#not to mention how much i screeched during bags 😭

[funsizedoblivions]

clairo played alewife at my boston show i repeat clairo played alewife at my show

she told us how she made flaming hot cheetos in her room in massachusetts while we were in boston it was so cute omg

pics r on my pinterest !!

[ozzgin]

Omg i love your Yandere serial killer with a split persona so much 😭😭, can you do more headcanon about him?? Like does he aware of his other persona seeing reader kinda scared to talk to him normally thank u

Yandere! Serial Killer Scenarios

Featuring the kind, quiet man who has no idea why you look at him with terror in your eyes. This time with an official character design!

Content: female reader, mentions of murder, obsessive behavior, horror, dubious/non-consent

[Main Story] | [More original works]

You only attempted to escape once.

His frequent warnings had begun to wear off, and your mind dared to wander towards hope. One day, during his evening walk, you ran to your bedroom and pulled out a train ticket you'd hidden earlier inside a drawer. The small piece of paper weighed heavy in your hand. Come, now, you scolded yourself. It was weeks of careful planning: anticipating his schedule, erasing your tracks, preparing the essentials. You could already smell the worn leather seats, and hear the jarring whistle of departure. Then you'd be far away from this maniac, all but a terrible memory to be locked away.

There was no time for hesitation. You grabbed a small bag and sped towards the station, frequently looking over your shoulder, muttering silent prayers. Once you made it to your compartment, you exhaled in relief. A relief you hadn't felt in months, washing over your body and relaxing your tense muscles. You climbed the stairs, and searched for your seat. Has someone misread their ticket? You found your spot occupied by a stranger.

"What did I tell you about running away?" his deep voice echoed across the empty hall.

The walk back home was silent. You were convinced this was your end. You'd arrive at the house, and he'd cut you into pieces. Your lips curled in a horrified grimace, mind flooded with foreign feelings: your nails plucked apart with pliers, a burning sting after each detachment. The roots of your teeth grinding and screeching within the bone of your jaw, until all that's left is a fleshy, gaping wound. Plop, plop, as each little souvenir falls into the jar.

He slammed the door shut and stared you down. You looked at the floor, but all you could see were the grimy ID cards of all the women who never made it out of this damned house. You were next.

His large hand ruffled your hair, and you glanced up in disbelief.

"This stays between us. Mother better not hear that her soon-to-be daughter in law tried to run away. Especially now that she's warmed up to you. Are we clear?"

You nodded desperately. God, how pathetic of you. But being trapped was better than rotting underground like the rest of them. You just wanted to live.

You can always tell whether it's him, or him. It's the silence. Or lack of, for that matter. He likes the quietness, the muffled ticking of the clock, the busy rattling in the kitchen, your laughs, your chatter. You'll sit together and listen to the rain, or read your books across from each other. There's no need for words, you know you can be at peace.

He likes music. When you hear the record player, you know it's your cue to perform. You exit your room - it's better if he doesn't call you down himself - and descend to the main area. The stairs creak louder, the wallpaper begins to yellow. It's almost as if the house ages with the music, and you tumble back in time.

He's been waiting for you, naturally. How's a man meant to spend his evenings, if not with his adored wife? He'll reach out for your hand, and invite you to a slow dance. Those are the worst moments. The tight, suffocating hold, his deranged stare drilling into your very soul, the whispered promises: that you're forever his, and you'll never find happiness anywhere else. He knows it. It's the same for him, really. Everything he's ever needed lies within your embrace.

Some days, the charade doesn't last long. You simply won't be in the mood to be kissed, to be stripped naked and fondled by his murderous hands. So you'll just pout and gaze ahead. It angers him terribly.

"Wretched whore. Do I look like a beggar?"

He'll shove you aside and make his way out, taking his tools with him. He hates asking for your affection and would rather take his anger out somewhere else. You know he won't hurt you, or force himself on you, which means someone else will have to pay for your disrespect. And yet, it's the only freedom you have around him - the privilege of refusing him and living to see the next day. The rest aren't as lucky. You'd rather not think too deeply about it.

My honey, I know With the dawn that you will be gone But tonight, you belong to me Just to little old me.

What a bizarre thing, to harbor such hatred towards the one you love. You've never met anyone kinder. He's thoughtful, patient, caring. He knows everything about you and lives to serve you. He's your best friend and your lover. He's the one you want to marry one day. But he's also...well...him. And you can't have one without the other.

"No, Mother, it isn't tacky," he barks at the shattered mirror, adjusting your necklace. "And you know what? It's up to (Y/N) to decide if she wants to wear your wedding jewelry."

"It's nice", you respond curtly. You look into the empty reflection and nod. He likes it when you take his side in front of Mother.

"I knew you'd agree. We're a match made in Heaven, aren't we?" he smiles and zips up the old dress. You shiver: wearing a dead woman's gown was not part of your wedding plans. The corset is tightened, and you gasp. His hands are tense.

"I know he proposed to you. And what a stupid grin you had on your face when it happened! You never act like that around me."

He doesn't call me a bitch, for starters, you think to yourself. You shuffle on the bed, trying to loosen up the garment, but he swiftly pins you down onto the mattress.

"Not that it matters. Would you like to know why?" he inquires with a familiar glimmer of jealousy in his dilated pupils. "Because I'll always be your first. You know it, I know it. He never will.

At the end of the day, you belong to me."

To compete with oneself. Nonsense. Utter madness, all of it. The house; the drawer filled with gory trophies; the nightly talks with Mother dearest, whose bones have most likely turned to dust by now; the bloodied scalpels; the embrace of a man who fills you with warmth and terror.

You're part of it now.

[blushinggray]

tsundere dad bakugou

not my baby fever skyrocketing again after watching more youtube family vlogs 😭😭😭

cw // fluff, domestic

contrary to what most may think, bakugou is completely on board with this whole having a baby thing. everyone thought that he wouldn't want children in the first place, and admittedly, he isn't the first person you'd think to be a loving father.

but that's what he is, on top of being a loving husband. it's just that you have to learn how to interpret him.

as much as he grumbled and complained during your pregnancy, he would already be on his feet preparing whatever it was that you needed without you having to say it.

he'd call you gross and a pain in his ass whenever he had to tie your hair up for you while you retched out whatever you ate during the first trimester, or sigh exasperatedly whenever you had a craving for something at an inopportune time, or needed him to bend down to put your shoes on for you. but he would also put his warm hand on your big belly and rub it until he or you fell asleep. and he was the one who jolted awake and looked like he was about to burst when he first felt a kick at his palm.

"brat's gonna be tough. i can already tell."

and he was right. your daughter ended up being born a little early, but still totally healthy. and with a pair of lungs on her. bakugou would always get up every few hours, ready to pick the baby up out of the crib for you to feed her. you had to physically stop him a few times and say you could handle it yourself, since he would clearly be deadly exhausted from work.

and whenever he went back to work, he always said it was the perfect opportunity to finally get a break away from you and his screeching demon spawn. and yet, you'd still get calls from him throughout the day just checking in or pretending like he had something he forgot to tell you. not to mention, kirishima and some of his other friends would send pictures and videos of him mooning over his phone at the baby pictures during his breaks.

and whenever he got home, he would make a subtle beeline for her after doing a few random, misdirecting things like dropping his bags or getting some water. if she wasn't in your arms when he got home, sometimes he'd even skip out on his welcome home kiss to see her napping in her crib.

"i'm starting to think you like this kid better than me." you say one day when you're bringing her into the living room for tummy time and your husband is already sitting down on the mat with toys at the ready.

"she's my kid. i'm not gonna let you just raise the brat all by yourself." he retorts vaguely, already holding out his arms for her.

you hand her to him and she makes a few indiscernible babbling noises as she clumsily swipes at her dad's wrists before he puts her on the blanketed floor.

"well, if you need some alone time, i was going to go grab some things at the store before it closes tonight. you mind?"

"whatever. just get back here before it's time for her to eat." he says, pretending to look bored with his elbow propped on his thigh and his cheek tucked in his hand. "i ain't letting her suck on my nipple again because she's confused on who's got the milk here."

"oh come on, your titties could give mine a run for their money. can you blame her for the mix up?" you lean in for a kiss after the joke and he smacks you away for it the first time. you laugh and lean in again, and he lets you the second time.

before you leave, you lean down to give him a kiss at the top of his head and then lower yourself to plant several affectionate kisses onto your daughter's chubby wubby face, getting some loud, approving giggles out of her before you bid them both goodbye for half an hour.

while you know bakugou isn't the most honest with his words, he clearly loves his child. more than he probably knows himself. definitely more than he's willing to admit, at the very least. so you don't see why he still really needs to put up a front when he's around you too.

as much as he cares for her, he still acts like holding her and bathing her and changing her and watching her grow bigger by the day is all just a big pile of chores. sometimes you have brief moments when you wonder if a small part of him really feels that way about having this baby.

but then you come back home and see him holding her tiny body close to his face as he showers kisses all over her, making her gurgle out noises of approval. when he catches you looking, he stops immediately and shouts defensively, "what?!"

so that's how it is. you just have to give him a little more privacy to love his daughter with full affection. and you do, as much as you can. you can't stay away from her for too long because she needs to be fed, or changed, or entertained at almost every hour, but sometimes you try to give them their little father-daughter time while you take a long shower.

and sometimes, maybe you sneak out of the bathroom quietly just to catch a glimpse of bakugou blowing raspberries into her little tummy or pretending to bite at her teeny feet or just talking to her like she's his best friend.

"you know, if you love your daughter that much, you can just tell her." you say one day as he catches you watching him play with her cheeks before going in to kiss each one.

"shut up. you think this kid isn't smart enough to pick up what we're saying already? i ain't saying sappy shit." he growls before picking her up to sit her on the edge of the sofa to face him as he sits on the floor. "isn't that right, brat? if you're really my kid then you'd know words are useless already."

"katsuki, that is not true in the slightest." you sigh and shake your head, biting down your smile.

"shut it, and come take care of this poopy monster. i gotta start on dinner." he pushes her to sit and topple over onto the large sofa and walks off. you get to the sofa with more than enough time to spare before she reaches the edge and pick her up and share a secret little smile with her.

"you know daddy loves you so much, right?" you whisper to her.

she blinks and drools a little, but it looks like that's as much of a response as you'll be getting.

"i know, he's hard to read sometimes. but you'll get used to it." you hug her close and place a warm kiss to her cheeks, right on top of the kisses that her father just left her. "now let's go bother him and force him into some family selfies." you giggle as you march towards the kitchen with her resting on your hip.

and whether she's in on it or not, she giggles along too.