Brienne held him captive, but he walked around freely and Brienne held actual conversations with him.

It had been about two weeks since they had arrived, and you were fed up with the Kingslayer. It was enough. Honestly, since they arrived you couldn't talk to Brienne without him following her like a stray puppy. And even though he seemed to like her, way too much to your liking, he still made cruel jokes about her. Couldn't he decide if he liked her or not?!

At the beginning, you thought as long as it's one-sided it doesn't matter. But after a few more weeks you couldn't go anywhere without hearing people talk about the two of them.

"They make such a nice pair, don't they?"

"Oh yes, have you seen the way they look at each other?"

Others weren't so polite about it.

"Honestly, I think she just wants to fuck him. And he wouldn't be averse either, I think." They laughed dirty and left. You just stood there, tears in your eyes.

In the past week you hadn't talked so much with Brienne, because you had to help your mother a lot. You guessed that week was enough for their relationship to take a new turn.

Actually you had looked forward to this evening as Brienne wanted to teach you some sword-fighting. You thought you could finally spend some time together. Alone. Like you always used to. But considering the newest information, you really didn't feel like going.

Sitting on you bed that evening, all you could do was cry. You had always feared that she would come back one day. In love. With a partner. But the cruel reality of it hit you stronger than anticipated.

You felt so empty and yet so full of emotions. Full of sadness and rage.

Dinner hadn't been the best idea. You realised that as you felt it coming up again. Cowering over the toilet, still crying, you felt as pathetic as probably possible.

Why were you like this? All your friends always told you about how they fell in love with a cute, rich, honourable prince. How they had their happy life. The life that was promised to all of you, from childhood on.

But you? Of course, you had to be different. Falling in love with a woman about fifteen years older than you, way out of your reach and in love with someone else. Stupid you.

----------------

The next days to weeks you avoided Brienne. It hurt way too much and every time you saw her together with Jamie you felt tears prick in your eyes. In addition to that you thought if you avoided her maybe it would be easier for you to forget about her. You wanted to be happy for her so bad. But you just couldn't. Whatever you did, you cried yourself to sleep. Either because you missed her, because you had seen her with Jamie or because you had heard people talk about them again. Even your own mother talked about them, that definitely didn't make it easier at all.

-----------------

You knew the avoiding part wouldn't work forever and sooner or later you needed to talk to her. But that day came sooner rather than later. And you definitely weren't prepared for it, you were far too in love with her.

For the first time in weeks you dared to go out, into the garden. The garden had always been the place where you and Brienne could talk for hours. So you should have known that you would meet her there.

You were reading a book when you felt someone standing next to you. You looked up, right into Brienne's eyes. Your body visible tensed and you directly looked away. Still Brienne sat down. You felt her leg touch yours as the bench wasn't very big.

"I can't shake the feeling, that you have been avoiding me, my lady. I had rather looked forward to our time together when I had come back. But it seems you haven't." You felt a wave if sadness rush over you. You had never wanted to hurt Brienne. But you could endure it, spending time with her.

You couldn't say anything, your mouth opened a few times but no words came out. For Brienne that was a clear answer.

"I thought so. I understand if you don't want to spend time with me. I had always feared that one day you would see me for what I really am. That you would see me the way the rest sees me. I assume you are just too polite to tell me. But I think this is answer enough. Still I want to say, I enjoyed the time we had together and if you ever change your mind, I will be there." She wanted to stand up and leave. You panicked, you still hadn't said a word, but you didn't want her to leave thinking what she just said was the truth. You grabbed her wrist and pulled her back. She turned her head, and you hoped she knew you well enough to understand the look in your eyes. She did. She sat down again.

Still holding her wrist you saw tears fall down on your skirt and looking at Brienne's dry face, you realised they were yours. Brienne saw them too. She pulled you into her side and let you cry, not questioning you, not judging you.

Ad you felt your tears dry you pulled back and turned around, so you could look her in the eyes.

"Please, Brienne never think that what you said is true. That's not the reason I'm avoiding you." She smiled at you relief washing over her face.

"But, what's the reason then? Please tell me, my lady. You can talk to me." You knew that. In fact, you had always talked to her, when you had problems. For the last years she had always been there, and you felt a whole in your life where she used to be. You needed her. And in that moment you decided that even if it hurts you, you need to be with her. You would be strong. Because not having her at all was just worse.

"I don't know how to tell you. I really wanted to be happy for you. It's hard, I can't bear seeing you together. But I will learn to, I will be strong for the both of us. Because I need you in my life. Even if it's just as a friend." With that you looked at her and all you saw was... confusion. Pure and utter confusion.

"I'm sorry, my lady. But I really don't understand what you are talking about."

"I'm talking about you and Jamie. And that I love you. I have loved you since I first laid my eyes on you and not being able to ever have you breaks my heart. But it's okay, if you're happy. Which it seems you are." At that Brienne laughed. She really laughed, how could she. What you had just told her wasn't funny. Still she laughed, a real and deep laugh. A relieved laugh. She had really been concerned and was happy that the "problem" was something so stupid.

"Oh, (Y/n), love. Jamie and I are not involved. Absolutely not. He's just following me around like a chicken. It's quite annoying actually. I can't believe you thought that. I was desperately trying to leave him and spend my time with you. But you avoided me, so I was stuck with him." Your eyes widened.

"But everyone was talking about you two. I- even my mother."

"Since when is the castle-gossip something you believe in?" She was right. You had always been the one to not believe it and to question every rumour you heard.

"I'm so stupid. Honestly I can't believe myself." You laughed, happy for the first time in weeks. But as you looked at Brienne you saw concern, no insecurity? You stopped laughing.

"What's wrong?" You took her hands in your and gently stroked over the back of them up to her pulse point.

"Did you mean it? What you said, that you love me?"

You warmly smiled at her.

"Of course I did, what do you think why I was so upset about you and Jamie. I was jealous and scared that I'd lose you.

"You will never lose me. For I love you too, (Y/n) (y/l/n)." You smiled at her and cupped her face in your hands. She blushed under your touch but still leaned down to catch your lips in a kiss.

It was gentle and careful and first. You assumed it was not just your first but also her first kiss. But that carefulness was overcome fast, when she grabbed your hips and pulled you onto her lap. You threw your legs around her and your hands travelled to her neck and up into her hair. She pulled you even closer at that and let out a slight moan. You thought it was cute, but she stopped in her tracks and blushed. She hid her red face in the crook of your neck out of embarrassment as you laughed at her shyness and stroked over her hair. Everything was alright now. You were happy again.

#brienne of tarth #brienne of tarth x reader #brienne x reader #game of thrones #gwendoline christie #gwendoline christie x reader #wlw #jamie lannister

[yanderes-galore]

Could I request prompts 12 and 23 for norman bates from the slasher movie pyscho (1960s version)? Pairing is romantic

Was finally able to see Psycho on Netflix! I do indeed have a story idea I can do for this. My prompts were used for this.

Did not do character research for this, wrote it right after seeing the movie so I hope his character is correct :) I also wrote this late at night so there's that too, lol 😅 By the time I post this it'll be the next morning where I can look at this with a better mindset and edit it.

Yandere! Norman Bates Prompts 12 + 23

"You were never meant to see that! Oh, what have I done...."

"You're crying... come a little closer, I'll make it all go away."

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Stalking, Obsession at first sight, Clingy behavior, Murder, Kidnapping, Delusional behavior, Forced relationship, Darling is naive as serial killers weren't too common in the 1960s, Vomit, Violence, Norman actually has no chill.

Norman had seen many people come to the motel before. Whenever he did grow attached to them, Mother scolded him. Mother never let the guests stay too long anyways.

Despite the desolate feeling of the motel and house, Norman never really felt alone. He's happy, mother's happy, things were great with just the two of them. There didn't need to be anyone else.

Then Norman met you, a tired traveler needing to rest. Norman had noticed you had a friend with you. The man thought nothing of you both, you'd probably end up like all the rest.

Then Norman started talking with you. By just standing in the office of the motel you managed to make him stutter, a shyness enveloping him and intoxicating his mind. You are so easy to talk to. You even seem to shy away from him as he did you.

Norman likes talking with you. He feels like he could talk for hours, actually. Norman sometimes felt this way towards guests... although with you it seems like a stronger feeling. Maybe mother would like this one....

Norman makes a promise to himself to be the best gentleman towards you. To you, he's a kind and sweet man who runs a motel and takes care of his sick mother. The person he didn't like was your friend....

Norman feels ill at the connection you two share. Perhaps he's envious, glowering at your friend and thinking about how close you two are. Norman just met you... you didn't know anything about him... and he already wanted everything to do with you.

"I can get you both some food! Then I'll show you to your rooms." Norman chirps, suddenly in a good mood.

"What rooms are available?" You ask, Norman being very attentive to your voice.

"There's twelve rooms, all vacant. You can have room one while your friend has room four!"

"Uh... we can share-" Your friend pipes up. Norman frowns at their voice, mood souring as soon as they spoke.

"Sorry, I can't do that. There's only one bed in a room and sharing a bed simply won't do! Can't have anything... unsavory, right?"

You and your friend grimace at the implication.

"Yeah, guess not...." You murmur. Norman smiles again, ushering you both outside.

"P-Please, take your room keys and wait for me! I'll deliver some food for the both of you."

You and your friend agree before taking the room keys and heading to your rooms. Norman couldn't stop smiling at the thought of you... he wanted to watch you through the hole in the wall but he had other matters to attend to at the moment.

Not only did he need to feed you... but mother has to know about you, too.

---

Norman consulted his mother about the two new guests he had met later in the night. The thought of you had made him excited! Although... he hates that you came with someone else.

His mother shared a similar sentiment. You seem very kind and just may treat her son right. Yet there was that issue with your little friend.

Norman pleaded with his mother to keep you. He wanted you over for dinner but it was too early for that to happen according to her. Norman was overjoyed when he watched you eat the food he brought back from the house, you said it was great!

Mother likes how you make her son happy. He's always gotten attached easily, though he may have picked right this time. She promises her dear son that she'll help him out a little....

Once she helps with that friend problem, the rest is on him, however.

After all the trouble she has to go through to make Norman happy, she hopes you're worth it.

---

You woke up late at night to the sound of shuffling outside your door. You yawn and try to open your eyes enough to see before wiping the crust from them. You thought it was some sort of animal or that Norman guy doing routine clean up....

Then you heard screaming.

Familiar screaming.

You shoot up with concern on your face, staring at the wooden door with uncertainty. Surely it wasn't anything bad, right...? The idea of being alone and without help frightened you.

The nearest payphone was a long walk.... The sheriff would take forever to come at the hour, too. Maybe you can ask Norman for help?

The screaming had stopped as quickly as it started. It was either silenced or the pain wasn't that bad. Maybe your friend just... hurt themselves?

The idea of a serial killer wasn't a very common idea around this time... which made you a bit naive.

Cautiously you exit your room, intending to find Norman. Looking down to room four you see the room open. Surely Norman was already looking into it....

Trying to calm your racing heart, you try to reassure yourself it's nothing big. There's nothing wrong... maybe your friend saw a roach or something? You walk towards the room. Must be... it couldn't be anything that ba-

You stop in your tracks. No, Norman wasn't in the room already.... Your friend was there, however...

Just with stab wounds in their chest and stomach, their blood pooling onto the floor.

You pause, the shock still clouding your cognitive ability at the moment. You slowly trace your gaze over your friend's corpse... then it sets in. Then it all sits in.

You collapse onto the ground in a spew of vomit. Bile puddles onto the floor, the room smelling of metal and rot. You want to scream... but you're in too much shock.

"Dear-" A voice says from behind you before cutting off. The voice sounds like Norman, yet you can't bear to turn. Does he think you did it?

"You were never meant to see that! Oh, what have I done...." Norman panics. You are confused to what the young man means before it clicks. Norman's a murderer... and you're alone.

"Oh sorry, mother... I wasn't fast enough-" Norman mutters to himself before fully turning his attention to you. "Dear, you look so sick... I should get you cleaned up."

"Don't... call me that..." You manage to croak out, stumbling to your feet quickly. "Stay away from me!"

"Please sit down! You're scared, I can explain!"

Despite being trapped in the room, you try to squeeze past the man. Norman stops you, no amount of brute force working against him. His eyes weren't friendly...

They were cold and a bit nervous.

"We can work this out! I'll get you cleaned up a-and we'll talk! I p-promise you this is a misunderstanding!"

You don't listen and struggle more. Norman frowns at your desperation and attempts to wrangle you back. Both of you get a bit too desperate in your fighting...

Leading to Norman accidentally hitting your head too hard against the wall.

---

When you manage to comprehend your surroundings again you notice you're bandaged and cleaned. Rope ties a wrist of yours to a bed frame and you can tell this is an old unfamiliar house. You begin to panic again, using your other hand to fidget with the knot.

You freeze everything when you hear footsteps come up the stairs. You hold your breathe in anticipation but it wasn't like you could hide. When the door opened... any hope of this being some nightmare diminished.

Norman Bates, the man who supposedly murdered your friend, stood in front of you with a tray in hand.

Norman offers you a smile... one you don't return. He places the tray down on a small table and you notice it's full of food. The moment Norman looks at you... you want to cry.

"Good Morning... darling." Norman chuckles, appearing to like the idea of calling you such a sickeningly sweet name. "I brought breakfast."

"You put me here..." You whimper.

"Of course!" He says in a chipper tone. "M-Mother allowed you to stay... because you make me happy."

You feel yourself grow ill again.

"Why...?" You could've been saying 'why' for a lot of reasons. At this point you didn't care. Any answer probably wasn't good or satisfactory.

"Why...?" Norman looks puzzled. "I-I thought we could just... stay here and t-talk... I d-didn't want to see you go so soon."

"You killed them...."

"Them? I didn't- Mother said they weren't welcome... so she got rid of them. She approved of you, thankfully! Which is great... because I really l-l-like you." Norman confesses nervously.

You drop the conversation there. You weren't in any state for interrogation anyways. Something was wrong with this man... he was not right in the head... you hear yourself sob.

Norman picks up on this and frowns. His little bird was crying.... You must be so overwhelmed by this new place and him.

"You're crying... come a little closer, I'll make it all go away." Norman murmurs in what seemed to be a caring tone. The man sits on the bed a shifts closer. You try to run away with a loud sob, only for Norman to pull you roughly into his chest.

"Shhh..." He comforts, feeling you struggle and push to get away from him. Your sobs were loud yet he didn't mind. He wants to make his little bird feel better. "I'll take good care of you here. You'll never be lonely. It'll just be... us...."

You freeze when he kisses your forehead and presses your face into his chest. In your mind, you're doomed. This guy is insane... and probably was going to force you into something.

Norman, however, didn't plan on such a thing. He felt the love between you was stronger than anything. He wants to be a good boyfriend and husband... all he wants to do is hold you, nothing more.

"You're as cute as a bird." Norman smiles with a twisted attempt at flirting. He pecks your cheek with another kiss. "... I love birds..." Norman pauses, looking at your crying face with adoration. "I knew the moment I spoke with you I'd love you...!"

The twisted declaration of love from Norman sends another fit of sobbing out of you. Norman shushes you once more and keeps you suffocatingly close to his chest. You hated it here... you wished you just drove tired with your friend...

Yet Norman felt you'd enjoy your time here after you got to know each other.

Perhaps you, him, and mother can be happy here in this house together? Just the three of you....

#yandere psycho 1960 #yandere slashers #yandere slasher #yandere norman bates

[fatuismooches]

Im literally going through ur old dottore fics because my dottore phase was gone during july-august and omg. All scrumptious. In one of the fics, i thought of something. Imagine reader who has a huge phobia of vomiting. Like, if they felt a bit nauseous, or a bit of the vomit in their throat, they would start panicking and crying. If you think that's bad though, imagine reader at the stage of actually doing it. They would sob and cry for dottore, saying they dont want to do this.. while all he can do is sit there next to them, rubbing their back and holding back their hair, even possibly giving them assurances. God... this is so detailed than I expected it to be...

Warning: Under the cut for mentions of throwing up.

NO because I hate throwing up as well but I haven't done so in years, but every time I get nauseous i HATE it so much. But yes, I do like this ask very much because I want to be comforted by him so much when I'm sick :( Yeah he's still gonna be a meanie but!! He means well and doesn't like seeing you in pain.

Dottore's well aware of your feelings toward throwing up. So he does his best to make sure you don't encounter anything around the lab that would inflict the feeling. Sights, smells, etc, but he knows it's not that simple to overcome a phobia. Especially when you're sick, you're always worried about throwing up, anticipating it at every turn and you despise it. Whimpering to him about how scared you are and the only thing he can do is rub your back comfortingly and instruct you to take deep breaths.

At the very least, Dottore isn't going to be put off or disgusted by you throwing up (he's seen far worse after all) so you don't need to worry about him leaving. You hate doing this, and even more, you hate Dottore having to see you this way, scared of such a thing that is really nothing to him. But he or a segment is always there by your side, rubbing your back, stroking your hair soothingly which is enough for you. His words remain minimal because he really isn't the best at comforting, but he'll say small things like 'good' or 'you're almost done', maybe hum a bit to calm you down.

After you finish, Dottore makes sure to take care of you while you sniffle and sob into his shoulder. He helps you sip water slowly before you can go back to normal.

#smooches talks #dottore love notes <3 #sobbing crying gn #also im glad i made the love notes tag... it seems to be getting used #im glad you like all the brainrots btw anon!! :3

[coff-in]

AAAAHHHH I'm the devious baby sis requester and coff-in you make my heart flutter :))) Your thoughts on Decay route fed my thoughts oh my god you genIUS 1. All I can think of is baby sis reader finding her siblings dead (or at least close to dying) in the murder-suicide route and being like "D: Why didn't you take me with you????" Which kind of brings me to an interesting question, do you think either sibling would ever be compelled to kill her? Like for example Andrew clearly meant to go meet Ashley in the afterlife, does he ever have "ah hell just bring the whole family" thoughts and goes to find baby sis reader? I just think of him gently comforting her, talking her down with a knife to her throat because it's for their own good, he promises. 2. Alternatively, baby sis reader *pretending* to lose it when she loses her -not- favorite sibling because, yk, that's what normal people do when the lose their siblings. It's still a plan though because if she freaks out about it, whatever sibling left will freak out that this will cause reader to leave > they become even more possessive > yeah that's exactly what reader wants. In the case of Ashley, reader's crying over Andrew while Ashley is half-insane herself and frantically telling her that "I'm good enough for you, right? You don't need him, WE don't need him (coping very hard right now)! You have me, you have me!" and she completely misses the look on reader's face when she finally gives into Ashley's embrace. If it's Andrew, reader backs away from his knife and bumps into Ashley's body and screams, trying to run, but he catches her (as always) and tells her that "I'll take such good care of you, it'll be like she was never there. Isn't that fine? I've always been your favorite older sibling...and now you can have all my attention. It'll be better with just the two of us... (he is also coping very hard right now)" and reader "reluctantly" gives into him because of the knife, but she's secretly delighted. She hopes he doesn't put a hand over her heart, because it's fluttering. Sorry I feel like I just word vomited all over the place, I just wanted you to know that your thoughts are so DELICIOUS mwah I love you too :DDD

notes from coff-in: I JUST SAW THIS!!! i'm at work rn but i can't wait, i'm just too impulsive. and omg "devious baby sis" that's so good! we should actually kiss each other /j

[fem] reader-insert, follow up to "younger sister [reader] who just as bad as the graves", talks/mentions of incest, murder and suicide

i would think that andrew would most likely kill baby sis [reader] in the decay route. he killed ashley out of his resentment for her (but he joins her later because he still loves her you know?) but he also loves [reader] too, so he'd kill her too so they're all together forever. in an afterlife where there are no consequences their actions! there's also the possibility that he doesn't kill her and GRRR THAT'D BE SO ANGSTY!!! [reader] coming across their dead bodies and trying to cope with the fact that her siblings ("soulmates" because we're delulu) are dead and they didn't invite her to go with them. she'd have a full mental breakdown before killing herself.

(this is completely unnecessary but i see devious baby sis [reader]'s weapon being a pair of scissors, the blades are supposed to be symbolic of her siblings. every precise cut and stab is made with her love for them ♡)

oh oh oh!! her getting to live with her favorite sibling would be fucking hectic. i definitely see the siblings loving each other like a cute little incestuous polycule but having [reader] live with her fav sibling would be sorta chaotic. ashley would maybe use [reader], not as a replacement for andrew, but maybe some sort of stand in? [reader] for the most part does everything ashley wants her to do and only really choosing to step in and veto ashley's feelings when they (or ashley specifically) are in danger. there's also hella toxic yuri incest, you gotta trust me on this

"i'll take such good care of you" GOD I WANT ANDREW!!! I WANT ANDREW TO BE REAL!!! THE DEVIOUS ONE HERE IS YOU NONNIE FOR WRITING THAT LINE 🔥 ✍️ i think andrew would try to put all that happened in the past but he's coping and [reader] can see that. they'll leave ashley's body buried somewhere and ditch town and try to live a normal life... as boyfriend and girlfriend :3 but sometimes andrew slips up, you know? maybe he almost calls [reader] ashley or maybe he's brushing her hair one night and puts it up in a ponytail like ashley did. but [reader] doesn't mind, of course, but she has andrew with her :)

or maybe andrew and [reader] continue going about their murder and cannibalism after ashley dies when they steal her dream talisman, who knows, who knows.

i'm curious about what would happen if her favorite sibling died but she couldn't kill the survivor. would she leave? would the living sibling be mad at her? i'm like growling and barking in excitement in my mind I LOVE THIS!!!

you and your wonderfully devious brain, 'nonnie, thank you!!! ur like a head chef in the kitchen, just know that i'll always eat your cooking ♡

----

coff-in

#cobweb in the coffin #tcoaal #the coffin of andy and leyley #andrew graves #ashley graves #tcoaal x reader #the coffin of andy and leyley x reader #andrew graves x reader #ashley graves x reader #devious anon visits the coffin #devious younger sister

[skz317cb97]

Leave Me

Minho x Reader (gender not specified)

Word count: 630

Synopsis: You do the unthinkable after another fight with your husband

A/N: 18+ ONLY! The topic of this story centers around attempted suicide heavily. If that is an upsetting or triggering topic PLEASE skip this one! I would absolutely hate if someone read something that was upsetting to them! This is based off the Anees song titled Leave Me, lots of the lyrics peppered through. If this makes you feel things give it a reblog, like, comment. Feed back is the biggest motivation!

Warnings: 18+ONLY MDNI! This story is about an attempted suicide. It mentions toxic behavior, arguments, and uses strong language. If any of that can be triggering or upsetting please don't proceed with this story. I don't want anyone to be upset by anything I've created so please heed the warnings!

Minho stood next to the hospital bed you were in, tubes, IV’s and cords hooked up, keeping you alive when he knew you didn’t want to be. He stood there guilt stricken, gut wrenched. How could you do this to yourself? Your father had gone off on him, rightfully so, it was Minho’s fault. He’d made a promise on the day you said your vows. He swore to love you, to never let you down. He swore to protect you from pain to shelter you from it, not be the cause of it. He’d promised your mom and your dad. If he wasn’t always so concerned about the future he would have noticed you needed him by your side, he thought to himself. After all of those days, you kept it inside he didn’t know how he’d missed all the tears that you cried. 

A fight. 

Just a fight. 

It was just a fight. 

He was working too much, not present enough. It was like you blink and years had passed you by. You wanted to start a family but you worried he was drifting away, possibly having an affair. A fight. Just a fight. It was just a fight. Minho didn’t like the person he was when he hurt you cause his knee jerk reaction was to leave. He would desert you in the middle of an argument, too angry to listen anymore like he’d done this time.  

You were the only one he’d ever dreamed of, a truth that he hid with lies when he was mad. He said he loved you enough to let you be free, so if you wanted to leave then leave then slammed the door behind him as he left himself.  

When he was calm again, like always, he realized he truly didn’t deserve you. He couldn’t blame you, it was him, his absence, his temper, it started with him. He loved you but would leave you in moments of need until you finally broke like the promise he refused to keep.  

Minho went back to apologize, to make things right but when he walked through the door he found you in the living room, unconscious, with an empty bottle of your meds on the floor close by. He quickly turned you on your side and made sure you weren’t choking on your tongue or vomit then called emergency. As he stood over you now in the hospital now, it killed him. Cause maybe he’s the reason why. Of course he’s the reason why. He got on his knees holding your hand in both of his. 

“I’m begging you don’t leave me. You can do so much better and if you wake up and want a divorce, I won’t blame you but please, please don’t die, please don’t leave me.” He was crying with his head pressed to the back of your hand now. 

“I’m so sorry for the way things went down and I’d be lying through my teeth if I told you I was surprised. I wish that I could run back and right my wrongs, maybe you wouldn’t be gone if I spent my energy trying to actually be a better man. I don’t think you understand what you mean to me. What did I think would happen, our love was deeper than ration. No I don’t deserve you but please don’t leave me.” Your hand squeezed Minho’s and his head shot up in a flash. He saw you looking down at him with tears in your eyes and he could tell you wanted to say something but with the tubes, right now that was impossible. Minho nodded, tears streaking his face and ran his thumb over the apple of your cheek. 

“It’s going to be okay. I love you.” 

Please do not repost or translate any of my works. My blog and stories are NSFW and 18+ ONLY! Minors, ageless, and blank blogs will be blocked!

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