#usual thing of it'd be cool if i could write something

[violetsareblue-selfships]

good morning!! <3

[smellpelt]

My Noel cosplay for my first con I went to yesterday!! I was a little sad I saw no other fighting game cosplays but two people stopped me for a photo which was cool:)

I did see a whole lot of other cool cosplays tho, my favourites I saw being Sun Wukong, Misa Amane and a Zack & Aerith

Also clumsy in character as Noel I dropped a fully sauce covered chip on my dress rip. I managed to clean it pretty well tho

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent ones of these even though they all look the same lol.. forcing myself to document progress..

[keeps-ache]

💫💥today💥💫 i start learning blender >:| !!

[ozzgin]

Yandere School Q&A

I've gotten some related asks and thought I'd put them in a cleaner format, so I don't spawn another round of screenshots from my inbox.

Ohhh how would yan school react if y/n got hurt somehow?? Also quick question is her parents also platonic yans for them? Thanks!! - Anonymous

It only makes sense that the staff of the school is yandere material, too. The students may rush to help and insist they've got it under control, but the school nurse will be quick to act. It's the chance of a lifetime, having you to himself, and for longer than the usual standard checkup. The curtains are pulled, and the "do not disturb" sign is flipped. Your injuries are not to be taken lightly. You'll need to spend all day under his supervision.

The parents and all relatives are indeed platonic yanderes! I thought it'd be a nice touch since I've never approached the trope before.

YAYAYAYYAYYAYAYAYAYAYAYAA MORE YANDERE SCHOOLLLLLL You’re amazing!!!!! (I had to ask to make sure I used the right your/you’re) also is the darling yandere gonna keep sabotaging y/n? - @femboybasil

The tying up incident was actually an exception to what I originally planned, haha. For most of the competitions, darling yandere will guide (Y/N) and aid them for a flawless win. That's the comedy of it: he's indirectly doing the yandere part while trying to be discreet enough as to not alert the other yanderes. Additionally, (Y/N) helps him with the darling tasks. Though that part is very much expected by everyone from school. The Daring Academy teachers are probably observing the activities, baffled. "Who the hell is that student? What skill...what obliviousness. They should've applied to us."

If you’re comfortable with this concept, (since it’s a school-based series I don’t know if the reader and yanderes are minors are not, if they are then you don’t have to write this.) but obviously the students of the Yandere Academy are going to need to learn how to tie up their darlings once they’ve been captured. Would you mind writing a little blurb about it since Reader is the unofficially assigned darling stand-in for their classes? - Anonymous

This is the ask I used for the tying up idea in Part 3! To answer your worries, all of my stories involve 18+ characters! Just wanted to clear it up for anyone in doubt. The school/academy setup is more of a college/university kind of institution. I do love a good high school setup, but not for self insert romance.

I’d imagine that there’s a drama class at the yandere school to help the students learn how to act and seem innocent. What if they put on a musical or something like Phantom of the Opera (because of course it would be that) and reader got the role of Christine or the equivalent. Imagine all the yanderes fighting for the role of their love interests to get the excuse to kiss them, and other yanderes trying to sabotage them as tactfully as possible to keep the show going, but replace the leads to be alongside reader. Think that may be something cool to add/write about? No pressure of course! - Anonymous

You know the whole thing is going to turn into a ninja survival shitshow. They had hoped to never cast (Y/N) in any role, for everyone's safety. And for the most part, (Y/N) thankfully never showed any interest in the drama club.

The supervising teacher held (Y/N)'s application form with trembling hands. It seems their little club had finally run out of luck.

Worst part: the school can't even rely on the teachers. They're just as desperate to see their cute little (Y/N) perform on stage. "Maybe this job is too overwhelming for one person, sensei..." they'll smugly tell the original supervisor. "We could divide some tasks. Someone else could train (Y/N), for example..."

ok here me out, what if there is like a field trip or sports festival kind of thing where the Yandere and Darling academy meet up. Basically where a Yandere and a darling are made to pair up to go through the numerous activities (maybe ones that test their yandere/darling skills) so reader decides to pair up with clumsy Yandere ( who is in Darling academy) much to the displeasure of Yandere classmate. Maybe like a battle of the the Yanderes? - Anonymous

This was a little trippy to read, because it came right after part 3, haha. Which I feel is basically the same plot. Though it would be interesting to see how it'd play out if the stranger was Reader's best friend instead.

Reader excitedly approaches Clumsy!Yandere and asks him to work together, to the dismay of all other students. They're enraged. You can see it plainly: their hands tremble, their jaws are clenched, their eyes have a psychotic glint. Poor Clumsy!Yandere is in constant shivers, unaware of the death stares. You're cheerfully guiding him around, his hand in yours, happy to see your friend again.

[the-soul-eclectic]

{ " Do you like the stars ? " }

It was a strange question, one that he was sure Soul knew he couldn't answer. It'd been too long since he last had seen them for Heart to know anymore.

( " Hm… can you describe them to me ? " )

He could've just said no, that he can't possibly see them, that the question was useless, but something in him wanted to know, to try and simulate the tiny little dots that painted the sky in his mind. It wasn't the real thing, clearly, but it'd be enough to satiate that little part of him that wanted to remember, that nostalgic little corner of his heart that ached at the thought of it.

Soul was silent for a while. Heart could almost hear him trying to string the sentences together into something that made sense.

{ " They're… brighter now, than on most nights. Despite the clutter in the sky, you can see them pretty clearly. All the little sizes and colors that they come in. That doesn't happen very much, these days . " }

I can only assume why. Heart gave a small nod.

{ " There's so many of them, you know? And even if we can't see them that closely, to know each and every little one is unique in their own way… It's beautiful. I wish we got to have this more often . " }

Heart had a picture in his mind, a distant memory of being in this exact place before, the endless expanse of space stretching beyond their little corner of the universe. The sky, dotted with red, purple, orange, blue, left unhidden by the excess light that usually blocked such sights. Benefits of living in a non-existent world… He could almost see it again.

( " … Yeah, " ) The Moon says, finally answering Soul's question. ( " I like them, I mean. They're cool . " )

Soul smiles, and Heart could feel his eyes on him, before he turns his gaze back to the sky. Heart expects him to say something, but the rest of the night is silent.

And for once, though it feels like it leaves an empty space in his chest, he's alright with that.

AUTHOR NOTE: THE IMAGE IS BASED OFF AN IMAGE FROM TWITTER THE WRITING IS THE ONLY COMPLETELY ORIGINAL THING ON THIS POST PLEEEEASE

[anomaliex]

Riz hisses and chitters canonically, what else does he do? Do goblins purr? (I like to think yes but it's more. Chittery and not cat like) Are they adept at crawling through tight spaces? Riz certainly is and the racial abilities (nimble escape) kinda imply it. Do they have barbed tongues, maybe?? They're definitely naturally carnivores and that would be awesome for scraping meat off of bones. Oh wait as I'm writing this I remember it being mentioned that Riz hears himself chitter and hiss like the goblin he is as he's going through that weird hallway in hell they are such creatures. Eugh I fucking love thinking about non-human characters' habits. Shoutout to Riz with tail. Shoutout to people making his body language really cat-like. Shoutout to the big yellow goblin eyes. Shoutout to low stance, hair standing up, ears pinned back threat display before your throat is being clawed and bitten at.

Also orcs and half-orcs. I think orcs snarl and shit. With people like Gorgug where the whole typical rage feels out of character but it happens anyway that's extra cool. Though this behaviour could also be friendly, I think. Ragh and Gorgug roughhousing and playfully growling at each other and bumping tusks and shit, this is especially cutesy to me because Gorgug definitely didn't get to have this experience until Highschool and it'd feel good for him to let it all out. Maybe orcs are also playfully bitey? Goblins definitely are, and this might just be because I think he's autistic and has adhd but I see Riz chewing on all his things.

Ohhh also I think Riz and Gorgug have a better sense of smell than their other party members. The elves (this includes Fig) can hear really well and so can Riz because his ears are. So large. And they look like they'd do the twitching around thing cat ears do to me. Elf ears not as much but I think they're an important part of elf body language, both subconsciously but also very consciously.

I think with wood-elves it's always more "oh ears drooping, must be sad" without purposely trying to send any messages and high-elves very consciously and purposely will put their ears in a position that implies they're not listening to you because you're not worth their time, or something like that. Like any kind of elf does either thing but high-elves are usually more purposeful about it and actively try not to show when they're upset or something. Also high-, wood-, sea-, drow- or whatever kind of elves would probably have varying ear subtext dialects just like their language would. Oh also this whole thing kind of ostracises half-elves a little bit because I think their ears wouldn't move as much and are a little smaller and rounder, so that part of elven communication doesn't come easy to them? Resident half-elf Fabian doesn't really get a taste of this until he starts spending time in Fallinel, I think. Which might be worse because he doesn't get to grow up with it and learn he just gets thrust in as a teen that doesn't fit in. He's picked it up from his mother a little bit, like, subconsciously, but that doesn't make his half-human ears as expressive as they need to be.

[prythianpages]

Ohhhh would you ever write more about the witch reader x az. I loved it! I want to see feyres reaction :)

I might! I think I'd be open to making it like a series/au bc witch reader x Az makes me so soft 🥰 and I'm currently obsessed with the song that inspired it bc the song is so beautiful and whimsical and makes me wish I could experience a love like that

if you haven't read the original imagine, you can find it here.

here is a small drabble of feyre's reaction 😊 :

When you and Azriel return to the river house, Feyre is in the sitting room. She's lightly bouncing an agitated Nyx, who teethes at a cool wash cloth. "I know, baby," she coos at the infant.

Her blue-gray eyes are on you as soon as you enter and they light up when she notices Azriel's hands are ungloved and one of them is holding on to yours, fingers intertwined with another.

"How was the trip?" She asks, her lips curling up into a knowing smile.

"It was fine."

"She almost cursed Eris."

You're turning to Azriel with a playful glare and his wings twitch in response, his usual stoic demeanor now much lighter and Feyre knows it's all because of you. "It could've been a nice little hex that'd make his eyebrows fall off, you know. Just something to get him off his high horse."

Feyre laughs at the image that comes to mind. "I hope Eris didn't give you much trouble?"

"He shot an arrow through Azriel's hand."

"No."

You and Azriel exchange another look, missing the way Feyre's eyes grew distant for a brief moment.

**

They're holding hands! Feyre nearly screams into Rhysand's mind and he can feel all her excitement and joy through the bond.

He's sitting outside by one of the tables in their garden with Cassian and Mor on either side of him. If it were up to him, he'd be inside by his wife. But it was her who had kicked him outside, not wanting to overwhelm Azriel and you. "Out you busybodies!" She had exclaimed as she ushered them all out of the house.

"Hey, Cas," he grins. "You owe me twenty coins."

Cassian nearly spits out his lemonade. "What?" He sputters with wide eyes. Mor leans forward in her seat.

Rhysand then shows them the image Feyre had send him. It's of you and Azriel bickering and fussing over one another like an old married couple.

"Let's just call it even." Cassian insists, setting his cup down. "I am the one who got rid of all the dandelion root from her apothecary shop."

"Hey! Don't take all the credit. I am the one who kept her distracted!" Mor cuts in, dramatically throwing her hands in the air. "And also the one who kept Azriel from suspecting anything when Feyre had asked for an escort. Do you know how hard it is to sneak things around those two?"

"Thank you, Mor. Your hard work is much appreciated here," Rhysand says, his grin growing wider as he rises from his seat, knowing it'd only irritate Cassian further.

He catches the glare Cassian sends his way. "20 coins," Rhysand reminds him, holding his hand out expectantly.

"In a way," Cassian begins, not wanting to accept his loss. "I helped you win the bet!"

"That's not my problem." Rhysand replies with a smug shrug.

Cassian grumbles and digs into his pocket. He throws all twenty coins at Rhysand's face, who easily intercepts them with a wave of his hand. They fall gracefully into the palm of his hand instead.

Mor laughs as she also rises from her seat. Twenty coins is nothing to them. It's barely enough to buy a cheap bottle of wine.

Cassian follows shortly after, the three of them scurrying inside and wanting to catch a glimpse of you and Azriel holding hands in person. Although, they find you nestled on the couch with baby Nyx in your lap. You rub the elixir you had made earlier over Nyx's gums, smiling when you feel the babe relax in your arms, as you tell Feyre all about your venture earlier.

Azriel is seated on the armest of the couch right next to you, cutting into your story when he deems necessary. Everyone takes note of the way his hand is resting on the small of your back and one of his wings instinctively curls around your smaller form. They also take note of the lingering scent of your bond in the air, stronger now that you both have acknowledged the bond. Cedar and lavender.

**

a/n: I considered the whole Nyx being in pain to be a lie, a glamor made by Feyre to trick reader into having to go scavenge for dandelion root but decided it was better to just have Cassian and Mor be sneaky instead :)

[creepswrites]

MASK OF HATE (CH 2) | Michael x Reader

so when i was writing this, my editor Insisted i use a grilled cheese gif for this chapter. you'll see why... i hope you enjoy though LMAO

MICHAEL MYERS x FTM!READER (he/him)

SUMMARY: When the door slammed back open with more force this time, you jumped and let out a surprised yelp. Your dad came barreling in, Michael having already disappeared back upstairs as quiet as he'd come. You tried to intercept him from storming upstairs but his horrified expression stilled you. "That was our neighbor Gladys down the street. She said she saw Myers come up to our house about an hour and a half ago."

WARNING: graphic depiction of deaths, animal violence

PREV || NEXT

"Has anyone ever shown you kindness?" Your voice had Michael opening his eyes, blinking as he looked up at you slowly, your hands tangled in his wet, sudsy hair. He was sprawled out on the porcelain bathtub while you washed his hair, the room dim and sleepy and smelling of lavender soap. He had no qualms letting his legs and arms rest upon the rim to have extra room. You’d since become accustomed to him, no longer flushing at his nakedness, so washing the blood off his skin didn’t bother you.

You’d since bought black washcloths and a black towel for Michael so your father wouldn’t get suspicious about any bloodstains. Lounge clothes - some sweatpants and a t-shirt finally in his actual size - sat folded on the counter beside the sink, his navy blue jumpsuit in a pile on the cool, linoleum floor.

For the past few weeks, you two established a routine of sorts. Michael would get hurt or hungry and come visit you. Sometimes he'd watch you sleep but he'd usually be gone by morning. With your dad's presence in the house very touch and go, it was hard for Michael to stay for any extended period of time. Sometimes he watched you from a distance whenever you'd go in the garden but that was the extent of it.

You knew it wasn't normal for him to care about another person so you did your best to make it easy for him. No more lunging at armed police officers for you, you'd lamented to him in a joking manner. You hadn't been able to see his face but you got the impression he'd glared at you.

You'd also taken to touching him more, getting him to reassociate touch with compassion. It wasn't easy to undo years of trauma but you did little things here and there. Brushing his hands with your own, touching his arm when you wanted attention, small things. He was building a tolerance to it, you could tell. Washing his hair now was the most you'd touched him beyond patching him up after run-ins with the police.

But progress was progress.

Today, he hadn't come home bloody but he had come to you for something. He'd shown up at the backdoor, made a beeline for the bathroom, and you'd gotten the message. Bathing him had also become pretty regular, though you still recalled the first few times where it'd ended with him shaking from how overwhelmed he was by your touch.

Now, though, his gaze bore into you, staring up at you like a big lazy cat. Like a lion too content to strike. Your hands had stilled, still poised to scrub at his scalp. He needed a haircut, you noted to yourself.

"Besides me," you clarified as you resumed scrubbing in slow circles. "You don't… You're-" You huffed, trying to find the words. "I feel like people didn't care for you like you needed them to. If that makes sense." 

Were you anyone else, you don't doubt he'd kill you for saying that. Instead, he just glared at you, pretty hazel eyes narrowed to slits. In anger or confusion, you couldn't tell.

That was yet another development. He'd been taking his mask off of his own accord now, even when he didn't have a reason to. The first time he'd done it had been because his hair was too long and sat uncomfortable in the mask, tickling against his ears and neck. You offered to cut it and, while it took some reassurance and thought on his part, you'd come home one day to him sitting on your bed. Scissors in one hand and mask in the other, clutching it like a child would to a security blanket. He hadn't been shaking or looking up at you with fearful eyes but his jaw had been clenched hard as he white knuckled the accursed mask. A wordless question you'd answered with nimble fingers and gentle tugging on his curls.

Having something so sharp close to his vulnerable neck hadn't been his idea of a good time regardless if it was his idea or not. He'd gotten up half a dozen times during the haircut to stand in the corner to come down from what was probably overstimulation. You were patient with him though.

You'd gotten better at reading him. He'd gotten better at leaving you clues.

In the present, he sat up and slid his legs back into the water. Wet hair slipped from between your fingers as he turned to properly stare at you. Michael was interesting to you still. You could tell he was curious about you too. He stared at you often, like when you watered your plants, washed his clothes, or made food in the kitchen. You felt his eyes on you constantly no matter what.

"What?" You asked with a small sigh, staring back at him with the same intensity.

Michael gave you a slow blink, similar to the ones Mayhem gave you as a show of trust. "Don't gimme that," you teased, smirking at him and motioning for him to sit back down. "I just- I always feel bad thinking about it, in retrospect. I mean, you grew up in an asylum alone. Didn't it-"

He interrupted you by sliding a wet hand around your throat, holding you still as though to physically stop your ramblings. Not squeezing, just holding. You got the message there: let it go. He lay back down and you resumed washing his hair, unbothered by that exchange.

Things like that were normal with him. It had freaked you out at first when he'd wrapped his hand harshly around your throat and pinned you in a doorway. But you'd slowly begun to understand him. He didn't have a way to communicate that wasn't through violence or knives.

Or hospital rooms under scrutiny, you reminded yourself with a grimace. You masked it behind a soft tune you hummed, resuming washing his hair.

Once he was cleaned and dressed, jumpsuit in the wash, you ventured back downstairs to make dinner and feed Mayhem. Michael trailed after you, hair dripping dark spots along his shoulders where it was still damp. He didn't like the hair dryer very much and only tolerated you using it to get his hair comfortably damp. No more.

“You’re probably due for another haircut by the way,” you said as you opened the fridge. Mayhem was immediately rubbing up on Michael’s leg, meowing insistently.

He looked down at her, standing comfortably in the doorway to the kitchen. You glanced over your shoulder to look at him and felt struck with the knowledge that, if it weren't for his injured eye breaking the illusion, it almost felt like you just had a boyfriend over. Your face warmed up at the thought and you snapped your head back around to stare into the white, chilled expanse of the fridge. "Umm… anything specific you want tonight?"

When you looked back over at him, you jumped in surprise when he was barely a few inches from you. Jesus, you thought to yourself. You didn't think you'd ever get used to how quiet he moved sometimes.

Michael tilted his head as he stared at the fridge with you. "I need to go shopping soon, huh?"

He didn't say anything but you could almost hear his nod.

You liked how expressive he'd gotten as the two of you began to trust each other. Little things like that made the whole thing feel domestic somehow. 

"Well, hope you like grilled cheese." You snagged the almost-empty package of sliced cheese and dangled it tantalizingly. "I'll go shopping tomorrow, promise. If you want anything in particular, let me know." You said as you grabbed the bread from the cabinet. Before he could say - or, technically, not say - you spun on your heel. "Besides pumpkin pie."

He nodded once and you smirked.

Domestic, your brain said again in an almost mocking tone. You swallowed and tried to focus on the sandwiches and not the way Michael stared at you. You began buttering the bread as the pan warmed up and tried to not envision life being like this forever: painfully domestic and sweet with Haddonfield's best known serial killer in soft lounge clothes you'd bought him, curled up on the couch eating an early lunch together after you'd washed his hair.

The sound of the front door rattling open was out of place and terrifying. Never in your life had you felt as though the ground would swallow you as your heart threatened to pound out of your chest. You spun to face Michael and quickly assessed your options.

There were two doorways that led out of the kitchen - one that faced the living room and another that led into the hallway to the stairs. There was a dividing wall between the two doorways. Meaning if you could get Michael into the hallway, he'd be out of sight for at least the briefest few seconds it took your dad to walk towards you.

"Upstairs, now!" You whisper-yelled, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him towards the hallway. "Stay quiet, he'll go away soon."

Hopefully, you thought to yourself. Hopefully he will.

"You're home early." You called to him as you took your spot at the stove again, spreading butter on bread and placing them in the pan.

Your dad sounded exhausted, shrugging off his outer coat and tossing it atop the back of the couch before slumping in his chair. "I decided to come home early. It's been an exhausting week. But Myers seems to be taking a break from killing these past few days."

You couldn't help but frown. Not killing? Sure you'd noticed less blood on his clothes but surely he'd stopped altogether. So close to Halloween too…

"Cool, I was, uh, making lunch." You called out over the pan sizzling. "You want some?"

The telltale creaks of the wooden floor had your hair standing up on end. It wasn't like normal sneaking around when you had a boyfriend, this was Michael Myers you were hiding. Right under his nose. Even if your dad didn't immediately go for his gun when he saw him, you were still a liar. And an accomplice to his crimes.

"Grilled cheese, huh?" He smiled for the first time since he'd taken on the case. "Want some help? I can-" The sound of his phone ringing cut him off, making him grimace. "I'll take this outside," he sighed as he went back out the door. You sighed with relief and looked towards the doorway to the stairs.

Michael stood there, mask on, gripping a knife tight in his hand. You had no idea where he'd gotten it, since your knives were accounted for.

You tried to seem reassuring. "He's probably going to get called back into work, it's okay." Even though you'd gotten used to it, you still swallowed when you saw the glint of the knife in the dim lighting of the doorway. "He, um, he said you haven't been killing lately?" 

Michael was eerily still. Just staring at you.

"Is everything…okay?" It felt a bit weird asking when he was going to kill someone again. Like it was just a casual hobby of his. "Just let me know, alright?"

He just stared at you. His walls were back up, you could tell, so you tried to not take it personally.

When the door slammed back open with more force this time, you jumped and let out a surprised yelp. Your dad came barreling in, Michael having already disappeared back upstairs as quiet as he'd come. You tried to intercept him from storming upstairs but his horrified expression stilled you. "That was our neighbor Gladys down the street. She said she saw Myers come up to our house about an hour and a half ago." His gun was out, alarming you. "Have you… have you seen anything?"

"No." You swallowed around your lie, quickly turning the stove off, lunch forgotten. "No, it's been quiet. I was out in my garden, mostly."

He didn't seem convinced though. "She said he was circling around the house before coming inside."

At that, he froze. He held a finger to his lips, signaling you to be quiet. You wanted to roll your eyes at how comical this was but you also couldn't afford to break character. Scared young child of the police detective, home alone with a killer in this house. 

"Where's your cat?" He whispered, glancing up at the ceiling as though expecting to hear footsteps.

Glancing around, you tried to play up your alarm. "I don't know!" You whisper-yelled. "Do you think he's-?"

"Dead, then." Your dad's bluntness made you flinch. "Myers usually kills the pets first. Keeps 'em from sounding an alarm." He didn't even try to look sympathetic as he crept towards the stairs. You followed after him as he crept silently from room to room, pushing the door open slightly before scanning the room with his gun out. It made you anxious and you kept periodically glancing towards your bedroom, dreading the impending inspection. First the hall closet, then his bedroom, then the bathrooms, and finally: your bedroom.

You felt sweat drip down your temple as he pushed open the door. Everything felt tense, suffocating you as you chewed anxiously on the nail of your thumb.

He swung open the closet door and fired at the first sign of movement.

Mayhem yowled, a sharp, piercing sound, then darted past your legs as he took off down the hall. "MAYHEM!" You shrieked in horror, watching blood trail behind him faster than you could catch him. You ignored your dad's stammered apologies and took off after your cat.

The blood trail went down the stairs and out through the back door, which had been left cracked open to let Mayhem come and go as he pleased. Now he was gone. Your heart sank as you ran outside, crying for Mayhem to come back. In the tall, mud-riddled forest it was hard to see any kind of blood trail or spot your all black cat. Minutes ticked by with no response and you fell to your knees, wrapping your arms around yourself as you bawled.

He was your little kitty. And now he was gone.

"Sweetheart, I- I'm so sorry. I didn't know he was there." Your dad tried to explain as he watched you from the doorway. "It- It'll come back, I'm sure."

"You SHOT him!" You rounded on him almost instantly, storming up to meet him and relishing in the way he backed up in fear of your anger. "You SHOT him and now he might DIE out there!" While you didn't consider yourself an angry nor violent person, it felt vindicating to shove him and watch him stumble back. "You don't even CARE!"

"No, I don't!" He shouted, trying to scare you back. "It's just a cat! What if Myers had been there, huh?"

You felt hysteric. "I don't care about that! Fuck, dad, I care about my CAT!"

Suddenly, he'd grabbed you by the shoulders and slammed you into the nearby wall, his voice hissing like a viper when he spoke. "I don't give a shit about your fucking cat. I am stressed enough as it is and I am focused on finding Michael fucking Myers, not your shitty little cat. Let. It. Go."

The sign of movement in the shadows behind him made you smile.

Michael grabbed your dad by the back of his shirt and yanked him back harshly, letting him fall to the kitchen floor. He stood there, knife tight in his fist as he stood over the whimpering man who scrambled for his gun. 

You watched with an empty expression as Michael kicked the gun aside, skittering on the tiled floor and out of reach. "Grab it!" He hissed at you. Michael tilted his head down at him but he tried to not be intimidated. "Grab my gun, just-"

Reality began to settle in as shock wore off. Your ears were still ringing from the gunshots and you could smell the charred butter coming off the stove. "Michael." Your mouth moved but you didn't feel like your words were yours. "I'm okay."

A heavy boot thudded against your dad's chest and you watched him scramble to try and understand. The dark pits of the mask's eye holes bore into you, almost searching for permission.

"You've been hiding him." Your dad gasped in horror. "You've been hiding the man I've been hunting. Right. Under. My fucking nose!" He roared, struggling to get out from under Michael, only ending up grabbed like a scruffed kitten in his attempts to lunge at you. "How long!? How long has he been hiding here?!"

You didn't feel like answering. So you didn't.

He didn't like that though. "What have you two been doing? What, do you nurse him back to health under my fucking roof every night? Is that why you've been buying first aid shit?"

None of this felt real to you in any substantial way. It felt like a movie almost, a sick indie film about a serial killer you'd grown attached to finally snapping and slaughtering your family because you'd finally given him the chance to get close. You watched Michael press the tip of his knife to your dad's sternum and could almost see the anger and hatred rolling off the masked man in waves.

After all, you'd given him a hard line of not hurting Mayhem. And your dad just broke that rule.

You backed up against the fridge and slid to the floor, watching with a distant expression as Michael wrestled the man to the floor. "Yeah." You said quietly, more to yourself than to him. "I clean him. Bandage him. He protects me." A wet laugh left your throat at the absurdity of it all. "We're partners."

No point in hiding it anymore.

"M-maybe I should call Loomis, s-see if I can get you two joint rooms in the fucking asylum-!" The man below Michael yelled out, his words muffling as Michael jabbed the knife into him. Wet squelching sounds that became almost monotonous as hot red sprays erupted from the holes in his neck. Puddles of red seeped beneath the man's body and Michael seemed to relish in the thrill.

"You killed my cat," you mumbled bitterly to the corpse of the man you once called dad.

And you watched as the body ran cold with Michael's anger. He stood up, towering over you as he tracked bloody footprints as he approached you. "Hi." You said absently, giving him a small smile. "You'll have to kill our neighbor. No witnesses."

He tilted his head curiously and you just let your head fall between your knees. You didn't want to talk about this anymore than you had to. "Just- Just get rid of the body, okay? I'll clean up."

Had you looked up, you would have seen his nod.

The stench of bleach burned your nose and made your eyes water as you scrubbed at the now blood-free kitchen floor. You'd opened the windows to air out the smell but it still felt like it was suffocating. But there was no evidence anymore, thank god.

You didn't ask Michael what he'd done with the bodies. You'd kept your head down when he'd lifted it up and carried it with him out the back door and you were content not knowing. It would only serve to upset you.

Clutching the rim of the sink, you let out a long, pained sigh. Things were going to change now. Your father and Mayhem's blood was all gone, the knives would be disinfected, and Michael's jumpsuit would go through the wash again. No evidence any of this had even happened.

Logically, you knew this should upset you. It did, only in the sense that the wet plunging sounds of the knife echoed in your mind. But you couldn't feel anything beyond anger that he'd shot Mayhem. That he didn't care about you, only his work. It infuriated you to think about how little your life would change with him gone. The house was bought and paid for, you knew everything he owned would be left to you, and life would continue on.

He didn't matter, in the grand scheme of things. You repeated this mantra over and over to yourself as you heard the back door open.

Michael stood there, his hands and suit stained with blood. Flecks of dark red stained the white mask in harsh streaks that made you want to hurl. "How, um, how did it go?" You tried giving him a smile but fell short. He approached you and you did your best to hide your flinch when he took your wrist. Red stained your skin and you heard the sickening stabbing again. "Sorry," you mumbled, "I should have done something to- to try to make him leave, or-"

Michael cut you off with a harsh tug on your arm. Your head snapped up to meet his eyes behind the mask, your own wide in confusion. He just stared you down, only gripping you tighter when you tried to pull away.

His silent question felt loud in the little kitchen, even if he said nothing. "I'm… I'll be okay." But you weren't sure if you were telling that to him or yourself. "It was inevitable. I- I just didn't think it would be so soon. But, um, I knew I was… I knew I was going to be sticking with you. Partners, right?"

You didn't wait for any type of response, gesturing to his jumpsuit. "Lets, um, get you into clean clothes, yeah?"

Michael didn't budge.

Slowly, achingly slowly, he lifted his hand towards your face, dragging a bloody finger down your cheek and marveled at the way it stained your skin. A red to match his own,

And as quickly as he came, he left. His footfalls were heavy as he went up to the bathroom and left you floundering in the kitchen. You broke from your trance only when you heard the shower running. Swallowing, you followed his trail upstairs to collect his bloody clothes. You could only hope the blood was fresh enough to come out easy.

When you passed by Mayhem's food dish, you winced at the memory of your cat's blood streaked across the house. You filled his bowls and set them outside, hoping the prospect of dinner would entice him home. 

It was the best you could do, really…

The cops came two days later. When no one on the force had seen or heard from him in a few days, they'd come by to check. It wasn't hard to play up your distress. The five stages of grief had hit you harder than expected. On the first day, you'd just yelled at Michael, slamming your fists into his chest as he watched you curiously. You'd wondered to yourself after sobbing over breakfast how he'd felt after his sister died. You'd only ever heard stories but you wanted to ask him.

"We found him off a backroad down the way with an older woman in the car," the officer interviewing you asked. "Do you have any idea what that was about?"

You swallowed and shook your head. "He, um, he mentioned he got a call from Gladys. That, uh, Myers was outside her house so- so he told me he was going to take her to a hotel and then go back to work." Your voice trembled as you spoke. "H-he'd been working so much, I-" 

The officer gave you a sympathetic look. "I'm so sorry, kid." 

Michael was easily named the killer so you weren't even considered a suspect. What they didn't know was that he was taking this opportunity while the police were busy to kill again, letting out his frustrations that had been building up. 

He hadn't left you alone since your dad had died. Always hovering in doorways or your wrist if you were close enough. You knew Michael well enough at this point to know he didn't necessarily feel bad for what he did. But he was certainly capable of fearing your reaction. You could easily turn him in now, all wound up emotions like a ticking time bomb.

But you didn't. You were partners. A pact now sealed in your father's blood

Once the police left, you wanted to get out of the house. It all felt too suffocating. You just needed a moment without Michael's eyes on you, if such a thing existed. So you'd gotten dressed into proper clothes and went into town. You knew the whole town would be looking at you so you tried to keep yourself presentable while still looking a wreck.

Which wasn't hard, after everything that happened.

News reports of your dad's false crime scene would be all over the news in a day. All over the televisions, newspapers, and your dad's police buddies would be sharing stories in bars over drinks. You felt sick at the knowledge that he'd had a life outside you and your little bubble of fake domesticity with a serial killer.

It all felt like a huge reality check that left you stumbling like a drunk on the curbside.

You snapped back to your body as you stared emptily at some crummy greeting cards in the little general store. You'd been walking the aisles with no clear goal in mind and many of the other patrons simply let you pass with pitiful smiles that made your skin crawl. "I should've looked at the fridge…" You mumbled to no one.

"Hey." A soft voice interrupted your train of thought and you gave a glance over your shoulder. Laurie Strode, dressed in all black like she was attending a funeral. Maybe she was - a funeral for the town. You knew the paranoia of Michael stalking her never really went away and you felt a little bad for her. A part of you wished you could reassure her.

“Oh, um, hi.” You stuttered inelegantly. “What- um-“

“I’m sorry,” she gave you a sorrowful look. You were getting pretty sick of those. “I heard about your dad… Michael is ruthless.”

You swallowed around a lump building in your throat. “Y-yeah. I hope, um, you’re doing okay too.” You tried to give her a reassuring smile but you weren’t sure if it came out like a grimace.

Laurie just laughed, no joy behind her tight smile. “I’ll survive. Always do.”

You said your polite goodbyes and you left her, now even more uneasy. It was jarring to be reminded that life existed outside your little house in the forest, that Michael's actions had consequences that spread far beyond just you.

It made you wonder if Michael’s intentions were what you thought they were. He’d never leave Haddonfield. Not willingly. He’d continue killing with or without you in his life.

And that knowledge made you feel sick.

Your dad's funeral was mostly uneventful. A few of his work friends came to console you but you denied their company when you went to the cemetery. Your dad had told you many times when you were young that, when he died, he wanted to be poured into water used to help grow flowers on your late mothers grave. It had struck you as odd then but now you understood.

Guilt still ate at you. He'd probably haunt you if he didn't get to be reunited with your mom in some way, so you'd bought some daisies - her favorite, according to him - and brought them with his ashes and a bottle of water. Haddonfield's graveyard was nothing spectacular, just rows and rows of headstones. Some newer with fresh flowers and photos, some older and covered in moss and dirt. The forgotten ones always made your heart clench.

You pointedly kept your head down when you passed Judith Myers' grave. Her parents had a joint headstone beside her, a spot they'd reserved for themselves a year after she'd died. According to stories, they'd believed Michael deserved nothing but cremation. No tombstone, no funeral, just death in silence.

The fate of the Myers family had been a horrible story. Even after their son was shipped off to Smith's Grove, the family still received harsh criticisms for what they'd done. While Michael's actions were certainly the focus, some people still believed the parents had some sway in it or had influenced his behavior. He'd only been a little boy, after all. A possibly mentally ill, neglected child whose parents had, allegedly, favored Judith to the point Michael acted out.

A car crash killed them, according to the news. You weren't sure. The timings had been too close and their funerals had been closed caskets. But you'd been too young to really care about that sort of thing. Now, though, you were curious. It felt like you'd get answers somehow if you knew. Regardless, Michael was left without guardianship and became a ward of the state, locked away in a hospital for fifteen years. At first, the town didn't know what to think of him. The poor, unstable boy who now had no one waiting for him if he ever got out. Many villainized him, of course, but some wanted to see him make a full recovery. They saw a traumatized child who needed help.

It was only after Michael broke out of Smith’s Grove and killed again that public opinion on him changed.

You pushed those thoughts away and focused on kneeling before your mothers grave. Your fingers were still damp from the wet earth you'd pulled out as you'd dug a little hole for the flowers all on autopilot. The little flowers looked nice, spots of white and yellow against mucky browns and greens. This wasn't that different from gardening, you thought to yourself as you added the water into the jar of your father's ashes. Not that different at all.

It felt a bit weird. But it was his wish. After everything you'd done, the least you could do was honor that. Besides, you didn’t really think you could cope with having the jar of his ashes in the house you’d let him die in. So you poured the water over the flowers, dirt under your nails as you showered them graciously.

You'd never made a habit of talking to your mom's grave. Your dad did it a few times and you'd seen people doing it before but there was just no appeal to you. Talking to air felt weird and you weren't exactly going to start now. You'd never known your mom, she didn't need to hear your stories.

She’d died when you were young so it wasn't like you knew her. The concept of a mother meant more to you than who she specifically did. When you were growing up, sometimes you'd feel a longing absence that she wasn't there but the woman buried beneath your feet still meant nothing to you. A stranger whose photos lined the walls of your dad's bedroom - photos you would probably store in the attic. Like you'd never really known them. A part of your dad died with your mom anyways so the symbolism felt right.

He’d always go on and on about how much you looked like her, how similar you two were, that sort of crap. Now, staring at her headstone, you wondered what she’d think of you.

The feeling of eyes on you has become commonplace for you now. An is-ness rather than a concern. So you didn't even bother lifting your head. Just slumped forward, cross-legged, and picking at the dirt under your nails, flicking it at the daisies. "Do you ever miss them?" You asked aloud. You knew Michael was close enough to hear, especially since you were alone. "Your parents, I mean. I doubt you miss your sister too much. I mean, I heard what you did with her headstone when you killed those high schoolers." The bitterness in your tone was not missed but it didn't feel right to put words in his mouth.

"I'm still trying to decide how I feel." You sighed, poking at soft petals. "I never knew my mother so I can't miss her. She wasn't part of my life, only her ghost was. But I don't know how I feel about my dad dying. It always felt like I was competing with her for his affection. He loved her so much and could barely spare me a passing glance…" You swallowed and your throat clicked. "Sometimes I wonder if he'd have been happier if I had died and she'd lived.

If Michael Myers had to be the one to hear your confessions, at least you knew he wouldn't tell anyone.

You wiped your eyes and sniffled. "It's weird. I haven't decided if I hate him for that yet. If I hate him at all, even." When you looked up, Michael was staring down at you, face hidden behind the mask. You almost envied his ability to simply hide his feelings away. You'd never been able to avoid wearing your heart on your sleeve. "Do you ever think about if your parents wished it had been you instead of Judith?"

The silence felt suffocating and you broke into a helpless sob. The kind of crying that you did when no one was around and it felt like nothing was ever going to be okay again. Michael sat down beside you in the dirt, silent companionship through your tears.

He didn't say anything. But he didn't have to.

[bucchiboo]

I'm crying because I love the idea of correspondence between the students leaving next year and I'd love to see more of it. The white day cards are so cute that I just want to elaborate (hc) on handwriting and maybe even writing quirks. Just Malleus (for now...)

Malleus would be really interested in how his partner writes, it's all so fascinating to him and he's a pattern noticer. The noticerrrr. And he sees so much that he even finds himself compiling all the repetitive actions you take when writing -not just what you're writing, and brings them to you to discuss further. The way you slant letters, when your pen lets up, if you type then the frequency of paragraph breaking, how you insert images, etc. I think it'd be something like "Did you know you tend to smudge the paper when you reach the furthest margin, are you perhaps left-handed? Oya, you are? I knew that to be the case." He says with a slight smile and downturned gaze because he knows he ate that. Sherlock Horns.

He would get overzealous about the fact that you're only a word away and would immediately call you with his archaic phone and pester you until you receive it. His Correspondence wouldn't actually be a surprise because you are usually visited by a heavy knock on your door and fae appropriate fanfare when it arrives, that's just etiquette when writing royalty. But, he always calls you the day he receives it so that you know he shall be returning post haste and he intends to dazzle you. In fact, you'll spend so long speaking to each other about what was written to him, that when you finally get his response, it's more or less just recapping what you spoke of two days prior. He can't hide his giddyness, even if he keeps a cool baritone while on the phone. Because you're a kind person, you pretend that his tail happily thumping against the ground is inaudible, because you know he can't help it.

He is going to surprise you by the emojis he uses because WHO taught you that!?!? He learned these from Cater and Lilia, but he doesn't change the way he speaks. It's "Good evening, How have you've been? The summer season of Briar Valley is particularly exhausting and hot💧, I am very bothered by the heat of it all.🥵🥵" and when Lilia intercepts it, he's like "that's a perfect sentence, go ahead and send it. Actually, one note, send more sweating emojis, it's really hot this summer, right?"

Your messages go through a diverse array of moderators and middle men. Those people being his Grandmother, who reminds him that he's a prince, Lilia and Silver (the two who initially opened the letter, and finally his transcriber and narrator, Sebek who scoffs at the quality of the smut you're peddling his young master, who shouldn't even be hearing this, but he'll read on against his better judgement. (It's literally benign, the furthest thing from smut, Malleus argues). His letters would look a little like this:

21.09.19XX Child, It's been nice knowing you.😌 Why do I say that? Since we've met, it seems as if Briar Valley has taken a lead in comedy and our collective temperament could not be more jovial. Your humorous description of your familiar, Grim child, was very well received by my Grandmother, as I was awoken early enough to the sounds of insects humming and birds chirping well into the night to read it aloud to me, guffawing as she spoke. (I apologize, I cannot stop her from opening my mail, but we're working on her problematic behavior, that's a fact.😉) She in particular has asked if she may keep it, you know how older individuals are with their chucklesome cat stories. 🙄 There's this understanding of the world that I just don't possess when it comes to what grabs the attention of the people's comedy, it continues to evade me. For instance, what is the humor of "surprise hot dog 🌭" and why must it be a surprise to be enjoyed? The children of Briar Valley seemingly shout this and end their sentences with it, and I am surprised and annoyed every time. It seems like you have an understanding in the matters of humor, so you are welcome to explain it to me. But I digress, If I sat down and listed to you all the things that escaped me, well, you might find yourself as old as I am by the time we've finished! 🤣The trees and wind must sense the happiness in our friendly union, and have planned accordingly to block out bad weather🌧️ and unforgiving spirits. The weather is nice enough that (forgive me I've overstretched my hand) planned your visit for sooner rather than later. Next time we meet in person, this shall be us ->🕺💃, as I've already made arrangements for a night in a cabaret club in the Capitol for us to partake in. It's a culture so far from the realm of possibility of establishing itself in our quiet little country, that I was astounded when I stumbled across its zoning request permits one day and I rushed to see it in person, paperwork be damned. The smaller fae who perform insist it to be a "cheeky, yet inoffensive showcase of the arts", and after witnessing it for myself, I knew it would be the type of entertainment you'd enjoy.🤫 Even now, it doesn't feel natural to write, like an odd mouth feel that doesn't change as I turn it over and over. A cabaret in Briar Valley, a music club in a quiet kingdom... it's as I've mentioned earlier, Briar Valley has surprisingly given itself wholly to the Joviality of life. Sincerely yours; Malleus Draconia, Heir to Briar Valley p.s Surprise hot dog 🌭

On the other hand, as confident as he is in your responses, he's always a little embarrassed to send something back. It's not fear of his ability, but rather, if you'll care to hear about the day to day of a crown prince who's routine is very boring and full of nothingburger drama. He doesn't understand that his 18 page assessment of his life is literally replacing the cable you can't afford, and when he describes the way the lion prince attacked him during a diplomatic meeting, the colorful language of his response makes you laugh, and then cry, and even gag because "how did he get close enough to gash you!?" You can see the face he's making as he writes this, pouty and angry and even chuckling when he describes the punishment that followed. Just like in his real life, Malleus has a hard time concealing his emotions. He's not shy about who he is as a person, and his writing is not either. The way it flows is a little different from traditional correspondence, if anything, he's sending you disjointed journal entries and prose while also clipping what you send him to respond directly. Your 2 page crapped out response filled with emojis and memes and inside jokes is returned in full by 20 pages of thoughtful dialogue, assessments of politics and fondness of your life, and even sketches of the things around him (okay... just gargoyles and Sebek, but those are things in all fairness.) He has a real zest that he doesn't try to contain, and even his handwriting gives it away. When he's in a good mood, it's very pristine, heavily slanted cursive that his heavy hand oppresses by not dotting his i's or crossing his t's. It's just understood between you two what he means. Likewise, when he's angry or melancholic it's surprisingly very light, almost inelligeble as if he was speaking through gritted teeth. He must be getting up and pacing, because of course he is. When upset or recounting something terrible, his handwriting is unusually neat, funnily enough the sentences are much shorter, as if he's hiding something or thinking long about what should be said next. He's a very wistful person, after all.

Malleus enjoys fine art that seeks to appease the senses and refine beauty, so attached to his letters will often be trinkets like necklaces, earrings, watches, and pocket squares that he found in shops in Briar Valley, or a ticket to a play or music shows that dazzled him. The heavier packages (these tend to come at random) are filled with small desserts, books on the anthropological history of different fae species, woven pieces from more aesthetically competent fae and their fashion, and of course, fragmented pieces of ancient gargoyles he found hiding in deserted rooms of the castle. <- He'll know if you've thrown it away, so hold on to the heavy, weird rock fragment, please.

[aetlasx]

prologue

pair: eddie munson x witch!reader

summary: Ah, memories. You journal your first day of high school, but things quickly take a turn just a few weeks later.

tw: menstruation, pad/tampons, bullying, name calling (pls lmk if there’s anything I missed)

a/n: just stick with me lol. he’ll be in the first part. Also, this is an AU!! For spooky season!! thank you so much for reading!!

*the chat font is the diary entry and it goes back to normal at the end*

August 22nd, 1983 It's been a few months since i've written in this thing. I thought it'd be a good time to start now since I finally made it to high school!

You know what that means? Four more years till I leave this shithole!! Better than five. June was actually waiting by the door when I got home, she really wanted to hear every detail of how it went. I told her about my classes, I have Jonathan in two and Nancy in several. I told her how the school and people were so different from anything I was used to. But, it doesn't take her long to find something wrong with the way I think. She started with her usual warnings and advice, all the things I need to avoid, all the mistakes I shouldn't make. I know she's just trying to protect me, but it feels like she can never have trust in her little sister.

On the other hand, at least Teddy asked if I had fun. He's always been the one who knows how to lighten the mood, especially knowing how his wife is. He asked about my teachers and any clubs that looked cool enough to join. He even asked about Jonathan and Nancy.

Jonathan was definitely not as excited as me. He's quite, but he's always been that way.I know that his mom was excited for his first day of high school, she even convinced him to bring his camera. Right now, I'm trying to convince him to join the newspaper but he just shrugs me off. And Nancy, well, although it's been one–girl is practically glow. Within just 8 hours of the school day, she was able to meet a boy. She kept gushing about him and is pretty excited for the rest of the school year here. I'm genuinely happy for her.

Before June could add her two cents, I interrupted her with how I stopped by Aunt Claudia's after school to see how Dustin's day went. He was already sprawled out on the couch, 'exhausted' from fighting with his new math teacher. It had been a bit since I had seen them, I slaved away my summer at my job so stopping by, I felt grateful that they weren't even mad. I'll have to start hanging out with him again.

Anyways, I’m determined to make the most of freshman year with my friends. I’m ready to prove that I’m more than just a product of this stupid town.

Wish me luck!!

September 16th, 1983

I think I lied. I don’t know where to start…but a four year wait is too long. I don’t know where it all went wrong but it started over the weekend.

Sometimes I’d like to think that if my mom was still around, this wouldn’t have happened. Hell, June is like my mom, why did it happen. I’m talking about mother nature’s gift. It seemed as though no on thought to inform me that a girls first period would be this chaotic.

Nance and I had a movie night planned. I hadn’t really talked to her much, only in class, because her new boy toy or whatever—Steve Harrington, was taking up most of her time. I thought this would be a good time to just catch up and gossip, I was wrong. That Friday was horrible. I ended up throwing up, getting the chills, my body ached to no end. But I was still determined to make movie night happen, especially since June and Teddy were gone for the weekend.

As I was dying on the couch, Nancy finally showed up. But to my disappointment, it was only to cancel. Her and Steve were going out on their first date. I don’t know if it was how hot I was feeling or my intestines twisting, but black spots started clouding my vision. I just remember her screaming for Steve and once I knew it, I woke up in the hospital.

What I’m about to write, I’ll say with confidentiality…probably because I’m the only one reading this. Whatever.

A period is probably normal for all females. What’s not normal is having to go to the hospital and having your best friend’s boyfriend make fun of you because the doctor called you a late bloomer. I mean, she apologized but, if I could’ve just died on that bed, I wouldn’t be here.

Even June lectured me when I interrupted her weekend getaway. The whole ride home she kept complaining and saying ‘how could I not know’ and ‘you just gave us another unnecessary bill’. Like, sorry my baby’s natural response has ruined something for you.

Fuck. That’s not even the worst part. When Monday came back around, everyone was looking at me when I walked in. I know how cliche it sounds after what had just happened but knowing how popular Harrington was and who his friends were, he had already told the whole school by now. During gym, Carol and a few other girls threw pads and tampons at me. I got called ‘Bloody Mary’ and ‘Leak Freak’ in the hallways, at lunch, and anytime anyone had the chance. I tried to stay strong, I even hoped Nancy would say something to me during class or at least when she saw me but she just looked at me with sympathetic eyes. It’s just hard to believe that a few weeks ago, everything was fine. We were making fun of our teacher, gossiping with Barb, and even went shopping but I guess things change. Now when I look at her I’m just consumed with rage.

Jonathan has been supportive, though. The evening I got out of the hospital, he had actually brought over some of my favorite snacks and listened to me cry all night. Even when the mocking was bad, he’s stuck by my side. He’s told some kids to fuck off, walks me to class, and I’m grateful, don’t get me wrong but knowing that I have to wake up and go through it again doesn’t really ease my pain.

I feel like my chances of making friends and actually joining some clubs are ruined. When I try talking to some new, they give me dirty looks. When I go to ask about different clubs, they turn me away. I’ve lost hope. Thought this was suppose to be a fresh start but I guess not.

And just to add more salt to the wound, I haven’t been able to sleep. Every time I close my eyes and drift to away, I’m met with such an unsettling environment. The atmosphere is thick, groggy, red. It’s coated in fog, but a man I’ve never seen before always walks through it. He says his name is Henry, he starts talking about my worries and pain. It’s always the same—he says he’s ‘there to help me’, he’s there to ‘take away the pain because he knows what it’s like’. I truly don’t know what has caused my subconscious to create things like this but I guess I’m just tired of feeling like shit.

I don’t even know why I bother keeping a journal around. Sometimes I feel like I won’t even be here in the future to reminisce on the shitty days like this. Why would I even? I guess it’s just easier to write these things down than having to say them out loud. I thought I’d be able to make my sister, aunt, cousin, and friends proud, but I’m starting to think I’m just not cut out for this.

Closing the diary, the blonde places it back in the shoebox you hid it in. Pushing it back under your bed, standing from the place he sat. A satisfied smirk on his face.

He’d been following your turmoil closely, knowing that this was just the turning point. Your struggles were feeding into his plans. This entry was straw that broke the camels back—your vulnerabilities, your fears, and your desperations. It was almost too easy.

“Your suffering is almost poetic,” Henry said to himself, walking out of your room, your house, determined to take action now. He planned to finally confront you, to force you to acknowledge the full extent of what your destiny could be with his help—with what he had to offer.

[everydayyoulovemeless]

Hehe seeing a lot of NSFW asks, if you're feeling like writing more maybe now the NSFW alphabet for Joshua?

Joshua NSFW Alphabet

➼ Word Count » 1.2k ➼ Warnings » MDNI ➼ Genre » NSFW, Romantic ➼ A/N » Always in the mood for a good alphabet

A - Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He's so kind. He'll scoop you into his arms and carry you down to one of Zion's rivers to wash you. It's peaceful, private, and just fast enough to feel good against your skin. Not to mention how cool the water feels, which is always a bonus when you live in a desert.

B - Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Joshua loves your face. He loves the adoring way you stare up at him or the way your features shift depending on how you feel. He could stare at you for hours. You're the most divine thing he's ever laid his eyes on. He personally doesn't have a favorite part about himself. He considers all of him to be stained with sin, so it'd be disgraceful for him to be drawn to any of it.

C - Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He would never dare to cum inside of you. Someone as sinful as him shouldn't be allowed something so sweet. You deserve someone younger - someone who you actually deserve to have children with, or at the very least, cum inside of you. Instead, he just releases himself on the floor.

D - Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He likes the thought of covering your mouth with bandages to keep you quiet. He won't ever mention it. He thinks it may be too degrading for someone like you, but he does think about it a lot.

E - Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He hates talking about his past experiences, especially around you. Mostly because he finds it rude and unnecessary, but he has definitely slept with a handful of women before you.

F - Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary (haha 'cause he's literally a missionary). It's pretty basic, but he thinks it's the best position to be in when it comes to appreciating his partner. He likes being able to look at your face and trace his fingers over almost any part of your body he wants, but most importantly, it's the most comfortable for him. His burns sadly don't allow much room for experimenting, so missionary is what he sticks with.

G - Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He doesn't like being humorous when participating in something so sacred. As a follower of Christ, he takes the deed very seriously and would be ashamed if he ever took you or the act for granted.

H - Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He can't grow hair anymore due to the severity of his burns, so well groomed?

I - Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

As I've said before, Joshua takes sex very seriously and would do anything in his power to make you feel that. He'll take you by the hand and gently guide you to an isolated part of Zion, where he'll set up a small camp, cook for you, kiss you, and take you to bed. The romantic parts are one of the most important factors to him, and he never fails to make it a priority.

J - Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn't masturbate. It can be painful at times and he's too old to be feeling horny all the time.

K - Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He's generally more vanilla in his kinks, but every now and then, he likes to do some light bondage.

L - Location (favorite places to do the do)

In a nice, secluded spot in Zion will do. Usually, in a cave of some sort, but as long as it's private, he'll be happy.

M - Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He's motivated by you're happiness and pleasure. It might sound cliche, but the only reason he's still fucking is because he likes being able to make you feel good. Even if it hurts him, he feels that it's his duty to honor and worship you in such a way.

N - No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He refuses to degrade, harm, or humiliate you in any way. He can't ever imagine anyone doing that to the person they love, and he certainly couldn't imagine doing that to you.

O - Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He prefers to give, one because he doesn't feel he deserves something so sweet from you and second because he can't help but cringe at the feeling of teeth against his burn scars.

P - Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He prefers to go at a slower pace, one because he doesn't want to hurt you, accident or not, and second, he likes to take his time with you.

Q - Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

The simple answer is no. Joshua doesn't like rushing it with you, especially since neither of you really has to, and would much prefer to take you out on a walk somewhere in Zion before properly pursuing you in that manner. He personally believes that these things were meant to take time, so it's safe to say quickies are off the table.

R - Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

No, never. Hurting you or risking your well-being in any way is the last thing he ever wants to do.

S - Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Usually, he stops after the first round. He takes his time with it anyway, so it's not like it's disappointing at all. He's just old and struggles to stay horny long enough to please you.

T - Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I don't think he knows what a toy is, but even if he did, I don't see him using them much at all.

U - Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He hardly ever teases you. His number one priority when being intimate with you is to give you whatever you desire. He couldn't ever imagine depriving you of anything or subjecting you to any kind of humiliation.

V - Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Joshua doesn't make much sound, but you'll occasionally hear him grunting above you. It's still pretty quiet, though.

W - Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He likes to pray with you before and after sex. He thinks it's customary to thank God for granting you both the ability to feel and the chance to find one another.

X - X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He's a good 6 inches, bald, and covered in injuries. It's not pretty to look at, but that doesn't mean it can't make you feel good.

Y - Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It's not very high at all. He's old, and it generally hurts to do. 'Getting it up' is more of a holiday than an everyday occurrence.

Z -Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He doesn't like falling asleep afterward, instead, he prefers to hold you and caress gentle symbols into your skin. The Lord gave both of you moments like these to cherish, not to ignore.

[eeeeuuughggg]

the whole confession thing

anon: “ LET ME BE UR FIRST ANON😜 ill be 🎸 but anyways i loved ur larry general headcanons, i would love to see some headcanons of how you think he would confess his feelings, im a sucker for confessions🤭 ”

notes: THANK YEWWW omg i needed something to get me back into writing ur a saviour (i forgot to make it headcanons OOPS)

w/c: 478

warnings: none

You and Larry were sitting outside 7-Eleven, slurpees in hand and your backs uncomfortably pressed against the brick wall. He's listening to you a lot more than he normally seems to be, because it feels like you're the only one that's really talking— and that's unusual. You wanna know why? Larry never shuts up when he's with you.

You turn to look at him, and that makes things a bit weird because he was already looking at you. He turns his head away and you sigh, brows furrowed in confusion. “Are you alright, dude?” There's silence for a second, and then he looks back over at you.

“Yeah, man, 'm good. Jus' chillin.” He hums in reply, trying to play it cool, and failing fucking miserably, which he usually does.

“..Alright, I'm just checking.” You murmur, staring at him for a second longer. Pausing, you add, “You know you can tell me anything, right?” Larry swallows. “Yeah,”

“I've just been thinking, lately. Like, a lot.” Trying to lighten the awkward situation you've gotten yourself into, you smile and poke fun at him. “You don't think a lot, do ya?”

“Shut up, man. I'm serious.” He groans, looking away yet again and down at his drink, focusing on anything but you.

“Do you really mean it, dude? Like, do you mean it when you say I can tell you anything? 'Cause, like, I don't want you to hate me, man. I couldn't handle that shit.”

“I mean it, Larry. Promise.” You're anxious, wondering about what he's going to say. Usually you can guess what's going to happen with him; you practically know him like the back of your hand, he's your best friend, right?

Nothing more, nothing less.. right? Right? Right. You reassure yourself that you're just setting yourself up to be hurt and zone back in just in time to listen to him.

“Look, man,” He turns to you, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I don't wanna ruin our friendship, 'kay? 'Cause you're like, fucking sick, y'know? It's just, like, lately, I feel like I don't want you to be just my friend. Do you know what I mean?”

Before you can answer, he cuts you off. “And if you don't like me like that, then that's totally cool, man, I understand. I just need to tell you how I feel in case you feel the same. I don't want it to be like, 'what could have been?', do you feel me?”

Beginning to start another mini-monologue, you cut him off. “I feel the same way.” Simple and short, and enough to shut Larry up. “You do?” He asks, looking at you almost dumbfounded. “Do you want to, like, do anything with that? It'd be awesome if we could, I dunno, maybe go out sometime. If you're cool with that.”

“I'm cool with that.” You smile.

“Sweet.”

[luminouslywriting]

hi! if you don't mind could you maybe do band of brothers guys (who you include is your choice) and what it'd be like to go on a first date with them after being friends and/or serving together? (extra extra bonus points if you don't mind doing male!reader, like that other anon said, there's a real lack of it in this fandom, but no worries if not :-))

Hi Hon! This was such a sweet request :) I decided to keep this gn! reader as I myself am not a man and worry about writing from a male perspective accurately or fairly 😅 hopefully this is neutral enough that it makes you happy though! Cut for length, really oddly wholesome (which is not my usual brand haha), more under the cut:

Dick Winters:

-The first date is a very traditional one...he's been waiting what feels like FOREVER to ask you out

-So a picnic it is, with him holding your hand and quietly watching the sunset as you eat and talk together

-It might even end in a kiss as he walks you to your door at the end of it all

Lewis Nixon:

-This man wants to go all out and wants it to be romantic af—so wine tasting and charcuterie boards while slow music plays in the background

-There's a fair amount of flirting and making out

-He's very dedicated to ensuring that you have a great first date with him and that it expresses the depths of his feelings for you

Ronald Speirs:

-Is really low-key about the first date and just wants to be in your company and have a good time.

-He invites you over to his place for dinner and wants to cook for you. He's actually a very good cook and you help him in the kitchen.

-Definitely ends in a makeout session

Buck Compton:

-MUSEUM DATE—LISTEN, this academic of a man just wants to take you somewhere cool and show you things and info-dumps a little bit

-The conversation is a 10/10 and he gets really soft expressing how he feels about you

-And he walks you home afterwards with a sweet kiss

Carwood Lipton:

-The first movie that you two watch after the war is It's A Wonderful Life and the two of you are just discussing so many domestic details

-He's literally head over heels and imaging a future life with you already

-Ends in a cuddle session :)

Joe Liebgott:

-A nice drive in the evening to watch the sunset and listen to some soft music

-Makeout session in the car, absolutely. He's a handsy man anyhow haha.

-Probably gets you home well after when you were supposed to be and you two are grinning like a bunch of teenagers.

Donald Malarkey:

-A game night with some friends! He just wants to do some fun games and get to know you better.

-It's a really sociable double date and helps the two of you get super comfortable with one another.

-Shyly expresses that he loves you at the end of the date.

Eugene Roe:

-He wants to go dancing with you and doesn't necessarily care if it's in public or in private

-In fact, if it's just the two of you, he'll take you to a romantic spot overlooking a boardwalk and the two of you will dance and quietly talk together

-Some soft kisses and singing together is definitely a part of this

Bill Guarnere:

-Takes you to a car show and has a great time talking to you about his childhood and the things he's interested in. He wants to do something revolving around one of your hobbies next time :)

-After the car show, he takes you back to have dinner with his family and really sweetly introduces them all to you

-Definitely expresses that he loves you at the end of the date

Joe Toye:

-Probably invites you to a holiday event like a Christmas fair and takes you shopping

-He loves seeing how excited you get at the different booths and when you try new foods

-Probably ends in a kiss under the mistletoe

George Luz:

-A comedy show is your first stop together on the date

-Good food, good conversation, and a laugh? It's perfect for George Luz and getting to know you better

-Probably dances around with you on your porch before leaving you with a kiss

[bloggingboutburgers]

Hi, kinda random, but I could really use some advice. I really wanna write a qpr but feel like I dunno much about it- uh- so yeah! Just wanting to ask how I should do it- like, how do I do it?? How do I represent this while being accurate and respectful?? I know the theory but like addhhbbkjt

Sorry if I am being weird I dont really know how to phrase this Q_Q

...OK so this is gonna sound funny (or not) but... I've been toying with the idea of developing a story involving a fictional QPR as well recently and... I have no idea how to go about it either. Despite being in one!! I actually have trouble explaining what a QPR means to most people honestly TwT

But I'll do my best to give a few pointers from my experience:

Needless to say, kinda, but a QPR is NOT a romantic relationship. It may LOOK like it on paper but I guess the way I see it, there's a lot less... Grandiosity and possessiveness than with romance. It's a lot more chill, I guess I could say. It's not like "this person is my whole life and I would die without them" or something, it's more like "this person is pretty great to experience life with and it'd be pretty cool if this lasted as long as we both vibe."

A QPR is NOT inferior to a romantic relationship NOR is it superior to a friendship, in my opinion. I see no scale of value of the sort. Each of these things are their own thing is all.

Considering it's quite the particular situation, no two QPRs will be the same, I think. So you can at least rest easy considering there can be quite a lot of variety in this type of relationship.

What I mean by that is, not everybody who's in a QPR will be comfortable will the same things. For example my partner and I may give each other lip pecks (never any tongue), but it took us years to be comfortable with the idea, and it doesn't necessarily mean everybody in a QPR will be at ease with that. And conversely other people in a QPR may be comfortable with a level of intimacy we may not be comfortable with.

What that implies is, in my experience at least, a QPR means a LOT of communication. My partner and I constantly have heart-to-hearts about what works or what doesn't for us, and are both aware some things may change over time.

As an aromantic, I value being in a QPR deeply because it responds to some issues that I think a lot of fellow aromantics probably face: the first is needing human connection, like any person, but having to struggle with the fact that you'll always come second after your friends' romantic partners and kids (if they have any), and the fear of abandonment that comes with that; the second is wanting human contact and affection, like any person, but having to worry that if you seek affection from or give affection to a person, they'll catch romantic or sexual feelings for you and it'll turn ugly for you, kinda. Being in a QPR responds to both those needs while negating these fears. If I ever wrote a fictional QPR personally, I think that last point would be what I would wanna emphasize the most, in my own voice. Because it's so key.

As usual I suck at being succinct and all, but I hope these were helpful! TwT And I hope nothing I said here misrepresented other people in QPRs out there

[frogchiro]

did you see that warren cole posted his motorcycle on his instagram?! it's given me some maaaaaaajor thoughts about biker graves, maybe even in a modern cowboy/rancher au? like imagine him taking you on rides through the desert and he's so distracted by your chest pressed against his back and your legs spread behind him that he runs out of gas because he just drives so far and him and reader just end up in the middle of nowhere... they end up doing a walk of shame to some dusty ass motel and have tired lazy sex PAHAHAHAHAHAHA (i love you, and your writing. i always will! sending infinite love! <3)

YES I SAW IT AND HHRRNNNN the way that I need that man is astronomical, like, interstellar level

I think I'm gonna go with a...dad's best friend/neighbour Graves scenario for this one since I need a dilf to just take me away ;;

Imagine Graves coming to your dad one day to show him his new motorcycle and oh he just so happened to mention that he takes his new baby for a ride into the vast Texas desert for a day or two, do a lil sightseeing and stuff like that and your dad would be so thrilled!

Being none the wiser, your poor old dad asked his old military buddy if he maybe could take you with him if it wouldn't be too much of a hassle. He said that while he appreciated you being a good student and generally a very calm and mild mannered girl, he thought that you'd need something...more adventurous to do during your summer holiday from collage and Philip being his trusted friend is the perfect person to do that! He trusted him with his life on the battlefield many years ago and now he will trust the blonde man with his daughter :)

Little did your dad know is that it's exactly what both you and Philip were hoping for, literally the perfect opportunity. You and your handsome older neighbour were in a,, let's say secret relationship, at least for the time being and every little sliver of time together was precious ;;

And so you quickly packed the few things you could, climbed onto the bike and off you two went, on a nice, relaxing trip, just the two of you until it didn't end up as relaxing as you though it'd be ;;

As much as Philip prides himself to be a man of iron self control with you it just slips away way too easy, but its one of those things he adores about you, how easy and young he feels when he's with you. Unfortunately this time it didn't come as handy as usual. You weren't supposed to travel too far, just around 100km, stay at a motel for a night or two, have some passionate intimate moments just between two lovers and then right back to put you back into your pa's arms with a pat on the head and call you a 'good kid' but as usual, everything went wrong.

As shameful as it is Philip got a little...distracted. The distraction being the feeling of your warm, soft body and the feeling of your pillowy boobs pressed tightly against his leather jacket clad back and he might have happened to drive a bit too fast for a bit too long and drove straight by the motel you were going to stay, with you not paying attention either being distracted too by all the pretty sights and Phil's cologne and musk :((

All was good and cool until the bike started to rumble and slow down into a dead stop. You drove too far for too long, you're out of gas and it's getting dark. Perfect.

You'd lie if you said you weren't at least a bit scared, after all you were literally in dead nowhere with the nearest town being at least 120km away, it was getting cold due to night approaching and Philip was cussing like a sailor trying to reach a towing company but to no avail, it was late already and no one would help you until tomorrow morning. As much as Graves was pissed off he vaguely knew the area having gone on bike drives here a while ago and he could remember there being a motel not too far away, maybe a 15 minute walk. Sure it was a dingy backwater hole with a shady looking old man behind the counter but better that than staying out here for the night right? Plus he could see that you were getting scared and so began the trek to the motel with you helping him pull his bike along the road.

After finally getting there, your fingers stiff from cold and from pulling the heavy machine you thanked all of the gods above and almost cried with relief and happiness when you saw the old blinking light of the sign of the motel. You didn't even care that it looked like the shadiest place on earth, all you wanted to do was to take a shower with Phil and jump straight into bed but,, it looked like the blonde male had other ideas ;;

What ensued was instead of you going right to bed and sleeping this eventful day off, way some sleepy, lazy and absolutely tired love making and it was the best you and Phil ever had <3

The way the older man was barely moving above you, your tired and sore bodies pressed together as close as can be with Philip thrusting his strong hips against you gently, his hot throbbing cock a warm and comforting weight inside you, right up against your cervix but not with the usual rough, fast pace but just resting there, taking in each others warmth in the otherwise cold motel room<3

Your breaths mingled hotly with each other as you lazily kissed before Philip returned his head back into the crook of your neck and started lazily making out with the sensitive skin, his hips barely moving at this point but it was the warmest and most comforting feeling you could ask for.

Tomorrow Philip would fill the gas tank in his beloved bike up to the brim so you could safely and uneventfully return to the motel you were initially going to spend your time but honestly? If someone were to ask you you'd say that this was the more or less perfect romantic getaway <3