#ambiguous ending

[hanafubukki]

Death.

That’s what would end this dream.

But it wasn’t fair, this was supposed to be a happy dream was it not?

But someone needed to die in order for Lilia to wake up.

In order for them to stop Malleus.

It would be cruel to have Mallenoa die in front of Lilia, in a dream that was supposed to end happily.

It would be too much if any of you were to cause such a demise.

But any other answer would be just as cruel.

The devoted son? No, that would break Lilia.

The overly loyal prodigee? No, that would add trauma and guilt for Lilia and might affect his relationship with Baul.

Grim had little to no ties with Lilia, his death would not cause him to wake up nor would you allow any harm to come to him.

…so that left only one answer.

Yours.

It would have to be the shock from your death that would awaken everyone from this dream.

Your hands shook.

Will this work?

And if it didn’t, what would happen to you? To the others? To Malleus?

As you stare at Mallenoa and the victorious fae army celebrating their win against the Knight of Dawn.

You had made a choice.

You breathed.

Deep breathes in.

Deep breaths out.

You swiftly turned.

I’m so sorry.

You knew your choice would bring pain to a number of people. Lilia and Malleus, who would lose a sister and mother respectively. They would also loose you if anything went wrong in this dream and reality.

Sebek, Silver, and Grim would feel devastated at not being able to stop you.

But this was the only way and the one least painful.

…you hoped.

You had never confessed your feelings to Lilia. You didn’t have the chance to, especially after he announced his departure.

And you couldn’t be selfish and weigh him down with your feelings.

But you hoped he cared enough about you that it would work. That the fleeing glances from General Lilia was an indicator of his feelings for you.

You allowed your self to be selfish just this once. You hoped that you would be enough to wake him up because anything else would be too painful.

If not, then at least it was just your death and the least painful of the four.

If this doesn’t work, I can at least keep Malleus company…despite his inky self and how awkward it might be.

By now, you can hear voices questioning what you were doing. You can hear the alarms in their voices as you near the edge of a cliff without any falter in your steps.

You turn around, there’s barely any space left between you and the air that would welcome you.

The others are in varying degrees of panic.

General Lilia had noticed the commotion by now, his eyes widening as he took in your form.

Good, he would be too far to get to you in time.

You smiled at them.

It will be alright.

…you fell back.

…only to wake up gasping back in Diasomnia’s lounge.

With several gasps echoing right after yours.

Part 2

[aethes-bookshelf]

empty eyes, emptier words || astarion/tav/halsin

I've been stuck in BG3 hell since the game first came out. I'm still in there. I don't think I'll be coming out anytime soon, so have this piece of angst. If everything goes well, maybe I'll deliver on some devil fucking (ft. Haarlep & Raphael). But that's a big IF.

For now, take this. I wrote it in class. I was supposed to be paying attention, but I made this instead. Bon appétit.

Warnings: angst, hurt/no comfort, tav straight up fucking dies

Pairing: astarion/tav/halsin

Wordcount: 1.4k

Summary: Orin knew exactly who to take to hit those troublesome True Souls the hardest. Their leader was the obvious choice - a chicken can only run so far if you take its head. Tav would make a beautiful sacrifice for Bhaal.

And if anyone came to try and get them back? All the better. Blood will flow either way. And what a sight it'll be.

[I made some changes to Orin's dagger. Now, whoever gets killed with it can't be resurrected. Or can they?]

ao3 link || part 2

Orin turned around at the first sound of footsteps. She brandished her dagger, her Netherstone embedded in the cold metal of the weapon. She was standing on the sacrificial altar at the center of the temple. Beneath her laid Tav, arms and legs bound. They were unconscious, fresh and old wounds littering their body. The little clothing they wore stuck to their skin, wet with blood. The smell of it hit Astarion like a club to the head. He hated how his mouth instantly watered, hunger rearing its ugly head.

‘I don’t smell Gortash’s rot on you,’ Orin said, crouching by Tav’s body. She dragged her blade across their skin. Fresh blood bubbled to the surface. Tav didn’t even flinch. They were barely breathing.

‘Did it think it could trick me? Did it think it could save?’ Orin taunted, her dagger stopping right over Tav’s heart. Astarion could hear its faint beating.

The heat of Karlach’s anger burned the air around her. ‘I hope you’re not about to do what I think you are. For your sake.’ Her massive ax sliced through the pungent air, tail swishing behind her.

Halsin didn’t speak, but his eyes glowed bright gold. His hands were clenched at his sides, anger barely restrained.

Astarion unsheathed his own daggers, their weight a fleeting comfort. ‘You lay one more finger on them, I’ll rip your throat out,’ he said. A growl ripped itself out of his throat.

‘Your teeth aren’t sharp enough to pierce my throat,’ said Orin. The tip of her dagger sank into Tav’s chest. ‘Not enough to slice my flesh, taste my blood.’ She drew back her hand, dagger rising into the air. A speck of blood followed its tip.

Astarion clenched his jaw so hard his teeth hurt. His upper lip drew back; he bared his fangs on instinct.

‘Even if you kill them, all you’ll achieve is pissing us off,’ said Karlach. Her words were confident, but her voice betrayed her; she was afraid. ‘We’ll just bring them back so they can spit on your fucking corpse after I split you in half, you crazy bitch.’

None of them liked the way Orin laughed at those words. ‘“Bring them back”? Not here. Not with Bhall’s blessing.’ She grinned, showing all of her teeth. ‘They’ll be the first sacrifice of the night. Then I’ll spill your blood and guts on their flayed skin.’ A shiver ran through Orin as she brought her dagger down.

The blade sank into Tav’s chest with a sickening squelch. They gasped, body going rigid for just a second. Then they went limp.

Astarion’s scream rang through the still air as Karlach charged the altar.

* * *

Astarion knelt down by the bodies laying on the stairs and started rifling through their pockets.

‘What the hell are you doing, Fangs?’ asked Karlach. Tears were evaporating off of her face, her infernal engine still hot with her battle rage. The ashes of a used scroll of revivify were cooling at her feet. The spell's energy had already ran out and Tav was still limp, their body slowly going rigid.

‘I’m looting, can’t you tell?’ Astarion’s voice was snappy, but even. ‘Tav’s usually the one to take everything that’s not nailed down but they obviously can’t do it this time, can they?’

He leaned down over a pile of smoking bones and burned blood that used to be a man once. ‘They always find something for us in these piles of trash, I thought it’d be… nice to do the same for them for once.’ He managed to fish out a rusted dagger from underneath the pile.

‘Astarion,’ said Karlach, voice breaking.

‘Besides, their favorite tea ran out a few days ago, so we’re gonna need stuff to sell.’ He leaned over the pile of Orin’s gore next. ‘Tav spent most of our money on some new armor for you and Gale, and that tea’s expensive, you know?’ He took Orin’s dagger. His hands were shaking.

‘Astarion,’ Karlach tried again. The low hiss of evaporating tears got louder.

‘They deserve to drink something good when they come back, no?’ Astarion stood up straight. His grip on Orin’s dagger was so tight his chuckles went paper-white.

‘Astarion,’ Karlach’s voice was low and thick with tears, ‘I don’t think they’re coming ba—’

‘Don’t you dare finish that sentence.’ Astarion was quick to turn around and point the dagger at Karlach’s chest. ‘Don’t you dare finish that sentence.’ For the first time since they arrived at the temple, his voice broke. ‘Of course they’re coming back. Why do we keep that creepy skeleton around if not to bring us back in times like these?’

His eyes watered. ‘They’re coming back. They have to. They must. Even if that means I’ll have to drag them out of the Hells myself.’

Astarion’s eyes wandered to Tav’s broken corpse. They were still laying on the altar, the stone of it slick with their drying blood. He couldn’t see their face; Halsin’s shoulders were obstructing the view. Astarion could swear the druid was shaking too.

‘Halsin, they’re coming back, right? They’re coming back!’ If Astarion’s heart still beat, it’d be fluttering with rising panic.

Halsin’s voice was low and quiet. He kept stroking Tav’s matted hair as he spoke. ‘I’m not sure they will, my friend.’

Those words punched all air out of Astarion’s lungs. Fury replaced it.

‘Shut up!’ he screamed; his voice echoed in the empty temple. ‘We were supposed to have decades together. Decades! They can’t leave yet. They promised!’ His knees buckled. With every word he spoke, he sank lower and lower, until his knees hit the cold stone beneath him. ‘They promised we’d… We were supposed to find a way for me to be in the sun again,’ his voice faded into silence.

Astarion couldn’t speak anymore. His chest clenched and his eyes burned. He wanted to scream. He wanted to rage and kill, and tear. He wanted to bring Orin back just so he could send her to her blasted god all over again. He wanted to hear Tav laugh at one of his stupid jokes.

His throat was clenched so tight not even sobs could escape it. He was vaguely aware Halsin’s shoulders were openly shaking with his grief, but he couldn’t bring himself to comfort the druid. That would mean looking at Tav’s empty eyes. That would make this entire nightmare real. So very, terribly real.

Astarion’s grip on Orin’s dagger loosened; the weapon fell with a loud cling, its Netherstone slipping out of it. The stone shone dimly in the light of the torches.

All of it for these stones. All this death, pain and misery for these three pieces of one whole. Tav died for it.

Meaningless, meaningless, meaningless. All of it. All of it!

Astarion’s mind was reeling; jumping from pain to denial to anger to desperation. He didn’t know what to do. Tav would know, he thought, and a fresh wave of tears fell.

Karlach laid a hand on his shoulder. She’d cooled down enough for her touch to be only slightly painful on his corpse-cold skin. ‘We have to go, Fangs. Halsin.’ Her grip on Astarion tightened when he shook his head. ‘We have to go,’ she repeated, harsher this time. Barely restrained emotion shook her voice. ‘If they even can come back, we need to get them back to camp as soon as possible.’

Halsin took a deep breath and wiped his face with the back of his hand. ‘Karlach’s right,’ he said and stood up. Tav was limp as he cradled them close to his chest. To his heart. ‘If we stay here too long, we’ll certainly lose them for good.’ The druid squared his shoulders and turned to face the other two.

Astarion went rigid at the sight of Tav’s hand, limply hanging off the side of their body. He couldn’t bring himself to look up at their face.

‘Astarion,’ Halsin’s voice was soft, ‘I understand your pain. They are in my heart as they are in yours. But we mustn't waste time lest we lose them forever. If there is a chance to save them, we must act now.’

Astarion swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. The chill of death had never been more present in his bones. He nodded, silent, and picked up Orin’s dagger and Netherstone.

‘Let’s go,’ said Karlach, new-found determination on her face. ‘We still have to buy their favorite tea after this, right? How’d you put it, Fangs? “They deserve to drink something good after this”?’

Astarion nodded. He didn’t trust his voice not to break if he spoke. There was an empty, far-away look in his eyes.

As they left the temple of Bhaal, the sweet stench of blood followed them out.

[riality-check]

crossposted from twitter because it was inspired by this tweet!

Eddie's first character is a halfling rogue: small, stealthy, built to get in and get out, maybe cause a little damage along the way. He isn't built for taking hits or maximum damage, and everyone knows that magic isn't real.

Eddie's first scar is the one on his lip, from when he took a punch from his father wrong and split it on his tooth. It probably wouldn't have scarred if Eddie left it alone, but he worried at it with his tongue until it healed shiny with scar tissue.

He learns, from the sting of eating and talking, that he shouldn't fight monsters he isn't strong enough to beat. So, he runs. Gains XP.

He's small and quiet enough to go unnoticed. He hides in the corners of libraries for hours, steals extra food from school lunch, and on the rare occasion someone decides to pick on him, that's when he swings back, scared and vicious.

He levels up, and, somewhere along the way, that character dies a quiet death in favor of one that better fits the campaign.

Somewhere between his father's arrest and starting school at Hawkins Middle, Eddie plays a new character. A tiefling sorcerer, one with bad blood on two fronts, for no one likes demons, and magic still isn't real.

Kids are cruel. They tease him for his secondhand clothes and his buzzcut (lice) and his loud hands and voice and his complete disregard for schoolwork, because if it isn't interesting, he won't do it.

Eddie takes it all, until a kid calls him a word he knows is right for him but isn't safe to be in Hawkins.

Then he puts his fist through his face.

Overnight, he goes from "weird and obnoxious" to "mean and scary," and he really, really hates how that makes him more isolated.

So, he switches gears in high school. Plays a half-elf bard, someone who's a little more than human, someone whose job it is to entertain, to make people laugh and feel right at home. He finds little lost sheep and makes them feel like they have a place to belong in his own little world.

He still has to fight sometimes, of course. Especially earlier on, he uses his fists, though he hates it. Later, when he levels up, he uses his words instead.

He doesn't know how those work. Magic isn't real.

Then Chrissy Cunningham dies in his living room, and magic is real, and it is awful and scary and cruel and fatal.

And Eddie Munson is just Eddie Munson. Not a hero, not a spellcaster, nothing special. But he can't be just Eddie Munson because that has never been enough.

In his rush, he picks his next character to be a human fighter. He has never played one before, and it feels odd and ill-fitting and wrong.

It's wrong. And Eddie forgets his first rule, the one that got him the scar on his lip, when the bats rush toward him.

He shouldn't fight monsters he isn't strong enough to beat.

He goes down, and he stays down, but the wonderful thing is that he has saving throws.

He just needs to succeed.

[comfort-questing]

for now, they're awake. for now, they're here, lucid though weak, and able to focus a little on the familiar faces around them. tomorrow, who knows? but there's no sense in worrying about it, and spoiling the time that they have for the moment. so their friends try to laugh with them, a little, and to answer their whispered questions in comfortable half-truths, and to tend them as gently as they can so as not to worsen the pain that wracks them now and again. and in the end, as their eyes slip back closed, it's a matter of hope alone as to whether they'll open once more.

[ultrainstinctslasher]

Can you do a peepaw Myers ? He keeps killing everyone around you but not you and you don't know why but watching him kill turns you on and finally after he kills someone he ends up showing you some affection or just full blown out fucks you

Idk if you write smuts or not though just brainstorming thank you so much !!!

Old Man Myers x GN!Reader (OLD AF)

Warnings: Sexual assault, violence, death, reference to smut, ambiguous ending

Notes: Of course! SO sorry it took me so long, but here it is! And sorry, I'm not too comfortable with full on smut, but maybe soon. Hope you like it! Also, I sort of went a whole other direction from where I began, so I hope you don't mind.

A/N: Guys, hate to say this, but I HATE this, but I'm keeping it. Idk. Bye.

______________________________________________________________

It was killing you, the things that were happening.

At first, you hadn't really taken notice of it. After all, everyone was aware with the fact that the infamous Michael Myers has escaped Smith's grove, and the missing reports surrounding your not-so-close coworker were no surprise.

You two hadn't been close, but it wasn't unusual for you two to be together. You were quite friendly with each other, and you were pretty sure he fancied you, not that you reciprocated the feelings.

When he suddenly disappeared from work, you were actually a bit relieved. He had been getting annoying with all the conversations he would try to strike up. You had hoped that he left the city in fear of the Boogeyman, but when it was revealed that he was missing, and not long after that that he was dead, you couldn't say you weren't guilty.

The convict was, in fact, Michael Myers. Who else would it be? In a small town like this, no one would dare kill each other, very well aware how easy it would be to get tracked down. The only one not afraid was the Shape himself, and he was on the loose.

It was gruesome, they said. Never seen anything like it. Even Michael's past victims weren't brutalized like your coworker was. His face smashed until unidentifiable, organs spilt around the room, limbs twisted in all directions. No one could figure out why The Shape of Haddonfield would target the poor fellow, having no connection to him. But no one could question him, and even if they could, I doubt they would get a response.

While it was odd, and terrifying, knowing that your coworker was murdered, you very quickly got over it. He wasn't close to you, so why dwell on him?

But then, it was your friend. Someone who had actually meant something to you. While they were in no way your best friend, you two had been very close, and had gotten along amazingly throughout the years.

You had mourned them, their death much more painful than that of your coworker. They hadn't allowed anyone to see their corps, and you hadn't known why until you read the news.

They had been found in the same state as your coworker, if not worse. Papers said her hands were cut off completely, as well as gouged out eyes and a cut off tongue. None of those organs and limbs were found.

At least, not by the police.

But by you.

You had found them, in a box, neatly present in front of your door

Not your front door, your bedroom door

Michael Myers was in your house while you were asleep

It wasn't the first time he's done it

And it wouldn't be the last time

You were terrified. The paper and news never covered Michael Myers ever doing something like this. He had never showed any hints of interest at anyone, whether a victim or not, except for a glimpse at the corner of one's eye, which were always reported right away

And you started getting those too

Every once in a while, you would feel someone staring at you from some secluded area, and once you turn around, nothing but a shadow of what used to be there greeted you

You knew better than to expect to see him, he only showed himself when he wanted to

And when he did want to, you would catch a glimpse of a ghostly white mask, much more terrifying than the pictures online or on the news. The Shape was always too far away to see anything else, and that was exactly what he wanted

You knew going to the police was useless. There was nothing they can do about it

Things had gone quiet for a while, with no loses on your behalf, but Michael was still on his spree's, nonetheless.

That was until someone broke into your house

While you were aware Michael had been creeping into your home, as weird and horrifying as that is, you couldn't really do anything, and so you excepted it. You always knew when he broke in, as he would leave some sort of petrifying gift, like a severed finger or animal teeth, or something would go missing, such as your favorite pen, or a book you were reading, or it would be as simple as leaving your bedroom door open when you were sure you closed it.

But this was not Michael. Michael was not loud. And this person was.

Alarm bells sounded in your head, and the first thing you thought of is calling the police.

Reaching to your bedside table, your hand gripped at nothing. Your phone was downstairs

Cursing at yourself in your head, you slowly got out of bed and quietly creeped towards the bedroom door, trying to get a better idea of who broke in and what they were doing

As you leaned against the door, you heard heavy footfalls heading up the stairs.

Whoever broke in was not intending to steal anything. And somehow knew right where to go.

You, as quietly as possible, scrambled backwards until you reached the closet doors.

You hid inside, closing the door, and grasping onto the nearest object that can be used as a weapon. A hanger.

As you heard the footsteps get closer, you began to pray to an unknown force to save you, to wake you up.

The bedroom door creaked open eerily, forcing a shudder up your spine

It was ironic, really. How you felt safer with a mass murder than you did with what seemed to be an immature criminal. A man who wouldn't let his presence known was more comforting than a man who stomps his way upstairs. The figure that murdered and mutilated your friend was a better experience than some guy who probably never thought of the idea of murder. But you had an odd feeling he was thinking of something else.

The intruder walked around the room, clearly looking for something in particular. Someone in particular.

Suddenly, it seemed like all movement stopped. Everything became ominously silent, except for your somewhat raggedy breathing

Abruptly, the closet doors opened and a hand flew towards you

"Gotcha, Swee- agh!"

Using the hanger you armed yourself with, you stabbed the man in the eye and quickly made your way towards the door

You hadn't made it very far before a hand grabbed your ankle and dragged you back

"N-no! Let me go! Please!" You had yelled at the intruder, gaining nothing.

"And why would I do that? You weren't very nice to me. After all, you did hurt me, didn't ya princess?"

He laid you on your back and sat on your stomach, pinning you to the floor

The way he was looking at you made you want to vomit. A revolting predatory gaze swirled through his eyes. The way he was breathing made your body freeze.

Your muscles refused to respond as your assaulter began to move his hands on your body.

The feeling of his palms kneading you flesh was appalling, and made your bones feel hollow and cold

You shut your eyes as you felt tears well up in your eyes. They began to streak your face as your intruder was laughing at your reactions

"Awww. Are you scared? Is that why your face is red? Why you're crying? Is that why your heart is beating so fast? Because you're scared? How cute."

You began to pray for this to end in some way, whether it be waking up or being killed. Heck, part of you prayed for Michael to be here

Little do you know your prayers would get answered

Quicker than one can register, the man was pulled away from you with monstrous force

Just as your attacker had pinned you, your attacker was pinned just the same.

The sudden relief of the man on top of you was gratifying, and you began thanking whoever saved you in your head

Grunts of pain began to fill the room as the man who tried to rape you was suspended in midair by his neck. A large hand was wrapped tightly around the man's throat, applying enough pressure for pain, but not enough to kill him. Not yet.

You looked at the man who saved you, finding him already staring at you. The eyes of his mask served no purpose, as his true eyes were still not visible. The shadows covering him almost made him look inhumane, like a monster. Like the Boogeyman.

The larger of the two males never released his grasp on the man, yet solely placed his attention on you.

Neither of you moved, jus staring at each other. You were oh so very confused.

You have reached the point where you don't particularly fear Michael, knowing he won't kill you, but he still makes you feel uneasy, nonetheless. and his staring was making it any better.

You stayed like that, staring at each other with a few grunts of pain and help me's from the man filling the room, for a couple moments longer, and you trying to figure out what he wanted.

You were still in shock from what happened and couldn't find your voice to ask him, and so the silence pursued

But you didn't need it, you realized it yourself

The revelation of what Michael wanted was shocking, and you shamefully admit that it had aroused something in you

He wanted you to say it

He wanted you to tell him what to do

To tell him to kill him

And that made you feel things you shouldn't

Suddenly, Michaels heavy breathing was all you could hear. The thought of how strong Michael had to be to be able to strangle a grown man with one arm was the only thought on your mind. The smell of blood and death resonating from him was overwhelming your senses. The feeling of anger and anticipation burning around him like a flame was spreading towards you. The only thing registering to you was Michael.

He was patient, waiting for you as if he had all the worlds time. He refused to take his eyes of you as he watched you slowly come to realization of what he wanted, and watched you get tipsy with need

With time, you had found your voice, and muttered the words that sealed the man's fate

"Kill him, Michael"

And with that, Michael had begun his gruesome attack

The man had no time to scream as a knife was plunged into his stomach, ripping it open and revealing his insides.

Michael continued to have his way with the man as you watched with grotesque arousal

You were sure you were going insane. It must be Michael somehow rubbing of on you with his weird gifts and behavior. But you couldn't deny it. You couldn't deny the need you felt for Michael as you watched him demolish your attacker from existence

Michael stopped, seemingly to admire his work. He was crouched next to the now dead man, intently staring at him as if to reassure he was dead

Michael slowly got off from the ground and turned towards you. He made no effort to get closer to you but continued to stare at you the same way as before.

The room was much calmer now with the man gone. You maintained eye contact with Michael, fully knowing what he wanted now.

"Fuck me, Michael."

______________________________________________________________

[steddieunderdogfics]

he's all that I've got (don’t take that sinner from me) by sidekick_hero

@sidekick-hero

Rating: Explicit

10,328 words, 2/2 chapters

Archive Warning: No Warnings

Tags: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Future Fic, Post-Stranger Things 4 Vol. 2, Eddie Munson Lives, but is hunted as a criminal, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Eddie Munson Needs a Hug, Outlaw Eddie Munson, Pining, Alley Sex, Alley Blow Jobs, Voyeurism, Hand Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Public Hand Jobs, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ambiguous/Open Ending

Summary:

“Edward Joseph Munson, 23 years old, 5’10, brown hair and eyes, was last seen at the borders of New Orleans, Louisiana, wearing black jeans and a black shirt. He’s been accused to have murdered Chrissy Cunningham, Patrick McKinney and Fred Benson in spring of 1986 and has been on the run ever since. He is probably armed and considered very dangerous. If you see him —” Steve turns off the TV with a defeated sigh. Very dangerous, right. Well, he thinks, his smile had been dangerous, and his big brown doe eyes had been dangerous. His way with words, the joyful and uninhibited laughter. The way his hands cupped Steve's face and pressed into that sensitive spot where his ear meets his jaw had been dangerous too. Steve had never stood a chance against him.

@runninriot rec'd this fic for a previous challenge Monday! Thanks for the rec!

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Cycle of Reincarnation

Synopsis: Childe tells you a secret, only for you to be ripped away from him. But in Teyvat, everything repeats, and nothing ever ends.

Foul Legacy Childe x Reader Pronouns: Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Genre: Angst- Ambiguous Ending Warnings: Mentions of injuries, violence, death, blood, and crying

~ * ~ The moment Childe met you, everything fell into place. Bright as the sun and the stars beyond, you completed his life like a connecting constellation; the shining light amidst the encroaching darkness of a sea-splattered night. You burst into his life like waves crashing over the shore, always busy with the daily hustle and bustle yet always able to spare a moment to chat with the Eleventh Harbinger, standing tall above the other Fatui of Northland Bank. You, and you alone, had seen Tartaglia, famed for his prowess on the battlefield, and wondered if he’d mind some company. His dull blue eyes had widened in shock when you struck up conversation- didn’t you know who he was? How despised he was in the Harbor? But you simply continued, and Childe found that his heart felt lighter than it had in weeks afterwards, even more so when you returned the next day, and the next after that, and so on and so forth. Soon the Harbinger’s off time would be spent standing near your usual spot, idly wondering what you’d talk about tomorrow. Would it be about your work? The native flowers of Liyue? A humorous story involving a Millelith, a hilichurl, and a particularly brave boar? He never knew- you were full of surprises, and that thrilled him immensely. Although, much of his happiness stemmed from simply watching you talk, so full of passion and life, Childe growing fonder and fonder of your mere presence every day. The first time you held his hand, it was evening, and you were pulling him along the street, pointing at anything and everything. You had called it your “first official hangout”, delighted that Childe wanted to spend time with you outside of your interactions to and from work, and laced your fingers with his as to not lose him in the crowd. Childe’s heart thumped once, twice in his chest, words coming out with a stutter as his gloved fingers curled around yours in silent joy. A turmoil of emotions flooded his head for the remainder of the evening as he attempted to untangle and smooth out everything he was feeling. What exactly were you to him? How much did you matter? The words “I love you” came to him while tossing and turning in bed, and he had lurched forward and sat up with a gasp, hands running through his ginger hair as he tried to deny it. He couldn’t love you! You were a civilian; an innocent Harbor resident; and he was Tartaglia- the Eleventh Harbinger, feared and hated throughout the entire city. If something happened to you because of him, he’d never forgive himself- nor would Foul Legacy, who had taken a great liking to you as well, eternal bloodlust soothed to a quiet purr whenever you were nearby. You’d be targeted, just for being the partner of a Harbinger, and if he couldn’t protect you- if you were hurt- Childe felt that he’d crumble right there and then. So it was his most guarded secret- not Fatui intel, not battle plans- the simple fact that he loved you, because he did, with all his heart. Childe was determined to remain as just friends, yet still could not prevent his normally confident smile from softening whenever you came into view, could not help but brush his hand against yours while walking, urging you to pull it into yours again. The times you noticed and reciprocated were some of the happiest days in recent months, and it made when you left to return home all the more saddening. Sometimes Childe almost wanted you to notice- he loves you, every part of him loves you, mortal and Abyssal. It’s simple and beautiful like snow. But Childe is anything but simple, and one day he slips and reveals the side of him from the darkest corners of Teyvat. He doesn’t even register that he’s transformed into Foul Legacy, feeling only the burning rage towards the hilichurls who thought you were easy prey, and he cuts them down with blades of water and lightning with a roar of fury. They fall to the ground, little empty bodies and cracked masks littering the dirt, Childe growling and seething through sharp, deadly fangs. Yet in the blink of an eye his searing-hot anger settles and cools when he thinks of you, standing not a few feet away, having witnessed him slaughter several hilichurls, and he whips around to face you, nervousness pooling in his stomach. Your mouth is hanging open, eyes wide with shock as you look from Childe to the hilichurls and back again to Childe, who’s shrinking in on himself in shame, letting out almost frightened sounding chitters. You take a step forward, then another. Then another and another until you’re standing directly in front of him, craning your head back to look at his face. Childe shuts his eye, scared of what you might say or think- Archons, what will you think of him now? He’s no less of a monster than those hilichurls were- but soft fingers brush against his mask and he blinks, surprised, and sees you standing on your toes, arms outstretched in an attempt to place your palms on his cheeks. With trepidation he bows low enough so your fingers cradle his head, and a happy smile breaks across your cheeks, eyes shining in a way his own never could, not since he was 14 years old. “Amazing.” Is the only thing you murmur, tilting your head this way and that to examine Childe’s face from different angles, unaware of how his heart begins fluttering in his chest. He loves you- he loves you so much, and before any rational part of him can think he finds himself gently grabbing your hands and telling you as such in the low, growling tones of Foul Legacy. When you begin to cry, Childe yelps, almost panicking because he must’ve made the wrong choice, you must not feel the same- but you simply wrap your arms around his waist, the only place you can reach, and say, through your tears, that you love him too- you thought he only saw you as a friend because you could never be something as impressive as a Harbinger- and Childe finds himself crooning, a sound he wasn’t even aware he could make, from happiness. He regrets not telling you sooner, as the weeks following his confession are some of the brightest and most vibrant he’s ever lived, full of surprises and laughter and everlasting light. It reminds him of his youth, the precious years before he fell through a crack in the earth and landed somewhere no mortal should ever see, and not even his duties as a Harbinger can dampen his delight. You love him- you really love him- it’s almost impossible for him to believe, but it becomes clear as ice whenever he uses Foul Legacy around you, the constant pain from straining his body mysteriously absent and the need for battle quenched. Foul Legacy appears more and more often outside of fighting, because you love his alternate form with all your heart, and he can hold and cradle you so easily while using it- his trust for you runs so deep that he allows himself more freedom, bumping his head against your hands and whining until you give in and pet his soft, fluffy hair; picking you up and sitting you on his shoulder so you can see better; getting excited when you’re excited and letting out happy trills and chirps. Talking is difficult in Foul Legacy, but you simply say that it makes the time you hear him say your name or “I love you” all the more precious, curled up in his lap and listening to his deep, rumbling purrs. When you’re with him, it’s almost like Childe never fell into the Abyss at all. But the Abyss is unrelenting, like the ocean wearing away stone, and pulled and tugged and screamed, willing for Childe to slip and tumble back into its depths. He waits for you, at a clearing of gently waving grass away from the Harbor and its noisy crowds, away from anyone but you and him. Childe waits, fiddling with his gloves and fingers, because today he’s going to tell you his true name. He doesn’t want to be Childe, member of the Fatui, or Tartaglia, the Eleventh Harbinger- he wants to be Ajax, yours eternally and nothing more. But you’re late, you’ve never been late before, and he can feel his gut twisting into a knot as he worries, wondering where you could possibly be. He tries to turn to his Abyssal side, normally calm and soothing thanks to you, but the magic that makes up Foul Legacy shifts, uneasy and restless. Something’s wrong, it says, and Childe’s grip on his bow tightens. He hears you scream and he’s running, sprinting as fast as he can towards your voice, towards you, suffering, and cuts away foliage and branches just in time to see a lower-ranked Fatuus stab you in the gut, a couple more restraining you. His stomach drops, replaced by a cold, nauseating feeling when the Fatui spot him, greeting him as one should greet their Lord Harbinger and saying they were simply carrying out another Harbinger’s orders. Orders to “rid the Eleventh of any distractions”. Childe sees red. Then the grass is red, red with the blood of the treacherous Fatui agents- although, isn’t he the treacherous one? And red with your blood, from a draining wound that you’re clutching with your hand, blood pooling like the tears pooling in your eyes. With frantic clicks and trills Childe digs his claws under your body and holds you to his chest, gently rocking you back and forth and holding a hand to your injury in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood. But he can see how your consciousness is failing, how your eyes are drooping shut and breaths becoming more and more shallow, and in a panic he tells you his real name, pleading for you to stay awake because you’re supposed to live a happy life together, hand in hand. With a gurgling gasp you clasp your trembling, bloodstained hands onto his talons, talons that have run through your hair and comforted you so many times. “A-Ajax- I don’t want to die-” Like the flame of a candle being extinguished into smoke, you’re gone. Childe’s claws loosen upon realizing how your weak grasp has gone limp, shaking you lightly and sobbing your name to wake you up, only to wail in anguish when you don’t respond. The Abyss whispers to him, calls for him to return to its depths, kill every citizen in the Harbor in needless retribution for you- but that’s not what you want- would’ve wanted- is it? No, he refuses to fall to the whims of lightless stars, and Childe rises to his feet, still carrying you in his arms, and leaves the Harbor behind. Time passes in a blur. Childe buries you, in a location you loved, a small cliffside underneath a tree where one can see the entirety of the city in its glory, and retreats to the adjacent mountain to guard your grave in solitude. Foul Legacy enables him to live longer, far longer than mortals or even gods can, and he loses his names and titles- not Childe, not Tartaglia, just Ajax. Your Ajax. Although his memories deteriorate, the ones of you never fade. Perhaps it’s a small mercy from the Abyss, or Celestia, or whoever controls the eb and flow of his fate. No one dares tread near his territory- perhaps he’s been cemented in the folklore of Liyue as a vengeful demon or something of the like. But Ajax doesn’t care. He cares very little about most things now. How long has it been? Too long, or perhaps not long enough, because the thought of your death still sends a wave of aching sadness through his heart. Something in the air smells new, and vaguely familiar, like spring has blossomed into a fresh droplet of water like it does every year. Everything in this world runs in a loop, after all. The snap of a twig sparks Ajax’s attention, and he tilts his head, listening, before letting out a low growl. His spear, still sharp as ever after a millennia, crackles with electro as he makes his way past trees and flowers that have died and regrown year after year to strike down the person who dares intrude on your eternal peace and his eternal watch. He pushes aside hanging vines with his claws, a guttural hiss building in his throat and the ever-present lure of the Abyss humming. Ajax’s breath hitches as he violently flinches and drops his spear, not even minding the electricity sparking around his feet. Someone stands on the cliffside, admiring the view to the Harbor. Someone with awed, sparkling eyes, mumbling a cheerful tune before raising a hand to the bright blue sky. Someone covered in dust and dirt from scaling a mountain, but entirely without regret. Someone Ajax hasn’t seen, for however many years he’s been guarding this grave. You.

[classics-n-comedy]

The Better One

[Fill for prompt: "Vulnerable/Vulnerability", Arthur Pendragon & Morgana Pendragon, General]

@merlinmicrofic

“I know how this goes, Morgana,” Arthur said, his voice surprisingly steady, “We both do.”

“Do we, now?” She smirked down at the young king at her feet.

Arthur had not even bothered to don his armor, nor arm himself, when he came to her hideout, no doubt betrayed by the old fool that Dragoon was.

The egotistical bastard, she thought to herself, he really thinks he can take her on with bare hands.

“We do.” Arthur stared up at his sister. “We have been in this position several times before.”

Morgana raised an eyebrow, confused, when a spark of recognition washed over her.

Their childhood.

She had always been the better swordsperson of the two. Arthur would, more often than not, find himself at her mercy when they went against each other. And then-

“…and then, you would fling your sword into the earth,” Arthur’s unrelenting voice cut through her reminiscing, and she realized he had been talking for a while.

“You would laugh at me for losing,” He continued, “And then you’d pull me up and we’d help each other get ready for the next challenge.”

“I have always been better with swords.”

Arthur smiled sadly.

“You’ve always been the better of us.”

She felt the corners of her lips tug upwards. She loosened the hold of her magic binding him in place.

She didn’t need to use her magic against her brother after all.

There he lay, unmoving, completely vulnerable.

She raised the sword high over her head, even as Arthur refused to break eye contact.

With a pained shriek, she brought it down.

[writersmorgue]

Febuwhump Day 21 - Unresponsive

TWs in tags || read on Ao3 || wc: 1332

◈━◈━◈━◈━◈

Time-activated quirks are rare. Izuku knows, he’s studied many. He was fascinated by the logistics the first time he read about one in the news. The quirk usually being transferred by some physical touch or substance from the user- slowly dissolving into the victim like a pill. 

Pro hero Buzzkill has a quirk that gives its victim a bee sting-like welt every four and a half minutes. The vigilante Combo Breaker has a quirk that breaks one of its victim's fingers every two minutes. 

And apparently, the villain he’d been fighting on patrol also shared this unique quirk factor. 

The debrief had said the guy was quirkless, but one look at the shoes on his feet told Izuku otherwise. 

Now, four hours and twenty-five minutes later, he’s lying on the floor of his kitchen unable to move. 

His nose is pressed at an uncomfortable angle, mere inches from where his coffee mug was smashed to pieces when he dropped it. 

He’d felt this odd pain in the base of his spine when he got off of patrol, and after his post-shift nap, it had only been higher up on his back and twice as intense. 

Apparently, when it got to his head, he was due to lose all motor functions. Great!

The good news is that Katsuki should be home any minute, and he can pull Izuku out of this cold, black coffee puddle. Maybe he’ll even put him back in bed if he’s feeling generous. 

He’s not sure how long he waits. His eyelids have drooped close, though he couldn’t open them if he wanted. He spends a while trying to determine if he’s breathing or not, but his whole body is so uncomfortably numb that he gives up. 

Soon enough, the door opens and Katsuki’s gym shoes are kicked off into their cubby. 

“‘M home.” He grumbles, probably not expecting an answer because Izuku is usually still napping when Katsuki gets back from his morning gym run. 

Izuku isn’t sure what Katsuki notices first, maybe his socked feet lying on the ground, or the bits of red, blue, and yellow ceramic that probably skidded across the room. 

“Deku? Did you fuckin’ fall?” His husband scoffs, rounding the corner to see Izuku sprawled on the floor, “Oi, get up dumbass.” 

Izuku mentally winces, not prepared for the absolute earful Katsuki is going to give him later. 

Katsuki walks closer, nudging the broken pieces of mug away, “Izuku?” 

Ah, he’s anxious. 

Izuku might’ve predicted this issue if he had thought a little harder. He’s not in any real danger, so there’s no need to worry-

“Izuku?!”

But he doesn’t know that. 

“No come on,” Katsuki mumbles out loud, trying to reason logically like Izuku knows he does when he’s scared, “he hit his head and passed out- no, there’s no blood. He was tired? Maybe he wanted to sleep on the floor…”

Katsuki comes up behind him and drops to his knees, rolling Izuku over. 

Light flashes in front of his eyes, but he’s powerless to blink at the sudden flash. Katsuki curses when his head flops back and smacks the tile. Stars fly across the black of his eyelids. 

“Izuku, wake up.” Katsuki presses his fingers under Izuku’s jaw and curses. 

There’s no way this quirk stopped his heartbeat- right?!

Katsuki pries one of his eyelids open. The cool air burns but he doesn’t flinch. 

His pupil must not react either, because before he knows it Katsuki is tugging him into his arms with a frantic whimper and launching himself across their living room. 

Katsuki places a leg in between Izuku’s own and wraps one of his arms under Izuku’s shoulders so he can use the other to propel them into the sky. 

The wind whistles by Izuku’s ears as Katsuki wastes no time getting them to what he can only assume is the hospital a few blocks away. 

The strain his arm must feel right now can only be extremely painful but Katsuki makes no sign of it. 

Izuku can feel them descending, just as Katsuki’s grip on him begins to slip. Katsuki stumbles a bit on the ground, lurching forward but being sure to keep Izuku’s body in his solid grip. 

“HEY!” He shouts as soon as they step through the sliding doors of the emergency bay, “I NEED A DOCTOR NOW!”

“Sir please don’t-”

“Pro hero Dynamight!” Another nurse interrupts the first, rushing towards them, “What are his vitals?”

Izuku feels himself get flipped onto a gurney, lying face up on the cold, thin fabric. He can feel everything down to his hair follicles itching to form goosebumps. 

He hears the nurse gasp as soon as his hair falls out of his face. 

I might be wearing pajamas, but I’m still the number one hero, he figures. I’d recognize All Might in his pajamas.

“Is that-”

“Someone who needs a fucking doctor?!” Katsuki growls, “YES.” 

The nurse barks a few orders at her coworkers and, from what Izuku can tell, sprints with him down the hallway. 

“Vitals?”

“No.”

The cart shudders when she briefly trips, “N-No? What do you mean-”

“I mean he wasn’t fucking responsive. I came home and he was on the fucking floor. No pulse, no breathing, no pupil dilation.” Katsuki’s voice moves to his other side, and there’s more movement before Izuku is lifted over to a different bed. 

The nurse hooks a machine up to him to start pumping his chest while she darts around him, checking various other vitals. 

“Shit.” She whispers to herself, pressing her warm hands into his wrist harder. 

Someone slams open the door, running to Izuku’s side. His hearing blurs while they yell orders at each other, pricking Izuku with various needles. 

“C’mon.” A new, higher-pitched male voice grunts in his ear as what he can assume is a shot of adrenaline is pumped into his fresh IV. 

“You said you found him like this?” Another female voice asks, farther in the corner of the room where he figures Katsuki is watching. 

“He passed out, there’s no obvious trauma. I have no fucking idea why.” Katsuki grunts, voice warbling. “He was on patrol a few hours ago but there was nothing in the report that would warrant this.”

“It’s not looking…” She pauses, “It’s not ideal, but we can’t rule out the possibility of it being a quirk.”

“Nothing is rousing him. We can keep the compressions going, but his body isn’t showing postmortem symptoms. I think, truly, if he comes back it will be regardless of what we do.”

Katsuki sighs, “I’m going to call his mom. Take the machine off him, she shouldn’t see him like this.”

Izuku’s head jostles as they remove the machine, his chest already feeling the ache and forming bruises. 

The nurse clamps a heart rate monitor onto his finger and leaves his side, rolling whatever monstrosity of a contraption they had waiting for him on a cart out of the room. 

It’s completely silent for a few minutes, not even the usual steady beep of his heart that he associates with the hospital to keep him company. 

The door swings open and footsteps move towards his side. 

He knows it’s Katsuki as soon as their hands touch. 

His husband’s warm hands cup his own, rubbing circles into his skin. 

“If you die on a random ass fucking Thursday morning when you’re not even working I’ll make sure they send you to whatever hell exists for idiots like you.” 

Izuku laughs inwardly, enjoying Katsuki’s touch. 

“Shitty prank. You broke your favorite mug.”

Ah damn, he forgot about that. 

Katsuki’s hair tickles his forearm as the man presumably leans down, pressing his lips to Izuku’s inner wrist, “If you leave me I’ll never forgive you.” He stretches a hand over Izuku’s stomach, resting it on his soft sleep shirt. “I love you, I don’t tell you nearly enough.”

“Come back to me, Izuku.”

And Izuku wishes more than anything that he knew how.

[sydcarmyfan]

Will The Bear have an ambiguous ending?

Growing up watching Disney, it is so normal to want a happy ending, but happy endings are rare. Inspired by @gingerylangylang1979 ‘s post, I think that The Bear may have an ambiguous ending.

After everything Syd and Carmy have lost, I want them to live happily ever after, but baby this is The Bear. The Bear is so authentic and it makes you feel like whatever that is happening in their world is happening in real life. From the music to the characters, everything feels so real, so I can see the creators of the show giving The Bear a “real” ending. A “real” ending may be ambiguous. In Thelma and Louise, the ending is the best I’ve ever seen and that’s because it does not tell you how it ends, the audience is left wondering if the women made it across. With The Bear, I can see the audience being left wondering… it’s not an ending I would like, but it’s an ending that would make sense for a show like The Bear.

[the-journal-in-law]

Hero or Villain

@gingerly-writing

"If I behave, I'm a hero. If I step out of line, I'm a villain. You know what I can never be? Normal."

"Sounds like a 'you' problem," Vigilante said, prompting Hero to glare at them.

"Don't you start," the now-hero threatened. "Do you know how many times I've had to change my labelling? It's giving my PR team sleep deprivation, I'm telling you."

Vigilante shrugged. "Again, can't relate. I don't have something as fancy-schmansy as that." They thought about it a bit more. "You know people usually want to make themselves relatable? Maybe that's your problem."

"You're kidding."

"Serious as ever," Vigilante replied, ignoring Hero's mutter of 'so not very.' "The public needs to know you on some level. Do you have a tragic backstory?"

"Don't we all have tragic backstories?" Hero asked.

Vigilante nodded. "Fair enough. I assume you're an orphan?" Not waiting for a reply, they continued, "Were you part of a secret government training program? A former mafia? Maybe got bullied in high school and now you're getting revenge on your bullies by becoming famous?"

Hero blinked, looking a bit lost. "No to the first two, though that last one sounds awfully specific. And this is supposed to make me relatable?"

"Classic superhero stories always start like this," Vigilante confidently said.

"I don't think--"

"Trust me, the reporters--"

"Who says I want to be a hero?"

Vigilante stopped short, tilting their head as they stared at Hero. "Huh, really? Never thought there was something darker underneath that shiny exterior."

Hero scrunched their nose. "Did you have to say it like that? And, no, I don't want to be a villain. That's way too much work."

Vigilante brightened. "That's great! We can be lawbreaker buddies!"

"No, Vigilante," Hero groaned. "I want to be normal. A civilian."

Vigilante propped their head up with their hand, eyeing the hero-who-didn't-want-to-be-one. "So you want an out."

"Forget it. It's not like I could anyway," Hero said glumly. "I've been in the public eye far too much to pass for a nobody."

There were a few moments of silence, then: "What if I told you I knew someone?"

[comfort-questing]

30. "not much longer..."

"I'm... very tired."

their voice was very low, where they lay across their friend's arms, bundled in the folds of their cloak. one arm trailed over their friend's shoulders, makeshift bandages clotted with blood covering their hand and arm.

"yes. I know. just stay awake, please."

"I... don't know." they coughed, helplessly, with a whimper of pain at the motion. "I don't know... if I can."

their friend hitched their breath and re-settled them against their shoulder, gathering them closer. around the two of them, the trees were thinner now, the last of the sunset light piercing through clear and golden.

"just... try."

it was impossible to miss the transparency of their skin in the sharp light, and the quick rasp of their breaths had sped up further. the sweat standing out on their forehead and matting at the edges of their hairline was fresh, too, in the last few minutes.

unfortunately, the blood soaking through the back of their cloak and dampening their friend's sleeves had been going on for a while, torn cloth bandages insufficient to staunch the wounds below. how much blood they'd lost was anyone's guess at this point.

they smiled up in the vague direction of their friend's face, eyes unfocused.

"I'll try, then."

"you'd - you'd better." exhaustion and panting breaths made their friend's words come out shorter, sharper. "open your eyes." they shook them lightly. "don't give up. we're almost to the village. not much longer now..."

not much longer, but still perhaps too long.

"yes - yes," they said, and blinked their eyelids open again, to wince away from the slanting brilliance of the day's end. "trying."

"good. good."

the trees were giving way to farmland now, and the roofs of the village just within sight in the distance.

"open your eyes, I said."

"...tired." their voice was a mumble amidst the nestled cloak. "let me ...sleep."

"no, I'm not going to do that. I didn't patch you up back there just to let you die in the end, all right? you can't rest yet. just a little further, I promise, and then they'll help you feel better, and you can sleep..."

they smiled again, faintly.

above them, their friend swallowed hard, a lump tightening in their throat, and prayed that their hopeful words were the truth.

[cielcreations]

"LOOK OUT!" - Vigilante Sheriff AU

Based off/Inspiration from @rhapsoddity Vigilante Sheriff AU!

How did we get into this mess?

"I blame you." The brunette hissed at the dirty blonde.

"I figured you would, Stratos." The other shrugged, "But I kinda like this, we're so close! Now you can finally confess your undying love for me~!"

"UNDYING WHAT?!" Stratos blushed, "SHUT UP, SHERIFF!"

"And we're all tied up~! I'm not usually a fan of ropes-"

"NO, NO, NOPE, NUH-UH! DON'T WANT TO HEAR THIS!!!" The brunette yelled, "Geez, how the heck are we going to get out of this?!"

"No need to worry, I got this~!"

"What are you doing-"

The brunette quickly gasped as the rope loosened, quickly beginning to float. The dirty blonde however held out one hand and landed on it before quickly flipping to his feet. He then tugged the remaining rope down and off the pole.

"There we go." Sheriff smirked at Stratos, putting his dagger back into its hilt, "Always good to have extra weapons!" He then hissed, holding his wrist.

Stratos hummed, landing in front of him, grabbing his arm, "...Your wrist-"

"I'm fine." The dirty blonde retracted his hand.

"Come on, let me see-"

"Sorry Stratos, but I'm not stripping for you~!" Sheriff teased.

The brunette blushed, "THAT-!" He glared, "You are the worst, Sheriff! See if I care if you get tied up again!"

How did this start...? Oh, right.

An hour ago, the two had showed up in this warehouse in hopes to stop a villain's plans. However, both saw each other, got into a heated whispered argument, and then they were suddenly caught in the same trap. Soul Crusher (the villain they were trying to stop) had found them, seemed to press a button, and the two began running around, dodging traps, trying to capture the villain, and stop the plans. However, during this time, Sheriff must've landed wrong and twisted his wrist. Stratos had grabbed him and went to run, but they got trapped.

Which is why they were here now, Sheriff wrapping a bandage around his wrist before the two began to sneak around.

"So, what do you know about this?" Stratos whispered as they ducked behind a wall before going down the hall.

"Soul Crusher is planning to spread skulk everywhere but infecting it into the new green house."

"That's what I've heard. Any ideas on how?"

Sheriff nodded, "The opening of the new green house? The owners are going to sprinkle the plants with water to just show them off or whatever, but Soul Crusher and his team are going to replace it with poison. Dead plants equals perfect skulk farm."

Stratos hissed, leaning against the wall, Sheriff following his lead. Stratos put a finger to his lips, the dirty blonde nodded. They waited for a minute. Eventually, two men began to walk past them. Stratos grabbed them and quickly knocked them out, taking their keycards from them. Sheriff followed Stratos as they moved down the hall and into the office.

"What if I distract them with my charm~?" Sheriff smirked.

Stratos rolled his eyes, "It'll just make them kick your butt faster."

Sheriff took one of the keycards, "Like you do~?"

Stratos glared, blushing, "Can you go ten minutes without disrespecting me?!"

"I can't help it Stratos, your reactions make me smile." Sheriff smiled at him, seeming genuine.

He swiped the keycard and jumped in. They quickly disarmed and took down the men in the office. However, the men quickly disintegrated into skulk, making them groan.

"Gross..." Sheriff groaned before turning, seeing Stratos trying to type away at the electronical desk that was acting as a computer, "Hey, wait, don't do that!"

"Don't tell me what to do." Stratos hissed.

"Stratos, I mean it-"

"And so do I!"

"Would you stop messing around and just listen to me-"

"I'm not going to listen to you!" Stratos slammed his hand down on the large electronical desk.

Sheriff's eyes widened, "Stratos-"

"You are disrespectful, annoying-"

"Stratos, please-"

"-obnoxious, you never take things seriously-"

"Stratos!"

"-and your whole thing is 'I obey the law despite being a vigilante', WHICH IS ILLEGAL!"

"Stratos, listen-"

"NO! I will never listen to you, stop trying to-"

The dirty blonde's eyes widened and he screamed, "JOEL, LOOK OUT!"

The brunette was caught off guard as Sheriff pushed him down on the ground. Out of the desk, a metal hand wrapped around Sheriff's injured wrist. The dirty blonde cried out before a needle came out of another hatch on the desk, the needle full of skulk. It quickly stabbed his arm and Sheriff cried out as the skulk was injected into him.

"S-Sheriff-" Stratos said, eyes wide.

He watched as the dirty blonde's arm grew skulk on it before the table let him go. Stratos caught the other, who groaned, whimpering.

"S-Sheriff... You... You know me...?"

"...C-Course I do..." Sheriff groaned, "S-Stratos, I-I don't f-feel good..."

"Of course you don't! You haven't accepted the skulk yet!" The room turned dark as the electronical desk revealed a monitor screen, Soul Crusher's face appearing on it, "I was hoping my fake greenhouse plan would end with Stratos getting infected, seeing as he's the number one hero, but I guess the number one vigilante works just as well!"

"Soul Crusher!" Stratos glared, hugging the dirty blonde to his chest, "It was a trap?!"

"Yeeeeep! Like I said, I was hoping for you! That would have lowered everyone's morale making it easier to spread the word, spread the skulk. But, Sheriff is just as popular as you! So, guess it works out!"

"S-Stratos..." Sheriff groaned, "W-We gotta g-get outta here..."

"He's right, Stratos. After all, reinforcements will be arriving."

The room was filled with Soul Crusher laughing until Stratos punched the electronic table, completely breaking it. Stratos covered Sheriff as he punched the roof and quickly flew away.

"...You know me..." Stratos whispered.

"K-K-Know you a-and S-Sasauge and H-Hermes..." The dirty blonde snickered, "S-Surprised y-you haven't figured i-i-it out... N-Nnnngh!" Sheriff groaned, the skulk growing on his arm, "C-Crap..."

Stratos bit his bottom lip and flew home. He landed on the balcony of his home, hearing Sausage and Hermes downstairs.

"SAUSAGE!" Stratos- no, Joel cried out as he removed his cape.

"Y-You don-"

"I do, shut up." Joel gently placed the dirty blonde on the bed.

His partner opened the door and gasped, "O-OH MY GOD!" He ran to the closet, "I-I have some remedies, i-it'll slow down the skulk!"

Sheriff screamed as his whole arm was covered in the plant like substance. Joel held him down, the dirty blonde sobbing.

"SAUSAGE!" Joel cried out desperately.

"I-I'm working as fast as I can, d-don't stress me, you know how I get!"

Sheriff sobbed, his blue eyes meeting the brunette's brown ones, "J-Joel..."

"I-I know, we're working on it, just stay strong, okay?!"

Sheriff whimpered, "F-Fuck, it burns!"

Ignoring his language, Joel glanced at Sausage, who ran over with three needles, stabbing one into Sheriff's arm and quickly injecting him. Sheriff screamed, thrashing as the skulk began to peel off his skin, as if it was dying. However, it hurt, hurt so much. It felt like he was a burning hot coals were falling off his body. He sobbed and screamed, reaching out with his other arm to punch the other. Joel quickly grabbed his wrist and pinned it down.

"S-S-STOP, IT B-BURNS-"

Joel gently took Sheriff's hand in his, allowing the dirty blonde to squeeze his hand. Sheriff sobbed, eyes clenching shut, shaking.

Sausage bit his bottom lip and murmured, "S-Sheriff, I'm sorry."

"Huh-" He screamed as he was injected with a second needle, seeing not all the skulk had been removed.

From his elbow down, the skulk began to fall off once again. He began panting, hyperventilating, screaming and sobbing in pain. It hurt, it hurt, it was too much. He screamed loudly, squeezing Joel's hand so hard, it felt like he was trying to break it. He closed his eyes, eventually just passing out.

Sausage sighed in relief, "Seems the second dose work." He gently wiped his arm, "The medicine killed the skulk inside his body as well... He just needs rest." He wiped the dead skulk off their bed, looking at Joel, "...Joel?"

"...He saved me Sausage..." Joel murmured, "He knows us, even knows Hermes... and yet, I don't know him... But he saved me... after I screamed and called him-"

"Joel." Sausage gently took his hand in his, smiling softly, "I'm sure Sheriff doesn't mind. But right now, both of you need to rest, especially him. You were lucky in how quick you got him here." His boyfriend then stood up, gently kissing Joel's head, "Stay here with him, Stratos, I'll stay with Hermes tonight."

Joel nodded, sighing. He got dressed in pajamas and faced Sheriff. He hesitated, removing the other's cowboy hat and scarf, as well as his weapons, placing them all on a chair. He hesitated with his mask, biting his bottom lip. He gently picked it up and placed it on his head, eyes widening.

J-Jimmy Solidarity?! The brunette stumbled back, The weird nerd that Sausage is like best friends with?! This klutz?! HE'S SHERIFF?! Joel stared at the other's pained, passed out face. He bit his bottom lip, gently lowering his mask back down and stroking his cheek, No wonder how he knows all of us...

"God, I'm such an idiot..." Joel laid his head on the bed, holding the dirty blonde's hand, "...I'm so sorry, Jimmy..."

He received Jimmy's soft snores as an answer, the brunette squeezing his hand tighter.

[q-gorgeous]

Holey Moley Chapter 2

fanfiction

ao3

heres the link to the art that this is based off of :D art by @nicktoons-brainrot

warnings: blood, gore, angst, ambiguous ending

holey moley yo

Danny slowly pulled his way up the steps to the front door. He felt ready to collapse but he was so close. He needed to last just a little bit longer. Just long enough to get the ecto-dejecto and to get up to his room. 

He twisted the doorknob and thanked whatever higher being watching that his parents had the tendency to burst out the door in a whirlwind without a second thought to locking it. He hadn’t needed to rely on it in a long time, but it was a lifesaver today. 

Opening the door, he crept inside and closed it quietly behind him. He made his way to the basement steps as fast as he could. When he reached the door he pressed an ear against it, listening for his dad. He couldn’t hear anything but the hum of the portal so he pulled it open. 

The lab stairs had never looked so daunting before. His legs were shaking and he carefully made his way down. Danny used to be grateful for how far below the house the basement was. It meant that it contained most of the sounds and explosions that would shake the house at night, but now he just wished it was a normal basement with a normal amount of stairs. 

The deeper he got the more uneasy he got. He was walking straight into the lion’s den. If he got caught this time… 

He shook his head as he made it off the last step and into the lab. Everything was in a cluttered mess, as always. Hopefully the ecto-dejecto was in the same spot as it was last time. 

Danny walked up to the counter, scanning it for the vials of ecto-dejecto his parents kept sitting out while they were still studying it. 

“Come on, come on.” Danny rifled through the cabinets and drawers that were on the underside of the lab's counters, swiping at the ectoplasm that was still dripping from his eyes. “It has to be here. They wouldn’t have just gotten rid of it.” 

Danny opened up every cupboard and drawer until the only thing left was the minifridge sitting on the floor next to the counter. He eyed it for a few moments before opening the door. 

There it sat in the fridge next to his dad’s uneaten sub.

“Here it is!” Danny grabbed the vial of ecto-dejecto and an empty syringe. He went to work filling it up, getting rid of the air bubbles just like he watched his parents do. He went to jab it into the crook of his elbow when a bang split the air. Pain exploded through his chest and he looked down to the hole that had just been shot through him. He heard heavy breaths behind him and he didn’t have to turn around to know who they belonged to. 

“Mom?” Danny’s voice echoed across the room, wavering around the single word he spoke. 

He heard a gasp and stumbled. He pressed a hand against the gaping hole in his chest and turned around to face his mom. He could see the mounting horror in her face. 

Danny pulled his hand away from his abdomen and looked at it. It was covered in ectoplasm. 

“Oh no.” Maddie whispered. “No, no, no, no!”

Danny watched as ectoplasm dripped off his chin and onto the floor. The ectoplasm was leaking from his eyes much faster now. He couldn’t tell if it was because he was crying or not. All he could see was green. 

He coughed and whatever strength he had left gave out, sending him collapsing to the floor. The sound of his head hitting the tile bounced around the room and inside his mind. He couldn’t tell what was going to kill him first. The neurotoxin, or the hole in his chest. 

He felt hands patting his side. He could hear murmuring coming from above him but he couldn’t make much of it out. He was rolled onto his back and he sputtered out another cough at the force. 

“...what do I do? How am i…” 

Danny squinted up at the figure above him. Right. His mom. 

He pushed away the hand that was resting on his shoulder. She jumped in surprise and placed her hands on both his shoulders instead. 

“-et me help you… “

Danny shook his head and the room started spinning. His eyes slipped shut. After a moment he could feel her gripping his chin and shaking his head back and forth.

“...Danny, wha… need the ecto-deje… for?”

Her voice kept fading in and out and Danny pried open his eyes again. She was still staring down at him. He didn’t know if he could trust her, or if it was already too late. But hey, he was dying anyway.

“Ecto-” He coughed. “D’jecto, stabil. Stabibble, izes… plasm.”

Her eyes widened. “The ecto-dejecto stabilizes ectoplasm?”

His eyes slipped shut again and he nodded. Everything was growing cold. 

“Okay!” He could hear her skittering across the floor, her hands knocking against the syringe, sending it gliding across the tile. He heard the sound of her suit clamping shut around the syringe.

“It’s going to be okay, Danny. You’re going to be okay.”

He could barely feel the syringe where she plunged it into his leg. Everything was fading away and growing darker. He could feel her shaking him but that quickly faded too. 

He didn’t know what dying for real was like, but his only consolation was that he didn’t see the light as he faded away.

[rachalixie]

can’t get you off my mind

classic you-meet-minho-at-a-party-and-he-takes-your-breath-away trope

warnings: alcohol mention, minho x gender neutral reader

genre: strangers to lovers

word count: 750+

the first time you see him he’s walking through the front door with chan and jisung like he owns the place.

he’s stupidly pretty, with plump pink lips formed into a pout and long lashes framing big eyes. he’s wearing sinfully tight leather pants and a soft looking sweater, a look you didn’t think would ever fit but somehow this boy makes it work. you realize you’ve been staring for longer than is socially acceptable when he turns and his eyes latch onto yours, and your cheeks burn as your gaze drops down to the half finished drink in your hand. your mind is racing, you swear you’ve seen him before somewhere, his eyes are captivatingly familiar. your friend taps you on the shoulder, holding out a ball indicating that it’s your turn to go in pong, and he almost leaves your mind.

the second time you see him, he’s leaning against the kitchen island in a way which you can only describe as cocky. you can’t shake how familiar he looks, but where have you seen him before?

“another drink?” he asked, holding out a seltzer to you. you take it, nodding in thanks.

“you’re here alone? no one to get drinks for you?” he asks teasingly, perching up on the counter.

“i don’t think that’s any of your business,” you flush, refusing to feel embarrassed. “last i saw, you walked in here alone too.” a low blow, maybe, but he started it.

“is that you admitting to have been watching me?” he asks, leaning his elbows on his knees and resting his chin in his hands, which would have been an adorable pose for anyone other than him. “it’s okay. i’ve been watching you too. anyone who i was with tonight wouldn’t have held a match to you.”

you choked on your seltzer, staring at him in shock, but he just hopped off the counter and sauntered away.

the third time you see him, he’s white-knuckling a bottle of beer in his hand while cringing away from a girl in a ridiculously short skirt and false lashes. you’re walking towards them, trying to get to the balcony behind them to get some fresh air. he grabs your wrist before you can walk past them, and all but pushes you between himself and the unnamed girl just as she’s reaching to feel his bicep.

“this is y/n,” he says, his voice smooth as velvet despite the discomfort you know he’s feeling. “have you two met?”

the girl scoffs, not bothering to answer him as she walks away in search of other prey.

“rude,” you giggle, breath catching as you realize he’s still holding your wrist. “wait, how do you know my name?” you ask, his earlier comment mixed with this interaction catching you way off guard.

“i make it a point to know everyone here, y/n,” he said, turning his grip on your wrist to hold your hand. “it’s a pleasure to meet you, by the way.”

you blush, questioning how he can be so ridiculously charming and annoyingly cocky at the same time. you open your mouth to answer, but before you can speak he’s beckoned by chan and jisung from the other side of the room.

“minho!” chan exclaims, flushed and giggly drunk, making the pretty boy’s head turn. “minho come here!”

“come see this! changbin’s about to crush this guy in arm wrestling!” jisung followed, giddy.

“duty calls,” minho says, leaning into your space just long enough for you to smell his sweet musky cologne under the alcohol on his sweater. he smirks and walks away, leaving you to finally get to the balcony.

minho, you mouth his name, testing it out. i like it.

the fourth time you see him, you’re leaving the bathroom and he’s right by the door, beckoning you into a room down the hallway with crooked fingers. of course you follow, and as soon as you enter the door he shuts and locks it behind you, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. he backs you up to the bed, and you let out a yelp as your knees hit the edge and give out. he’s looking down at you, smiling softly in place of the smirk he’s been wearing all night.

“minho, can we be in here?” you ask timidly, your hands twisting around each other. he makes you nervous, you can’t help it.

“oh, kitten, this is my house. you’re on my bed,” he practically purrs, moving closer to you and caging you against the headboard. “you don’t need to worry about any of that.”

turns out, he does actually own the place.

—

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