iifishizzleii

[iifishizzleii]

bro. bro.

i was drawing dadfoot stuff and it was fun fun funny and then i got emotional

[iifishizzleii]

Stucky again ✨

[iifishizzleii]

holiday spirit

warnings: hurt/comfort.

part of the [rotten work] series.

takes place before the meeting with priceghost.

Simon would hate your chrismas tree.

that is the one singular thought that takes root and needles through your head once it’s been thoroughly decorated.

never mind that Johnny is absolutely gleeful as he stands back to look at the final product while Kyle is beside him, equally as proud of the joint effort– you’re too stunned to comprehend the fact that they’re still even here.

here. as in your city.

here. as in your apartment.

not theirs. not in different countries with either the Garrick family or the MacTavish clan.

here. with you.

it’s... jarring. your stomach has been in knots all day ever since they dropped in, each with a bag of their own clothes and boxes wrapped with colourful paper and ribbon. you had stared at them with your mouth parted at the door, pure shock paralysing every fibre of your being before they gently barged in. after that, they set up camp in your little home.

this had been after Kyle’s return, then Johnny’s. four days. then they were gone for two days. for those two days when you were left alone, you figured they’d gone to their families for the rest of the holidays.

and you were fine with it. no matter how cold you felt when you were left with nothing but their absence, you were fine with it. you had expected it.

so for them to–

“Soap, i swear to god if you burn the gingerbread men again, i’m going to kill you.”

–still be here...

“alright, alright! i’m going.” as Johnny walks by you, he leans in with a grin to whisper, “so grumpy.”

he delivers a quick peck to your cheek that draws a flinch. if he noticed it, he doesn’t say. just storms to the kitchen to get the cookies out of the oven.

they both flitter around you the entire day. talking over you, around you. they’ve noticed how quiet you are by now. they must have. they just haven’t said anything about it. yet.

and it gnaws at you. even more than the tree.

even more than the memory of Simon glaring at you for suggesting decorating one. even more than the memory of John wrinkling his nose at the small gift box you held out for him before he told you to take it back to the store, that he had no use for it.

Simon and John didn’t like christmas. not that you did all that much, this month was almost always never a good time for you either but you tried to make it better, you tried to celebrate it with them in hopes of bringing you closer to them. but they always shot you down every year.

you figured it has something to do with Simon’s childhood, however little you knew of it. or John’s natural aversion to the holiday season in general.

or it was just you.

maybe. maybe it was just you.

it makes you sick to think about.

that you spent so long trying to mould yourself to their liking, to be cheerful, to bring gifts to be anything but yourself so they could finally accept you and you didn’t even make a dent in their resolve.

yet with Johnny and Kyle, you hadn’t lifted a finger. you never uttered a word about a tree to Johnny, or showed a hint of interest in looking at holiday playlists with Kyle.

you hadn’t even dared to ask what either of them wanted for gifts and even though you had tucked away the boxes you got for them months ago, you certainly hadn’t mustered the courage to even tell them that you have them tucked away under your bed.

you were determined to keep things normal and carry on as any day of the year and were going to do so for the very brief time you thought you had with them in december but they took a sledgehammer to those plans from the second you opened the door to them and let them in.

it hurts. that you’ve been yourself the entire time with Johnny and Kyle and they’re here while you spent your entire life being someone else for everyone else and they’re not here.

it hurts. that you can’t even see what it is Johnny and Kyle see in you that others couldn’t see. because there’s nothing special about you. nothing worth being here for, nothing staying here for.

you’re just... you.

you’re just you and it hurts. it hurts, it hurts, it hurts—

there’s a hand on your shoulder. you inhale deeply and look up, belatedly ad see Kyle’s blurry figure. your eyes felt so hot when you blinked several times just to get a clear view of him.

concern laced his features. it paints a divot between his brows, expression twisted and devoid of the mirth that had been there the entire day. Johnny’s still by the counter but you catch him slowly shuffling around it to come closer to you with the same expression.

oh, god, now you feel worse.

they’d gone to such great lengths to make this such a happy occasion and you’ve just ruined it by drowning in your own tears in front of a heavily decorated tree.

“love, what’s wrong?” the softness of of his voice damn near breaks you where you stand.

Johnny’s comes shortly after. “bonnie?”

“i’m–” the lie struggles to make it past your lips. “fine.”

they don’t believe you.

you don’t care to reinforce your lie as you push past Kyle and head to your room, where you lock yourself in so you can hyperventilate in peace.

the texts mocks you.

both from your parents. sent in consecutively. just a simple "happy holidays" from both of them as if you didn’t just see them laughing heartily with your siblings on your cousins’ facebook and instagram posts five minutes ago.

none of them called and none of them answered your calls but it’s better than last year, you think. back then, they didn’t even think of you until after new year so it’s an improvement. one that you don’t even know if it’s worth acknowledging.

being second best to your own family isn’t anything new to you. it’s taken some getting used to. standing on the outside looking in does sting but... yeah, it’s nothing new.

what is new is being at the forefront of someone’s mind.

Johnny has worked so hard on the cookies and made sure his second attempt didn’t burn them to a crisp. he’s been determined to put his baking skills to the test as of late and has been refusing any sort of help. he’s also been taking pictures and capturing every precious memory he can find, which is amongst the many things he’s been doing to bring the holiday cheer. and Kyle has been actively making sure to plan all the other activities you three will be doing outside the house like ice skating, going shopping, knitting ugly sweaters for all of you to wear and all that.

through all this, you’ve been struggling to come to terms with having them around. you’ve fluctuated from self deprecating thoughts to coming to terms with the fact that you were happy that they’re here with you. it’s just that you were in shock to notice the latter until an hour after locking yourself away.

now you’ve ruined it because you were too stuck in your own head, dwelling on being second best while you were the best to Kyle and Johnny. two of the most wonderful people who’ve been right here the entire time to show you that you are just as important to them as they are to each other.

when you finally unlock the door, Johnny was already standing on the other side.

“bonnie lass.” he breathed out, his knitted sweater moving with his broad muscles. he looked so cosy, you wanted to sink into him and cling to his bones until you became part of them.

his relief upon seeing you again thawed the ice that had been chipping at your veins. you regret making them worry. you should’ve been better to them from the start.

“i– hey. need anything?” your voice comes out scratchy and gives you away. shame blooms all over your face as his eyes search and find nothing but puffy cheeks and swollen red eyes.

no doubt he and Kyle heard you sniffling earlier.

“ye disappeared fer a while here...” he starts but trails off to let you continue.

yet. what could you say?

how do you apologize for being so awful and putting such a damper on their happiness when they went through the trouble of bringing it all the way to you? you don’t exactly know how to act when you are the center of attention, so you wouldn’t know where to begin. besides, well–

ducking your head and quietly muttering– “sorry.”

hoping that what comes after isn’t the shadow of your own failures. like watching yourself fall over a waterfall. the drop isn’t painless. it never is.

Johnny wants to say something. he does. it’s in his nature to open his big mouth and articulate his big thoughts. it’s in his nature, with a big heart like his, to burn as bright as the sun that scorches you.

yet he stays quiet. his silence gives way for your thoughts to spill out all over him without you meaning to.

“sorry, i just– i wasn’t–” your head ducks away as the words catch in your throat in a heavy lump. you can’t bear the distraught expression on his face.

–expecting all this.

being doted on. fussed over. having anybody bring gifts for you and bake for you and want to watch stuff with you around this time. you weren’t expecting anybody to think of you around this time.

Christ, you were going to cry all over again.

“i thought you’d be in Scotland.” it all unfolds. the tears, your resolve, a sniffle cuts through the air, startling him just before the sob follows. “i–i thought Kyle–”

the shadow of a man behind Johnny makes itself known. Kyle looked so heartbroken that it just made you want to stop talking altogether.

“sorry.” it’s pitiful the way you wipe the tears with the back of your hand and try to sniffle back your sorrows in front of them. “i’m sorry. i shouldn’t–”

Johnny can’t stand it anymore. he steps forward and wraps you in his arms and that’s all it takes for you to break all over again and this time, no amount of shame could stop you from bursting into tears while Kyle comes over to embrace you.

for every moment you’ve spent looking at the broken shards of your own heart and wishing you didn’t have one, they’ve spent twice as much putting each piece back together and pilling up the empty spaces with their own warmth.

“let it out, baby.” Kyle’s voice melted into your neck while your bdy wracked with cries.

Johnny’s hand stroked your hair and added, “it’s okay. it’s okay, bonnie. cry as much as ye like.”

they spent the entire night consoling you. they held you like that for however long you needed them to. and you think you were going to need them for a lot longer than one more night.

in the end, though, you realize that you had let your own anguish overshadow just how much you truly enjoyed having them with you. but they didn’t seem to mind that it took you this long to come to that conclusion.

you blinked through puffy eyes while trying to eat, as per their insistence. the cookies Johnny baked weren’t half bad this time. Kyle placed a warm glass of milk to go with them.

neither one of them pushed for you to explain yourself. you were thankful that they didn’t. you think they noticed that you’d wrung yourself too raw to tell them anything that made sense.

“i’m really happy that you’re both here.” you spoke through a groggy tone after swallowing the bite.

“we know.” Kyle grinned. “aren’t we just the best boyfriends ever—”

shoving one of Johnny’s cookies in his mouth doesn’t stop him from sassing you the whole night after. he was just happy to put a smile on your face.

Johnny added every bit of it to his collection of polaroids to keep.

gift giving threatens to make you break out into hives sometimes.

“i was going to give these when you both came back but i figure now’s a good time as any.”

you are so glad you had the forethought to get something for each of them because you think you would have cried even more for not getting them anything when they bought something for you.

Johnny and Kyle glanced at each other as you held out your gifts to them. then they were all grins as they accepted the neatly wrapped boxes.

“aww, baby.” you smiled nervously as you watched each one open them. “you didn’t have to!”

Kyle unwrapped his present, carefully making sure not to ruin whatever was inside. Johnny didn’t seem to care about the wrapping as he tore through it.

one book set for Kyle. you’ve heard him rant about this author far too any times not to get something for him. pencils and a new sketchbook for Johnny. his current one’s running out so you thought you’d do him the honour of finding him a new leather-bound one to add to his collection.

“steaming jesus, bonnie, these are hard tae find!” Johnny held up the pack of pencils to study them in awe.

Kyle was so giddy about the books that he didn’t stop kissing your face until you had to physically push him off of you before his boyfriend did the exact same thing. both of them slobbered all over you like the happiest dogs you’ve ever seen and it eased any fears you had about them possibly not liking your gifts.

“thank you! thank you! thank you—” they both said through kissing you while you squealed and tried to shove them off. this time, you were pushed to the floor and had to take it. your lungs were filled with nothing but happiness as you giggled through it all.

there were no more tears after that. they made sure of it.

you grew to appreciate the christmas tree and all its splendor. the holiday was unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before, with all its magic and wonder and you’ll remember that feeling for the rest of your life.

haven’t written anything much in a while so consider this an apology. also i feel like my writing is so different with this and not quite satisfying because i haven't written in so long but i'm trying to push past that.

[rotten work]

banners by @saradika and @vase-of-lilies

offer a coin to the picklejar

do not like, comment, reblog or follow— in fact, do not interact with this blog if you're a minor or if you have no age in your bio. read the [ground rules]. you have no excuses if you get blocked.

[iifishizzleii]

Slashers reacting to you killing someone

including: hannibal, will, billy, stu, valak, thomas, freddy, daniel, patrick, art.

Hannibal Lecter:

he usually wouldn’t care when he sees someone being killed right infront of him. but since it’s you, he does care a small bit.

he doesn’t say a word at first, just eyeing the dead corpse in front of you. he then looks at you. his eyes search yours for a bit.

“i see you’ve finally revealed yourself.”

Will Graham:

he’s stunned to be honest. he may even freak out a tiny bit. he would only freak out because it’s you.

“who and why?” was the first thing you hear him say. he helps you clean up the mess and then you two never talk about it again.

he secretly loves it.

Billy Loomis:

is turned on by it. thinks that it’s now time for you to join him in his evil plans as ghostface.

“god you’re so beautiful covered in blood.”

cleans up the mess only to make more of a mess later.

Stu Macher:

“oh that’s so sexy.”

he is in love with it. he doesn’t care who it is or anything he just loves that you’re like him.

he starts to kiss you because of it.

Valak:

he already knew before you did that you killed them on purpose.

he laughs and thinks it’s funny how his little viper has finally lost control.

“my little viper all grown up now.”

Thomas Hewitt:

is this most flipped out of all. he’s scared for your safety as it is.

he keeps you inside for about a week in fear you don’t know what you’re doing and you’ll get caught.

you eventually reassure him.

Freddy Krueger:

“that’s hot babe!!”

he gets so damn horny when he finds out it’s ridiculous. you’re gonna get tossed and turned fucking with him.

“my little princess/prince did such a good job.”

Daniel Robitaille:

he hugs you and helps clean up afterwards.

“angel, are you okay?” he always has to check on you after something happens.

you then talk to him about what happened while cuddling together.

Patrick Bateman:

this motherfucker only cares about his floor getting ruined.

“OMG MY FLOOR TILE.!! YOU STUPID BITCH!!”

yep. that’s patrick for ya.

Art the Clown:

he don’t give a flying frog fuck. he’s just happy to see guts and blood.

does he help you clean up? no.

he doesn’t help you bury the body either.

[iifishizzleii]

MY SHAYLAAA 😞😞😫

december night.

early access + nsfw on patreon

[iifishizzleii]

[iifishizzleii]

i wish i had the privilege to ignore the undertones (even if not purposely placed) of misogyny in 99% of cod fics to enjoy them 😞

[iifishizzleii]

in the trenches rn as a gwen/miles shipper 🙂‍↕️

[iifishizzleii]

obsessing over older!reader and ghost.

older reader taking care of simon ‘ghost’ riley, spoiling him rotten with the wealth they’ve accumulated over the years of a successful career.

simon ‘ghost’ riley who’s treated like a spoiled cat after retirement by you, fed only the most delicious, healthiest foods, and clothed in only the most comfortable outfits. if there’s a certain brand he prefers in shirts/pants/boxers, you buy it for him in bulk. if he only likes a specific tea, you make sure there’s always at least two boxes of it in the cabinet.

he’s uncomfortable at first, so unused to being the one NOT in control, hyper aware of the chances that this could be a ploy at getting information on the 141. who knows why you choose to be with a fuck up like him— with your money, looks, and genuinely loving personality, you could bag anyone you want. it almost feels like a sick joke and he’s waiting for the punchline to hit him. but, you’re patient and you’re kind. you’re firm in your stance that you won’t leave when he tries to self-sabotage your relationship, but you wait for his boundaries to lower instead of barreling straight through them.

and then you become his safe space. his sanctuary. you’re the voice that quells his demons, the touch that guides him through black waters. you’re a tree bearing fruits and fresh air in a world where he’s only ever known grey skies and smoky fogs. you don’t calm him like a parent guides a timid child; you calm him like a bear settling in for hibernation after a scorching summer and perilous fall.

you’re a natural provider, ghost a protector, so what you give him in comfort he returns in safety. you take him out on dates, dress him up like your prettiest doll in outfits that range from form fitted suits and casual jeans and a henley. and in turn, he becomes your (rather delectable, if you say so yourself) shadow, a hand on your lower back, the other on your waist. he gauges the crowd, switching between cold stares and gentle hums of acknowledgment as you coo soft compliments in his ear and kiss little praises to his scarred throat. what used to be a common occurrence of desperate women and stubborn men become a rarity with ghost by your side.

he’s like a dragon protecting its hoard when you become the most precious thing in his life. and he hates himself for spending so long denying you, for making you wait nearly months to hold his hand, and a year to kiss his cheek. but, you tell him it’s okay with an amused gleam in your eyes and a soft smile.

and for the first time in years, he trusts wholeheartedly what he’s told.

[iifishizzleii]

To all my US followers - I’m incredibly sorry about the state of the election. I hope you know I’ll always do my best to make this space safe for all of you, and I promise to give each of these characters we’ve formed a community over the happy ending they deserve.

I’ll be doing some research and adding a lot more trans support, mutual aid and social justice advocate groups to my monthly donation list. Currently, I donate to the ACLU, Trans Lifeline and H.O.P.E. Inc but if you’d like to recommend or vouch for some groups and their effectiveness, please feel free. And remember, you’ll always have someone in your corner, all the way across the sea.

So much love,

Gira

[iifishizzleii]

Día De Muertos is supposed to be a celebration. When the dead return home, the day is filled with festivals, family, home-cooked food, and the bright smell of marigolds.

But Miguel O’Hara has no family, is too miserable to leave the apartment, and all the marigolds have gone extinct.

They’ve been extinct since 2095, actually. How hadn’t he known? That should've been something he'd figured out sooner, right? But no, he finds out a week before the day itself while he’s trying to make Gabriella’s ofrenda.

What does his beloved baby girl, who he would’ve given the world a thousand times over, get instead? Paper flowers.

Paper flowers instead of real ones, possessions that represented her instead of properly being hers, a half-done altar that was done in a manic, grief-fueled haze.

It’s paltry. Miguel knows it is. But it’s all he can give, and by God, he hates it. He tried to make it up in home-made pan de muerto and fresh fruit and her favorite dinners, in the carefully arranged papel picado garlands, in finding actual copal to burn… but it’s not enough. It could never be enough.

It’s been a long time since he’d last made an ofrenda. He fell out of the tradition sometime when he was in college, when he was young and unburdened and selfish and so, so stupid, and had convinced himself he had much more important things to do with his time than honor traditions.

Sometimes, he wants to reach out to that little twerp and beat him senseless.

No, he wants to laugh, or scream, or pull his hair out. It’s a sick joke; a cruel jab at his expense, that he only started giving a shit about his own cultural holidays again after Gabi died, when he could no longer share the homemade food with her, help her learn about the significance.

It feels so wrong, being unable to share this with his daughter. Having the altar be dedicated to her, instead of helping him set it up; teaching her how to make the banners and arrange flowers and bake bread, entertaining whatever thousands of questions she’d have about the holiday and her great-great-whoever’s they’d be celebrating. What would she have thought of the chicken and chile rellenos? Of the Calaveritas? The toys he left out?

Hijo de puta. A parent isn’t supposed to outlive their child.

It’s a pathetic altar too, as far as he’s concerned. Miguel hadn't done this in so long that he'd nearly forgotten how to; having to go on the internet just to remember the guidelines. Even then, there were so many conflicting answers that it left him confused and flying blind the whole damn time.

Did he do enough as a father to honor her? Did the ofrenda do her memory justice? Did he do anything right? Is there enough salt to purify her body? Enough water and food to provide for her long journey? Was the copal actually supposed to be incense, or did it have a different meaning? Are the purple candles placed correctly? Would the tissue paper marigolds, devoid of scent and life, guide her safely back home?

These worries swarm like vultures to a carcass, picking at and tormenting him to the point where he can barely stand to look at the stupid, thrown-together thing any longer. He should know how to do this— today is much more than just a holiday; Día de Muerto and all of its rich traditions should be a part of who he is, steeped in his identity, his culture. It should be more familiar than breathing.

But now it just makes him ache, seeing how he couldn’t even properly commemorate his own little girl.

In a brief moment of clarity, Miguel realizes he really just should’ve just taken more time to research and plan it out better. If only it weren’t for the constant high-stakes responsibilities, the needs of far too many all on his shoulders, the people, people, people.

Not like he didn’t try; Halloween and all day yesterday, Miguel had been rushing uncharacteristically through work, trying to get caught up enough to take time off. But of course, God had it out for him and practically half the damn Society wanted to barge into his office to badger him about something. He ended up with a shock-ton of random gifts and baked goods on his desk that he’d unceremoniously pawned off to Peter B. (save for a bottle of Don Julio, but the other man didn’t need to know that), enough sanguine well-wishes to last him a lifetime, and high blood pressure.

And the time and effort he scraped up still wasn’t enough to get it done right. It could never be good enough. He could never be good enough.

Miguel can’t stop second-guessing himself, can’t stop that all too familiar spiral of guilt and self-loathing that rots away at his insides like necrosis. He’s a scientist and an engineer, for shocksake— logic and reason should override his emotions, should stop them from clouding him at all. But all he can do is sit there, staring at the sorry excuse for an ofrenda with a lump in his throat and a throbbing headache that won’t go away.

Today couldn’t have gone any worse.

His joints pop viciously as gets up from the floor just to prove him wrong. Cristo en el cielo.

The only bright side to this whole thing is that… well, no one is here. No one to see his embarrassment, or his failure; no one to question him, or ask him how he’s feeling, or try to give a hug, or any more goddamn food. It’s just him and his ever-spiraling thoughts and the grief that threatens to consume him whole.

Carefully, with a trembling hand, he lights the incense, then the candles, the golden glow dancing around his otherwise dark apartment. It… almost makes it look better. Less like a broken down man’s sorry attempt at repentance and more like a proper ofrenda.

Almost.

Día De Muertos is supposed to be a celebration, filled with festivals, family, home-cooked food, and the bright smell of marigolds.

But Miguel O’Hara has no family, is too miserable to leave the apartment, and all the marigolds have gone extinct.

[iifishizzleii]

Decided to redraw the last page of my sketchbook 19 for the last page of sketchbook 22. So here have my ghost with turned wherewolf soap.

The original ↓

[iifishizzleii]

💔 Desperate Plea: Your Donation Could Save My Family from Gaza’s War 🙏😢

Dear friends,

My name is Waleed Alanqar, I come to you today with a heart shattered by fear and despair 💔. My family and I are trapped in Gaza, where the war has left us in a constant state of terror. Every day we hear the sounds of destruction and see the devastation that surrounds us. We are not safe. The lives of my children, my loved ones, and myself are in immediate danger 😢.

We have no choice but to flee. I have found a chance to escape through the Rafah Border Crossing, but without the necessary funds, this escape will be impossible. The cost of this journey is far beyond anything I can afford, and I am running out of time.

I am begging for your help 🙏. Please, I urge you to consider donating to my GoFundMe campaign. Any amount—no matter how small—can be the difference between life and death for us 💔. Every dollar brings us one step closer to safety, away from the horrors we face every single day.

The situation is urgent. We cannot wait. The bombs are falling, the suffering is unbearable, and I am terrified that we will not survive this nightmare unless we get out soon 😔. Your generosity can save lives, and we need your support right now.

Please, if you can, donate. If you cannot donate, sharing this message could be the action that brings help to us. But I am pleading with you—we need your help today. Tomorrow might be too late 💔.

Thank you for reading, for caring, and for acting in this moment of desperation.

Vetted by @gazavetters , my number verified on the list is ( #107 )

With all my hope,

Waleed Family 🙏💔

https://gofund.me/e85369a1

!!! 🍉

[iifishizzleii]

Hello my friends, I am hamdi Ayyad from Gaza talelhawa I have sought refuge with you because of the devastating war that caused me to lose my home and our displacement from one place to another and I lost my children's future and there is a severe shortage of basic materials,I hope that you will stand by us whether by donating if possible or participating widely,Please help me 🙏🏼 🇵🇸 🍉

!!!

[iifishizzleii]

Hi, I hope you're doing well and I am sorry in advance if I sent you this message before. We are very close to the goal and I really need your help. I'm writing to you with a heavy heart and an urgent request for help. My family is in a very danger situation due to the ongoing war, and I've launched a GoFundMe campaign to save them. Could you please rebblog my campaign post from my profile?🙏 Feel free to share it in any other social media platform if you would like. Our campaign has been verified ⭐️ by operation olive branch, and is entry number 26 on their spreadsheet. Also with ⭐️ Project watermelon,line 249/(212) on their spreadsheet. From the bottom of my heart I want to thank you in advance for all of your support and kindness.

!!

[iifishizzleii]

full version on twitter