#once I go on T and get top surgery I’ll be unstoppable I’ll never shut up about how fuckable

[isdalinarhot]

YES my stomach sticks out past my boobs YES this is great for my dysphoria because it allows me to pretend my full blown tits are just extra juicy moobs yes god loves me by making me big and huge and large and fat <3 I love you My Body once I go on T I will love you even more <3 <3 <3

#INSURANCE GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER #I’m gonna be soooooo real I think about 50% of my ‘dysphoria’ as a teen was just dysmorphia about having a skinny body #now that I’m fat even though I’m less Conventionally Attractjve I feel more like myself and confident in my own skin <3 #once I go on T and get top surgery I’ll be unstoppable I’ll never shut up about how fuckable #I am #dude I can’t wait!!!!‼︎ so enthusiastic to become a proper bear!!!!!‼︎ please!!!!!!‼︎ #not cosmere #sorry just had to brag about how sexy I am now #don’t worry little baby 14 year old me! your weight will double and you will have short hair and a happy trail. there’s hope for you yet #luke.txt #drunkposting

[slashingdisneypasta]

Michael Myers x Reader || Oneshot

Title: I’m Weak

Notes:

Could be considered the second, much later part to the smut oneshot I wrote but only if you want it to be.

Based off this quote, which has bene used in the Oneshot: ‘You’re scared of the way I make you feel because you don’t want to feel anything.’ by Maya Banks.

I dunno where all this inspiration for Michael is coming from. 

I love how acclimatised to all of Michaels insanity reader is

Plot: 

Dating, or whatever the relationship can be classified as, the infamous Shape reaches its horrendous peak. You’re frustrated and if he doesn’t help you out here, then not even the truest, biggest love in the world can stop you from leaving- because if he isn’t really there, it isn’t worth it. 

Warnings: Slightly Yandere themes, I guess? I mean, if this were a Hetalia Oneshot I would say severely yandere themes but this is already a horror character so. Yandere, I GUESS??

~~~

“You’re scared of the way I make you feel because you don’t wanna feel anything.” I say, not like it’s a revelation or because it needs to be said. But because it makes me feel better. Because I’m spiteful, because I’m allowed to be. Because it makes Michael breath- you can see his chest rise and fall as soon as it sinks in, and it is a glorious feeling to know that I’ve made his unfaltering, never ending emotionless composure stutter. “And I don’t understand it, but I know that engulfs you.” I take in a breath, stepping back. Every word that gets past my teeth and bashes off my lips is steely and cold, wholehearted. “And I know you’re failing.”

He doesn’t move apart from the breathing, but he will. He’s feeling more then he has since- probably since he was a kid. And I’m feeling more then I want, then I ever thought possible because by some twisted miracle I love him and I’m gearing up to leave him. And he’s aware.

“Well guess what, you can’t go through life that way, Michael, you’re human. You have to feel, it’s like breathing. And sometimes you have to feel your guts get ripped out but that means you care, and that can feel really, really great.” Its worth every tear. “Now, I care about you like that. But all I get from you is the pain and that’s just not good enough, I’m sorry.”

And I am sorry. Not for him, but for me. Because I know if he lets me go and I get out like I want to right now it is going to h u r t. But I’m not going to kid myself into thinking that it’s the end all be all of my life. He’s just a man, and he won’t kill me.

Michaels fists clench tighter and moves from the doorway -he was about to go out for the night, - back into the room. But only momentarily.

As if he didn’t even need to think about it, like I didn’t mean a thing to him, he reaches forward and yanks and drags his black t-shirt off of me, leaving me in the long sleeve I was wearing underneath. “Michael!” I gasp, as the collar scrapes up my face and the warmth and his smell disappears from me. My present and my memory.

And then, with that nasty little act, before I can even really focus on him again, the door slams closed and it feels like it shook the floor and the walls around me, and he’s gone. For a moment, I dumbly look at the door. I’m shocked- I mean, I knew it was coming. I initiated it. But there’s a big difference between waiting and experiencing and it is awful. I can’t believe it’s over. Michael’s gone. The behemoth that eats all my food, squishes my fingers until I let go of the TV remote, and keeps me tight against his chest at night is… gone. And all that, with it.

All of a sudden, surprising tears blur my vision and sobs clench at my chest and I feel… so, alone.

___TIME SKIP___

A week later, it still hurts that he’s gone and I desperately want him back. On the way to work and on the way back, the highlight of my day is driving by the places I know he would hide out, to look for any sight of him as I slowdown and drive by, and I can’t sit and watch TV, or… or, sit and anything because that leads to thinking about him because, evidently, my brain can think of nothing better then the most painful thing for me at the moment. But I’m not crying about it. I have a life, I bake. I work. I walk. I bought expensive ear plugs so I can blast nightcore in my ears as a distraction so loud that my brain goes white and blank. And, there’s always this dull, terrible aching deep in my chest full of dread because, ha! My heart just can’t get a grip and understand that he’s gone.

I’m just crocheting a scarf or… maybe a funny shaped blanket, with my loud ass music on-its some YouTube playlist of those frighteningly painful and addictive nightcore songs. The one I’m listening to now is a Carrie Underwood redo. ‘Choctow County Affair’, - and occasionally glancing up at the TV to see the news headlines when my fingers suddenly go spectacularly numb at a certain picture.

No, its not of Michael. But Loomis. That bastards on the telly, probably griping about how he shot Michael however many time’s and Michael isn’t human, but I have to wonder why he is on TV. They only bring him out when Michael’s been caught again and it causes me lose the breath in my throat for a second and hurt my ears as I rip out the earplugs. My ears ring as I try to listen in to what Dr Loomis is saying, as the headline at the bottom says ‘Deadly Scrape with the Shape’- news anchors think they’re so clever. Fucking hell, poor taste.

The newsman, Clive Weatherman-yeah, this guy gets made fun of a lot. Went into the wrong area of news,- waffles on with the same question and my head hurts. “What was he wearing, Dr Loomis? We heard he wore the same Captain Kirk mask he has the last consecutive times he’s broken free of the hospital- is this true? Does this say anything about his mental state? Its pretty freaky, to me. The viewers want to know.” Oh my god, shut up! I need to hear Loomis’ information, that’s trustworthy at least.

“Yes, he was wearing that terrifying mask, concealing his soulless eyes from me. He should still be wearing it, so if anyone watching sees a man in a mechanics uniform and a bleached Captain Kirk mask you should immediately alert the authorities.”

A relieved breath escapes me at Loomis’ warning. Michael hasn’t been caught, he’s still out there. I don’t know why that relieves me, he’s a menace to society and is better off in an asylum- I just know he’s free.

And… while he’s free… he can find m-

“I shot him twice, also. So, the man you’re looking out for will be bleeding quite badly.”

“Oh, fuck.” I exclaim, pushing off the couch immediately and zipping up my jacket, barely stopping to put shoes on before I’m at my front door ready to search for him- but a heavy thump at the door before I can even touches it stops me immediately in my tracks. Damaging, floor shaking bangs vibrate against the door harshly, and I open it. Michael nearly falls through it because of the loss of solid wall to keep up his weight, but stands up tall again, heavily.

My eyes go wide as a look on. He certainly is bleeding a lot, both his hands covering the wounds just above his rib cage and holding tight, shoulders rising and falling at a steady, much faster rate then usual. But, still solid and tall. Somehow.

But that’s not surprising.

Swallowing my fear and a good portion of air at the same time, I take him by the wrist and drag him the rest of the way in which is heartbreakingly easy to do due to how weak the blood loss has made him and close and lock the door behind him. Then I get to work stitching up the wound the best I can.

When you’ve known Michael for… I dunno… even just a couple weeks? One week? You learn the basics of surgery quick, so this is routine. Once its over, and my hands are idle again is when things get hard.

I’m pissed that he came here, after leaving like that. Because it was me, too. I wanted to him to piss off, and he wanted to piss off. We made a decision and he can’t come back and take it back whenever it fits for him!

And, I’m… also, glad he’s here. I don’t know how I’ll let him leave again when he has to. I sure won’t be letting him in ever again, after this.

At least that’s what I tell myself. I truly do not know if I’ll ever get better from him.

It mustn’t be more then an hour later when he truly shatters my soul and my heart. God, how did I ever think this would be easy? Not just breaking up with him, but loving him. Not because he’s a killer, either. Or unstoppable force. Just, plainly because he’s Michael, and my hearts done the worst thing ever in loving him.

He’s all stitched up and I’m getting ready to leave the room, go to bed. Pretend I’m pretending he isn’t here on my couch. This is when he gently, so gently, so heartbreakingly gentle compared to his… everything. Like this, this gentle, he takes my hand in his. Not even my whole hand, actually. Just his fingers, wrapped around my fingers, and as the moment goes on his thumb starts to rib circles into my palm. I try not to melt.

“Michael… what, the hell are you doing here.” I ask, and try to be firmer then his hand around mine. His grip twitches.

I watch, curiously and unsure of what to do, as he shifts on the couch and digs with the hand that isn’t holding mine into one of his pockets, and brings out a folded sheet of paper. He hands it to me, and as we hold hand’s he watches me assess it.

On one side it’s a Chinese restaurants menu, written in clichéd curly red script and clearly he found this in the garbage somewhere or in a gutter because its dried all bubbly like it was wet and there’s a yellow colour formed on the top half. But on the other side is familiar handwriting that I could recognise anywhere.

‘Y/N’, it says. And he’s written my name the biggest out of all the other stuff and twice as bold. Like he wrote it over a couple times. The rest is in messy scribble like he couldn’t get it down fast enough. ‘I didn’t know I could miss someone, but I do. I hate it. Not only do I miss someone, but I also wish to take something back that I did. I wish I hadn’t left you alone.

I’m going to let Dr Loomis shoot me, and then you’ll know I won’t do it again. And neither will you.’

Well… It could be worse, I guess. Slowly, darkly, I turn to Michael. “Michael… “Holding the note up, my hand steady from many months of Michael and his ways. “You can’t do this.”

He pulls his mask off and looks me in that vague, insane way. No emotion.

Coming back to him, because I’m weak, I lower the note and furrow my eyebrows. “You can’t get yourself hurt to prove a point.” Kneeling down by the couch and running a hand through his hair, I sigh. “I’ll worry.” I whisper.

Not even a quiet moment passes, of me petting his hair, before its not enough for Michael and he lifts me up onto the couch with him, our chests and everything else tight together as one of his arms hooks under and around my middle. Like it used to be, like I needed it to be. I’m weak.

Letting go of any last remining reservations, because even if I did want to leave or kick him out which I most certainly don’t he would never let me, I lean my face up to nuzzle in his neck. He shudders out a sighs, and tries to bring me impossibly closer. Its so warm and I missed this and I’m weak.

Finally, I’m weak, and this will be the rest of my life I think.

#Michael Myers x Reader Oneshot #Oneshot #Michael Myers #Dr Loomis