#monster jam crush it

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

eclipse makes u a hot cocoa,, and is SMOOCHED!!!! (what happens next will shock you) ...THANKING ur ROBOT BOYFRIEND for giving u a hot cocoa GOES WRONG???? (how many kisses does it take to smother a human being???? we found out...)

aka a small late christmas gift for anyone here who likes my lil Clipsy boi,, drawing this spiraled wildly out of control bc it was only going to be the first three doodles but i was streaming it and my friends went absolutely nuts over Shy Clips Trying To Flirt U so uh. here we are i hope u like it kjsdfhsjdfhdkj

[hitlikehammers]

if you can’t write your own necronomicon, store-bought is fine 📔

(not ideal but: fine) — 1/3

for @klausinamarink, who prompted 'NECROMANCY' at the @steddiesummerexchange

Steve wants this clear, on-the-record, absolutely fucking crystal, okay?

It was not his intention to snoop through Eddie’s shit.

It’s not even a ‘respect for the dead’ thing. It’s just a ‘be a decent dude and don’t go through another dude’s personal stuff’ thing.

So like. Just to be clear.

It does not start out the way it…ends up.

——————

How it does start out is this notion that gets stuck in Steve’s head about the fucking gravestone they’re putting up. He hates the idea of it being installed over nothing, just plopped atop grass and dirt and just, just…nothing.

Almost like they’re saying Eddie was somehow nothing, and when the overall notion hits on that thought specifically Steve has this simultaneous urge to break a window and vomit, and it’s just, it’s not—

He needs to find a way to curb that feeling.

He hates it enough to mention it to the others, who don’t get it. At all. Maybe because it’s Steve, and they don’t think he knew Eddie enough to be this…this. Maybe because it’s Steve and that’s not Steve’s role, is it? Having the feelings. And if Steve was in a clearer frame of mind, maybe he’d be able to wonder if the people he’s asking just can’t handle what he’s asking, can’t process more of…any of it, not right now.

But he’s not. In a clearer frame of mind. He can’t process, either, beyond the kind of fucking all-consuming need to not bury nothing under Eddie Munson’s name.

So he buys a casket. Anonymously, uses his dad’s business card. Ships it to the place he knows is doing the stone, there’s really only one option in town and maybe they’ll be confused, or maybe they’ll be pissed, but Steve makes sure when it arrives that it sits on their doorstep, moves it in the night when it gets dropped after hours: unavoidable. Unignorable. Black on the outside and red on the inside, but Steve moves it all by himself and it’s still too light. It’s still empty. It’s not quite nothing.

But fuck if it’s enough.

The only two people he’s tried to broach the subject with—or who’ve heard him in the process—and who haven’t brushed him off are Robin, and that’s because she’s his soulmate, and they haven’t slept without one another in arm’s-reach at the absolute most since they lost—

Well. Since.

The second person is Eleven, and she’d just overheard Mike scoffing and Dustin blinking silently, and Steve had known when to leave a battle that couldn’t be won because it wasn’t even gonna be fought, but he had caught her with a crease between her eyes. Her face scrunched all thoughtful. Listening.

And if nothing else: not dismissing.

So when the idea strikes—not manic, it’s not a manic sort of idea, maybe it’s close, like in the ballpark of manic but hotdogs and millionaires are also in the same ballpark at the same time, y’know, and they’re nothing alike so fuck you—but when the not-manic idea strikes to put something, something that means something, that carries literal and figurative weight, inside that casket?

He tells Robin, who looks at him with sadness but not with pity, and who asks how they’ll manage it, rather than trying to talk him out of it. He’ll never get over how lucky he is to have her; never learn words that live up to how much she means to him.

But also: it’s good that all she does is ask how. Because Steve actually has that figured out.

He heads to Hop’s cabin when he knows both he and Joyce are gone. He explains in simple but plain terms, the kind he’s learning El appreciates best and processes easiest, especially when feelings are involved. And these feelings she grasps without hesitation, and fills in Steve’s vague ideas with concrete plans, and it takes less than twelve hours to see them at Forest Hills, where the government still hasn’t moved that goddamn trailer to give anyone any semblance of closure but definitely finds the time and manpower to put up new tape around the scene whenever it’s tampered with, fuck those motherfuckers all over again and—

Right. Well.

It takes less than twelve hours for El to distract the guards with a very minor fire on the other end of the park and some suspicious-sounding chittering she bets right on piquing their attention, giving Steve and Robin the in to sneak around the barriers and find their quarry: the version of the Warlock that never saw the Upside Down, knocked to the floor but in one piece. Weighty.

Something that means something, to mourn in the ground.

Robin’s peeking out the window, checking if the coast is clear for them to jet, for Eleven to ease off and meet them back at Steve’s car to go back to their evenings like nothing ever happened, save for the guitar in Steve’s trunk and at her signal Steve makes to follow with said guitar slung awkward across his back but then something…something pulls in him. It’s not even a catch from the corner of his eye or some shit, no, he feels it in the center of his chest:

What if it’s not enough?

So he grabs as many of the books scattered on the floor around a cracked and quaked-apart shelf in the corner as he can fit between both arms, all sorts and shapes and sizes, and then he’s ignoring Robin’s raised brow and crawling as quiet as he can back out of the trailer, out of the half crime scene, half quarantine zone, and running for the trees to get back to where they parked.

El’s waiting for them, and as he drives, honestly?

Steve thought he’d feel better about things, now. He thought this would start to calm that nauseous rage in him.

Maybe once it’s in the casket. Maybe once he feels the heft of it as a real thing.

Maybe.

——————

It would probably be logical to think that it’s the weight of the guitar that makes the shift, that turns the tides.

But that’d actually be a goddamn stupid thought because nothing about any of this—this town, what lies beneath it, the war they’re fighting the battle they lost, Steves fucking life now at large—none of it is logical, Jesus Christ. The guitar. What a fucking dumb idea.

Because it’s the books, of course.

It’s the goddamn books.

Because the guitar helps but it’s not enough. Steve tried his fucking hardest to lift Eddie’s body, had him in his arms but the gates were closing, the rope half-assed at too short after he’d cut Dustin off and with all of their wounds even Robin and Nancy—both with more upper body strength then you’d think—were basically fish in a fucking barrel and Steve was in worse shape but fuck if he didn’t get them out, get everyone out but—

He’d been the last, with Eddie. He’d felt the heft of that body, too cool against his chest but not cold, not yet—not dead weight, not dead weight, he was a person, he was this incredible person Steve was only just getting to know and he was, now he was—

No one had been unscathed to the point of being able to help Steve up. Steve had had the kind of shocking sort of clarity for being ready to stay with Eddie as the gate sizzled and narrowed, no man fucking left behind, right, but for the screaming growing ever more shrill for each failed attempt Steve made at holding Eddie different, at trying to get up and over the threshold together to no avail: he made the call the rest of them were screaming of him to make, despite the messiest fucking tears:

Leave him. He’s already gone. You’re not.

He knew how much Eddie weighed to carry, is the point. And the man was a lanky fucker with a little more build to him than first glance gave away but still: the guitar does barely half the work of filling the void.

Though the exact void Steve’s trying to fill might be…it might be more complicated than just the fucking casket not being empty.

But the casket does need more than just the instrument.

He sorts through the books he grabbed blindly; they all must at least be ones Eddie liked but…The Lord of the Rings. There are three of those, right? I feel like there are at least the three, and there are three right here that look so well loved they can’t not have meaning; Steve wanted to read them. He won’t be quick enough to read these copies, though, and that does feel like such a fucking loss, and that’s the point, isn’t it?

The grave can’t be empty. It can’t be meaningless. The marker’s meant to bear the loss.

They’re big, like, thick fucking books—one of about a hundred reasons why Steve hadn’t picked them up before. And no, he’s not…he’s not going to dwell on the why behind the way he lets his fingers flip the pages slow, stop here and there and drag the nail-tip across a line, a paragraph, wondering what some of the words mean, what Eddie would have thought of them, if he were here to ask—

There needs to be more weight. He shoves the trilogy to the side and grabs for…oh.

Oh, these are the…manual. Thingies.

For the dragon dungeons.

He lifts one, tests it: not as heavy. But there…there are a lot, and—

And Steve’s opening them too, flipping slow just the same: wondering. Wishing he could have a running commentary alongside that boundless energy even in the face of the end of the world, maybe because of the impending doom of the end of the goddamn world and Steve, walking shoulder to shoulder with him in those fucking death woods, he, it was, they—

“He was right,” Steve remarks, and realizes belatedly that it’s the first words he’s said to Robin where she’s flicking through a stack of books much quicker than him, clinical: all about the weight for the casket but Steve’s stuck on a page that takes him back to a conversation he heard only half of, the kids trying to catch Eddie up, trying to describe what they all call demogorgons and Eddie muttering under his breath about how that sounded absolutely fucking not like a demogorgon, and there a drawing right here, black and white and:

“They look nothing like they do in the game.”

Robin meets his gaze and still—somehow—her eyes are sad but they don’t pity him. Not yet, at least.

He’ll take it.

“Nothing in these is even really, like, connected,” Steve mumbles as he flips, flinches at the marked up pages on Vecna, Jesus fuck; “or workable,” he looks at the Mind Flayer and cringes, feels the urge to hide those pages from Robin even if she isn’t close, then decides to play it safe for probably irrational reasons and tosses the book to the side and grabs blindly for another one, oh cool, this looks like…spells and shit: “like, none of this looks apple,” Steve bites his lower lip, the word he’s looking for a little fuzzy when he’s scanning over the words on the page, because they’re, they’re not; “not even applicable, y’know, in reality,” but that’s vague, they’ve set foot in more than one reality, so does that even count as a caveat anymore but then, but then—and what they fuck is his heart pounding all of a sudden, he’s just sitting down, that’s not; but then;

“Or else, not for the Upside…”

His voice gives, peters out. His pulse is thick in his throat. He’s staring so hard at nonsense, at fantasy, at, at useless pretend things that won’t change anything, won’t fucking help, and why does it all hurt in his chest so fucking much and—

“Right?”

He looks up and Rob’s already got eyes on him. He can’t imagine how he looks. His vision’s a little…blurry, and it doesn’t even feel like it’s from tears, which…it does feel like it should be—but she might have crossed over to watching him with pity, now. He wouldn’t be able to tell.

But either way: Robin knows him, down to the cells. She knows the question he speaks out loud isn’t the question he’s asking. He’s not asking for reassurance, or confirmation. He’s not even asking her an opinion. He’s sure as shit not asking for permission.

Because he’s dizzy. His heart’s pounding, and he’s fucking dizzy, and it’s nonsense, it’s not real, it’s all a stupid game and the names don’t even match—

But. All of it was real. In some way, it was real.

It’s not an exact science, not a perfect match: it never was. But that wasn’t the point. It was a roadmap. It was a way to process the unfathomable enough to get from point A to point B.

And looking at the words on the page where his fingertip is drawing a long below: he can’t…not wonder. And if he’s already set on wondering, then fuck, fuck—the rage in his chest is easy, his heart doesn’t feel so squished and his might not sick up his lunch for the first time after trying to eat more than a peanut butter sandwich from the community hub. There’s something in this. It’s what he’s been searching for. He reads the words again, again, and again and yeah, they’re absurd, they’re absolutely insane:

RAISE DEAD

But maybe…maybe they’re a roadmap. Inexact but…but up to the task. What if.

They can’t not…try.

Steve will not live with himself if they don’t try.

🖤🪦 NEXT >>>

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divider credits here and here

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[kollectorsrus]

[cassiopeiasdaughter]

mirrorball

Theodore Nott x fem!reader

warnings: language, mentions of stress and an existential crisis? not proofread

summary: you are stressed and tired from being the one that takes care of everyone, and a concerned Slytherin boy wants to help

this was requested by @lalalenka and Paula 💛 for my celebration Theodore masterlist

When did life get so heavy? When did play dates turn into study sessions? When did begging your mom to check for monsters under your bed, turn into you crying into your pillow over your worries and fears? When did reality start feeling so real?

You think about that often, especially at nights, when your friends are asleep and you can remove the mask you wear, the face of happiness and optimism. You don’t have to play the part of the person who has everything under control when you are alone, you can be yourself, lost and afraid.

You are currently sitting in the Great Hall, waiting for your friends to come down for breakfast, start yet another busy day together. You woke up earlier today, exam season is coming up and sleep is something you struggle with, during those times. You know, your friends always wake up too late, that’s why you’ve grabbed their favorite pastries from the breakfast table, so you can hand them later on your way to class. It’s peaceful like this, sipping your coffee alone, planning your day as you eat; quietly going over everything you need to do-

“Are you alright?”, you hear a voice interrupting you from your thoughts

It’s Theodore Nott, you realize as you raise your head. Theodore, Theo is not a friend of yours. He is a boy from your year, a Slytherin, that you occasionally talk to during class. 

You see him at the library almost everynight, you two are always the last ones to leave. Your study dates, as you like to call them, began during 5th year; when you were hunched over a tome of Arithmancy begging yourself to understand, what the passage in front of you was saying, but failing miserably. That’s when you felt his hand on your shoulder, asking, if you accidentally cast a spell on yourself.

“I can’t understand anything.”, you remember whining and he spent the night tutoring you. You offered him help in DADA, in return and you ended up studying together for your OWLs. You like to think that you passed with good grades thanks to him, but he doesn’t agree.

Theo, is someone you feel calm and safe enough around to not fake your feelings or thoughts, most of the times, at least. Again, he isn’t your friend, but he isn’t a stranger or a mere acquaintance either. What he is exactly, that you can’t answer.

“I’m fine, why?”, you reply looking at him confused

“You’ve run out of bread for your butter.”, he says taking a seat across from you.

You stare down and see that you’ve been spreading butter on a slice of bread for so long that you’ve made a hole in the middle, with crumbs all over your plate.

Before, you can say or do anything he places a large piece of toast in front of you, with butter and blueberry jam, just how you like it.

“See you later.”, he calls out as he leaves, not giving you the time to thank him.

You spend breakfast with a smile on your face, your day suddenly feeling warmer and brighter.

“Goodmorning!”, you hear your best friend singing, while she wraps her arms around you and takes a seat.

“Morning to you too.”, you say laughing and hand her her favorite chocolate cake the one that always runs out first.

“What would I do without you?”, she says cheeks stuffed and crumbs falling everywhere- a sight that makes you laugh and always reminds you how much you love her.

“Probably still wandering around the forbidden forest.”, you say laughing, and cutting a corner from her cake

“That was ages ago, please let it go.”

“Never, now come on, we’ll be late.”, you giggle at her protests and drag her to class.

Theo isn’t brave or daring, if he were, his friends wouldn’t be giving him such a hard time about his crush and his approach, the lack of action mainly.

“You keep going like that, you won’t be in the friend zone, you’ll be in the study buddy zone, which is far force.”, Blaise warned him. But what was he to do about that? You had different friend groups and your schedules didn’t match. Was he supposed to just ask you to Hogsmeade out of the blue? 

“Yeah so this is the proper movement for the spell, now what are you doing Saturday?”, no way would he ever say that.

“Yeah, you’ll be associated with Ancient Runes Theo, no one finds that hot.”, Pansy commented- to which he responded with an eye roll.

“Maybe, I don’t want to do something about it.”, he said to his friends 

“Keep pining then.”, Draco replied 

“Maybe I will.”, and with that he stood up and left, wanting to take a walk and clear his thoughts, ignore his friends and their unfortunately correct but not practical opinions. It was fine, he would get over it and he would be fine. 

He would not be fine, he told himself as soon as he saw you, second time for today; laughing with your friends- pestering them to drink water- running around with bottles in your hands. 

His eyes light up by the way you giggle as you talk to them, maybe you are telling a story- he can’t understand, but your gestures and facial features- the way you look; alive and loud and beautiful, they send shocks down his spine. 

He knows it’s cheesy and stupid, but to him you are the sun. You are warm to others, always making your friends laugh- you take care of them, sometimes to the point of neglecting yourself. But, you are loving and kind and you light up any place you step into. It’s a shame, really, because he is nothing like the sun- he is dark and reserved, but still, your light doesn’t blind him, it could never.

“Hi Theo.”, you wave as he passes by, in a much better mood than you were this morning and he waves back with a smile, taking longer strides to leave your eyesight and maybe hide in a broomcloset?

It was getting really late and you were still in the library studying. You had so much homework and revising to do, and at some point you needed to tutor third years and prepare for dueling battles. Everything was too much, and you had no one to help you. You didn’t know how to ask your friends for help, you’d spent the past six years being the responsible one- the mom friend, you had everything under control and cared for others. The roles couldn’t be reversed now. But, it made you feel so alone, the alienation adding another weight on your chest.

“Hey.”, you hear Theo’s voice, in a soft whisper and raise your head to look at him, his books are closed and stacked in front of him, signaling he is getting ready to leave.

You spent all afternoon studying together, and it had started fine- you felt productive for the first hour, but after a while, words had stopped making sense.

“It’s really late, do you want to leave the rest for tomorrow?”

“I have one chapter left, you don’t have to wait for me, g-goodnight.”, you dismiss him with a smile

But he doesn’t leave and you look at him with eyebrows raised high. 

“One chapter.”, he whispers innocently lightly holding his hands in front of him, before he opens up a book, pretending to study.

You scoff at that and lower your head once more, to the passage in front of you. Letters are dancing in the page taunting you- catch us, they say, try to make sense of this. You are tired and Theo looking at you, concerned, isn’t helping your brain focus. You wait five, maybe seven minutes before you let out a quiet groan and say, “Fine, lets go.”, meeting Theo and the stupid satisfied look on his face.

The way back to your dorm is quiet, you are both tired from schoolwork and the lack of sleep is another crack on the mask you wear near others. You bite down at your lip nervously, as you think all of the work you didn’t get done, and all the extra homework you’ll have to finish tomorrow. You think of your friends and the parties they are begging you to go to and the Hogsmeade outings you’ve missed due to being exhausted. You think of their grades and how easy it is for them to succeed, while you spend hours in the library and still fail. You think about the future and how you don’t know what you want it to look like, and you think about life and how small you seem compared to the world.

You don’t feel the tears that slide down your cheeks, or the water in your eyes- blocking your sight. You understand you’re crying, only when a sob escapes your mouth, one that has been begging to come out for the longest time. After that, it is inevitable for you to break down, not caring about Theo and what he’ll think of you, or about the prefects who’ll come running thinking there’s been an accident in the hallways. But he calls your name, and that ruins you even more.

“‘M sorry.”, you whine- crying and turn your body away from him, lowering yourself on the ground wishing you could disappear.

“What is it? Is it that stupid Potions chapter? I’ll help you with that, don’t cry over that.”, he says panicking, kneeling behind you.

“No, no, it’s not- it’s everything. It’s all too much.”

“What is?”, he asks calmly, placing a hand on your shoulder hesitantly- you don’t tense at his touch, your body relaxes and you turn around- your face wet and red staring at him.

“Everything; school, life, everything.”, you whimper, “I have so much to do, but I can’t- I can’t. And everyone expects me to have everything under control, but I don’t, and I can’t do it anymore.”, you exclaim placing your head in the palm of your hand.

“No one expects you to have everything under control, it’s- it’s impossible to do.”

“Yes, they do! If I am not there for everyone, if I let them see how lost I feel, they-”

“They'll what? Leave you?”, he asks shaking his head at what you’re saying

“No, yes, maybe, I don’t know. They won’t be able to handle it- I am sure.”

“Even if that were true.”, he says slowly, releasing your head from your hands, urging you to look at him, “If you can’t let your friends see, then you can show me. You can talk to me, don’t keep all that inside. There are enough self-sacrificing idiots in the Gryffindor Tower, we don’t need one more.”, he jokes and you let out a small laugh

“Why would you want to be bothered with my issues?”

“I- you, you don’t have to always be the person who cares for everyone, you can-should be the one cared for.”

“Why?”, you ask again, the air shifting between you into something different. Something that moves the pain from your chest and turns it into butterflies in your stomach.

“Ah- well-“, he let’s out a breath, “- because I- I like spending time with you, and I want to be there for you, besides, I can handle anything you shoot at me.”, he finishes; his face red and sweaty.

You have stopped crying now, your vision is still blurry and your breath uneven- but something inside you has changed. As if, a bright light has found it’s way inside, providing hope and something new- something you haven’t felt before, but desperately want to keep. 

“Thank you.”, you say softly and let him help you up, you two resuming your walk but with a different destination this time.

“Come.”, he says and offers his hand- which you gladly take, letting him guide you wherever.

You walk outside, and let the cool air hit you- ground you. It’s late at night, you are at Hogwarts, near the lake, you are at your 7th year and next to you, stands Theodore Nott, your study partner Theo. The Slytherin boy- that looks handsome but has no clue, the brilliant Theo, who always helps you out and is willing to listen. Theo, who is still holding your hand while pointing at stars and constellations with his other. Theo, who smells like pine and fireplace, as you lean against him and listen to his voice. Theo, who you can count on and thanks to whom you know it will be okay. Everything will be okay.

A/N: life will be okay with or without Theo Nott, you all deserve to be happy and loved, just needed to remind y'all :)

Theo taglist: @avalynlestrange @spacecadet16 @lucy-is-never-logical @aleviia @marina468 @annaisabookworm @liarajoah @notasadgirlipromise @pariseffer @unlikelysadgirl @ktz-bb @lizisthecoolest

[slasherx]

Gurl you write so fast like a Machine 😂, I wish I could write like that, and also good luck with your finals!

Can I do a request for A Micheal Myers with a childhood crush (female) like as a kid Michael had a crush on the reader but like after he killed they were separated for years but them micheal broke out and came across the reader all grown up if you can!

Also can you do Rz Michael, he's my favorite

Lol thats cause I have the motivation to write about slashers rn. And thank you! I got a 94% on one of them, but I won't get my final grade on the other one for a bit. I hope I pass.

Content: Michael Myers x fem!Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, obsessive love

Notes: Even though the gif is peepaw Myers, this takes place in the RZ universe

• ───────────────── •

Michael was put away in the asylum when he was ten. Before he made a vow to never speak again, he kept asking his mother and Dr. Loomis where you were, and if you could come visit him. His mother promised to talk to your parents about it, but that she couldn't guarantee you could come see him.

And so she did. She tried talking to your parents, but your parents wanted you nowhere near that monster of a child. They outright refused her on numerous occasions, even when Michael's mother pleaded with them on her knees at their front door.

When she broke the news to Michael that you wouldn't be seeing him, Michael lost it. He could feel something in his head snap, the same way it snapped when bullies would hurt you or him. Or the same way he felt himself snap that Halloween night.

He managed to keep it cool until Dr. Loomis and his mother left, but when they sent in that nurse to watch him until they could escort him to his room, he couldn't hold it in any longer. He took his plastic fork and jammed it into her throat, cutting her scream short. He was angry. Why wouldn't you come see him? Why? Why, why, why? He didn't understand...he thought you were best friends.

• ───────────────── •

Eight years after that day, he had a visitor that wasn't Dr. Loomis. He had known his mother killed herself, his sister was dead, and Boo was probably far away in the foster care system, so he had hoped it was you.

When they sat him in the room, he had felt anxious for the first time in years. Had you changed like he had? Did you grow out your hair like him? Grown taller like him? He kept a mask on, one he made in rememberance of you. It was just your favorite color all over it.

Finally, you walked in and sat down across from Michael. A couple guards stood at the door, in case Michael tried to leap at you regardless of his cuffs chaining him to the table. He was breathing heavily - you had changed.

You had grown taller, but you remained shorter than him. Now at eighteen, you seemed very mature for your age, and Michael wanted to leap across the table at you, but not to kill you.

"Hi Michael. My parents don't know I'm here. I just...came to provide an explanation, since I feel you deserve one." You spoke, hands in your lap. "Your mother begged my parents to let me see you on many occasions, and each time they told her no. I remember one time she cried and got on her knees to beg my mother, but she just shut the door in her face."

Michael listened, quiet as ever. He was just happy to see you in front of him again. He was also surprised that Dr. Loomis wasn't here to supervise this meeting.

"And I want you to know that Dr. Loomis has contacted me since I turned eighteen, and we've spoken about you a couple of times. He told me you don't speak anymore, and that you killed a nurse while being in here." You decided it was now or never to try and break his vow of silence. "Is...is that true, Michael?"

Michael wanted to break his silence, but he knew Loomis would be on his ass if he did. So all he did was nod his head yes.

You seemed to shift uncomfortably. Your breathing increased, and he could tell you were scared. This saddened him - he didn't want you to be scared of him, he wanted you to love him. You two were attached to each other as children, why would a few murders make this any different?

"I...think I better go before my parents realize I'm not at my friends house." You started to get up, when Michael launched at you and grabbed your wrist, straining the cuffs on him.

He held you hard, and you could see the desperation in his eyes. He was all alone here. But he still killed those people, and if you weren't careful, you'd be next. The guards moved forward and forced Michael back, and a few more people rushed into the room. One rushed to you and put his hands on your shoulders.

"Ma'am, ma'am, are you alright?" The man asked.

You nodded. "Yeah, thank you." It was too fast for you to process it, but Michael was staring at you. "Please, take me out of here."

• ───────────────── •

Now outside, you saw Dr. Loomis by your car. He was pacing, clearly nervous about your meeting with Michael. Then when he saw you approach, he waved to you.

"How did it go?"

"Please don't talk to me. I shouldn't have come here." You responded shakily.

"What happened in there? Did he break his silence?"

"No, but he fucking grabbed me! Who knows what else he would have done if the guards hadn't been there?! I was crazy to even come here." You opened your car door and got inside.

"Please, wait, (Y/n). You don't know how much you mean to Michael, I-"

"Save it, Dr. Loomis. I'm going home. Stop calling me." You started up your car and peeled out of the parking lot. Memories of you and Michael as kids began to race through your head and you began to cry. How did it come to this...?

• ───────────────── •

Seven more years went by. Seven more years where Michael didn't see you. Seven more angry years. But now, it was different. Michael was standing in front of your house.

He was different now. He was more built, even taller, and his hair was even longer. You used to comment on his long hair as a kid, it was one of the reasons he kept it so long in the first place.

He could see you through the window. You lived alone now, just down the street from your childhood home. He was content watching you through the window. You were preparing dinner, when you suddenly got a call. He decided now was the time to enter your home.

Moving around to the back door, he began to pick the lock.

"Hello?" You picked up your phone.

With a click, he was in.

"(Y/n)! You need to listen to me-" Dr. Loomis practically shouted on the other line.

Michael slowly opened the door.

"Save it, Dr. Loomis. I told you to stop calling me." You were about to hang up.

Michael made his way to your living room, right next to your kitchen.

"He's escaped! Michael has escaped!"

"What?" You spoke, shock and fear tearing through your system. You put a hand over your mouth, and looked up through your window, but you saw a figure behind you.

"You're not safe! Flee Haddonfield!" Dr. Loomis begged.

You spun around to see a large man with a knife glistening in his hand. He had a white mask on, blonde hair poking out underneath it. You didn't need him to take off the mask to see who it was. Your fear skyrocketed as you thought he was going to kill you.

"Michael...?" You spoke, slowly lowering the phone and ignoring Dr. Loomis' pleas.

Michael moved towards you. He finally had you now, and he would never let you go again. He was yours, and you will be his.

• ───────────────── •

Here's my masterlist, in case you like what you see and want to request more!

[threepandas]

Bad End: Heroic Collection

New Haven wasn't a major metropolis. Some big city like Delhi or Tokyo, Jakarta and the like. It was big for the area. A major hub for commerce and crime on a local scale. But Nationally? INTERNATIONALLY? Not even close. No matter WHAT the great ambitions that haunted the Mayor, late at night, may tell you.

So, really, there was NO fucking reason for any A Listers to be here.

NONE.

Our biggest exports were fancy fucking jams and that one fashion line I couldn't pronounce. We had honest to God Jam festivals in the fall. It was a circuit, Mayor gave out awards. There were pies. Firestrike always ate himself sick. Agent always laughed at him. I... Fuck, my head was ringing. I'd hit that last building HARD. Was pretty sure I tasted blood. Not... not sure if that was because I busted something in my mouth or...

Over my comms, I could hear my teammates fighting. Trying to hail the Alliance. If we could... could just hold on...

Long enough for the major players to GET here?

Then what? I had to wonder. Staring at a burning bus in front of me. It was half way lodged through Mrs. Brahimi's shop. Please, God, let her and the workers have got out all right. I'd been there just this morning. She made me those stuffed flatbread things. Said I was still too skinny. Should rest more.

I use the twist remains of a book return to lever myself to my feet. Book..? Oh. I'm by the library. Which..? Fuck. Main one. That's city hall.

Smoke rises around the city I've lived in all my life. Fires everywhere. I'm supposed... supposed to be a hero. But I can barely stand. Feel sick as the world sways. My body is one big bruise. Gotta... gotta keep fighting. Helping. Save people.

In the distance, I can hear screams.

I'm coming. I promise. I'm coming!

I make my screaming body move. Stumble. Catch myself. Then keep going. The hiss and spit in my ear tells me that my communicator is probably half broken. I don't try it, in case that breaks it the rest of the way. Wrench doors from half crushed cars to free trapped civilians. Lever wreckage, hold it with trembling limbs, so people can crawl to safety. Run. Please, god, RUN!

We aren't strong enough.

He's here, The Collective.

A hivemind super threat. Alien supposedly. So far above my team's pay grade we know basically nothing. The kind of thing we were expected to never realistically see. We're nobody's. Fuck it, we're HAPPY being nobody's. It meant we got to go home each night. Didn't face The Horrors. Like him.

He CONSUMES.

Hungry. Trying to fill some void that's never going to fill. Supposedly a planet eater. Gutting worlds for resources, materials, to continue his own expansion. Now fixated on Earth for it's continued refusal to die. For its defiance. Some A+ sort of monster, to our high C rank. At best.

Fuck... we dealt with HUMANS. Fought gimmicks and tech. Little fish in our little pond. Now this tsunami was bringing the ocean to US and it was all we could do, to swim and survive.

I leaned against a half smashed car. Braced myself against it, more then anything, then started pulling pot shots. I... I was gonna black out soon. With a concussion like this? Probably wasn't gonna be waking up. Especially if those THINGS found me before a friendly did.

All across the city I called home, The Collective had Drones tearing the place apart.

They'd almost be pretty. Tall, elegant, androgynous lookin, supermodel twinks in battle armor. Drones apparently covered their lower face. I'd know the "commander" by their uncovered face and "use of adornments". Useful! Except they could fucking SWITCH on command, so you have to take out ALL of them.

Because they weren't a collection of different soldiers.

THEY weren't a THEY. That? Was a fucking HE. Singular.

You don't consider each of your individual cell as people. Each follicle of hair. Why would HE? God damn it. It was like fighting a giant. Against Gods. They just kept coming. And my ammo? Was not endless.

Worse. The drones had stopped looking. I don't know WHAT they had been searching for. But now? They started to converge on me. On city hall. Fuck. I... I couldn't even really stand anymore. My vision was blurring. I knew for a FACT my shots were shit. But dense as they were crowding? It seemed enough. Kept them back.

Three cartridges left.

Two.

Only one more...

The Alliance was coming. Half my team had gone silent. I could hear tears in the voice of Tech, back in the office. They had our life signs. Built into our armor. I could only imagine what mine looked like. Prayed, like I hadn't since I was a kid, that the others were just unconscious. Safe somewhere.

Someplace this nightmare couldn't reach them.

I doubted I was that lucky.

Tech was begging me to hold on. Giving me ETAs. And... And I was out of bullets. The block half full of Drones. I had escrima sticks. A fucking tazer. It would have to do. Sticks came out, as I swayed to my feet. No longer letting the car behind me hold my weight. What's a little... let's say, hundred or so, on one? Eh?

Bring your friends. Let's make it a fair fight.

I'll go easy on you.

Bravado until the end. Remember, never know who's watching. You are a symbol. Before you are a man, you are their HERO. Don't you DARE let them down. Even if you die. Especially when you die. B.. Bravado until the end. Plaste on a smirk and say a one-liner, we got hope to shoulder.

I took down about three Drones... I think... before the rest swarm me.

Feel hands pinning my arms. My torso. Everything. A weak point between the panels is ripped open. High grade military fabrics doing jack shit against their impossible strength. The distinct pinch tug of a needle in my skin. Cold spreading. The sudden exhaustion of a powerful sedative. I... am gone.

Time... is blurry.

Now and Then running together in my senses. My brain. The concussion doesn't help. Or... or didn't? It feels... gone? Gone-ing? Oh... look, sky. Clouds. Pretty. Wasn't I standing? I am standing. No... no being dragged. Chair? Not chair. Stairs? Carried. Pretty window..... where am I? Fuzzy. Bluzzy fuzzy purple beans~ he he he~ oh! Those are the... watch'ma call it! Gucci chairs! That rich lady had! Neat. Plurble.

Ouch! Why'd you pi...?

My mouth is dry as sand. But suddenly? I am hyper aware. The floating drift of my mind VIOLENTLY gone, replaced by alerted and focus. Drones surround me in a vaguely familiar hallway. Shit. I think it's that rich designer's place. My helmet is off, but my mask is still in place, thank god. The Drones stand far to close for my liking. Their many eyes, amused.

So glad to entertain, you Fuck.

I am frog marched down the hall. Damn near dragged. They were too smart to restrain me with my own cuffs, unfortunately. So my hands are bound behind my back with something tight I can't get a good feel off. Bastard secured it to my belt, too. Great.

The Collective's "Face" is surrounded by what must be every jewel in the city. Piled high in some vague sorting pattern I refuse to even try and comprehend. He's trying on rings. One on every finger, to see what matches his skin tone. Looks good. Already, he has a pearl stud and some earrings he's decided he likes. He looks up as I'm dragged in, and I realize immediately what one of "a few other differences" between him and the Drones are...

It's the EYES,

They GLOWED.

Metallic almost. Nearly neon. They reflected the light in a way the Drones simply did not. It made their face... horrificly predatory. Made for WATCHING, somehow. Unnerving and haughty. Beautiful still, but uncomfortable to be near.

Sitting up on a table that basicly swallows the room, dead center like a show piece on display, with one long leg tossed over the other and no fucking shirt on? The Face looks almost carefully, artfully, staged. To maximize some "haughty yet coy, alien prince who maybe wants to fuck you" shtick.

Does... Does he not realize I'm NOT one of the usual opponents? I mean. Flattered at the "join me! The Darkside has sex and cookies!" set up. Always fun. Classic, really. But, like? I would be... at BEST... a solidly MID goon.

Also "NO".

Gonna preemptively throw that out there. Maybe some expletives for flavor. Suggest someplace sunless to shove it. SOLID "No". Good try, though.

Around me, the Drones are shaking with silent laughter. Staring down at me, their pale eyes dancing with amusement. It's creepy as hell. Unnerving to be the center of attention like this. For this many eyes, utterly in synch, to surround and watch my every twitch. Act fascinated and amused, like I'm some little animal performing tricks.

The Face hasn't dropped his Seduction to the Darkside routine. If anything, he seems delighted by the defiance. Which... yeah, that tracks. It's why he's harrasing out planet to begin with. That one's definitely on me. So, better question? Not that I'm not glad and all? Why the FUCK am I not dead.

"And lose my HERO? Perish the thought~" drawles The Collective, the posture light and lazy, even as something dangerous threaded itself through their tone. It sounded... possessive. But that couldn't be right. "I would NEVER do such a thing! In fact, we are going to have to be far more careful with that little processor of yours. Far too fragile. Just the one, too. Horrifying, really."

Thanks. Just what every guy loves to really make 'im feels special. Insults.

Fucker.

More laughter from all around me. I grit my teeth. Come oooon, Alliance. Where the hell ARE you guys!? Could REALLY use a rescue! The hands holding me still are drifting. Fucking handsy. Damn near stroking even as they hold me immobile. They're looking for the clasps and buckles on my armor. Have already found the obvious ones. Fingers oh so casually drifting over, to grip, flex, and tear them apart.

I do NOT like how loose my armor is starting to feel. Barely able to hold on. Protect me. Limited as that protection may be. I think I'm developing a horrifying empathy for clams. Crustaceans in general. Anything that gets slowly pried from the safety of it's shell, too certain doom.

The Face casually tosses the rings he was playing with aside. Tens of thousands of dollars bouncing off to God only knows where. He slides from the table to stand. Shit. He's huge.

The androgynous twink supermodel thing he has going on? Fucking LIES. Twists your perception of how, EXACTLY, strong the Face body IS. He clears seven feet easily, is muscled in that distinctly "never see me coming until it's too late" sort of way all the ninja types are.

The tattoos. It's the FUCKING tattoos! They give the illusion that he's slimmer then he actually is.

It HIDES MUSCLE MASS.

I can't tell if that's vanity or strategy and I hate it. Glare as he sashays towards me. Hips rolling in that elegant catwalk strut. I'm forced to my knees. Because of course I am. How ELSE will the bastard loom and gloat? Though really, weak as I currently feel, it's more that the Drones holding me up? Stop doing that. My knees more or less just give up on their own.

"Like what you see? You're staring so intently~" He mocks. If he were being genuine, I'd call it teasing. Flirtatious. But I know better. "It IS a pretty body, isn't it? I worked hard on it, you know. All sort of fun little details~ Might honestly be one of my favorites. If you're good for me, I'll let you explore it~"

THERE it is.

Darkside. Sex and cookies. Sign up today. Fuck you and not in the fun way. Keep your hands to yourself, Collective. You're not convincing me. You could tell me the sky was blue, and I'd make three presentations with a PowerPoint, on why you were a liar. No, still No, and a hefty fuck off No for spice.

Three steps away. Two steps. One.

A man that tall and dangerous? Frankly did NOT need heels. Figures he'd wear them anyway. Sharp enough to kill a man. Right infront of my folded knees. I refuse to look up. No more fucking games. Did have to wonder, though, if those pants... if they even WERE pants? Were painted on or not. Very tight. Looked vaguely metal yet leather.

Shit.

Fingers, splayed wide as they run themselves through my sweaty and probably bloodstained hair. Couldn't have been nice to touch. Wrong angle and just a touch too big to be a Drone. Light as a lover, sweet almost, soothing. Before it inevitably tightens, gripping the strands. Honestly not as hard as I expected, didn't even hurt.

Still, my head is forced back.

Back and back and back, forced to arch my spine, hang awkwardly at some forty-five degree angle. My thighs and abs already screaming. A Drone grabs the back of my armor and, with an almost casual yank, my chest plate is violently snapped free. Both tossed to the floor away from us.

"There we are~" the Face hums down at me, eyes nearly hypnotic in how the light moved from within, grin full of sharp and deadly teeth. "No more of that ugly thing in the way. I much prefer this~"

"Tell me, Little Hero, do you remember? Becoming mine."

No, I certainly do fucking not. What the HELL is he-!? From behind the Face a Drone steps. Dressed differently to the others. Casual clothes. Like... actual street clothes. If they weren't GREEN I never would been able too-...

In horror, I watch as the pigment of the Drones skin melts away to a middling average. So utterly nondescript a blend of ethnicities that it's genuinely hard to place, but won't stand out no matter where he goes in the city.

I... I had seen that face.

SAVED that man.

Thought he was CUTE! T..Thought WE were having some sort of MEET CUTE! Oh God. That was at the festival. I was out of costume. Saved him from getting crushed. Then my teammates handled everything before I could slip away. So I just... stayed. Showed the cute tourist the festivities.

We ate FANCY JAMS, YOU FUCK!

I pined our that cute tourist for WEEKS. Was UNBEARABLE. Tech threatened to shove me off a roof! Oh my god.

Laughter.

Dozens of mouths, laughing in perfect sync. The noise layered and bouncing strangely around the room. Deeper then it should be, higher as it swings. Like a radio or voice modulator that someone is messing with. A momentary loss of control. My anger fizzles out to fear. Oh... oh yeah...

I forgot I was fucked.

At.. at least I know why?

A step forward. Past too close and now basically in my lap. A foot on either side of my knees. I try not to think exactly where my face would be pressed if I wasn't dragged back, to hang near painfully arched, so he could lean down and I could be forced to make eye contact. That way lay madness.

He moved his other hand to my face, cupping it. Dragging his thumb possessively across my mouth. He hummed, pleased.

He pressed closer, sliding down my front to his knees, straddling my lap. REALLY hoped that WAS, in fact, a weapon in your pocket there, buddy. Because I am not liking the handsy direction this is going, nor have I come to terms with my meet cute being a monstrous planet killing warlord. Not feeling sexy, my guy.

....okay, a LITTLE sexy, but that is hormones and we ignore those.

Fuuuuuck, wandering haaaaands! Now would be a GOOD TIME for door kicking rescues! I do NOT want to learn anything new about myself today! I want to go HOME. Sleep forever, maybe! Have a burrito the size of my head! Oh god. Think unsexy thoughts. Math. Sad puppies! Sad puppies doing MATH!

The Collective had dragged me upright. Pressed my face right up against their Face's bare skin. All I could smell was expensive cologne and man. Warm skin. Oh god, I am so gay. This is hell and I am very, VERY gay. If evil, why sexy hot hot hot? Hormones are making very convincing arguments. Horny brain says let's make terrible life choices.

No! Nooooo. Stop it, Me! We are fucking better then this! God damn it, you trainwreck, you are a ROLE MODEL! Act like one! (But horny...) (NO!!!)

God I was never going to mock the fuckers who hesitates at the "sex n cookies" speech again. Persuasive mother FUCKER!

"Aah~" he sighed contentedly, far too close to a moan for my sanity's liking. Hands having finally found the hidden zippers of my undersuit. Slowly dragging it open. "You are FAR too cute~♡"

"I can't wait to get you off this worthless little rock. Back to ME. I'll have so many WAYS to take care of you~ Backups and rudimentary supports we can set up, at least until I get you something proper."

Horrifying. Deeply Horrifying. REALLY never wanted to know what terrified and horny felt like, but here we are. Distantly, I hear thunder. There's no clouds. A flash of red through the skies. Green followed by metallic purple. Oh thank fuck. Keep his attention. Just... just keep his attention.

"We'll use me as a base. Keep you in stasis. Away from all these ugly, dangerous things~! Just you and me. Perfect. BETTER. Infinite and beautiful. I'll make all sort of bodies just for you to play with. Even let you keep this one! If you want. It'll be a precious memory for us, of where you began. How we met."

A mouth on mine. I can't breathe. Can't escape the arms wrapped around me. My protests do little more then waste oxygen. I feel light headed. Come one, team Alliance! He's here! HE'S HERE!!!

"You're going to be MINE, little Hero. I finally figured it out. What I was missing. It was YOU~♡! My beloved, delicate, little thing~. I'm going to take SUCH good care of you."

"Forever~"

[leviathanleva]

Cujo

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Supersoldier!FemReader

Description: A monster in human skin, a weapon disguised as a person, no thoughts, no emotion, as per design. He despises you and everything you stand for. He’s tried to kick you out of his squad and failed, he’s made it his mission to break you no matter the cost.

It comes as a surprise when he asks you to lie and say you love him.

[4.4k words]

[Angst, Blood and Injury, Graphic Depiction of Gore]

Chapter 3 "Liquorish"

Heartbeat heavy in your chest, you race up the supposedly abandoned building, finding enemy after enemy.

It was supposed to be a routine inspection, an easy mission, in and out in less than a week. Now everything is turned upside down and being unable to contact or smell Ghost anywhere near has your senses flaring up with the unfamiliar feeling of stress and determination.

Bloodlust hazes your vision, everything has a ruddy tint to it, be it from splattered entrails or rage, it’s beyond your understanding. The memories still linger, the last sentence you heard over the coms before everything went to static:

“Hound! Do not engage! The roof is – ”

You were supposed to be his shield, it’s your job to be ambushed and take damage, you can regenerate, he can’t. But Ghost let either his man pride or his protective instinct overwhelm him, the anxiety still lingered in his gut no matter how many times you came back to him half dead and you were good as new minutes later. He wasn’t thinking clearly when he pushed you behind him and ordered you to watch his back as you advanced through the abandoned building suspected of drug trafficking activity.

He moved ahead without you, for once he wanted to be your protector. Now you can’t sense hair or trail from him and you’re becoming increasingly frustrated.

Easy mission your ass. This was a charade for something bigger.

The mask around your mouth whirls in overdrive, siphoning as much oxygen as possible while you vigorously work your way to the dreaded roof. Straining both muscle and limb in unison, you climb floor after floor, pushing your limitations as vapor froths off your skin and trails behind you like a haunting mirage. Your body is boiling on the inside, having exerted too much energy in too short a time and your muzzle can only do so much to keep you going before you collapse from overheating.

To hell with pushing your bounds when the Lieutenant might be in danger.

Another enemy, seemingly waiting for you, they all have been, a crumb trail of beating hearts the closer you get to your destination. You dive for him as bullets dig into your shoulder, he’s sliding towards the grimy floor and clutching his shredded throat a moment later. You don’t have time for a measly nobody, he chose the wrong side, he suffers the consequences.

The concrete debris crinkles under your boots, crushed to fine dust under the pressure you’ve put on your feet. Clutching and shouldering corners, you bounce yourself off them to retain speed in the claustrophobic corridors. Jump over handfuls of stairs where more hostiles await, you hear them before you see them, distinguishing their heavy breathing over your muffled pants.

Blood painting the walls like an abstract piece of art, death is left in your wake as you rush up another floor. The screams have alerted more people, and so have the gunshots and you bristle at the amount of footsteps echoing in the shells of your ears.

What is going on? Why are there so many of them? Where the hell is the Lieutenant? How did they jam your coms?

The questions are pushed aside as you appear in the shadows of a bare apartment, blending into the darkness and only your irises visible. A menacing sight to anyone, a monster, it’s what you’ve become as you slowly drown in your brutish ways the longer you’re detached from your beloved master.

A hoarse growl escapes you, you’re nearly moving on all fours, prowling low to the floor as you tackle the first enemy target. Flashlights are thrown astray, nearly blinding you as the chaos ensues. You crush bone like it’s toothpicks, rip at flesh like paper, the whirring in your mask overwhelms the gurgling cries for help and call for reinforcements. Bloodlust can be dangerous in the hands of one who is inexperienced such as yourself and you keep walking deeper down that path as no sign of your teammate shines to stifle you back to normalcy.

Strands of hair stick to your face like glue, matted down and drenched in sweat, your gear feels heavy and damp, it’s a sauna beneath your loose, coarse blouse. Your socks are slippery against the inside of your boots and you have half a mind to kick them off and continue barefoot. Juggernaut as you are, your breaking point is nearly reached and you feel the stinging pain creeping up your spine. The idea of rest is forced away, you can’t afford it when you’re so close, you’ve come too far to shut down now to cool off, not when Ghost is unresponsive.

The amount of cocking weapons should be concerning as you near the door to the roof, bloodshot eyes opened wide and pupils dilated as the scent of familiarity finally reaches your nostrils, too intoxicating for your mind to register the plethora of other bodily odors.

You nearly break through the door in your neglectful hurry, gaze harsh and piercing, slicing through the multitude of hostile soldiers only with your oppressive presence. Hunched over, with tense shoulders and pulsing hands that are itching to rip into the men before you, you skim over the roof with vigor, letting your nose guide your vision to a familiar figure standing at the edge of the roof.

“Lieutenant!” Your first instinct is to rasp out, crystalline orbs trained on his battered form strung up by a crane like a piece of meat. A guttural snarl reverberates deep in your throat as you turn to the crowd of armed enemies with malice, ready to shred them to a pulp and eat a bucket of bullets in the process if only to get to your precious squad mate.

Ghost sways above a crater, his secured feet dangling above a deadly drop. You can smell the blood slowly oozing down his knuckles, staining his gloves, and hear his steady heart as he swims in unconsciousness. You nearly whine at the sight, reeling your head towards him with the need to call out again and maybe have him wake up.

No such simple luxury is provided for you, instead you’re faced off with a handful of brutes who believe their chances of survival are higher than zero.

You take a step forward. The weapons train on you.

You’ll rip them apart –

“ – Tut, tut!”

You falter at the voice and watch the nearly unhinged door behind you close to reveal none other than your target – suited and unbothered by your feral breathing and unceremonial entrance. The man you’ve been hunting for an age too long now to admit, a slippery bastard that felt someone breathing down his neck only when you were sent after his trail. Philip Graves stands to your right, the traitor, the absolute menace of a man that has the audacity to flick a smile at you as if you’d just joined his most prestigious party.

“Well, it’s nice to finally see Shepherd’s little experiment in the flesh.” He croons and looks you over in marvel. A bitter frown adorns your features as you abandon your prowling stance and straighten your back, adopting a more human-like pose. “Quite the achievement.” He notices your attention turn completely to him and scoffs before unfurling his fingers to show off a remote of sorts. “Don’t give me that look.”

“And that is…?” You question, words slurred by the confines of your muzzle as your eyes dart from his face to the remote, then you realize and your glare sharpens.

“The remote to the crane of course. I wouldn’t risk being in your proximity if I didn’t have a guarantee of your obedience. I’m confident, not a fool.” You’d snort at his cocky words in a different setting. He gestures at you with his free hand, flicking his fingers casually as if ushering a child. “Now if you really cherish your Lieutenant – remove your mask.”

For a brief moment, you’re left confused, blink at him twice before tilting your chin to one side and crossing your arms, eyes straying from him as you plunge into thought. The audacity was not what bewildered you, but his utter belief in having wrangled you pliant. To think he was willing to so absolutely rely on the dry, shallow information he’d dug up was preposterous. It was also wrong, your instructions were clear and no blackmail or threat was going to weaken your resolve.

You were trained to hunt, complete your assignment at any cost, be put in lethal danger, and come out victorious. Your squad mates were weak to no fault of their own, but their lifeline was something you would risk for the greater good.

This was your duty.

“No.” You answer simply and take a step forward. Whatever justice-fueled speech was circling in your head is silenced by an unfamiliar trepidation in your chest as you see Graves’ thumb glide over the release button on the remote. You swallow something thick in your throat and huff out a breath before straightening your shoulders. “Return the Lieutenant to me and I will leave you to run. I will not pursue you. You have my word.”

What was this…? What the hell were you saying?

He laughs at your words, apparently the contradiction of them to your monotone voice is entertaining. Your jaw clenches at his nonchalant demeanor used to disguise the nervous sheet of sweat forming thickly on the back of his neck. You can smell it even with the abundance of testosterone burning your nostrils.

“You see, I would…but then again, I don’t trust you.”

“I do not lie.” You state with a deadpan look.

“You don’t disobey orders either.” Graves retorts and gives you a challenging expression, pursing his lips to one side and deeming you too untrustworthy for a dealing of a peace delegation. “Mask off. Now.” He snaps when you don’t budge and twirls the remote in his hand before pointing it daringly at Ghost. A moment of nothing passes and instead of the tension you’d hoped to rise within him, he grins and rests a hand on his hip, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Oh? Is this right? You truly don’t care for your teammate?”

“No.” Comes your immediate answer, smooth and soft and lacking an ounce of care for the potential danger it might send your Lieutenant in. You glance at his limp, hanging body with disinterest and blame your palpitating heart to the long and strenuous journey to the roof rather than something else. It couldn’t be anything else, you felt nothing but the aftermath of physical exertion. “Whether he lives or dies, it’s all the same to me.” You’re being truthful yet every single word wrestles with you fervently before being forced past your teeth. Strange and bothersome, but you pay it no mind. “If I return with your head my task is complete. Your death is my mission, casualties are inevitable.”

He doesn’t buy it.

“Let’s test that theory, shall we?” Graves sneers something vile and again points the remote at the crane, toying with you and relishing in it.

Your mask hisses loudly and is tossed on the concrete floor of the roof before you can realize what you’re doing. The lower part of your face – wet from the vapor of your breaths, soiled with a snarl. You don’t dare let the bastard out of sight now that the power dynamic has shifted in his favor.

“There you go. Good girl.” He coos at the sight of your unreluctant obedience and his smug features soften in near adoration. “Seems you still have a heart after all.”

Not fond of his degrading babying, you try to steer the conversation to another, much more vital topic that has been gnawing at your gut since the revealing of his presence.

“Why are you here? What business do you have with me?”

Graves, much to your surprise, obliges your question.

“A little birdie told me I’m being hunted by a whole new predator. A…special one this time.” He begins and motions for his men to make their way to his side, steering them to a safe distance from your vicious paws in case you snap despite the low odds. He reciprocates the eye contact, almost unblinking, not wanting to miss a beat from your uncanny demeanor. “That birdie also told me you have a habit of following orders only from your Lieutenant and I thought maybe…if I manage to string up the worm, I’ll get the fish.” His arms spread wide, his chest expands and you’re almost tempted to lunge forward. “And voila.”

“That’s not an answer to my question.” You cock your head at him and let your arms unfold and fall to your sides.

The corners of his mouth twitch at your disinterest.

“I wanted to see you in the flesh, Hound.” He answers then, changing from his grandiose façade to a genuine and less irritable one. Gesturing towards you, he continues. “Check if the rumors are true. And judging by the fact you even got to the roof – they certainly are.” His hands clasped together over his pelvis, the remote shining still between his fingers, yellow and menacing in contrast to his black cotton gloves. “Quite disgusting what they did to you. Wouldn’t you say?” The nearly heartfelt sympathy in his tone does little to sway your intentions and it shows clearly on your unmoving features. Yet he keeps going, keeps feeding you with conflicting thoughts that fail to take root in your mind. “Countless months of agony just to become a pawn.”

Despite the unpleasant memories flooding your head at his take, you hum and brush them aside without much effort.

“I consented to my augmentations.”

“That you did.” He nods and juts his jaw before flicking the blonde locks away from his eyes and slicking them back. “ For the chance of serving a greater purpose, not being someone’s lapdog and wasting your potential on lowly criminals.” Scorn drips heavily from his tongue, a hidden distaste for his own misfortunes showing, misfortunes much similar to yours. “But I won’t sway you yet. I can’t when your attention is so torn between me and your Lieutenant.”

Maybe his sympathy is sincere, you think. Maybe there’s an ounce of truth in his law-breaking, scummy ways and he sees you as much of a victim as he sees himself. It would make sense why he orchestrated this whole situation instead of simply trying to kill you and rid himself of you.

A part of you believes him, you can tell that bits and pieces of what he says come from a wronged man trying to take revenge for his pain. But you’re no simple soldier, you were built to withstand manipulation, torture, worse. You admit to his twisted honesty but have no intent in following after him and abandoning everything you’ve worked to build no matter how unimportant or unimpressive it was.

“You’re misinterpreting.”

The distinct beat of helicopter wings catches your attention far before the vehicle itself appears in the distance. Graves and his men’s ride, you presume, a quick escape after he got bored of your lack of subordination and bid you farewell.

“Am I?” He doesn’t dare to glance back, instead lets his ears assure him that his escape route is secured and is hastily approaching his location. “So far you’ve completed your tasks well.” A gloved thumb rubs over his freshly shaven jaw, before nudging his bottom lip up in contemplation as he sizes you up and down with a calculative look. “I have one last objective for you, though, just to test your limits. Figure out what I’m up against, you know?”

“I don’t take orders from you.” You hiss, expressing something more than monotony for the first time during your conversation.

His words had struck a nerve somewhere, surprisingly so, yet he took the opportunity regardless.

“This one you’ll have to.” He all but sighs, bored with your resistance and crackling unbothered demeanor. There’s too much peaking beneath it and he wants to sink his teeth into it, yet you continue to deny him. Whether from a lack of understanding over your emotions or a very bad attempt at hiding them, they were visibly showing through and he couldn’t get enough of it. “Tell me, do you think if you jump from this building you can survive?”

“Without my mask, it’s highly unlikely.”

A gust of wind sweeps by you and suddenly you’re painfully aware how it sways the rope Ghost hangs from, still and silent. Sweat forms on your brow, your hands curl into fists, blunt nails digging into the flesh of your palms and nearly drawing blood.

“Interesting.” He hums at your answer, nodding at the new information bestowed upon him – a weakness, a flaw in your design that your makers hadn’t been able to work out. This gave him a useful advantage against you. “So without a steady supply of oxygen, you’re rendered useless.”

“I can still rip you in half.” You declare and lean forward, arms dangling and ready to clutch at the floor and propel you forward. Your patience runs thin and Graves tastes it on his tongue, not much longer before you snap and dash either for him or the Lieutenant.

“Oh, I don’t doubt.” He laughs in your face like your threat means nothing and gestures for his men to board the helicopter before hopping on himself. He grips onto the side of the door and smiles bitterly at you. “Well, it’s been a pleasure making your acquaintance finally after such a long game of cat and mouse. I’m afraid we must be going now though.”

“Do you like hearing yourself talk?” A bark reverberates somewhere deep in your throat, akin to a growl as you lunge towards the helicopter.

No more talking, you’ve given him enough grace. Should have ended everything minutes before, forced yourself to move out of the stupor your Lieutenant’s state had pinned you in.

He doesn’t matter, nothing matters but Graves’ head, and like a scared mutt, you’d let him grow confident in his false influence over you.

“You know, you’re right. I’ve talked enough.” Venom oozes from his smirk as he spits one last taunt your way. “Fetch!”

You fail to realize why he’s so self-assured when you’re still capable of reaching him before the helicopter has lifted off. The slimy smirk doesn’t leave his face as he presses the button and turns away from you with a distinct “Ta!”. It’s sickening. Ghost matters not, your orders are clear and you’re sure the Lieutenant would understand the sacrifice you had to make were he in your stead. It’s a worthy sacrifice, he’d be honored after his demise, renowned for leading you to the den of the enemy for you to demolish and rid the world of their stain of an existence.

“You’re a fool if you think – ”

Your voice hitches as your body involuntarily turns away from Graves.

WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING –

You dash across the rooftop and leap over the edge without a drop of hesitancy. A coil nestles in your stomach, not from the sight before you – a height so devastating, the street below so far that the cars look like mere pebbles, but at the thought of abandoning your prospect, disobeying a command, revolting against your upper command.

Too late to turn back now. And even if you could, would you?

No…

You adjust your limbs against the merciless wind, propel your arms forward like a diver about to hit the water's surface, your entire being flattened to endure as much resistance as possible and cut through the air. The cold whips against your eyes, blurs your vision with tears which you rapidly blink away to not lose sight of Ghost’s descending body.

Was it only the cold? Why were the tears so salty then?

Why was your face stuck in a desperate grimace of horror and hope?

Halfway across the building, you manage to snatch the rope around your Lieutenant’s waist. Your victory is shortlived as the earth beneath approaches steadfast and you bite into your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood and keep your head as cool as possible.

What now?

Even if he’s safely in your arms, you’re still heading for an inevitable death and thinking time is limited. You wrack your brain into turbo mode to come up with something, anything to save him, prevent his fall. The solution comes to you and it’s not all too pleasant, but without an alternative, you relent.

You thrust your arm through the glassy wall of the building, letting the shards shred through your skin, unable to exert your full potential without your mask. You try to regardless and your throat feels like it’s closing in on itself, you can’t breathe in enough air, the oxygen is not nearly the amount you need and you’re left suffocating slowly. Your hand mauls through cement floors and polished windows that shatter under the pressure as you desperately grapple for something, trying to slow your momentum.

Heart hammering in your throat, eyes wide with plea for something to work, for a miracle to happen, but it doesn’t. No fairytales allowed for the sinful and decrepit, for those who’ve abandoned their humanity for the betterment of civilization.

Pain doesn’t register on your features as your arm continues to endure in vain, shredded, sliced, battered to a pulp. But the horror registers when it shatters, the bone and flesh unable to withstand such detrimental amounts of damage, it’s rendered useless. It’s not the physical agony that terrifies you, but the only means of you saving the Lieutenant – now completely obliterated.

What now?

You think while your gaze darts from the bloodied, mangled mess that is your now worthless limb to the hastily approaching pavement below.

DO SOMETHING! ANYTHING! –

“Bloody f – ”

The once-lidded chocolate orbs you’ve grown to cherish look up at you – spastic, disoriented, glued to you as if you could explain your current predicament. You drown in them for a moment, pained, mournful that you’ve failed to fulfill both your duties.

Not a good hound. Fucking useless.

The prey got away, your keeper is soon to be a splatter of intestines on the ground below.

Good for nothing you are. Failed at everything. Can’t even save your own Lieutenant.

“Hound! Fucking hell, we – ”

Your jaw tightens, and your skin crawls once you’re close enough to discern the peculiar cracks in the sidewalk, you’re that close now. Doom, there’s nothing left but to die.

No. You refuse. If not for yourself, then for Ghost. You can’t lose him. You’ll sacrifice everything for him.

In a last attempt at being a hero, you struggle in the air, against the howling wind that screams bloody murder in your ears. You fiddle spasmodically, manage to clumsily maneuver both of you, deaf to the breathless curses slipping past his mask. You thrust him sideways, fling him into a window hard enough to make it give in under his weight. He breaks through back first, you hear him choke as he hits and skids on the carpeted floor with a deft thud.

You nearly smile, a contrast at his horrified expression as he realizes the situation – your maskless face, your bloodied limb, it’s only for a split second before you’re back to hurtling down without him. You hear a scream of your name, the intimate one, the real one.

Your eyes water anew, maybe from the air, maybe from him calling out to you in what sounds like spastic worry.

One good hand was all you needed.

You’re free now. You fulfilled your duty.

Everything hurts, you feel your entire being imprinted into the roof of a car, having squished it in the impact. Blood coats your tongue, your throat feels crushed. You’re choking for air quietly, your body desperately trying to repair all damages but failing because your mouth and nose can’t gulp enough oxygen no matter how greedily you’re breathing.

Sprawled out, the sky swirls high above your head, gazed at through blurry vision. Stars twinkle like smudged jewels, the moon is nowhere to be seen and for a moment you feel alone and at peace. It doesn’t matter that you’re molded into a random car with shattered bones and punctured lungs.

Maybe there are witnesses, maybe the streets are empty, you’re unsure, the screaming in your ears is punching at your eardrums and you can’t make out anything.

A peaceful death after years of war is what you wish for.

The cold creeps over your skin, through your gear, its caress soothing against your steaming flesh.

A splotch of creamy whine enters your vision, poking from one of the shattered windows. A skull mask, you recognize it even with both eyes and mind hazy and drunk on scalding pain. You’d reach out if you could, your first instinct demands you to do so, reach out to Ghost, reunite as leal hound and loving master once more. But you can’t, your body refuses to budge, a twitch of your fingers is all you can muster.

A cough rips through you, excruciating, and more stomach-churning iron rushes over your sticky tongue.

Will he remember you? Will he mourn you if you pass? Will he miss you? Will your absence leave yet another scar for him to nurture? Will he ever forgive you for sacrificing yourself for him?

Does it matter?

Not really…

But it does.

Somewhere deep within the crooks and crevices of your heart, it does matter to you, if only a little.

Your eyelids are heavy and you’ve not the strength to keep them open anymore. The chill air is so welcoming, lulls you and tugs you towards the comforts of slumber.

You hear a rasp, his voice echoing, deep and baritone as he disappears somewhere in the darkness.

You can’t stay conscious anymore no matter how desperately he begs you. You’re tired, just want to sleep, you’re aching, you want out of the pain, out of responsibilities and bloodshed.

This feels nice. Oblivion is welcoming.

The cold dissipates, and everything goes dark. You take one last meager breath and succumb to blackened dreams and fleeting pictures, sprawled vastly on the surface of your mind as your body gives out completely.

<<< Chapter 2

Chapter 4 >>>

Masterlist

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Melusine HC’s

Carnivorous/ omnivorous melusines :

toe beans to silence their walking, or soft paws to absorb sound.

Tail for balance,

Flat faced for more hunting appearances

Blues/pastels for underwater, or pinks/reds for deep sea hunting

Herbivore / omnivore melusines

Rabbit paws instead

Speedy lil buggers

Excellent at hiding / protecting Kin

Power in numbers

Excellent gatherers

Melusine have front facing eyes with marks them as predator creatures in this essay i will

you happen to be an omnivorous Melusine- quite lucky, you like to think you were, since while your siblings do gather various seagrasses and kelp for meals they also pepper in some oceanic creatures they might've picked up on their way through the sea. all the food is delicious! perhaps a little off-putting to outsiders, but you and Foul Legacy have long since grown used to the appearance of all the snacks you prepare, and besides, anything is better than the monsters Legacy used to hunt in the Abyss. that was for survival first and foremost and from what you can decipher through Legacy's clicks and chitters, his hunts were filling but tasted absolutely terrible. you've begun keeping a tiny little notebook you crafted out of paper-thin shells filled with recipes and foods you both like

on the rare days you decide to venture outside, you prefer to devote at least a couple of hours to picking and collecting different fruits. you sprinkle in a few flowers just for fun, but you and Foul Legacy skip around Fontaine's wilderness with handmade baskets, a small one for you and a larger one you and your siblings made specifically for Legacy, filling them to the brim with berries and sunsettias and bulle fruit galore. you've been working towards making jam and preserves, crushing the fruit and storing them in small, shiny jars for later, and your little tail always wags happily whenever you show Foul Legacy your progress. your Abyssal companion merely purrs, holding a marcotte delicately between his claws before gingerly tucking it against one of your soft, bloopy antennae with a fanged smile

[izukusjuicythighs]

bkdk fics i read because was it ever casual

Horikoshi keeps feeding us bkdk crumbs like wtf??at this point they HAVE to be canon bkdk hospital kiss confirmed I was izukus freckle ALSO IM KINDA IN A BLOCK RN whenever I finish a fic my yappin brain always has something to say but rn its real quiet so uh🤡

left me no choice(but to stay here forever)

summary: Izuku learns early on in life that the people he loves will always leave him.

So when Kacchan asks him to be his boyfriend, Izuku kisses him and starts grieving for the inevitable.

words: 6,925

chapters: 3/4(updating)

notes: im quite aware that its a bitchy move to inflict pain on ppl but jm gonna do it anyways lol READ THIS AND WEEP I literally wanted to gorge my heart out and then slap all of my love into izuku idk it evokes complicated feelings??normally hate reading unfinished fics BUT THIS!!gave me a life changing experience within 7000words dammit

be my good luck charm

summary: See, the thing is, Midoriya Izuku had been born with a curse. It’s not a curse that’s particularly visible. He doesn’t have horns, or a tortured face, and it’s not the kind of silly curse like a friend of his had way down south in Diagnor, wherein the girl had been born without the ability to say the word duck. Midoriya Izuku is just extremely unlucky.

(Or the AU in which Izuku's the world's unluckiest traveling merchant, and Katsuki is someone who may be able to help him. For a price, that is.)

words: 6785

chapters: 1/1

notes: cute lil oneshot for yall cuz mha fans r in dire need of fluff rn yknow why🤭 how to date a hottie101 by bkg: set ur crush on fire to show ur undying love(WRITE IT DOWN WRITE IT DOWN)

Barberries and Variegated Knotweeds

summary: The Fight Another Day Agreement is a required legal document for all professional heroes. In the event of a life-threatening injury and the hero and their proxies are unable to respond on their behalf, medical professionals may do whatever it takes to keep the hero alive.

For Izuku, whatever it takes means removing flowers from his lungs, forcing him to forget about the love of his life. The aftermath leaves Izuku bewildered at the sight of a man with spiky blond hair and red eyes the color of Japanese barberries.

words: 19,286

chapters: 4/4

notes: YET ANOTHER HANAHAKI FIC WITH IZUKU WHUMP I just love seeing my favs go through it🤠I've read so many hanahaki fics ud think I'd be used to it but NOPE THIS SHIT HAD ME ON THE EDGE OF MY SEAT was ready to downgrade 1 dimension to solve this shitstorm myself

If It's You

summary: “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” Katsuki said. “You did not just ask me—me—to try and date your loser step-brother.”

He wasn’t even going to say Deku’s name out loud. Wasn’t giving him the time of day, even in a conversation about him. That weird awkward virgin was not worth his precious time, and certainly not what Kirishima was suggesting.

“But Bakugouuu,” Kirishima wailed, hanging off Katsuki’s arm with monster meathead jock strength. “My dad said I can’t date if Deku doesn’t date. Do you understand what that means?”

“Less chance of knocking someone up and creating more of you in the world?”

words: 16,863

chapters: 1/1

notes: 10 things I hate about you but make it bkdk I LOVE THIS SHIT angsty dramatic misunderstanding high school aus are my JAM also somewhat gives off from the sidelines vibes so if ur into that defo read

Down the Red Line

summary: His mom is the first person to know about it. She finds out when Izuku asks ( in a very cute three-year-old way) why can’t he see the red line that connected him to Kacchan in the last picture they've taken. The one where they were about to enter Kindergarten on their first day.

"Red line?"

"Yeah, Mamma. This," Little Izuku says, raising his pinky finger to show her the thing tied to it.

Izuku has been able to see the red strings of fate since birth. It's no surprise that his is connected to Katsuki.

words: 7,804

chapters: 1/1

notes: one of my absolute favs since 2021 MAKES ME SO FUKCIN MAD I have to put my phone down and contemplate life for a few mjns while reading it but it's so good??my red string is tied to thjs fic pls

[danosrosegarden]

edward angst, where he comforts reader over the phone from Arkham :( there both so broken up about not being able to see each other and reader breaks down moments into the call

sick of losing soulmates - edward nashton x gn!reader headcanons ౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚♡

{contents ♡ mentions of violence, mentions of vomiting, angst + fluff}

{word count ♡ ~700}

♡ it just didn't match, the image of him that was burned into your brain and the campfire scary story monster he was when you weren't looking. they were entirely different beings. your edward was the one who wrote handwritten letters and sent wrappings of sweet perfumed flowers to you just because. your edward was the one who'd hug you from behind while you cooked dinner and basked in the warmth of your being. your edward was the one who'd nuzzle into the crook of your neck at night, tracing the curves and dips of your gently rising and falling body. that edward was the one who was ice cold and eerily calculated, slithering into the unlucky mice's lives like a beady-eyed snake. that edward was the one who coiled around them and reveled in the sheen of terror glossed across their eyes. that edward was the one that squeezed, the one that suffocated, the one that took and took and took until there was nothing left to take.

♡ most days you got sick, dry heaving up what little was left in your gut until your eyes poured salty tears and your chin was slick with spittle. most days you felt crushed into dust, broken into shards. you'd gone through the whipping windstorm waves: cold bitterness, broiling anger, dizzying confusion. but most of all, you felt the aching weight grabbing hold of your heart and dragging down: you were sad. you were hurt. you were heartbroken. he had hid his plans from you, he had lied about where he was most evenings, he had trusted a group of deranged strangers before he had trusted you. that all hurt in its own way. but above all else, it would never be possible to again find what you once had with him. that was what hurt the most.

♡ you had questioned whether or not you even wanted to hear his voice again. your kneejerk reaction was of course, of course, give me the phone, please please please please let me have just a few more minutes of his distant presence. but the more it blackened the crevices in your brain like a messy ink spill, the more you felt the deep pit in your stomach lurch. what are you even supposed to say to him? what is he supposed to say to you?

♡ you rehearse the lines in your head over and over. you breathe deep and steady, trying to stable the quivering in your hands as you hold the phone.

♡ "hello?"

♡ you hold the phone to your ear silently for a moment, listening to the smothering quiet in your apartment and the shallow in and out of your breath. "edward?"

♡ for that split second, you're connected by this odd, tightly woven string of silence. you're jammed between what is there to say? and how am i supposed to say everything in this miniscule time frame?

♡ "it's good to hear you." the words are wading through molasses, spoken slowly and thickly, like his voice had been flossed through a filter.

♡ and it all comes rushing back, a crashing tidal wave of every lazy morning spent tangled in his arms, every cool evening spent bathing in the comfortable quiet of your bedroom together.

♡ every line you'd memorized before the call gets crumpled and trashed. you feel the hot contacts of tears rise against your eyes and drop down your cheeks. "hi, eddie. i miss you."

♡ he can't promise forever anymore. he can't promise much of anything anymore...perhaps that's what's most difficult to grapple with, the uncertainty of it all. the dice roll that each new day would bring, the gamble you bet on with every rising and setting sun. but here in this moment, you feel as though he's reaching out. you can sense his radiating warmth from the other end of the line. it numbed the bleeding thought in the back of your brain that you had lost him for good. here he was, here you were, hands outstretched, arms wide open.

[purplepixel]

Hi I saw in your pinned post that you've read over 1,000 TMNT fics. Do you have a few really good ones you would recommend?

(don't feel any pressure to respond if you don't want to)

Oh boy this is...quite an ask. Especially bc fanfic recs are so personal? What I think is a good fic will be vastly different from other people. I have a really high angst tolerance, so please double check tags with these. Also keep in mind that I mainly read donnie-centric fics.

Here are my personal favorites! My hand slipped and I have more than just a few to recommend...what can I say there are so many good fics.

CRACK BUT READS LIKE CANON

Back To School by Em_H | 10,965 [FINISHED]

Donnie enrolls in April’s school and tries to juggle his packed schedule. A shrek play is included. Do I need to say more?

☆ In Volvunt: a RotTMNT Fanfiction ☆ by kittylittersmoothie | 27,082 [FINISHED]

In which the rest of the bros continuously try and fail to rick roll donnie. A war is started, alliances are made, betrayals occur, this is a hilarious feel good fic. It’s very in line with the show tonal wise and the dialogue is very rise

Mikey's Jam-Packed, Guaranteed to Get Donnie's Memory Back, Friendship Tour! By Eyse | 92,972 [ON-GOING]

Donnie wakes up with no memory of anyone including himself. Que his brothers trying to find ways to get his memory back. Has some of the most wacky adventures and scenarios I’ve ever encountered in a rise fic. Feels like you’re reading the actual show

YOU WILL BE EMOTIONALLY DESTROYED

Quiet Your Mind by daedelweiss | 18,081 [FINISHED]

Fusion Au with the disaster twins set in the bad future timeline. I don’t cry. This one made me cry. Bittersweet ending.

Telepathy (of a Twin Variety) by vosian_nightmare | 24,423 [FINISHED] 

My personal favorite twin telepathy fic. Character study on the disaster twins.

Something Borrowed, Something Blue by Cass_Phoenix | 31,963 [FINISHED]

A Donnie from an alternate reality kidnaps Leo. Or is he bringing him home? This one will fuck with your mind. One of my bookmark notes is “Reality existentialism” 

Firefight by remrose | 94,480 [ON-GOING]

What if donnie gets trapped in the prison dimension with leo? I’m usually not a fan of changing plot points in the rise movie or suicidal leo, but this fic is the exception. It is VERY well written and has some of the best exchanges between the disaster twins. You WILL be scared for the characters and your heart WILL be crushed. Proud to say I was here for this fic since chapter 1 bc that NEVER happens with me

THE CROSSOVERS

Familiar Places, Foreign Faces by Petra4President | 36,434 [ON-GOING]

Rise/2012 Crossover Fic. The Rise Donnie & 2012 Raph fic I didn’t ask for (I read this before watching 2012) but didn’t realize I NEEDED. Donnie gets sent to the 2012 universe and must find a way home. 

A Tale of Spirits by unorthodoxx | 168,344 [ON-GOING]

Rise/Avatar the Last Airbender AU. This one is pretty popular so I won't say anything else except its really good.

I WOULD BOOK BIND THESE

All I have to say about these fics is that they’re REALLY good and BOOK WORTHY

Monsters Among Us by DanzinoraSwitch | 86,136 [FINISHED]

Violet Hues and Holy Blue by SibillaScribbles08 | 115,752 [FINISHED]

I May Be Invisible, but I Still Look Good by Dandy | 124,862 [FINISHED]

MY PERSONAL COMFORT FICS

Things will never be the same (but that's okay) by Petra4President | 14,493 [FINISHED]

Post movie aftermath fic that focuses on the changes created by the events of the movie. Idk what specifically has me rereading this occasionally, but its really well written and a little different than most aftermath fics I've read.

Corrupted Upgrade by Dandy | 25,898 [FINISHED]

Donnie Villain AU with a twist. He really gives off megamind vibes. DO NOT BE FOOLED. THERE’S A REASON EVERYONE IS OUT OF CHARACTER IN THE BEGINNING. I almost slept on this fic and it became one of my favorites. It’s the type of fic that I can read over and over and over.

Turning Purple by Lizardstuff | 48,123 [ON-GOING]

Donnie slowly gets more and more sick post rise movie and the rest of the characters must find out what’s wrong and find a cure. THIS ONE’S FOR YOU, MEDICAL NERDS. Author has done research and any inaccuracies have gone over this EMT’s head. I reread this one every chapter update and every time I’m haunted by “the blueberry french toast paragraph” No I will not explain further, go read it.

MY TOP FIC RECOMMENDATION

Spider's Web with Strings Attached by CurlySwirly | 125,661 [ON-GOING]

Donnie and Leo get kidnapped and are forced to fight in the battle nexus. This is my pick for the most well written fanfic and most in canon characterization with ALL the characters. You will HEAR the characters not just through the dialogue but also through the writing itself. As the reader, you will be beaten down and have your heart crushed mercilessly which makes the pay off the most rewarding, satisfying experience that I've personally ever felt with a fanfic. This fic lives in my head rent free and I think about it at least once a day. It is my all time favorite rise fic and I highly recommend it.

[hitlikehammers]

if you can’t write your own necronomicon, store-bought is fine 🪦💀⚰️ MASTERPOST—🎲💥COMPLETE💥🎲

For @klausinamarink, who prompted 'NECROMANCY' at the @steddiesummerexchange

CHAPTER ONE: RAISE DEAD

tumblr /// ao3

CHAPTER TWO: NAT 20

tumblr /// ao3

CHAPTER THREE: ROLL INITIATIVE

tumblr /// ao3 ——— COMPLETE

[nickthespoon]

Okay, I am actually obsessed with Sanji's final decision on the raid suit, not only for the development of his character but the commentary on Chopper and Robin's too.

The line "...who can even crush monsters like him as long as you give me the order," mirrors Chopper's (so many arcs ago) and Robin's (just earlier) lines about not minding being a "monster" or a "demon" if it was for Luffy/their friends. And so part of you thinks "Oh, he's gonna do it?!"

But Oda says No! You have misunderstood! Chopper and Robin were called demons/monsters most of their lives and ostracised accordingly even though neither of them are. They must have been terrified of that happening again in their new lives, but Luffy made them feel safe, made them feel comfortable to just be them. So much so as to not worry about what other's might think. People called them monsters/demons when they were at their plainest selves; having discovered these darker/powerful sides to themselves, however, they fully embrace them as a part of themselves. Because Luffy would. Luffy loves the whole of them. So why should they fear what others think if it can help them win the fight?

Sanji, meanwhile, has been brought up with almost the opposite. Surrounded by monsters and told he is weak and useless; to strive for monstrosity, but forever belittled and told he's not good enough.

Having made his opinions on his family clear, I didn't think Sanii would ever use the raid suit. But he did, because he believed the situation called for it; his crew needed it. And also pervy pluses!

And so he does for a while, and it's great. He gets to perv all he likes and the suit is powerful and helped him out in a jam a number of times. But always that niggling sensation that it's wrong, that he should reject it because, astounding as the suit is, it comes from everything he hated.

Not to mention the terror of not being in control of himself, potentially due to the suit, suit on or off. Of becoming like the monsters that hurt him growing up and being powerless to stop it. Just as he was to stop them then.

But his final decision is not based on what /he/ wants. It's what his captain would want. Which version of him would /Luffy/ want. And Luffy always choses kindness.

So even if he becomes weak and useless in comparison, even if he has to make a great personal sacrifice (the little sex pest :l) he will do it as himself! He will remain human (even going so far as to make drastic arrangements for if that should go awry) and he will do things on his own merits.

And I am totally normal about him.

[thatturtleleon]

TFP Human Hcs Pt. 2

Note: I love this scene, just look at them LMAO, also here's pt.1

Raf

so this is a bit of a newer headcanon i have of him, but i feel like he's transmasc or genderfluid

raf never really cared about gender roles and things like that, but he overheard miko talking about how she didn't mind being called a girl or a boy or whatever people wanted to call her

he asked her about it and she replied saying she knew herself better than anyone else so it didn't matter what other people thought or wanted to label her, she knew who she was and that's the important part

miko then went back to talking about monster trucks or something and raf's just *cue the mind blown emoji*

lol i love them

he definitely went as the Dr Emmett guy from back to the future or as some mad scientist character for halloween

is actually pretty ok at drawing, just doesn't enjoy it as a hobby that much

LOVES learning about cybertron and its history and everything about it

at first ratchet thought all of raf's questions were annoying but grew to appreciate his curiosity

raf prefers asking ratchet any questions he has about cybertron because optimus goes on telling a long memory/story and trails off from the original question (raf's a sweet kid tho, he listens through the whole thing), while ratchet gives more straightforward answers

dog person

Jack

him and miko have "try not to laugh" challenges (raf's the judge) and usually wins

one time however, miko did something unintentionally funny while doing the challenge and jack let out the loudest screeching laugh they've ever heard, like the type of laugh that bubbles up and explodes when you're trying to hold it in

dated sierra for a little while, then sierra came out as lesbian, they still remained good friends though

(leon try not to HC every girl as a lesbian challenge, failed.)

considered going into the medical field like his mom did but decided it wasn't for him later on

in the future he eventually got a job with the government thanks to agent fowler

goes to drive-in theaters with raf and bumblebee but always ends up falling asleep

bought a mini blue motorcycle figurine and carries it in his bag

cat and dog person

favorite song is "roll on (eighteen wheeler)" by Alabama

discovered that he and optimus had similar taste in music (country music ofc) and plays some songs in the base if it's just him

Miko

makes fun of jack for liking country music

cat person (canonly has cats i believe) but she loves dogs too, except for the crusty tiny white dogs that old people have

drew bulkhead and herself together fighting some decepticons and framed the picture for him as a gift

he cried lol

speaking of gifts, she told the bots about birthdays and all of them immediately wanted to know when all the kid's birthdays were

bulkhead and some of the others took her to a monster truck event and she had the time of her life it was amazing

actually got jack into some of the music she likes, and they like going to smaller concerts around town

she bonds with raf by getting into comics and graphic novels, they both enjoy sci-fi ones

definitely doodles all over her desk at school, especially when she's in detention

although she's VERRYY extroverted, whenever she gets a crush on someone or thinks they're pretty, she gets a little quieter/shyer; not a lot but you can tell

jams out to metal music with bulkhead (canon)

i don't remember if this is canon or not, but she has a bag with pins and stuff she's collected over the years

her bookbag has doodle marks all over it, like little stars and swirls and stuff, very much a miko bookbag

[thetravelerwrites]

Yew (Part 2)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences  Relationship: Male Centaur/Male Centaur  Additional Tags: Exophilia, Centaurs, MLM, Sex Content Warnings: Amputee, Amputated Leg, Prosthetics Series: Part 12 of Monster Lovers: Shelter Forest  Words:  4,911

Yew finally gets his own fic! Yew makes his very first rescue: a surly centaur dumped on the side of the road. Please reblog and leave feedback!

It took more than two months for Ethari to even attempt moving around for longer than a few seconds. The trip to the latrine had caused his fever to spike quite high again, so he was largely immobile for another week afterward. A modified pan was created for his use, which made things a little easier, but he grumbled sourly about it. Ethari’s stump was closed up and the stitches removed, but he was instructed not to do anything that would reopen the wound. After months of healing, however, he was finally in a place where he didn’t feel like pounded garbage, though he was still weak and shaky. 

Ethari was still mistrustful of the entire situation. He didn’t believe they were helping him for no other reason than they wanted to help; in his experience, everything came with a price. He made an effort to not be aggressive or hostile, but everything about this place got his hackles up. He was just so ready for the other hoof to drop that he felt like he couldn’t relax. He would have been more comfortable if they had been demanding compensation for feeding and housing him; that would have made sense to him. The freedom with which they doled out care and attention seemed impossible, even suspicious.

Yew did a lot to shake Ethari’s faith in the idea that nothing comes for free. He was always chipper and bright, like a lighthouse, and just as any such beacon would, he drew Ethari’s eye when he was nearby. He was always there to help when Ethari needed to get up and move around to prevent his remaining legs from atrophying, by using his own body as support. Yew even brought fresh winter flowers every day to decorate Ethari’s relatively bare stall. It seemed he favored snow-drops, since he always sprinkled them into each bouquet. He always found a way to wrangle beer from Birch, who still didn’t like Ethari, and brought him treats from the winter larder. His persistent cheeriness made Ethari feel more dour in comparison.

“Why do you keep doing this?” Ethari asked him one morning. 

“Doing what?” Yew asked, his curious puppy tone in place. Yew was removing the last of the bandages after having brought him apple jam and wheat crackers with his beer and flowers… just because, it seemed. 

“This,” Ethari replied, waving at the scene. 

Yew laughed. “Because you’re cute, I like you.” 

Ethari blinked and his head rocked back. “Excuse me?” 

“I like you,” Yew said, meeting his eye and smiling. “I think you’re cute.”

“Wha… who… cute how?” Ethari asked, flabbergasted. “What about me is cute? I’m grumpy and sour.” 

“I think that’s cute,” He said, tilting his head. “Am I not allowed to think it’s cute?” 

“I guess you are, but it makes you a weirdo,” Ethari snipped.

Yew laughed a bit more: a tinkling, bell-like sound. “I’m alright with that. Does me thinking you’re cute bother you?” 

“Well… no…” Ethari said slowly. “I guess not. You’re… do you…” 

“Like men?” Yew asked with a grin. “Yep. And you, apparently, are just my type. Trust me, I’m as surprised as you are by the realization.” 

Ethari didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing. 

“Would it bother you that I like you?” Yew asked with the same cheeky grin, though there was a hint of apprehension.

Ethari gulped. “...no.” 

Ethari was only a year or two older than Yew, and though he had a passing crushes on one or two of the others at the ranch, building relationships there, friendships even, were heavily discouraged on threat of punishment, so he had never acted on it nor attempted to make friends or lovers. Now that he was off the ranch…

“Cetzu is coming back with your prosthesis,” Yew told him. “He sent us a letter saying that should be here tomorrow, barring any unforeseen circumstances. He’s only fitting you with the prosthetic tomorrow, so you won’t be using it right away. Mama will let you know when you can start using it.”

“Fine,” Ethari replied, moving the stump a little to ease the tense muscles. 

“Mama gave me a salve for you, too,” Yew said, pointing at a jar next to the jam and crackers. “You’ll need it for the muscle aches and the flashes of pain. Do you think you’re able to put it on by yourself?” 

“I’ll do fine,” Ethari insisted. “You’re awful fond of that mama of yours.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Yew said with a chuckle. “She’s my mama.”

“She’s not even your real mother.” 

“Yes, she is,” Yew said, his tone suddenly cold, and it was the first time Ethari saw a flash of anger in Yew’s eyes directed at him. “And you don’t get to say otherwise. Nobody does.” 

“Alright, alright,” Ethari said, taken aback. “Sorry, damn. I’m just saying, you’ve got all that love for a human, but what about your birth mother?” 

“I don’t know who she is. Or my birth father, for that matter. Never met ‘em.”

“What do you mean? How do you not know the person who gave birth to you?” 

“The ranch where I came from practiced forced breeding. My birth mother gave birth to me against her will. We were taken away from our mothers at birth and raised in isolation by the ranch hands, to discourage us from forming bonds with the other centaurs. The only one I was ever close to was Birch, and that was only because he was the one in the stall next to mine. Once I was given a stall, that is. The ‘nursery’ they kept us in was basically a closet” 

“Gods,” Ethari breathed, blinking. “Is that place here? In this country?” 

“No, it’s on the big continent up north. We swam here to get away.” 

“Good on you for that,” Ethari said. “Gods. I can’t imagine not having my mother there. It was the one thing that made that place bearable.” 

“How did she die? Was she worked to death?” 

Ethari frowned in horror. “Was that common on your ranch?” 

“Oh, yeah, happened all the time.” 

“My word. No, no, she was ill for a while before her death.” Ethari squinted suspiciously at Yew. “How are you so damned cheery, after all that? That would break the spirit of most people.” 

Yew shrugged. “I was only seven when we escaped, so maybe I wasn’t fully broken yet. In any case, no matter what happened back then, it’s back then. It doesn’t matter to me now. I’m happy now. I love the farm, even though the work is similar to the ranch. It’s hard work, but it doesn’t feel bad to do it like it did on the ranch. I even enjoy it. The food that I plant and pull up nourishes my family and keeps them well and happy, and that makes me happy in turn. It’s hard to be sad in this place. It’s like heaven to me. I never, ever want to leave here.” 

Ethari was quiet for a moment, contemplative. 

“Do you think I could be like that?” He asked suddenly.

“Like what?” 

“Like you. Happy. I don’t even know what that feels like. I don’t know if I’m capable of it.”

Yew laughed incredulously. “Sure you are, everyone is. It’s just a matter of finding something that makes you happy. For me, it’s this place. My siblings must feel the same way, too, since many of them have decided to stay, even after marrying and having children. This place is a balm for the soul. What’s that thing in the desert where there’s water? O…oasis? It’s like that.” 

“Could it be like that for me?” Ethari wondered, mainly to himself. 

“Time will tell, I suppose.” Yew stood from his kneeling position and made to leave. “But I certainly hope so. Now eat your jam, you need your energy.”

“Sure, sure,” Ethari said, waving him off.

Cetzu did, indeed, arrive the next day, meeting Ethari in his stall with a wooden leg he had carved. There were straps and cloth padding added to the attachment, but it still looked like it would be very uncomfortable. Getting used to it would be a chore, he could already tell.

“Do you think I’ll be able to run?” Ethari asked quietly. “I’ve always been hitched to equipment or sequestered in stalls. I’ve never been able to go on a full run before. I’ve always wanted to.” 

“I don’t know,” Cetzu said with sympathy. “But you should at least be able to walk with no issues in time. You’ll need a lot of therapy in order to do so, however. A practice buddy will help you. Yew would be perfect for that, he helps a lot of the larger folks get back on their feet when we have to nurse them back to health. He’s pretty well known around here for it.” 

“It would be Yew, wouldn’t it?” Ethari said snidely, though he wasn’t unhappy with the thought, much to his own surprise. 

“Could be worse,” Cetzu said. “Besides, it’s gonna be a slow process. You have to get used to using it gradually. He’s the best for that kind of thing. He’s quite patient.” 

Which meant he’d be spending a lot of time with Yew, Ethari realized, and he felt… relieved and apprehensive at the same time. He was starting to get used to Yew’s upbeat attitude and bright disposition, but he wasn’t sure if Yew would be able to stand him for that long. Sure, he said he thought Ethari’s grumpiness was cute, but even he knew it could wear thin after a while. Hell, he got sick of himself pretty often. 

“Can you stand on your own?” Cetzu asked.

Ethari shook his head.

“One moment,” Cetzu said, standing and exiting the stall.. “Yew!” 

Yew trotted up and peeked in. It seemed like he was always closeby “Yes?” 

“I need to get this fellow up to make sure the new leg is the right length. Can you help him?” 

“Oh, certainly. Up you get, Ethari.” 

Ethari made a grunting effort and, with the help of Yew and Cetzu, managed to stand up, feeling terribly off balance. Cetzu quickly strapped the new leg to the stump and encouraged Ethari to put his weight on it gingerly, just to see if it was the adequate length. Satisfied, Cetzu encouraged Ethari to walk around his room briefly, just to see if it functioned well. It was painful and uncomfortable, as Ethari predicted, but not in a way that couldn’t be adapted to. 

There was a slight drag that Cetzu said he could correct, no problem. Satisfied, Cetzu took the leg for some fine tuning and finishing adjustments, and left Ethari to rest. Yew was about to close the door to the stall when he was called by a feminine voice from the door. 

“Hey Sunflower, one of the irrigation pipes is clogged. Declan wants you to clean it out before nightfall.” 

An owl harpy stalked into view, looking into the stall with curiosity. She had lethal talons and lots of feathers in a multitude of earth tones. She wore no clothing to cover herself. 

“Don’t leer, Sayo,” Yew said. 

“I’m just curious,” She said. “I heard he was almost worse than me when I got here. Is that true, Sunflower?” 

“At least he didn’t scratch the bajeezus out of me, like you did. Be nice, Sayo,” Yew said, waving at Ethari as he left.

“I wouldn’t expect a harpy to be in a place like this.” Ethari said, sizing her up. 

“Most people wouldn’t,” She said, coming close and ruffling her feathers. 

“Why are you here, then?” 

“Because I am,” Sayo replied gruffly. “What’s it to you?” 

Ethari snorted and didn’t answer. Boy, if he didn’t see a little of himself in this prissy thing. “Did you come here to gawk at me? If so, you can shove off, I’m not in the mood to do tricks for you.” 

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” She asked him suddenly, her mischievous eyes sobering. “This place. You’re having trouble adjusting to it, aren’t you? I know. I still have trouble adjusting, even after fifteen years.” 

Ethari’s head rocked back at the sudden admission. “How did you know that?”

“I heard Yew talking about it. He’s all morose because he can’t cheer you up.”

Ethari wondered at Yew talking to other people about him, but said nothing about it. “Why is it hard for you to adjust? Were you on a ranch, like Yew?” 

Sayo shook her head in disgust as she sat on the threshold of the stall door. “I’d sooner end my own life than be a slave like that. I came from a coven of harpies who reside in the mountains to the west.” 

“So how did you end up here?” 

Sayo shrugged her shoulders, not in an “ I don’t know ” way, but in an “ it is what it is ” way. “My mother was the coven leader and didn’t like competition. I was attacked by the coven when I started to get too old to be submissive. I guess I mouthed off one too many times, because she ordered me to be killed and the entire coven descended upon me in a ritual execution, including my own siblings. My aunt felt pity for me and snuck me out while I was pretending to be dead, before they consumed me. I’m not sure how, but I ended up here.” 

Ethari was quiet. He hadn’t even met everyone on the farm yet, but their stories were all so diverse. There was only one thing that tied them all together. 

“Life in the coven was a struggle,” She continued when Ethari didn’t respond. “We fought over everything and everything was a competition. We competed for food, our place in the hierarchy, mating rights, anything you can think of. We didn’t help each other, because helping was the fastest way to get stabbed in the back. No one did anything ‘nice’ for others without harboring bad intentions. It took me so long to adapt to the farm here because none of it felt real. It seemed like a trick my mother had concocted to trap me. Even now, I sometimes have the feeling that I’ll blink and be back in the ritual, being shredded to death to appease my mother’s bloodlust.” 

Ethari’s brow furrowed. “How did you deal with it? I can’t get comfortable, everything feels so foreign. I… I can’t trust anyone, even if I want to. And… I really want to.” 

“Yew really got to you, huh?” Sayo said, her owlish face grinning. “They do that here. It’s hard to get out of this place without changing fundamentally in some way.” 

“I can see that.” 

Sayo shrugged again, her feathers whispering against each other like sand in the wind. “My advice? It’s gonna take time, just like with that leg of yours. It’s going to feel strange for a long time. There’s no way around that. The only thing you can do is trust.” 

“Trust who?” 

“Whoever. Yew, Me, Birch, Cetzu. Yourself. It doesn’t matter. Find something to trust in and it’ll come easier to you.”

“What if I can’t?” Ethari asked plaintively.

“Then you’ll be stuck, like I was for a long time. Moving forward is impossible if you’re stuck in the past. Trust is the only way.”

“Did you find someone to trust?” 

“Yeah,” Sayo said. “My little brother, Asahi. He just… attached himself to me when I arrived, like a barnacle. I hated him and was uncomfortable with him, since he was male, but he grew on me slowly. He showed me all the treasures that he had hidden, little shells and colored rocks and shiny bits. Garbage to most people, but things he cherished. He doesn’t have a mean or spiteful bone in his body. He taught me that I didn’t have to compete for affection, because he had plenty to spare for everyone. It’s strange to me that he’s a teenager now. I almost expected him to stay a baby forever.” Sayo smiled. “He’s my best friend. You should get one too.” 

Ethari breathed a sigh out of his nose. “Why do you call Yew Sunflower?” He asked, suddenly curious.

Sayo laughed. “I was extremely uncomfortable around men when I arrived, so I started calling the men by the names of things I liked, like flowers, to make myself feel less anxious. If I thought of them as flowers, I wasn’t as scared. You’re Dogwood, by the way.”

“Gee, thanks.” 

Yew returned, and Sayo stood up, making to leave. 

“Does it really help?” Ethari asked Sayo as she stepped away. “Giving your trust to someone?” 

Sayo nodded and smirked. “It makes all the difference.”

Four days later, Ethari was cleared to start rehabilitating using the prosthesis, and Yew helped Cetzu put the new leg on. 

“Thirty minutes,” Cetzu said. “You gotta work up to long term use slowly, or you’ll ruin yourself.” 

“I get it, I get it,” Ethari said, settling into the leg uncomfortably and grunting. “You’ve said that five times now.”

“Just being cautious,” Cetzu said. “If you end up damaging the stump even more than it is now by doing too much too fast, you’ll end up completely immobile, so it doesn’t hurt to repeat myself, just so you really listen.

“If you can make it around the field without my help, I’ll give you a surprise,” Yew promised. “I think you’ll like it.” 

Ethari snorted. “If you say so.” 

Ethari went out of the barn on his own for the first time, slowly and gingerly limping on his new leg. He was grateful he had four legs rather than two, or he’d be flat on his face by now. It was painful, and he wanted to lie back down almost immediately, but he couldn’t let himself do that. He was free for the first time in his life. He wasn’t going to let having a missing leg stop him now. 

However, once around the field was grueling. He had to walk a little, take a break, and repeat. Yew trailed behind Ethari by a short distance, ready to help if he needed it. 

“You’re doing great, Ethari,” Yew said. “You can make it.” 

Ethari didn’t have the energy to tell him to be quiet, so he didn’t say anything, only focused on getting back into the barn. Once he made it in, he struggled to stand so that Cetzu and Yew could remove the leg, and then collapsed, exhausted. 

“You did it,” Yew said after Cetzu left. “I knew you could! I’m so proud of you.” 

“Shut up and let me catch my breath,” Ethari gasped, leaning his body against the wood of the stall. Yew fell silent, and Ethari spent the next few minutes gulping down air. When he caught his breath, he opened his eyes and saw Yew kneeling right in front of him, a cute smile on his face. 

“Well?” Ethari asked weakly. “Did I earn my surprise or not?” 

Yew’s grin widened. “I’d say so,” He said, and took Ethari’s face in his hands. Before Ethari could ask what he was doing, Yew kissed him. 

It was a short peck on the lips, and Ethari surprised himself by pulling Yew in and deepening the kiss. It started simple, but it ended up a mess of teeth and tongues and Yew’s moans against Ethari’s lips. Ethari could feel himself become aroused, and stopped, breathing hard. 

“I told you you’d like it,” Yew said, also breathless and grinning.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ethari said, though he didn’t release Yew. Instead, he pulled him into an embrace and kissed his neck and shoulder.

“You’re more receptive than I thought you’d be,” Yew said, returning the embrace and stroking down Ethari’s upper back. “I’m happy, of course, but I just… thought I annoyed you.” 

“You do annoy me,” Ethari said. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t like it.” 

“Who’s the weirdo now?” Yew said, kissing Ethari’s ear. 

“You like me like this,” Ethari said, laughing for the first time. “You said so.” 

“I did say so,” Yew said. 

Months of therapy and a full season later, Ethari could get around just fine on his own. He still couldn’t run, and there was some doubt that he ever would, but at the very least he could walk unassisted. He offered to do some work around the farm, but despite the start of the planting season coming quite soon, they insisted he wait a while longer before taking on his share. 

Yew spent all of his free time with Ethari, helping him with the physical therapy and just enjoying his company, and Ethari felt himself coming out of his shell under the warmth of Yew’s encouragement and guidance. He went out to meet the other members of the family and introduce himself to them, including young Asahi, about whom Sayo had bragged. He started attending the family meals with them and eventually began engaging in conversations, stilted at first, but becoming more natural over time. He apologized to Birch for causing a ruckus and even greeted shy, non-verbal Hazel, who they’d realized was pregnant shortly after he arrived, although he was in no fit state to care at the time. It’s part of why Birch had been so touchy. Birch, who was in much better spirits now that Hazel was past the worst of her pregnancy sickness, accepted his apology and even offered to share a pint with Ethari sometime.

One day, after Ethari had been deemed mostly healed and with no restrictions on his movement, Yew and Ethari took a walk out hand-in-hand into the woods, out of sight from the farmhouse and barn. It was the farthest he’d been from it since his arrival and that might have made him feel apprehensive, but today felt special for some reason. It felt like he was anticipating something, like something was in the air that he could taste, but he wasn’t sure what it was, a flavor he’d never experienced before.

“Are you going to stay here?” Yew asked him after a while. “I know we never talked about it, but you’ve spent all your time at that ranch, so I figured you might want to go out and see the world. I would understand that.” 

“Do you want me to leave?” Ethari asked him. 

“Well, no,” Yew said. He seemed uncharacteristically downtrodden. “But… I don’t want to keep you here if you want to see more of the world. It would be selfish of me to expect you to stay just because I want you to.” 

Ethari stopped him, making him spin to face him. 

“Sayo told me something a few months ago,” Ethari said. “Back when I was struggling to accept the kindness that was being shown me. She said I needed to trust. She said it didn’t matter who or what it was, but I needed to put my trust in something in order to move forward. And she was right. Once I decided to trust, being here came more easily. It’s still hard for me to adapt to a place where nothing is expected of me, but I wanted to move forward and stop living in my trauma so badly that I was willing to take advice from anyone willing to give it, even a stranger. It just so happened that the advice I got was exactly what I needed.” 

“I wondered what the two of you talked about. What did you decide to put your trust in?” Yew asked, wide-eyed. 

“You, silly,” Ethari said with a laugh. “You make it hard not to trust you. That puppy face of yours is just too innocent not to trust. Once I let myself trust you, things seemed to fall into place, as if I was just waiting for it to do so. I won’t lie, I still find myself doubting now and then, and I still have nightmares. I don’t know if either of those will ever go away, but you make it better. It’s hard to doubt when you’re near me. So… I want you near me all the time. I only feel comfortable when you’re there. So… don’t go far… alright?” 

Yew nodded, and Ethari pulled him in sharply, kissing him hard. They had been careful about being affectionate around the family, since they didn’t want questions they may not have been ready to answer. But Ethari was ready now.

“Do you want me to show you what I want to do?” Ethari said, taking Yew’s face in his hands. “Do you want me to show you how I really feel?”

Yew gulped, but stared Ethari in the eye. “Yes.” 

Ethari kissed him again, perhaps a little roughly, but Yew seemed to respond positively. “Then turn around.” 

Yew was shaking a little as Ethari released him, but he obeyed, bracing his upper body against a tree as Ethari reared up on his back legs and mounted him, his cock slipping out of its sheath and bobbing as it searched out an entrance. 

“Do you want this?” Ethari asked, wrapping his arms around Yew’s shoulders from behind. 

Yew looked up at Ethari and grasped Ethari’s arms. “Oh, gods, yes. Please, Ethari, please.”

Ethari pressed his cock to Yew’s pucker, slowly inching inside him. Yew’s eyes half closed and he moaned. 

“Does it hurt?” Ethari asked. “Sorry, I’m not really sure what I’m doing yet.” 

Yew shook his head. “No, it feels good. You feel so good.”  

Ethari bent so that he could kiss Yew upside down as he thrust inside of him and Yew moaned against his lips. This close, his white lashed fluttered like feathers in the breeze, and Ethari was struck by his beauty. 

“You’re beautiful, Yew,” Ethari whispered, and Yew smiled. 

“How can I be beautiful when you exist, Ethari?” Yew said. “You’re so handsome. I thought so when I first saw you. I’d have flirted with you sooner if I thought you’d be receptive.” 

Ethari grinned. “You’re just buttering me up, aren’t you?” 

Yew smiled around his gasping. “Only always. That doesn’t mean it’s not true.” 

Ethari suddenly thrust harder, and Yew cried out. Ethari covered his mouth with his hand. 

“You have to be quiet, or we’ll get unwanted company,” Ethari whispered into Yew’s ear. “Are you going to be good?” 

Yew’s eyes were glassy in pleasure, and he nodded. Ethari removed his hand and Yew moaned again, only less loudly. 

“I love how this feels,” Yew breathed. “You’re so good at this. Are you sure it’s your first time?” 

Ethari bucked again, and Yew struggled to keep his voice down. 

“Maybe I’m just naturally gifted,” Ethari suggested. 

“I believe it,” Yew replied, his eyes closing as Ethari thrust faster. “There’s nothing you can’t do. You’re amazing.” 

“You’re going to make me cum if you keep talking like that,” Ethari said, as he was, indeed, close to bursting. 

“You can,” Yew said, his grip tightening. “I think… I’m almost there, too.” 

“How would you know?” Ethari asked him. “Isn’t this your first time?” 

“Yeah,” Yew said, his face scrunching up. “But I feel… something… happening…” 

Yew groaned loudly, and Ethari heard a thick splashing against the ground at their feet. Thrusting faster, Ethari began to grunt in Yew’s ear. 

“Don’t stop yet, it’s happening again,” Yew begged. Ethari pounded into him, and Yew did cry out, his body stiffening underneath Ethari, and another splashing was heard. 

“My goodness,” Ethari said, riding the edge of his own pleasure and letting it rise and ebb, delighting in the sounds Yew made when he came. “Aren’t you eager, love?”

“I’ve wanted you so badly, the last few months,” Yew said, sweat collecting on his brow despite the cool spring air. “I’m so happy you want me, too.” 

“I do,” Ethari told him. “I’m not going anywhere, Yew. I’m here forever. If I go anywhere, you’re coming with me. I need you.” 

Yew shuddered against Ethari, and came again. “You’re so good to me. I’m so happy you chose me. Thank you.” 

“No,” Ethari said, his voice soft. “I should be thanking you. You gave me new life.” 

“I just saw you on the road and helped you,” Yew said, his body shivering with the waves of pleasure.

“You did more than that,” Ethari pressed his forehead against the top of Yew’s head. “Oh, gods,” He exhaled. “I’m close.” 

“Please, do it,” Yew said. “You can do it. I want it.” 

Ethari came hard inside of Yew, his seed spilling out and down Yew’s back legs. Ethari nearly fell over in his attempt to disengage from Yew. Yew helped him stand straight, laughing. 

“I think I need a wash,” Yew said. “Do you want to help me clean up at the river?” 

“I can’t get in the water because of the leg,” Ethari said, trying to catch his breath. “But I can pull up a bucket of water and rinse you down. But before that…” Ethari pulled Yew into an embrace. “I meant it, you know. If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead. I didn’t know I could be so happy. Thank you for saving me. And thank you for letting me put my trust in you. Sayo was right.” 

“About what?” Yew asked, hugging Ethari tight.

“Trusting you made all the difference.”

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[whomst-art-thou-whomst-whomst]

The Artist and the Fan: Further Meta of Tiny Moments in Oh No! Here Comes Trouble

So it’s possible I did a third rewatch just because I’m convinced my favorite character is queer-coded. And that’s fine. I’ve written about Guangyan as queer-coded before. But what if it’s not just him?

Behold the first scene where Guangyan gets hit by a ball during gym class:

Before the first hit, the camera focuses on him subtly watching something as he runs around the track. What is to his left? The field where Yiyong is. Guangyan is surreptitiously eyeing Yiyong as he runs.

Right after Yiyong smacks the ball at him, the camera chooses to focus on Yiyong’s face. No comment on the expression here...EXCEPT we know later in the series that Yiyong didn’t push him down the stairs, is very gentle inside and wasn’t actually sure whether it had been Guangyan scoffing about his dreams the first time they met, so this is probably not revenge. When some kid brushes past Guangyan in the hall, he automatically thinks it’s Yiyong, meaning Yiyong pushes past him a lot. So given the comedic twists of this show, my queer little brain jumped to, eithrr he has the worst pattern of aim and walking in history, OR he is trying to get Guangyan’s attention in the dumbest “doesn’t know his own strength but maybe third times the charm” kind of way. Think about the dumb shit kids do on the playground to get someone’s attention. We’ve talked about Guangyan nursing a quintessential “of course I don’t like him, I absolutely hate him and his beautiful eyes” crush on Yiyong since high school, but a specific aspect of the rewatch made me think…maybe Yiyong, master of hiding his feelings and desires, master of expressing himself in writing and drawing, wasn’t entirely immune to Guangyan in high school either.

AND I HAVE EVIDENCE *jams tin hat on head* (although I respect that this could also just be a really solid non-romantic bond, see my note at the bottom)

Yiyong’s comic:

Literally two seconds after Yiyong (post coma 1) shuts down his comic, Guangyan (who is, as we later discover, the only reader of the comic) is frantically trying to get him to continue it.

Because it’s a cute little subplot that we know Guangyan is a fan, I got curious about what Yiyong’s art is all about, so I paused on his comic when he clicked on it shortly after waking up from coma 1; we surmise that the last time he worked on it was back when he was in high school, right before the accident.

A thank you to a translation by @betty5271 for explaining what Yiyong’s comic is supposedly about, according to the title and summary he has written for it on his page. The title is King of Flashfire, with the summary “What kind of bloody storm will a gifted high school student unleash on the campus?"

(Genres listed are battle, school life, and comedy)

Hmmmmmm. So it’s a story Yiyong wrote as a student…about a gifted student who gets into “battles”….

Now look at his two characters that are the figures from his comic. Remind you of any two people’s hairstyles and clothes?

*adjusts tin hat*

Guangyan is the only reader of the comic Yiyong has written about a stormy bond between two high school boys. A comic Yiyong wrote before ever having an actual conversation with Guangyan.

It makes this moment even more precious:

Now, to be clear: I do see this as a coded pre-romantic relationship, BUT this could also be an incredibly sweet friendship, too. Just as amazing. I would love a second season where they get their shit together, if that’s where the story is meant to go. Even if it never heads in that direction, I would still love this show so much and I can’t wait for their relationship to grow as they do. Our boys are soulmates, this comic subplot shows their coming together on the monster squad was meant to be.

(Chuying’s main meta is next if anyone has requests or thoughts on areas to cover with her)