#i drop it like its acid

[imjustheretofangirl003]

.

[silverware-is-interesting]

I'm sick rn but hey. i can still draw. with only mild inconvenience!!

i fucked up eucerin a bit but i think it's good for using no ref

here. have some ms pain too

[batjokes-yaoi]

harvey "twoface" dent and their cat vincent :)

[velarisdusk]

dropped acid with my bf and some friends and now i have so many ideas for hockey au omgomgomg

[bitegore]

torture dimension known as "not sure how to find a plug and not willing to come off like a narc by asking around too awkwardly"

[aftermathing]

You're supposed to ask for help. If you don't ask for help you're never going to get help and you will be condemned for being useless and taking no actions to help yourself. If you ask for help. no one is going to help you. you are not allowed to wish that anyone help you or expect anyone to help you or you are a selfish piece of shit. you are not allowed to wish things were better. You're not allowed to ask for help actually because you are selfish and you didn't think about how others might feel being put in the vulnerable and intimate position of being asked for help. your friends did not consent to being asked for help or explained why you've been having problems and you should have thought about the way they felt before you forced them to read your texts asking them for help. I'm not even joking I should just kill myself because there is actually genuinely no such thing as getting better or getting help or being a good friend ?

[laikahh]

lincoln enjoyers how r we feeling abt baby take my acid.

[starswallowingsea]

okay i just finished sleep tight by jh markert and christ alive what the fuck was that. i gave it 1.75/5 on storygraph and 2 stars on goodreads bc like. girl.

so the first thing is like. the most minor thing i'm going to complain about but it definitely needed one last line by line edit. how did they fuck up the daughter's name at the end and call her julie instead of julia when julie hadn't been an established nickname for her. there were a bunch of other lines that just felt like they were repeating what we already knew or didn't need to be there like we didnt need a line saying "that tess already knew because noah had told them in the car" <- not exact idc enough to go back and look but we know. we were THERE you do not have to remind us that they know this information okay.

now onto the rest of the book. so the concept is that after serial killer posing as a priest to lure victims in is executed by the state, a cult that formed around him decides they're going to get revenge on the people who locked him up and ultimately revealed that they're going to revive him with the help of the real mastermind. which i thought the serial killer priest would have been cooler than it was but whatevs thats on me. howeverrrrrrrr one of the early chapters was from the pov of a gravedigger/grave security guy and he talks about the group he just joined but explicitly called it a cult which was so. the word cult is very loaded and high control groups do not like to use it for themselves because of that and they'll use something else like group or religion for their cult even if people on the outside are calling it a cult. have you ever met an mlm girly like come on.

the mystery itself was laid out decently enough with the eyes and not so subtle hints that were dropped but the worst part of this was the fucking weird ass attempt at portraying DID. I am going to give markert the benefit of the doubt that he was trying his best and anyone reading this review who has DID is free to comment on this but i am not under the impression that most people know when a new alter fronts and that voices don't really change especially around strangers. also other than oskar and ruth, all of noah's alters were real people and 5 of them were people who he watched die and he just took on their personalities in his head and they don't age because the people they were based on stopped aging (ie died). they talked about it like he just absorbed their souls into his headspace??? and yes they could tell when someone switched to front because of his voice and like. the fact that two of them wear glasses and will put them on to front. i might be wrong and again correct me if i am but this does not seem like how it works when systems meet strangers for the first time especially ones that get violent and upset when they cant get the alter they want to front to front.

sticking with the theme of weird insensitivities about trauma, why was fuckhead justin so insistent that tess needed to forceably relive her trauma (which was revealed at the end of the book and ngl kinda anticlimactic) to try and fill in gaps in her memory from when she was 13 because it made him upset? like dude she probably shouldn't be doing that if she doesn't want to its buried for a reason leave her alone!! and the fact that their relationship went back to business as usual after everything was so!!!!! i think they should have gotten divorced anyway there is no way this is going to work out long term sorry.

and finally i get that american police just shoot indiscriminately but killing benjamin in front of 11 young children seemed kinda unnecessary. especially when they were crowded around him and could easily have been caught in the crossfire but magically weren't and the bullets only hit ben. sorry but at least one of those kids should have had some sort of gun related injury from that if not more if you were going to kill ben.

[snekdood]

and in spite of all the eyez, i still chose to be my full unapologetic self 😌

[so-3i3]

bought some 'acid drop' lollies that have turned out to be not nearly as sour as i thought they'd be =/

[biolumien]

heya!! Saw you had open requests. And I was wondering if you could do something with Hoshina with the trope of Opposites attract?

Like maybe reader could be shy and quiet type. Who is strangely not a fighter like he is. Reader could be a sweet civilian or something and it'd be nice to see how the rest of the characters react to their relationship. Though of course, feel free to change it as you wish. Whatever you write I'm sure it'll turn out amazing.

Feel free to ignore this if it isn't your fancy :DD

notes: ahh repeat it with me now the fic got away from me and took on a life of its own... i hope this is okay ;-;!!

cafe latte

soshiro hoshina x gn!reader no content warnings necessary. i think word count: 1752

the first time you were saved by soshiro hoshina was in front of the wreckage surrounding your cafe. 

the smell of blood was overwhelming as you stepped out warily, wincing as a drop of the kaiju carcass’s acidic blood dripped onto the pavement in front of you, carving out a hole in the concrete. 

“careful!” a voice called out from somewhere above you. “it’s still not safe for civilians.” 

you watch as the vice captain of the third division, soshiro hoshina, lands deftly on the ground, sheathing his twin katanas at his back. his closed, smiling eyes crack open just a tad, and he hums, his voice muffled by his respirator. 

your eyes go wide. 

the third division was legendary among the defense force, after all, and it was soshiro hoshina in the flesh in front of you! your body seemed to move of its own accord, and--

“um–can i,” you stammer out, pulling out your notepad for taking cafe orders. “can i get your autograph?”

“huh?” hoshina wipes a bit of blood from his suit. “i mean, sure, but wouldn’t you rather get an autograph from captain ashiro? i’m sure the resell value on that is far better.” even as he said this, though, he’d reached out to sign your notepad, scribbling a haphazard signature.

“i mean–everyone likes captain ashiro,” you say nervously as hoshina hands the notepad back to you. “but—you kept the kaiju from wrecking my—my shop.” you shift your eyes to the front of your cafe, and then back to hoshina, covered in blood and still wearing his respirator mask. “so i wanted your signature specifically.” 

“oh, i see,” hoshina says. he sounds teasing. “business will be slow for a bit, though, with the cleanup. are you going to be okay?” 

“oh? i—yes, i… it’ll be fine. the cleaners usually take… two weeks, i think. so… it might be a bit slower.” 

“hmm.” hoshina hums, removing his mask. you’d seen hoshina’s face on the news, largely in the background as mina ashiro spoke on eliminating the kaiju threat—so you’d known he was handsome, but something about seeing his face in person was different. he felt more—tangible. real. 

“i’ll have to stop by some time,” hoshina says with a smile. 

“i…” you lift up your notepad to hide your face. “i-i mean… sure. i… i don’t know why you would… but—”

“think of it like me paying you back for the slow business,” hoshina says. 

“okay,” you say, your voice hitching slightly. 

[…]

business was slow the next week, as you’d told hoshina. the kaiju carcass outside was pretty bad for business, really–something about the bad vibes, or something like that. so you go through the motions, cleaning up tables, ordering new coffee beans and stock for the next few weeks when business would pick up again. it was hard work, but it was made a little easier based on the fact that there was hardly anyone in the cafe right now. 

you look outside the window, resting your elbows on the counter, sighing. looks like it’d be another slow day after all. 

you raise your head as the cafe door jingles.

“welcome to the—it’s you,” you stammer out as hoshina walks through the door. off-duty he wears fairly loose clothes, a sharp contrast to how sharply dressed he looks during press conferences. he’s dressed in a loose black jacket with a tight turtleneck, and loose pants with a pair of reasonably-fashionable looking sneakers, with a black mask over his mouth. “you really didn’t have to—”

“not like i had much better to do,” hoshina says easily, waving a hand, pulling down his mask now that he was inside. “it’s not often i get time off. and i gave you my word, so i might as well make good on it.” he walks forward, examining the cafe menu. “what’s good here?” 

“umm—the… americano, is… okay,” you say. “i… think.” “you think?” hoshina blinks at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, teasingly. “does that mean you don’t know?”

“i–no, it’s–it’s good,” you say more assertively now. hoshina laughs, and your heart skips a strange beat. 

“hm… i’ll admit i don’t really drink that much coffee, so i’ll give you free reign to do whatever you think i’d like.” hoshina smiles. 

“i–that’s too much freedom,” you protest. “what if you hate it–” “i’m not gonna hate it,” hoshina says. “i came here out of my own free will after all! just go with the flow.”

so you end up making him a latte, doing a bit of latte art on the top using some cream. it’s a small fox with closed eyes and a sharp smile, and you slide it across the counter for his approval. he picks up the cup, spinning it gently–and you try not to look too hard at his hands. he hums.

“looks almost too cute to drink,” he says. “cheers, though.” he takes a long, slow sip, and you feel your heart pound in your throat as he lowers the cup. 

“is—”

“it’s good,” hoshina says with a smile. “i’ll have to keep coming back here. i can’t believe i’ve missed out on this place.” 

[…]

he just… keeps coming back during his off duty hours, dressed sharply and plainly each time. you make him new animals in his lattes—cats, dogs, bunnies, mostly cats and foxes. 

a few times you attempt a very crazy looking kaiju, but by the time you hand over the cup it’s deflated already, and you slide over the drink with shame on your face and he just laughs, and you try not to think about the fact that his fingers brushed against yours as he takes the cup each time. 

you learn a bit more about him each time, but it’s mostly surface level things. how his day’s going, what’s annoying him—mostly what’s annoying him, but said in a conversationally light way. 

but he asks a lot of questions about you. favorite color, animal, food—innocuous at first, down to grittier questions about good memories, lasting regrets and the like. 

you answer to the best of your ability, hesitantly and nervously each time. 

“not that i don’t… appreciate the conversation, but…” you say one day as you’re scrubbing down a particularly messy table, “why do you ask all these questions anyway? i-i doubt my answers are… anything interesting, so—”

hoshina takes a sip from his coffee. 

you made him a penguin today. 

“i’m just curious,” hoshina says, in a tone that almost sounds apologetic. “work habit. gotta know everything about everyone. your coworkers, the officers, kaiju…” 

he watches out the window for a moment, and you think about the large gap between the two of you—two completely separate worlds as he fights to defend the world from a threat so foreign and massive that it seemed utterly inconceivable—and here you were, wondering about how you might sell enough cafe lattes to make ends meet and pay rent. 

“but more than anything,” hoshina says after a long moment, and you nearly startle hearing his voice again, “i just want to get to know you because you’re interesting.”

and in his eyes is a weighted, assured sincerity that makes your heart flip nervously. 

[…]

the second time you were saved by soshiro hoshina, it was a smaller, less dramatic affair. 

you’re carrying out trays to some other customers while hoshina sits at one of the tables, his laptop open as he’s working on some paperwork. 

and then suddenly you trip on one of the floorboards, falling forward with a yelp, and you brace yourself for the utter worst—spilled glassware and maybe a really bad fall—but then you gasp out as hoshina pulls an arm around your waist, keeping you from completely planting on your face. 

he lets go soon after, his eyes scanning yours for a moment. you wonder why your side feels a little bit colder, why you wished for the pressure of his hand against your side to stay for a little longer. surely it was nothing. 

“careful now,” hoshina says, a teasing lilt to his voice, but then he seems a little more contemplative, slightly more concerned. “nothing spilled too bad, right?” 

“no,” you say, a little dazed as you check the trays to find that thankfully, everything seemed in place. “thank you, hoshina.”

“mhm,” hoshina says, his eyes flitting back to his work. a smirk crosses his lips for a moment as his eyes flit back up to meet yours. “can’t save you all the time, can i?”

you sputter for a moment, and he laughs, and it’s not long before you’re laughing too. 

[…]

there are people huddled outside the street as hoshina enters into the cafe today. he seems a little weary, running a hand through his hair. 

“you look out of it,” you comment. 

“i… the…” hoshina glances back at the people outside. your eyes widen when you notice the telltale ponytail of—

“is that mina ashiro?” you exclaim, slamming your hands against the counter. “seriously? out here?” 

hoshina looks wearier at the excitement in your voice. 

“sorry,” you say. “but why is she here?” 

“i…” hoshina looks up at the ceiling, exhaling for a second. “do you want to go out with me?” 

you think your heart stops beating. 

hoshina’s watching you, and his eyes flit to yours, before trying to look at anything else. 

“where—where did this come from?” you ask. you want to hide behind something. your ears feel hot, and he coughs. 

“it comes from… ah, i’m not good at metaphor,” hoshina says, spreading his hands. “it’s so much worse than being straightforward—so i’ll just put it plainly. i like you. i come to the cafe a lot because i like you. i want to go out with you. and some of my… coworkers,” 

hoshina turns to glare at some of the people outside, who seem to scatter at his stare. 

“…were interested in seeing the person that has captured my attention. so… i hope that’s clear.”

does he seem ever-so-slightly nervous?

your face feels hot.

“yes,” you say, reaching out to clasp his hand. “of course.”

hoshina exhales, loud.

“okay. good. not that i was nervous or anything, but i’ve got a reputation to uphold out there, with those clowns,” hoshina says, squeezing your hand back, cool as ever. you smile, leaning up to kiss hoshina quickly, and he laughs, brushing his nose against yours.

and out of the corner of your eye, you see mina ashiro taking a picture with her phone. 

[darksilvania]

Kroelian APPLIN Ghost/Dragon The Pumpkin Pokemon Abilities: Harvest/Unnerve - Heatproof (HA) Dex: "It makes its home inside a pumpkin, looking for the biggest and toughest. They wait until pumpkins are at their biggest,, so they are more often seen during the fall. Using their own acid, they darken certain areas of the pumpking from within, creating patterns that resemble scary faces to intimidate any possible predator.” Moveset: -Astonish  -Bullet Seed  -Rollout  -Trick-or-Treat Kroelian FLAPPLE Ghost/Dragon The Jack-O-Lantern Pokemon Evolves from Kroelian APPLIN when given a CARVED PUMPKIN Abilities: Harvest/Unnerve - Flash Fire (HA) Dex: "It uses a carved pumpkin as its wings, it can close them to intimidated is opponent on its lantern form. It can created fire by using the pumpkins juices as fuel, this flames burn with a sweet smell" Moveset: -Pumpkin Smash Ghost type / pwr 80 / acc 100 / pp 10 “The users flies above the opponent and drops over it in its lantern form while emiting a creepy laugh-like screech. This may cause burns"  -Breaking Swipe -Flame Charge  -Trick-or-Treat Kroelian APPLETUN Ghost/Dragon The Pumkin Pie Pokemon Evolves from Kroelian APPLIN when given PUMPKIN SPICE Abilities: Harvest/Unnerve - Well Baked Body (HA) Dex: "It evolves after consuming some special aromatic spices, this gives its body a strong aroma. Its body produces fluffly cream-like ectoplasm that pours out from its back. This gobs of cream attract small spirits that can often be heard soflty wailing or manifest by making faces appear on the cream. " Moveset: -Whipped Scream Ghost type / pwr 80 / acc 100 / pp 10 “The spirits inside the cream on its back produce a terrible wail that hurts anyone who hears it. Might cause the opponent to flinch" -Dragon Breath -Spicy Extract  -Trick-or-Treat Kroelian DIPPLIN Ghost/Poison The Caramelized Pumpkin Pokemon Evolves from Kroelian APPLIN when given CARAMEL Abilities: Harvest/Unnerve - Gooey (HA) Dex: "Its gourd is covered in a sticky caramel-like goo with a sickening sweet smell, it attracts bugs and small pokemon that when they touch it become stuck and unable to scape. The two snakes inside the gourd take turns to sleep, so no matter when, there is always a pair of eyes watching.” Moveset:  -Fudge Sluge Poison type / pwr 80 / acc 100 / pp 10 “The user shots a wave of sticky caramel-like sludge all over the field. Opponents speed and evasivness are lowered -Poison Tail -Poison Fang -Trick-or-Treat Gygantamax Kroealian FLAPPLE/APPLETUN Ghost/Dragon Abilities: Harvest/Unnerve - Well baked body / Flash Fire(HA) Dex: "It attract lost souls inside is giant lantern where they are used as fuel for the ragin fire within. A second head has come out of its mouth, it is said to be a spirit from beyond, coming through a portal inside of its belly.” Moveset:  -G-Max Pumpgatory Ghost type / pwr 130 / acc 100 / pp 10   “The user releases a wave of burning souls from its lantern. This move burns the opponents.” -G-Max Pumpscream Ghost type / pwr 130 / acc 100 / pp 10 “The user screams with the voices of a 1000 ghosts. This move paralyses opponents.”

I know we are already way past Halloween but I really wanted to finally finish this ones, made them originally over 2 years ago, but they are finally done Since I made the originals so long ago, DIPPLIN wasn't a thing yet, so I took this chance to make a regional version of them too, if they end up getting an evolution in the next DLC I will make a version of that too

APPLIN and FLAPPLE are based mainly on Jack-o-Lanterns

APPLETUN is based on Pumpkin Pie

DIPPLIN is based on Caramelized Pumpkin

The whole line, but specially Gigantamax FLAPPLE/APPLETUN are based on the Sandworms from the Beetlejuice movie

[nottesilhouette]

sometimes I think about palestine.

sometimes I think about oranges.

sometimes I think about oranges, the way my father lights up, golden in the sun with a smile he reserves for special occasions, like when his children succeed or when the orange trees bloom.

sometimes I think about oranges, the way its peel makes a home under my nails, sprays oil until the smell of it lingers in the air, sharp and strong and livid in its joy.

sometimes I think about oranges, the way my sister stands over the grass, juice-sticky down to her elbows, and reaches her hand out to me anyways; I take it, and her skin sticks to mine.

sometimes I think about oranges, the way my mother passes up her slice, then another, then another, building pyramids of orange triangles built to last for her children.

sometimes I think about oranges, the way the knife pushes tension against the peel like a needle on my skin, slips past and cuts and spills juice like blood over my fingertips; if they are stained then I will walk the rest of my days with hands dyed.

sometimes I think about oranges, the way seeds settle between the thin flesh of each wedge, tough and safe and full of life, a victory as it grows into what it has always been destined for, reaching for the skies even as it collapses a universe of life into a single tiny stone.

sometimes I think about oranges, the way they litter the earth under my feet, rotted from the wind and the rain but so full of kindness it spills out over the edges, ready to give every drop of their soul to the earth if it means another flower will bloom in the spring.

sometimes I think about oranges, the way my best friend split an orange in her hands and held it out to me across land we cannot cross, the way each bite settles heavy in my stomach but light in my heart.

sometimes I think about oranges, the way sweetness coats my lips and tongue and teeth for hours, clingy; the way acid drips gentle into the cuts in my skin and stings, as if to tell me, "I'm here, I'm here, I'm still alive."

sometimes I think about you.

[multifandomgirl08]

She's Not Acid Nor Alkaline [Mini Verstappen Series]

Dad!Max Verstappen x Mother!Reader (Established Relationship)

Summary: Max and Reader have a night away from the kids in Santorini for the 2027 FIA Prize Giving Gala.

Warning(s): Implied sexual content

A/N: Title taken from Alkaline by Sleep Token

Words: 1.1k

Previous Part → Next Part Mini Verstappen Masterlist

Another late-night Gala, another trophy to fill up space on the built-in shelves in the living room back home. You and Max were in Santorini for the FIA Prize Giving Gala. Max was playing on his laptop while you were in the bathroom getting ready. You had showered earlier and had just finished up your hair. You ran through your normal makeup routine, making your eyeshadow a little darker than normal, and would put on your lipstick right before you left.

When you walked out of the bathroom, Max was sitting at the table that looked onto the living room, his eyes glued to the screen, talking to the team Redline guys, trading jokes, and screaming when a match was lost.

“This is unfair,” Max said to no one in particular. It was a few moments before you heard back again. “Gianni, it was 1 and 3, and now…”

“No! Chris. Why?!” Max yelled. You stood there in a tan silk robe, laughing at Max. He got so passionate when it came to sports, even if he wasn’t the best at it. You lightly tapped your knuckles against the doorway before Max looked up from his screen to you. He gave you a good up-and-down look, and you thought you could see his cheeks blush a light shade of pink. He pulled off one side of his headphones.

“Bathrooms free.” You said. Max dropped his eyes back to the screen, and if you didn’t know better you would think that he was spacing out looking at the screen. You could hear a light commotion from his headphones.

“I’m not distracted, I can only stay on for one more.” Max quickly rattled off into the mic pulling his headphones back on fully again.

You quickly left the room after, going to pull out the dress that you were going to wear to the gala, and the shoes out of the dust bag that was in your luggage.

Just as you unzipped the dress from its hanger you could hear Max’s bare feet against the tile of the floor. Max came into the bedroom holding a bottle of sparkling water, placing it on the dresser in the room while you pulled the sash from your robe off.

“You distracted me from the game, Bennett was yelling at me,” Max said, still standing there in his sweats. He would need to get changed in a few or you would be late.

“Next time you talk to Luke tell him I’m sorry.” You moved to pull on the thigh highs you were going to wear under your dress. You pulled the right one on and then quickly followed with the left, being able to clasp them into place so they connected to the garter belt that you wore.

You could feel Max’s eyes on you again, watching you before you stood up and moved towards your dress.

“We lost to the computer, mijn leeuwin.” It didn’t sound like Max was all that upset about losing to the computer.

“I’m sorry, Maxy. I didn’t mean to make you lose.” You teased him with the dress in your hand, careful not to wrinkle the fabric. You peeked up at him through your lashes, noticing that his blue eyes looked like they were a shade darker than normal but that just had to be the lighting. You didn’t have time to… do what that look would normally suggest.

“Can you zip me up?” You asked. Max gave a half-hearted nod. You quickly stepped into the dress, pulling it up so Max could zip you in before feeling him pull you in closer by your hips, carefully spinning you around to zip up the dress all the way up past your strapless bra. His hands moved up a bit, his long fingers dancing over the fabric before you turned back to look up at him again.

You let your eyes drop to Max’s lips, seeing him press them together into a line and then letting his plump lips settle into a crooked grin, with a deeper pink covering his lips. You leaned into him just a bit more, letting your lips brush his, just as his hands grabbed your hips.

“Nu uh,” You said, pulling away knowing that Max would be able to take you out of the dress you had on in record time. “We’re going to be late.”

“Tease,” He said, standing there watching as you walked away to get your shoes.

You laughed picking them up from the floor. You heard Max let out an audible huff as he pulled his t-shirt and pants off, moving to pull out the black slacks you had sent to get ironed this morning.

“I’m a sure thing and you know it.” You placed your hands on your hips. Max dropped his slacks to the bed, pulling you into his arms, and made sure to kiss you hard. His hand cupped your face, running the fingers of his other hand over the zipper at the back of your dress, pulling you to the closest flat surface that he could find.

You were so glad you weren’t wearing lipstick right now.

It took another 30 minutes before Max helped fix the skirt of your dress back into the right place, was finally buttoning up his white dress shirt, and then slid his shoes on. You finished applying your lipstick standing in front of the mirror, Max had come up behind you holding his bowtie up. You always found it funny that he still insisted on wearing the one that was slightly oversized. You had placed the lipstick tube down, turning around to tie it around his neck.

“You look so good,” You said to him. Max truly didn’t know how good he looked in a suit, however he had yet to complain about how ridiculous he thinks he looks.

“I feel like a damn doll.” He said as you straightened the bowtie. There he went again.

“Well, I think you’d give Ken quite the run for his money.” You reached up to peck him on the lips. He gave you a small pout slightly furrowing his brows with his hands clutching at the fabric at the bodice of your dress. You moved to lock your arm around Max’s, lightly pulling him out of the bathroom with you.

He pulled his tux jacket off the back of the desk chair, and you got your shawl and bag off the top of the desk.

Max quickly lifted your hand up to his lips, kissing the band of your wedding ring, and then opened the door for you letting you walk out.

You would both be suffering through the Gala together until it was time for Max to get up on the stage and accept his trophy, again. You would be the one person in that room who was the most proud of Max, after Christian of course.

Mini Verstappen taglist: @karmabyfernando, @barcagirly, @sachaa-ff, @iamahallucinationnn, @glow-ish, @nonsensical-nonsence, @champomiel, @gothicwidowsworld, @lighttsoutlewis, @itsalwaysgay, @minkyungseokie, @mynameisangeloflife, @ursforever129, @aundercover, @bborra, @mindless-rock, @cixrosie, @barcelonaloverf1life, @taylorslovesswifties13, @konsti081, @mellowarcadefun, @smnthnclj, @brekkers-whore, @lpab, @thedecalcomania-blog, @xoscar03, @em-gvf01, @haikyuen, @shelbyteller , @geniusalpaca, @princessria127 , @mysticalnightenthusiast , @green-thots , @leah-also-known-as-creatoronwp , @ellelabelle

[beenbaanbuun]

fever w/ kang yeosang

words - an amount 🙂‍↕️

genre - hurt/comfort, sickfic

warnings - food avoidance because of illness, mentions of vomiting, reader is a little bratty but it’s the fever talking, yeosang is tired :((, not proof read

——————————————————————————

“you need to eat something, baby,” yeosang grumbles, arm folded crossly over his half-exposed pecs. you can’t help but focus on the way he’s standing there in nothing but a tank top and some shorts while you’re sat shivering in one of the many hoodies that you’ve stolen from his closet. you’ve been blaming the fever for how cold you seem to be at the minute, but you’ve always ran a little colder than your boyfriend. whenever he needs a sweater, you need a sweater, a coat and a scarf. you’re just a little nesh, you suppose.

your eyes flicker around the kitchen, studying everything that crosses your vision. perhaps you could have some toast, you think as your eyes land on the half-finished loaf of bread on the counter. then you think about how heavy your stomach feels, even when it’s empty, and you realise that perhaps toast isn’t the best option. you turn your nose up and move on to the bowl of fruit that yeosang had just refilled this morning. the scent of the bananas alone is enough to make you feel sick, and perhaps the citrus fruits aren’t the best choice when you’ve been struggling to keep food down.

“i’m only going to throw it up again,” you argue, trying your hardest to make your expression pathetic and sad. you commit to it, bringing out the sad arched brows and the big wet eyes. your bottom lip juts out just a little and for extra effect, you can’t help but wobble it a little. for a moment of two, you’re almost sure it’ll work. yeosang’s eyes soften and his arms go limp and fall back to his sides. you’re almost positive that he’ll let you off with another day of medicine and water, you can practically feel it on your tongue—

“you don’t know until you try.”

your shoulders sink upon hearing your words and your features drop, expressing only apathy and defeat. sure, the puppy dog eyes have never worked on him before, but there’s a first time for everything. you were certain that this would be that time.

“yeosang!” you whine, trying to grab his attention as he turns to face the countertop. he whines your name back in exactly the same nasally tone you used. “please! my throat already hurts from all the acid; i just want one day where i don’t throw up. it’ll make me feel less miserable.”

he ignores you, lifting his phone from the counter and typing a few words into safari. you wish you could see i what it says, but from your position, huddled up on a dining chair—which you would only move from if a hefty bribe was offered your way—you can’t even dream of looking around his oversized torso.

damn him for getting buff.

“google says banana’s are goo—”

“no,” you cut him off, head shaking wildly like a petulant child.

“baby~”

“they smell bad!”

with a sigh, yeosang goes back to looking.

“dry brown rice?” he offers meekly, already foreseeing the outcome of his offer. he doesn’t even have to turn around to see your face screwed up in displeasure; it’s already so clear in his mind. “nevermind, it was a stupid suggestion.”

you hum in agreement, the small sound making him crack a small smile. despite being incredibly difficult, yeosang can admit that you do have your sweet moments while you’re feverish. your mind may be muddled and your body doing everything in its power to make your life a living hell, but you still somehow manage to put a smile on his face.

if he wasn’t desperate to not catch whatever 18th century plague has taken up residence in your body, he’d spin around and kiss you. squish your cheeks together like he always does when he wants to annoy you a little, bring your face up to his, and just kiss you. it’s almost impossible not to when he’s been missing out on the feeling of your lips on his for the past few days, but when he hears the sound of your stomach churning and a pained groan leave your lips, he remembers exactly why he’s doing this to himself.

“how about broth?” he suggests, putting his mind back on the task at hand, “you like broth, baby.”

he’s right, you do like broth. or at least you like it when you’re not feeling like satan himself has put his little tapdancing shoes on specifically to do a jig atop your stomach. instinctively you wrap an arm around your abdomen which after a short period of docility, has began to cramp again. that broth really doesn’t sound appealing right now…

“yeosang…” you say, dejected and miserable. he sighs, understanding exactly what you mean by saying his name in that tone of voice; it’s a disheartened no from you.

and while it pains him to be forceful with you—or anyone for that matter—he can’t just sit and watch you waste away over a poorly stomach. he has to put his foot down for once.

“baby, you need to eat,” he sighs and rubs a hand over his face. he hates being so bossy with you, almost as much as he hears the weary sound pass from your lips just after his soft command. “just a small bowl, okay? just for me; your yeosang?”

and while it’s an obvious guilt trip, a little bribe to make you feel a little bad about refusing to eat, you can’t help but fall for it. you sigh, wrapping your arms around your knees so you can pick at your fingers guiltily. it’s not like you can help being sick, but maybe you have been a little dramatic about the whole refusing to eat thing. sure, your stomach churns at even the thought of food, but yeosang is right; if you don’t try, you won’t know. the idea of throwing up again frightens you, but broth is a liquid; it’ll be easy to come back up.

you resign with a minuscule hum, so quiet it’s almost silent.

“fine,” yeosang hardly believes the word when you say it with so much resignation, “one small bowl of broth…”

[minkdelovely]

love and power

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

prelude

“ask for forgiveness,

never permission.”

Alastor x Fem!Reader ; MDNI 18+ ; [y/n] used sparingly ; Alias in Hell is Sylvie

tags: acid rain wound, cannibals living their best lives in cannibal town, slow burn eventual: smut, violence, toxic themes

word count: 1.7k

hello world! i currently have alastor brain rot and felt compelled to jump back into writing fan fiction. i’m a little rusty and i’m not sure how many parts there will be; i won’t deny that this is purely self-indulgent but i hope you enjoy all the same :)

prelude ; chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three ; chapter four ; chapter five ; chapter six ; chapter seven ; chapter eight ; chapter nine ; chapter ten: part one ; chapter ten: part two

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Hell wasn’t what you had expected it to be. It was worse.

Thoughts of your grandmother rose to your mind, despite how desperately you tried to push them down. “Hell is the absence of God,” she would always say after one of her famous rants. A warning you perhaps would have heeded, had it been coming from a place of love instead of moral superiority. 

You had seen her on the streets of Hell a few times now, always sure to avoid catching her attention. The warm pleasure that bloomed in your chest was too precious to give up, despite knowing how good it would feel to rub her fate in her face. A lot of good all those Sunday mornings had done her, haughty bitch! You wondered how often your grandmother laid awake at night, desperate to know how she had ended up here. A wicked grin spread across your lips, revealing milky-pink fangs.

It was hard not to imagine the look your father would have given you if you could tell him she was here. He would definitely have scolded you, but you knew a small part of him would be amused. If calling her a bad grandmother was putting it lightly, she was an even worse mother-in-law. Hopefully you would never get the chance to tell him; Mother was waiting for him in Heaven, after all. And things should be much easier for him now, all things considered. Leaving him alone hadn’t been part of the plan, so all you could do was tell yourself that it had been worth it. Someday you would believe it.

Grandmother was right though, loathe as you were to admit it, and the feeling of loss burned through you every morning when you awoke. Every night, you dreamed of rain; the sound of it, the smell of it, the feeling of it coming down on you in the middle of the family garden. Oh, how you missed the garden. The dark, wet dirt. Blue puffs of hydrangea against stark-white azaleas, your mother’s coveted yellow roses. The Spanish Moss hanging like phantom sails off the branches of the huge oak tree in the corner, where your father had placed a bench and made a small pond. You would sit under that tree for hours lost in a book, listening to the sounds of the garden.

The fire and brimstone you could endure. It was the way everything else was twisted here that was grueling. As if feeling your lament, a drop of acid rain hit your window, quickly morphing into a full-blown storm. A frustrated growl erupted from you and you rolled onto your stomach, burying your head under your pillow and said a silent prayer to whatever force would grant mercy on your roof. You couldn’t afford to get it fixed again. The prayer had been answered just a moment after the rain stopped, when a drop of it fell from the ceiling and onto your pale, unsuspecting calf, your mattress absorbing the scream of pain that tore through your chest.

As the acid made its way through your leg, and eventually your mattress, all you could do was sob. Eternity… This was eternity. 

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

If this morning had been good, the day could only now be considered grand.

There was really nothing quite like a post-rain stroll through Cannibal Town, witnessing the misfortune of partially-dissolved sinners who had been caught in the deluge being consumed on the streets by the lively, ever-hungry inhabitants. Alastor would never tire of this jovial bunch that called this part of the Pentagram home, reveling in the sound of screams, the crunching of bone, the almost-lewd and animalistic grunts of feasting.

Were Rosie not expecting him for tea, he might have allowed himself to join in on the fun. Alas, his only solace was that Rosie never served anything less than superb, being the excellent hostess that she is.

He was quite intrigued by her invitation to join her alone, which meant that this likely wasn’t anything to do with donating a small army of cannibals to aid in the fight against the Angels. Indeed, Charlie’s presence would be required once it was time to cash that favor in.

Not that he didn’t enjoy a casual visit (as casual a visit between Overlords could be), he couldn’t help but wonder. Thinking a few steps ahead was a must if one was going to thrive in Hell, and well, it was no secret that Alastor was doing a pretty fine job at that, all things considered. He began to whistle, earning a few gory smiles from cannibals who stopped mid-meal to enjoy the tune. A true honor.

Rosie opened the door for him before he even had the chance to knock, the “Closed for Rain” sign clattering against the glass as she cooed. “Alastorrr! Come in, come in, before it starts raining again.”

As if on queue, a roll of thunder tore through the clouds, drawing a cheer from the denizens of Cannibal Town in anticipation for round two. 

“Rosie, my dear, always an honor and a privilege to be deemed worthy of your company,” Alastor said, bowing his head as Rosie feigned a blush, leading him to the parlor where they would be taking their tea.

The usual pleasantries were exchanged between sips of tea, coffee, and candied organs, which Alastor forced himself to consume through sheer courtesy. It was all part of the art of visiting, one he quite enjoyed, and he would never shame his mother’s memory with bad manners. They had just finished a plate of finger sandwiches when Rosie leaned in slightly, the conspiring grin on her face letting him know that it was, at last, time for business.

“You’re always so good to indulge me, Alastor. It doesn’t go unnoticed,” she said, grinning as she motioned to a maid to come grab their empty plates. “I’m sure you’ve been dying to know why I asked you over here this afternoon.”

“Oh, Rosie, it’s purely selfish! You know how hard it is to find good company in this godforsaken place. I’m more than grateful to receive your hospitality,” he said with a trademark smile and flick of the wrist, leaning back in his chair as the maid cleared the table.

She had just turned to leave with their plates when the smile on his face nearly faltered. Was that… almond he smelled? It had been so long, but he was fairly certain it was. There was an underlying trace of blood, though that was common enough around here. But almond? It was too pleasant for Hell.

Rosie’s eyes darkened to match her grin, not missing the twitch of Alastor’s mouth. She knew he’d have been able to smell it. It seemed that so far only Hellborn could pick it up, but what would be the fun in letting him know that? 

“Divine, isn’t she? A walking pastry, but not much of a talker. I like to bring her around whenever a room needs some pizzazz! She would’ve been eaten alive had I not taken her in,” Rosie whispered cheekily, as the maid returned with a fresh kettle and a gelatin mold for dessert. Rosie, not missing a beat once the tray had been set down, turned to her with a smile. “Thank you dear, you can leave now. I’ll ring the bell if we need anything else.”

The maid gave a silent curtsy and left the room as instructed, her sweet scent clinging to the air. Since coming to Hell, he took pleasure in the taste of bloody iron, the bite of black coffee. But in life… Memories of marzipan and frangipane tarts swam in his mind. And hadn’t Mother used almonds in her cherry pie crust? It took Alastor all he had not to drool, unsettled by the sudden rush of saliva in his mouth. Ages had passed since he last thought of such sweet things. He cleared his throat with as much grace as he could muster. Rosie only grinned.

“Well, she’s certainly new, so I suppose it’s not surprising she doesn’t talk much. It’s quite easy to tell when a sinner is… adjusting. So morose! You’re very gracious to have taken her on.” Alastor took a sip of coffee, desperate to get that almond smell out of his nostrils. 

“We both seem to be rather gracious these days, don’t you think?”

And there it was.

Rosie sat back in her chair and crossed her legs as she continued. “I was actually wondering if perhaps she might fare better in that hotel you’re running. Don’t get me wrong, she smells incredible, but fuck does she suck the air out of a room once the novelty wears off. She was scaring away clients, and you know it’s pretty bad if cannibals are uneasy around you for Christ’s sake, which is why I had her start working back here, but…”

Alastor had to resist gripping his knee, putting all his effort into maintaining a pleasant face. He had expected to be asked for a favor of sorts, but never did he imagine that Rosie wanted him to take on an employee. She’s had sinners sign contracts for little less than a new parasol, let alone a job. There was something more to this.

And beyond being an air freshener, what good was she for, really? He could deal with quiet, but to have to put up with yet another sulky face! What he had done to deserve it, he didn’t know.

But he knew there wasn’t really a choice other than to take the poor creature into his charge. Rosie was an alley he deeply cherished, and he was already in her debt for the help she had provided just weeks ago. This was no doubt the first part of paying that debt back, a sign of goodwill. Not every deal was beneficial from the start; still, Alastor wouldn’t outright accept the offer. That was part of the fun.

“Well we already have a maid,” Alastor said gently, “but after the recent renovation, we are anticipating more sinners to check in. Not that I doubt Niffty’s abilities, but I suppose she could do with some help when business picks up. How long were you thinking of lending her to our cause?”

Rosie waved her hand. “Lend? Oh, honey, if you’re willing to take her, she’s yours. I’ve got plenty of helping hands, but it does me no good to have such a wet blanket hanging around. There’s just the matter of…,” Rosie trailed off as she reached into her purse, retrieving what Alastor already knew she had been grabbing for, “…her contract.”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧