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awesomerextyphoon · 1 year

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I Dare You

Summary: Your friend, Katya dared you to venture into the ancient graveyard, but you got a lot more than you wanted.

Pairing: Demoniac!Andy Barber x Black Female Reader

Rating: 18/Mature

Word Count: 531

Warning: Chase Kink, Slight Smut, Talks of Violence

A/N: This was a last-ditch effort for me to have something to write for Halloween/Samhain. I partook in a sprint writing challenge and this was the result. Thanks to @sagechanoafterdark and @venusofthehardsells for inspiring me!

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"I shouldn't be here!" you screamed in your head as you barely dodged an uprooted tree. You just had to listen to Katya and her dumbass dare. You thought you were stronger than that.

“But yes you are! As my lovely little mate,” The demon who insists on being called Andy whispered. His voice somehow carried through the forest. He hadn’t had a thrilling chase in so long, he decided to give it shot.

You neared the edge of foreign exchange town, the lanterns' light illuminating your skin. You breathed a sigh of relief at making it to town and beating the monster at his own game when you felt a muscular arm slam itself around your torso knocking the breath from your lungs.

“Looks like I win, little one,” Andy breathed into your ear, “your fear is especially delectable. I can’t wait to taste you.”

“Please don’t eat me! I didn’t mean to enter your domain!” You pleaded as he picked you up bridal style.

“You think that slovenly jumble of rocks was my domain?! No, love, my realm is far grander than whatever your pathetic species could muster.” Andy boasted wiping the tears from your eyes.

It's a dream It had to be a dream. Just close your eyes and you’ll wake up in your shared bedroom with Katya and Chisom laughing about Samhain and lamenting not getting any hot dudes.

You just had to enter the grave Even after the townspeople warned you. You just had to succumb to Katya’s taunts. Now you’re stuck with a demon who insists on not being called one.

You turned to the being in question and noticed a few things. One, he was sexy as fuck! Tall and broad with dark brown hair and insanely intense blue eyes that held the light of the full moon in them. His lips were full with the lower one begging to be bitten.

“I see you're taking a liking to me, mate. Perhaps being with me will not be so bad.” Andy remarked as he made his way to a colossal tree; its branches and roots gnarled in all directions.

“Why…Why do they call you a demon? I mean, it must’ve been so long ago that only old wives’ tales remained.” You chuckled only for it to die at the sight of Andy’s grim expression.

“No, my love. It’s even worse.” Andy murmured into your supple skin as he muttered an ancient spell opening the gateway to his domain,” I annihilated entire armies on a whim. Drank and bathed in the blood of innocents. Slaughtered angels and demons alike for shits and giggles.”

All the life abandoned your face in fear,” Then how-“

“A great sorcerer, the Sorcerer Supreme, couldn’t kill me, so they imprisoned me long enough for my crimes to become a legend,” he smiled down at you nuzzling and marking your neck,” Though perhaps too long for bewitching young maidens not to heed the warnings of their elders.”

“I’m not that young you-ah!” You moaned as Andy’s finger made its way to your clit.

“So responsive! I just know you will be a fine mate! Now let’s go, our mating den awaits.”

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mighty-ant · 2 years

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future boy, part one

ao3

Concrete, smoke, the oppressive, sizzling ozone tang of recently discharged laserfire—the stench of decimation was the same in the New York City of 2020 as it would be in 2044. Or, was. Had been. Never would be.

He was new to this whole time travel thing, okay?

Casey was still white-knuckling the Key in one hand, adrenaline working a fine tremble down his arm and down into his fingers. Its weight was substantial, as a centuries old hunk of stone, an ancient prison should be, and even dim and powerless, it didn’t look real beneath his filthy, bloodstained glove.

It was the Key to his future. To the annihilation of a world he’d only heard about in stories.

It was the Key that Master Leonardo died for. And kept dying for.

The streets around Metro Tower—real streets , with those little yellow lines painted in the middle, surrounded by mostly intact storefronts where pale-faced civilians peered out of smashed windows, wondering if the end of the world had been prevented or merely paused—were caked in rubble, more so than the other parts of the city he’d seen. In this world, to these people, unused to decimation as the norm, it probably still looked pretty bad.

Chunks were missing from lots of buildings, fallen to the street in cavernous, splintering craters when they weren’t disintegrated entirely. Casey spied a helicopter sticking out of the glittering, glass side of a skyscraper, trailing smoke, and around the corner it looked like a tank had been picked up and dropped into the middle of a bank, its marble columns lying splayed out and scorched in the street.

But the world Casey came from didn’t have buildings that weren’t burnt out husks, teetering skeletons that couldn’t provide substantial shelter against a sandstorm much less a pack of Krang demon dogs. The land was scarred, dead, barren. Pockmarked ground was built on the demolished layers of New York City, every gleaming skyscraper and the Hidden City that had once lain beneath her, exposed by the Krang’s theft of mystic energy and burnt to cinders in the first year of invasion.

He knew, logically, that millions would had to have died to make the future that he lived, where a cave filled with a few hundred, starving refugees felt like a feat of survival. But until Sensei threw him through the time gateway, dropping him into the heart of a shining metropolis among more humans that he’d ever imagined existing in the entire history of Earth, packing the sidewalks in endless rivers, talking and shopping and living , he never could’ve grasped the sheer magnitude of loss. Of death.

Deaths that would never happen now, because he held the Key in his hand. Because Master Leonardo— Leo , young and impulsive and reckless as hell, and the greatest hero the world would never know—pushed the Technodrome beyond the reaches of the stars, dooming himself to a short imprisonment and long, excruciating death at the hands of an ancient, alien evil.

Casey doomed him to that fate.

The Krang were many, many sickening, hateful things, and merciful was not one of them.

Those that they tortured and turned and still survived never stayed that way for long, unable to live with the monsters they’d become. Casey had fought the mangled bodies that Krang possessed long after the host had died, empty puppets performing at their masters’ whim. He’d dragged comrades back to base with gaping holes pierced through them, choking on their own blood, nursing wounds that appeared small only to turn to them in the next moment and discover them gray and glassy-eyed. There were never enough bandages, enough medicine, and infection killed as many as the Krang did.

Casey would never forget the way Sensei screamed when Master Donatello had to amputate what remained of his right arm. Master Raphael had been gone for half a decade by then, so Master Michaelangelo held his left hand until he passed out from the pain, and many hours after. Master Donatello, already a taciturn teacher, barely spoke after that. And then, he was gone too.

As rubble and glass crunched beneath his boots, Casey heard Sensei’s scream reverberating in the empty chasm of his head. Somewhere, high above the technicolor explosion over Metro Tower and beyond this plane, Leo might be screaming the same way. Casey hoped that wasn’t the case. He hoped Krang’s revenge would be swift, that Leo would be at peace, secure in the knowledge that he saved his brothers, saved the planet , even if he couldn’t save himself. Again.

You’re a lifesaver, Casey Jones.

As if.

Twice now he’d abandoned Sensei. First to face annihilation alone, gone with a smile and a blinding laserblast that seared into his retinas, the afterimage lingering whenever he closed his eyes. The last Hamato, slain.

The second time, Casey damned Leo by choice, if not willingly. It was what his not-quite-Sensei wanted, begged him to do, even as Raphael (Master Raphael living, breathing, miraculously freed from Krang control, Leo did it) pleaded fiercely against it. But Leo trusted Casey to do it. To kill him. Because he finally understood what Casey feared he never would.

Get the Key.

Stop the Krang.

No matter the personal cost.

Behind Casey, something clattered and fell—precarious rubble, most likely—but by the way he startled it might as well have been gunfire. His mask dropped over his face and he brought his chainsaw staff to bear as his heart pounded in his ears and his muscles thrummed, reactions all delayed. What sloppy work; Master Leonardo would’ve had him doing flips until the second apocalypse for his lack of alertness on the battlefield.

Could he still call it that if the battle was over?

His aimless wandering had not taken him far from the base of Metro Tower. The smoke was densest here, the buildings dark, and the wind whistled mournfully through the shattered windows. Tendrils of the Krangs’ parasites lay frozen among the devastation, disturbingly organic among the wreckage once built by human hands.

It was so quiet. Casey didn’t think he’d ever known silence such as this. Compared to the dizzying rush of Times Square and the havoc of battle, this felt like he was the last person left alive in the whole of New York City.

His gaze caught on something that flickered, metal reflecting the glow of the obliterated Technodrome. Precision metal, a blue hilt. Casey dropped his staff with nerveless fingers.

One of Leo’s katana.

He lurched toward it before he was even conscious of moving. His legs shook, knees only holding him up until he reached the blade. He collapsed heavily before it, breath leaving him in a painful rush. Or maybe that was just his cracked ribs from the drone attack two days and a time gateway ago.

Even through his knee pads, the jolt of falling onto crushed concrete rattled through his bones. He couldn’t have cared less. Casey couldn’t remember the last time his hands trembled while handling a weapon, but now he had to move slowly to pick up the katana, lest he grip it too tightly and slice through his gloves, down to the flesh.

He’d been seven when he first saw Master Leonardo’s katana up close.

They were a resistance cell of a few hundred at one point, mostly families. They traveled through the ruins of the sewers back then, before the Krang wised up to the strategy and forced them aboveground, into the caves. Not many yokai survived the extermination of the Hidden City, and even fewer mutants, but they weren’t an entirely uncommon site around their scattered campfires.

Everyone knew the Hamato Clan—Commander O’Neil and her four mutant brothers were basically their de facto leaders. Casey had only ever seen them from a distance, and they amazed him even then.

Raphael, silent and lumbering as he made his rounds, was the biggest mutant Casey had ever seen, positive that he could take out a whole pack of demon dogs without breaking a sweat. Michelangelo could often be found in the middle of a game with the children of the camp (there was a surplus of orphans, after all), throwing harmless ribbons of light for them to chase or sewing balls for them to kick around in the dirt. Donatello was the turtle they all saw the least of, always holed up in his mobile lab where the shriek of wrenching metal and drilling could be heard at all hours. He would often emerge with weapons, demonstrate how they worked, and then vanish back into his lab with the deadpan warning, “Try not to blow your heads off.”

Leonardo could most often be found hunched over the war table, alongside Commander O’Neil and Mom.

On the day that they were discovered by the Krang and their bunker started to rattle apart around them, his mother forced her way through the screaming crush of refugees and shoved Casey into Leonardo’s arms.

He still had both katana back then, before he lost them along with his right arm, and Leonardo had to juggle the two swords and a seven-year-old Casey in a moment of uncharacteristic clumsiness. In a blink, he had one katana sheathed and Casey instinctively tucked into the crook of his arm.

“Jones, what the he—”

“I need you to take him, Hamato,” Mom spat, eyes blazing despite the gauntness of her cheeks, the bandages, her limp. She was one of a handful to make it back from a raid just a few nights ago, and just barely at that. “I’ll just slow you down.”

Leonardo’s grip tightened on his katana, but he still shook his head. “Don’t say that. I’ll get you some help, you can make it.”

“No, I can’t. Not anymore.” Whatever Leonardo saw in her eyes made his shoulders slump in defeat. “But I can stay here and take a few hundred Krang out with me.”

Leonardo chuckled once, a tired, sad sound. “There’s the Foot Recruit I remember.”

Mom glared. “So you’ll protect Casey? You’ll teach him?”

“You know I will.”

Terror struck Casey, and he’d reached out to his mother. Fear stole his voice, but Mom took his hand and pressed a kiss against his fingers. “You’re gonna go with Sensei. Listen to him, even when he’s being a blowhard, and you’ll be okay. Okay?”

An explosion shook the ceiling, raining dirt and chunks of stone down on their heads. Leonardo curled over Casey, protecting him from the falling debris.

“You need to go,” Mom said sharply. She turned away, snagging a bazooka from a passing fighter. Casey watched her disappear into the fleeing tide, toward the where the walls cracked under the Krang’s assault.

Master Leonardo spun his katana, the long silver blade glinting gold from the flickering bulbs they’d strung across their base. He grinned, grief tucked away, the streaks over his eyes red as blood.

“C’mon, Casey Jones. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

Sensei lost his mystic energy years ago, stolen by the Krang in the first days of the invasion. Casey only had Master Michaelangelo’s stories of the portals he’d been able to create, and the bittersweet realization of how such an ability could’ve aided the Resistance. Now, having seen Leo’s portals in action, splendors of light and speed, escape and rescue, he knew what it meant to find one lying abandoned, miles away from the explosion that was all that remained of the Technodrome.

If he’d had any hope of Leo making it out of the Krang prison dimension, this just snuffed it out.

Casey bowed his head over the katana, eyes burning like he was staring down the smoldering barrel of a Krang blaster, but he didn’t cry again. He’d shed his tears for Leonardo—Leo, Sensei; the one no older than him, a familiar stranger, and the one he carried across decimated battlefields—and wouldn’t dishonor their sacrifice with more weakness. This was war . They’d had to abandon allies before, more times than he could count. Mom. Raphael. Donatello. Master Michelangelo. For the good of the Resistance.

He’d completed Sensei’s last mission. Find the Key. Stop the Krang. The world was saved, as impossible an idea as that was to wrap his head around.

Now Casey just had to contend with the aching emptiness that victory had left him with.

No probbles, right?

The new communicator on his wrist crackled, for the first time since he leapt off the crumbling Metro Tower with Key in hand. Casey barely heard it. He’d already borne witness to more of the turtles’ grief than he deserved, and not just as their unwitting harbinger of doom. Raphael taken, Raphael turned by the Krang, filling Mikey and Donnie’s head with delusions of grandeur without ever telling them that their greatness cost them their lives in his future.

Sitting here alone among the wreckage and ruin was the least of what Casey deserved. Not disturbing the Hamato Clan as they picked up the pieces of their life.

Shouting erupted from his communicator, startling in the eerie silence of the demolished street. Heart pounding, blood rushing through his ears, Casey strained to parse the frantic words. He’d nearly dropped Leo’s sword in his panic, and after scrambling to hold onto it for a terrifying number of seconds, grabbed it tightly by the blade. The sharp edge cut through the fingers of his glove, piercing the skin slightly.

By then, the yelling had narrowed down to one voice, Raphael’s. Not that it made it any easier to comprehend what he was saying.

“—alive! He’s alive!”

Alive? Who was…

Casey’s stomach plummeted, past his feet, beyond the sewers, falling down deep into the Hidden City. He felt cold all over, like he’d been struck with fever, because Casey Jones II was not that lucky. His misfortune was surviving while everyone around him, everyone better, died.

Another voice interrupted, silencing the frantic cries with a single word. “Raphael.”

Casey had never known Sensei’s sensei—Splinter’d been killed years before Casey was born, but the rat he’d met in their underground home seemed jovial, at least until he mentioned the Krang. Now, the rat's voice was brittle, and with one word Casey recognized the fear in it. The fear of hoping.

Raphael let out a rattling breath of relief, a sob disguising itself as a laugh. “Leo’s alive, Dad. We have him.”

Then, a tired, wry voice that Casey never thought he’d ever hear again (outside of his nightmares) warbled up from his communicator.

“The reports of my death were… greatly exaggerated.”

Casey’s face was wet again, cheeks hot with racing tears. He couldn’t stop staring down at his communicator, uncomprehending.

He’d abandoned Leonardo for the second time, doomed him, killed him, but…he was alive? This time…this time, did everyone get to live?

It was impossible to fathom. It was more than fairytale, of which he knew few, or any half-formed imagining he’d ever had of what peace might be like, curled up on cold stone ground with his threadbare cape for a blanket and a handful of underfed rats in his stomach.

“ —everyone okay?” Raphael was saying. “April, are you still with Pops? What about Casey? Casey! You there?”

On instinct, he opened his mouth to respond in the affirmative, but found that no sound escaped. Shame raced through him in a scorching flush; frustrated, he roughly scrubbed his free hand across his tearstained face, smearing it with even more bits of blood and dirt.

Since he was a child, he sometimes lost the ability to speak in the wake of their more punishing missions. He was perfectly capable in the heat of battle, firing off commands and accepting those he was given, but as soon as his blood cooled and the guns stopped firing, Casey would often find himself rendered mute.

After Casey got himself stuck at the bottom of a ravine with a broken leg for four hours, unable to call for help, Donatello had installed a little button beside his communicator so that he could still check-in with command using morse code. Casey tried to send such a message now, desperate and embarrassed at his failing, despite knowing that no one else’s communicator was configured to receive it. Not for twenty-one years, and now maybe never.

.. .----. -- / .... . .-. .

“C-Casey? You there, bud?”

His racing mind quieted at Leo’s voice, strained with worry that was both familiar and not. As Sensei’s most fastidious lieutenant, he was often uneasy when Casey missed a check-in, but hearing the same thing from his counterpart, who cracked jokes in the face of certain, unimaginable death and was an entire year younger than Casey, sent a half-hysterical, incredulous bubble of laughter spilling out of his mouth.

He set down Leo’s katana with reverent care, forcing his closed fingers to open with steady determination. The thin gash crossing the underside of his fingers wept lightly, and sung with mild, stinging pain that crescendoed when he clenched his empty fist closed. He focused on that sting, rather than his cracked ribs, aching bad knee, and every other cut and bruise that his armor couldn’t protect him from.

Maybe, this time, everyone did get to live.

Casey gasped a breath, muteness broken for now, and lifted the wrist bearing his communicator.

“I’m here."

#ant writes #i've made the final fandom leap #rip sensei leo #when your new found family is a younger version of your old found family #some violence/blood but just the krangs' usual bs #casey is full on stranded in a world that is NOT all terminatored #boy doesn't know what a bus pass is rn let alone money #rottmnt movie spoilers #rottmnt movie #rottmnt spoilers #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt #casey jones ii #casey jones #leonardo #tmnt fic

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mojave-pete · 1 year

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sygol · 9 months

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do you have any solid opinions on an individual choosing to annihilate their sense of personhood, in order to be something else(lesser, perhaps)

i think for most, its generally not the right path, but sometimes it is, i advocate harm reduction and i advise you to do research about it in as many different spiritual nd psychological perspectives as you can entailing trauma, healing, and becoming a vessel, before you decide to crawl through that door! for it can be quite difficult to return through that gateway later, thus it is important to inform yourself before entering such a schema

#asks #^w^

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perrysoup · 5 months

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Pretext: This deals with Hamas and the US program DARE. Some of you may not like the analogy I am going to use, but frankly you need to think on it too, especially if you grew up in the US.

Long post.

So, story time. I grew up in America, I was born and raised here. Part of American schooling (in Fifth Grade, gotta get them agreeing with a police state early) is a system called DARE you are taught of and by, standing for Drug Abuse Resistance Education. In that (absolute dogshit pro-police anti-addict (NOT anti-addiction, anti-ADDICT)) lesson, a key thing we are taught is that Weed is a gateway drug. If you smoke weed you WILL do crack. You WILL do heroin. You WILL sell your body for the weed addiction. That drug dealers and users and mean and hurtful and will abuse you constantly. Again, this is regardless of the drug. I am not speaking about actual horrors committed on people who are having their addiction taken advantage of. Those are real and happen.

That's not hyperbole btw, feel free to look at your own kids DARE stuff if you have them in that age group.

Anyway, I believed it. Others may not have, but I did. We had to sign things saying we would never do drugs, never drink and drive (which they never defined and I'll tell a fun story at the end about), never do ANYTHING really.

So time goes on, 5th grade me turns into 6th grade to 7th, rinse and repeat til I am a Sophomore in High School (Grade 10). And on a whim, I was offered to smoke a bong in a car in a SUPER white SUPER "well off" neighborhood. And I did. I actually first had to ask how to do it, and shocker, the dude was super nice and friendly. He didn't judge me or anything, he was happy to show me. My inexperience was not a thing to laugh at to him. (One Question raised about what DARE talked about. Technically two since "well off" people never did such a thing, and because of that they are "well off")

He also never offered me any other drugs. Hell he didn't even offer pot. If you wanted it you could ask and buy from him, but he wasn't pushing it. (Two questions raised about what DARE talked about).

I also never craved other drugs. I had seen the effects of heroin on some of my family, so maybe that was a part of knowledge I had and other didn't, but no one I even knew pushed me on it. Shit I hung out with people happily doing coke and sharing it, but ONLY if you asked. No one tried to make you do it. (Three now)

Finally, after discussing it with my parents, I find out that my mother was an on and off pot smoker, and my dad wasn't a drug user, but he didn't disparage it, he just preferred alcohol as his drug of choice. (Which was ACTUALLY a major issue in our family, not that DARE seemed to care)

And in the end, it comes clean that everything they told us about Pot was a lie. Everything they said was either full out false, or left out convenient details that explained WHY. Not that they were "worthless junkies" (actual phrase used).

That started some of my questioning about what we were taught and told by authority figures that had a position of power to hold would tell us anything to nod and agree with them, regardless of the facts.

I didn't think about what other stuff that could affect though. 9/11 happened when I was in 6th grade, and as many other Americans can attest, we were riled up into a fervor to support the troops, that "they hated our freedom", that terrorists were gonna get you unless you pledge your support undying to the United States. And I believe that for way to long. It took me much longer that it should have to see the flaws and lies that were told to us over and over and over by people we were told we could trust.

So how does this relate to Hamas?

As more and more is becoming clear about the lies and abuse we endure, and the lies and abuse we have seen especially by Israel, it is fair to ask I believe, is Hamas the bad guy? Did we take the statements of "Terrorist Group" as fact and "Rebellion against Annihilation" as bullshit?

I don't know. I'm not saying that as a cop out, I am saying I LITERALLY do not know. I have been told the Western story over and over and over and I don't know the truth.

But what if we were wrong? What if it was another lie that was done to make us angry at the wrong people?

This is the issue that arises. After a certain amount of government lies, tricks, torture, abuse domestic and foreign, can we trust what the government told us? They had a chance to tell me the truth when I was young, and they instead chose to lie to me, to treat me as something they could mold into their sick image of a "good citizen" instead of another human.

As I said, I don't know enough about Hamas to say if the labels are wrong, and I encourage everyone (Pro AND Anti) to share information so we can all be more educated.

But we have been lied to many times.

---------------------------------------

Drinking and Driving story: As I said, DARE left out details that made things easier to understand, I think on purpose. One of those that could just be in the "fucking stupid to not clarify" was drinking and driving. So after that class, that weekend, my father and I go to McDonalds, and get our usual.

And then my father *gasp* started driving while sucking on his straw.

I was distraught, my OWN father drinking and driving? And I confronted him on it, and his could only look at me bewildered and say "Son, that's for alcohol, not Coke" and that's how I learned what drink meant in that context.

#hamas #dare #Drug Abuse Resistance Education #D.A.R.E.#palestine #israel is a terrorist state #free palestine #gaza #genocide #fuck the israeli government #idf is a terrorist group #free gaza #israel

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