#cooper is hyperventilating

[nxnsense]

[cullenedward]

he's so edward cullen

[dalesangeldoe]

my pookies hanging out in the cellblock

[tehshelaroxx]

Back when I was in middle school, my family and I would frequent a local flea market on the weekend, almost every single weekend. I'll never forget coming across the Art Asylum doll of Alice Cooper that played "Welcome to My Nightmare" and becoming entranced. My dad and the seller bargained until we finally paid around $20 for it, which kickstarted a lifelong obsession with Alice Cooper. I still have the doll btw but he's no longer in box lol

When the pandemic was happening, Alice came close by and I wanted to see him so bad but that didn't pan out. But today, that's all about to change. I love this man with my life and now that the day has came I'm freaking out. Who else can say their first concert ever was rock legends Alice Cooper and Rob Zombie???? Now that the day has arrived I AM PANICKING but so very excited!!!! Another dream come true in due time. 💜🖤

[moonlitdesertdreams]

Of Ghouls and Drugs

Request: "ok so I'm absolutely obsessed with that coop fic you did where reader helps him when he's injured and it's super domestic and fluffy....could you maybe do something where the roles are reversed and he helps the reader who's injured? maybe she's a little shaken up over it too and he calms her down and it's just very sweet and soft. thank you i adore your writing so much 💖" A/N: First of all, the reception of my Fallout content has been amazing. If you're one of the people who have liked/reblogged/replied/shared/saved/etc, I am eternally grateful to you. Second, thank you once again to the anon who sent this request! It's a bit of a switcharoo from Stuck Like Glue, so if you need some more Cooper content, check that out or take a peek at my Fallout Masterlist! Tags: Fallout, Cooper Howard, Cooper Howard x F!Reader, Cooper Howard x You, Ghoul x Reader WARNINGS: Canon-Typical language and violence Summary: Injured and scared, you can always count on your Cowboy to save the day.

Word Count: 1.7k+

(Gif Credit to @victoryrifle)

You don’t know why you’re hyperventilating. 

Sure, you’d been in countless fights and been scared more times than you can remember. In the Wasteland, if you’re not scared every now and again, you’re dead. But today, cornered in a decrepit open-air shopping mall store while a hoard of feral ghouls claw at the rusty security gate, you’re frozen with fear. 

It was an old clothing store, picked apart by scavengers and ravaged by time. Everything was covered in a thick blanket of dust, from the old checkout counter to the racks of high heels that sit untouched. Unfortunately for you, it hadn’t been a department store you ducked into where there could be some hope of escape. This one was a small boutique-type outlet with one way in and one impassable way out. Furthermore, the roll-down security door currently saving your life had been pure luck on your part. The lever for it was broken off and mounted on the side of the entrance; you’d only found it after the damn thing had torn your upper arm to shreds in your haste to get away. 

And now you’re ducked behind the checkout counter, old patterned men’s tie wrapped tightly around your bicep in a poor excuse of a tourniquet. You were out of ammo, banking on the security gate holding until the ghouls got bored or forgot about you. But there was something about today, about how they’d come charging from the darkness the second Cooper had left to turn in your latest bounty, that terrified you. Feral ghouls were shells of people with no logic or sense left in them, but the attack had felt calculated, planned. You argued with yourself, knowing they had basic instinct and probably just singled you out after another of their kind left.

Then again, maybe you’re conflating your fear of Cooper becoming one of them one day with the looming fear of death. 

Unable to do anything about it, you sit behind the counter and shake. Your breath comes in quick punches, inhales cutting off the exhales and vice versa. The iron smell of your own blood is overwhelming. Despite the tourniquet, warm liquid leaks down your arm and drips into a thick crimson puddle beneath you. Your backpack, full of stimpaks and every chem known to man, is abandoned just outside the gate. The damn thing had been torn away when you’d got caught on the jagged lever, beyond your reach and unable to be saved. 

The ghouls wail and groan while clawing at the gate, the sound of rattling metal echoing around the store’s walls. It’s deafening to the point where you cover your ears, accepting the fact that you’re screwed either way. Blood loss or ghoul attack, it doesn’t matter. Cooper’s long gone towards the last town, and you’re cursing the apparently lackluster job the two of you did making sure your camp was secure. 

“Take a look around.” He’d told you, “Getch’yu some new clothes if you need ‘em.”

Cooper’s voice and kiss goodbye lingers in your thoughts as you hold your hands over your ears. It’s a more pleasant thought than the ghouls outside. Your ghoul always keeps you safe. 

“Darlin’.” 

You almost smile to yourself, probably delusional from blood loss. 

“Hey!”

Your name slipping out of Cooper’s mouth dances across your foggy mind. 

“Goddamn it woman, open your eyes.” 

Something shakes your whole body, and your eyes snap open. 

At first it’s too dark for you to recognize any solid features, and you scramble away. The missing nose and scarred flesh blend together in your mind. You swing your injured arm in blind panic, which has the tourniquet breaking loose and bright arterial blood spattering the floor.

But you hear a voice calling through the haze. Soft and slow, like it’s calling to a wounded animal. “Ay, ay ay. Calm down now, sweetheart.”

You squint through the darkness, fighting dizziness. A familiar silhouette makes itself apparent. 

“Cooper?”

His face, weathered by radiation and pain, is usually twisted into a dramatic scowl. But right now it’s concerned, brow furrowed into worry that you’d never seen. The sounds of ghouls and impending doom have vanished. 

“It’s me, babydoll.” He almost coos at you, reaching out a hand. “C���mere.”

Your emotions rage, and tears burn at your eyes. You reach out a hand and brush the one he’s holding out, but your fingertips barely catch on the seam of his gloves.  You squeeze to make sure he’s real. He wraps strong fingers around your wrist and pulls you in. 

It’s easy to give in as his familiar scent and feel washes over you. Gunpowder and smoke are the main notes, but you catch the leather of his duster and the unavoidable grime provided by the Wasteland. The tears flow easily out the corner of your eyes and drip down your cheek.

“I-I don’t know where they came from.” You clutch at his coat, “Scared the hell out of me.”

Cooper is still moving despite you being all but wrapped around him where he’s knelt down. You feel his hands near your injured arm and instinctively cower. 

“Came from somewhere in that back parking lot, it looks like.” Cooper grits in his usual gruff tone, “Must’a got ‘em goin’ when they heard us. Waited ‘til you were alone.”

You sniffle pathetically into his coat, and it morphs into a strangled cry as he wraps the tie back around your arm. His other hand holds a broken piece of wood that he uses to knot into the fabric and twist. 

“Ah! Fucking hell, Coop!” Your protest is little more than a whine as your arm starts to go numb. 

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He murmurs, tipping his head back so he’s able to look in your eyes. “Don’t want ya to bleed out here.” 

You hold his gaze for a moment. “Why’d you come back?”

He helps you stand, giving you a moment to lean back against the counter and acclimate to the dizziness. Your eyes hold steady on him, watching lashless eyelids blink above gaunt cheeks.

“Vials.” He hooks an arm around your shoulders and the other behind your knees and lifts you up, “I wanted to have enough in case I got caught up.”

The slow cadence of Cooper’s walk almost lulls you into closing your eyes and he trudges silently to the shop’s entrance. You see gore splattered on the walls and floor, headless ghouls lying motionless at his feet. The top handle of your backpack is sticking out of the mess, and Cooper snatches it up. 

He walks for some distance, away from the pile of dispatched ghouls. He doesn’t stop until you come up on a store a ways away, advertising furniture and televisions. It seemed relatively untouched considering an atomic war and a two-hundred year wait. The Ghoul moves near the door, and you hear him clanking about with the lock. It takes a few tries and muttered curses, but Cooper jimmies it enough so he can get a toe nudged in the door. You attempt to help by grabbing the door, but he moves your hand back to his shoulder and pushes in on his own.

Cooper sets you gently on a shockingly clean and padded couch. The Ghoul is quiet, but gets to work cleaning the long gash in your arm. He gives you his inhaler, but there’s a strange canister clicked into the mechanism rather than his vial. You take a huff, and gag at the strong taste. 

“H-Holy Shit.” You cough, and it almost distracts you from the pain of a stimpak being stabbed into your wound. “What is that?”

Cooper unties the tourniquet when he’s satisfied, and sets the stimpak off to the side. “Med-X. Inhalin' it works faster.”

You nod and huff on his inhaler again. The Med-X is potent as all hell, and it feels like it’s shooting straight to your brain. You’re more willing, desperate for more as the effects set in. Cooper settles himself on the cushions beside you, watching carefully and taking away the inhaler before you overdose yourself. 

“I’m sorry for bein’ stupid.” You murmur. “I shoulda ran anywhere but there.”

Cooper leans in, ungloved hand cupping the side of your neck and tilting back. “Never apologize for survivin’, sugar.”

The drugs swirling about in your brain make it hard to form normal sentences. “I wouldn’t have without you… I hurt my arm and lost my cool.”

He tries to talk, but you  shush him.

“I couldn’t quit thinkin’ about those ghouls… about you.” 

Cooper sighs and wraps an arm around your shoulders. He pulls you in close and shushes the soft cries that creep up your throat, fueled by a drug-induced haze. 

“Y’know… There’s always somethin’ that’s gonna make us lose it.” Cooper drums his fingers on your forearms. “No matter how tough we might be.”

You feel his lips in your hair and lean into it. “Guess I gotta trust that, ‘cause you’re pretty tough.”

Unbeknownst to you, your words are already comically slurred. Cooper chuckles into the bird’s nest on your head. 

“Feelin’ that Med-X, honey?” 

You swear to god, it’s gotta be that drawl that’s honey, not the drugs.

“Jus-Just a little.” You slump further into his side, head dropping onto his chest. He uses the tip of his boot to drag a nearby footrest closer and prop his feet up. 

“Good. Time for a nap.” Cooper tilts his hat down over his eyes. 

You hum, unable to argue. A nap sounds rather splendid, especially with the amount of drugs circulating your body. You glance up just as the Ghouls huffs down the rest of the Med-X himself. 

“Coop!” You try to chastise him, but it comes out as more of a laugh. “That’s not safe. You don’t need that right now.”

The Ghoul grumbles something that sure sounds like ‘goody two-shoes’, but reigns in the hostility, 

“Sure I do.” His hand rubs up and down your arm before finding its way to your waist. “I’m an old fuckin’ man. Joint pain.”

“Joint pain, schmoint pain.” You mock, eyes falling shut and staying that way. “Fuckin’ old man.”

Cooper actually chuffs at your remark and ducks to press a kiss to your forehead. It’s unexpected and sweet to feel such affection from him, and combines with the euphoric feeling of opioids pulsing through your brain.

“Go to bed, darlin’. Before I knock you out myself.”

thanks for reading, much love ❤

Read More: Fallout Masterlist

[xtra7s]

First, I love your work!

Second Clicking ont the yes baby button made me feel things !

Third I was wondering if you could write about Leighton or Renée who has an hidden anxiety disorder

Thanks ♤

𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦

Leighton Murray x Fem!reader

Synopsis: Your girlfriend Leighton is struggling.

Content: Anxiety attacks, fem reader, ummm idk fluff

Word Count: 1.1k

a/n: LOVE REQUEST SO MUCH HOPE I DID IT WELL IM SORRY ITS SHORT (Glad the button made u feel things)

masterlist

Leighton's heart raced like a runaway train, each beat reverberating through her chest like a drumbeat of impending doom. She stared blankly at the pages of her math textbook, the equations and formulas blurring together into an indecipherable mess. No matter how hard she tried to focus, her mind refused to cooperate, consumed instead by a rising tide of panic.

"I can't do this," Leighton whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own ragged breaths. "fuck I can't do this."

She raked a hand through her hair, tugging at the perfectly styled blonde locks in frustration. This wasn't like her. Leighton Murray was known for her sharp intellect and unwavering confidence, especially when it came to academics. But now, faced with the looming specter of failure, she felt utterly powerless.

The fluorescent lights of the college dorm hallway cast a stark glow on the beige walls, as Bela, Leighton's roommate, hurriedly dialed Y/N's number. She could hear the faint sound of Leighton's pacing from the other side of the door, mixed with the irregular rhythm of her breaths.

"Come on, pick up," Bela muttered under her breath, anxiety lacing her voice as she waited for the call to connect.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Y/N answered. "Bela? What's up?"

"Y/N listen, something's wrong with Leighton. She's freaking out about something. I don't know what to do."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at the urgency in Bela's voice. Leighton was known for her impeccable composure, if she was hyperventilating over something, it had to be serious.

"I'm on my way," Y/N said without hesitation, grabbing her jacket and keys before rushing out of her own dorm room.

Minutes later, Y/N knocked on the door of Leighton and Bela's room, her heart pounding in her chest. Bela opened the door, her eyes wide with concern as she stepped aside to let Y/N in.

Leighton was pacing around her room, her usually perfectly styled blonde hair in disarray, and her hands shaking as she clenched and unclenched her hands.

"Leighton, hey," Y/N said softly, crossing the room to grab ahold of Leighton's hand softly, stopping the pacing. "What's going on? Why are you so worked up?"

Leighton looked up, her blue eyes swimming with panic and vulnerability. "Y/N, I… I don't know what to do. My brain is all scrambled and I can't memorize these formulas for shit I don't know what's wrong with me."

Y/N's heart broke at the sight of Leighton's distress. She smiled sadly at her, offering a reassuring squeeze to her hand.

"Hey, look at me," Y/N said, her voice steady and soothing. "You are more than capable, Leighton. You're brilliant, and you know this stuff. I know you do, you're quite literally the smartest girl on campus."

Y/N noticed Leighton's breathing picking up, and she gently guided Leighton to sit down on the edge of her bed.

"Hey, it's okay," Y/N said soothingly, her voice a beacon of calm in the storm. "Just breathe with me, alright?"

Leighton nodded shakily, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. Y/N settled down beside her, taking Leighton's trembling hands in her own and guiding them to her chest.

"Feel my breath," Y/N instructed, her voice soft and reassuring. "Inhale… and exhale."

Together, they began to breathe in tandem, the steady rise and fall of Y/N's chest a comforting rhythm against Leighton's fingertips. With each breath, the tight knot of tension in Leighton's chest began to loosen, replaced instead by a sense of peace and calm.

As they continued the exercise, Y/N whispered words of encouragement, her voice a gentle melody soothing Leighton's frazzled nerves. And with each passing moment, the storm raging inside Leighton began to subside until all that remained was the quiet serenity of the present moment.

"Better?" Y/N asked, her eyes searching Leighton's for any sign of distress.

Leighton nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Thank you, Y/N," she said, her voice filled with gratitude. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Y/N smiled back, her heart swelling with love for the girl sitting beside her. "You don't have to do anything alone, Leighton. I'm here for you, always."

Leighton's breathing began to slow as she focused on Y/N's comforting words. With each steady inhale and exhale, the tension in her body began to ease.

After the storm of panic had passed, their fingers stayed intertwined as they basked in the calmness that filled the room. But amidst the tranquility, Y/N couldn't shake the nagging concern that had been gnawing at her since she first saw Leighton in distress.

"Leighton," Y/N began softly, her voice barely above a whisper, "do you… do you have an anxiety disorder? I'm so sorry if that's rude to ask, I've just noticed you get really.. panicked sometimes."

Leighton's breath hitched at the question, her eyes widening in surprise. She hadn't expected Y/N to pick up on the underlying issue so quickly, let alone address it so directly.

"Yeah," Leighton admitted hesitantly, her voice tinged with vulnerability. "I do."

Y/N's brow furrowed in concern as she faced Leighton, her expression a mixture of empathy and confusion. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

Leighton looked away, her gaze fixed on a spot on the floor as she struggled to find the right words. "I guess… I guess I was scared," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Scared that you would think less of me, or that you wouldn't understand."

Y/N reached out and gently lifted Leighton's chin, guiding her to meet her gaze. "Leighton, I could never think less of you," she said earnestly, her eyes filled with sincerity. "You're still the same amazing person I fell in love with, anxiety disorder or not."

Leighton's eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she absorbed Y/N's words, her heart overflowing with gratitude for the unwavering love and acceptance she found in Y/N's embrace.

"Thank you," Leighton whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Y/N smiled softly, leaning in to press a tender kiss to Leighton's forehead. "You never have to face anything alone, Leighton. I'm here for you, always."

And as they sat together in the quiet intimacy of Leighton's room, surrounded by the gentle warmth of their love, Leighton knew with unwavering certainty that no matter what challenges life threw their way, as long as she had Y/N by her side, she could weather any storm.

[winxanity-ii]

IT'S ME, MARIO!

ship: itadori x fem!reader warnings: non-explicit word count: 1.7k a/n: idc idc idc, yuji would definetly make a fool of himself if he knew you were nervous

★·.·´🇯‌🇺‌🇯‌🇺‌🇹‌🇸‌🇺‌ 🇰‌🇦‌🇮‌🇸‌🇪‌🇳‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

Since living on campus, you'd adjusted to being on your own. It had been… interesting, to say the least.

Moving from the comfort of your hometown, where you knew everyone and everyone knew you, to a sprawling university was like stepping into another world.

But you'd managed. Slowly but surely, you'd found your rhythm.

You'd been pushing yourself to attend those countless events and programs that the campus threw at you, dipping your toes into the waters of socializing at your own pace.

Sometimes, it was easier to just be a face in the crowd, observing from the sidelines, taking mental notes of how people interacted, what made them tick.

You'd practiced small talk like it was an art form—commenting on the weather, complimenting someone’s shirt, asking what their major was—and for the most part, you'd gotten better at it.

It was a slow process, but you were learning to navigate the chaotic dance of college life.

Currently, you were sitting in your honors open communication class, trying to remember how to breathe without making it seem like you were hyperventilating.

The classroom, with its cozy size of about ten people, should have felt intimate, manageable. But instead, it felt like a pressure cooker. Every word, every glance, every single goddamn breath felt magnified.

You were staring blankly at the front of the room as your classmate, Akane, wrapped up her presentation on how to cook a traditional Japanese breakfast: tamagoyaki, miso soup, grilled fish, rice, and even a beautiful spread of pickled vegetables.

It sounded extravagant, yet she made it look so simple.

Probably because she didn't have to wrestle with the invisible, clawing beast of anxiety like you did every time you so much as thought about public speaking.

Your palms were sweaty, knees weak—okay, maybe not that dramatic, but still. You were jittery and nervous, your pulse a steady drum in your ears because you were up next. And Akane, bless her, was finishing up with a flourish, her smile bright and confident.

You tried to take a deep breath, feeling your throat tighten. Itadori Yuji, sitting right next to you, leaned over slightly, his shoulder brushing yours, and whispered, "Hey, you okay?"

You managed a stiff nod, mumbling out a barely audible, "Yeah." But you didn’t dare look at him, because you knew the concern in his eyes would undo you. Instead, you stared hard at the scratched-up desk in front of you, willing yourself not to freak out.

Yuji knew about your anxiety. You'd confided in him more than once, spilling the mess of thoughts that spiraled in your head before you had to speak in front of people.

How your heart raced, your mouth went dry, your hands shook. How no matter how much you prepared, how many times you practiced, your body still froze up.

It was like your brain and body were in this weird, dysfunctional relationship where neither of them wanted to cooperate.

"L/N-chan?" Your professor, Nitta Akari, said your name with that polite, expectant tone that sent another jolt of panic through you.

You opened your mouth, but before you could make any sound that resembled a response, Yuji spoke up.

"Sorry, teach, but is it alright if I go first? I'm a little shy…" His voice was as smooth and casual as ever, and you turned to look at him, utterly confused.

What the hell?

Nitta-sensei blinked but nodded, clearly caught off guard. "Uh, sure, Itadori-kun. Go ahead."

Yuji stood, giving you a quick wink as he made his way to the front of the room. You were still processing what just happened when he started speaking, but instead of launching into the well-thought-out paper on global warming you helped him prepare, he began with: "Mario, the Idea vs. Mario, the Man."

You blinked. Once. Twice.

What the fuck?

"Everyone knows Mario is cool as fuck. But who knows what he’s thinking? Who knows why he crushes turtles? And why do we think about him as fondly as we think of the mythical (nonexistent?) Dr. Pepper? Perchance…"  

You couldn't even react properly because he was already going off, delivering the opening lines with this bizarre mixture of enthusiasm and conviction, as if he was genuinely pondering the existential meaning of a pixelated plumber's life.

Everyone in the room, including Nitta-sensei, was staring at him with varying degrees of confusion.

There was a couple of snickers, and you saw one of your classmates, Yuki, already recording this on her phone, probably for TikTok.

Yuji, however, was undeterred, fully committing to the bit as he paced slightly, gesturing with his hands like he was giving a TED Talk. "Why does he crush turtles? Is it because he's saving the princess? Or is it because he's trying to save himself from his own internal void? Is it about the princess or the chase?"

You were sitting there, mouth slightly agape, because this was not what you spent hours helping him research. You'd spent countless nights, coffee-fueled and sleep-deprived, going over statistics and climate change projections, not pondering Mario’s deep-seated motivations for stomping on Goombas.

"And those mushrooms. Seriously, who decided that eating weird fungi would make you bigger? What kind of metaphorical bullshit is that? Some kind of growth narrative, maybe? Mario, the eternal underdog—"

"—Itadori-kun," Nitta-sensei interrupted, her voice carrying that unmistakable tone of an adult who's trying very hard to stay patient. Her eyebrow was twitching ever so slightly, and you could almost hear her internal scream as she tried to make sense of whatever the hell Yuji was talking about. "What point are you trying to make with this?"

Yuji blinked, completely unbothered, like he'd only just noticed he'd wandered off into another dimension of thought. "I dunno, but I think…" he trailed off, his eyes flickering around the room like he was looking for the answer somewhere in the air.

It was almost endearing, the way he tilted his head like a confused puppy, his lips pursed as if deep in thought.

There was a pregnant pause, the kind that stretched on just long enough to become uncomfortable. Nitta-sensei exhaled, the sound barely restrained, and she muttered his name again, "Itadori-kun." There was a warning there, a gentle push for him to get back on track, but you could tell her patience was wearing thin.

And in that moment, something in you snapped, like a rubber band stretched too far.

You knew you should let him flounder in his awkwardness, let him take the hit because, well, he put himself in this situation. But instead, you heard yourself saying, "I think Itadori-kun is trying to say that Mario isn't just a game character. He's a symbol of all the pointless shit we chase in life, only to find out the reward wasn't even in the castle—it was in the journey..." The words tumbled out in a rush, your voice wobbling slightly, and you felt the eyes of the entire class on you.

There was a beat of silence, then another, before Yuji broke into a grin, his face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Yup! That's what I was trying to say!" He clapped his hands together, looking almost proud, and you couldn't help but feel a little heat rise to your cheeks.

How does he make everything sound so simple, so obvious?

Nitta-sensei just sighed, rubbing her forehead like she was trying to ward off a headache. She looked at Yuji, then at you, then back at Yuji, her expression caught between exasperation and something almost like amusement. "Alright, thank you, Itadori-kun," she said finally, her voice dry. "For that… unique interpretation."

She waved a hand, clearly done with the whole ordeal. You could see the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, like she was trying not to laugh, and it made you feel a tiny bit better.

At least she wasn't mad.

Just as she opened her mouth again, probably to call your name, the bell rang, loud and obnoxious and utterly glorious. You nearly sagged in relief, your muscles unwinding all at once.

The class collectively began to shuffle, packing up their things with the sluggish enthusiasm of students who had made it through yet another class.

Nitta-sensei sighed again, louder this time, and you almost felt bad for her. "Those of you who didn't present today will need to submit a recording since we spent too much time on…" She gestured vaguely at Yuji, who grinned sheepishly, "…this."

You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, relief flooding through you as you started packing up your things, all the tension and worry melting away like snow in the spring sun.

You glanced at Yuji, who was already waiting for you by the door, his bag slung over one shoulder, looking like he'd just casually won the lottery.

As you walked over, you couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at him. "What the hell was that, Yuji? Why didn't you read the presentation we practiced?"

He shrugged, giving you a lopsided grin. "I saw you were nervous, and I figured if I made a fool of myself first, maybe you wouldn't be so worried. You know, like, break the ice or something."

Your heart gave a little flip at that, and you couldn’t help the small, soft smile that tugged at your lips. He'd always been like this since you met him—considerate in his own goofy, unpredictable way. "Thank you, Yuji..." you murmured, feeling your face heat up a bit, the corners of your mouth curling up despite yourself. "Seriously, that was… really sweet."

Yuji beamed at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "No problem! I like being there for you, you'd do the same for me."

You giggled, the tension easing out of your shoulders as you nodded. "Alright, how about I buy you lunch at The Den to fully show my appreciation. Deal?"

"Deal!" He practically bounced on his feet, his energy infectious, as he reached out and took your hand, his fingers interlocking with yours in a warm, comfortable grip.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but his touch was gentle and familiar, and you found yourself relaxing, your hand fitting perfectly in his.

"Come on, I'm craving those teriyaki burgers!" he said, already pulling you into the hallway, the two of you blending into the sea of students rushing off to their next classes.

You couldn't help but shake your head, a fond smile playing on your lips as you let him drag you along, your heart feeling a little lighter, your worries a little less daunting.

Maybe public speaking wasn't your thing, but having someone like Yuji by your side, you figured you'll be just fine.

A/N: hahaha i just couldn't help myself after seeing this meme going around online...

[lacontroller1991]

Blindsided (Mob Boss!AU Cooper Howard x Lucy Maclean)

Main Master List || Misc Master List Part 1 || Part 2

Inspired by @ghoulcyamour's mob boss idea and requested by anon

Summary: After being kidnapped, Lucy demands answers, but is left heartbroken and with more questions than before.

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: 18+, kidnapping, alcohol, language, Mob elements

Author's note: So I typically don't write character x character fanfic (I'm much better with x reader), however I had a good idea for this one and so I hope it pays off. I definitely think it should be in two parts, and I plan on having the second out sometime this week!!!

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

“What do we do now?” A muffled voice asks in the darkness, the voice rough and unsure.

What seems to be another man sighs. “He’s not going to be happy.”

“When is he ever happy?” “Well shit, I don’t know, but he’s going to be extra mad when he finds out we kidnapped the wrong Maclean. She’s waking up.”

Lucy wakes up with a groan and a pounding headache. Either she drank too much last night, or she hit her head against something and blacked out. Her bet is on the latter. Trying to regain her consciousness, her eyes slowly open, wincing immediately at the bright light. Why on Earth is it so bright? Sitting up on the oddly stiff bed, Lucy cracks her neck a couple of times before her eyes properly open, letting out a yelp of surprise to see two men in her room. Scurrying off the bed, Lucy flees to a corner, back against the wall while she watches the two men who don’t make a move toward her. “Where am I? Who are you?”

One of the men steps forward, setting a box down on the bed before returning to his partner’s side, their cold eyes piercing yours. “You’re in no danger. For now. Put that on and fix yourself up. He wants to meet with you.” Lucy gulps, hazel eyes flicking between the box on the bed and the two men. It’s clear to her that she’s been kidnapped. She’s never met them before, and she hasn’t seen them before. One moves to open the door, slipping out while the other stares at her, eyes traveling down her body, lingering on the party dress that reveals a little too much. “We’ll be back in 10.” The man comments before stepping out of the room, closing the door, and locking it from the outside with a soft click. 

Once they are out of sight, Lucy begins hyperventilating. Who are these people and what do they want with her? She’s done nothing wrong. All she did was go out for a couple of drinks last night with her friends and now she’s here, in this room, with no answers. Looking down at the box, she runs her fingers along the edges before lifting the top, revealing a simple pair of ballet flats that lay on top of a simple black dress. Moving the flats to the side, Lucy lifts the dress, bringing it over to the mirror in the room and holding it over her body. It’s not her normal style, however it does have a certain elegance to it. Letting out a shaky sigh, Lucy looks at her reflection in the mirror, cringing at her slightly smeared makeup and appearance before looking down at the classy dress in her hands. “Okey Dokey.”

“Where are you taking me?” The hands on her arms are firm, but not firm enough to leave any serious bruising. 

“Will you just shut up?” The man on her right comments, leading her through a series of hallways that maybe if she was paying closer attention she could map out. Wherever she is, whoever owns it must have a lot of money. The two men on her arms lead her through open double doors, revealing a large room with high elaborate walls and a large fireplace on one side while a library covers the other side. In the middle of the room sits a large oak table, filled with trays of food. At the sight of the food, her stomach grumbles as nausea sets in. She hasn’t eaten anything since yesterday morning and the alcohol is finally taking its toll. The two men forcibly sit her down on one of the chairs at the table before standing behind her. 

A set of doors open, gathering Lucy’s attention, watching a group of men walk in and in the middle stands a man with a cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers. Looking him over, Lucy takes note of the way he holds himself. Straight posture, pressed suit, neat, combed back hair, sharp eagle like eyes that don’t seem like they would miss anything, and a persona that radiates boss energy. Lucy’s breath hitches in her chest. Aside from him being older than her, she can’t deny how attractive the stranger is.

Taking a seat across from her, the man snuffs out his cigarette, motioning for a waiter to pour wine into Lucy’s cup before moving to the man, filling his glass with the red liquid. 

“Uh- hello?” The man tilts his head, eyes squinting at her, the gears in his head visibly turning. Leaning forward, the man rests his head on his clasped hands, eyes remaining on Lucy, making her squirm. 

“I bet you’re wondering why you’re here.” At the mention of finally getting some answers, Lucy’s eyes light up. 

“Yes actually! Among other things,” she smiles, stomach growling but she pays no mind to it. “Like who are you? What is this place? What do you want from me? I mean this is all so much and I’m not sure exactly what I’ve done to be kidnapped or why you gave me this dress and this food! I mean there’s so much! Can I start eating?" Lucy’s rambling causes the man to smirk in amusement. Gesturing for the food, he watches as she piles food onto her plate, immediately taking a bite and moaning at the taste, causing him to raise an eyebrow. 

“Does your daddy starve you or something?” 

Lucy stops chewing, instead turning her attention to the man across from her before swallowing her food. “You know my dad?” The room erupts in laughter, including the man in front of her, a puzzled look gracing her features.

As the laughing quiets down, the man in front of her takes the glass of wine and swirls it before taking a sip. Closing his eyes, he savors the liquid before swallowing, smacking his lips and setting the glass down on the table. “Now that is some fine wine. I’m personally more of a scotch man, but this brand is hard to beat. So little lady, down to business. Your dad owes me a lot of money. My boys were supposed to grab your brother, but I guess you’re just as good.”

“I think you’re thinking of someone else; my dad is a legitimate businessman. How can he owe you money?”

Letting a chuckle fall from his lips, the man puts some food on his plate, using his fork to shovel the food in his mouth, building suspense. “Your dad is not who you think he is. He took my wife, and he costed me a fuck ton of money, so I am going to put a price on your pretty head in hopes that he pays up.”

Lucy stands up abruptly, eyes wide in suspense as the two men behind her take a step closer, ready to step in when the moment is called. “You can’t do that! I’m going to call the police!” 

“Sit your ass down,” one of the men forces Lucy down onto the chair as the man in front of her takes another bite of food, chasing it down with wine. “I get that you might not know of your dad’s business, but the police ain’t gonna help, not when they’re in my back pocket.” Gulping, Lucy grabs the wine, downing it in hopes that it will ease her nerves. She’s known that her dad runs a very lucrative business, but she didn’t know how lucrative, and if it’s anything like this man suggests, then she might be in for a shock. 

“Who are you?”

“Name’s Cooper Howard,” he scoots back from his seat, briefly standing up and fixing his suit before walking over to Lucy, handing her a phone. “Your daddy took something from me, and I want collateral. You’re going to use this phone and you’re going to call Hank, tell them that Cooper Howard has you and he wants his wife back along with the 3 million he stole or else you will be killed, and believe me, I am not above killing a pretty little thing such as yourself.”

He drags a finger down her cheek as a tear falls down Lucy’s porcelain skin. Just what has her dad done that could get him in such a mess. Reluctantly, she takes the phone from Cooper, flipping the screen up and silently pray, hoping that her dad will come to her rescue. “What’s your wife’s name?”

“Barbara.” Lucy’s head snaps up, recognition flooding her brain. Surely, he can’t mean the same Barbara that’s been living with them. If so, her dad kidnapped her? She doesn’t seem to be kidnapped, if anything, she seems happy, free. Not like how Lucy is feeling right now.

“Dark skin, brown hair? Really pretty?” Cooper’s head tilts, brows pushing together at Lucy’s question. 

“That’s her. How do you know her?” 

“She lives with my dad, brother and I. Makes some good hot chocolate.” Cooper’s eyes widen as a scowl form on his lips. Reaching forward, he grabs Lucy’s chin, as he leans in, his breath fanning against her face. 

“What the fuck do you mean she’s living with you?” Cooper’s eyes burn with rage as the gears in his head turn. Lucy chooses her next words carefully.

“She said she needed to get out of her marriage, so she moved in with us. I had no clue that she was kidnapped. She seemed happy, never complained about anything, always laughing at jokes, and telling us stories. I’m pretty sure her and my dad have a thing going on.” It slips out of Lucy’s mouth before she realizes what she said and to who. The man in front of her growls, bringing up a hand and slapping her across the face as she lets out a gasp, pain tingling against her cheek. 

“You’re a fucking liar,” he steps back, fists clenching and unclenching. There’s no way that she’s right, right? Sure, he and Barb went through a divorce, but he thought that they had come to an understanding, especially given that Janey was still in school. After pacing for a minute, he shoves the phone into Lucy’s hands. “Call him. Tell him he better give me 6 million now or else it’s going to be your head on a platter to his front door.”

Not wasting any time, Lucy ignores the pain on her face as she dials Hank’s phone number, hoping that he picks up. “Hello Dad? ... I’ve been kidnapped, and he’s demanding Ms. Barbara and 6 million dollars… Some guy named Howard.” Cooper’s foot taps impatiently as a hand runs over his mouth. This can’t be real right now. “Dad no. NO PLEASE! Just give him what he wants! I wan-“Lucy is cut off, tears welding in her eyes as she holds the phone against her ear, disbelief setting in. How has her whole life been a lie? How could her dad say, ‘good luck I’ll see what I can do’. 

Noticing her sudden shift in demeanor, Cooper turns his attention back to the young girl. “Well, what did he say girl.”

“He said ‘go to hell you bastard’ and ‘you’ll never get her back’ and-“Lucy chokes back a sob, resisting the urge to break down in tears, “and he said that you can keep me.” The room goes silence as Cooper processes the words. He honestly didn’t think Hank was that bad of a guy, but leaving his daughter out to dry is something that not even he would do. Motioning to the two men behind her, he grabs the phone out of Lucy’s hands as they escort her out of site, the girl too emotionally wrecked to even fight back. Sitting down on his sofa by the fireplace, he sips on a scotch brought to him by one of the servants. 

“What do you want to do boss?”

“We’re going to make him pay.”

Part 2??? I think so. Let me know how you guys like it in the comments!

Tag List: @reveluving @mariedork @palesatan @atttck @therighteousmanisdead

[0o-junebug-o0]

I know you don't see Emily as anything but a lesbian but could you possibly do a trans reader? It can trans non-binary or masc like a demi boy, but they're afraid to come out to Emily because she is very open that she's gay?

Coming Out

Here you go!

genre: angst and fluff, hurt/comfort

cw: coming out, trans masc!reader, no use of y/n, panic attacks

wordcount: 1.2k

You pace back and forth across the living room, taking deep, steadying breaths to try to calm yourself. You groan in frustration and sit on the edge of the couch, burying your head in your hands. You can feel your hands shaking.

You’re terrified. You’ve been dating Emily for almost two years. You live together. How do you tell her you’re not the girl she started dating? And you have no idea what it will mean for your relationship when you do. Emily is a lesbian. She likes women. And you’re not a woman. 

You lean back and run your hands over your chest, reveling in the flatness. Your binder arrived three weeks ago. You had made sure it would be delivered while Emily was on a case. You immediately hid it, and have only worn it while Emily is out of town and there’s no chance of her seeing it. 

It makes you feel so incredibly guilty.

She’s your girlfriend. You shouldn’t be hiding stuff from her. 

You adjust the binder with a grunt. It’s still uncomfortable to wear since you haven’t gotten used to it yet, but it’s worth it. You check your watch. Emily should be home in a few minutes. You don’t want to ambush her with this the second she walks through the door but you’ve been hyping yourself up all week and if you don’t do it soon, you’re not sure you ever will. 

Still, you’re scared. What if she breaks up with you because you’re not a woman? What if she gets mad that you didn’t tell her sooner? What if this makes her hate you?

A panicked sob bubbles up your throat and you curl in on yourself, hugging your stomach to try to calm down. You can feel your heart rate picking up as you gasp for air. 

You force yourself to take deep breaths and the shakiness of each inhale is audible. Then you hear Emily’s key turning in the lock and your panic increases. She’s here, she’s going to see you like this, she’s going to hate you. 

She calls your name from the entryway as she moves around and even though that’s still the name you use, the sound causes a sob to tear from your chest. You hear Emily freeze. You clap a hand over your mouth, and though you desperately want to get up and lock yourself in the bathroom to hide, your body won’t cooperate. 

You hear Emily’s footsteps coming toward the living room and your breathing picks up until you’re hyperventilating and gasping between sobs.

“Woah, hey, hey,” Emily says softly, sitting beside you on the couch. “What’s going on? What happened?” She rests her hand on your back and starts rubbing soothing circles.

You practically shove your body against hers, not caring that you're staining her shirt with your tears, just desperate to touch her in case this is the last time you can. “P-please don’t hate me,” you wail.

“Oh, sweetie,” Emily mutters kindly. “I could never hate you.”

You curl your fingers into the front of her shirt and cling to it like a lifeline. “You don’t—you don’t know that,” you sob.

“I do know that,” Emily reassures you.

You sniff and pull away, untangling your hands from her shirt. You look her in the eyes for a moment, noticing the clear concern written on her face. You lift your hand and hold out your pinkie. “Pi-pinkie promise?” you stutter. You feel like a child for asking, but you’re so desperate for her answer that you can’t bring yourself to care. 

Emily removes her hand from your back and curls her pinkie around yours. “Pinkie promise.”

You sniff again and unlatch your pinkie to rub your face. Emily’s hand returns to your back. 

“I—“ you start. You can feel your chin wobble and you bite on your lower lip to stop it. You bow your head, too afraid to watch the changes in her expression as you tell her. “I’m not a girl.”

You feel Emily’s hand still for a moment before it starts moving again. She doesn’t say anything, waiting for you to continue.

“I’m non binary. Or at least that’s what feels like it fits. Pl-please, don’t be mad! I understand if you want to break u—"

“Woah, hey,” Emily interrupts. “I’m not mad, I promise. But do–do you want to break up?” Her voice is wary and it shakes slightly.

Your head shoots up to look at her. “No! Never!” you insist. “But I–I thought you might want to.”

“What on Earth could make you think that?” Emily asks. There isn’t a hint of malice or annoyance in her voice. Just curiosity and concern.

“Be-because you’re a lesbian. And I’m not a girl,” you mutter.

“Oh, sweetheart. I don’t care about that,” Emily coos. “You’re so much more important to me than what I call myself. I love you for you, not for your gender. I don’t care what you identify as, I will always love you.”

Tears stream down your cheeks and you wipe them away violently. “Th-thank you,” you gasp.

“Oh, honey.” Emily pulls you against her chest, holding you close and moving her hand to rub up and down your arm. “There’s nothing to thank me for.”

“Yes, there is,” you argue, your voice muffled against her.

Emily presses a kiss to the top of your head instead of arguing. “I do have some questions I want to ask, though, if that’s okay.”

You nod against her chest and tilt your head to look up at her.

She smiles down at you kindly. “Do you, um, do you want to go by a different name?” she asks awkwardly.

You shake your head. 

“What about pronouns?”

“I like they/them, but I’m not sure,” you admit. “And I don’t like being called a girl.”

Emily nods. “Okay. That's good to know. I, um, I might mess up sometimes at first but I promise I'll be doing my best.”

“That’s all I want,” you whisper, and press a kiss to her chin. 

She smiles and lowers her head to catch your lips for a brief kiss.

“How long have you known?” Emily asks softly.

You hum and furrow your brow as you try to think back. “Maybe five months,” you say. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Hey, I’m not upset about that. I could never be. Coming out is hard.”

“I bought myself a binder a few weeks ago too,” you admit.

Emily’s brow furrows in confusion. “A binder?”

You nod. “It’s a compression garment, kind of like a beefed up sports bra, that flattens your chest.” You lean back and run your hands over your chest to show her. “See?”

“Impressive,” Emily says with a slight laugh.

You laugh in response. “Yeah. I, um, I really like it. It makes me happy. And feel right. If that makes sense.”

Emily nods and pulls you in for another kiss. “It does. And I’m glad.”

“You’re the best,” you whisper against her lips.

“I know,” she teases. 

You laugh and lightly bat her shoulder and Emily laughs too.

“I love you, sweet thing,” she mutters. 

You hum. “I love you too. And I like that nickname.”

Emily chuckles. “Better than 'sweet girl'?”

“Much better.”

_____

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

Taglist!: fill out this form if you want to be tagged when I post fics

@angeliccss @novaanna @moonysreid @eliscannotdance @ilyremuslupin @ashluvscaterina @greyslover3004

[lilbabjojo]

Your intro post says you do fanfics, can we see one where Carmilla takes care of Vaggie for the whole day but she's feeling fussy/not cooperative.

Pairing: Caregiver Carmilla and Little Vaggie.

Vaggie is around 2-3 in this fic, as she's more verbal than normal.

Vaggie had just thrown her plate at Carmilla, sobbing at her highchair. Carmilla sighed, trying not to allow her annoyance to show through. It was a week after the extermination, and Charlie had dropped Vaggie off, saying that Vaggie was struggling and refusing to regress. Carmilla had gotten her to regress, but that had been the easiest part.

"Mija..." Carmilla sighed. Vaggie continued to cry, on the verge of hyperventilating. Carmilla gently picked her up, holding her close. She rubbed Vaggie's back as she cried, feeling her calm down slightly. "Can you talk to me, dear?"

Vaggie shook her head, moving her hands into her hair and starting to pull. Carmilla stopped her, moving her hands away from her head. Vaggie flapped her semi-restrained hands.

"I'm sorry, but I can't let your hands go. I can't let you hurt yourself, Vaggie," Carmilla said softly. Vaggie cried into her chest, shaking in the older woman's arms. Carmilla moved to the living room, turning off the light and sitting down on the couch. She rocked Vaggie gently, humming softly.

Slowly, Vaggie started calming down enough to speak. "I-I... 'm sorry Mama."

"What for?" Carmilla asked, letting Vaggie's hands go in favor of running her own hands through the Little's hair.

"Been bad," Vaggie said into her chest softly. Carmilla frowned, her heart feeling as though it was breaking.

"Mija, you weren't being bad. You had a lot of feelings. From what Charlie has told me, you've had a rough week," Carmilla explained. "You need rest."

Vaggie nodded, taking shaky breaths.

"Everyone has bad days, dear. It doesn't make everyone bad people, does it?" Carmilla asked.

"N-No," Vaggie replied.

"That's right. Do you want to try for food again?" Carmilla asked.

"Baba 'nstead?" Vaggie asked.

"Of course. Thanks for using your words, carina," Carmilla praised. "Do you want cartoons while I make it for you?"

Vaggie nods. "Stababy?"

"For the cartoons or your milk?"

"Bof?" Vaggie asked.

"Of course," Carmilla said, turning on the TV that Clara and Odette had eventually convinced her to get and selecting the old Strawberry Shortcake.

Carmilla went into the kitchen, pulling out Vaggie's favorite purple bottle and the ingredient for her milk. She added some adult formula to her strawberry milk, making sure Vaggie would get proper nutrition, before shaking it and heating it up for a minute. She tested the temperature, before returning to the livingroom.

"Hey Mija, your milk is ready. Do you want help?" Carmilla asked. Vaggie pointed to Carmilla, who gently picked her up. Carmilla placed the nipple of the bottle near Vaggie's mouth, who latched on sleepily. Carmilla smiled slightly.

Soon enough, the milk was gone, and Vaggie had fallen asleep. Carmilla turned off the TV. She gently carried Vaggie to her room, laying her in her bed, which had safety rails attached to prevent falling. She tucked her in, making sure she had her special plush, before kissing her on the forehead and leaving the room.

[defire]

Back to the Dregs Part 5

Part 1 Next

Content: Beating, injuries, gaslighting, memories of child abuse including burning, gang violence, restraints

Michael ground his teeth as he tried to think of a way out that hadn't already failed.

He was trapped in a truck with the Westside Kids. His hands, zip-tied between his back, were numbly resting on the gap of skin between pj top and bottom. He was hyperventilating as Jordie seemed to be deciding whether to finish breaking his ribs. If his lung was penetrated, he could drown in his own blood. His breaths puffed against the floor as he struggled onto his knees, resting his head on the floor.

"Wait, please--" He groaned.

Jordie stepped toward him and Michael saw his leg pull back.

"Jordie I'm sorry!" He said desperately.

He cringed with his cheek to the floor as he awaited the next kick, but Jordie's foot came down on the floor instead.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Jordie panted.

Michael trembled, bound hands curling to fists.

"That's all you wanted?" His voice was low.

Jordie didn't answer, but Pete stepped closer.

"Now, sit up, kid. And listen to me."

Michael ground his teeth. He couldn't even keep track of his thoughts at all anymore, and his back was hurting like fuck and getting hot.

He forced his head off the ground and grunted at the pain in his ribs when he moved.

"Can I just, listen from here, Pete?" He panted.

His answer was a kick in the shoulder that sent him back-first into the wall of the truck, jarring his collarbone and forcing more air out of his damaged lungs.

"What--ugh--" He grimaced, trying to keep tears out of his voice as he pushed himself back with his legs.

"We haven't even got to the good part yet." Jordie sneered.

"Calm down, Michael." Pete said. "For now, all you need to know is, as long as you comply and don't be a baby about this, you'll be fine."

Michael clenched his jaw with frustration.

"Who knows, maybe this conflict goes well for you, and you end up safe with the Huers again."

"Safe, huh." Michael closed his eyes as his chest tightened with anxiety.

So getting caught by the Huers was the good option? Fuck.

Joseph Huer and his son, Morgan, were the only living "relatives" Michael had.

He had a good reason not to associate with them anymore.

It all flashed through his head in the time it took for him to blink a couple times.

"No, Mr. Huer." He heard his fifteen-year-old self grind out the words. "I'm not running your damn drugs. I'm not going to juvie for your stupid 'business'."

His voice had cracked all over that declaration. He knew, when Joseph Huer snapped his fingers and called,

"Morgan!" He had made a fucking mistake.

He tried not to remember the sizzling. He focused on the struggling, the screaming for help that was choked off by Morgan's grip on his throat. The way his feet burned--no, no!

"...No." Michael realized was saying it out loud, and bit his tongue.

He looked up at his kidnappers, fighting the urge to scream and throw himself at the doors, to provoke them, to make the thoughts stop.

The car turned and bumped over grass for a moment.

"Behave." Pete said. "Got it?"

Michael gritted his teeth.

"I don't cooperate with criminals."

"Ironic." Gabe laughed.

Pete smiled condescendingly, pulling out his piece. The Taurus.

"Oh, a Taurus." Michael said, forcing part of a smile. "Nice choi--"

"Beretta." The man cut him off. "Now you can either agree to behave or we can gag you. If I think you're actually going to escape, I'll just shoot you. Your only chance to live is by coming with us quietly. Got it, Michael?"

Michael glared as the truck shut off.

Then he took a breath and shouted,

"Help! I'm being kid--"

He broke off as Jordie slapped him.

"You were warned, bitch."

Slam. Slam. Smack. Slam. Jordie beat Michael's face into the side of the truck over and over.

Blood was running freely down his face by the time they dragged him into a smelly brick building by the arms, barely walking. It smelled like gasoline and cars, and as he plodded up the stairs, face feeling like a pounding mass of pulp, he heard his breaths coming ragged.

The upper floor was a huge, all-wood place, with rafters bare and piles of boxes and plastic crates being the only dividers in the room. Moonlight came in through a window on the far end of the room.

Michael was taken to a corner that was surrounded by crates, which were mostly covered by a few tarps and sheets.

When Jordie let go of his arm, he sank to his knees with a groan. He was hurting so much. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears. He'd bitten his tongue, and was now dribbling blood, unwilling to swallow it.

"So can we..." Someone said.

"Not till those bruises set." Pete said.

As a few electric lanterns were turned on, there was the tramp of heavy boots as a really big guy clomped over.

"Hey, no luck?" He said.

"You wish." Gabe said, gesturing to where Michael sat, drooling blood onto the picture of charmander on the leg of his pj's.

"Hey, how ya feeling?" The guy smiled and squatted down to get on Michael's level. "Hard night, I bet?"

Gabe scoffed.

"I--ungh." Michael's tongue ached.

"Hey," The guy patted Michael's shoulder, and he cringed. "Hey, no hard feelings. Sorry for the rough treatment. They don't mean anything by it, okay? Come on, look at me. Come on." His fingers teased gently under Michael's chin, encouragingly.

Michael lifted his wincing face up to look i nto the face of the speaker. He wasn't masked, just a stocking cap.

Pete and some of the others moved off a ways to talk amongst themselves.

"Hey, I'm Chris." The guy said, then paused, then asked again, "How ya feelin?"

Michael dropped his head with a small shake, hair falling forward on either side of his face.

"Hey Chris." He slurred, trying not to use his tongue. "My hands, so numb, and they ache."

He was so afraid. It had dulled to a slow pound of anxiety under the ache in his face and ribs. Something bad was going to happen to him. He wasn't going to let on how scared he was.

"Hey," Chris's voice dropped lower as he wiped tears and blood off Michael's cheek with his thumb. "It's not that bad, huh?" His tone changed when he saw Michael shudder. "...You fought hard, didn't you." He said.

Michael glared at him.

"I've seen my share of battles, so to speak." Chris said.

"Me too." Michael said. "Enough to know that you're just as much of a bastard as the rest of em. Maybe more."

Chris winced.

"Don't try to act nice, Chris." Michael raised his head again slowly. "I'm too tired for all that ssshit... Can you at least let my hands go? I'm going to get nerve damage..."

"The room's almost ready, man." Chris was a little colder now. "Look. I know it's been a hard night, so I'll chalk it up to that, but you'll probably be with us for awhile. If I were you, I'd consider making it easier on yourself. Honey catches the fly, you know?"

Michael shook his head, trying not to cry at the words "with us for awhile".

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," He started muttering, grinding his teeth to keep from crying.

At that moment, Pete came back, gun out, pointing more toward Michael's leg than anything.

The words his foster father had said that day flashed through his mind.

"Make sure he can't run to the police, that way."

Mr. Huer had said that as Morgan squished Michael's face into the rug, while Mr. Huer drew the heated poker out of the fire.

Don't burn my feet. Michael thought. It was like a mantra that his thoughts made every time this memory came back. He hadn't gotten to say it because Morgan was half-suffocating him. Even his scream had sounded more like a wheeze than anything, even though the pain had been the worst thing he'd ever felt in his life.

"Let that teach you not to speak that way to me." Mr. Huer had said.

Michael was snapped back to the present by a light slap on his bruised face. He winced hard as pain echoed into his skull.

"Michael." Jordie said. "Come on. Let's go."

Taglist:

@fleur-a-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @whumped-by-glitter @whumpwritings @mimostic

[stressfree-tea]

I posted a new one shot on A03

But it's a Broppy Proposal 🥰

My a03 is StressFreeTea 🥰

How does one find the right words to describe to someone how much they love and care for them? Sure, it's easy to tell a loved one you love them, but it becomes deeper when you explain why you love them. How they changed your life, gave your life purpose, made you feel wanted even though you pushed them away, how they never gave up on you as hard as you tried to get them to give up. Endless, upon endless reasons why I love her and endless upon endless reasons why I want her to be my wife. It sounds like it should be an easy task, telling her exactly how I feel, getting on one knee, and asking her to be my wife. However, it's not. I'm so incredibly nervous, anxious, all the words that encapsulate an anxiety attack. It has to be perfect and honest? I'm not sure how to achieve that.

It seems easy in theory, and she's the one person who dissolves my anxiety. However, I don't want to disappoint the most important aspect of my life.  What if I fail and disappoint everyone who knows about my plan? Darnell pointed out to me that there's no way I could screw this up. She loves me and boy, do I love her. However, not only is there the anxiety of the proposal but the anxiety of becoming the new Pop King. It was.. a lot to work around and digest.  My thoughts were spiraling, and I, myself, was starting to spiral as well. I felt bad, but the last couple of days, I was avoiding Poppy, and I think she caught on. I was sitting at my dining room table fiddling with the rose gold ring slipping in and out of my fingers when I heard the elevator coming down. Despite being hopeful it was Darnell and Cooper, I slipped the ring into the pocket of my vest in case it was Poppy.  Looking across the room, I saw Poppy coming my way. "Hi." She said, placing her hand softly on my shoulder, "Why are you avoiding me?".

I sighed. Of course, I was right that she caught on. I met her eyes and sighed again. "I'm.. not.. I... Poppy, I don't.. I'm.." I gathered all the courage I had and stood up and hugged her. "Let me rephrase that." I chuckled. She held onto me tighter but let go after a minute. "I'm worried about you. If you are having feelings, you can talk to me about them.. I would prefer that. I don't like it when you hide away. " She said, taking my hands in hers and lightly squeezing. "Poppy, I have no idea where to begin, but I'll try. I have changed into who I was supposed to be because of you. I was.. so scared of everything before we became close.  You have made me the happiest I could ever be, and for that, I'm grateful. " She immediately wrapped her arms around me again. "I'm not done." I said, slightly pushing away from the hug and going on one knee in front of her. She looked absolutely shocked and looked as if she wasn't breathing, but I decided to continue anyway. I pulled the ring out from my pocket and presented it to her. "Poppy, will you make me the happiest guy alive and marry me?". She was hyperventilating now, and tears were streaming down her face.  I wasn't exactly sure what to do, so I just was frozen on one knee in front of her.  She seemed to calm down after a few seconds, so I said her name.  "Poppy.. are you okay? " I asked, getting nervous again. I stood up and waited. She wrapped her arms around me and happily bounced around. "Yes, a million times, yes. I'll marry you." I smiled and placed the ring on her ring finger and kissed her knuckles. She didn't seem content with just a knuckle kiss as she tackled me to the ground and started frantically kissing my lips.

This. This is what I want for the rest of my life.

[thelittleangel]

How they would react to you having a panic attack

Warnings: panic attacks, some characters don’t know how to deal with mental health very well, general anxiety

Tags: physical affection, panic attacks, male reader

Characters: castiel, dean Winchester, sam Winchester, Rick grimes, daryl dixon, Shane Walsh, Negan, Dale cooper

Fandoms: supernatural, the walking dead, twin peaks.

Author’s note: hey, I know I did a poll for the next fic I write. I promise, it’s coming soon. I just need more time to write. In the meantime, have this.

Castiel

If you’re in the middle of a hunt, he’ll take you somewhere safe.

Probably back to the hotel, or somewhere secluded, where you can calm down without anyone bothering you.

If you need someone to hold you while you calm down, he’ll be that person.

He’ll stay with you unless you specifically ask to be left alone.

He’s still gonna keep an eye on you if you do want to be left alone.

Dean Winchester

He’ll take you to Baby, so you can sit in there and take a second.

He’ll hold you close to him.

He’ll let you talk about whatever you need to talk about, even if it has nothing to do with your panic.

He’ll leave you in the car if you want to be alone.

He has no way to make sure you’re ok if he did leave, so he’s gonna ask Cas to keep an eye on you (if he can.)

He’s gonna be worried about you the entire time. He cares about people a lot, especially when they’re hurting.

Sam Winchester

He’s gonna take you to a quiet room.

He’ll give you his jacket, if that’s what you need.

He’s going to be very hesitant about leaving you alone, but he’ll do it.

If you need someone to hold you, he’ll sit you down.

Hugging you to his chest, running his fingers through your hair.

He’ll do anything to make sure you’re ok.

Anything.

Rick grimes

It’s gonna take him a second to notice.

When he does, he takes you back home.

If you protest him doing this, he will fight you on it, every step of the way.

He takes you up to your shared room.

He’ll sit with you and work you through it.

He’s probably going to hold your hand throughout the entire episode.

If anyone needs to talk with him, he’ll go out into the hall to discuss it with them.

He’ll keep it brief, because he wants to make sure you’re ok.

Daryl Dixon

At first, he has no idea what’s going on.

He’s standing beside you, and all of a sudden he notices you hyperventilating.

He takes you to his tent.

It’s far away from the farm, so no one’s coming there unless they absolutely have to.

He’ll sit with you outside the tent.

He doesn’t bring you in because he doesn’t want you to feel like you’re trapped inside the tent.

He won’t initiate any sort of physical contact unless you ask.

He’ll walk back to the farm if you need to be left alone.

He’s gonna try not to worry about it.

He’s very worried.

Shane Walsh

He’ll take you to his tent.

And then leave you there.

He has no idea how to deal with this very well.

So he just gives you space that you may or may not need.

He never mentions it to you, because he thinks you might not want to talk about it.

He means well, but he doesn’t know what to do.

Negan

He’ll take you back to his room.

He’s not going to leave you alone.

If anyone needs to talk to him about anything important, he’ll tell them to fuck off.

He’ll hold you in his arms, putting your face in his neck.

He will shield you from the outside world, giving you quiet time to cry or yell, or whatever you need to do.

When you untuck your head from his neck, he’ll look at you with so much love and concern.

“There’s my beautiful boy. How’s your mind, sweet Angel?”

He’s not gonna let you do anything else today.

Dale Cooper

He’ll take you to a private place. Probably like an office or something.

He’s not going to leave you unless you ask him to.

He’ll still talk to people who need him (like hawk, Truman, Andy, or Lucy)out in the hallway.

He’s not going to probe you about what happened to make you panic.

You’ll sit in silence, probably.

He’ll hold your hand, but that’s just about the extent of it.

If you need to sleep, he’s going to sit with you, for a while, before eventually getting back to work.

He’s still worried about you, but he understands that you need space to deal with what’s hurting you.

[miracles-and-butterflies]

Sixth part of Intertwining Threads of Gold, based on a prompt by @time-for-a-grandkid-round-up.

The one where Mirabel becomes matriarch.

Dolores’ confrontation plan and how the family react to the news.

Not really the “official” sixth part. More of a five and a half.

Previous part of ITOG.

Comments are always appreciated.

~~~~~~

Intertwining Threads of Gold VI

“I…” Mirabel took a breath, trying again. “I don’t want to be matriarch. I never did. I never will. But I don’t feel like I’m getting a choice in the matter. And the tapestry also symbolises my death and suffering, as likely a hummingbird would bleed out and not survive long enough to know the loss of freedom, though why am I adding that?” She rambled, as quickly as possible.

Dolores blinked.

That was a lot of information really fast.

“You might be worse than I am.”

“What do you— never mind, I don’t need to know. Where is Luisa?”

“Not yet. I’m not done with you.”

“But I did as you asked.” Mirabel argued.

“Why?” Dolores asked, ignoring her cousin. “You didn’t explain why you felt like you weren’t getting a choice. Or why you’ve not said any of this. I already know you don’t want to be matriarch, that information is useless to me.”

“I did as you asked! Please? I’m worried about Luisa.”

“Yes, and the longer you refuse to cooperate the more likely she will get hurt. Probably fall in a ditch and die.”

Mirabel looked horrified. Dolores leaned back a little from the anxious beating of Mirabel’s heart. “Why would you say that!?”

That’s when a figure poked their head through the doorway: Pepa.

“What are you two arguing about?” She asked.

“Don’t tell her, please.” Mirabel whispered.

When neither answered - Mirabel turned away and looked like she could keel over and die at any minute; Dolores just stared passively, hoping to catch her mother’s intrigue - Pepa just sighed, entering the room, taking a seat.

Her mother paled when she caught sight of the tapestry.

“This is… Where did this come from?” The woman inquired.

“Mirabel’s room,” Dolores answered.

“Sobrina, why would you make this? It… it is very disturbing.”

Thunder rumbled.

“What if Antonio happened to find it? What would he say? Ay, mi niño… he’d be terrified. And his poor animals.”

Mirabel was shaking in Dolores’ grasp, eyes locked on some spot on the wall in a poor attempt to avoid crying.

“Have you noticed the colours, Mama?” Dolores prompted. “Aren’t they familiar to you?”

There was a brief pause and then a gasp. “It’s us! That makes it so much worse… Mirabel? I’m not a mind reader, you need to talk.”

The girl in question made no move to answer.

“This is essentially Mirabel’s form of a diary, Mama.” Dolores explained. “There is probably more hiding in her room somewhere. But this one is about how she doesn’t want to be the matriarch and how she thinks she’s being forced into it.”

Her mother cursed, almost offended. “But we aren’t forcing you into anything! We would never do something this… this horrible! We aren’t monsters!”

Pepa continued ranting. Mirabel was hyperventilating at this point.

Dolores relented, letting go of Mirabel’s arm. “Luisa isn’t working. She’s just taking a walk. You can calm down, it’s fine.”

Mirabel paused. Momentarily.

She didn’t wait around too long before she then left Casita altogether.

~~~~~~

Isabela had only left her room to use the bathroom when she heard the commotion downstairs.

How could she not?

Everyone downstairs was screaming at each other.

She doesn’t think she’s ever heard the grown-ups all be so loud before.

She briefly caught sight of Félix guiding Camilo, Antonio and a collection of animals into Antonio’s room, clearly trying to keep them unaware of what was going on.

And Dolores walking along to Mirabel’s room, with a cloth hidden behind her back. Looking a little guilty.

God, she hates being grounded.

She misses out on all the fun stuff.

~~~~~~

Luisa holds back a frustrated groan. Of course, that’s all they had gotten from the tapestry or whatever Dolores told them.

(Speaking of, her cousin best pray Luisa doesn’t find her. Because telling everyone else was definitely not part of the agreement).

They think Mirabel is just having doubts.

Each coming up one at a time to explain why they think Mirabel is good at this job and list her many qualities that make her a fitting matriarch. And even Mirabel, thoroughly overwhelmed, has a look of ‘that is not remotely true’ on her face.

“She doesn’t want to be the matriarch,” Luisa finally explodes, gently tugging Mirabel behind her. Still holding her hand. “Why the fuck any of you thought she would because of the past alone is beyond me.”

“Luisa, language,” Julieta chides.

Agustín glances down at Mirabel. “Is this true?”

Luisa protectively shifts Mirabel further around behind her. “What the fuck do you mean ‘is this true’? You didn't consider her PTSD at all when you made this plan? She hasn’t really been lying about her feelings either, which you’d all know if you paid her any amount of attention. She even told you all she didn’t want this when you first told her - several times! I wasn’t even there! That was a big step for her and you ruined it! She was saying ‘no’ and talking openly to you all, why would you just ignore her!?”

She took a breath, trying to calm her temper.

“You are her family, parents and guardians, and you have all failed her.”

The adults looked away in an uncomfortable silence.

Félix took the chance to leave, mumbling some excuse about how he was going to check on Antonio and Camilo.

Pepa quickly followed suit. “It has been a while since Dolores left,” she whispered. “She was probably very concerned after the tapestry incident. I’ll go see how she is.” And didn’t wait to see if anyone would attempt to stop her.

“Nobody has anything to say?” Luisa demanded to the remaining adults in the room.

Nothing.

Or, well, Abuela said nothing.

Her parents clearly wanted to say something, but couldn’t think of what.

Tío Bruno just looked off into the corner, as though it would make him invisible.

“I think… I think we should have a talk,” Agustín said. He slightly gestured to himself, Julieta and Mirabel. Before Luisa could say anything, he added, “Alone.”

Luisa turned expectantly to Mirabel; it was her choice. The girl still looked distressed and maybe even terrified now, but she let go of Luisa’s hand and followed after her parents into a different room.

Bruno tried to sneak for the other exit, while she watched her sister go.

“Where do you think you’re going, Tío?” Luisa snapped.

“Ah, well, you know.. someone really should tell Isabela—”

“I’m not finished.”

[pinkcherryblossomphonecase]

OOC: ALRIGHT, I'm making Cooper cry in this short story because SOMEONE (cough couch @oscarsgallery ) wants to see him cry. Note: You're only getting him crying and slight self-awareness. NO CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT YET! YOU WILL WAIT FOR YOUR CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT LATER! Anyways, enjoy <3

A Bitter Taste

It shouldn't bother me. It shouldn't bother me. It was just one interaction with some mean kid. It shouldn't bother me. Master said he would take care of it, that should put me at ease, but it's still plaguing my mind.

Oscar's words kept repeating over and over again in my head as I lay helplessly on my bed. I don't like it. He insulted me all because I wanted to continue serving people. At first, he was nice and told me I wasn't a dog but a person. Those were some of the nicest words I heard from someone in a long time.

But then he took it back. And that's what hurts the most. The meanness, the insults, it makes me doubt I even deserve to be called human. Now that same old feeling, the one that my old masters used to inflict on me, started to spread through my heart once again.

I gripped my blanket, my lips trembling. I was so lost in thought that I haven't even noticed my eyes were starting to water.

This is fine, everything is fine. I kept lying to myself. Of could this wasn't fine. Everything isn't fine. Why do I keep lying to myself like this? Is it because my old masters trained me to be like this? Did I do this to myself?

I jerk my body as I'm greeted with the faint remembrance of all my masters old words. Dog. Quit yapping you, dog.

My breathing starts to pick up, hyperventilation. I curdled up into a ball and covered my ears, trying to block out the hurtful words of the past. But the words get louder and louder, to the point where I cannot stop shaking and breathing quickly.

Dog. I don't want to be. Worthless servant. I'm trying not to be one. Slave. I'm not one, I'm not one, I'm not one. You're not even a person, go die in a hole. Stop stop stop stop STOP!

Someone, please make it stop! Make it stop! I start to sob on my bed, even though I force myself to not, I couldn't stop. My whimpers and cries would echo around the room as I laid their pathetically. I was a mess.

I hiccup and try to stop but ever became worse. My sobs got louder, I started screaming nonsense, my tears were a waterfall, there was now snot, my entire body was tremendous and shaking, and the voices became louder. It hurts. I want it to stop! Someone make it stop. Please! Make it stop!

Thats when the bedroom door creaked open. I snapped my eyes to it, to find Master standing by the door. He looked unfazed by the sight before him. The mess that I am. In fact he gave a little smile. Master will handle this. He will take care of me.

Oh I am saved.............. but that bitter taste remains in my heart.

[cybers-multiverse-mansion]

Tw, Syringes, Experimentation, Blood, Possibly Slight Body Horror, and Vomit.

Goretober day 2. Sharp objects.

Zavier screamed as two men brought him into a room. The room is dark, only illuminated by a big bright surgical light. He kicked and squirmed and tried to prevent them from taking him in. The first time was terrifying, he didn't want to experience that again.

"PLEASE DON'T LET THEM DO THIS TO ME!! I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG!!" He screamed, tears rolling down his face as he tried to find something to grab onto, anything to keep him out of this room.

To no avail, nothing was able to be held onto. Must've had patients like this before, what a shame.

The two men held him onto the table while a doctor or two strapped him to it. Were they even doctors? They sure as hell didn't act like any that he knew.

Zavier screeched and begged for some sort of help. No one was coming for him. He's going to turn into a monster, he already saw what they did to Sebastian. He oversaw Sebastian's file while they were escorting him yesterday.

He hyperventilated and panicked. He'd never see his sister again, what would they do with her? Would she be okay? Their father wouldn't take care of her, she'd starve. She's only 5, she wouldn't be able to cook a decent meal-.

The woman doctor held up a syringe, trying to tell him to calm down or it'd only hurt more. The syringe made Zavier panic more, the tip shining in the light.

The other doctor in the room sighed and shook his head, he said something but Zavier couldn't hear them because he was too caught up in his panic.

They doctors steadied his arm and stuck the needle into a vein. A little blood trickled out of the puncture mark.

He screamed more, he writhed in agony as he tried to get free. The doctors looked at each other and sighed, he wasn't being very cooperative, they'd have to give him an amnesiac.

The doctors grabbed another syringe and grabbed his other arm and stuck the syringe in. They didn't bother being gentle.

Zavier didn't feel the effects immediately but the more he screamed and squirmed, the more tired he started feeling. He tried to keep his eyes open, but that failed.

The next time Zavier woke up he had wires connected to him, besides that he was still fairly normal.

He vomited, he wasn't entirely sure what he vomited but he did, zavier felt horrid.

He muttered quietly to himself, it was all inaudible. Zavier was alone in a dark room, it was different from the last one. He couldn't stand it in here, it smelled too clean, it smelled like his vomit and blood. He really wished he could go home, he wanted to come home to the comfort of his sister. He doubts he'll even survive these procedures, what're they doing to him.

His hair was stained red from some of the blood. He wasn't sure why they were doing this to him, he wished they weren't. What was wrong with this company-.

Zavier didn't stay awake for too long, just enough to notice someone entered the room. His body was exhausted, trying to keep itself alive while they did things that would probably kill a person to him. It was all horrible.

[That's where I end it for now.]