#i left him but i do still love him. i dont think i could survive being with him and i do feel optimistic about my future sometimes without | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

adonisbeloveds · 7 days ago

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Hi!! I wanted to ask if i could put in a request, but if ur not comfortable with it, it's okay! You dont have to do it. I was thinking yandere mains angst cuz the reader died and they feel like they failed to protect them. Again, if you're not comfortable with it or just dont want to do it, feel free to decline! there's no pressure on my end. I love ur writing style btw!

Yandere Main Toons with a reader who died.

Okay okay! I hope you mean't the main toons when they weren't twisted, and I LIVE for yandere and angst stuff omg so don't you worry and I'm glad you love my writing style! Also can you guys COUGH guess my fav toon ahahahhaha Reader is GN and uses they/them pronouns, and Vee, Shelly and pebble are all meant to be seen as platonic. Warnings: Yandere behavour ofc, Dandy keeps the readers body (he doesn't do ANYTHING weird with it, he just keeps it), self hatred, mentions of suicide, unhealthy coping mechanisms.

ASTRO

".....you're lying. Sprout please...you're lying.."

.He was in denial for a long while, even though he knew you weren't coming back a small part of him was still hoping, wondering if you were out there -- if you were just hiding and waiting for him to come to you and save you. .He blames himself so much, he knew he shouldn't of stayed back, that he should of convinced you hearder to let him come with others..what if you were nearly at the exit, what if you didn't have enough stamina to make it, if he was there he could of helped you. .What if you were hiding, cornered, crying quietly while you muttered his name -- hoping and praying he would come get you, come help you and make sure you wouldn't die or get hurt, if so why didn't the others help you? why didn't goob pull you close to him why didn't anyone help you. .Maybe you died to get away from him .He still blames himself, he blames himself so badly -- but some of that blame now goes to other toons, more specifically the toons who had the ability to help you.

"Astro, they aren't here anymore! THEY'RE DEAD!" "YOU WERE MEAN'T TO PROTECT THEM! AREN'T YOU THE OVERPROTECTIVE ONE!" .Everything that was in your room he put into his room, even to the smallest piece of paper that had nothing written on it -- and when I say everything I mean everything, even your trash that he never threw out. .He know's it isn't healthy and he knows the other toons are judging his coping ways, he just can't bare the thought of anything you had in your room being taken away. This is what was left of you and he wasn't going to throw it away, no matter how bad or unhealthy it was. .He has started dreaming about you, he use to share dreams with you -- but now he just dreams of you, and he uses these moments to play pretend, even if its for a minute or so. Seeing your smiling and alive face is enough to start fueling his delusions .At first he knew these delusions and dreams were simply that, but over time he started to wonder if this was actually you, that you survived and are still waiting for him out there, waiting for him to save you. .So then on he started his mission, he know's he couldn't protect you in that moment but this time, this time he's going out there and he will bring you home- "No." "What...what do you mean no." "Astro, you aren't in the right mindset to go out on runs. We don't want you to see a twisted version of them and willingly run into the arms of a twisted." "They....they aren't a twisted, they are still alone out there! I know it!"

VEE

"No...no wait WAIT-"

.She witnessed first hand your death, she tried running to you the moment she saw the twisted coming close -- but it got to you before she could, and the worst part is that you smiled. You saw her and you smiled. .Shelly grabbed her arm before dragging her back to the elevator, but all she could think of was the way you smiled at her, not even noticing the thing behind you -- or maybe you did and knew your time was up, and you smiled at her as a way of saying "It wasn't your fault, please don't blame yourself" .You two talked about this, about what would happen if one of you were to die -- and she promised, she promised you that she would always have your back, that you would always be protected and she failed. .Cause that's what she is, a failure. .Who cares if she can sing or host programs or show twisteds by their frequencies, cause what is all that tallent for when she couldn't even keep her promise and protect the closest person to her. .She handled her greif better than the others, she knew that you weren't coming back, no matter what she or the others tried to do. But just because she handled her greif better doesn't mean her coping mechanisms were the same. .She made dolls of you, and used the recordings of your voice to play pretend, even when she was sleeping she would play your voice and pretend you were there -- she would even tweak your voice to say certain things, and she would even listen to breathing to just pretend you were breathing and well. .Unlike the others, she went out on runs still -- but she was silent, only ever tapping her mic before going back to the corner. She couldn't bring herself to leave the foot of the elevator when it closes, especially when she see's your twisted form. .She likes to think she's strong enough to not run to your twisted form, but at this point she doesn't know anymore -- so she doesn't risk it, she just looks down at the ground the two of you use to walk together on and waits, what is she waiting for? .The elevator to open up again, or for a twisted to take her away like it did with you? "soon....soon we will walk the same path like we use to, my show star."

SHELLY

"They....what?"

.She's absolutely devistated when she found out, one of the only people to actually see her and not forget about her was gone. .She loses all her spark that she use to have, and just stays in her room. She can't bear the thought of looking at your room anymore, it only fuels her with fake hope and sadness. .Vee and the others tried to get her to open up about her feelings so she doesn't lock them away but it's already to late -- the only thing she allows herself was one of your plushies that use to be sold in the gift store. .She's cried herself to sleep every night, and usually doesn't talk to anyone, not even pebble or Astro. Astro has tried talking to her about her dreams of you -- and she's tried to tell him but she can never get past a few sobs, and the one time she did she almost threw up. .She blames herself for not being able to help you, but even if she wanted to she wasn't as great as the others -- nor did she have any special abilitys to help you. Leading to a deeper and darker pit of self hatred and pain. .She hasn't even bothered to go out on runs anymore, if she wasn't there to save you, and she can't save anyone with how weak and useless she is, than whats the point of going anywhere any more?

SPROUT

"COSMO, COSMO LET ME GO THEY- THEY ARE STILL OUT THERE! please..."

.He could see you out there, you were running as fast as you could -- but than one of the twisteds rounded the corner and go you -- and he saw it all happen. .When the elevator closed all he could do was go limp as cosmo brought him down to the ground and talked to him? He couldn't hear -- he couldn't see through the tears that he couldn't feel, he couldn't do anything...he didn't feel...there. .Once they arrived at the safe space he just let cosmo bring him to the medic -- he couldn't hear what anyone was saying, all he could do was remember you running, you turning the corner and you dying. .If only he fought cosmo harder, if only he was able to run out there to you, he wouldn't even care if he died because he would of died with you -- you wouldn't of been alone while dying. But that wasn't the case. .Were you calling out to him? Where you calling out to anyone? Did you try to fight or did you accept your death? Oh god he hopes you didn't do either...accepting your death and accepting that no one, not even him could save you -- or fighting until your last moment and hoping someone could come save you, hoping that he would come save you. .He doesn't know what's worse. .His personality took a whole 180 after your death, he usually stayed in your room rather than his own, hugging your pillow and pretending it was you, and that you were still alive with him -- even though he knows the truth .He doesn't have dreams, he's only haunted by nightmares of you dying over and over again -- he has seen the concerned looks Astro gives him whenever he leaves your room, but neither has talked about it .He has a grudge to everyone that was in that run, he not only blames himself but he blames the people that didn't try helping you, he blames cosmo for holding him back, he blames goob for not pulling you in even though you were behind a wall, and most importantly he blames himself for every reason and above. .The others usually hear Sprout talking to himself, crying to himself and so on -- they have noticed sprout not talking to anyone anymore, not even cosmo, and how he usually keeps himself locked away in your room. "I'm going on this run" "No you are not." "Why not." "Cause I don't trust you in this state to take care of yourself."

PEBBLE

"Pebble...they...they aren't coming back"

.Poor thing didn't know how to react, hearing that his favourite caretaker had died, that they weren't coming back to play fetch him with anymore, to sneak treats to him, to cuddle with him after a long day of playing, and how those moments were never going to happen again was heart breaking. .Every toon tried to help Pebble, trying to play with him, giving him treats and everything you use to do with him -- but nothing worked, he always had his tail low and never went on runs anymore, all he did was stay in his caretakers room with tears in his eyes. .Late at night the toons would either hear happy barking, or small whines -- this indicated whether pebble was having a nice dream about his caretaker, or a nightmare. .Even thought he can't talk to any of the toons, it's clear as day the poor thing blames himself for your death. He's usually the distracter yet he wasn't allowed on that run due to hurting his leg previously. "It's okay buddy! When I get back we can sneak some of cosmo and sprouts treats okay?" .Oh how he was waiting so patiently at the elevator door, tail wagging as he watched it ascend only to let out a confuse whine when he didn't see you there -- only to be told that you weren't coming back.. .Pebble has developed a habit of snarling at the toons, even going as far as full on aggressively barking whenever one of them went close to your room .The worst incident was when one of the toons tried to take your stuff out of your room -- it was almost like pebble went full guard dog mode as he harshly bit the poor toons arm, only getting off when their screams alerted the other toons who took him off their arm. When that happened everyone knew not to touch your stuff .Your death must of hurt him so much, enough to cause him to go feral at the even mention of your stuff being taken out of your room.

DANDY

"No...no no no no!"

.This wasn't mean't to happen, you were just talking to him when he came up with his shop -- he sold you med kits and everything....he wanted to deny it so bad but he can't. He watched it happen on his cameras, he watched you die and he couldn't do anything about it. .The moment the elevator left he ran, he ran as fast as he could towards you...maybe just maybe if he made it there in time you would be okay, right? .When he got there he tried to find a pulse or something, from your neck to your wrists to your heart -- he even tried to convince himself that you were breathing still, that your chest was going up and down -- even with how blurry his vision was and how hard his crys were, he wasn't going to leave you. "My flower, shh it's okay my flower, you will be okay I promise -- this is just...just a hiccup okay? I will make everything alright...come on, let's, let's go back home okay?" .You were so limp, he could feel the ichor where the wound was, but he didn't think about it, no. It's because you were....going to be fine, everything will turn out okay in the end and you will wake up and it will be fine. .He bandaged your wound and placed you in his bed, well 'our' bed as he likes to call it, he spoke to you while looking around for papers, papers to help you come back to him -- to help you out of this small hiccup. .And every night he would go back to the bed, get under the covers and fall asleep up against your chest, pretending he could hear your breathing as he smiled and said goodnight even if he cried himself to sleep, knowing deep down that you will never respond again. .If you were human you would of started rotting at this point, but you weren't and you wouldn't -- meaning he can play this game of pretend for the rest of his life, until he finds a way to bring you back to life. .At first Dandy still went in the elevator, still sold things to the others until he just, stopped. He stopping coming up, he stopped giving cards -- and the only reason is because he just couldn't care anymore, he had more important stuff to do -- like finding a 'cure' for you and spending time with you! And if you aren't out there anymore whats the reason to be handing out stuff anymore? "My flower! I'm back!" ...... "I missed you too! Don't worry I'll be there shortly, just need to put these papers somewhere safe" ...... "I will bring you back...I promise my flower."

#☾★ adonis beloveds ★☽#☾★ adonis ★☽#male reader #gender neutral reader #x male reader #x reader #dandy's world x male reader #dandy's world x reader #yandere dandys world #dandy x reader #vee x reader #astro x reader #shelly x reader #sprout x reader

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supernotnatural2005 · 2 months ago

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yay you accept requests! 🥰 sometimes i think about how dean has endured a lot of touch that was not welcomed especially from monsters and of course michael 💔 it makes me think about a fic where reader is extra gentle with him and makes the effort to check in with him and ask for consent before doing different simple actions while theyre getting intimate. idk that might be kinda heavy to write and if it is please dont feel pressure to write it..... actually please don't feel any pressure at all to write it lol but i think youd really do it justice if its something youre interested in 🧡

Touch

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Michael is gone, for good, but his lingering torment still remains with Dean. Will he ever find closure, can you bring him back from this?

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings/tags: Angst, PTSD, established relationship, Light smut (18+Only), fluff.

AN: So I focused more on the aftermath with Michael, I feel it worked better with this request? To the lovely anon who sent it in, I hope I've done it justice for you? 🫣❤️ I hope you all enjoy ☺️

Main Masterlist

The last few weeks had been a delicate dance of watching Dean. Not in a way that felt suffocating, but in a way that was more about paying attention to the quiet things he didn’t say. You could see it in the way his shoulders tensed when people unexpectedly clapped him on the back or reached for him. It was subtle, but it was there. And you noticed.

Dean was no longer the man he had been before, even if he didn’t fully realise it. The constant tension in his body, how he always seemed on edge, the way his eyes would narrow in wariness at sudden movements—everything about him screamed that he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Michael to return.

And that was the difference, wasn’t it?

Dean had been through hell before—literally. He had clawed his way out of the Pit, had survived Purgatory, had fought his way back from being a demon. He had been battered, broken, and stitched together more times than he could count, but through all of it, he had always been fighting, always been in control of his own choices, even when they were terrible ones.

But Michael? Michael had taken that from him.

Being possessed by the archangel had been a different kind of torment, a horror unlike anything he had ever endured. It wasn’t just about pain or suffering; it was about helplessness. He had been a prisoner in his own body, a passenger while Michael moved him like a marionette, speaking with his voice, wielding his hands, using his face—all while Dean could do nothing but watch.

Every moment had been filled with the unbearable certainty that it wasn’t a matter of if Michael would use him to hurt the people he loved, but when. And then Michael locked him away in his own head, had him living in some fantasy loop that you Sam and Cas shattered. It haunted him, and deeply so.

Jack had made sure Michael was gone for good, burned him up until there was nothing left, but that didn’t erase the damage. Knowing Michael couldn’t come back didn’t stop the nightmares. It didn’t stop the way Dean flinched when someone reached for him too quickly, or the way he sometimes stared at himself in the mirror for too long, as if expecting to see someone else staring back. It didn’t stop the lingering fear that there was still something inside him that wasn’t him. That maybe, in some way, he wasn’t just Dean Winchester anymore.

It had left a fracture in him, a barely visible fault line running through the man who had once seemed unshakable. Maybe no one else could see it, but you could. And maybe, deep down, Dean could feel it too—even if he wasn’t ready to admit it.

You weren’t sure how to help him heal from something like that. But you knew being there was half the battle.

You didn’t want to smother him or act like he was fragile—Dean hated that more than anything—but you also didn’t want to pretend you hadn’t noticed the way he had changed. He wasn’t broken, no matter how much he tried to convince himself he was. He was healing. And healing took time.

So, you started small.

A gentle hand on his arm as you passed him a cup of coffee in the morning, fingers lingering just long enough to remind him you were there. A light brush of your knee against his under the table, subtle enough that he didn’t tense, but still something real.

When you drove into town, you’d reach for his hand, lacing your fingers through his, letting your thumb trace slow, idle circles over the back of his knuckles. You never pushed, never clung—if he pulled away, you’d let him. But more often than not, he didn’t. He let you hold him, let himself get used to it. And when he did squeeze your hand back, even just a little, it felt like progress.

On the couch in the ‘Dean cave’ when you sat down to watch a movie, you’d sit close enough that your thighs touched, letting him decide if he wanted more. Some nights, he’d stay still, comfortable in your quiet presence. Other nights, he’d surprise you—letting his arm fall loosely around your shoulders, pulling you in just enough that you could hear his heartbeat beneath the layers of flannel.

You never made a big deal out of it. That was important. Dean never did well with being handled like something fragile. But little by little, you saw the shifts.

He started reaching for you. Taking your hand first when you walked through town, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over your knuckles the same way you did to him. Kissing your temple as you made breakfast together, his hand steady on your waist as he leaned in, warm and familiar. He let himself relax into you, like he used to—like before.

However, as the night stretched on and you curled up beneath the covers one night, waiting—either for him to join you or finding the familiar sight of him slumped over a library table, lost in whiskey and exhaustion—Dean appeared in the doorway. His shadow spilled into the room, not looming, just present.

You smiled at him, warm and welcoming, offering him the quiet reassurance you always did.

Something about him seemed different tonight—quieter, but not in the way that made your chest tighten with worry. Still, after everything, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was slipping again. But then, without a word, he crossed the room, climbed into bed beside you, and slipped under the covers—no hesitation, no distance, no walls.

That alone was enough to steal your breath.

He didn’t just press a quick kiss to your lips before rolling over like he had so many nights before. Instead, he moved closer, warm and solid, his arm carefully draping around your waist.

You stilled, startled by the shift—but pleasantly so.

Then, for the first time in what felt like forever, he held you.

Not just physically, but fully. Like he was here with you, really here, instead of somewhere far away, trapped in the shadows of his own mind.

A slow, lingering kiss pressed to your bare shoulder. Then another.

You sighed at the warmth of it, at the weight of him against you, at the silent promise in his touch that you hadn’t felt in so long.

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice rough with emotion.

Your fingers curled around his arm where it rested against you, squeezing lightly. “For what?”

“For sticking with me,” he admitted, his lips brushing your skin between words. “For loving me through yet another damn crisis.”

Emotion clogged your throat as you turned in his arms, meeting his gaze. His eyes—green, raw, open—held something you hadn’t seen in too long. Something him.

“It was never even a question,” you whispered, your fingers ghosting over his cheek, aching to soothe away the lingering remnants of his fear.

Dean exhaled sharply, like the words reached something deep inside him. He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut, and he sighed—a real sigh, one that sounded like relief, like letting go.

Then, he turned his head, pressing a kiss to the inside of your palm before capturing your lips with his own.

It wasn’t rushed or uncertain. It was slow, deep, sure—the kind of kiss you had missed, the kind that said more than words ever could.

It grew heavier, his hands finding your waist, gripping like he needed to anchor himself to you. You felt the heat of it, the want in it, and your heart ached with how much you had missed this.

Still, you pulled back, breathless, searching his eyes. “Dean…” you whispered. “Are you sure?”

For the first time in what felt like forever, he looked like your Dean.

His gaze was warm, adoring, steady—filled with something deeper than desire.

“I’ve never been more sure.”

And then, he kissed you again—more purposefully, more certainly, pulling you flush against him.

You let him lead, let him set the pace, let him take what he needed. But still, some small part of you hesitated, worried, unsure if he was ready.

Dean must have sensed it because his hands fisted in your camisole, his lips brushing yours as he broke away just enough to whisper, “I want you to touch me. Make me feel whole again.”

Your breath caught, your chest tightening at the vulnerability in his voice. At the pleading look in his eyes. Like this—this—was the final piece he needed to reclaim himself.

And so, you did.

You held him tighter, your hands tracing familiar paths over his skin—relearning him, grounding him, reminding him that he was here. That he was Dean—and no one else.

Your fingers ghosted over his jaw, down the strong column of his throat, feeling the thick swallow beneath your touch. His breath hitched, his grip on you tightening like he was afraid you might pull away. But you didn’t. You never would.

Instead, you pulled him closer, your lips finding his in a slow, unhurried kiss—one that deepened as his body melted against yours. He was warm and solid, all hard muscle and quiet vulnerability beneath your fingertips, and when your nails scraped lightly down his back, he shuddered.

His mouth parted against yours, a quiet groan slipping free as your bodies aligned. He pressed closer, hands roaming—hesitant at first, like he needed to be sure this was real. But when you murmured his name, when your fingers traced his spine and your legs tangled with his, something in him snapped.

The hesitation bled away, replaced by something deeper—something desperate.

His hands gripped your hips, strong fingers pressing into your skin as he guided you beneath him. His kiss turned hungry, consuming, like he was trying to make up for every night he’d spent distant, for every time he convinced himself he didn’t deserve this—you.

Between kisses, between slow, careful touches, you checked in with him—silent, unspoken questions in the way your eyes met his. And each time, he nodded. Yes. Encouraging. Needing.

And when he finally pushed inside you, his forehead dropped to yours, his breath faltering as a deep, broken sound rumbled in his chest. His arms tightened around you, holding you like you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart. But you only held him closer, guiding him through it, keeping him here—with you.

Soft reassurances spilled from your lips, your hands mapping his body—his back, his arms, the sharp line of his jaw. Gentle yet firm, never letting him go. Never letting him slip away. He breathed your name like a prayer, like it was the only thing tethering him to this moment, to you.

And then he moved.

Slow at first, each roll of his hips careful, like he was afraid to shatter the fragile reality of this—of you. His lips ghosted over your skin, relearning, savoring, his breath hot against your throat. But the restraint, the hesitation, it was slipping. You could feel it in the way his fingers tightened in your hair, in the way his body pressed flush against yours, desperate to be closer.

When he pulled back, his gaze met yours—warm, adoring, a little wet around the edges. He swallowed hard, his voice rough when he rasped, “God, I've missed you.”

Your fingers curled into his back, nails digging in just enough to ground him, and you kissed him—his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth—letting your own emotions spill into every touch.

“I’m right here,” you whispered. “Always.”

Something in him cracked at that. A quiet, shuddering exhale. His jaw tensed like he wanted to say something, but instead, he just kissed you—slow and deep, pouring everything into it.

And then the desperation bled through.

His rhythm faltered, hips pressing harder, deeper, like he was chasing something just out of reach. His breath grew ragged, his hands roaming—gripping, pulling—like he needed to anchor himself in you.

His fingers threaded through yours, pinning them to the mattress as his pace turned urgent. A tremor rolled through him, his forehead pressing into the crook of your neck as he gasped your name. And you felt it—the way his body coiled, the way he was holding on, trying to keep control, trying to make this last.

But you didn’t want him to hold back.

So you whispered his name again, voice soft, coaxing. You let your hands wander, tracing his spine, dragging your nails down his back just enough to push him over that final edge.

And then, he let go.

A broken sound tore from his throat as his body shuddered against yours, as he buried himself deep, spilling into you with a raw, unguarded intensity. His grip on you tightened, his breath hot and uneven, your name falling from his lips like a prayer, like a plea.

And as the tension ebbed, as his body finally melted against yours, you felt it.

The shift.

The moment he finally, finally came back to you.

AN: So this was my first time in like over 10 years of fulfilling a specific request! 😅 It's a little angsty with a sweet ending 🥹. I hope it's what you were hoping for anon! 💕 And to everyone else I hope you enjoy 😊

Also i’m currently taking requests if anyone would like to drop one in 🤗

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @shadysoulangel @piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27 @idontwannabehere7 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith @zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @jaredpadonlyyyy @waynes-multiverse @impala67stellawinchester @youroldfashioned @bonbonnie88 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @bejeweledinterludes @rach5ive @ladysparkles78 @globetrotter28 @kayleighwinchester

#supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #Dean Winchester smut #anon request #dean x you #spn #spn fanfic #spnfamily #jensen ackles #abbalina writes

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darlingdaisyfarm · 2 months ago

Text

⸝⸝ american dream ˚.

he says he's a businessman, but his pockets are full of fake cash

author note: i actually started writing this as a one-shot fic and wanted to end it in filthy smut, but i got a little bit inspired during the process....... now honestly, i love the idea. it’s not that canon-compliant, but who cares?? also, i’m not from america, so sorry if anything here sounds dumb aghgh :( i dont really know if i should develop it into smth serious or just leave it like that, so idk if it's chapter one or just one shot but im anyways leaving tags for the whole idea i have in mind. i would be glad to see ur opinions on this

tags for the whole fic: Stan Pines x reader (Steve Pinington because he's hot), conman Stanley Pines, enemies to forced travel companions, enemies to lovers, comedy i guess?, supposed to be slow burn but im bad at writing it, gritty realism, homelessness and survival, lots of crime, sexual tension, eventual smut, dirty talk, mutual destruction, partners in crime, morally questionable characters, fake identities and passports, au i guess? because Stan’s stanmobile is broken

All that was left in his palms was next to nothing, a couple of crumpled bills and loose change rattling with every movement. His hands were dirty, rough, calloused from heavy bags, cracked from the cold, knuckles rubbed raw from arguments he lost. And that damn bruise under his eye was still warm and throbbing, reminding of how easy it is to fuck up your last dollar if you say the wrong thing.

The storm hadn’t let up, and he had no choice. Up ahead, a neon sign flickered in the darkness, seconds away from burning out. “low prices, lower standards!” if he had a choice, he would've kept walking, but Stanley never had choices.

The door let out an obnoxious creak when he pushed it open. Behind the counter sat some guy in a wrinkled tank top and, hearing someone step in, he lazily lifted his gaze, looked at the person in front of him up and down, dirty, drenched, exhausted, before sluggishly sliding a key across the counter.

“Fifteen bucks.”

Stan didn’t even bother arguing, he already knew the room would be awful. Could tell by the smell in the lobby, the peeling paint on the walls and the stains nobody had even tried to scrub out. So he dumped the money on the counter, swiped the key, and moved down the hall, careful not to touch the walls.

The room was worse than he expected. Long, packed with metal beds, at least ten of them, maybe more. The mattresses all varying levels of fucked-up, one even had a spring jutting out like a rusty knife. In the corner, a bathroom, if you could even call it that. The faucet leaked constantly, and the toilet. . . yeah, best not to think about the smell coming from there.

But Stanley wasn’t the type to be picky. He’d been through too much to start acting delicate now.

He dropped his suitcase beside one of the beds and, sitting down, rubbed his tired face with both hands. Accidentally, his fingers brushed against the bruise, sending a sharp pang of pain through his skin. He hissed. It hurt, but in a way, it felt good. At least it meant he could still feel something.

The storm outside picked up even harder.

Stanley knew all he had to do was make it through the night. Just one more night in a long string of nights he wouldn't remember. If sleep came, it would be short and restless. His stomach grumbled, but he’d long since learned to ignore hunger.

And yet, there was something ironic about all this. Here he was, Stanley Pines, the free spirit, a boy with attitude, as his mother used to say. Once a promising athlete, as that one family friend had called him, ruffling his brown hair. And now he was just a washed-up liar, spending his last few bucks on a bed in a room where someone had probably died. Fate had one hell of a sense of humor.

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Somewhere in the next room, a tv blared some ad promising happiness a better life in three easy steps.

Yeah, if only life was that easy.

But Stan had stopped believing in easy a long time ago. He didn’t believe in simple ways out. All he had were his fists, wits, and his ability to get back up every time life knocked him down.

And he'd get up after this night too.

Tomorrow he’d hit the streets again, try to scrounge up some cash, tell himself that tomorrow would be easier.

He already knew it was a lie.

But sometimes, a lie is the only thing that keeps you moving.

In his dreams, Stanley was happy. No debts, no street fights, no counting pennies, no that one goddamn night when dad threw him out like some unwanted troublemaking mutt. Just him and a giant, disgustingly delicious burger. Meat dripping with fat, cheese stretching in long strings, sauce dripping onto his fingers. Stan tore into it, starving. Oh, god, ohh fuck. The best burger of his life. And bacon. Crispy, salty bacon.

Stan remembers bacon and coffee in the mornings, remembers a warm kitchen, the smell of fresh bread. And toffee peanuts, sticky and sweet, caramel-flavored, tasting like childhood.

Somewhere something clattered. Close enough that it shouldn't have been here.

Stan jolted awake so fast he almost rolled off the shitty, creaky bed. His heart hammered against his ribs and his mind latched onto one thought. Cops, fucking cops. He barely had time to say his mental goodbyes, to his brother, his mother, and—

In the doorway stood someone drenched, exhausted, with an oversized duffel slung over one shoulder. Dirty rainwater dripped from their boots and ran in slow rivulets down their face.

“Oh, shit, sorry. Didn’t know someone else was in this piece of— uh, shitty place.”

Stanley blinked. Looked around, still trying to process what the hell was happening. He had just been in heaven, his greasy, cholesterol-filled heaven, and now—

Now some random stranger from the streets had just stumbled right into his shitty motel room.

“I just closed my eyes!” Stan mumbled.

You threw your bag on the floor and scoffed, shaking the rain off your sleeves. “right, sorry for disturbing your precious sleep, your highness.”

“Oh, you better be sorry! I was dreamin’ about a burger. The juiciest, fattest, most delicious burger. And bacon. Bacon, man! Do you even know how long it’s been since i had bacon? And toffee peanuts! goddamn caramel melting in my mouth like—”

“Jeez, calm down, okay? man, you need therapy.”

“I need a damn burger!”

You smirked, shrugging off your soaked jacket. Water dripped onto the wooden floor, which was already sticky from years, no, decades, of dirt.

“Well, i don’t have a burger. But i do have a half-eaten snickers somewhere in my bag. Interested?”

Stanley looked at you like you had just offered him a brick instead of food.

“You think a snickers can replace bacon?”

“No? But it’s got peanuts. That’s protein. Protein is good for you.”

“You don’t get it, do you? It’s not just food, it’s nostalgia! It’s my damn childhood! It's waking up to the smell of bacon in the kitchen, my mom humming some old tune, me stealing a piece before my brother—“ he cut himself off, grimaced, and flopped back onto the bed. “forget it.”

You finally looked at him properly and only now noticed that he looked like he’d been through hell. “Rough night?”

“Rough life.”

You both went quiet. The storm outside raged on, shaking the flimsy motel walls under the force of the wind.

“So,” you finally said, rolling your shoulders, “we’re roommates now?”

Stanley snorted. “Seems like it. Welcome to hell, buddy.”

You flopped onto one of the empty beds, and the moment you did, the loudest creak imaginable ripped through the room, making both you and Stan clap your hands over your ears. Using your foot, you pulled your heavy-ass duffel bag closer, which created yet another horrible sound. You rolled your eyes and started wringing out your sleeves, water trickling in thin streams down onto the ancient, mildew-scented carpet.

“Jesus, what the hell is this weather? it’s like god himself wants me to suffer.”

Stanley, still grimacing, lazily turned toward you. “tell me about it. This place ain’t much better either. I think the walls are moldy.”

You eyed the peeling wallpaper, noticing the unsettling dark substance oozing out of the corner. God, you didn’t even wanna know what the hell that was.

“Yeah, well. Beats sleeping outside.” you said nervously.

Stan chuckled but didn’t argue. He watched as you fussed with your wet clothes for a few seconds before finally speaking up again, in the most pathetic tone imaginable. “Uh, so. . . you said somethin’ about a snickers?”

You looked up, and your heart almost burst, because this grown-ass man with a black eye and a permanent scowl was looking at you with the saddest, most puppy-eyed expression known to mankind. You felt like you had personally caused every single one of his problems. What a goddamn actor.

“Oh my god,” you pressed a hand to your forehead. “Fine. Knock yourself out. Bag’s on the floor.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Practically leaping off the bed, he snatched up your bag and started digging through it, clearly on the hunt for the promised candy bar.

“Jesus, what do you even keep in here? bricks? dead bodies?”

“Yeah, first one to ask gets to be the next one in there.”

Stan snickered but kept rummaging. Finally, he pulled out the snickers, unwrapped it, and—

“Oh—oh my godd—” your eyes widened at the unexpected, borderline obscene sounds.

He literally moaned when the chocolate hit his tongue, tilting his head back, eyes shut in pure bliss. You stared at him in absolute disgust.

“Dude. Ew.”

“You don’t get it,” he groaned, taking another bite. “it’s been weeks since i had chocolate. Weeks! I was startin’ to forget what joy tasted like!”

“Yeah, that was a good one. I wanted to steal a twix too, but almost got caught.”

Stan froze mid-bite, eyebrows shooting up in pleasant surprise. “Wait. You’re tellin’ me, you steal too?”

You smirked, holding out your hands. “Duh. What, you think i have money for this crap?”

“Holy shit. We’re like, the same.” he shook his head, still in shock. “man. all this time i thought i was some kind of lone wolf, strugglin’ through life, hustlin’ my way through this shitty world. Turns out i got a partner in crime?”

“Ehh, sorry to break it to ya, but you ain't that special.”

Stan scoffed, finishing the candy bar. Although he clearly remembered when he kept rummaging through your bag, his hand suddenly stilled and he found something. Something that made his eyebrows climb higher and higher. He didn’t say anything. And neither did you. Stanley was good at pretending everything was okay.

You kept wringing out your soaked clothes, searching your bag for something dry, while Stanley swallowed the last bite of his snickers like it was the last chocolate bar he’d ever eat in his life. And, honestly, judging by the way he looked, that might just be true.

He was watching you until finally, his curiosity got the better of him. “So. Who the hell are you, anyway?”

You didn’t even look up, still rummaging through your things.

“Somebody who gave you food.”

Your answer made his mouth twitch into a grin, and he nodded. “Yeah, well, that’s a good start. Sharin’ food is a sacred bond, y’know.”

“Uh-huh. Sacred.”

“But seriously,” he rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow, “you steal, you crash in shitty motels, you carry. . . whatever the hell that was in your bag, what’s your deal?”

You shrugged lazily. “No deal. Just life.”

Truthfully, your head was killing you, and all you wanted was for him to shut up. But he clearly wasn’t planning on it. You winced, rubbing your temples. “jesus, you talk a lot.”

“Aaand yet, you answer everythin’. Means you don’t mind.”

You squinted at him. “No, i’m just too tired to tell you to shut up.”

He snorted. “Yeah, sure. Keep tellin’ yourself that, buddy.”

You rolled your eyes, peeled off another layer of your damp clothes, and hung it over the back of the bed. Then, without stopping your rummaging, you nodded toward his face.

“What’s with the bruise?”

He immediately pulled a smug expression. “you should see the other guy.”

You kept digging through your stuff, barely paying attention to his cheap bravado. Yeah, yeah. Seen it, heard it, met plenty like that.

“Hmm. And the truth?”

Stan scoffed, but when he realised you hadn’t even acknowledged his first joke, he made a deeply offended face. “Wow. You weren’t even listenin’ to me?”

“Nope.”

He huffed and waved a hand. “Eh, whatever. Owed some guy money, didn’t have it, got this instead.”

“Fair trade.”

“You’d think, huh? So where you from, anyway?”

You kept rifling through your things, but your voice turned colder. “Not from any state.”

Stan raised a brow. “Oh. so you’re not even from the U.S.?”

“Documents, visas, all that crap. Long story.” you nodded.

He dragged out a slow “huh.” and fell quiet for a moment. Then, as if he suddenly remembered that conversations were supposed to go both ways, he said, “new jersey.”

“Huh?” you squinted.

“Where i’m from. new jersey.”

You made a mental note. Oh, great. An american. Then you glanced at him again. . . Grimy, exhausted, full of problems, broke as hell. The perfect representation of the american dream. . .?

You had no energy left for this conversation. You’d had your fill of socializing for today, just like you’d had your fill of adventures. That snickers bar had cost you enough. So you decided not to reply, just shrugged and turned away.

Your wet shirt was clinging to your skin, and it was getting unbearable. So you started taking it off, not particularly caring that someone else was in the room. There were bigger concerns.

You turned your back to Stanley as the fabric hit the floor with a soft thud, exposing your spine.

Stan froze, just staring. his gaze dragged down your back, and then he just kept staring.

Directly. At. You.

You felt it prickling at the back of your neck.

Silence. Way too long of a silence. Long enough to make you frown as you slowly turned your head.

“Dude.”

He immediately looked away.

“What? i ain’t lookin’.”

“Bullshit. You were literally staring.”

He grimaced, turning away harder. “Yeah, well. Not my fault. You’re the one strippin’ in the middle of the damn room.”

You rolled your eyes. “Gosh, it’s a back. Grow up.”

Stan muttered something under his breath, yanked his blanket higher, and grumbled, “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Just warn a guy next time.”

You finally pulled on a dry shirt and flopped back onto the cot, exhaling. The rain was still hammering against the window, the wind howled, and the ceiling creaked ominously.

You glanced over at Stan, who was already curling up, about to knock out. “Wait.”

He cracked one eye open, barely awake. “hm?”

“Never asked. What’s your name?”

That made him blink. And immediately Stan started thinking. Of course, he should lie. He always lied. Threw out fake names like poker cards. Steve Pinington. Stetson Pinefield. Hell, maybe John from Alaska? No, Stan, that's too dumb.

He squinted at you through the dark room, until he finally said. “Call me Steve.”

“Steve?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Steve.”

You rolled your eyes. “Right. And i’m the queen of england.”

“Holy shit. Pleasure to meetcha, your majesty.” Stan stuck out a hand like he was about to shake yours.

But you swatted it away. “Okay, Steve. Whatever.” then you gave him your name.

“Well,” Stan tested your name on his tongue, stretching, folding his arms behind his head, “This been a real thrill, but i’d really like to—“

“Is that your car outside?”

He froze. “What?”

“The shitty, beat-up thing that looks like it’s been in five accidents and somehow survived.”

He pushed himself up on an elbow. “Hey! That’s my baby you’re talkin’ about.”

“Why didn’t you just stay there, then?”

He groaned dramatically and flopped back down. “Ugh. Somethin’s busted. Gotta fix it. But i need a real good mechanic, and guess what? I got no money.”

“So you’re tellin’ me that thing is just. . . sitting there, useless?”

He sighed. “Not useless. just— okay, yeah, maybe a little useless. but it’ll run! probably. Just needs a little love. and, y’know. Not to blow up in the process.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “so you’re afraid your car might explode.”

“Eh. Fifty-fifty chance.”

you nodded again. “Solid odds.”

“Right?”

You both finally settled in, pulling the blankets higher, and before long, you were both out cold.

But you weren’t given much time to sleep. A sharp, hysterical scream shook the motel walls, and you flinched, jerking from the suddenness of it.

“Where is he?!” the door burst open with a crash, and a man stormed into the room. The same guy who took the payment for the room. What the fuck? You hadn’t even processed what was happening before he jabbed a finger at you.

“WHERE IS HE, BITCH?!”

You panicked, looking around. And only then did you notice. Steve was gone. That fucking bastard just. . . disappeared.

You swallowed, feeling your throat dry, trying to wrap your head around it, and just as you were about to ask what the hell was going on, the man took a step toward you, his face twisting with rage.

“YOU FUCKERS SCAMMED ME!!”

“Huh?”

“HE PAID ME WITH COUNTERFEIT MONEY, THAT LYING PIECE OF SHIT!!!”

You didn’t even have time to react before he grabbed your arm, squeezing so hard it hurt.

“AND YOU, BITCH, YOU’RE IN ON IT TOO, HUH?!!

Counterfeit money? That dumbass gave him counterfeit money?

“I’ve never even seen him before in my life!”

“DON’T LIE TO ME, WHORE!!!” he shook you.

What the fuck. What the actual fuck!

“L-listen, man, i have nothing to do with this, okay? i didn’t even know he—“

“SHUT UP!!!” he raised his hand, and you realized he was actually about to hit you. And this shit, this fucking bullshit, was not even your fault. All you could do was grab your bag, sending a snickers wrapper tumbling to the floor, and bolt for the window like crazy.

“STOP, YOU BITCH!!”

However you were already climbing over the windowsill, jumping, falling, crashing into the mud. Pain shot up your ankle, but you couldn’t stop.

His voice roared behind you, “I’LL FIND YOU!!!”

But you were already sprinting down the wet road with that disgusting cold rain slamming into your face, mud clinging to your boots.

You were fucked. You were alone. On the street. In a foreign country. With no money.

And all thanks to that fucking bastard.

That’s how you end up on the street again, with a fucking bag, dirty boots, and realisation that the world is just a giant piece of shit you’re now neck-deep in. Rain’s pouring down and you can’t even remember what it feels like to be dry. Your hair’s soaked, clothes clinging to your skin, and your stomach is damn empty, a hollow ache that’s turned into this dull, throbbing pain gnawing at your insides. And the funniest fucking part? None of this is your fault. But does that matter? No. The guy at the motel is probably already calling the cops, waving around those fake bills, and now you’re not just homeless, you’re probably a wanted criminal.

Fantastic.

No money, no food, no Steve, no fucking anything. But no time for existential bullshit, you gotta get the fuck out of here, and quick. But how the fuck are you supposed to leave when you’re broke as shit? Bus tickets cost money. Taxis cost money. Even hitchhiking isn’t an option unless you wanna roll the dice on getting murdered in some psycho’s trunk.

You walk. And walk. And fucking walk.

And it’s humiliating, the way your stomach growls loud enough for people to hear, the way your soaked clothes cling to you, the way you have to press yourself against buildings just to shield from the wind. Your last meal was half a snickers bar and now even that feels like some luxurious memory from a past life.

You need money. And fast.

So you do what desperate people do, you start looking for work. Not a real one, obviously, because legally, you don’t even exist. So you walk into the first rundown diner you see, a place so grimy it’s a miracle the health inspectors haven’t shut it down yet. The guy behind the counter, fat, greasy, way too friendly with hamburgers, doesn’t ask questions. Just tosses you a filthy apron and says your shift starts now.

You carry plates and wipe sticky tables. Put up with customers who act like you’re not even a person, just part of the furniture. Some leave tips and others leave disgusting looks, but you pretend none of it matters.

Until you spill a drink on some guy, who said very nasty and dirty things to you and the manager, who’s been drinking all day in his office, just decides he doesn’t like you. Either way, you’re out on the street before you can even say “go fuck yourself.”

Fine. Fuck them.

Next, you try cleaning. Sounds easy enough, right? Just wipe shit, take out trash, don’t ask questions. But the people. Oh god, the people.

One guy stares too long. Another asks if you “do more than just clean.” You hear something in the next room that sounds exactly like a body being dragged across the floor, and before they can assign you your first shift, you’re already bolting out the backdoor, deciding you’d rather starve than end up as another missing poster.

So you adapt and start lying. The first lie is awkward, stumbling, barely convincing.

You become a lost tourist, a poor, helpless tourist with tears in their eyes. “i need to get home, but i got robbed, could you please help?” some people believe you, some don’t, but sometimes a few bucks land in your palm.

Actually pretending to be a lost tourist works. Not always, not on everyone, but enough to get you through a night. Enough to buy something cheap from a gas station. Enough to keep you from completely breaking.

But you’re still homeless, from time to time sleeping under bridges, curled up in your too-thin jacket, cursing Steve every time you hear a car pass because he’s probably in his fucking shitty car right now, dry and warm, while you’re here turning into a human popsicle.

Every night, you promise yourself if you ever see him again, you’re gonna punch him. Right in the jaw.

But then one day, you watch some lady on the street doing tarot readings. Honestly, she's dramatic as hell, but you see the way people eat it up. How badly they want to believe the bullshit she’s spinning.

And that’s when it hits you. You don’t need luck to survive. You just need a better lie.

So you become a psychic, not a real one, obviously. But you pick up quick because you watch, listen and learn.

You sit out on the street, put on a knowing expression, grab the hand of the first idiot who stops, and start spewing bullshit about “long fate lines,” “hidden symbols,” and “a rich soulmate just around the corner.” And people eat it up.

God, they’ll believe anything if it means hearing their future is bright. And you don’t blame them because you wish you could believe it too.

“Oh, i see a great love in your future!”

“Yes, you’ll be rich one day, just wait!”

“Your life is about to change in a big way!”

So the money starts coming in. Not much, but more than before. More than the waitress job and more than begging. For the first time in forever, you don’t feel like you’re at rock bottom.

And soon you’ve got enough to get the hell out of this cursed city.

Here you are, trying to catch a bus, because if you stay here even one more day, you’re either gonna get arrested for illegal stay, or get eaten alive by the homeless, or worst of all found by the people who were supposed to make sure you never crossed the border in the first place. Okay, last chance, last hope. Standing on the roadside, you're scanning the cars, forcing a practiced smile, as if you’re not freezing your ass off and your legs aren’t burning from exhaustion.

The bus finally arrives, late as always, Because yeah, why would anything ever be convenient for you? The city is already deep asleep, leaving the streets empty, and that silence unsettles you. You’ve always hated silence. Especially this one that makes you glance over your shoulder and wonder if you should even get on this bus at all. But you don’t have a choice so you throw the money at the driver before he can say anything, drag yourself to the back, where you can sprawl out by the window and maybe catch a few minutes of sleep. You’re already hauling your heavy-ass bag, dreaming about collapsing into a seat, when you see—

WHAT

That bastard, slouched in the corner, legs widely spread, brown hair is even messier than before, his gaze lazy, but the second he spots you, his eyes widen just a little.

You stop and stare. So does he.

“You. fucking. asshole.” you throw your bag onto the seat beside him, the sound echoing through the empty bus, but you don’t give a single shit.

“Hey, what the fuck, lady?” Steve or whatever the hell his name was raises his hands, as if he has no idea what’s happening, as if he’s genuinely fucking clueless about why you’re yelling at him.

“Oh, don’t you fucking “lady” me. You left me, you piece of shit.”

“Listen, doll, it's not like I—“

“Oh my fucking god, don’t ”doll” me either, you goddamn motherfucker.”

You hate the fact that he acts like this is funny. But he's not dumb, he knows you’re ready to kill him.

“I did what I had to do, you know! you should be grateful I didn’t wake you up.”

“Grateful?” you laugh, because at this point, it’s not even anger, it’s pure, unhinged hysteria. Grateful? Fucking seriously? “that motel guy was about to fucking kill me!”

“Well, did he?”

“No? but that’s NOT the point!”

Stan rolls his eyes. You can literally see him gearing up for some dumbass excuse.

“Ohh, come on, sweetheart, i knew you’d make it. You don’t look like someone who’d die that easily!”

You feel your face burning with rage. “Oh, oh, fuck you. Fuck you so much. you know what? I should've stolen your damn car.”

“Oh, you should've?” he smirks. “please, id love to see you try.”

You narrow your eyes. “next time I will.”

“Sure, good luck with that.”

You're aware that he looks you up and down, soaked, pissed off, hair a mess, but alive. And the bastard has the audacity to look. . . pleased?

“Anyway. nice seeing you again. Name’s Bill, by the way.”

You snap your head up. “wasn’t you Steve?”

He freezes. Then grimaces because he just realized he played himself. “. . .Yeah, well. i have many names.

“And no brain cells. But oh my fucking god. Was that even your real name?”

He leans back against the seat, already bored of this conversation.

“Who even gives a shit about real names, huh? names are just a concept.”

“A concept?”

“Yeah, you know, just labels people put on you. But they don’t mean shit. you can be whoever the fuck you want. Today I’m Bill. Yesterday I was Steve. Who knows what I'll be tomorrow?”

You press a hand to your forehead. “You are literally the dumbest person I have ever met in my life. I can't believe i—“

“Aww, thank you.” Stan interrupts you.

“That wasn’t a fucking compliment.”

“I’ll take it anyway.”

You exhale. No, seriously, you’re too fucking tired for this.

“You know what, fuck it. I don’t even care anymore. I’m sitting here, and if you open your mouth again, I swear I’ll strangle you.”

You're so cute when mad. That makes Stan grin. “ohhh, so we’re traveling together now?”

“No.” you're wrinkling your forehead.

“Sounds like we are!”

“Shut the fuck up.”

The bus rattles down the highway, lights flashing past the windows, and you're doing your best to ignore the fact that you’re stuck in the same goddamn vehicle as this absolute idiot. Unfortunately, he’s here, sitting right next to you, breathing the same air, and worst of all, he’s enjoying it. It's obvious by the way he smirks and sits all sprawled out like this is his personal limousine and you’re just some random hitchhiker who happened to stumble into his kingdom.

You take a deep breath. You need to calm down. Just count to ten, breathe and—

“Man, you are so mad. I literally feel the steam coming out of your ears. Are you always like this, or is it just me?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “it’s just you.”

“Oh, I feel so special now.”

You clench your fists. God, he’s such a dick. But something about his words sticks with you, that moment when you mentioned his car, and then the question pops into your head.

“Wait a second. Didn’t you have a car?”

Stan blinks, then makes the most pitiful face you’ve ever seen. “Oh, my baby. . .“

“Your what?” you immediately frown.

“My car! My precious, my one and only. . .”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

He sighs dramatically, placing a hand over his chest looking like he's talking about a dead relative. “I had to sell her.”

“What?”

Stan nods, staring out the window like some tragic movie character. Oh shit here we go, you think.

“Yeah. . . she’s gone now. Sold her to some guy named Bud.”

“You sold your damn car?”

“Had no choice, sweetheart.”

You stare at him, unable to process this information. “and what the hell did you do to end up in a situation where you had to sell your fucking car?”

He shrugs, way too casual about the whole thing. “oh, you know. fucked up. I'm a screw up after all.”

You stare at him, waiting for an actual explanation, but he just keeps grinning that lazy grin like this whole conversation is just a fun little game for him. And that pisses you off even more.

“You are literally the worst person I’ve ever met.”

Stan snorts. “Oh, come on. Don’t act like you’re sad about it. Or what, were you hoping to move in? live in MY car?”

“NO, you idiot! but I was hoping you’d stay the fuck away from me instead of sitting here, ruining my life even more!”

He leans too close, invading your personal space, grinning. “Bold of you to assume I would even let you touch my baby.”

“Are you kidding me, you idi—“

Stan throws his head back, laughing loudly, and it’s the worst sound you’ve ever heard. “Oh man, you are so easy to piss off. I love it.”

“I hate you. Shut up.”

“I know. And no, i wont.”

You roll your eyes, turning away, deciding you’re done wasting your energy on this asshole. But your stomach has other plans as it growls too loudly, and suddenly you remember that the last time you had a proper meal was. . . well. Way too long ago. You dig through your bag and pull out real food. Warm, actual food. Not a goddamn snickers like last time, but something that smells so good your mouth starts watering.

You still remember the motel. You remember this asshole munching on YOUR snickers and moaning like he was in heaven, knowing damn well you had nothing to eat.

You pick up a piece, put it in your mouth, close your eyes and—

“Mmmhmm.”

Stan’s head snaps toward you immediately.

“What the hell are you doing.”

You open your eyes, smirking, and take another bite. “just enjoying my food.”

He squints at you. “you’re fucking with me.”

“Am I?” you close your eyes again, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Mmhh. God, this is so good.”

“Okay, stop.”

“Stop what? enjoying my food? Oh, no, no, no. I should savor it.” you take another bite, chewing as slowly as possible, staring right at him.

He’s getting nervous. And his stomach starts growling too.

“So what, not even gonna share?” Stan looks at you, demonstrating you his puppy brown eyes.

Without breaking eye contact, you put another piece in your mouth, chewing as slow as humanly possible.

“Why the fuck would I share with the person who got me almost killed?”

He gasps, clutching his chest like you just stabbed him. “oh, please! it’s not like I ever needed your help!”

And with that, he yanks open his suitcase, clearly expecting something great, warm, tasty and instead. . .

Nothing. Well, except for some sad, rip-off band-aids.

He stares at them, slowly closing the suitcase. “man, life sucks.”

Finally, the bus screeches to a stop, tires rattling against the old asphalt, and you’re not even sure whether to be relieved or not. Sure, you got out of that place, the one you definitely shouldn’t have stayed in, but now you’re here, some other godforsaken place you don’t even know what to do with. But that’s not a problem anymore. At least you know what comes next. Unlike some people with fake names.

You stand, grab your heavy duffel bag, and Stan does the same with his suitcase. The entire ride, he didn’t shut up for even a second, but now that you’re outside, he’s way too quiet.

You steal a glance at him, he's standing there, gripping his suitcase like a little lost child, brushing his thick fingers over his mustache, scanning the darkness as if he's looking for something.

And it bothers you a little. Not because you worry about him. Just because Steve never gets this quiet for no reason. But you don’t care.

Honestly, it’s even better this way.

You adjust the strap of your bag and start walking. Slow, but determined. You don’t need this idiot. You don’t trust him, not after what he did, and not after he screwed you over. Yeah, maybe you’re no saint, but at least you never betrayed him the way he betrayed you.

And now, when he’s in even deeper shit than you are, why the hell should you stay?

But of course, he just has to open his damn mouth.

“So what? You just leave?”

You stop, exhaling sharply. “um, what do you expect me to do? take your hand and lead you like a lost puppy?”

“I mean, that would be nice.” he smiles awkwardly.

You roll your eyes and turn, meeting his sad gaze. “look, Steve if that's even your name, you got me in enough shit already. The last thing i need is you making it worse.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes right back at you.

“Oh please. Don’t act like you weren’t already knee-deep in trouble before me.”

“Yeah, but at least i was handling it! Unlike some people.”

Stan narrows his eyes at your answer. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, at least i still have my business. I still got people to scam. What do you have? Failed cons and a car you had to sell to some guy named Bud?” you smirk, shaking your head.

His face twists in mock offense. “Hey, Bud was a great guy! very talkative! he even gave me some advice—“

“I do not care.”

“Man, you’re so heartless.” Stan sighs.

“And you’re a liability.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but then he just stops. You see it hit him, even if he tries to play it off. Stan hates losing, hates to realise that someone else is better than him at at least one thing he thought he was good at, scamming. And right now you’re doing better.

He could say it’s not a competition, but for him, it always is. And that feeling, that he’s falling behind, pisses him off more than anything.

But when Stan blinks, shaking the thought off, he notices he’s standing alone.

You’re already gone and that makes him curse under his breath, glancing around, but you’re nowhere in sight.

“Well, shit.” he stands there, alone in the dark, and for the first time in a long time, he has no idea what to do.

But he has money. Shit, at least he has that. Thanks, Bud.

Stan glances around, thinking this place feels too dark and too empty so it makes him uncomfortable. He needs to get somewhere with people. Somewhere with a motel or at least a spot to crash for the night.

He walks, humming under his breath. Whatever, he doesn't need you, he doesn't need anyone. He's free spirited Stanley damn Pines, right, ma?

He turns the corner and something heavy slams against his head. Stanley doesn’t even get the chance to curse before he stumbles forward, collapsing onto the pavement with a dull thud and everything goes black.

#gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you #x reader #gravity falls smut #stan pines x reader #stanley pines x you #stanley pines x reader #stan pines #grunkle stan #stan pines smut #stan pines x you #gravity falls fanfic #young stan pines #steve pinington #stanley pines

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neodymiumcuilz · 3 months ago

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HELP A FAMILY IN GAZA.

"To our brothers, sisters, and loved ones, condolences, I write these words to you, and I am full of hope in your humanity and assistance. Because I am Mahmoud Ashour from Rafah, I spent my whole life working to build a decent life for me and my family, but after the occupation issued the eviction of the entire city of Rafah, we had no shelter and our lives were destroyed. Our home and store were destroyed, and our hopes and dreams were destroyed."

Please listen to the words of Mahmoud Ashour, who has reached out to me asking for help. His campaign is going slowly and is in need of donations. Please listen and do your part to help him. His campaign is still far from its goal.

People in Gaza have not stopped suffering even after the ceasefire. They have been left with rubble and no income. They cannot support themselves financially, every thing in Gaza has become expensive. It is a daily struggle for food, water, clothes, blankets, shelter, health care, medicine, ect.. things for basic survival. Everyone deserves to have comfort, saftey and be healthy. They deserve a stable environment, and not displaced and in constant fear. They deserve to return to a normal life. Mahmoud Ashour needs your help!!

You can help by donating, any amount makes a difference. What you might spend on a coffee or something unnecessary can be used to help him buy food for his family, if you can spare anything, do it here!!

Dont think even for a second that your donation is worthless, every 1$ counts. It is a group effort, let's get this campaign up and running!

If you cannot donate, please spread the word, if you could reach out to others or friends or family who can donate, or spread it outside of tumblr, or use your voice that would be great. Please spread the word, reblog, share, like. Visit @mahagaza5 , @mahagaza9 @mahagaza7 are a few of his accounts. Please share these accounts and interact with the post. He has been reaching out to me for some time now, and I haven't been able to collect many donations for him yet so I hope his post or his campaign can get some attention. Please blow this post up!! We can do it!!

Thank you so much for listening.

Thank you for having humanity.

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fenharel-babe · 18 days ago

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Tagging: @zombiefishgirl , @amoaliquis @museinthemiddle @fenharels-chewtoy bc yall said you were excited so here you go hehe :)))💙.

Okay here goes my rant of Solas and how he is such a good lover. His romance has been broken down to hell and back but I DONT CARE! I’m adding my thoughts and just stirring the pot of Solavellan on tumblr. A community I love with all my heart.

Okay, so. The reason I believe Solas is such a good lover is because of how he respects Lavellan and likes to know more about her. That man was definitely wanting to kiss her when he was in that Haven dream, but he let her do it. He said she changed everything, but still didn’t take initiative and let Lavellan do it. Once she did and he knew she felt somewhat the same, THEN he went all in and used tongue. He was so down bad already. SO DOWN BAD!!!

And then he ends up asking for time and not wanting to lead her on. He’s open about his feelings though that’s definitely terrifying. Yes, he’s not telling the full truth about his past BUT he is talking about his feelings in the present and telling her the truth about that at least. I feel like he would understand if she wanted to end it and move on, and he sets boundaries and it makes sense. This man was a spirit of Wisdom that suddenly took a form and was used and abused his whole life until Inquisition, so he barely had time to understand FEELINGS and especially LOVE. He had little to no time to understand that, so he sets a boundary, lets her know he needs time. He needs to think before he does anything else. I see that as very sweet and considerate since he doesn’t want to lead either of them on and basically be a terrible lover because he isn’t sure he DOES love her. He isn’t sure and needs time, and it’s respectful and good to be HONEST about that, and he was.

Then talking about how he wants to know her more, I think about the talk on the balcony when he asks her if the mark has changed her. In my opinion this is when his view on the world has begun to change. He sees people as people and actually alive. Lavellan (at least my Lavellan) has helped refugees with blankets and food, helped a man’s dying wife get a potion she needed from her son, helped a random woman get justice and her wedding ring back from Templars when they killed her husband, and had done so much to help people. And she has to go out of her way to do this!! She was busy as hell yet still took the time to help them. She did all of this and he wondered if the anchor somehow changed her. In my head, he possibly was scared or worried of falling for someone that was changed, but then he learns she has always been this way, and it makes him cement in his feelings. He loves her and he cannot hold it back anymore, though he tries. He tries one last time to pull back, but her telling him to stay made him see how she also loved him and wanted him badly, so he gave in. He kissed her and told her that he loved her, speaking in his language to show how serious he was. We know if he speaks in elven, it’s gotta be serious and it was.

I believe Solas didn’t love freely and possibly never did romantically to anyone in ancient Arlathan. Not just for the trope of her being his first love, but because of how he had to do war and did such horrible things (due to Mythal and others) and definitely didn’t have time to get close to people, but this time he did. He got to know a woman that was a ‘shadow’ of his people, but she was really a light. Like Cole described her at the end of DAI, when he looked at her she shined bright and it was like looking at birds as they flew past the sun and how it hurt to look for too long. Feel like Solas looked at her and she was so bright and a unique spirit to see now due to how corrupted spirits could become and how the world was full of corruption and pain. Yet she still survived and was a beacon of light and hope. Hope to him especially.

Then, I think of how he left her. Leaving her was definitely a Choice™️ and feels dumb….but when I look at it in Solas POV I do understand a little bit. He is full of guilt and remorse and he knows he cannot love Lavellan to his full potential as long as he feels that way. He will focus on that guilt and regret and he can’t do that to her. She loves him, but she doesn’t know the Full sides of him, and it hurts. He loves her so much that he can’t lead her on. So he tries to tell her, but he can’t. He’s overwhelmed with fear and she doesn’t know about his past until he literally CANT hide it from her anymore. I think breaking up was sad and painful but it was considerate when you look at it from Solas. He wanted to protect her, and he believed leaving was the best option, and maybe it was. It’s sad it happened, but he at least thought of her in the moment, in my head anyways.

And then the FLYCAM SCENE OF HIM LEAVING DAI AND HOW HE TURNED AROUND ONE! LAST! TIME! TO LOOK AT LAVELLAN!!! Crazy guy. This asshole (affectionate).

And then Trespasser comes. It is an asshole move that he let Lavellan suffer the anchor for his plans, but if I’m right; he could’ve just let her die. But he saved her (and friend and rival inky but you get what I mean) and actually admits the past. The small “thank you” when Lavellan says she didn’t think he was capable of that is PAINFUL! STABBING ME IN THE HEART!!!! MURDERING ME!!!! Regardless, he told her the truth finally, saved her from Qunari spies and a whole war plot, and saved her life from the anchor. Plus, I think about how they first meeting Trespasser and how this MAN. THIS MAN THAT HAS THE POWER OF A GOD!

Takes a step back and hangs his head whenever she steps forward and yells at him.

HE STEPS BACK?!?!! Tell me you’re ashamed of how you left your GF and still love her and are terrified of her anger without telling me.

Her touch would destroy him!! A MAN WITH GOD POWERS!!! A MAN THAT DID A MIND BLAST THE SIZE OF A BOMB. And then the quiet “my love”!!!! And “I wish it could, Vhenan,” AND “I will never forget you,” AAAAAH. THIS MAN LIVES FOREVER!!! BUT HE WILL NEVER FORGET HER AND WILL LOVE HER FOREVER!!!! And then he still wants to be wrong. Well, he doesn’t but he does. He would treasure the chance to be wrong once again. IM CRAZY ABOUT HIM!!!

Anyways, now we’re talking about The Dreams. I’ve read fanfics/posts on tumblrs saying that they believe Solas, the first time at least, entering Lavellan’s dreams was an accident. I can totally see that…..however I see it as on purpose. This man was so in love that I cannot see him truly cutting her off all the way. He needs to at least see her, even if it’s in dreams. They used to be in the Fade together so many times until he ended it, so it’s so…natural to see her in dreams. He can’t sleep without seeing her and knowing she’s okay.

And from my understanding this most likely means Solas timed his sleep/meditating time with Lavellan’s sleep schedule. I could be wrong but when entering the Fade, you gotta be asleep or doing something with your mind and how could Solas do that simply awake? He couldn’t. He had to know when she was asleep!!! He knew her schedule and prayed it hadn’t changed AND IT DIDN’T! He remembered her schedule and met her in dreams…..but would leave when she tried to touch him because if she did it would just hurt more. I’m going fucking crazy.

This man is FULL of LONGING and LOVE and PAIN and OVERWHELMING EMOTIONS BECAUSE HE WAS A SPIRIT!!! AND NOW HE’S A PERSON!! AAAAAAH!!!!!

Anyways: now onto DATV. I find it funny when Rook mentions Lavellan and Solas is just “uh…she is a good woman,” and then smiles when Rook asks if he regrets loving her and he’s basically like “absolutely NOT”. He has countless regrets, yet he has come to cherish her more than his victories. His battles he won? They couldn’t compare to the love he got from her. To the love they shared. It couldn’t compare……

And god….the reunion at the end. I think we can all agree that the sound and music people went HARD on this scene. The CHOIR SWELLING WHEN LAVELLAN SHOWS UP??? Now that’s dramatic and totally what I was craving. But anyways the way Solas literally lowers the dagger and looks at Lavellan, and even turns his body completely to her! His eyebrows tilt up, his mouth is slightly open with shock, and his dagger is lowered as he whispers, “Vhenan…”. It almost feels like he couldn’t say it louder. And tbf he probably couldn’t given he just got the shit beat and BIT out of him LMAO.

But anyways he’s vulnerable in this moment. I believe if they wanted to kill him, this would’ve been the moment to do so. Lavellan was the perfect distraction, even if she wasn’t used that way. She still was. He gives her his attention in an INSTANT, and he can’t believe she’s there. And the “I forgive you!” line has to have hit him DEEP. Most likely no one has said that to him, so it’s just a lot when she says it out of everyone. And then finally being set free from Mythal (fuck that bitch) and having LAVELLAN lean down and whisper her love to him—one that never died or dwindled—and he sobs. It’s a breaking point.

And then the kiss and hand holding. I’ve seen the flycam of Solas holding onto her hand with BOTH of his hands. He missed his wife….and doesn’t want to let her go. But the BIGGEST act of love (well maybe 2nd biggest) is the final moment of leaving. He doesn’t turn to look at her or beckon her after she said she’d join him. He tells Rook thanks and then walks ahead….without looking at Lavellan. He doesn’t want to guilt her into following him down this path. It is her choice and she follows willingly.

He even WARNS HER!!!! He is Wisdom and wants her to know the truth of this path, to know it will be hard and terrible, BUT IT WONT BE AS LONG AS THEY’RE TOGETHER!!! He doesn’t look at her because he didn’t want to give orders. But she goes anyways. She places a hand on his shoulder, most likely very gently given his state, and then they disappear forever. They go into the Fade together, both changed yet still in love.

To me, Solas telling Lavellan she doesn’t have to go and warning her is a big sign of his love once again. He wants the best for her and KNOWS she’s suffered through these years—partly his fault—and doesn’t want her to any longer. He wants her to live happily, but she can’t without him. Still, he warns her, doesn’t ask or command her to follow him. He didn’t want to give orders. It’s like the saying of if you really love someone you’ll let them go or something and it fits Solas. He was willing to let her go if she wanted and would go into eternity alone. BUT SHE WOULDN’T LET HIM!! AND NOW THEY CAN LIVE FOREVER!!!!!

And now….Papae Solas…..Solas would be SUCH a good dad. He’s definitely freaking out and panicking and all that, but he would love his children so fucking hard. He’s holding such a small being, one that relies on him for love and care, and WISDOM!’ THEY NEED TO LEARN!!! There’s no way he ain’t there teaching them fucking math or how to answer the questions of life when they can only babble back and he takes it so serious. He’s like “yeah why didn’t I think about that?” WHEN ITS JUST BABBLES!!!!

That motherfucker will DRAW them!!! Draw a family portrait, draw Lavellan holding the baby, draw HIMM HOLDING THE BABY!! Everytime they change—like height or stage of life—he paints them. He’s such a good dad. He would never abandon this small creature that needs his guidance. He would definitely SOB when his kid calls him “Papae” OKAY? DEFINITELY. He cries when he sees Lavellan sing and rock them to sleep, and is just emotional!!!! He helps Lavellan when she’s sleep deprived and is so Tired and he’s like “baby let me get the baby it’s okay. You sleep💙” and she trusts him so much and it’s OKAYYYT!! THEYRE A TEAM IN THIS!!! They’re both learning from each other in this. Solas holds the babe the first time and needs instructions and Lavellan guides him with a gentle voice.

If that baby cries in his arms he will definitely cry as well LMAO. But he’ll eventually learn it’s just what babies do. They cry a lot. He’ll learn to be a parent, how to raise something so small into an adult, and genuinely give them allllll of his love. That man would not be an absent father. He would be the most PRESENT father! He would be the dad that steps up for everything.

All in all……

Solas in a nutshell when it comes to Lavellan:

His agents most definitely made fun of him whenever he went to meditate and they caught a glimpse of the Inquisition throne. Anyways, hope you enjoyed :)))). I love Solas sm. Can forever and ever talk about him.

#dragon age #solavellan #lavellan x solas #solas x lavellan #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age inquisition #dragon age solas #my writing #I love him sm and have many many thoughts for this loser and pathetic man (affectionate)#no proof reading we die like Duncan

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aliceinborderlandsquidgame · 3 months ago

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Bloody Letters | Banda Sunato x GN!Reader

Summary: Banda is in prision, you the only survivor of his killing are still being haunted by him in a simple way. Letters.

Warnings: Banda is a warning himself - Toxic!Relationship - Traumatic!Reader - Obsessive!Banda - Mentions of Gore and Mutilation - Mentions of sex - Reader gets called Bird - MDNI - +18 -

The first one came after he was arrested. It was only one week and yet he seemed to be missing you.

"Hello my Bird, each day in here its a torture I cant endure without you. Do you remember that week when I could not go out because the police was near our home? We had such a great time. I dont remember a place where I did not fuck you nice and full. The house never smelled better, sex and blood...the memory of it makes me hard while I write this. Why dont you send me some of these pics I took during that time? It would help me so much.

With devotion, your Banda"

You had pucked after it, wishing that by ignoring him he would let you alone. But you knew better.

At court you were called to testify against him. And you did, the horrors you had survived were showed to you once more. But you stood your ground. The most sickering thing was him. He looked proud of himslef after each relate of how he killed and dismemberment a victim was told, and when he looked at you. It was a look so confused, his eyes like an abyss of pure evil and possession.

You had to stay in your parents home after that day.

"My Dear Bird, you looked so stunning at court today. Are you eating well? I see you having lose some weight. But thats fine, we can work that up once im out of here.

I must say, I was quiet sad that you did not testify on my side. Didnt you say you loved me ? That we would be together till death ?

Maybe you forgot your place. Maybe your wings are growing again.

See you soon my bird"

"Bird.

Why are you not responding ? Do you know how hard its to get these letters out ?

Do you think you can go back to normal and escape me ? Im in your life now, I left part of me inside you multiple times. You cant just ignore that, or what ? Did you get a new partner? Bird no one would ever care for you like I did. We bathed together in the blood of that woman!! Do you remember ? You were crying so much and it was such a good thing to see..."

Each day you waited that they will stop coming. That whoever was allowing these letters out would have some compassion for you.

You could not sleep or eat. Each sound made you remember him and his tortures. The dark was once again your biggest fear, each shadow made you think it was him.

"My Dear Bird, sorry my last letters were too violent, I now see my mistake.

The therapist here says I should learn to control my impulses, how would he react if I told him i already imagined him dead by my knife ? Do you think he would react at all ?

You know I havent see it in so long. I miss it. Remember who I used it to ambush you that night ? I accidentally cut you, that was a real accident. I did not get to enjoy the moment. All the other ones....oh I did. The moments we shared are engraved in my mind forever now. Much like how my name its on your skin.

You havent remove it have you? I put so much effort on it...it would be a shame if you removed it.

Well I guess i will have to do it again then. We can do it as a part of our reunion.

With care, Banda"

The wait for his sentence was long. One more time, you had to see him one more time and then he would be gone of your life forever.

"My Bird.

Can you believe we will be seeing each other again ? We will soon reunite!!

I hope you smile more this time. You know I always loved that smile of yours....

You can cry too. It did things to me when you cried.

Have I mention how I keep dreaming of you? Its a shame I cant shove my dick inside you like I used to. You made the most delicious noises, specially when you were not fully awake and then when you did notice what whats happening...

Im getting hard just by thinking of it..."

"For the crimes the accused Banda Sunato has commitmet he is sentenced to death penalty with no chance for a appeal" The judge said and you felt like the world was off from you. You fell on the court's chair your family and Friends crying and hugging you. The family of the dead victims crying too.

But him. He was not crying. He was smiling that sick smile of his. His eyes pointed at you like a predator seeing his prey. For the first time you held his gaze and you saw how he did a move to try and come to you but was soon stopped by some guards.

"My Little Bird...

You were so beautiful at court today as well. And with your family no less, I have wanted to meet them for sometime now. What does they think of our relationship? Does they like me ? Does your father aprove of me ? I hope your mom cooks just as well as you used to. I cant wait to sit all together and tell them all the fantastic times we had together.

Where should I start ? The first night? The first time I took you ? When you saw me murder another person ? Maybe when you cooked their flesh ?-"

"Stop stop" You said covering your ears as your father read the letter with more and more ferocity.

"I will kill him myself" He said almost throwing the letter when a part catched his eyes. He went pale as he read it.

"What is it?" Your mom asked as she hugged you.

"I- I dont think-"

"Please Dad...what is it?" You begged now

"Dear Bird, do you know they grant a final wish for these whos sentence is death ? Besides a meal we get one final wish. And my wish was to see you once more, just you and me alone in a room. I hope the judge sees my love for you and gives me that final wish....I cant wait to smell you again-"

"No!!" Your mother screamed taking the letter from your father then throwing it. "He cant ask for it! I wont let them go, the judge wont- the judge wont aprove it" Your mother said between sobs.

But justice failed you and did grant Babda his final wish and even demanded that you must be present or pay a big amount of money.

The light blue room and too bright light was making your skin crawl back as you waited. You knew there were officers and your own parents behind the glass but that still did not ease your nerves.

Finally he came guided by another officer, he was chained, feet and hands. Once sat in front of you the guard made sure he could not move or reach you before leaving.

Banda smiled at you "Hello my Bird, did you get my letters ? You never wrote back" He asked a slight mocking tone on his side.

"I burned them. You are never going to hurt me again. You are dead Banda, after this you will be nothing" You said back trying to keep your voice steady and calm even if your fingers were thighten the edges of the chair.

This caused Banda' smile to slowly dissapear. His posture now tense, he was studying you. Like many times before.

"Do you really think this is the end? That I wont ever be part of you again? My Bird...we are mean to be together till the end. If its not by my hand then i can assure you. Fate will bring us together"

"You can go to hell Banda, and take that fate with you too. We are done" You got up giving him one last look before walking out of the room. Once outside you collapsed on your parents arms, the start of a panic attack coming.

"Its over Dear, its over"

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

Shibuya was always packed with people and while you were not really feeling that much need to go out, you knew you needed to take your life back.

The lights changed and you started to cross, lost in the music from your phone you failed to notice something from the sky...

Next thing you knew you were in the middle of the city but...it was empy. No noise, no cars, nothing. Fear went over your body as you checked your phone. Dead, no signal.

What...was this another episode ?

"Well, seems like fate does wants us together my Bird" The voice who owned your nightmares spooke from behind.

You turned and there he was, his smile back and blood dripping from his hand where now a knife stood.

"Oh dont look at me like that...you know I cant contain myself if you do" Banda said twisting the knife with expertise "five minutes, thats your head start"

Your heart fell as your legs started to tremble but you could not move. This was not possible. How could he be here...and where were the people ?

"Run little Bird, becuase once I catch you. You wont be moving for a long time..."

And so you ran knowing he never said these things without meaning them.

#alice in borderland #aib imagine #aib imagines #alice in borderland x reader #banda sunato x reader #aib x reader

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kayakiki · 2 months ago

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SOFT TOUCH | John Marston x Fem!Reader

Summary: His scars were stories he wished left untold. He carried them with quiet unease, never meeting his own reflection for too long. But you traced them with gentle fingers, your touch soft as falling dusk, and in your eyes, he saw no pity—only admiration.

Warning(s): none

Genre: Fluff (angst if you squint)

The river stretched out before them, wide and slow-moving, catching the golden hues of the sinking sun. John sat at the edge of the water, boots dug into the damp earth, fishing rod in hand. His black jacket was folded and set aside, leaving only his worn black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, dark grey hat sitting on his head. He sat with an air of lazy patience, looking bored to death.

Behind him, perched on a smooth rock, you watched, quiet and steady. You were not one to fill the air with unnecessary chatter, but your presence was a constant, warm thing. You observed him with a soft gaze, the corners of your lips barely curved upward.

“How’s it going?” you asked after a long stretch of silence.

He huffed, adjusting his grip on the rod. “Ain’t caught nothin’ yet.”

You two were assigned by Pearson to bring him back some fish, so he could cook dinner. Javier, being the skilled fisherman he is, is usually the one to do it, but he left with Artur on a mission assigned by Dutch, so he assigned the job to you instead. You dont think it was a bright idea.

You nodded, as if that was to be expected. “You don’t seem in much of a rush.”

He cast you a sidelong glance. “Fishin’ ain’t about rushin’. It’s about patience.”

Your smile was small but knowing. “You’re not really the patient type.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “Maybe not. But I like sittin’ here with you.”

That earned him a glance, something soft flickering in your eyes before you looked back at the water with a little smile.

The river lapped gently against the shore, the only sound between you for a while. Then, there was a sharp tug on the line. His body tensed. “There we go.”

You leaned forward slightly, watching as he worked. He reeled it in, movements practiced but a little too eager, and in a split second, the fish slipped free and vanished back into the water.

John stared at the empty hook, blinking in disbelief.

“Well,” you murmured, “that was unfortunate.”

He exhaled heavily, running a hand down his face. “Damn fish.”

You couldn't help but laugh, finding his facial expression amusing. He shot you a look that told you to be quiet and you apologized, patting the empty place next to you.

As he settled next to you, you tilted your head slightly, watching him with something soft in your expression. “Y’know" you mused, “you look real nice when you’re focused.”

He snorted, glancing at you. “That so?”

“Mm,” you hummed, smile widening. “I’d say you’re the most handsome outlaw in the whole territory.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Darlin’, I got no idea how you shoot so damn well if you’re that blind.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“You gotta be blind if you think I’m anywhere near ‘handsome.’” His tone was playful, but something in his chest tightened as he said it.

You frowned, shifting forward so you could get a better look at his face. “You don’t think you are?”

He scoffed, glancing down. “I know I ain’t.”

You were quiet for a moment, then reached out, your fingers brushing over his jaw. He stilled at your touch, his heartbeat loud in his ears.

“I’m serious” you said softly. “You’re beautiful.”

He swallowed hard, his usual ease and humor failing him. He had never been good at taking compliments—especially not about his looks. He had too many scars, too many reminders of the things he had survived. He wasn’t the kind of man people called handsome. He was rough, worn, marked by the past in ways he couldn’t erase.

“You don’t gotta say that” he murmured.

“I want to” you insisted, fingers tracing the rough lines of the scars on his cheek. “I want you to know that I see you—all of you. And I love what I see.”

His flashed with emotions, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. He wanted to tell you that you were wrong, that he wasn’t worthy of that kind of praise. But the way you were looking at him, like he was something precious, made it impossible to say a damn thing.

Instead, he turned his head, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist. “You got a way of makin’ a man feel like he’s somethin’ special” he murmured against your skin.

You smiled, cupping his face between your hands. “That’s ‘cause you are.”

His eyes searched yours, and he felt it again—that overwhelming, aching love for you. It was a love that scared him sometimes, because it was too big, too deep. He had spent most of his life keeping people at arm’s length, knowing that closeness only led to loss. But with you, he couldn’t keep his distance. He didn’t want to.

“You really mean all that?” he asked, voice quieter now.

You nodded. “Every word.”

He let out a slow breath, pressing his forehead against yours. “Don’t know what I did to deserve you” he admitted.

You chuckled. “You’re a good man. Reckless, stubborn as hell, but good.”

He frowned, looking at you with betrayal. “Stubborn?”

“Terribly” you teased.

He laughed, shaking his head. “Guess I am”

You brushed a thumb over his cheek. “But you’re also kind, loyal, and so damn easy to love.”

His chest tightened, and he pulled you closer, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “I love you” he whispered against your skin, the words slipping out as naturally as breathing.

You smiled against his touch. “I love you too”

The river continued to flow beside you, but in that moment, John didn’t care about the fish or the patience he was supposed to be practicing. The only thing that mattered was you—your touch, your voice, the warmth of you pressed against him. And for once, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, he was as good as you saw him to be.

Then, he got back to fishing. You did not want to return with your arms empty and feel Pearson's wrath.

As the sun dipped lower, the air grew cooler, and you shivered slightly. He noticed immediately, wrapping an arm around you as he exhaled. “Guess we oughta head back before the others think we ran off for good.”

You nodded, stretching as you stood. “Think they’d miss us?”

He smirked, grabbing his hat and placing it firmly on his head. “Well, I know I’d miss you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips. “Sweet talker."

“Well,” you said, pushing yourself up from the rock, brushing dust off your pants. “I’d say that’s enough sitting around. Let’s head back before the others start thinking we got ourselves eaten by a bear."

As the two of you started the trek back to camp, he fell into step besides you, his hand comming to hug you around your shoulders, squeezing you against his side as you walked. It wasn’t often he was quiet—not truly—but right now, he seemed comfortable in the silence between you.

You walked like that for a while, the afternoon air warm against your skin, the distant sound of animals filling the spaces where words didn’t need to be. Then, just as the campfire came into view, you nudged him lightly with your elbow.

“I meant what I said earlier” you murmured.

He glanced at you, one brow lifting. "What?"

You gave him a look, and his lips twitched like he was about to make a smart remark but thought better of it. “About you being handsome” you clarified.

For a moment, he just looked at you, like he was trying to figure out if you were serious. Then, he let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “I still think you need your eyesight checked.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, he continued, voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “I ain’t ever been much to look at, even before these damn scars. Reckon I’d never cared much till you came along.” He exhaled a breath, scratching the back of his head, as if embarrassed by his own words. “Now? Hell, now I catch myself wonderin’ how a woman like you could look at me the way you do.”

Your steps slowed, and without thinking, you reached for his hand. He stilled at the touch, like he always did, not because he didn’t want it, but because he still hadn’t gotten used to someone wanting to hold him like this—like he was something precious.

“You really don’t see yourself the way I do, do you?” you asked, lacing your fingers with his.

John let out a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it. “I see a man with too many scars, too much blood on his hands, and a past that’d make most folks run the other way.”

You squeezed his hand, bringing him to a stop just before you reached the camp’s clearing. The sound of people talking in the distance, but right now, it was just the two of you.

“I see a man who’s been through hell and kept going,” you told him, your voice soft but unwavering. “A man who’s reckless, yeah, but only ‘cause he cares too much. A man who’s loyal, kind, and who somehow—against all odds—ended up being mine.” You reached up, fingertips brushing along his jaw, feeling the rough stubble, the faint ridges of his scars. “And I think you’re beautiful. Not just because of how you look, but because of who you are.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and for a moment, he just stared at you like he wasn’t sure what to do with the weight of your words. Then, he let out a slow breath, closing his eyes briefly before leaning into your touch.

“You got a way of makin' a man feel lucky, y’know that?” he murmured, voice a little hoarse.

You smiled, brushing your thumb over the corner of his lips. “Well, you are lucky” you teased, though your voice was warm, fond.

For a while, he just held you, his chin resting atop your head, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your cheek.

“You ever get tired of me bein’ all sentimental, you let me know” John muttered after a moment, his voice half-serious, half-teasing.

You laughed, tilting your head up to look at him. “Oh, I will. Right after you get tired of me tellin’ you how handsome you are.”

He groaned, tipping his hat forward like he was trying to hide his face, but you caught the grin tugging at his lips before he could.

You then stood on your tip toes, pressing a light kiss against his lips. He smiled against your lips, returning the gesture just as softly. It was slow, sweet, neither of you in a hurry.

He deepened the kiss—his hands finding your waist to hold you against him, his lips moving with more intent against yours soft ones, more emotion, as if he was pouring all his feelings into it. You responded instantly, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling John closer.

When you finally broke apart, you didn’t move away. You stayed there, looking into each others eyes, breaths mingling.

,,Come on, cowboy. Im sure Pearson is already pissed off that we're taking so long"

,,Oh he is for sure. But who cares?"

As the two of you finally stepped into the camp, his fingers stayed tangled with yours, a quiet certainty that no matter what the world threw at you, you’d face it together.

And in the end, that was all that mattered.

#red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #john marston x reader #john marston #rdr

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dailyjasontodd · 6 months ago

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mods, what would YOU guys have liked to see from a Jason Lives AU? Where he still become red hood? Where he (temp or not) retires? I've been thinking about it a lot

I wrote this on my personal blog years and years ago and some of the things i would like to see are

his relationship with Bruce still becoming strained. death or not i think they had some issues to sort through and they both need help AND more importantly they need proper development they were never truly given in canon. the canon jason lives au sorta started strongly in that regard (and kept it strong until the end tbh, it was everything else that was fucked up) but well.

While i do think retiring from Robin for a bit would be good for Jason i hate HATE when people just turn him into a civilian and do the whole twitter-esque "he can help more outside of being a vigilante!!!". like its a bad idea for bruce, and its a bad idea for jason sorry. i think he would try to give it a try, focus on being Jason Todd, and finding out who he is outside of Robin and outside of the expectations for him and not needing to be on constant survival mode, but ultimately i think he would become another vigilante anyways. maybe return to robin. maybe something new. idc.

(in my old blog i said i liked him becoming Red Robin, and designing a new suit with the help of Bruce and Dick since he was never given his own Robin design during his original run, and not only does he deserve it but its very symbolic that he really was running around in dick's hand me downs for years. but it would be fun if he got a completely new name too, a few years ago Cardinal was very popular but my birds knowledge has become very rusty.. i remember also liking Shrike)

people might not like this idea but i do like him somewhat following up Dick's steps and forming his own little team too, especially because he lacked a strong support system outside of Bruce, you know? Dick had the titans when he left, Jason never had anyone but a friend here and there that were vaguely mentioned and not fleshed out. So i think a good step forward for Jason would be to have his own team (my usual pick is eddie / rose / connor sorry not sorry #mytitans but i'm also down for ocs, i've made a few of those too lmao)

I really think regardless of him living he would still think some people deserve nothing but death. Maybe he wouldn’t straight up kill people, but there’s a fat chance there’s times when he didn’t do “everything” he could to save some people who didn’t deserve it and i think he would still argue with bruce about it and i even like the idea of his own team having that argument as well, love the idea of connor carrying the duty of being their moral compass over there at times

that's some specific stuff i would love for a jason lives au. my vague wishes are

let him live

don't torture him

dont make him suffer anymore

dont turn him into a villain

-🐅

#asks #i was simply going to link my old post but i dont completely agree with it anymore..#jason todd #mod post #?#also i would like jayconnorkyle in this au. idc. and eddierose YEASS

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justcallmesakira · 1 year ago

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BESTIE IF U DONT DO THIS REQ N I WILL FACKING EAT UR MUTUALS

DAZAI WITH A SISTER DAZAI WITH A SISTER DAZAI WITH A SISTER!!

she has black cat energy and err makes suicidal jokes here and then but never does t and chuuyas always the one who pulls her away from dazais tendencies because he DOES NOT want reader to follow dazais steps and err dazai and reader have a 2 year gap and err basically dazai took her away with him when he left and thats were she sort of stopped talking BECAUSE BOOM CHIKA BOOM ODAS DEATH LEFT HER MORE TRAUAMATIZED THAN THE KIDS ASAGIRI BLEW UP!!! so errr crack and chuuya and reader is ummmm AHEM AHEM AHEM (cough coug)

AND BASICALLY MORI HAS THIS like obsession of bringing reader back to the mafia like he constantly says stuff like "Dazai, my offer still stands but please remember that i would really really love to see your dear sister back first" LIKE YKNOW WHAT I AM SAYING???????????

DAZAI AND HIS YOUNGER SISTER!

Sypnosis: you are the younger sister of Da-dazai! Is he a great brother or not? UPPP TO YOU! >< oh and maybe hide your secret vists with chuuya please!!

Genre: crack and heavy angst! (dont question it)

Warnings: suicidal themes! cans of gasoline, glitter bombs, reader is very quiet type, manipulation (for good use!)

A/N: yummy yummy

uh oh! this is gonna be so damn messy

so um first of all! i really think reader would be very intelligent like dazai like oh fuck! i just got under a whole rubble of rocks by some guy who btw is the enemy of my brother quick! think of something

and then theres this bsd aesthetic plan you make and just survive! to the shock of your horror... :D

okay but in all seriousness! he defiently jokingly gave you his suicide guide to if u ever felt inspired by him

VERY VERY NORMAL BROTHER ACTIVITY!!1

dazai stop influencing people around you to plug off them self challenge impossible: GO!!

if you do however join his meticulous activites kunikidas actually going to blow up

😇

but imagine how cute it would be a black cat energy young sis and a golden retriver brother like bish forget romantic relationships like dazai who sometimes forget he left his sister at work!

but ynkow mf dazai always wants to keep close to you because he was never really there (like my fake as friends🙄) back in the mafia! woohoo

so now you can asks him for whatever you want but now he actually feels guilty because you have now become the silent type and dont really talk that much

Great job dazai! best brother everr!❤️

Imagine running away from the mafia with ur lil sister then realising she doesnt even want to talk anymore and that you might actually failed as a big brother even after buying her a whole lotta stuff

COULDNT BE OSAMU DAZAI GUYS!!!

tell him to take you to an amusement park and he will! but dont be surprised if you see him trying to run to jump off a bridge because he does not have for the sake of god any money!

AYY dazai cosplaying toji to get milk? real or fake??? find out here!

dont click on the link :3

ANYWAYS he definetly tries his best to get you back to talking sure the only thing he could do is talk to himself with you beside him doodling some stuff but yknow...it genuinely makes him form a sad smile when he gets reminded that maybe if he were a better brother and actually comforted you it would have ended better

"I saw a cat today yknow! it had a black eye and orange patterns. Somehow it looked wise" dazai said relazing on the chair, his hands behind his head, the whole night of yokohama was quiet only the flicker of the dim light placed underneath the balcony ceiling could be heard.

The night was calm too, it had a soft storm-like feel to it. Dazai knew you were listening thats probably why he would talk to you all these months, no one else was there for him anyway. So its better than nothing.

All of a sudden amdist the silence several pokes tapped on his shoulder which made his eyes widen slightly. You held up your sktechbook infront of his face, a bunch of doodles of him and a full sketch of his side profile

"(Name)... This is amazing! Wow you could be a talented artist yknow!!" he said you didnt know whether he was just flattering you or not because of the emptiness in his eyes. Depression changes a person. But the slight flicker of light in his made it visible to your loud mind. Dazai was glad you made some progress.

Okay now hb your interactions with da agency??

I am pretty sure both you and him joined da agency together (gotta make sure his sister ACTUALLY doesn`t follow his steps!😋😋😋😋)

kunikida may act all cold around you and view u as some kid especially when you randomly make the most random ass suicidal jokes in the middle of a meeting but...

Lets say he sort of checks up on both of you every morning! cant let the dogs out now kunikida! you never know what they do....

iykwimyk

now yosano girlypop is the only person who shows genuine concern for you when you get hurt why? because she was bamboozled when she found out you are dazais sibling like

"huh- are you actually capable of being a brother? more so having family"

dazai be at the corner weeping because of the amount of slander

DESERVEDDDD😍😍😍

I can totally see fukuzawa patting both of you and dazais head after you two collaborated on a mission

IDWGDHYWDFYUDFILOVEFATHERRELATIONSHIPS

he prob randomly call you for tea i mean not too randomly but he likes your black cat energy

speaking of which ranpo and you bully da heck out of criminals before they ultimately mistake you for some god!! /nj

kenji and kyouka just chills around you and tries debating what you and dazai have in common.

belonging in the mental asylum. thats whats common between you two/nj again😁😁

With chuuya

NAWWWWH BRO NAWW☠️

Chuuyas gonna end upl like this emoji☠️☠️☠️

Okay maybe i am over exaggerating this but yknow dazai is like really smart

UNFORTUNATELY!!!

So he will definitely know when ever you two act a little🤭😝😘🤗😍🥰👍

Hes going to get tjat expression from chapter 114 and chew chuuyas expensive tuxedo!!

I bet after he finds out hes straight up going to give chuuya a flashback of stormbringer era!! 😍😁

#verynormalbrother

"W-w-w-what da SKIBIDI [name]??? YOU WILL NOT AND NEVER MEET CHUUYA AGAIN" "wow... and i thought you were trying to become a better brother :(" "YOUNG LA- i-" ":("

He was about to say lad

like manipulative ass brother like sister ig! :33333333

He prob had suspicions back in the mafia especially because of how you mostly stuck around chuuya when he wasnt there

YOUR FAULT BRO!!!

And then u rizzed chuuya up with double black eyes (get it?)

"You know [name] it still hurt me, though i promised i would never say it infront of your face but.." Chuuya said seriousness in his tone looking at you eyes "But please stop looking at me with those cat like eyes they deeply remind of someone and I DO NOT like it"

He ended this funny note with a genuine fear and irritation in his eyes. you only nodded and continued to stare at him, your eyes rivaling a black hole not that hole by the way.

A tingling feeling gathered in himself as chuuya looks at your blank stare "Dont look at me like that!" he raised his flustered voice, a small hue of pink appearing on his cheek which only grew as you held on to his sleeve, snuggling against it like a cat.

But before he could be more flushed a really dark aura crept up behind you and then, right then you knew you fucked up bad.

"i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-cant believe this!" your brothers voice perked up behind you genuine horror on his face as if he just saw his bestfriend die infront of him twice.

"Oh my fucki-" chuuya sighed, both of you are caught. "[name] ICANTBELIEVETHISOMGIAMGOINGTOENDMYSELFLIKEMYOTHERVERSIONFROMANOTHERUNIVERSEWHOLOWEREDYOURSTANDERDSICANTBELIEVETHISHIT" dazai rapped at super speed, an anger and shock unwordable enough for you to be confused at whatever hes yapping about. "DAZAI what the fuck??" now chuuya was confused too.

"ANDYOU, HERMANADAPUTA (sisterfucker in english) YOUUGLYSHORTMFWITHNOFLAGSNONOTHING,YOUTRUSTISSUED?IWILLGIVEYOUPRISONFORLIFEISSUES" "WHAT IS YOU BROTHER YAPPING ABOUT?"

And all you could do was watch in horror as the scene unfolds infront of you. But safe to say you got in big trouble when you went back home!

anyways dazais going to go full on 8 cans of gasoline on the portmafia if more is obsessed with you like him

and then you realised..

"fOr tHe fIrSt TiMe iN fOrEVer" he actually did/nj

Okay okay but in all seriousness (litearlly @justcallmesakira catchphrase guys!!) Dazai would genuinely become more protective of you if mori was targeting towards you.

i would run away to antarctica too if mori even tried interacting with me

SHES A RUNNER SHES A TRACKSTAR!!!!!🏃💨

But if you are intelligent then i guess you met fyodor too? And maybe some sort of rivalry goes on between you two like "oh its my brothers enemy, gotta help my bro blow him up!"

I have nothing much to say because dazai would make secret plans (which you alrdy know) to make sure mori doesnt get too close with you

Like oh he was planning to approach you that day? BOOM dazai is already there. Yeah like that

If mori says that however... Dazai will reply with a dark eyed gloom,tilting his head back creepily "You will have to need more then the whole of port mafia to interact with my sister"

Dazai hates mori alot and though he knows that you are old enough to handle situations that doesnt mean he wont care for his only sister. You are the only thing left that he can protect without feeling inhumanity or faraway.

A/N: HATE THISSSS NOOOUUU

Tags: @inojuuy @biscuits-spooky-corner @terururuko @little-miss-chaoss @saelique @silverbladexyz @typcallysid14 @nezuko-kamado-cute-demon

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alastorsfuckassbob · 1 year ago

Text

You're Never Fully Dressed-

Alastorxfem!reader

oh boy everyone's favorite! Please I have never written before, I just figured I'd give it a shot it was 1:35 and I was not feeling sleepy so an hour later here it is, its not edited so SORRY ABOUT THAT- all of my friends are normal and would definitely not proof read this hot garbo!

Basic Plot!! Yikes another song fic i know i KNOWW, the reader knew our good pal Al in her life but oopsies he "left" her (he died duh) and now shes taking a sad hot girl bubble bath to reminisce!!

Lyrics are bolded, past events Italics for the most part.

ALSO Please DNI if you're a minor k thanks bye!! You are responsible for your own internet consumption, so here are the warnings! If you don't want to view that ✨dont✨

Warnings include:

-Swearing

-Violence

-Alcohol Use but not abuse! (its hell duh)

-Abusive Relationships

-Slight Innuendo but not a strong one!

-Angst

The fire danced, flitting left and right. It was different than any other fire set in hell, it wasn't meant to hurt anyone or destroy anything. It was just a small flame, melancholically melting the dripping wax down the white lilac scented pillar. Floral scents were hard to come by unless you made them yourself, it was hell after all, its not like theres a flower garden planted on every corner. The candles single wick didn't produce more than a drop of light. It just flickered every now and then, entertaining its own little lonesome sway. Your demeanor softened as you looked at it from the petal filled bath you currently resided in.

Oddly you felt at peace, understood, almost comforted. You had learned to dance the same way it seemed. You caught yourself when you fell, twisting and turning to please an audience. It was a cruel existence. At least the flame looked content in some way, at least it would never know what it was like to contort under the will of another. Yet it was still a light in darkness, shining for no other reason than to survive...All it could ever do was take, even if it didn't want to, fire needs to burn. To burn it must destroy. You sighed sinking deeper into the bubbly water. You didn't want to think about your past. Not anymore. You didn't have to anymore anyway. Life had not been kind to you and that constant displeasure followed you through your death and into the pits of hell. Funny how suffering could follow biting desperately at your heels and the man who was so "desperately" in love with you in life just couldn't find it within himself to stay...God you sounded bitter. To be fair you were. After all he had ruined your life and he didn't even know it...It wasn't that bad was it? You probably would still be in hell regardless, even without his "involvement" or lack of- you had always been a sinner. It wasn't worth it to be upset, not anymore he's most likely dead, you definitely are, whose to say if he'd even wind up down here. You paused a moment, laughing at the silly conclusion overthinking had led you to.. no that fucker is definitely in hell. Sweet as he was up front, he had a dark side that went much deeper than his soft exterior could cover. You closed your eyes..

1923- Central New Orleans

Suddenly it was 1923. The flower lined streets of late spring in New Orleans. His smile never wavering as he dragged you from store to store. As your dear companion, and biggest supporter, he had asked you to assist him at the radio station. Now that you had finished school you would need a job anyway. You'd always had a beautiful voice and a knack for writing. It just made sense. His hand squeezed yours lightly pulling you from your thoughts. In his hands, he held a burgundy day dress and a matching bow.

"Darling, would you try this on for me? I believe it is high time you were rewarded for all of your hard work. I believe you would simply sparkle in this color"

You smile softly at his gentle tone, taking the delicate dress in your hands. You find yourself caught in his eyes. It feels like you two are the only people on the planet

You feel the familiar sensation of tears on your face, you open your eyes again, you hadn't realized you'd started crying.

you let out the shrill scream you didn't know you were holding in. the fluke of champagne you had so tediously been savoring since you began your bath cracked slightly. You downed the rest of the glass, and grabbed the bottle sitting lazily on the floor. You didn't want to think about him or your life anymore...but it consumed you. You had so many more important things to fret about in your..current..environment. Songs to sing, bitches to kill, people to fuck. A grand glorious array of newer shinier problems, and yet you were stuck sulking about the past. You take a deep breath shaking slightly despite the warm vanilla scented water surrounding you. You remove your hand from the water motioning to the shadow hiding behind a vase (of no more than slightly wilted roses). It slinks forward at your beckoning, climbing to the white marble countertop of your vanity, it clicks the worn down knob of your rickety old radio. light jazzy music trickles out and fills the air with lovesick nostalgia you weren't entirely prepared to let in. No matter what he had done...you would always fall back to him. Even if he was nothing more than ill-fated failed fourteen year "endeavor". fourteen years is quite a long time, even if the majority of it was spent more or less platonically. You really did love him. Love doesn't always follow those that leave, you are testimony and truth to that. You let your mind wander guided by the static filled notes of the radio.

Hey, hobo man

Hey, Dapper Dan

You've both got your style

But brother

You're never fully dressed

Without a smile!

Even through the shudder of the static, it really did sound like him. Despite being the "host" of the station. He had his fair share of performances. For such a Hell bound soul he had the voice of an angel.

You close your eyes once again and allow the melody to take you back to an easier time.

1926- New Orleans, Your apartment

You sing along with whatever tune the radio gives you. You're at peace, simply existing for no other reason than to be with your friend.

"Dance with me my little canary, your voice lights a fire within me"

He pulls you in by the waist. His hands splayed across your hips holding them with a gentleness you'd never expected him to hold for you. He leans his head down against the yours and places a chaste kiss on your forehead

"Alastor" you giggle, the sensation tickling you slightly. "You are quite ridiculous"

"Ridiculous?" he feigns hurt. "My darling I am so far from ridiculous the word does not find sense within my ears" he spins you around and into his chest, you roll your eyes ignoring his antics

"Dearest are you aware you are speaking with the future of radio?"

"The future of radio? Please Love, don't jest. The 20s surely have more in store than you" You laugh into his chest and he shockingly laughs with you.

Neither of you know it but you are both so drunk on the sound. To you, his laugh sounds like the swift church bells that used to ring throughout your home town whenever someone got married. It feels familiar and yet like a distant memory. It makes you want to hear it over and over again until your ears stop working, and even then you'd settle in just fine feeling the vibrations of his chest. He sounds like home. To him, your laugh sounds like the rushing creek and smooth algae covered stones resting deep beneath the trees draped in Spanish moss of his mothers cabin in the woods. Just hearing your laugh he can feel the spotted sunlight speckling his freckled face underneath the big willow tree. You sound like home. Everything about you- it felt like home to him. His hands were crafted to hold soft curves of your body. His ears were made to hear your voice and your voice alone. You were purpose, his home. You don't know it, but it is that realization that sparked the idea of marriage into his heart.

That fire was put out not long after.

You at least had those nine years as his friend, three years as his "copain" if you will- and two years as his fiancée...and so many years alone. You only spent 14 years in the company of this man. You had lived before knowing him a good 17 years, and a good long bit after.

Why were you so stuck?

You hum along subconsciously, the objects in your bathroom begin to glow a familiar pink, levitating slightly in the air as you continue to hum. Your ability isn't weak by any means, but for some reason you were. You were nothing in comparison to hells overlords, especially the newest trio of Vs. Your power is so deeply connected to your voice, how can you hold power when it doesn't belong to you anymore? You drift back to the memory of your arrival. Scared, alone, dressed a great deal less than modestly, and equipped with nothing more than a pair of horns, some wings you couldn't quite use yet, and a thin devil like tail. It was only your third hour in hell. You didn't understand the rules. You were playing a twisted game in which you didn't realize you were just another piece of.

Shock can make a person anxious and fear will make them stupid. He was tall and smelled distinctly of cigars, soured whiskey, and something pungently sweet you couldn't name. It burned your nose as you inhaled it. You would become well aquatinted with the smell of lust in the years to come, you just didn't know it yet. It seemed innocent at first, just a simple contract, no different than a job. All you had to do was sing and dance at a club, in exchange for safety. But it was different and it wasn't innocent. He was cruel and yet no different than so many of the men you had dealt with in life. He agreed to your terms of anonymity and thats about it. You had your private life and his life. Valentino never played fair. You didn't know that yet, and now you're hells favorite sinner, a least no one knew it was you. If he had asked you another day later you would have realized you could have probably fended for yourself, with some difficulty anyway. At least you wouldn't have to be in this mess. You wouldn't be fucking six people before noon. You wouldn't be constantly covered in bruises and scars...Maybe you could have found him, Alastor that is. Maybe you could have at least been friends again. Its silly to hope for anything more since your romantic relationship ended...✨the way it did✨

Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But brother

You're never fully dressed

Without a smile!

1931- New Orleans, The river

The two of you sit beside each other in a small wooden row boat. Your hair is tied back with your signature crimson ribbon. He fiddles with the pocket of his jacket. The Louisiana soundscape of crickets, frogs and running water accompanies your conversation. Fireflies light up the air, almost bringing the stars down to your fingertips. With a buzz and a gentle green glow, the small creature lands on your hand. Your smile leaks wonderment and Alastor can hardly contain the love he feels for you.

As a Radio Host, he is quite agile in the way of words, yet something about you has him constantly at a loss. He takes a deep breath, unsure of what to say his voice wavers as he begins to speak.

"y/n, I want to thank you for the effect you've had in my lif-"

"My love look at the stars!" You didn't mean to cut him off, Your arms stretched upwards your face turning to meet his. The stars were so much brighter then they were in the city, it was only natural for you to be excited

"Yes doll, I see them, they're the same as they were last night and many many nights before hand"

You let out an impatient huff

"that doesn't make them any less beautiful." a mischievous glint hides in your eyes "now wouldn't it be so dreadfully terrible if I got bored looking at you just because I've already seen you before?" You fake a yawn and look at him eyes seething with boredom

"It would be so dreadful considering I was about to propose to you"

There is no other word to describe what you felt other than shocked. You had been an item for quite some time, but you never figured he would stick around (and "seal the deal" if you will).

Tears begin to run down your face rambling small words of agreement and love. You had never expected him to..love you that way. He was who he was, a dreadfully popular radio host, and you weren't really anything more than an assistant. People really only listened for him..yet in this moment, he was speaking only for you.

"I love you so dearly my y/n. If life without you exists I do not want to exist through it"

Who cares what they're wearing

On Main Street

Or Saville Row

1934: New Orleans, Alastor's house

The house was empty. He was gone. Fully and truly gone. It had been a year since you'd seen or heard from him and six months since the birth of your son. It didn't feel like your house, it didn't feel like your life anymore. It was all still his. His things still bled into your side of the closet, his last purchase, a book, dust encrusted and unread. The blankets and pillows set on the couch exactly as you both had left them after falling asleep to the rain the night before he left wordlessly. You found yourself sporting one of his shirts more often than your own...until eventually they didn't smell like him anymore. The whole house used to reek of his signature vanilla smell. Theres nothing left here but dust and the crooked board of the desk he insisted he could build himself "just fine".

It's what you wear from ear to ear

And not from head to toe

That matters

1936- New Orleans; ✨that shitty bar you performed at✨

"Get the fuck up you bitch"

You felt his hand tangle in your hair and pull you to your knees. All you could do was groan in pain.

"I'm so sorry it won't happen again I promise"

You mutter almost to yourself. He rolls his eyes shoving you into the counter smashing a glass in the process. Your vision blurs for a second seeing the glass shards decorating your h/c locks in a halo. You feel the blood trickle down your forehead.

"Do you think anyone else would hire you? A whore with nothing to her name and a useless ugly bastard child from god knows who?" You feel angered at his words. Insulting you is one thing, but your child?

But then it sinks in, he's right. The 30s are a sick decade, nothing progressive about them. No one else would hire you. You are lucky to work here..despite it all. You tell yourself anything is better than living on the streets. The mantra doesn't dull the pain but it makes it easier to put up with. You don't have a choice. You have a child to take care of.

"Get rid of him"

you stay silent unsure if you heard him correctly.

"Get rid of the boy. I don't care if you leave him in a box on the street or kill him yourself"

He reaches for a small silver knife under the bar's counter. He places it against your throat.

" y/n..You won't like it if I do it dearest, besides you are saving him the shame of having a mother like you. At least if he's adopted elsewhere he has a chance at a half decent life" he took a deep swig from his un-shattered glass of whiskey, looking at you with such deep distain.

You had never hated anyone the way you hated that man..But he was right. You would never be able to give your baby the best life. It would never get better because you couldn't make it better. So you found a young couple not to far from New Orleans, they took him in, and he got to be happy. he ended up living a successful life. He still is. If nothing else theres that. You know your own misery doesn't automatically allow others to be happier, but at times its what keeps you going.

Your mind is flooded with more and more thoughts. Thousands of little memories pilling themselves on top of you. Who would've thought, even deceased, even owned by Valentino, even trapped in an ever so violent place, the real plight of hell would be your thoughts. You light a cigarette and get out of the tub. You throw on a dark red robe and sit on the vanity's counter to brush your damp hair. The song continues into a jazzy interlude before it reprises again

Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But, brother

You're never fully dressed

You're never dressed

Without a smile

You stretch out your wings in the mirror, looking at your demonic self. No matter how many times you catch yourself in the mirror, even after ten years of this hellish existence. It still strikes you as odd. You look more or less the same. The same hair color and skin tone, although slightly more grey. The tail was just fucking weird no matter how long you had it. The song erupts into the finale distracting you from your thoughts. You begin to sing along with it, smiling softly. It really does sound like him. The same pink glow takes over the room as well as your body, Your eyes begin to glow that same soft pink, your hair floating above your shoulders.

Who cares what they're wearing

On Main Street

Or Saville Row

It's what you wear from ear to ear

And not from head to toe

You're never fully dressed without a smile

The last line comes out much quieter than the rest. A sense of sadness overtakes you once again as you realize how pathetic this whole night turned out. You'd spent the whole night "Simping", as Velvette would say, over a relationship that ended decades ago. Yikes. The static from the radio clicks up a few notches, You cover your ears at the sudden noise. You quickly reach for the dial in order to turn off the device..And then you hear it. You hear him.

"Dearest.." Its almost unintelligible through the static

You think you've finally fucking lost it. Ten years in Hell and you've officially gone "delulu"...another Velvette saying but it feels fitting.

“y/n.”

He called softly, the static in his voice heavy and nearly unreadable.

You almost didn't believe it.

"Y/n" He repeats the static fizzling out leaving his voice raw and almost natural. Fuck this was real. You didn’t respond. You didn’t know how to. You weren't sure if he could even hear you..how he would respond? Would it be worse if he did? It had been an entire decade since you fell, All of this time- he never bothered to contact you. Why now? Why so much later?... Had he forgotten about you? Did he just..die? You cant discern which is worse...that he had left you and your son and lived a long guilt free life...or that he made no attempt to even speak to you in the decade you had inhabited the same existence.

Ok that was all like exposition and shit..considering part two but I AM VERY TIRED RN

#alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #fanfic #god this is kinda ass #tumblr is my shit hole and i will scream whatever I want into the void #lol what even is this #alastor died oops #y/n #y/n fics are my last mental defense before massive decline

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