#Yes I'm aware this is inaccurate

[spookysplatt]

When Newsies Broadway ended, looks like the OBC Oscar actor was...

[wayfayrr]

hey uh. if requests r open. would it b possible to request a follow up to that self-aware-twi fic. if not thats ok i just wanted u to know i havent stopped thinking about it since i read it. altered my brain chemistry, touch-starved twilight princess link my beloved, etc etc. ur writing is top-tier <3<3<3

I think the best part about this ask is - I've had this written since early January. I actually wrote part two as a birthday gift for a good friend of mine @glowyskull <33

So this is more just me finally posting it sfbgdfbgdb. it's also funny to think that the twilight fic is my most popular fic now considering how the self aware au really started as just a really guiltily self indulgent fic - something fun to write that I didn't think could get as big as it did on my blog. and I'm glad that you liked it so much <333 whimpery touch starved twilight princess link is just so AUGH love him so

[masterlist]

“Oh you’re finally wakin up then darlin’.”

“...hmm?”

“C’mon darlin’, you can’t have forgotten what happened earlier already? Can you? Your fever - cold isn’t that bad so you can't have…”

Who’s rambling… and why does it sound so familiar?  Wait does that mean - is everything that happened earlier all real then, did link really crawl out of my tv just because he was lonely. Because I left him there, left him all on his own to rot in his own solitude. 

“Link? You - that - everything was real then? All of it?”

“All of it darlin’, from how I got out to how I’m never gonna leave ya.”

“Huh..? I could’ve sworn that you didn’t even mention anything like that…”

“Mhm, well you’re ill and still a little out of it darlin’ so you probably just forgot, you did agree though.” 

It does sound like something that I would agree to, I mean I’m the reason that he’s sentient. It would be cruel of me to throw him to the other wolves, he isn’t from here but besides even that, he isn’t from here. He doesn’t know how this world works, it would be worse than sending a dog to a shelter. It would be his death sentence for certain, and after all that I put him through for a simple pause in playing. The way he’s petting my hair like this though, it’s enough to simply just wash the rest of my worries away, if I could I would spend the rest of my life right here easily.  

“About your illness though, do you have any red potion anywhere?” 

“No, no things like that don’t exist here link and the painkillers I have aren’t worth moving for.” 

“If you’re sure… I’ll go and get them for you the second you change your mind.”    

“You don’t even know where I keep them.” 

His hand paused at that, causing me to let out an involuntary whine. I couldn’t even think to stop it with how it slipped out instantly, which he seemed fond of. Cuddling me closer to his chest and resting his head on top of mine, with what felt like a giant smile on his face. 

“I can look for them, It’s not like I won’t need to learn where everything is now that I’m living with ya… besides I’ve already put you through so much stress when you’re not well.”

“You didn’t mean to link, how could you have known I was sick?”

“...I don’t know - I just - it shouldn’t have been hard to know with how you looked when you opened the game. I’m sorry love I just wasn’t even thinking I just wanted to be out, but I should’ve been more considerate to you.”

With how silent he is in the game you could never have guessed how much he likes to ramble, it’s the second or third time it’s happened since he crawled out of the glas- the glass. Are his bandages holding up, he seems fine but he’s not from here, any infection could be deadly. He wouldn’t even see it coming with how much he’s fawning over my comfort right now. 

“Link?” “Yes, darlin’?”

Oh wow, he - well he’s whipped already. Is it real love or has all that time trapped alone twisted him into this. I’d look into getting him therapy but… if he mentioned the truth then it would be a matter of seconds until he’d be diagnosed with something inaccurate. No one. No one at all would ever believe that a video game character actually broke out of their game - especially not someone like Link falling for an exhausted student like me.

“Are you feeling alright? You have so many cuts and wounds right now.”

“It’s nothing that’s worse than anything else I’ve ever had. They do feel more real though.”

“...real?”

“They feel like real wounds, not something that could be healed away in seconds and they’re just tiny scrapes.”He sounds so giddy as he’s talking about being hurt - it’s unnerving when he starts holding me even tighter when he’s saying it. I don’t think I’m ever going to be getting away from him ever again… if I wanted to. Why shouldn’t I take a chance at having a relationship though. He cares about me - he really does even if it’s unhinged - it would be so nice to come home to him, to be able to spoil him and be spoilt by him. Even being held like this feels so unreal, so impossible that I shouldn’t be here with him. So much so that I want to stay here and fall back asleep without any argument. Didn’t he even say he wanted to be my lover? Why look over a gift too closely?

[muddyorbsblr]

what makes a princess

See my full list of works here!

Summary: Morgan asks a question about Jane's royalty status that leads to her revealing one of Loki's secrets

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warning/s: potentially inaccurate depictions of how to become royalty in Asgard; other than that, none, this is just fluff [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: Morgan being an adorable lil beb; Nat doling out some tickle torture; teammates/coworkers to lovers

"Is Auntie Jane a princess?" 

You looked up from your laptop, taking a break from typing out your latest set of reports to wrap up your most recent mission with Nat to look at little Morgan Stark, who was sitting across you at the dining table. She looked the spitting image of her father as she anticipated your answer. 

"I don't…think so…?" you trailed off, trying to remember if Thor had even mentioned anything recently about plans to marry the mystical hammer wielding scientist. "Maybe one day soon, baby. When they get married."

"Who's getting married?" The velvety low timbre of Loki's voice nearly made you jump out of your seat, his fingers briefly ghosting over the skin of your shoulder not helping in the slightest. A small squeak of protest slipped from your mouth when he picked up your coffee mug. "Ease your worry, darling. I'm simply refilling your cup. Black with a teaspoon of sugar, or would you prefer something sweeter?" 

Morgan's little laugh began to echo throughout the common area. "You have confuzzled brows again, Auntie Y/N." 

The image of the raven-haired god looking up at you through his lashes from where he stood behind the kitchen island may very well haunt your dreams tonight in the best possible way. "You know what…surprise me, Mischief." The smirk he sent your way should have had you worried with what he had in mind, and yet the only thing you felt was the violent fluttering in your stomach that had nothing to do with your prolonged fasting. "As for your first question…we were talking about Thor and Jane." 

"Ah, well my oaf of a brother may think he's been keeping relatively quiet about the matter, but that day will most definitely be coming sooner rather than later," he spoke over the clinking of a metal spoon stirring around in your cup. 

"So it's like in the cartoons?" Morgan directed her question at him. "The prince has to marry the woman he loves so that she becomes a princess?" 

"Not quite, little Stark." Your brows knit together again at the sound of whipped cream coming out of a can coming from his direction. "There are no strict marital customs in Asgard, and as such if a member of the royal court were to publicly commit themself to another, then in turn that individual would become royalty as well. Thor has publicly committed himself to Doctor Foster, and despite having abdicated the throne to the Valkyrie, he is still a Prince of Asgard." 

"So Auntie Jane is a princess?" 

"Don't arm us with this info, Laufeyson. I might just call her Princess Foster for the rest of time," Nat's voice sounded through the common area, her usually lethal hands wielding a more delicate touch when she ruffled the hair on your and Morgan's heads before occupying the seat beside you. 

"By Asgardian customs, yes. You can consider Doctor Foster a princess." 

The assassin eyed Loki's approaching form with a knowing smirk on her face, tilting her head to look at the mug he placed on the table a few inches from your hand. "Hold on, are you telling us that all that's needed for someone to be considered royalty in Asgard is if a member of the royal family is in love with them? That's it?" 

"If it's as widely known as how my brother loves his mortal," he confirmed. "And while I surmise that she will not appreciate being addressed as such, you would not be incorrect in calling her Princess or Your Highness." You were acutely aware of the god's proximity to you from the slight movement in the corner of your eye of his fingers at the back of your chair. And the slight heat coming from his body literally inches from your side.

"Her Royal Highness, Princess Jane Foster," you mused, blowing lightly on the hot beverage in your mug and holding back the slightest thrill as the taste of your favorite little indulgence, a white chocolate mocha with a cold vanilla flavored whipped cream on top, flooded your tastebuds and blanketed you in an instant comfort. "She's definitely gonna hate that. Thank you, Mischief." 

Your heart caught in your throat when he tucked a hand under your chin, keeping you looking up at him as his free hand straightened out the ruffled locks of your hair, putting them neatly back into place. "My pleasure, little mortal," he murmured, swiping his thumb briefly at the corner of your mouth before walking back to the kitchen, starting on his own drink.

"You wanna fill me in on this domestic bliss vibe I'm picking up from Horns over there?" Nat whispered, leaning in so close she was practically draped on your lap trying to sneak the cup of coffee away from you to take a quick sniff. "He knows your 'treat yourself coffee'? Alright how long have you two been doing the horizontal tango, spill the hardware details, I'm texting Wanda and Jane. Toot suite. You've been holding out on us, you absolute slut--Ow." 

You rolled your eyes at her reaction to you elbowing her in the side. "Please, we both know that barely tickled. Now stand down, Romanoff, I haven't been holding back on anything and you know it--"

"That means you're a princess, too, Auntie Y/N!"

The Russian spy chuckled at Morgan's excitement, resting her chin on your shoulder like a child awaiting a bedtime story. "Uhm…no, sweetie. It doesn't work like that," you tried explaining to the little girl. "See there's more than one kind of love. There's the romantic love like you see in your princess movies, and that's the type that your Dad has for your Mom, the type Thor has for Jane. And that's what makes your Auntie Jane a princess."

"Then there's the love for family and friends," Nat continued for you, motioning between the three of you. "The way I love you, Uncle Clint, Auntie Y/N, and the rest of the team--well, most of them." She elbowed you before you could let out the teasing words dancing at the tip of your tongue. The name of the one that Nat loved in the romantic sense. "Not a single word, Williams."

"I wasn't gonna say anything," you deflected coyly, batting your eyes to feign innocence. "It's not like when you said 'most' my mind immediately went to a certain Serge--NAT!!" You busted out into giggles as nimble fingers found every single ticklish spot by your ribs and showed you no mercy. "I'll get--hahahahaha--I'll get you back for thihihihis, Romanoff, I promise you."

You made a quick note to slip some hot pink hair dye into her shampoo bottle on your next sleepover. The tickling onslaught had taken up all your attention that you didn't even notice that the dark-haired Asgardian leaning back against the kitchen counter was watching the scene before him, a fond smile slowly stretching across his face the longer he watched you.

Nat eventually let up once you started clutching your stomach from laughing too hard, continuing her explanation to little baby Morgan, who was currently the picture of angelic patience. And now looking not a thing like her father.

"Anyway, that kind of love is the kind that Thor has for us. That means that while there is love there, it doesn't make the entire team princes and princesses. You get me, baby?" 

"I get you, Auntie Nat. But you don't get me. Auntie Y/N is a princess, too." 

You took a breath before closing your laptop, promising yourself that you'd finish the reports later tonight. "Last I checked, sweetheart, Asgardian Barbie doesn't like me like that." 

She rolled her eyes at you. "I know that! But Prince Loki does, and that's why you're a princess, too!" 

The amused smile on your face immediately dropped at her words, your neck twitching from the sound of a spoon clattering against the sink and the sound of hurried footsteps walking out of the kitchen causing your skin to prickle. "Morgan…sweetie, you know it's not nice to say things that aren't true," you said softly, not bothering to mask the wavering tone of your voice. 

"But it is!" she insisted, pointing her little hand towards the door. "Princess Auntie Jane, tell her!" 

"Princess--? Oh…I'm guessing you all know about those customs in Asgard that technically make me a princess now?" You nodded your answer at her, not trusting yourself to say anything while you were still struggling to wrap your head around that bombshell that Morgan dropped on you. Wondering if it even was a bombshell to begin with or just the child's overactive imagination. "So I'm also guessing that now you all know that Y/N's a princess, too?" 

"She most definitely is not," you protested, briefly poking at her ribs to drive your point home. "Jane. Babes, this isn't funny." You motioned a pointed finger between her and Nat. "You both know how I feel about him, so baiting me with this kind of hope is just cruel and unusual punishment, especially when I know I haven't done anything wrong to either of--"

"You kind of really are, though," the scientist kept on, giving you a look as if she was amused by how this was completely new information to you. "You really didn't know that Mr 'You are all beneath me' wants you literally beneath him?" 

"Foster, I am two seconds away from kicking your ass over that line. Mostly because I didn't think of it myself." You elbowed Nat in the side again. "Harder. I could almost feel that." 

"Can you two just be serious for two seconds and tell the baby that she's wrong about Loki?" 

You were about to face Morgan again to advise her to find the god and apologize for saying something so outlandish, when Nat and Jane moved in unison, a hand placed on each of your shoulder, leaning in a way that you were now face to face with both of them.

"Okay, little baby," Jane started with a mock serious look. "You're wrong about Loki." 

"Unbelievably wrong," Nat capped off. "Fine. If you don't believe us, then let's start with how he saved you from that building in Belarus." 

"He has saved each of our asses at least once in the last few years," you argued.

"Yeah, but he doesn't heal us with his magic and then stays with us in the medical wing waiting for us to wake up. And I should know because that entire night Thor gave me a laundry list of the times that he got injured from battle and Loki would tell him, and I quote, that 'he shouldn't expend his energy on healing magic when it could have been better utilized for fortifying defenses'." 

"That's--That can't--That doesn't sound right," you muttered, trying to remember anything from Belarus other than being trapped under a collapsed column, convinced that your legs were done for and you'd never walk again, assuming that anyone would even find you in the wreckage. And then next thing you knew you were in the medical wing, with the god only briefly touching your head and telling you that he was glad you were alright before running off to call for Bruce to check on you.

"You make him smile," Morgan spoke up, her face lit up the same way it did when you sat with her on Princess Movie Nights. 

"He smiles around everyone as long as they're not your father or your Uncle Steve." 

"No, Auntie Y/N." She flopped herself onto the table, arms outstretched towards you, like she was trying to quite literally grab your attention and hold on to it. "With us, Prince Loki smiles with his face. When you're around, he smiles with his heart." 

Her words had you stunned silent, frozen in your seat as your friends let you go to walk over to the other side of the table and lift Stark's daughter up in the air to wrap her in a warm embrace and nuzzle her cheeks, earning them several little echoing giggles from her. 

"I uhm…I should go," you mumbled, standing from the table and giving your laptop a small tap. "I'll finish my reports tonight." 

"Tomorrow," Nat corrected you. "I have a feeling you're gonna be a bit busy tonight, Princess." 

Your pulse was drumming loudly in your ears with every step you took towards Loki's apartment, every single nerve on your body on high alert as if readying you to run at a moment's notice. Whether that was away from his place and back to the compound to tell everyone they were wrong, or into his arms, was yet to be seen.

When you reached his door, you could hear voices coming from the other side. One more hushed and panicked, the other jovial and boisterous. Thor.

"You should have stayed, Brother! You finally need not hide your affections for her, and might I say. 'Tis about time because your skirting around her was getting more than tiresome, Jane and I have been considering locking you two in a tiny room together so you could just tell her." 

You couldn't hear what Loki said in response other than something about 'being exposed by Stark's offspring', but that was more than enough to convince you that maybe this wouldn't end in you feeling like a total clown. That maybe there was more credit to the words of Morgan and your friends than you first believed. 

Just three seconds of bravery, that's all you need, you told yourself, raising your hand to rap on the door before you could talk yourself out of it. 

"It seems that in matters of the heart, your little mortal is braver than you, Brother," you heard the blond Asgardian comment before the door opened to reveal the towering bulging god, giving you a knowing look before shuffling out of your way. "I will gladly answer any question he leaves unanswered by the end of the week, my friend." 

"I'm holding you to that, Blondie," you waved him off with a playful smile before turning to face Loki. "Can we talk?" 

He looked at you with a hint of caution, almost as if he was on the same level of anxiety that you were, before giving you a small nod and motioning toward the door. "Come in, darling." 

The words tumbled out of you as soon as you closed the door. "They told me about Belarus." The caution in his eyes turned into panic. "But I need to hear it from you. Because I have…gaps? In my memory. Things I can't reconcile." 

He closed the distance separating you two, taking your hands in his. "Ask me." 

"The last thing I remember from that building was that I couldn't feel my legs. And I know that even with all the tech Stark has at his disposal, I shouldn't be up on my feet right now. Not like this. Rhodey is still in crutches despite all the efforts of Stark and Banner combined, and yet somehow…I'm not. So please. Tell me. Did you--" 

"I healed you," he cut you off, finishing your inquiry. "I could not bear the thought of you waking up distraught. Adjusting to a new reality where you had to rely on any form of machinery to help you function. Not when I knew that I could cure those ails." 

The air left your lungs at his admission, leaving you struggling to even form your next words. "What happened to energy better expended fortifying defenses?" 

His mouth turned up slightly in a knowing smirk. "I see my brother told Doctor Foster of our days in the battlefield." 

"And he's a touch wounded about it." You gave him a playful squint of your eyes, trying your damnedest to keep the mood light despite how closely he was standing, so close you could feel the slight heat radiating off of him, thinning the air to the point that you found it hard to take in your next breaths. "Why did you do it? You were in the clear, everyone else was in the clear, we finished the mission--"

"I didn't give a damn about the mission," he hissed, stepping even closer to you and effectively trapping you between him and the solid door behind you. His breath came out in shuddering exhales, bottom lip quivering ever so slightly as he rested his forehead against yours. "The only objective that held any weight with me was keeping you safe." His hand rested lightly on your waist, thumb softly stroking your ribcage. "I have braved far worse things than a burning building and I will face even more dire perils if it means your safety. If it means I do not have to witness your light fading away. And as for why…"

He brought his hand up to cup the side of your face, pressing a light kiss to the tip of your nose before his lips ghosted a path to your forehead. If it hadn't been for the god wrapping his arm around you and securing you against him, you would have sunk to the ground from his attentions. 

"It is because Stark's daughter speaks the truth," he whispered into your skin, pressing a kiss between your brows. "Because I love you, precious mortal. I never intended for you to know this, to be burdened with the knowledge of my affections, but seeing as I cannot unring this bell, I only wish for you to know that I hold you under no obligation to say anything. All I ask is for to not detest me for my--"

"Are you sure you don't want me to say anything?" you choked out, your heart at your throat from attempting to come to terms with this reality. That these words were actually coming from the god you'd silently pledged your heart to so long ago. That not only did he feel the same, but he was on the exact same page that you were on, believing that the love was unrequited.

"I have long ago resigned to the certainty that my affections for you are--"

"Requited," you breathed, raising shaking hands to rest on his chest, tears welling in your eyes as you felt his erratic heartbeat against your palm. "Don't you dare even try to unring this bell because I don't detest you, Mischief." You braced yourself on his shoulders, rising to the tips of your toes to press a soft, fleeting kiss to his lips. "I love you, too." 

You felt your feet leave the ground as his arm tightened around you and lifted you up, bringing your faces level to one another, his fingers weaving through your hair in a firm yet gentle hold. "Are you sure, darling? You wish to be mine?" 

"Yes!" you blurted out, your face breaking out into a grin that instantly made your cheeks ache. You could feel the tension that flooded you just moments ago slowly melting away at the sight of him mirroring your joy over the turn of events. Any words you wished to say fell silent with a small squeak at the back of your throat when he leaned in again and captured your lips in a more heated kiss, sighing into each others mouths as he lifted you away from the wall, causing you to wrap your legs around his waist. 

When Loki held you up by one arm, opening his apartment door with the other and proceeding to walk back out into the hallway, you let out a little squeak against his lips. "Where--"

"You'll see, my love," he said with a chuckle, pressing one more kiss to your lips before shifting his hold on you, swinging your whole body until he carried you bridal style. "I believe I owe someone a small debt of gratitude for telling you what I had insisted I keep to myself for fear of your abhorrence." 

He leaned down and touched his forehead to yours, lightly rubbing the tips of your noses together and making you giggle at the tender gesture. "I could never--"

"I told you he smiles with his heart!" Morgan's little voice pierced the silence of the hall. "And now you do, too, Princess Auntie Y/N!" 

A/N: For some reason this has been microwaving in my head for weeks before I even began writing it, so now y'all have it, too 👀🫡

‘everything’ taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @unlucky-number-13 @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @sarahscribbles @kats72 @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @dangertoozmanykids101 @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @anukulee

[dtrghost]

closeness and proximity

Side note: This is my first ever tumblr fic, so uh, be gentle!! moving on!

pairing: ghost x f!reader

synopsis: callsign is sunshine, because you're anything but. team 141 thought ghost was bad? at least they could crack a smile out of the guy from time to time, you? you were stone faced, all day, every day. until one day you're not, not with a certain someone anyway.

warnings: inaccurate military language and sequences, violence, angst, descriptions of interrogation and torture, INTENSE gore (imo), cursing, allusions to mental illness (reader has sociopathic tendencies) you get the gist. If you have a weak stomach or faint heart, please do not read this, like please.

I'd also like to start this off by saying that the mc is not a good person, and that is on purpose. I've seen a lot of the angel fics where ghost falls for his antithesis, so I decided to try something new. So here, please forgive any mistakes.

if this does become a series there will most likely be smut because,,, yes.

(update it's becoming a series so if someone wants to be tagged for that lmk cause i have so many ideas for this)

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Word count: 3.4k

"Sunshine how copy?" Ghost's gruff, static filled voice called through coms, scope checking the parameters of the building she found herself held up in. She didn't respond at first, busy fighting for her life in a basement underneath the building they weren't aware of.

The deeper she went the harder it was to understand what was being relayed to her, so she settled on doing it on her own. He listened to a man grunt, their body dropping to the floor under her boot as she took a deep breath.

"There's a basement underground, coms are cutting out. I'm taking charge on clearing the basement. I'll report when I get to the surface. Sunshine out." She loathed her callsign with a passion. To speak it caused a burning hatred to spark in the lowest depths of her heart and made her cringe horribly. However, she knew it was better than letting everyone know her real name, so she dealt with it.

Ghost sighed, knowing she couldn't be stopped once she started. She had been on a few missions together in the past few years, he knew she was uptight and lacked the emotional capacity to make friends with others. It made him wonder why, what could've been that bad to freeze her heart over and shrink it to the size of the pebble he was crushing under his foot as he shifted uncomfortably. People would try and try to thaw her out, yet always failed.

He waited, taking out strays that attempted to heed the possible rescue requests that came from that basement, and patiently waited.

"This is Sunshine, basement cleared. Might wanna come take a look at this." His eyebrows furrowed, affirming the request and making his way down quickly, not wanting to stay in the open for too long. He made his way to the basement, eyes widening at the various bodies that trailed to wherever she was down there.

Had she done this all by herself?

He followed the bodies all the way to her, lights flickering, casting a bland white light on the concrete walls. seeing her digging through an opened trunk in a room filled with them.

"Weapons. American." Sunshine reported, glancing at him as he took his place next to her, seeing the American flag painted onto the inside of the lid. She turned at the sound of a groan, a soldier she left alive rousing to consciousness.

"Fuckin' hell. This mission was to take out ultranationalists." Ghost sighed. She didn't respond, the task force member watching her turn on her heel and grab the soldier by vest, throwing him against the wall with impressive strength. Blood flowed out of the back of his head, smearing against the wall as he slowly slid to the floor. He had never seen her in interrogation, but he had heard from those who have.

Brutal, heartless, some had to exit the room.

He wouldn't. He's witnessed plenty of torture tactics, even had to rely on some himself to get information necessary for national security. But this is another reason why they called her 'Sunshine', because to others she didn't feel remorse for what she did, some said she enjoyed it even, that her eyes brightened like the sun peaking over the horizon. Whether that was true or not he'd figure out now, as eager as he was. He watched her take out her knife, flipping it in her hand as she crouched to the soldier's level.

"Where'd they come from." She asked simply, keeping an even tone that surprised Ghost. He expected something more fierce, intimidating, but it was as if she was starting a conversation with a normal person. The victim attempted to spit in her face, but with a quick turn on the head it landed on the floor behind her. Her knife dug itself into his foot, his cries of pain echoing in the basement as she twisted it. The sounds of his bones cracking made Ghost shiver.

"Where'd they come from. Who sold them to you." She persisted, her face void of all emotion as she ripped the blade out of his foot. She sighed, turning to ghost who stood in the back, surveying the action. His eyebrows furrowed as she pointed to the door with her knife.

"Wait outside. This might take awhile." At first he didn't move, but the hint of impatience in her eyes spooked him out, for reasons unknown to him, but instinct told him to listen. So he slowly retreated and stood watch outside for anyone either getting up or rushing down the stairs. Y/N turned back to her victim, seeing two loops with chains hanging off of them imbedded into the wall. She tied his arms up, leaving his body sagging down.

Ghost listened to her repeat her questions, and when she didn't get an answer, a shout would follow. But those shouts turned to ear-piercing screams very quickly. He listened to pleads and begs of mercy to understand him, that he couldn't say anything out fear to what they'd do to him.

"Imagine what I'll do next if I don't get the response I want." She'd respond.

The bones cracking, the retch of vomiting, blood splattering onto the cold concrete.

"If you think you can outlast me, that I'll get tired of this and stop for the night to let you regain some of your humanity, you're wrong. Because unfortunately for you sweetheart." The blade tore through his skin, another bellow of pain emerging from his throat as he squirmed in his place. They were both coated in blood, her eyes dull and her ears tuning out the noise. To her, it was as if he was silent, his screams didn't penetrate through to her, and talked and talked until it drove him mad.

"I don't have all night, and I'm getting impatient. You won't die, I wouldn't allow that. I went through med school, graduated top of my class with a doctorate in Neuroscience. I know how to break." Which was evident as his leg was broken and facing different directions from the knee down to his toes.

"And I know how to fix. I'll keep you alive a lot longer than the night, and I'll do a lot worse. So if you want this to end, start talking, or you're in for a long week." Simon wondered what she was doing. His mind went over the possibilities until her victim finally cracked after the final scream he unleashed into the empty basement. He detailed a secret arms trade between an ally of the United States' and another country, which would lead to the likeliness of intentions for them.

War.

Y/N huffed, ripping off a piece of the soldiers shirt that wasn't soaked in sweat, blood, or vomit, which was a very small one, and wiping her hands clean as best as she could.

"Could've said that 10 minutes ago. Now, you'll bleed out within the next 5. Shame." Ghost listened to his anguished sobs as footsteps approached him, turning around from the entrance to see her, covered in blood. His eyes widened slightly, noticing a piece of...

Her eyes followed his to her vest, noticing a very small piece of flesh sitting between her shirt and gear before flicking it off to the side.

"Hopefully he didn't have HIV." She joked, but there was no humor in her voice, no sign of her finding it funny at all, as if she said it to just say it. Ghost didn't respond, he wasn't sure how. He slowly moved to look inside the room, the curiosity of what she did to the soldier eating him alive, until she grabbed his roughly.

"Don't." The word sent shivers down his spine, and he knew better than the disobey as she had operational command authority, and would likely court martial him if he had. So he took a step back and maintained eye contact, radioing in to Price.

"Captain, this is Ghost. How copy." He called, his gruff voice bringing a smile to her lips that he couldn't see due to her mask which was just a boring black one, decorated with blotches of drying blood that lightened up enough to see. "This is Price."

"We found weapons and gear, they're American." He went onto explain the situation, being weary of his mission leader walking around him in circles, waiting impatiently as he reported their findings.

"Copy that. I'll transfer this to Lanswell. Good work, report back to base for debrief."

"Copy, Ghost out." He connected his radio back to his vest. She took out her pistol, leading him to pull out his own. The behavior she exhibited was one he hadn't seen often, and it led to a deep mistrust he couldn't shake. She smirked, turning around, walking back in the room, and confirming her kill with a bullet between the eyes before reappearing in front of him.

He looked at her suspiciously as she gestured to the stairs, wondering who trained her, who made her into what she is now. She wasn't normal, not like the rest of them, she had no signs of remorse, care, or empathy for the people she killed, and she killed them with ease. Over 30 soldiers in one cramped basement and she came out unscathed, in tip top shape. He followed her out and made it to the landing zone where a helicopter came to pick them up.

She was silent the whole way back, Price being there to greet the two before they sat through debrief.

"Sunshine, we have orders from headquarters to have you join Task Force 141. Ghost is to watch over you. An official introduction will be made tomorrow." Price announced, not missing the tightened grip of Ghost's fist on the table.

"Copy that captain." She responded in her usual tone, only fueling Ghost's anger as he turned to glare at her, though she only ignored him, keeping her gaze unwavering on Price.

"Hit the showers soldier." Price dismissed, Y/N being the first to leave. But before she did, she turned to look down at her new partner.

"Happy to be on the team, Mr. Riley." It took his everything to not jump to his feet and knock her out, holding his breath to calm himself down as she walked away, the door shutting behind her. He hated that she had power over him, and worse that she rubbed it in his face.

"There's no chance in hell I'll stand for her being on my team." He immediately threw at him, standing up in his seat with his finger pressing firmly on the table in front of him.

"First, it's my team. Second, It's not my choice, orders are orders." Ghost growled lowly, clearly upset over the lack of fighting to keep her off, to keep her away to those he held near and dear to his heart, even if that wasn't too close to begin with. He saw her as a danger, an immediate threat, someone who belonged in an institution before they saw the battlefield.

"Then send an appeal. She's a war criminal. Tell em that!" He snapped.

"Bloody hell we're all war criminals. Then we'll be stuck in prison with her and you'll complain some more." Price groaned, rubbing his forehead, clearly irritated by his soldier's insistence.

"Not like that. Not how she is. She'll kill one of us before we get the next mission, hell she parade around our bodies like a joker and hail-" Price's hand slammed on the table, cutting his lieutenant off.

"Quiet." Ghost went silent, sighing deeply as he waited for Price to gather the right words, to somehow ease his mistrust in her, though he doubted she could do that. He watched as he shut the door and locked it, keeping his voice hushed, standing closer to his comrade.

"This is classified information, what I say stays in this room and is to never be discussed with anyone else. Is that understood lieutenant." Ghost's eyes widened for a moment before nodding in affirmation, waiting for his captain to continue.

"She- she wasn't brought up normally. As a great many soldiers weren't, hence why many of them join the ranks in the first place. She was a prodigy, she became a seal at 17, and on her second mission she was set up, deserted, and kidnapped. Nobody knows what happened to her in there, a search team was sent out, but she wasn't found til a few months later, and when she came out after she was different."

She was a child.

That's all Ghost could thing about. God knows what happened to her in there, and he didn't want to think about it.

"She exhibited sociopathic tendencies, she was closed off, didn't speak for a very long time. She failed psychological evaluation requirements, depression, ptsd, ecetera. Even then they sent her back out on missions a couple months later." Simon's eyes blew open, Price nodding glumly.

"Missions? Fuckin' hell, she needs help not special ops." He sneered, not at Price, but his anger was seeping through at rates he couldn't control. He was angry, how could they do that to someone? Did they not care, not even a little bit for her life? Her wellbeing?

"I know. But they're not taking her out any time soon, and now that she's on our team the least we can do is try to help her. I knew her before she became this. She was a kind soul." His voice dropped to a whisper, as if reminiscing, and he was. Her bright eyes, so full of potential when they met for her first mission, how she wheezed when she laughed. She was a kid, and it hurt his heart thinking about what she turned into over the last 6 years. Ghost nodded, silently agreeing to his motives before Price simply waved him off.

Simon hit the showers, scrubbing off the dirt and gunpowder that clung to his skin, watching the water turn black as the face paint drizzled down into it. The captain's words ran through his head over and over, the words going in one ear, through his brain, and out the other in a constant circle. He knew firsthand how corrupt his line of work could be, but that didn't make him any less angry when it revealed itself to him in the ways it did.

When he exited, fully dried and clothed with his mask back on, he passed by Y/N's room, noticing the light peaking out from underneath the door. He sighed quietly, his hand coming up and knocking on the door.

"It's open." Her cold voice responded, though it sounded more distant than before. He twisted the knob and let the door open, seeing her laying on her cot in deep thought. He went to question her, until he realized that she probably listened in on their conversation.

"You were listening." She nodded once, curtly and formally before sitting up and turning to look at him. Her eyes narrowed for a moment, analyzing every aspect about him. He felt like he was being stripped naked just by her look, his soul bare for her to look into.

Her eyes drifted over his exposed arms, the sleeveless tank he wore leaving them on display. He was a big guy, his arms were veined and muscled, tattoos filling up a majority of the space, combined with scars that passed through some of them. The top he wore was a bit tight, outline his chest in an attractive way, but she forced her eyes away, knowing he already caught onto what she was staring at.

"Price is right. I wasn't always like this. And I think he was the only one to notice, or at least point it out." She began, drawing attention away from the fact she just checked him out shamelessly.

"Wasn't right, what happened to you." He replied stiffly. She snickered, standing up. He watched her pace the room, twisting a knife in her hands, causing him to tense. She noticed.

"I'm not going to stab you lieutenant." She reassured, though it didn't help at all as she went on. She wasn't sure what she felt, confused for sure, as to why she was unable to emotionally process her emotions or evaluate the information she heard, as if her mind was barring her from contextualizing her state of mind. She knew she wasn't normal, but she couldn't bring herself to accept it and label herself.

"I was 17 when I was taken, you know that. Had a rough upbringing, I won't explain that to you now." She wasn't sure where she was going with this, and neither was he, but he'd listen for a bit to try and understand her more, maybe to trust her more now that she was his teammate. "I can feel emotion you know. Only to a certain degree, I can empathize. Fleeting, but it's there sometimes. I do feel some remorse, but you know how we are in this field. Weakness will get you killed, so you internalize it, you keep it buried underneath everything else, and because my everything else was stripped away with me, it just sits in here." She tapped her temple and shrugged. He understood what she meant, he did that too. He withheld his shame, his guilt, and his remorse, remaining a stone cold figure in the field. He saved the emotional crap for his time alone where he could deal with it in the way he knew how.

"You just let it sit there then?" He pressed, crossing his arms over his chest. She nodded.

"Don't know what to do with it. Lost my sense of self and all I know is this job. I do try though, I try to force some tears like I've seen others do, but the only time these.. feelings present themselves is on my missions, which is why everyone thinks I enjoy it. But I don't, for the record, I just can't control it like you guys do. And I envy you for that." His eyes widened slightly.

"Envy, huh."

"Mhm. You can talk to each other, find common ground and relate, make friends and connections. I can't because I don't feel like you guys do. And then you demonize me and outcast me more than I already am, so. Oops." He thought she was getting upset, but she wasn't, there was not a hint of anger or sadness or negative emotion in her person whatsoever, none that he could see anyway. Her arms were loose and carefree as she swung them around every time she turned her heel to pace back in the direction she just walked in.

"We can help you." Her first sign of feeling was an eye roll with a steady irritated gaze. But she didn't say anything. The idea of needing help repulsed her beyond anything else, made her want to punch a wall and scream, her eyes widened. Anger. There it is, outside of a mission too. She hummed, looking back at him.

"Alright Casper." He grunted, displeased by the new nickname which made her smile widen cheekily. She searched his eyes for a moment, finding entertainment in the small flames in his amber eyes, how they flickered and danced when he found something humorous, how they died out when he found something unamusing or boring, how they raged when he grew angry or determined to finish something with a newfound passion.

She liked to think he had that burn in his eyes when Price spoke to him about the notion of helping her, hoping that he'd care that much even if she didn't want the help, or perhaps she did, that would explain the want would it not? That was a thought for later. For now she'd do her job the way she knew how, she wouldn't change, not yet, not that she knew how anyway.

"We're going out for a drink tomorrow night, care to tag along." He offered, jousting his chin up at her in a heads up manner.

"I don't drink." She replied, monotone as she laid down on her cot, shutting her eyes with a sigh. He watched her body sink into the bed, all stress and tension releasing, and he took that as his dismissal. He shut the door behind him, releasing a breath and walking back to his room, confused and tired where he slept on the day's events.

Though he was curious on how tomorrow would turn out.

And that's it! If you want a series out of this let me know!! It's my first fic and I'll probably binge a bunch because I feel like writing. I'm still trying to figure out the whole border thing I wanna make everything aesthetic or whatever but yeah.

See you guys next time!!

[whipped-for-kpop-fics]

There's a snake in my pants - K.MG

🤠Who; Kim Mingyu (Seventeen) x gender-neutral reader 🤠What; Crack/humour. Some fluff. Established relationship. Himbo Mingyu! [I love himbo Gyu] 🤠Word count; 2.3k 🤠Warnings; Profanity. Critter mentions (literally the word critter plus snake but uhhh not the animal). Misuse of a lasso, bad Mingyu, but it's funny dw. And no one gets hurt. Mentions of pervert/voyeur Wonwoo but it's not plot relevant. Very suggestive in general but no smut or actual sexual actions. Reader wears lingerie.

Although there isn't any smut, this is definitely an 18+ fic so Minors do NOT interact. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in the bio.

Summary; Your boyfriend wants to try a new sexy roleplay idea, it doesn't go well.

-2024 Masterlist-

A/N- This goes out to @ourdawnishotterthanourday , I hope you enjoy reading this as if you don't already know exactly what's going to happen anyway from my screaming about the himbo cowboy collective (omg series idea???) Thank you for encouraging me to live my best crack life, sweetheart 💖 And big thank you to @wonuvs for helping me so much with the header, I know it must've been hard to look at shirtless Mingyu so much 💖

Approximately twenty minutes ago, your lovable idiot of a boyfriend told you to go and wait on your bed for him, gave you a wink then skipped off with an excited giggle. Which, cute, yes, but also very very worrying.

As much as you adore Mingyu, you are very aware that he has some rather questionable ideas in general, what with him being what you would call a Class A Himbo; and unfortunately, he has brought those questionable ideas into the bedroom on more than one occasion. There is now a strict rule about no balloons in the bedroom and likely not for the reason you think.

So although you do go to your shared room and get dressed down in a lingerie set you know that he likes, you truly can't say that you exactly have high hopes for whatever your boyfriend has planned.

When the door creaks open, you're confused because all you see is Mingyu's hand appearing from one side to nudge the door open as wide as it can go. It takes a few pushes of his fingers before the door does actually swing open and then his arm darts back. A second later, Mingyu gallops into view and you don't know if you want to laugh or mentally log out more.

Because gallop isn't even an inaccurate description of the way he enters. Like a child pretending to play cowboys with one of those long wooden poles with the plush horse's heads set on one end with attached reigns. You can't tell if the fact he has one of those children's toy horses makes it worse or not. You can't even admire the way his thick thighs, showcased by just the tiny pair of boxer briefs he's wearing, are pressed tight around either side of the thick wooden pole to keep it upright with both of his hands barely fitting on the tiny little loop of faux-leather that makes up the reigns.

All Mingyu is wearing are those tiny little dark boxers that don't even fully cover his asscheeks, a cowboy hat and cowboy boots. Oh, and there's some thin dark rope looped diagonally over his bare chest. That can't be good.

"Howdy partner." Mingyu starts, entirely serious in his roleplay and doing his best to put on the 'cowboy voice' you know that he and his friends have been practising together to be 'real cowboys'.

Even though you're still trying to figure out exactly how you feel about this particular roleplay choice of your boyfriend, you can't help but at least humour him. He's far too cute and sweet in general to not try, at the very least, to play along. "Howdy, cowboy," You reply, a little dumbstruck yet Mingyu lights up brightly all the same.

He wiggles slightly in excitement, forgetting himself a little in his joy, then remembers he's supposed to be a 'sexy, serious cowboy-man' and schools his expression. He doesn't even notice the amused twitch of your lips at his slip. "I'm new to town and I hear you're the person to come to when there's trouble."

"Oh, there's trouble, is there?" You hum and shuffle to sit up against the headboard. You're internally very relieved when he removes the horse and props it against the wall. It's much easier to take him seriously when he's standing there in all his ridiculously handsome glory.

"Yes, ma'am." Oh, you could get used to him saying those words in that voice, pitched slightly lower than normal and a little rough. Maybe their 'cowboy meetings' have been more successful than you've realised. Because Mingyu, nor his friends, have improved very much in the actual horse riding aspect of being a modern-day cowboy. But at least the voice is getting good.

"Sounds serious."

"It is." He steps a little closer, hands on his hips and you can't tell if it's intentional or not but it draws your eyes to his crotch in those tiny boxers leaving nothing to the imagination. Not that you need to imagine what he's packing underneath when he's always so willing to let you see, and feel, and taste. "Do you think you can help a cowboy out, ma'am?"

"Keep calling me ma'am and it sounds pretty likely." You mutter and lift your gaze back up to his face. He's smirking at you now, well aware of how much you love his body. "Tell me, what's the issue, cowboy?"

"Well, you see, it involves a certain critter," You try not to giggle at him using the term critter, you can't help it when all you can think of is the endearing way he and his friends will call any living animal or insect critter; often in a loud screech when a bug flies too close to them.

"Ooh, I see. You have a critter problem."

"That I do, ma'am."

"And a big strong cowboy like you can't handle a single critter?"

"I'm more skilled with the bigger critters."

"So this critter is small?" You wonder how many times the two of you will use the term critter, it really does not help set the mood, just amuses you honestly. This situation has already devolved in your mind and Mingyu hasn't even noticed, he's still very serious about his big-boy cowboy role-play.

"Yes," His face drops. "Wait, no! It's not." He pouts a little, barely a little protrusion of his bottom lip.

"So it's not big enough for you to handle yourself, but it's not small?" He nods and slips back into character. "How big is it exactly?"

"Big enough." You think you understand what he's trying to do here. But you're willing to let it play out at least.

"Okay, give it to me."

"Give it to you?" His eyes round out a little with the excitement those words bring him.

"I mean, tell me what it is." You correct and try not to giggle at the disappointed little oh he lets out, understanding the miscommunication there.

Though, once again, he gets right back into character and locks his serious, sultry gaze on you as the tips of his thumbs hook into the waistband of his boxers without removing his hands from his hips. "There's a snake in my pants." Yup, that's about exactly where you thought he was going with this.

"I can't believe you've defiled my childhood like that, Mingyu." You deadpan, unimpressed. His arms drop along with his expression.

"What? What did I do wrong? It's just a line!" He whines. "Wonwoo taught it to me!"

"Wonwoo?" You sigh. "Baby, what have I told you about listening to Wonwoo where sex is involved?"

"That he's wrong that sitting in the tree outside our window with binoculars isn't a natural biology lesson no matter if he takes notes." He replies in very much the tone of a man who has had those very words drilled into him many times.

"I…well yes, that is a very good one, thank you for remembering." Mingyu perks up a little at your approving response. "But that's not what I meant."

"Uhm," He thinks hard. "That he's wrong that you have to bark during doggy style." That particular memory sends shivers down your spine, you had hoped to forget it.

"Also very correct and please don't bring that up again."

"I'm sorry, I really thought he knew what he was talking about!" Mingyu defends quickly. "He's so smart, baby!"

"Uh," You don't know how to respond. Wonwoo is not smart, he may look scholarly with his glasses and cardigans when he's lounging around, but he is, like your boyfriend, just another pretty himbo. All four of the group are and you still can't tell who's the worst of them. Still, you adore the four and would never change a thing about any of them, even if their dumbassery has caused a lot of trouble since they moved to town. So you move on. "The point is, Gyu, you shouldn't listen to Wonwoo's sex advice, ever. Remember that?"

"Oh, right, yeah, you've said that before." He nods slowly in understanding, looking kind of dejectedly down at the bedframe. He looks like a scolded puppy, it pulls your heartstrings enough to want to try and salvage the situation.

"Was this whole roleplay Wonwoo's idea?" You wonder. Mingyu looks up at you and shakes his head, lips pouted cutely at you and eyes big. "Yours?"

"Yeah. And Seungcheol's. You've never told me not to take sex advice from him!"

Okay, you have to admit, Seungcheol is probably the only one from Mingyu's three besties that you think would give pretty decent sex advice, you know he at least has active ongoing experience with a friend of your own and they've always sung his praises. Wonwoo is…well nobody knows for sure if Wonwoo has ever actually had sex. He kind of gives off horny virgin energy, honestly whenever sexual conversations come up but he's always been pretty smooth when flirting so it could go either way. And the fourth of their group is precious, naive Seokmin; you know he has experience himself but he's a very sweet guy and always seems scandalised when anything out of vanilla is mentioned.

"Okay, then I'm willing to pick this back up if you really want to try it, sweetheart."

"I do!" Mingyu beams and suddenly looks as if you've offered him the world on a silver platter, drizzled in sweet syrup ready for him to slurp up. Oh, does that remind you of another one of his slightly less questionable bedroom surprises. But that's an entirely different story. "Okay, okay," Mingyu takes a few breaths to calm his visible joy, it's so cute watching him bring his hands up as he inhales deeply then turn and push them palms downwards to the floor as he exhales.

He may have some very odd ideas, but man, did you score an adorable sweetheart of a boyfriend who you hope will never change and always remain this way. You've not even been together that long, just a handful of months really, but you're pretty sure he's it for you. Your forever. The one you want to spend the rest of your life with.

When he's collected himself, he turns back to you and decides to entirely bypass the whole snake in his pants section, wisely so you think, and starts to remove the ropes from around his torso. He only knocks his hat off twice, though you barely notice because now all you can think about is the fact that it seems like you won't be the one to have to bring up bondage.

While you're wondering if your big beefy boyfriend is about to hogtie you and have his way with you, Mingyu gathers the long rope in his right hand and then takes one end into his left. It's then that you notice the very distinct large loop in one end.

Horror spreads through your body as you realise that Kim Mingyu has brought a fucking lasso into the bedroom. "Gyu-" You start in warning yet he's already pulling his arm back and launching the rope in your general direction. You yelp automatically, expecting to get hit in the face, yet it doesn't touch you. There's a loud crash on your right so you look over only to find that the only remaining one of the pair of bedside lamps is now in pieces on the hardwood flooring, the loop of Mingyu's lasso caught around the shade. It's like the balloon incident all over again. And now you have no bedside lamps, thanks to Kim Mingyu.

There's pure silence for a tense few seconds as you both stare dumbly at the mess on the floor.

Mingyu's whisper breaks the silence "Fuck." And then you burst into howling laughter. "Babe!" He whines but you can't stop, toppling over onto your side on the bed with the power of your laughs.

The whole situation has been a mess from start to finish. It's a miracle you lasted this long without some kind of breakdown. You're just glad it's the laughing kind and not the mental kind.

It takes a minute of poutily grumbling about working him hard on the scenario, learning how to tie a lasso knot and modelling endless hats and boots for his friends so they can help him pick the right ones before the humour of it all actually hits Mingyu.

It starts with a little giggle and then he looks between you and the broken lamp a few times and has to flop across the bed as he laughs along with you, uncaring that his hat falls off.

Slowly, both of you stop laughing and calm enough to look at each other. You're still grinning like fools and there are tear tracks down your cheeks from it, but you're happy. He's happy. That's all that matters.

Mingyu shuffles over to you in a manner that makes giggles bubble out of your throat until he's on his side close enough to lean in and press a soft kiss to your lips. "I love you," He informs gently when he pulls back to look adoringly into your eyes. Your expression softens and quickly melts into the mirror of his own as you brush your fingertips over his cheek.

"I love you too." You reply, smiling as he lays his hand over the back of yours to hold it in place as he turns his head to kiss your palm, planting his love right there where you can keep it safe for as long as you want to. And then he looks back at you and holds your palm to his cheek. "Just no more lassos in the bedroom,"

Mingyu laughs and nods in agreement. "No more lassos in the bedroom."

"House in general. Indoors. No lassos indoors."

"Okay, baby," He giggles and kisses you once more sweetly before getting up and picking his hat up off the mattress to plop on your head when you sit up. You adjust it so that you can watch as he crouches down beside the broken lamp to begin cleaning up the mess you made. And as you watch him, there's only one thought on your mind.

Yeah, he really is it for you.

A/N- Believe it or not, the original idea that caused this one has a much higher crack content and I may have to write that too. This story can be considered a spin-off of that, or one in the collection of the same universe focused on the 4 himbos and their adventures.

[stellar-constellations]

Star Patient: Chapter 6 (FINISHED SERIES)

WARNING: This series will include; possible inaccurate medical procedures and medical setting, gore, toxic relationships that should NOT be replicated in real life, murder, yanderes, cursing, suicide mentions, implications of misandry (male misogyny), descriptions of self-harming, accusations of cheating, child death, death of major and minor characters, OC's are used throughout the story for plot and depth, reader is in denial and paranoid, toxic family dynamics, perversive thoughts, reader is bipolar (not saying that in a quirky way, like literally bipolar), religious comparisons, light mention of demons, stalkers, possibly more to add.

Inaccurate canon-timeline and setting (this is before Ashley and Andrew murdered their parents). They also live in America (because I wasn't aware they lived in Europe prior to this series).

Reader has a small fear of adult men/rape and has a history of suicide attempts.

Incest is not Wincest.

Amnesiac! Obsessive! Patient! Andrew Graves x Yandere! Nurse! Reader:

Wordcount: 15,700+ words

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, current chapter, Chapter 7, chapter 8, final chapter.

Want to listen to music while reading? Check out the Star Patient's Official Playlists! Multiple different playlists and genres!

Hello, my stars. Before starting this, I wanted you all to know I've updated my warnings. I'm telling you this to warn my sensitive readers who might get triggered or uncomfortable.

Warnings: This series will include; possible inaccurate medical procedures and medical setting, gore, toxic relationships that should NOT be replicated in real life, murder, yanderes, cursing, suicide mentions, implications of misandry (male misogyny), descriptions of self-harming, accusations of cheating, child death, death of major and minor characters, OC's are used throughout the story for plot and depth, reader is in denial and paranoid, toxic family dynamics, perversive thoughts, reader is bipolar (not saying that in a quirky way, like literally bpd), religious comparisons, demons, stalkers, possibly more to add.

Please note, this series is NOT to romantize, glamorize, normalize, or encourage ANY of this behavior that we see throughout the story.

I also have playlists for you to listen to while reading this, or just to listen to in general if you're looking for new music!

Thank you for reading this section.

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

        “Alright Ms. (L/N), you’re free to be discharged. Do you have a ride home?” her doctor questioned, signing her discharge forms, consenting to the leave. 

        “Yes, sir.” She nodded. 

        She just planned on driving back home herself. Sure, it was dangerous, but she did come here with a bleeding leg, so she sure as hell can leave with a bandaged one.

        “Alright… Good. And, just a little rundown on what you’ll need to do. Please keep your leg elevated with your heart whenever possible. I signed for you to get two weeks off work, that way you wouldn’t be applying any weight onto your leg. Please keep eating liquids or non-solid for at least a week; so like jellos and puddings and soups. You should know the procedure, we need the inner staples to heal and it'll be good not to tear the stitches.” The doctor explained to her.

        “I also scheduled a appointment for you to visit me next week so we can hopefully check and remove your staples on your outer stomach if all is good, and if so, we’ll decide to give you the green light to eat solids or not. Please avoid wetting or poking the staples and stitches.” The doctor spoke, wrapping up his speech.

        “Thank you, sir.” (Y/N) smiled, taking the discharge papers from the doctor’s hands.

        “Do you need any help finding the exit?” the doctor questioned as her nurse removed the IV needle from (Y/N)’s veins, placing a piece of cotton on the bleeding hole and medical tape to hold the cotton in place.

        “No, sir. I’ll be just fine… I have to make a quick visit anyways…” (Y/N) spoke.  

        The doctor left the room after (Y/N) took the papers from him, the nurse following after the doctor. (Y/N) stood up and resisted the urge to stretch, that would just strain and possibly snap any stitching or stapling.

        She looked at the clothes the nurse left on her bedside. (Y/N) snatched the clothes and walked to the bathroom, locking the door. Because her clothes were ruined yesterday with blood and had to be cut in the emergency room, she was given paper scrubs from the hospital to wear. Sure, they sucked and were flimsy, but it was better than leaving naked. Hospitals can only do so much. 

        (Y/N) put on the fabric and her shoes (that were fortunately in one piece). She unlocked the bathroom, walking out and exiting the hospital room. She walked to the elevators, entering one and pressing the psychiatric floor. 

        She waited for the elevators doors to open, exiting them once they did. She walked down the hallways with a limp, ignoring it as she made her way to Andrew’s room. She knocked on the door to announce her presence, before opening the door.

        Andrew was awake this morning, a bit unusual given how late he stayed up with her last night, but perhaps he couldn’t sleep much. Maybe he has a headache? That brain surgery was only a free days ago, so maybe he's experiencing some pain.

        “Hey, are you okay?” (Y/N) questioned, disturbing him from looking out the window. 

        Andrew’s head snapped over to her once he heard her voice. He looked surprised, and his electric green eyes looked a little puffy and red, like he was about to cry; however there were no tears streaming down his face, as if he was refusing to cry.

        “Andrew? Are you okay?” (Y/N) repeated, concerned as she limped over to him, taking a seat on the guest chair.

        “Ahem, yeah. I’m fine…” he covered his mouth and coughed, turning his head away from her. “Do you need something?” he questioned.

        “I’m getting discharged, so I won’t see you for at least two weeks, possibly even longer.” (Y/N) explained, her eyes subconsciously glancing over his figure and observing his state

        His black hair was messy—as it usually was—and he still remained pale, with the exception of red rings around his eyes and a blush on his nose. His broken legs were elevated to his heart by keeping pillows under his legs. He didn’t have any bandages wrapped around his head anymore since his staples weren’t bleeding anymore after his brain surgery. His breathing patterns looked normal and he doesn’t appear to be sweating, so it’s safe to say the doctors got rid of the internal bleeding problem. 

        “Because I’m leaving, I need you to behave for the night nurses and day nurses.” She spoke, as if trying to communicate with a child.

        “It won’t matter…” he muttered, his voice deep and gravely, sounding as if he was in pain.

        “What, why? What’s wrong?” (Y/N) questioned, subconsciously leaning closer to him with a look of confusion on her face.

        “They’re discharging me tonight.” Andrew spoke, his voice raising its volume so she could hear better. 

        “Why, that’s great s it not?” she questioned, mentally cringing as she tried her best to gauge a reaction out of him, hoping that he could explain more. “You won’t be stuck here anymore. You’re healing.”

        “No… I-“ he paused, unsure if he should speak about the thoughts swirling in his head. “I-I can’t leave. I can’t.”

        “Why not?” (Y/N) questioned. 

        Andrew stayed quiet, his eyes stuck staring at his hands that laid in his lap, seemingly ashamed to look up at her.

        “Andrew, what’s wrong?” (Y/N) repeated, standing up from the chair and bringing herself closer to Andrew, sitting down at his bedside gently so she wouldn’t disturb his legs.

        “Don’t you understand…?” he muttered, his tone going down a dark notch. “I can’t leave you…” 

        “Huh?” (Y/N) audibly spoke, voicing a noise of confusion as she looked at him, more so confused now rather than concerned.

        Why can’t he leave? Is it because of Ashley? Oh god, does he know Ashley's dead? That I killed her? Can he not leave me because he wants revenge? (Y/N) questioned inside her head, her nerves eating her up.

        “Andrew, I need you to tell me so I can help you. Surely we can—“ Andrew’s hands went up to her shoulders and gripped them tightly, his vibrant green eyes suddenly looking a little more of a toxic color, one to warn others that they’re dangerous. 

        “Don’t you understand, damn it?!” Andrew shouted, his nails unconsciously digging into her skin and the flimsy scrubs the hospital provided her with. “Are you an idiot or something? I can’t leave! I can’t do anything!” 

        (Y/N) looked surprised, her feet trying to take a step back but his hold on her wouldn’t allow that. She looked a bit scared, cowering despite him being the one bedridden. 

        Her previous thoughts of getting caught was instead replaced with being trapped. The room suddenly felt more smaller while Andrew yelled at her. The white walls suddenly looked like they were closing in, the pale color looking damn similar to an asylum instead.

        “I should’ve at least taken up Ashley’s offer on escaping this damn place!” Andrew spoke, shaking her back and forth with a crazed look in his eyes.

        Yes, terrifying. That’s why she decided not to work with adults and chose kids instead. Adult men are just scary for her. Having an erratic episode like this is a pain when you’re dealing with kids, but an adult man with a deep yelling voice towering you and shaking you like a rag doll is just plain terrifying. Especially knowing the fact they could definitely overpower you. Hospitals drug up their patients all the time to where patients think irrationally, and there's always the patients that believe they're the customer who is always right; giving them all a sense of authority or inability to understand their wrongdoings, whether they have a god complex or just drugged. It's always going to be dangerous. 

        It brings a shiver down her spine. If this is the effect Andrew has by just yelling at her and shaking her a bit, she’s scared to know what he could do with no broken limbs. 

        He seemed to go on an angry, mindless rant as he shook her back and forth. At this point, she might be the one getting internal bleeding in her brain because of this. 

        “If anything, I should’ve just died! But now I’m royally fucked because of you and these fucking doctors!” Andrew shouted. 

        A patient threatening suicide? Much less a patient on suicide watch? That’s not good, especially if he’s threatening suicide while almost being discharged. He could stay in this unit for mental health evaluation if he actually tries something. He’s lucky that she’s not on the clock, otherwise she would be forced to chart that.

        She mustered her nerves and grabbed his wrists, looking down at him and doing her best to keep a gentle facade.

        “Hey Andrew, let’s calm down and figure this out…” she spoke. “I need you to tell me what’s wrong so I can help."

        “I-I just—“ Andrew’s pissed-off expression changed, his grip on her shoulders loosening as he let out a sigh. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

        So he noticed…

        “I’m scared…” he admitted, his hand going up and playing with her hair, twirling it around her fingers, ignoring that it hasn’t been washed in a couple days due to the accident. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t go back to—“ he paused, stopping himself. “H-home. I can’t go back home because I don’t remember it.” He lied.

        He can’t go back to his apartment complex and be locked up in that room again. He can’t. Hell, maybe the complex actually burnt down like the news has been saying. But he has no home now, and if he goes to a shelter they might ask for documents or for identification, both of which he doesn’t have. 

        He can’t go to his parents. With his face on the news and being indebted to them again? Please, anything but that. He’s already done enough for them. He purposely didn’t write his parents’ names and numbers down when the doctors made him file paperwork because he didn’t want to see them again. 

        And he might go insane if he has to live with Ashley again. The hospital has been boring, yes, but at least he could actually think with some quiet. No more killing people or cannibalizing people or worrying about future visions or any of that crap. He could actually enjoy some peace for once. He loves his sister, but it's about time for them to act like adults and have their own lives. 

        And god, the money to pay back the hospital. He doesn’t have that kind of money. His whole bill must well be 20,000 dollars, possibly even more. He doesn’t even have a job! He’s not entirely sure if he remembers his banking information, and he doubts he has health insurance he can remember! 

        “I-I just… don’t remember anything.” He spoke, a half truth and half lie. “I don’t have parents.” Another lie. “I don’t remember where I live.” Another lie. “I have no money to pay off all this debt I’ll be in.” A possible (?) lie. “I have no job.” True. “I-I don’t know what to do. I’m fucked.” Andrew spoke, tears filling up in his eyes as he chuckled in possible disbelief, his hands going to his face to cover it.

        Yeah, that sounds like a shitty situation… (Y/N) thought, pushing down that fear he installed in her earlier as she hesitantly stayed next to him, uncertain what to do.

        She’s never had to deal with this kind of situation. Her patients are kids, and they don’t usually worry about money or healthcare or such things an adult worries about. Fixing someone's IV needle and fixing their bank account is two very separate things. 

        Honestly, it’s pretty sad. Adults have it rough. Most people now in America hesitate to call an ambulance because of the bill for that alone, ranging from $400 to more than a thousand for the ride to a hospital alone. 

        She doesn’t blame him for being mad, she’d be pretty pissed in his situation too. 

        “And, are you absolutely positive?” (Y/N) questioned, her hand resting on his wrist and drawing small circles to soothe him. “Do you really have nowhere else to go once you leave? Or any money or such at all?” 

        “No…” he answered, a loss of hope in his voice as he resisted the urge to cry. 

        “Okay… it’s okay.” (Y/N) spoke as Andrew kept playing with her hair.

        “I’m sorry for yelling at you. I didn’t mean to scare you…” he muttered. “Please don’t leave me. I-I don’t know what to do and I’m scared and…” he paused, uncertain of the next words about to come out of his mouth. “I-I just need you. I need your help.” 

        God, not the damn puppy eyes… (Y/N) though, nothing how his bright green eyes cleared of any malicious intent from earlier, now just glossy and filled with tears threatening to spill out. 

        He looked like he really didn’t want to leave her (or maybe it’s because he just really needs her help) and that just pulled her heartstrings.

        Think, (Y/N). You’re a nurse. You gotta be quick on your feet and think of a solution… (Y/N) thought, wracking her brain for a solution. 

        “What if…” she paused, thinking.

        Would that really be a good idea? He’s a male after all. The last guy she dealt with was a total psycho…

        No, it’s probably not a good idea, considering he’s on the run and he’s a cannibal. But she doesn’t know his whole story, so she can’t judge so quickly…

        Not to mention she’s a murderer herself now. Even if she killed a wrongdoer, she still killed someone. 

        But is it really a good comparison? Is it really so bad for her to kill just one life after saving many others?

        Now that’s just sociopathic thinking… 

        “What if you stay with me?” (Y/N) suggested, doing her best to keep her tone confident.

        “What?” Andrew questioned, unsure if he heard that correctly.

        Did she actually just say that?

        “What if you stay with me?” (Y/N) repeated, forcing herself to act like it wasn’t a big deal. “I mean, it wouldn’t be bad. I have the space. It’d be good for you too, I can still help with your bandages and elevating your legs and such, make sure there’s nothing going wrong during your healing process and that you’re still sticking to the treatment plan. I can pay the medical bills and you’ll work it off for me over time, until you’re able to get back on your own two feet.”  

        Ha. Pun intended… (Y/N) thought, resisting the urge to chuckle.

        “You’re really serious? You’re not pulling my leg or anything, right?” Andrew questioned, surprised as he sat up, wincing at the pain in his legs and head from the sudden movement.

        “Hey, take it easy.” (Y/N) reminded, placing her hand on his shoulder to stop him (and to hide her shaky hands).

        She decided it wasn’t the time to freeze up or think, thinking would just make her panic to what she just offered.

        “And I’m serious. If you need a place to stay, you can come to mine.” (Y/N) spoke. "Nobody should have to pay to live, it’s just… sad.”

        Even if it is sad that you have to pay to live, that’s just life. There’s a reason why. Not many people would do things for free. Currency was made to pay others for their labor, rewarding them for a job done right. The more money, the more luxurious your life is… sometimes…

        There’s not many people in the world who would save a stranger’s life and expect nothing in return. Especially when you’re working hours to days at a time keeping people alive and healthy, it just wears you down overtime to where that paycheck is the only thing you’re looking forward to. Nurses work for money, and the ones that enjoy helping people instead start to despise them due to their ugly flaws revealing themselves in their states of venerability. Nurses and doctors see more ugly things in people than they do in infections. 

        Well, as long as you do your job, the paychecks won’t die; unlike the patients. 

        “So? What do you say?” (Y/N) questioned, looking down at Andrew with a forced smile. 

        Don’t think about the offer. If you don’t think, you wouldn’t contemplate about how absolutely idiotic that suggestion was. Seriously, allowing a cannibalistic serial killer into your home all alone? Let alone a man.

        The thought was indeed distasteful, but her mouth was quicker than her brain, and she already offered it. It would be cruel to give him false hope and swipe that right under his nose. 

        Andrew wasn’t too sure if he wanted to take up that offer. Sure, it’d save his ass from the streets, but it’d also leave him indebted to her, which can give her an upper hand to take advantage of him. It’s also worth noting that his face is probably still in the news somewhere, which could be bad if she finds out and reports him to the police… 

        But maybe there’s the chance that she’s not well-informed or active in the community or news? Maybe the whole news will blow over soon and she’ll never know? 

        It’s better than nothing…

        “If you’re really sure…” Andrew muttered. “Then I’ll take you up on your offer. I’ll repay you.” He spoke.

        Great. (Y/N) thought, fantastic and nervous.

        “I’ll get an uber for you. I need to get some stuff settled at my house beforehand. What’s your discharge time?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “One P.M.” Andrew answered. 

        “Okay, at one P.M. you’ll go to the front of the hospital and I’ll get an uber for you so they can drop you off at my place.” (Y/N) explained, clapping her hands together to avoid the awkwardness of parting ways. “Well… I’ll see you later.” She spoke, forcing a smile. 

        She didn’t give him time to speak or say goodbye, leaving the room before she could dwell longer. She needed to bury Ashley’s body before someone finds it, she needed to deep clean her apartment, and she needed to mentally prep herself for Andrew’s arrival.

        She took her discharge papers and entered the elevator, pressing the lobby floor and waiting. The doors opened and she exited the box, walking out to the lobby and out the glass doors. She unlocked her car and entered, turning the key in the engine and taking a deep breath, preparing herself for the day traffic and using her injured leg to drive. 

        She turned on the radio to a random adults hit channel, before backing out of the parking lot and taking off. She made a quick pit stop at a hardware store, buying one of those stupid state merchandise shirts, a pair of shorts, a pair of gardening gloves, some hair ties, water bottles, and a shovel. She paid in cash (thank god the emergency gas money she kept in her car since she didn't have her purse) and drove an hour out to that forest she put Ashley in.

        (Y/N) prayed to whatever god she believed in, or at least prayed to herself that luck would be on her side, and parked somewhere in the sticks. She fumbled around the backseat and changed out of the flimsy paper scrubs to that cheap state shirt and shorts she bought in the hardware store, tying up her hair with a cheap hair tie.

        She grabbed her supplies and exited her car, locking it. It took at least twenty minutes before she was able to pick up the dead body smell, following the stench to Ashley’s body. The blankets she was wrapped in didn’t look tampered with, so maybe nobody found the body beforehand. 

        (Y/N) made quick work, putting on the gardener gloves and grabbing a shovel, finding a patch of loose dirt and started digging. 

        Six-foot grave my ass, if she buried that deep then she might not be able to get out of the hole. (Y/N) settled on a four foot grave, digging and making sure to take breaks so she wouldn’t snap any stitches or staples. 

        At least two or three hours later, she was able to roll Ashley’s body into the hole. Staring at the bloodied cloth was just so unsettling… a reminder of what she’s done.

        She’s seen plenty of blood and gore before, but she’s never been the cause of it (or at least, she’s never punctured skin for anything other than the intent to help someone). 

        It felt right to say something, a little memoir or a speech or something. 

        She grabbed some big rocks and made an imaginary audience, setting them near the grave as (Y/N) stood before it.

        “Today, we are here to celebrate life and remember the loss of it…” (Y/N) began.

        Yep, killing someone who tried to kill you first, then proceeding to make a whole damn memoir of them… that’s totally normal and not something someone unhinged would do. Or maybe it’s just because she’s a really compassionate person and feels sorry for killing her. Maybe a bit of both.

        “Ashley Graves was the younger sister of Andrew Graves. She was… passionate and determined.” (Y/N) spoke awkwardly, clasping her hands together, ignoring the dirt itching them inside the glove. 

        “We’re here to celebrate her life and youth. While she died young, she stayed golden. She was very pretty, and I’m sure she accomplished something in her life at one point…” (Y/N) rambled. 

        “I don’t know much about her, and I would’ve brought her brother here too if I wasn’t so concerned about him killing me too. I’m already digging one grave, I don’t need to dig my own too… or one for Andrew…” (Y/N) muttered, hiding that last part from the rock audience with a cough. 

        “Too soon to joke? Yeah… that was a bit hard… like rock.” (Y/N) chuckled too herself. “I’m sorry, sorry! This is a rocky start…” (Y/N) giggled, before her smile dropped, reality coming back and hitting her.

        “Fucking hell… I hate myself.” (Y/N) groaned, dropping down to her knees and covering her face with her hands, before coughing and spitting once the dirt on her gloves got in her mouth and eyes.

        When she got the dirt out of her eyes and mouth, she settled for staring at the dead body. Ashley died young and she was pretty, surely there must've been something good Ashley could've done with her future. 

        It really didn’t have to be this way, perhaps an agreement could’ve been made. While Ashley threatened her first, (Y/N) attacked her first, provoking her by spraying perfume in Ashley’s eyes.

        “Oh fuck…” (Y/N) groaned, pulling the strands of hair that has fell from her hair tie after her manual labor. “I’m really burying a body of a young woman. One I killed no less…” she muttered to herself, wishing that this all could’ve just been one big dream.

        A dream that she met some fugitives on the run, that she stooped so low as to murder another so violently and decided to house another. That she had to witness her favorite patient die after spending three years with her. 

        Honestly, she wished everything in her life was a dream. She wished being neglected and locked into a room for hours upon a time, sleeping and crying and famished, was a dream. She wished the relentless bullying throughout her school years was a dream. She wished all the pressure and stress she set upon her, forcing herself to grow out of childhood early so she could focus on the future, was a dream. She wished that disgusting and obsessive man was a dream, that he never sent those letters or took her to court or even did anything he did.

        No, she didn’t wish it was a dream; she wished it was a nightmare. Dreams are meant to be enjoyed, or at least allow yourself into a false sense of security to enjoy momentarily. 

        The constant harassment, the constant paranoia, the constant loneliness, the constant emptiness. She’d rather not torture herself in the dream world either. 

        Before Hailey died, she asked (Y/N) what she would like to be surrounded by, and (Y/N) said “beds” because she liked sleeping. She left it at that so she wouldn’t disturb the bittersweet moment as Hailey died. Perhaps if Hailey was older, or a friend rather than a patient, (Y/N) might have told her the truth. 

        Sure, beds are comfortable. A de-stressing spot for her and many others alike. Being bundled up in warmth and motherly affection she never experienced in her life, seeking comfort from an inanimate object to replace her own mother's nonexistent affection. 

        Beds are also comfortable when you die. Lots of people die in their beds. Most people imagine that they’ll die surrounded by their loved ones, peacefully succumbing to death. (Y/N)’s never bothered contemplating death, she knew if she was going to die it would be suicide—or, at least she thought so. After Ashley trying to kill her and possibly Andrew being her potential killer too in the future if he ever finds out what she did, she’s not too sure how she’ll die now.

        She’ll probably die from another depressive episode like starving herself and staying in bed, or some other health cause in her sleep. Whatever it is, her death bed would be made of cotton and polyester, she hopes. Perhaps in her will she'll write down she wants a twin-sized mattress in her coffin, at least make her death bed comfortable.

        Everyday just feels like a struggle to get out of bed now. 

        “Ashley…” she began.

        Now thinking about it, is it even right to speak Ashley’s name after she’s the cause of her death?

        “I’m sorry for killing you, and for causing you whatever pain or paranoia you experienced to where you felt the best course of action was to kill me. Things could’ve possibly been different if I had just talked to you, but I didn’t, and for that, you’re gone and I'm still here.” (Y/N) spoke.

        She wondered if Ashley enjoyed her life, what she had before she died. (Y/N) couldn't even enjoy all that she has, yet she still selfishly fought for her pathetic life, killing a woman who could've done better than her. Who could've accomplished more if she just fixed up her ways, if she just gave herself a second chance at living a true life. 

        (Y/N)'s had her chances, maybe happiness just wasn't for her. Maybe life just wasn't for her. Yet she's the one standing over the grave she should be in instead. 

        Maybe she should've just let Ashley kill her. Make all this pain and loneliness and paranoia just disappear like she wants to. 

        There was a moment of silence to respect the dead, before (Y/N) picked up the shovel and got to covering the body with dirt. It was faster to fill the grave than dig it, and she was able to finish after an hour. (Y/N) felt bad about it, but she stomped on the dirt to try and make sure it was packed and wasn’t loose. She grabbed the rock audience and scattered the rocks back where she found them so the grave wouldn't be suspiciously marked.

        Maybe I’ll reserve flowers for Ashley too… (Y/N) thought to herself, before allowing there to be another moment of silence to mourn the loss of life.

        After the silence, she walked back to her car, throwing the dirty supplies into the backseat of her car and hopping into the passenger seat. She buckled her seatbelt and drove out of the forest. Usually she would’ve taken a minute to at least desensitize her emotions so she can drive safely—or at least ponder why the hell she had a rock funeral back there—but she needed to get home and get her apartment in order.

        Once (Y/N) made it inside her apartment complex, she rushed to see if anything was out of place inside her apartment, swinging open her door and observing the crime scene in her bedroom. It smelt of potent citrusy perfume with the hint of metallic blood wafting throughout her home. 

        Before (Y/N) left, she did a quick wipe down of her walls and floors in case the police would investigate her apartment. Why? Well, there's no reason other than classic paranoia and the fear of being face to face with a judge inside of a courtroom once more.         

        Yeah, been there, done that. 

        Despite her quick clean, obviously it wouldn't be enough to get rid of the evidence if the police truly did a deep investigation (that is, if they even her connected to the crime). Well, even if the police doesn't piece out the murder, Andrew might. Andrew is Ashley's sister, surely he must know enough about her to know if she's capable of committing murder, especially because they were partners in crime. 

        Key word: were.

        (Y/N) glanced at the clock, seeing the time was 12 P.M. (Y/N) pulled out her phone and paid for an uber to pick Andrew up at the hospital entrance. His ride will be about thirty minutes if the traffic is good, so (Y/N) can only assume she'll have two hours to clean if she's lucky.

        Surprisingly—for a sorry excuse of a woman—her apartment isn't trashed or damaged; it's pretty clean. (Y/N) always worried if her parents one day stopped by and entered her apartment. She really didn't want to hear her mother's berating comments or her father's comments on how she should move back to the farm and be safe there. 

        She also worried about having her neighbors suddenly knock on her door to talk to her, or her landlord entering. She didn't want to give the impression that she's lazy, and she didn't want to give the impression that she's depressed either; she'd rather not have others pity her in such ways. She's an adult, she needs to learn how to take care of herself eventually, otherwise how will she expect to take care of the kids at work? Let alone Andrew who will now reside in her home? 

        Oh gosh. How is she going to take care of Andrew? Shit. What if the neighbors see him and recognize him from on the news? What if the uber driver recognizes him? She'll go to jail for knowing he's a murderer and still helping him. She'll lose her job if they find out she's keeping a former patient at her apartment. 

        Damn it... damn it... damn it... 

        She paced around her bedroom in circles, her hands shaking and her legs weak as she started overthinking.

        Jesus, what if he becomes crazy? Well, more crazy than a cannibalistic murderer can possibly be. What if he becomes like him? She'll have to move away again. She'll have to hide away before he finds her and ruins her life once more. 

        The vision of torn sugar papers stained with special red ink. The sounds of either paper or her sanity ripping as she screamed and stopped on the scraps, before scooping up the pieces and burning them outside in her father's grill. Or maybe it was the constant feeling of dread and being watched, resorting to her superiors, her friends, her family; just anyone to help her and to listen to her. But they just laughed in her face, or scowled at her.

        "Stop searching for attention."

        "He wouldn't do that."

        "Why are you spreading rumors?"

        "Well, did you do something to provoke him?"

        The sound of the crackling fire as the embers of paper burned in the daylight was replaced with shattered glass and her grunts of frustration. She snapped back, looking down at the mess on her bedroom floor.

        Damn it.

        She shattered her vase, throwing it on the floor as it scattered to dozens of small blue and white pieces, the wave-decorated vase now ruined. Her precious lilacs she worked hard to growing now destroyed and lying in wet soil, the petals smushed, having been stomped on in her fit of rage. 

        (Y/N) stared at the mess for a minute or two—maybe five—before squatting down and hiding her head in her legs. 

        "Damn..." she hissed to herself, her anger at him instead being temporarily aimed at her. "Stupid, stupid, stupid..." (Y/N) muttered, picking up one of the larger shards of glass.

        She turned her uninjured arm over, revealing the past scars from her previous self-harming episodes. They all have healed a bit, still a prominent shade of red, but at least they weren't fresh. 

        She didn't hesitate, not even daring to waste a breath or reconsider her decision as she cut her wrist, watching as scarlet milk immediately started spilling down in a rapid stream. 

        Well, they were fresh now. 

        One cut turned into two, and two turned into four as the blood continued to pour. A painful stinging sensation shot up her arm, burning as the blood dripped down her arm and onto the floor. 

        "Fuck!" (Y/N) hissed, realizing what she had just done. 

        She dropped the bloodied shard onto the floor, clutching the bloody mess with her other hand, another painful sting crawling up her arm from tensing her muscles in her stitched arm. She groaned, dragging her feet to her bathroom and scurrying for her first-aid.

        She opened the kit up, grabbing cotton balls and rubbing alcohol, wiping down her arm with the alcohol. It didn't sting as much like it should when rubbing alcohol is applied to a wound, it's probably expired—if not already—so she'll need to go buy a new bottle. She kept applying pressure until the blood eventually stopped, then checked on the cuts.

        Luckily, the cuts weren't near her wrists and they weren't deep either. It was a miracle she didn't cut a vein open, otherwise she'd have to go right back to the hospital. It seemed in her impulsive decision, she just cut without bothering to look where, slicing up the fat on her arm near her elbow. 

        (Y/N) hastily grabbed a large cotton patch, then wrapped gauze around it tightly, securing it with medical tape. There was blood on her clothes but she wasn't too worried about it, she was going to change out of the tacky merchandise clothing anyways, especially with the dirt on it. 

        She decided that while she was in the bathroom she might as well bathe quickly. She ignored the stinging spikes shooting throughout her arms as she peeled off her shirt and bra, kicking off her shoes and socks, taking off her shorts and panties. She threw the clothing on the ground and untied her hair (after some struggle, the hair tie came off with strands of hair attached), placing the hair tie down on the counter. She turned on the faucet and adjusted it to a bearable temperature, hopping into the bathtub.

        She didn't sit down, standing up so she wouldn't soak her staples or stitches. She grabbed a washrag, dumping it in the water and wringing it of excess water, before carefully going over her surrounding wounds to clean the skin. Once she finished, she proceeded to wipe down her entire body, before applying soap to the rag and washing herself, making sure to avoid getting soap in her wounds. After finishing soaping down and rinsing her skin, she dipped her hair in the water, lathering and scrubbing and rinsing her hair with shampoo and conditioner. 

        After finishing her bath, she exited the tub and drained the water. She grabbed towel and carefully dried off, wrapping the towel around her body and walking out to her bedroom. She grabbed a random bra and a baggy, cotton sweater so she could cover her arms and hopefully not rub too much on her stitches and avoid irritating them. She grabbed a skirt and panties, putting them on, along with clean socks (ones that were not bloody). 

        After dressing herself and sorting out her hair, she exited the bathroom and walked to her supply closet in the hallway, grabbing supplies for mopping, a broom and dustpan, hydrogen peroxide, a scrubber, glass cleaner, duster, etc. She had an hour and a half to clean up the place, which isn't too bad for a simple clean. (Y/N) cleans her apartment weekly, while it's a pain, she didn't want any neighbors knocking on her door and seeing her place trashed. She didn't want to risk a sudden drop in from her parents or such (she'd rather not hear their complaints). She had a reputation to uphold outside of her home and she couldn't afford anymore damage to it. Even after moving across the country, her reputation is held together by cheap duct tape. 

        She stared at her ruined flowers that rested on the ground, kicked on the ground and smashed over like roadkill. Once more, a good thing ruined with no-one to blame but herself. 

        .

        .

        The uber ride was extremely uncomfortable. It felt almost suffocating to be trapped in such a small space with a stranger. Andrew worries if the driver will look in the rearview mirror and recognize him, drive him down to the police station and turn him in instead of arriving safely at (Y/N)'s home.

        That's not the worst of his problems, he completely forgot to tell Ashley where he's going or what's happening (wherever she is, he hasn't seen her for a few days now...)!

        He feels a bit excited to have a place to go to, especially knowing it's (Y/N) he's returning to, but there's also a nauseating feeling in his stomach, a dropping weight sinking his inner organs with doubt. That feeling was replaced with a sense of fear, wondering what happened to Ashley. He hasn't heard from her in days and she has absolutely no clue of his whereabouts. He doesn't even know where she's been staying at these past days, if she even had a roof under her head or food in her stomach—at least he ate food from the hospital, granted the quality wasn't great but it was still something. 

        The uber pulled up to the curb in front of an apartment complex. The concrete on the ground had cracks and plastic wrappers from nearby fast food places, and the bushes out front looked overgrown and had more twigs and branches than it did green leaves. The outside walls were painted a tan, looking sun-bleached with flakes of paint peeling from the walls. 

        He stepped out of the car with the aid of crutches, no luggage to carry as he muttered a thanks to the driver, shutting the car door. He wiped the imaginary dirt off his ripped jeans. He managed to get his clothes back from the hospital after his discharge (luckily, they didn't have any rips or bloodstains that made the clothes unwearable) thanks to the nurses washing them for him prior to his release. 

        The apartment complex had multiple different buildings with alphabetical letters on them, each building having two levels and at least eight different staircases, so there must've been about sixteen apartments in each building. He wasn't sure which apartment (Y/N) lived in, she never gave him a number, but luckily he didn't have to go knocking door to find it as she spotted (Y/N) climbing down a set of concrete stairs. (Y/N) rushed over to him with a friendly smile, wearing a baggy, muted pink sweater and a black skirt. 

        "Andrew!" (Y/N) greeted, rushing over to his side, smelling of lemon and cleaning bleach. "I'm sorry for being so inconsiderate, I should've helped you get out of the car. Your legs are still injured and need to heal up." 

        "Hey, it's fine..." Andrew spoke through gritted teeth, forcing a smile. 

        Her hair was down just as it was when she was a patient in the hospital, except she looked so beautiful now without that damn paper gown—those gowns didn't do her any justice. Her hair looked brighter, even looking softer in the sunlight—or maybe that's because she had access to a shower. Her smile looked as bright as the burning star in the sky shining its UV rays down onto them, if not brighter. Her skin was a more healthy color in contrast to how pale it looked in the hospital's lighting—perhaps her skin was softer too. He wondered how her hands would feel now that she was free from the hospital's gloomy and depressing atmosphere, how it would feel under his own hands, before he forced those thoughts away for now.

        "My apartment is B04." (Y/N) informed, waving bye to the uber before guiding Andrew to her apartment. "I'm sorry for the stairs. Hopefully in a few months you can walk up and down them without any issue." 

        She guided him to a set of stairs, walking behind him so she could catch him in case he fell. When they made it to the top, she walked ahead and opened a white door with very little dirt on it and only minimum paint peeling near the bottom of it. She twisted open the gold doorknob, pushing open the door and holding it for him, watching as he limped into the apartment. 

        Andrew took a moment to observe the clean wooden floors, now understanding why he caught the whiff of lemon and cleaning product on her. She had a small table near the entrance with a small white and blue vase (similar to the one she broke in her room earlier). The vase had forget-me-nots, a classic flower representing depression despite how tragically beautiful they are. How cliché.

        The walls had no paintings or pictures, her walls painted a bright white that gave the apartment a modern and bright feeling. The living room had grey carpeting, a comfortable looking couch with some blankets and pillows to sleep or relax on, a table in front of the couch and a TV hanging on the wall. 

        "Here, here. Rest your legs." (Y/N) spoke, pressing her hand against Andrew's back, creating a sudden zap of lightning that spread throughout his body as she sat him down on her couch.

        "You don't have to worry about me." Andrew chuckled, a small smile resting on his lips.

        He looked far more comfortable here than he was at the hospital, seeming to smile easier. His skin even looked a bit healthier, though that could've just been the hospital lighting and blood loss. His charcoal hair looked shiny, but not because it looked healthy, more so it was greasy. Who knew the last time he showered. 

        "Do you want to go shower?" (Y/N) questioned, before mentally hitting herself at how weird that sounded. 

        Judging by the look on his face, he thought it was a little random too. 

        "Sorry, I didn't mean for that to come out so weird..." she laughed, flustered. "I meant, would you like to shower? Not to be mean, but your hair looks a little greasy, and I don't know when you last showered. It'd be bad to have your wounds dirty and get infected."

        "Oh." Andrew audibly voiced, resisting the urge to cover his hair at the realization. 

        The last time he showered must've been back at his old apartment complex, at least almost a week ago. He hasn't been worrying much about his appearance since the discovery of cultists, demons, and hitmen chasing after him has appeared. 

        "Right, that's a good idea..." He smiled bashfully, almost embarrassed to be seen this way.

        He knew he was at least decently attractive, never putting too much thought in his clothes or appearance so long as he was clean (which he wasn't at the moment).

        "Yeah, no worries..." She smiled, placing her hands on his waist as she helped him up from the couch, guiding him to her bathroom. 

        She opened the door and flipped the light switch, enveloping the room in bright light. The tiles were a shiny white, and the walls were a baby blue, a white tub with a silver shower head hanging from the wall. Her bathroom counter was clean, nothing cluttered on other than some hairdressing machines such as a hairdryer, straightener, curling iron, hair products, etc. She had some cabinets and drawers he'll peek into later, and an empty trashcan by the toilet. There was a laundry basket pushed up to the wall, and hooks to hang towels on the door. 

        "I'm sorry, I don't have any men shampoo or body wash..." (Y/N) apologized, picking up one of her soap bottles that sat on the bathtub's edge. "I hope you don't mind smelling like... Niacinamide and apple extract." She spoke, reading the front label. 

        "Better than nothing." He smiled. 

        "That's the spirit." She smiled, patting his shoulder. "Here, I'll rundown the process with you."

        She sat down inside the tub, her feet hanging off the side in a semi-uncomfortable looking position. "I don't want you standing on your feet, so please sit down like this. It'll also help you from getting your stitches wet. Remember, don't get your stitches wet." 

        He would've paid more attention to what she was saying, but he was a bit distracted, his hearing a little muffled as he took in the sight of her. It's not very lady-like to sit in a tub (fully clothed, he hated) with your legs hanging off the side in a way that made your skirt ride up your thighs. He tried his best to keep his attention on her face, but it was hard to as his eyes kept subconsciously drifting down.

        "So, the staples on your head is fine to get wet, just please be careful when you scrub so you don't tug on them, and make sure to rinse your hair really good. Be really careful when you brush your hair too so you don't tug on the staples. For your legs, you're going to need to wash them using a rag so you don't wet your stitches. Make sure not to get any soap in them either." She explained to him in depth, unaware how her words were going in one eat and out the other. "When you're done, pat your hair and body dry so the towel doesn't pull any stitches or staples."

        (Y/N) stood up from the tub (with a little struggle due to her position), breaking Andrew from his thoughts.

        "Do you got all that?" she questioned, smoothing down her skirt. 

        "Y-yeah." He muttered, avoiding her eyes in shame. 

        "Good." She smiled innocently. "Do you need any clothes?" she questioned, bending down to her cabinets and grabbing a clean towel and washrag. 

        "No. These clothes are fine... The nurses washed them before giving them to me." He explained, watching as she bend down, rising up and handing him the two items. 

        "You can put your towel on the hook, and put the washrag in my laundry basket." She directed. "Anything else?" 

        "No, thank you." He spoke, sparing her a small thankful smile. 

        "You don't have allergies or anything, right?" (Y/N) questioned, leaning on the door frame. 

        "No, I don't." He answered. 

        "So, anything you want for dinner? Do you have any dislikes?" she questioned. 

        "Anything's better than hospital food." He chuckled, leaning back on the toilet tank. 

        "Ha, you can say that again." She smiled. "I feel sorry for the patients that have to eat it, it's heated up in the back. I've had to eat it a few times because I've forgotten lunch and I didn't want to drive to some fast food joint." She hummed, moving off the door frame.

        Yeah, he could definitely see that. He wouldn't want to go driving in the middle of the night around this crappy city, especially to some burger joint. It already sucks driving at night, but having to drive at night in a city is just worse thanks to people ignoring the crosswalks and jaywalking, or the random drunks popping out of nowhere on the road after a night with their friends in the club. You honk your horn at them to get off the road and they think it's a fun game to scream louder than your car horn and zigzag the streets in a game of chicken. 

        "But, I'll let you get to bathing. I just wanted your input for dinner." (Y/N) smiled. "Oh, also I'm on a soft food diet for a few weeks, but I won't have you suffering with me for it. I'll make sure to hook you up."

        "Thank you." He chuckled, leaning his crutches on the wall next to the bathtub, placing his towel on the bathroom counter and the washrag on the bathtub's edge. 

        "Call me if you need anything." (Y/N) spoke, sending him a smile, before walking out of the room and shutting the door behind her, leaving Andrew to his own devices. 

        Andrew let out a sigh he didn't even know he was holding. It was hard to look at her and pay attention to what she was saying after that eye candy, but somehow he managed. Luckily, he retained enough of what she said to where he can properly wash himself without damaging his stitches. He took off his black sweater and ripped jeans, observing his ankles.

        He didn't need to wear casting anymore, but he still wore tight bandages to protect the stitch work and give a bit of support for the bone to heal itself. They had wired the small fractured bones together so the bones would stay in place. The thought of metal inside him made him a little squirmish, so he tried not to think much about it. 

        Andrew folded up his clothes, placing them down on the bathroom counter next to his towel. He glanced at the wooden laundry basket manufactured to look like a wicker basket in the corner, the cute little lid hiding her worn clothes that probably still smelled like her too. 

        He wondered if they'd share a laundry basket once he starts getting more situated around here. He wondered if they'd do their laundry together. If they'd cook meals together. If they'd decorate the house for the holidays together. If they'd wake up together in the same bed. Mundane and domestic little things like that he's unconsciously longed after for who knows how long. 

        He'll investigate her laundry along with her bathroom cabinets later. Right now, he doesn't want to take too long with this bath. 

        While Andrew cleaned himself up, (Y/N) browsed through her fridge, contemplating what to have for dinner. If she actually went to the grocery store, she’d have more food; however feeding herself hasn’t been much of a priority nowadays. Now that Andrew’s around, she’ll have to cook more to make sure he’s healthy and being cared for. 

        (Y/N) grabbed a package of Italian sausage that’s been in her fridge for a few days now. She unwrapped it, placing it on a frying pan over medium, before grabbing a pot and turning on the heat to low. 

        She grabbed some canned crushed tomatoes, tomato sauce, and Italian stewed tomatoes, throwing a can of each into the pot. Italian seasoning, basil, pepper, salt, oregano, minced garlic, and bay leaves all thrown into the pot. She would start a cooking stream if she wasn’t so insecure of herself. 

        She figured she’d just do an easy Italian goulash, it’s basically just spaghetti sauce with elbow noodles instead of angel hair. 

        After the meat finished cooking, she drained the grease and mixed the meat into the sauce. She grabbed another pot and filled it with water and some dashes of salt, waiting for it to boil. While she waited for that to boil, she started washing the dishes she dirtied and no longer needed. 

        (Y/N) absentmindedly spaced out while she washed the dishes. It’s weird how every time you wash the dishes, you’re either thinking of everything or nothing, nowhere in between. Perhaps you just disassociate to avoid the feeling of responsibility, or perhaps just to hurry up this annoying daily routine you have to do. It’s better to do the dishes than be featured in a before and after comparison picture for a housecleaning service on the newspaper (if anyone still reads those). 

        (Y/N) subconsciously peeked at the window, turning her attention to it. Normally she’d keep her curtains closed, but she wanted the room to be a bit brighter so she opened the curtains while cleaning. 

        A feeling of dread formed in her stomach like a whirlpool the longer she stared at the exposed window, causing (Y/N) turned off the faucet, drying off her hands. She quickly added some elbow noodles into the now boiling pot, then walked to the window in the dining room.

        She closely observed the window’s lock, giving the window a tug to make sure the lock stayed in place. She grabbed a screwdriver from a small basket she kept on her kitchen counter, making sure to tighten up all the screws till they wouldn’t budge. She closely observed the screen protector, looking for any mild holes, cuts in the screen, or any fingertip smudges on the glass, before deeming it safe. You can never be too safe in the city—or anywhere for that matter.

        She closed the curtains and pushed a small table back to the window wall, showcasing the innocent vase and flowers that rested in front of the window. The table was there in case any intruders broke in, that way there’d at least be a noise that would alert her if someone knocked down the table or vase. 

        (Y/N) went around the living room, observing the condition of every window and making minor adjustments to anything that needed to be done to ensure her safety was kept.

        Andrew hobbled into the living room, fresh out of the bath as he stared at (Y/N), confused on what the hell she was doing running around the windows like a lunatic. 

        “Are you good?” Andrew questioned, causing (Y/N) to yelp and jump at least five feet in the air.

        “Oh! Andrew!” (Y/N) gasped, holding her chest with her free hand. “You scared me. You’re very quiet.” 

        “Are you alright?” he repeated, hopping over to her side with the assistance of his crutches. 

        “I’m fine.” She smiled. “Just checking up on the windows. "You can never be too safe in the city, you know? Burglaries and murderers and all that!” 

        “Uh… Yeah… Yeah, that makes sense…” Andrew nodded, his thoughts drifting off.

        She’s trying to keep herself safe from murderers like myself, Andrew thought, a bitter taste in his mouth at the idea of her not wanting him around (despite his belief that she doesn't know he's a murderer). 

        “Hungry?” (Y/N) questioned, an innocent smile from her face as she walked back into the kitchen.

        “I might as well be starving.” He chuckled, even though he knew damn well what that felt like; famished and starving are two very distinct things. 

        “Well, dinner’s cooking and it won’t be any longer till it’s ready.” She hummed, watching as he followed her. “You like goulash, right? The Italian version?” she questioned, placing her screwdriver back into her counter’s basket.

        “Basically spaghetti…” he smiled. “Yeah, I don’t mind it.” 

        “Good, good!” (Y/N) smiled, grabbing a spoon and stirring the noodles as they boiled. “I’m glad to hear. I just decided to play it safe tonight and do something easy. We both could use the rest.” 

        “Rest would be amazing.” Andrew spoke, hopping over to one of her kitchen stools and sitting down with a quiet groan. 

        “Speaking of rest... How is your legs?” (Y/N) questioned, turning her body to face Andrew, moving away from the stove, leaning her back on the kitchen counter as she crossed her arms.

        “Oh, you know, they sting.” He hummed. “My ankles feel sore and there’s a dull throb every now and then, but hey, at least I’m still alive.”

        Unfortunately. He thought to himself.

        “Well, after dinner we can settle down and watch a movie.” She suggested. “Unless, you meant ‘rest’ as in you’re actually tired and want to sleep.” 

        “We’ll see after dinner…” He spoke. “I’m up for anything.” 

        “Sounds good.” She smiled. “And now that we mention dinner, it’s done.” 

        She grabbed a strainer and placed it in the sink, pouring the noodles in it to drain out the excess water. Once the noodles were drained, she mixed them in with the sauce, creating goulash. 

        She grabbed two bowls and scooped the pasta into the bowls, stabbing forks into the bowls before handing one to Andrew.

        “There’s parmesan cheese in the fridge if you want some with it.” She spoke, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. “Water?” she questioned, looking at him.

        “Yeah.” He answered with a nod, opening the fridge and scanning the shelves, before picking up the cheese and sprinkling it onto his pasta. “Thank you for cooking.” 

        “No worries.” She hummed, grabbing another glass and pouring water in it for him, handing him the glass. 

        Andrew accepted the water, giving her an appreciative nod as he followed her to the dining table, sitting down with her.

        She had four chairs around her dining table, despite seeming to live alone (as far as he can see). Perhaps the chairs are for guests or just so the table wouldn’t look weird with one chair. 

        Andrew stabbed his fork into the pasta, taking a bite, allowing himself a moment to chew and process the flavors.

        “Not bad.” He spoke, glancing over at her. “It tastes like spaghetti.” 

        “Thanks. It was basically the goal.” She chuckled, smiling.

        “Are you normally a good cook? Or is pasta just all you make?” Andrew questioned, taking another bite as his eyes stayed focused on her.

        “Oh, I just taught myself.” (Y/N) shrugged. "Cookbooks and the trial and errors."

        “You’re good.” He hummed, taking a sip of his water.

        “No, I’m not.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “I’m pretty mediocre. I mean, cooking is a life skill so really I’m not good at it compared to others..."

        He noticed her deflect the compliment and even shut it down, raising his eyes at her suspiciously. If he could kick her without hurting himself, he’d do it.

        “Hey, I’m serious.” Andrew spoke, meeting her eyes. “You’re better than me, at least.” 

        (Y/N) adverted her eyes nervously, looking down at her food. Some butterflies flew around her stomach at the praise, or maybe her food was really just that bad. 

        It felt weird to talk during dinner. When she was a child having dinner at her parents, usually it was spent in either silence or her father usually talking up a storm while her mother ignored him. On the very rare occasion—when her mother did decide to acknowledge her—it was her sending passive-aggressive comments (Y/N)’s way and questioning her life goals and motives.

        “So… clothes.” (Y/N) spoke up, picking up some goulash with her fork. “Unless you’re hiding a suitcase somewhere around here with clothes in it, we need to get you some clothes and other essentials. We can go shopping tomorrow.” 

        “Are you sure?” Andrew questioned, looking over at her surprised. “I mean, I can just keep wearing this until I get a job or something.”

        “Gross.” (Y/N) spoke, making a face at the thought of him wearing the same attire for weeks to months on end.

        “Hey, laundry exists, you know.” Andrew smiled, playfully pointing his fork at (Y/N).

        “Yeah, no. You need more outfits, otherwise you’ll start looking boring.” She chuckled.

        “Oh? Is my face not interesting enough?” Andrew questioned, teasing her as he sent her a wink.

        “Oh please.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes as she felt her face heat up against her better wishes.

        Oh god, I’m flirting with a murderer right now. (Y/N) thought, an almost nauseous feeling taking ahold of the butterflies in her stomach, causing them to burn in acid. 

        She wasn’t sure if being a murderer herself eased that nausea or worsened it.

        Her doorbell rang, causing them both to shoot their heads up at the door.

        Oh God, please don’t let it be him. (Y/N) thought, nervous. How did he even find me?

        Ashley? Andrew thought, staring at the door. Please, don’t cause a scene. Please don’t scare (Y/N) off.

        “I’ll get it.” (Y/N) spoke, forcing a smile as she stood up, her shoes tapping softly against the wooden planks. 

        (Y/N) walked to the front door, taking a deep breath before she opened the door, looking at who was in front of her abode. 

        Immediately, she slammed it back shut, panic creeping into her as a new wave of nausea hit her. She quickly rushed back to Andrew, ignoring the sting of her injured leg protesting at the rough movement, slamming her hands on the dining table.

        “You and me are dating now.” (Y/N) spoke, seemingly breathless. 

        “W-wait, what?” Andrew blurted out, his eyes as wide as saucers and he looked at her, shocked.

        “Just leave the talking to me.” (Y/N) spoke, before quickly rushing back to the front door, taking a second to smooth down her skirt and brush down her hair with her fingers.

        She took a second to take a breath, then opened the door.

        “Hi Papa! Hi Mama!” (Y/N) forced a smile, moving out of the doorway to let them in.

        “Hey there, sport!” (Y/N)’s father spoke, ruffling her hair with his hand as he stepped into the hallway.

        “About time you opened the door.” (Y/N)’s mother sighed, following her husband as she walked into the hallway, looking around at the empty walls. “You still haven’t hung anything up? It looks so gloomy in here.” 

        “I just haven’t found any decoration I like.” (Y/N) sighed, shutting the door behind her.

        Mama? Papa? Andrew thought, shocked as he stared at the family. 

        He’s meeting her parents already? They just started dating a few seconds ago! 

        “Something’s smelling good! Are you cooking dinner?” her father questioned, shoving his hands in his pockets as he looked around at her simple apartment, before his eyes met Andrew. 

        Andrew and (Y/N)’s father shared a silent staring contest, before her father rushed over to where Andrew was sitting, slamming his hands on the table. 

        “Who the hell do you think you are in my daughter’s home?!” he shouted, the table shaking from the impact of his hands.

        “Was he a one night stand?” her mother questioned, gliding over to the dining table, staring down at Andrew judgmentally.

        “Hey, it’s okay!” (Y/N) spoke, rushing to her father’s side and doing her best to pull him back from Andrew. “He’s good!”

        “Who is he?” her father questioned, his hands scrunching up table cloth with white knuckles. 

        “This is… my boyfriend, Andrew.” (Y/N) spoke, a embarrassed blush creeping up on her cheeks at her words as she managed to make some space between her father and Andrew.

        “Boyfriend?” her mother questioned, a hint of surprise in her tone. “Shocking.” 

        “Boyfriend, huh?” her father questioned, before laughing. “Sorry about that son, I didn’t mean to scare you. My daughter just got some bad experiences with boys. But you’re a man, right? You wouldn’t hurt her?” he questioned, forcing Andrew’s hand in his own and squeezing the life out of Andrew’s hand.

“N-nice to meet you, sir…” Andrew spoke through gritted teeth, a forced smile on his face. “And no, sir... I don’t wish to hurt your daughter.” 

        “I’m Frank.” (Y/N)’s father, Frank, introduced himself as he shook Andrew’s hand, dropping the hand back to Andrew’s side.

        “And I’m Rose.” (Y/N)’s mother spoke up.

        Andrew offered a handshake to her, but she just looked at his hands with disgust. “I don’t do handshakes.” 

        “Right…” Andrew spoke awkwardly, dropping his hand back to his side.

        “So… Ma, Pa, what brings your sudden visit?” (Y/N) questioned, holding her hands together in a service-like gesture.

        “We had a call from the hospital saying you were in the ER getting surgery, so your mother and I hopped in the car and drove across the country.” Frank explained.

        “Oh… that’s nice…” (Y/N) smiled, unsure what to say. “Um… thank you for checking up on me, Papa.” 

        “Don’t worry about it.” He smiled, roughing up her hair once more. “I’m sorry I wasn’t answering your calls, we drove through a lot of dead spots.” 

        Well, that at least explains why she couldn’t reach her father while she was in the hospital. She felt pretty lonely not hearing there voices during her time of need, but at least Andrew was there looking out for her.

        Pathetic really, having to rely on a man she barely knows, let alone a killer. 

        “You look fine.” Rose spoke up. “Are you sure you weren’t just overreacting?” she questioned, her tone accusing as she look in (Y/N)’s appearance. 

        “Thanks for your concern, Ma.” (Y/N) forced a smile, unsurprised of her mother’s words while Andrew had to fight to keep his mouth closed. 

        “So what happened?” Rose questioned, taking a seat at the dining table. 

        “Well, I took a walk after one of my shifts, and I got attacked by some man.” (Y/N) explained, by now she was well-rehearsed in saying the same lie over and over. “And they kept stabbing me, but I was able to fight them off and run away. I drove myself to the hospital after the attack.” 

        “Whose boyfriend did you sleep with?” Rose questioned with a blank face. 

        “Rose!” Frank snapped, sending a glare at Rose. 

        “What?” she questioned. “Well, obviously she must’ve did something to get targeted. Things like that don’t happen just because.” 

        “I didn’t do anything…” (Y/N) spoke, a bit annoyed.

        How dare she even accuse her daughter of sleeping around? Does she really think she got attacked by a vengeful girlfriend? Does she really think (Y/N) would stoop down that low? To sleep with a taken man? 

        (Y/N) doesn’t accept leftovers—so to hear her mother accuse her of being the catalyst of someone’s adultery really upset her. She had to bite back her tongue to the point she tasted some blood.

        I mean, yeah, she got attacked by a jealous and vengeful sister if that counts? But those are two completely different things! (Y/N) didn’t mean to steal Andrew away from Ashley, nor did she mean to kill her! And she didn’t even sleep with Andrew to begin with! 

        Andrew looked shocked, doing his best to keep his face neutral and not stare at Rose with disgust. I mean, who the hell tries to justify their daughter’s attempted murderer? 

        Andrew wasn’t sure if he should continue eating, watch the interaction, or pretend like he’s hearing nothing. 

        “Well, what were you wearing? Did you provoke him?” Rose questioned, tapping her fingers impatiently.

        (Y/N) walked to the kitchen, holding up her middle finger her mother’s way as she grabbed two bowls from her cupboard, putting pasta in them.

        “I just wore my nurse uniform.” She explained. “I stopped by my apartment, dropped off my phone to charge and left purse home. Then I went on a short walk around the park.” 

        “Perhaps it was a hate crime if you weren’t screwing someone’s boyfriend.” Rose hummed, accepting the bowl of goulash her daughter gave her. “You know how rowdy people are getting nowadays. Absolutely disgraceful some of them are. I mean, we nurses save their lives and they hate us for not being able to save anyone. What am I? God?”

        Fuck, I hope not. (Y/N) and Andrew thought at the same time. 

        “Well, sometimes people just have bad medical experience. Things happen.” (Y/N) spoke. “For all I know, he could’ve been experiencing a mental breakdown or perhaps an episode.”

        “You should stop involving yourself with men in general. Remember that last one?” Rose questioned. “Or, are you finally admitting that he was innocent and you’re a liar? Do you know how much we went through even after you left? All that money lost and—” 

        “Rose. That’s enough.” Frank spoke sternly, pointing his fork at Rose as (Y/N) placed his bowl down in front of him. “We talked about this on the way here. You need to be nicer to (Y/N). She doesn’t need your bitching after what just happened to her. We should be grateful she’s even alive.” 

        Rose looked at her husband agitated, her expression saying she was anything but grateful, but she decided to keep her mouth shut for now. 

        “I’m sorry, (Y/N). I guess the roadtrip has been a bit tiring for Rose. She’s a bit cranky, menopause and all.” Frank chuckled, doing his best to make light of the situation. 

        Rose shot him a nasty glare for that comment, one Frank ignored as he continued speaking.

        “So, Andrew, was it? How did you and (Y/N) meet?” Frank questioned, taking a bite of his food. “You didn’t meet her along the road and needed to stalk her home for her number or something, right?” 

        “Papa…” (Y/N) groaned, not appreciating the hostile vibes he was shooting Andrew’s way.

        “Right… um… How I met your daughter.” Andrew chuckled nervously, his eyes trailing over to (Y/N) in a ‘get me the fuck out of this conversation’ stare. 

        Oh God, the question (Y/N) was dreading. She can’t tell her parents that Andrew is her former patient! That’s so unprofessional of her to take him in and house him! Especially after she lied about them dating too! Not only that, but her mother would never let her live it down. Rose would judge her for the rest of her life! 

        “I approached him.” (Y/N) spoke up. “At the library when I transferred colleges. I thought he was cute, so I asked for his number.” 

        “Did you ask if he was single at the time?” Rose questioned, earning an annoyed stare from Frank and Andrew too.

        Does this lady ever shut up? Andrew thought to himself.

        “Yeah. She was studying… college things. There were some books on her table, and she was reading one about nursing.” Andrew spoke, forcing himself to make eye contact with Frank to try and be sincere despite the utter bullshit and lies he was spewing out his mouth.

        “What did you think of first about my daughter?” Frank questioned.

        What the hell was Andrew supposed to say to that? That’s a death trap for any man. He might as well be a fly sitting on a Venus flytrap, any wrong move (answer) and he’s dead! 

        His first thoughts of her while sitting on that hospital bed? ‘Fuck, a girl. Hopefully Ashley won’t bitch too much.’ Followed by ‘She’s pretty. Prettier than the girl in the apartment I murdered.’ 

        But he can’t just tell Frank that.

        “I was attracted to your daughter’s eyes.” Andrew spoke, mentally slapping himself in the head.

        Stupid! Every guy says that corny shit! 

        “Really now?” Frank questioned, looking at Andrew’s suspiciously. 

        Just accept it, Papa. (Y/N) thought to herself, practically sweating bullets on her side of the table. It’s better than saying he liked my chest! Just roll with it!

        “Good. Good answer…” Frank spoke, slowly nodding his head as if Andrew passed a test. “That’s a real good answer, boy. I mean, your looks will change all the time as you grow old, but your eyes stay the same for the most part. Unless you carve them out or something. Carve them out like pumpkin guts.” He spoke morbidly, a chuckle spreading throughout his lips. “But good answer.”

        “Don’t talk about eyeballs like it’s pumpkin seeds, Pa.” (Y/N) groaned.

        Stop trying to scare Andrew away from me. (Y/N) mentally pleaded, begging for who knows why. I’m craving pumpkin pie now though… 

        “Aha… yeah. Pumpkin guts.” Andrew laughed awkwardly, unsure if Frank was even speaking of a joke right now.

        “You know, speaking of good. This is some good food! Gourmet stuff right here! You should’ve been America’s master chef instead.” Frank complimented as he looked over at his daughter, pointing his fork to the bowl.

        “Thank you.” (Y/N) forced a smile, not wanting to accept the compliment. “But it could be better…” 

        “You’re right.” Rose nodded, taking a bite of her food and chewing it. “It’s too bland for my taste.”

        It wasn’t made for you. (Y/N) quickly retorted, looking at Rose blankly as she imagined lasers shooting out of her eyes.

        “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I make this…” (Y/N) spoke, her plastered smile wavering.

        The heavy tension between these two ladies is enough to break a knife cutting through, Andrew has decided.

        “I think it’s just perfect.” Andrew spoke up, avoiding Rose’s glare.

        That’s two against one; (Y/N) food wins against Rose’s tastebuds.

        “So, Andrew. How long have you known (Y/N) for?” Frank intervened, sending a wary glance Rose’s way. 

        Andrew looked at (Y/N) nervously, unsure what to say to that. 

        “A year now.” (Y/N) spoke up. “I met him not long after I moved here.”

        “Really? And we’re just now knowing about him?” Frank questioned, surprised.

        “I didn’t want to worry you.” (Y/N) shrugged, finishing her food. “Besides… I wanted to get to know him better before introducing you to him.”

        “I’m surprised you didn’t bring this one into court for stalking you.” Rose spoke, crossing her arms as she glanced at (Y/N). 

        “Mama…” (Y/N) hissed through her teeth, finally breaking down as she sent Rose a hateful glare back. “I don’t want to talk about this.” 

        “Then don’t.” Rose shrugged. “I want to. Andes or Drew or something like that. Did you know—“ 

        (Y/N) stood up from her seat, tightly holding her fork in one hand as if it was a weapon. “I said no, Ma.” 

        Rose looked up and down at (Y/N), unamused with (Y/N)’s act. 

        “Rose, stop.” Frank spoke, reaching to his side and holding his wife’s forearm. “Let’s not trigger her.” 

        “When you’re done eating, bring your dishes to me. I’ll clean them.” (Y/N) stated, before walking out of the dining table to the kitchen in almost a robotic fashion.

        Andrew was pretty curious of what (Y/N) didn't want him to know about, but he didn't want to ask Rose and risk talking to her more, and Frank might just kill him for even wondering.

        There was a pause in the dining room, nobody wanting to eat despite how good the food was, their appetites ruined by the tension. Andrew still ate every bite though, forcing it down despite feeling ill from Rose’s attitude.

        Andrew grabbed his crutches resting on the wall, standing up and taking his bowl and fork with him. Rose’s eyes sparkled, seeming to make a connection.

        “That’s why she’s with you!” Rose gasped. “She can’t settle for anyone else but a cripple!”

        “Rose!” Frank hissed, his grip tightening on Rose’s forearm.

        “Oh please, you know I’m right.” Rose huffed, before looking back at Andrew. “You had to settle for her.” 

        “What’s your deal?” Andrew questioned, his voice low so (Y/N) couldn’t hear their conversation. “Why are you such a bitch?” 

        Rose’s eyes sharpened, but her lack of reaction could only assume she’s heard that insult before. “You don’t know how much money we lost because of that attention-whore. She should’ve died that night…” Rose muttered lowly, her voice unwavering as she meant every word she said. 

        Frank shook his head, but his expression said he was anything but happy. “Stop it. You’re going too far.” Frank hissed. 

        Rose sent him a smug smirk, seemingly proud of what she just said. 

        “Hag…” Andrew spat her way, his hands balled up into fists as he tried not to do anything too drastic to turn this family reunion into a murder.

        Andrew hopped out of the kitchen, ignoring the small whispers Frank and Rose spoke as they bickered with one another. 

        (Y/N) stood at the sink with the faucet running, her hands scrubbing her clean bowl with a lost gaze. Who knows how long she’s been scrubbing that singular dish. 

        “(Y/N)…” Andrew whispered, his hand reaching out and touching her shoulder.

        “Huh?” (Y/N) jolted, almost dropping the bowl as she turned her head to him. “Andrew? Did you need something?”

        “Just wanted to give you this like you told me to.” Andrew spoke, placing his dishes in the sink.

        His hands snaked around her waist, a shiver wracking through (Y/N)’s body, reacting to the intimate touch. 

        “What are you doing?” she questioned lowly, a nervous feeling appearing in her chest. 

        “I’m just playing the part.” He muttered. “We’re dating now, yeah?” he smiled, almost cocky to throw her words back at her.

        “Uh… yeah…” she muttered, doing her best to relax her body, her back pressed against his chest as her body leaned into him without her consent.

        God, this is so wrong for me to be doing with my patient. Former patient? Roommate? Fuck, who knows at this point! (Y/N) thought, nervous as she avoided his eyes.

        Andrew leaned against her, whether it was to get closer or to support himself without his crutches, who knows. He rested his head on her shoulder, watching her shaky hands tend to the dirty dishes.

        “You know, I’m really not liking your mother.” Andrew admitted, letting out a sigh.

        His breath hit her ear, making her shiver at the reminder that he’s so close to her.

        “Well… it’s not like I chose her.” (Y/N) sighed.

        “Heh, wouldn’t that be great?” Andrew chuckled. “Choosing your own parents. That would be awesome…” 

        “Sorry for her behavior…” (Y/N) muttered. “She’s just… not really empathetic. Or sympathetic. Really, she doesn’t do well in the emotions department in general.” 

        “And I thought my parents were bad…” Andrew commented, shaking his head as he smiled.

        The movement just made her more aware of how close he was to her, pressing his body against her. She didn’t know if she wanted to hit him with a dish and run, or freeze and accept the once-in-a-lifetime affection she’ll probably ever have. 

        He smelt just like her shampoo, making her understand that this might just be a norm. That he might actually live with her longer than she expected. They’ll share the same roof, food, shower, and who knows what else.

        A wave of confidence washed over him, giving him the boldness of a drunk frat holding a pool cue. His hands moved from her waist to her sweater, fiddling with the muted pink cotton, far too close to her bare skin for her comfort as her bandages peeked out from underneath.

        “Watch your hands.” (Y/N) gritted under her teeth, shooting Andrew a warning glare.

        “Yes, ma’am…” he chuckled, his hands retreating, deciding to rest them on her hips. 

        He watched over her shoulder as she hurriedly finished the rest of the dishes, before stepping away from Andrew, no longer supporting his weight. Luckily, he had his crutches to catch him when she abandoned his side, creating a cushion of space between the two. 

        Frank and Rose both entered the kitchen, Frank’s bowl licked clean and Rose’s bowl half-eaten. (Y/N) took care of the dishes, her hands scrubbing them before she spoke up.

        “So how long are you guys going to be staying in town?” (Y/N) questioned, finishing a dish. 

        “We only planned to make sure you’re okay.” Frank spoke. “Are you doin' anythin' tomorrow?” 

        Great, the question every child dreads when their parents are in town. It’s not that she doesn’t want to hang with her father, but she doesn’t want to hang with her mother. 

        “I’ll be busy.” (Y/N) hummed. “Me and Andrew wanna go shopping together. We’ll probably go get lunch too.”

        “A lunch date, I see.” Frank nodded, his eyes trailing to Rose. “Well then, we’ll head out tomorrow mornin' and be out of your hair.” 

        “Do you have a place to stay tonight?” (Y/N) questioned, turning off the tap as she finished the dishes, drying her hands with a towel.

        “Hotels in the city are so expensive.” Rose grimaced, crossing her arms. “We figured we’d just stay the night here.” 

        “I’ll set up the sleeper sofa for you.” (Y/N) smiled.

        If my parents get the couch, then that means Andrew will have no place to sleep tonight. (Y/N) thought.

        (Y/N) looked at Andrew from across the room, not all that surprised to see him staring back. Their eyes came to the silent conclusion and agreement.

        They were sleeping together tonight.

        “I’ll go get some blankets and pillows for you both.” (Y/N) spoke.

        She walked past her parents and Andrew, placing her hand on his shoulder in a silent command for him to follow her. He did so without question.

        He hopped down the hallway, following her to her bedroom. 

        (Y/N) opened the door for him, before softly closing the door behind her. 

        “Okay… so, my parents are taking the sleeper, which is originally where I planned on having you sleep.” (Y/N) explained. “So… this means we’re going to be sharing a bed tonight.”

        “Yeah, I figured that much…” Andrew sighed, resting his crutches against the wall as he sat down on the bed, crossing his arms. 

        “That… that’s it?” she questioned, a bit perplexed. “No protests or complaints?” 

        “No, why?” he questioned, looking up at her. “You nervous?”

        “No, I’m not.” She scoffed, a smile appearing on her lips, almost laughing at the idea of herself being nervous to sleep with him for one night.

        Because in truth, she was. 

        “I’ll go get them their blankets. You can stay here.” (Y/N) spoke. “I don’t know about you, but I’m a bit tired. I’d rather not sit in the living room and talk with them… would you?” 

        “No.” Andrew spoke all too quickly.

        Her mother was a bitch, plain and simple. And her father was a bit intimidating, despite his attempts to get to know Andrew, Andrew couldn’t help but feel her father is waiting for just one word he doesn’t like slip out of his mouth before all hell could break loose. 

        “Good…” (Y/N) chuckled, smiling. “So, I’ll give them their stuff… then you and me camp out in here and watch some movies together?” 

        “Sounds like a plan.” Andrew nodded, kicking off his shoes and leaning back on her bed, his arms resting on her pillows lazily.  

        "Hey, elevate your legs." (Y/N) ordered, throwing two pillows his way.

        Andrew groaned in a small protest, but listened as he placed the pillows underneath his calves.

        (Y/N) left the room, walking into her supply closet and grabbing some blankets and pillows; she always kept extras so she can rotate her bedding while doing laundry. 

        “I’m sorry I couldn’t spend more time with you guys, and I’m sorry for worrying you two to where you had to come out here…” (Y/N) apologized, handing her parents their bedding for the night.

        “Hey, it’s no trouble.” Frank smiled. “Really, we wanted to make sure you were doing okay."

        “Thank you.” (Y/N) nodded, going to the couch and taking off the cushions, grabbing a handle that tugged the mattress out from underneath. “I appreciate your concern. I’m feeling just dandy; it doesn’t even hurt much.”

        Despite her words, there was indeed a hiss of pain that shot through her stomach when she bent over to grab the mattress, but she just ignored it. 

        (Y/N) made the bed for her parents, tucking in the blankets and fluffing the pillows. 

        “I’m sorry, I’m still pretty tired. I just got out of the hospital this morning so I think I’ll be going to bed early tonight. Is there anything I can get you guys beforehand?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “We’re fine.” Rose sighed. “We’ll be leaving tomorrow mornin', so don’t be surprised if you see us gone when you wake up.” 

        “Are you going to be fine with that man?” Frank questioned.

        “That man is my boyfriend, Papa.” (Y/N) chuckled, albeit faked. “I’ll be just fine.” 

        “If you say so.” Frank sighed. “But just holler if he causes any trouble to you.”

        “Got it.” (Y/N) nodded. “I’m going to go hit the hay. Goodnight, Papa. Goodnight, Mama.” 

        (Y/N) exited the living room, quickly rushing to her kitchen and retrieving some chips, packaged popcorn, and Hawaiian sweet bread she found lying around in her pantry. She grabbed a few water bottles before rushing to her bedroom so her parents couldn’t see the snacks. 

        (Y/N) quickly shut the door behind her, locking eyes with Andrew as he stayed in the same spot she left him in.

        “Here. I couldn’t grab much since they’re camping out in the living room.” (Y/N) spoke, placing the food on the bed. “Just try not to get any crumbs on the bed.” 

        Andrew nodded, his eyes trailing around the room, making a few notes of the minimal decorations and how bare it really looked. He knows now that she moved here about a year ago, but damn does she not have any personality? 

        “I’m going to go change into some pajamas…” (Y/N) spoke up. “I’ll find something for you too.” 

        “Thanks.” Andrew smiled.

        “Here. You can choose a movie while I search. I’m a fan of all genres.” (Y/N) spoke, grabbing her TV remote from her bedside and hanging it to Andrew. 

        She walked to a door that led to her closet, opening it and moving stuff around, before finding herself a simple long-sleeved nightgown to wear. She tossed that onto her shoulder, then looked around for something Andrew could wear.

        Luckily, she was a fan of baggy clothes, whether it was because she was feeling like wearing something oversized and comfortable, or she would wear it on cleaning days. She grabbed a shirt and sweatpants for Andrew, handing it over to him before retreating to her bathroom to change. 

        She changed into her nightgown, deciding to save Andrew some extra time to change. She took her day clothes and threw it in her laundry basket, hiding the dirty and tacky state merchandise clothes she wore earlier while burying Ashley. She also removed the bloody bandages off her arm, revealing the fresh cuts she made this morning using the broken shards from the vase earlier.

        The cuts burned at the exposure to oxygen, a throbbing sensation going up her arm. She grabbed rubbing alcohol from under her sink and some toilet paper, pouring the disinfectant onto the cloth and dabbing it on her cuts to prevent any infections. She wrapped her arm with new bandages, calling it a day as she shoved the supplies back under her sink cabinet. 

        She brushed her hair in her mirror, washing her face with water and drying it off, before deciding she’s given Andrew enough time to change into his sleepwear. She unlocked her bathroom door, opening it and walking out, closing the door behind her.

        Andrew was back to laying in her bed, but at least he was dressed appropriately for sleep. The remote was in his hand as he scrolled through the movies, uninterested in it all.

        “Do you have a favorite genre?” (Y/N) inquired, crawling into bed.

        She kept her distance from him, cresting a invisible barrier between the two. He was still a man after all, two broken ankles or not.

        “Uh… not really…” Andrew shrugged.

        It’s not like he could remember much anyways, just what happened at his old apartment complex. He was just glued to the couch watching the news all the time, waiting for an update on when the damn quarantine will be done so he can get some food.

        “Well, are you in a laughing mood? Crying mood? Family-friendly mood?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “Yeah, I’m not one to get emotional over movies…” Andrew sighed. “Why? Is that something you do?”

        “Hey, dogs and kids dying in movies are really sad.” (Y/N) huffed playfully, taking the remote from his hand.

        (Y/N) scrolled through the movies, both sharing bored and disinterested look on their face as they scrolled through the channels together. She threw a bag of chips his way, watching from the corner of her eye as she caught it.

        He opened the bag, shoving some in his mouth before holding a chip in his hand, bringing it to (Y/N)’s mouth. She accepted the  chip, opening her mouth as he placed it on her tongue, watching as she closed her mouth and chewed. 

        Andrew glanced back at the TV, watching as (Y/N) scrolled through the movies, before his eye caught something.

        “Wait, stop.” Andrew spoke, causing her to stop her aimless scrolling and look over at him. “Scroll back up.”

        She listened, slowly scrolling up, before he made her stop on one movie.

        “Seriously?” (Y/N) groaned, looking at Andrew with a half-hearted glare.

        “Yeah.” He smirked, looking at her with a smug expression. “Why? You scared?”

        “Ugh, please.” She scoffed, selecting the movie, pressing play. “Like I’d be scared of this. It’s just some ghosts haunting a house.” 

        “Hey, shush! Don’t spoil it!” Andrew hushed, shoving some more chips into her mouth. 

        She playfully rolled her eyes, yet smiled as she relaxed back into her pillows. 

        Andrew chose The Conjuring to watch, which means (Y/N) won’t be walking down any basement stairs or looking in any mirrors tonight (or for the next few days, possibly weeks). If the bed starts rattling from a ghost or demon, may any God have mercy on that poor undead fellow because she won’t. 

        Maybe Andrew was a fan of horror movies before losing his memory? Perhaps he remembers liking horror movies? Or perhaps it was just the only semi-interesting thing to watch.

        It wasn’t long before the two actually got intrigued with the movie, focusing their attention on the dark screen—(Y/N) had even turned off the lights for this. 

        It’s unknown who moved closer (most likely Andrew), but by the time she registered their close proximity, he had placed his arm behind her shoulders, pulling her closer to him to where she rested in his side. 

        She opened her mouth to speak, before inevitably staying quiet. Maybe it was because she was focusing on the movie, or maybe it was because she kind of liked the affection. Whatever it was, she decided it wasn’t worth mentioning. Maybe if they both just stayed quiet about it, it wouldn’t ever be brought up or thought about again. 

        The warmth of his body was a foreign sensation she’s never felt. Her chest almost hurt at this newfound intimacy, and she wondered if she was expecting heart palpitations for a second. She’s never held or cuddled someone, and there was absolutely no desire to after what’s happened in the past, but maybe she’ll enjoy it for once and hopefully it won’t backfire in her face like everything else has in life. 

        Andrew lazily fed himself chips with one hand, his arm wrapped around (Y/N)’s shoulders as he subconsciously rubbed her shoulder relaxingly with his free hand. The position felt almost natural to him, something that didn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable or forced. 

        (Y/N) stared at the TV in a daze, a wave of tiredness hitting her. Her whole body felt warm and in a trance as she leaned more into Andrew’s side, before finally resting her head onto his chest. 

        Andrew glanced down at her, a soft smile spreading on his lips as his eyes drooped in fondness and adoration, one he wouldn’t let her see so soon of knowing her. His hand that was originally rubbing her shoulder instead moved and started playing with her hair, gently scratching her scalp and weaving his fingers through her hair.

        (Y/N) let the last bit of her restraint go, closing her eyes as her ears ignored the TV’s spooky music playing. She let out a small appreciative sigh as Andrew pulled the blankets higher up to cover her better. It felt so damn good being taken care of for once, that if she wasn’t so tired, she’d be bawling her eyes out right now.

        But he was a murderer; and so was she. Why are they capable of such gentleness and hospitality despite committing such horrendous things? 

        Maybe it’s because murderers are humans too. They were just like us before they were labeled murderers. If there’s a way (Y/N) can redeem herself of such a negative title, she’d take it. Maybe even Andrew could redeem too. 

        But if bad things happen to good people, then does good things happen to bad people? It makes her wonder how long this good thing will last, after all, nothing good ever happens to (Y/N), or at least it doesn’t stay long.

        Ah, who gives a damn… (Y/N) thought, her arms wrapping around Andrew’s waist as she relaxed in his arms, enjoying the feeling of his hands running through her hair. 

        Hopefully, now she’s done a bad thing and is arguably a bad person depending on who you ask, maybe she’ll finally start getting good things. 

        She knows one thing now. If Andrew could make her feel this damn good despite not even being here for 24 hours, then she can’t let him leave her. She’ll keep this affection and warmth all to herself.

        It’s time for (Y/N) to take what she wants now. 

Chapter 6 is done! I actually have chapter 7 all pieced out and what I want to do for that chapter, so the next chapter we're having tons more drama, a new and important character introduction (just a little spoiler for you, they're a yandere). Patience is always appreciated.

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

Inbox is OPEN for questions about the story and new plotlines/ideas, not for requests!

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, current chapter, Chapter 7, chapter 8, final chapter.

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[obsidianstrawberrymilk]

Anyways I'm bored BSD no nuance hot takes

Yosano could probably beat pretty much everyone in the series with the exception of Fukuchi bc. Y'know

Dazai's not that hard of a character to understand if you've had depression from a relatively young age

Chuuya's not an alcoholic

He is gonna have heart problems when he gets older though

Kyouka's mischaracterization is so blatant in fandom but basically never bought up

Naomi and Junichiro have relatively equal amounts of focused screentime and development and in fact Naomi shows more initiative separate from Junichiro than he does from her

Also the theory she's a manifestation of his Ability has already been disproven

idk if this is even a hot take. Mori's not a predator. It's annoying and inaccurate and also boring as fuck to insist he is.

People write Ranpo too nice. Ya'll he's an asshole let him act like one.

Any problems people have with how Kunikida 'treats' Dazai are the same as how Chuuya treats Dazai and there's like zero argument there

Dazai wouldn't self harm

Atsushi's a great main character, one of the most interesting in the series, and does his damn job AS the main character

Chuuya's a good character, yes. There are also other fucking characters in this damn series than him and Dazai

Oda and Dazai pedestalized one another; this wasn't a healthy dynamic. However Oda really did understand Dazai in the end of Dark Era and WAS the reason Dazai was able to better himself and move away from a path that was gonna kill him and was one of the only people who could have convinced him to better himself.

The ADA-PM trade isn't gonna happen

Kunikida is both a well developed and fascinating character who's behaviors stem from stress, trauma, and likely high functioning mental illness, and is not as predictable as fandom makes him out to be

Also this isn't even a hot take but neither he nor Teruko are perma dead

Akutagawa did in fact Do That Shit. He did in fact Think That Way. He's having development but he does still believe the weak deserve to die and is only now learning not to have his instinctive reaction be murder. Like he can do what he wants but the fact his development is so good is undercut if you ignore how he started.

Also the PM is like. Not a good place? For anyone? Like the characters are sympathetic and we've been made aware of the complexities surrounding how it benefits the city but also as an organization and structure it's not at all healthy and BSD is. Pretty clear about that.

This fandom is like definition of "why are you going for moral simplicity in the nuance store" or however that post goes credit to the postmaker

[eegasleega-will-change-this-l8r]

WELL I WAS PLANNING ON PLAYING CELESTE THIS EVENING BUT INSTEAD I WILL NOW DEVOTE IT ENTIRELY TO INDULGING MY HYPERFIXATION

IT'S FINALLY TIME FOR A PORKY POST

Are Ness and Porky Friends...?

Let's talk about that 😏

First things first, I think this single moment from the beginning of the game is by FAR the most important thing to consider when thinking about how Ness and Porky's relationship is presented to us

Right at the start, when you make your way up to the meteorite, you will encounter the cops and their blockade This also serves as our first introduction to our wonderful neighbor, Porky Minch, who is currently making a nuisance of himself trying to get up to the meteorite, much to the cops' chagrin

One of the cops asks if we could help deal with Porky, and asks this vital question:

What's Ness's answer? Yes!

...or no.

I cannot understate how obsessed with this I am. Ness can't say whether or not Porky is really his friend. This is something he's unable to answer on his own. I really think this is a fantastic way to introduce Porky to the player. If he is Ness's friend... it doesn't seem like he's a very good one.

Now shortly after this, Porky begs for Ness's help in finding Picky. We get a pretty good look at Porky's character here. He's obnoxious, rude, doesn't take responsibility for his actions, and above all is pretty meek and cowardly. Now, I think some people go a little far in interpreting him as "bad" here. Porky's undeniably a jerk even now, but he's still just a kid, and a pretty pathetic one at that. If you look on the Earthbound wiki, you'll see that his age is listed as 14. As far as I'm aware, this only has one source, being Saori Kumi's Earthbound novelization. If you know even the slightest thing about this book, you will understand how ludicrous it is to use this as a source. Porky's age is never specified ingame, but I think his overall presentation implies that he should be the same age as Ness. It's fairly well-known that Ness's age is given as 13 in the American guide, but 12 in Japanese. 12 is also the age given in, again, Saori Kumi's novelization, unfortunately I don't know if this is stated elsewhere. It can also be noted that Shigesato Itoi has actually said he never thought of a specific age for Ness, just that he had his daughter in mind who at this time was in grade 4 or 5. So this gives us a range that could be as old as 13 or as young as 9. Personally, I skew toward 11-12 for how I envision the characters. In any case, Porky's clearly very young, so you really have to keep that in mind when considering... kinda everything about him, actually. But in this instance, it really contextualizes the stuff he says. For example, if you say no to him when he asks for your help, he threatens to "say something that'll cut you like a knife." I think it's silly to take this seriously (i've even heard someone describe it as Porky blackmailing Ness). He's clearly just gonna call Ness some mean name or something. ...Except he doesn't. Say no to him again, and he'll immediately deflate.

Porky is in no way a bully. He's annoying, but he's pretty lousy at being intimidating. Instead, his favorite way of getting what he wants is to appeal to others' sympathy. He's relying on Ness to help him by virtue of being "his bestest friend." Or think of his actions in battle: smiling insincerely, apologizing profusely, pretending to cry. He plays up being a sweet innocent kid whenever he's in trouble.

So, I think the picture we've painted is of a kid who's sort of a jerk, and tricks others to get what he wants. It becomes pretty clear why Ness isn't sure if he can really call Porky his friend.

...But what about Porky's side? Is he really only pretending to like Ness for his own gain, or are his own feelings much more complicated?

First off, just some minor things. While Porky leaves a pretty bad, if not altogether inaccurate first impression, there's a few things in his dialogue that speak to him thinking of Ness as more than just 'that loser who thinks we're friends.'

He promises that he'll tell Ness all about the meteorite in the morning. Probably this'd be in his typically boastful Porky-fashion, but even so, this shows that he wants to share things with Ness.

It's easy to miss because most people playing Earthbound have played A Video Game's before, and also tend not to ignore directions the game is clearly telegraphing, but Porky will actually give you advice if you're not properly prepared.

If you don't grab the Cracked Bat:

You're not taking anything on our big adventure? Why don't you look around for your Cracked bat or something?

Taking the bat but not equipping it:

Sorry about giving you this game-type advice, but you should equip your weapon! Do you know what "equip" means?

Yes:

Okay, that's good. Be sure to pay attention to details like that.

No:

It means "use" or "wear." You must equip items in order to use or wear them. "Equip" is used a lot in games like this, but you already knew that...

Finally, not answering your dad:

The phone is ringing! Answer it! At my house, my dad gets bent if I don't get the phone... within the first three rings!

These aren't anything groundbreaking, but they do show how Porky acts with Ness in casual contexts, plus how the game presents Porky surprisingly neutrally in the beginning, rather than just immediately telegraphing him as the villain. Also, nobody's seen these so hey, some obscure trivia for you.

Finally, Porky's reaction to hearing the prophecy is pretty telling of the kind of character Porky is pre-Giygas. He just talks about how much trouble Ness is in now, how he hopes he doesn't have to come, and how freaked out he is. I think this sums him up pretty well. He's the meek comic-relief friend character. Sniff from Moomin, for example. Or go watch Monster House, because Chowder is literally exactly Porky.

But none of that is super juicy. Let's dive into something juicy. This little bit murdered my brother when we got to it in our playthrough.

A quick detour to Magicant...

Ness... I envy you. You have all the luck. I have no luck. Ness... well, okay... Let's be friends forever, alright?

still hurts

Yeah so first off, I think this totally clears up Ness's feelings towards Porky. He can't say if they're really friends... But he WANTS them to be.

This is Ness's vision of Porky, the Porky he used to know before Giygas corrupted him, and the one he wishes was still around.

But even if this is just a manifestation of Ness's consciousness, I think it also gives us a look into Porky's inner self. This is what Ness sees in Porky, the confession that Porky is too insecure to say out loud. He hides it behind all his boasting and rudeness, but he really, really wants to keep his friendship with Ness.

Well.

If only.

Let's get to MOTHER 3.

This game gives us SO much more of Porky's character, and it's all sooooo deep. I cannot understate how much I hate seeing Porky reduced to 'that Eric Cartman kid who is an absolutely irredeemable suchnsuch.' King P is the culmination of a lot of aspects of Porky's character arc (you think this post is long, it's only the first of many more...), but one of the most prominent aspects is his unbelievably, painful, PATHETIC loneliness. This kid... man... is so desperate for a friend after he left the only person who ever wanted to connect with him that he literally brainwashes a whole city's worth of people into loving him.

And of course that's not enough, because all he wants is his next-door neighbor, his good buddy, his bestest friend Ness.

In closing, are Ness and Porky friends? It's complicated. Both clearly, desperately want to be. They have a history, they know each other intimately, by Itoi's own words they literally grew up playing together. But, for a number of reasons (that I've thought all too much about...), Porky just can't help but make it difficult. I'd sum it up by listening to the song that plays during Earthbound's cast credits. In the end, there are good friends, and...

[ex0skeletal-undead]

Heads-up that you may already be aware of, but someone with a more trained eye than I have needs to vet @/ketzalcoatl's account. I've seen several of their posts circulating with thousands of notes and unless I'm mistaken, their entire body of "work" is untagged AI shit

It's not my vibe so I was unaware but yes it's AI. Absolutely insanely inaccurate spider anatomy on the first post I saw. Also this one

lmao it has ten legs

[mimicofmodes]

I saw a post going around about costube historians analyzing period film costumes for accuracy and it kind of got under my skin, so I'm sitting down and writing ... not exactly a response to it, but a discussion of the topic.

(It would be a direct response except that I don't actually watch costube, because quite frankly I can't watch/listen to people discuss things I already know. And I don't want to be like "they don't do X!" when maybe they really do X and I'm just not aware. But a lot of the complaints hit the same points that have been brought up against fashion historians for reviewing costumes for decades. I would also note that I have looked into specific videos where there were claims of terrible costuber behavior and watched them and found nothing.)

If you're going to analyze a period film's costuming in any way, you should still interact with the historical aspect to some degree. If you want to talk about the use of bold stripes in Tim Burton's Sleepy Hollow, for instance, and you don't mention that they were in style during the period the film appears to be set in, it's kind of weird.

Likewise, yes, if you're critiquing primarily from the angle of historical accuracy, you should also engage to at least some extent with the reasoning behind the inaccuracy. If a reviewer doesn't do so at all, then yes, their review is probably not as good as it could be.

People pointing out an inaccuracy (or many inaccuracies) are not inherently scolding the costume designer. Even if their tone is something other than sweet. Sometimes they are scolding other people involved in the production, like the director who mandated a particular costume, or just a general notion of TPTB. Usually they are divorcing the art from the artist, though, and just reviewing the costuming from their particular viewpoint and knowledge base for a likeminded audience.

Sometimes, yes, they are complaining directly about the costume designer. This is not a crime. Some costume designers (for instance, Sandy Powell) have an incredible grasp on fashion history and excellent taste when it comes to diverging from it. Others simply don't have as in-depth of an understanding and make design decisions sometimes based on stereotypes and myths. Some costume designers will explain their decisions in interviews or blog posts and make it clear that they didn't make a truly informed decision about accuracy because they didn't know enough about the period. It's important for both sides of the equation to stop painting the other with too broad of a brush ("ivory-tower elitists who have no idea of a production's needs or budget" vs. "costumers who know how to sew but not how to do historical research").

If you're allowed to complain about a writer or a director or an actor doing something you don't like in a movie, you're also allowed to complain about a costume designer. You're allowed to have aesthetic preferences, and even to talk about them without hedging every five seconds to make it clear that others can disagree, although some of this is beneficial with any critique. Why would it be otherwise?

This seems really obvious to me, but maybe it's not? But "they costumed that female actor in an anachronistically sexy way because sex sells" is a feminist issue. The assumption that women's bodies should be sites of less-clothed allure while men's should attract by being more covered (with more layers than in modern dress, with cravats, etc.) is sexist. Complaints about female characters being costumed inaccurately are often being made along these lines, and pointing out that the producers insisted on it or something does not mean it's suddenly unproblematic that every female character deemed fuckable has to have low necklines at all times and modern shiny hair.

It's true that fiction isn't non-fiction and shouldn't be taken that way, but it's also demonstrably true that viewers do take cliches in film aesthetics as accurate when they see them enough times. People cite Scarlett O'Hara's 18" waist. They believe there were no bright colors before the 1920s and that women couldn't have put their hair up unless they were wealthy. These beliefs have consequences when it comes to public perceptions of history, and if films perpetuate them it's perfectly reasonable to point out that they support ideas about e.g. gender roles that trads express today.

It's also simply funny when a film's hair or costuming or makeup is supposed to evoke a lack of artifice but actually requires quite a bit of artifice because people don't naturally have perfect hair and skin and so on.

If you don't like reviews of period films that focus on the accuracy of the costuming, maybe ... don't watch/read reviews by fashion historians and historical costumers? At least unless they're vetted for you by someone who doesn't mind that?

[cassafrasscr]

I continue to have so many thoughts about Ashton.

I've seen a handful of posts accusing Ashton of being selfish and power-hungry, and I don't think that's completely inaccurate, per se. I don't think it's fair to frame it as Ashton just wanting power for it's own sake without considering the larger context of the threat they're facing.

Let's look back on the Hells' first battle with Otohan.

Ashton was almost completely useless in that fight. He got knocked out twice in the space of a few rounds. Which, no shade. With her Echoes in play, Otohan was almost able kill Keyleth (a level 20 Archdruid, plus her elemental Wildshape) in a single round.

Ashton's whole job is to tank hits and deal damage. With an enemy that can deal out enough damage in one round to put the tank out of commission, his ability to mitigate damage to the rest of the party is severely hampered (if not cancelled out completely).

The only reason Ashton didn't also die in that fight is that his friends healed them enough that they could get back up again, and they were able to make a run for it before Otohan started going back to kill the PCs she had already knocked out.

And that was just Otohan. One of Ludinus' right hand generals, sure, but still nowhere near as strong as Ludinus himself (or even Predathos, if it gets released). Even once they defeat Otohan, the fight that's still in store for Bell's Hells is near insurmountable.

Taliesin has said in a previous 4SD (don't remember which one, sorry) that this fight was the moment that Ashton realized just how invested with this new group they had become. The moment he couldn't protect his friends was the moment he realized that he finally had the family he'd been missing... and by then three of them (Orym, Laudna, and Fearne - probably the PCs Ash was closest to at the time) were dead.

Not only could Ashton not protect his friends, he also ran. He left his friends behind and half of them ended up getting killed. I think Ashton may feel they left their friends for dead in that moment, the same way the Nobodies left him for dead after the Hexum Heist.

Now, I'm not sure I would necessarily equivocate these two situations - this is just where I think Ashton's head might be given recent events. I don't think he would see any significant difference between the Nobodies leaving him after his fall, and him running for his life during the Otohan fight. If I'm remembering correctly, this is also around the time that Ashton really started to double down on their "Nobody gets left behind" rule.

Now that Ash is aware of how much he cares about the other Hells, he will do absolutely anything to keep them. Bell's Hells is too invested in the fight against Ludinus to turn back, and Ashton is never going to leave them again. So if the Hells won't abandon the fight, and Ash won't abandon the Hells, their only option is to get strong enough to keep their friends safe.

So of course Ashton took the Shard of Rau'shan when Fearne didn't want it. No one else seemed able or willing to take it, so Ashton charged ahead with his decision the way he tends to do.

Was it arrogant and hubristic? YES. Was it a power-hungry thing to do? YES. Was it wrong to keep it secret from the rest of the group? YES. But there's not a single force in Exandria that will make Ashton regret taking that shard if it helps him protect his friends even a little bit.

It also feels fitting to me that one of the few things Ashton can't protect them from is his own poor decision making.

[astradyke]

Just saw someone call DNP a QPR and at this point it’s like…are you even fucking real? are you homophobic? You’ve got to be homophobic to be saying shit like that

yeah like... i have a lot of thoughts on this but i struggle to articulate them so stick with me here. i'm going to start a lot of (unedited) trains of thought and then switch direction and i would love input here.

i have never been in an official QPR myself so i lack that direct experience, but i have individually explored QPRs/alternate forms of relationships outside systemic amatonormativity in my own life. i have also been in other spaces (which i won't detail here) where a lot of people would misunderstand QPRs-- seeing them as like, romance lite, not an entirely distinctive kind of relationship. like if you didn't want to call something romantic, you could just call it queerplatonic and that was safer, because that's less invasive, right? ...more on that later.

i think it's this 'romance lite' idea that drives people to assume DnP are in a QPR. as people have started to become aware of what QPRs are, a lot of misinformation spreads that QPRs are just like... romantic relationship except no sex? friendship except yes sex? a lot of framing QPRs as being some "More" iteration of an amatonormative type of relationship-- and thus, relevantly here, safer for people to 'assume' people are in.

it's my own personal assumption that some people take a perceived lack of a hard launch as a reason to assume DnP are in a QPR (note: i am aware that it's untrue that DnP have never hard launched, because they have three times; i use perceived here because people have differing thoughts on what a hard launch is for a myriad of reasons). this is because 'QPRs can be anything', so based on whatever fragments of information they perceive to have about DnP, they can just slap it together and call it a QPR. and the assumed range of behaviors that implies is not inherently inaccurate! two people could kiss on the mouth in front of you and they could be in a QPR. the world is beautiful like that!

but what assuming DnP are in a QPR does is it disregards what we actually see and hear out of DnP, and relies on a shit ton of assumptions. i need to preface before i continue here that i do NOT know Dan or Phil, and it is ENTIRELY possible that my judgments here are inaccurate, but i am working directly off of the information we have been provided. Dan and Phil have only ever indicated they are alloromantic and allosexual. people who are in QPRs can be allo, but if two people who are allo have said they had a past long-term relationship, have mentioned past romantic relationships with other people, have indicated separately that they are still in that long-term relationship, frequently reference the idea of having sex with each other, have intentionally or not put forward videos in which 'i love you' has been contextualized alongside typical romantic actions, and-- separate from each other-- seem to have a default allo understanding of other relationships, and more, it's... really hard for me to believe they're in anything other than a romantic relationship.

it's the idea that people need DnP to explicitly say that they are in a romantic relationship, no nuance, right now. which they don't have to do! it's also the idea that because Dan has referred to his relationship with Phil as being this incredible unique thing, "more than romantic", that must mean that it's not a romantic relationship. but more than romantic still means romantic, because a romantic relationship can fulfill you in many areas of your life, just like a QPR can for the right people! we have no evidence indicating that Dan and Phil are the 'right people' for a QPR! so it reads like just... outright denying the information they have shared with us about their relationship. and that reads like trying to be 'respectful' of DnP's boundaries by assuming that QPRs are a 'less invasive' assumption, which is... firstly, not true-- you can be invasive about assuming a friendship for fucks sake, it doesn't matter the kind of relationship but how you do it-- and seems to again somehow imply that QPRs are more intense but less important than romantic relationships? or something? simultaneous glamorization of QPRs and also disregarding them as anything that holds emotional weight? treating it like a proverbial unicorn? i don't know.

i'm like... overwhelmingly sympathetic, but incredibly exhausted, by this. because like: historically, in the past, i did think for a second that they might have been in a QPR! which was projection on my part mostly (trying to navigate QPR feelings at the time, being immersed in a lot of discourse about QPRs, etc.) but i dropped that near immediately because there's just No Evidence and it kind of makes me feel like people just don't know what QPRs are. it makes me feel like people are too scared to claim that they're in a romantic relationship, entangled in the past anxieties of being a 'demon phannie' etc., and so they go for what's next best: a QPR. but a QPR is not a stand in for a romantic relationship-- that would look differently! that would operate differently! and QPRs are not just a thing you fall into, it's not something you trip into, it's an agreement between two or more people. Dan and Phil would have to deliberately agree to be in a queerplatonic relationship and there is just no evidence backing that that's something they are interested in doing, or honestly, even aware of.

(i have no idea where to insert this, so side note that another possible reason why people think BIG was alluding to a QPR-- which i admit was part of my own issue at the time-- is because, as i mentioned earlier, Dan had referred to his relationship with Phil as being this unique force in his life, something he hadn't experienced. but my own interpretation-- and i believe the intent-- is not that the relationship with Phil is different in absolute nature to other relationships, but rather that the relationship is different due to its longevity, emotional security, etc. the relationship isn't 'More' than his past relationships because it's not a romantic relationship, but because it's with someone who he could experience true love with-- which, when you have been in past relationships without experiencing true love, having that experience may feel entirely fundamentally different).

again, i am sympathetic because QPRs are relatively untalked about and are given a lot of shit, and i've seen them be given a lot of shit by other queer people and that obviously really fucking upsets me. but like... the information DnP have shared with us readily point to a romantic relationship as the most obvious, direct conclusion, with the least amount of assumptions necessary. it's really nothing more than that. and i think it's either projection from people who are considering how queerplatonic attraction fits into their own lives (which i doubt as being the number one reason), or what is more likely, anxiety about being 'invasive', that is causing people to do this. which i do fear is kind of hand in hand with a subtle homophobia that leads people to deny relationships between queer people unless the couple is like, having sex in front of them and getting married. and even then, people can still deny it. because relationships are complicated but you have to use context. and i'm really exhausted of QPRs being used as an excuse to not accept a romantic relationship, instead of actually viewing QPRs as a beautiful kind of relationship some queer people have that is equal in value to a romantic or platonic relationship.

sorry to write an essay in response to this but i hope this like, roughly expresses my thoughts on the subject? again despite my best attempts at the time, i've not been in a QPR myself, and now do not think QPRs are best fit for me. so i lack that experience and i would love to hear more from folks if this misses the mark. but i have touched on this in the past and i wanted to provide a more thorough reasoning behind why i personally am dismissive of QPR theories*, at risk of people thinking that it's an objection to the idea of QPRs overall. i hope this is more of an informational meta than a direct discourse, since i don't know who is considering them a QPR at this point and i don't want this to read as a vague at all. if anyone who does see them as a QPR wants to chime in, i am happy to hear your perspective. okay much love <3

[mixelation]

*devil on your shoulder voice* what if you went into a really detailed rant about why you hate the earth is space australia posts

>:(

common themes i don't like:

"oooh humans scawwy because PREDATORS" - shut the fuck up. you're being childish. are you aware that YOU are also prey in the right circumstances? predator-prey dynamics are diverse and often shifting (look up "intraguild predation"). you are literally making interspecific interactions less interesting by doing this

"pack bonding" - this isn't a thing. this isn't a term i can find used outside of this specific genre of post and a couple of dog training books. it has no biological or sociological basis. i asked a psychologist about it and they said y'all are wrong

why are we making posts hyping up humans, only to write those posts as terrified of interacting with the incredible diversity of human behaviors and attitudes and cultures. like in these posts humans are all universally "bonding" with strange creatures and acting like physical tanks in pressing situations. if the point was a love letter to humanity you'd think you'd get actual characters representing different facets of humanity instead of a single caricature

speaking of which, why are we romanticizing human traits which are not universal. yes, some humans can [physical feat] but many cannot. why do so many posts seem to be gloating over a "feat" i'm like 93% sure the OP cannot do

i hatehatehate the format of them as an alien having a conversation with a human, where the human calmly explains something about earth (almost always poorly/inaccurately) while the alien freaks out. i hate how 50% of the sentences either begin or end with the phrase "but yeah" because the writer doesn't know how to conclude a thought when they're waxing poetic about a topic they have a very shallow knowledge on

posts often don't seem to realize they're implying absurd things about how aliens work. like i just read one about how earth is ultra diverse, implying aliens have very low biodiversity, and earth is shocking for the aliens. however, if true, without the ongoing coevolutionary arms race provided by a diverse environment, how did the aliens evolve to the point where they have space travel? i want to know about how THAT planet works, not read someone on tumblr recite a bunch of lukewarm biology facts they only kind of half know

also why are there so many scenarios where the aliens meet their downfall because they just.... didn't do any observations/research before doing something? and it's never a clever thing like "they observed for years but missed X for Y reason." it's always just like "....and then they were dumb and we were so clever and smartbrained!!!"

idk why tumblr is obsessed with taxonomy but they get especially bad at it when aliens come up. guys. the aliens would use different systems because they have a separate evolutionary history. or if they used the same system--- why?! how did THAT happen???? see my point about implying absurd things about aliens

"isn't science terrifying" - NO IT'S NOT, THAT'S JUST HOW THINGS ARE???? i hate this attitude and i find it boring. also no offense but i don't get the appeal of writing aliens shaking in their boots at the idea of [earth thing] instead of being excited to find a cool knew thing. like why go into space if you're not enthused by finding out new things and getting to learn about how the universe works. why is the interest in otherworldly biology never mutual. why is it so important to you that aliens be afraid of us and humans be the most specialest darlings in the universe

back to the "conversation" format. i know most people are not scientists so there's no reason to know this, but. most biologists know a lot about one thing and not a lot about everything else. your intro bio professor seems like they know a lot because they know intro bio and you do not. if you started asking in depth questions about, idk, the wrong type of fungus or something, they'd tap out. so it drives me batty when "scientist" characters are written like they're genuinely trying to explain something where most biologists would be like "uh, well, that's not my area of expertise--" like yes I understand part of the appeal of those posts is that some people just like listing things that they know. however one thing that i know is how biologists tend to talk and you're hurting me

[uncharismatic-fauna]

heya, in regards to that ask requesting intersex/hermaphroditic animals for pride month to weed out ter.fs:

when you make those posts, please acknowledge that the animals in question are intersex (hermaphrodism is a different thing, species-wide instead of individuals like intersex (at least thats how i was taught)), and not trans.

intersex people have asked us trans folks so many times to stop calling intersex animals trans, because it just further contributes to the erasure and alienation of intersex people. we as a group have a history of using intersex people as a convenient "gotcha" or as proof that trans people are natural, without actually supporting or considering the intersex people were making use of, and ignoring that an animal is intersex to say that its trans instead, even if its just to be silly or just as a joke, does contribute to that. (im not saying you, personally, have done this, but that us trans people as a whole need to do better)

if its an animal that goes female to male or vice versa, ive not seen anyone have a problem with calling them trans, but if they are intersex (like the lionesses that start growing manes & roaring like males), i feel its important to respect and acknowledge them as such. i very much understand the desire to say an animal is trans or gay or queer, to show that we are not unnatural, but lets include our intersex siblings and allies in this as well, and call intersex animals what they are.

🩷🩵🤍🩵🩷 🫶 💛💜💛 trans-intersex solidarity forever

Hey! Thanks for sending this.

In the posts specifically about one species in particular, I do try to avoid calling them trans-- and please let me know if I've misworded anything. I am aware that gender is very much a human construct, and labeling hermaphrodite species as trans is inaccurate and can be seriously harmful for intersex people. Frankly, when I first started making posts about those species, I was hesitant to label them as hermaphrodite at all because I know how much weight that term carries in the intersex community. That goes double for species that are not traditionally intersex, like the lionesses with male characteristics.

That said, and as you've pointed out, I do include them in my queer pride collection because A: queer-intersex solidarity forever

And B: the existence of these species, along with those that display homosexual behavior, was denied for a very long time specifically because it legitimized both the queer and intersex communities. Even today there are plenty of people that don't want to acknowledge those parts of nature because it goes against what they believe is the "correct" way to be.

So yes, trans-intersex solidarity forever! 🩵🩷🤍💜💛💜 and again, I'm only human so if I get something wrong please let me know!

[ixiot-ghostrebel]

Some Stuff I Should Probably Address.

Alright, For most of you lot who knows what fandoms I write for, this shouldn't come off as surprising to you:

But yes, this is about the Demand to Recasting Certain Voice Actors, Natlan's Characters Being Whitewashed, and my personal thoughts about these matters. They will be under the "Keep Reading" cut if you wish.

TL;DR If You Want to Avoid This, But Want Updates About My Blog: I am closing requests for Genshin and HSR for the time being. I will still be open to discuss HSR and Genshin, but not controversy. I'm sorry.

People Waiting For "Barren Lands, Final Wishes" Letters:

They're on their way, I promise! Unfortunately I haven't been able to make time for them as much as I wanted to, but they Will be out soon!

Now back to more Serious Matters.

⌨︎ Warnings: The Follow Will Contain Mentions of Sexual Abuse, Abuse, and Whitewashing. If I Missed a Warning, or Wrote the Wrong Warning, Please Notify Me Immediately!

Alright, first off: The Voice Actors of Sunday and Moze.

I frankly am not the kind of person who indulges in drama, nor do I like reading/watching them in my free time, but it can't be overlooked at this point. Griffin Puatu and Chris Niosi are quite the controversy recently.

For those who don't know, here's a (probably oversimplified—apologies, on that part) basic idea of what's happening:

Chris Niosi has been accused with sexual and emotional abuse by his ex-partners, as well as friends.

Now, the real big problem, however, is that Hoyoverse, the company who owns the HSR character by the name of "Moze" has decided to hire Niosi to become his EN Voice Actor, which is sparking a lot of disapproval, for Hoyoverse is being blamed for not checking his background/history well enough.

(For More Information About Him: Click This For an Article About the Matter.)

Now, I don't have much to say about Griffin Puatu, who is the current EN Voice Actor of Sunday, but judging from screenshots and tumblr posts I have seen by the Reddit post he wrote, many people are not liking him as well because Puatu is standing up for Niosi.

Now, my Personal Thoughts on the matter, and, as much as I hate getting into drama (apologies, these personal thoughts will be a rant):

Just why? I'm unsure who was at TRUE fault of hiring Niosi, and I don't have full context of WHY Puatu is backing up Niosi when people say he hasn't changed, but seriously, why?

As much as I really hate to say this, but honestly, with this amount of controversy around a game people download to have fun and enjoy, all of it is pretty much ruined for me at the moment. I'm fed up with this—Again, I'm not sure whose fault it was, but they seriously need to be CAREFUL.

I also don't believe that Niosi should have gotten the role of Moze (HSR), but at the same time, who the hell decided it was a good idea to get/give him the role? As I live under a rock, I didn't know who Niosi was. At the time of Moze's drip-marketing, I really thought it'd be cool—for the first time in a while, I actually felt excited for a character rather than the plot of a game. After hearing all this, and taking time thinking about it, I really just don't want to touch HSR content anymore at the moment. It's annoying, because HSR has really good content—it has the potential to be great.

I seriously just can't wrap my head around who hired this guy. I'm not going into Puatu specifically because I don't know much about what he wrote, and (again) I don't like getting into drama. My apologies on that part, but honestly? I'm just done.

Alright, Second off: Natlan Characters—Skin.

I'm pretty sure most people are aware of THIS controversy, but to simplify: Natlan Characters are too pale and it's inaccurate.

Geographically, it makes no sense. They're in warmer temperatures, they should be more tanned. On top of that, their skin tone DOES NOT MATCH their cultures, or where they're taken inspiration from. Hoyoverse are being boycotted (from what I heard) for whitewashing and neglecting to represent the people of said-cultures/said-traditions.

My Personal Thoughts?

COME ON, HOYOVERSE. Do better! It was one thing to drop Natlan Teasers about the characters, but seriously? Please, try a little harder! Genshin Impact has GOOD POTENTIAL—EVERYONE SEES THAT! But you can't make them tanned? Why?

This was the first thing that has been bugging me BEFORE the entire Moze EN VA bullcrap. Come on, Hoyoverse, do better. You are losing respect out here. I am so disappointed, and even that is an understatement! You are losing your respect and recognition as a worthy company brand! What is going on in their building???? Hello???

Someone better fix this skin tone problem soon. I am so fed up with this. As much as I love the characters they just drip-marketed, it's also quite unfair: Take Liyue, for example. Their culture and their people are represented accurately, as far as anime can go.

Natlan? Yikes, suddenly they aren't able to create that same amount of accuracy potential. Why though? What's stopping them? Why are they not doing what is ethically right?

Everyone's waiting for a proper answer, myself included.

Alright, With that all being said—the final Part: What's Happening to the Ghost Rebel's Blog?

Well, for starters: I need a break. I am not only disappointed, but mentally drained. I am so done with all of this, and I need an utter breather. I usually go on Tumblr to cool down or read some nice, wholesome writing posts I find on some fandoms I like. Now, however, I am in dire need of staying away from Tumblr.

I'll be on a little bit of hiatus from writing so much—but not for now, as I currently have an event going on.

However: I am no longer taking any HSR and/or Genshin requests until these issues are either resolved or fixed. That is my stance, and I hope you can respect it.

Yes, this will mean my blog will decrease in activity. However, I am still open to Genshin/HSR discussions—so long as they are not about drama/controversy. I think I'm drained from all of this.

To everyone who read to the very end of this post: Thank you for reading to the end, and I apologize if you were also trying to avoid witnessing these kinds of controversies. However, some things can't be overlooked.

Hope y'all are doing safe/good. Have a good day/night.

[yesitsmewhataboutit]

Bloodlust

Vampire!Shoto Todoroki x Reader

➤ You’re leaving for a week. You and Shoto come up with a plan on how he’ll survive while you’re gone, but things don’t always go as planned

»»——⍟——««A/n: ngl yall, this sat in my drafts finished for MONTHS 😭I apologize. But uhh…. This will prolly be my last vampire au writing😅

Warning⚠️: blood, needles, medical stuff (I’m aware I’m not a doctor idc if it’s inaccurate), cliffhanger ending depending on how well you know me

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Clothes, toiletries, shoes, snacks, and your carry-on. Yup, you're all packed. Only one last thing to do before you left for your flight.

Today, you're leaving for a week long trip for your job. You're leaving, and Todoroki's staying. As much as he would love to come with you, he has things to care of while you're gone. You're all packed, ready to head out the door, except for the last -most important- thing you have to do before you leave.

You leave your bags at the front door, opting to search for the boy in question. You find him sitting at the edge of your bed, scrolling through his laptop. "Sho, I'm ready to go, wanna start?"

He looks up, smiling at you and setting his laptop to the side, meeting you at the bedroom door in a few quick strides. "Yeah," he leans down giving you a quick kiss on the lips, "go ahead to the living room, I'll get the supplies."

You follow his instructions, sitting down and making yourself comfortable as you wait for him to get the items needed to draw your blood. Usually, Shoto feeds from you, but since he can't go with you, plus you're going to be gone for a week, you made the decision on him drawing blood from you to keep him fed while you're gone.

He comes into the living room, sets everything down on the table, and turns to you. He offers you his hand, a sign to give him your arm. When you do, he pauses. "You should probably lie down." You do, keeping your arm outstretched to him and relaxing on the couch. "Let me know if it hurts too much."

He goes the full nine yards, wrapping a tie around your arm, rubbing his finger over the spot he picked to make sure the blood is pumping. He does it all. He gives you one last look, needle in hand, before sticking you with it, watching your blood filter from your body, into the bag next to you.

"You sure that'll be enough?" you ask, noticing he only has two blood bags.

"Yes, Love. I'll need to pace myself while your gone," he says gently, bringing his hand up to rest on your cheek.

You smile, turning your head a bit to look at him. "I wish you were coming."

"I wish I was coming too. but it's ok, you'll be back in no time," he laughs slightly, "and I'll again get to drink from the sweet source." He leans over, playfully nudging his nose again your cheek, making you squirm and laugh for a moment before lays his hand on your stomach. "Don't move too much."

His tone says he doesn't want to waste any blood that might drip, but his eyes say he just doesn't want to accidentally hurt you, needle being in your arm and all, so you settle smiling at him and waiting to be done.

"Ok, one more, almost done," he says, pressing his thumb to stop the flow, changing the bag and securing it before hooking up a new one and letting it start filling again. "You're doing so well. Thank you for this." Shoto settles his hand into yours, rubbing his thumb in circles on your skin.

"Of course, anything for you, Sho. Just don't get caught with blood bags in the fridge and medical supplies in the bathroom while I'm gone," you joke, earning and laugh from him.

About halfway through the second bag, Shoto notices your eyes starting to flutter shut. You're fighting unconsciousness. Shoto scoots closer, his hand instinctively going to your shoulder. "Y/n? Hey, Love, do you need me to stop?" He barely waits for an answer before his hands are creeping down to unhook everything.

"No, no, I'm ok," you sigh weakly, "want- want you to finish."

Todoorki bites his lips, looking down at the three-quarters-filled bag. 'Ok, ok. Almost done, almost done, baby," he says quickly.

The second the bag is filled he wastes no time unhooking the needles and stopping everything, checking over your whole body, listening to heart rate, and letting you lay on the couch as he cleans everything. This is the first time you had done this, and everyone reacts to getting blood drawn differently, so it's not even a thought as Shoto offers to instead drive you to the airport, wanting you to rest in the car ride, of course, giving you and a small bowl of cereal and juice to eat before heading on the road.

"Thanks again. You know it means a lot," he says, pulling up to the airport drop-off area. You'd slept the whole ride, getting enough strength to make it through security, to the gate, and on your plane, where you'll probably sleep the whole ride.

"Of course, Sho. No regrets," you smile. "Be safe while I'm gone."

He laughs and frowns. "That's my line."

You smile. “Yeah, guess it is.” You lean to him, giving him one last kiss goodbye. “Love you.”

“Love you, too”

--

Your trip went well, and you're happy to be coming back. You missed Todoroki and your home. The first two days, things seemed fine, he'd text you and call when possible, keeping you updated, after though, things got quieter until it was just plain silence.

You chose not to let yourself worry, burying yourself in the work you had to do while you were gone and not thinking about it, knowing he's fine, he's strong, and he'll be home when you get back. Judging by the text you got from him before you boarded the flight home, you knew the last few days must have only been paranoia and circumstances:

See you soon, Y/n.

You pull up to your home and get out, getting your bags and walking to the front door. There's something running through your veins. Partially excitement to see Shoto again, but also something else. Fear? Dread? You weren't sure, but whatever it is, it still pushes you on as you unlock the door and open it.

If it wasn’t fear that you felt before, you definitely felt it now. The house was dark, only light coming through the blinds lit it enough for you to see. And it’s cold, any colder you’d be able to see your own breath. Things are scattered everywhere, almost like someone went into a fit of anger and started throwing things.

You leave your bags on the floor, forgotten about as you step forward, Shoto’s name on the tip of your tongue, but dying in your mouth before the first syllable even comes out, a flash and small burst of cold air going past you, and then you feel arms circle you from the side, pulling you into a cold body.

Your breath is caught in your throat as you feel Shoto’s breath on your neck. You try to speak, try to move, but he’s strong, keeping you pinned against him, even at the weird angle.

His hand grasps your neck, tightening around it and keeping you still as he leans in. You feel panic start to rise in your bloodstream. What could’ve happened? He said you left enough blood, everything should have been fine. But you know this, you know the signs, you caught a quick enough glimpse of Shoto’s blown pupils. The way his usual eye colors are gone, you feel his tight grip in every move he makes. The look on his face tells it all.

This is Shoto’s bloodlust.

He’s only been in bloodlust twice before around you, but both of those times it wasn’t necessarily geared toward hunger, but now, you’re not sure what’ll happen. But you still hold on to the thought that Todoroki knows you, he loves you, and he isn't going to kill you. He’d rather go through all his life again and have to redo every moment again before he drained you of all the blood you need to live. You trust him.

Todoroki squeezed his hand around your neck, making your pulse jump once again as he drags you to his mouth, also leaning down all at the same time and opening his mouth.

There’s no second thought, no hesitation or regard, only the pain of the bite. The feeling of his fangs digging into your skin, eager and draining your blood. It’s fast, so fast you can almost feel the blood rushes out of you, a big change compared to how he usually does it, slow and steady, letting you savor the tranquil feeling like you usually do.

You can feel his arms wrapped firmly around your body, and for a second, he pulls away, but only so he can turn you, making your chest flush against his as he digs his fangs into your skin again.

This time, it only lasts about ten seconds before you feel your vision to go. Your body feeling heavy, and suddenly so much more tired than seconds ago. Your eyes flutter shut, and your legs go out, consciousness slipping from your grasp.

Todoroki feels your body going limp, and he secures his arm around you, keeping you against him as he continues to feed. He carries you to the bedroom, his mouth still attached, and he lays you on the bed, his body fully over yours as your blood begins seeping from his mouth, and he continues to feed.

Shoto loves you, he protects you, you trust him. Shoto would never kill you.

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