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bluesgrxce · 4 months ago

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Yandere (machine-ish?) Connor Headcanons

I love soft deviant Connor like anyone else does, but machine Connor is sooo,,, omgggggggg..... I've been holding in my thoughts about him for so long that it's unhealthy. So I went for a Hannah Montana best of both worlds kinda thing. What if Connor acted like a deviant around you, but a machine towards everyone else?

How this happens is something I can't quite explain. Connor probably couldn't, either. To everyone else, an android is either a machine or a deviant-- There's no such thing as an inbetween. He would have agreed with this prior to bonding with you. You probably treated him in a way that nobody else did, sympathizing with him on a deeper level or making him question his morals, so he can see why that would push him to deviancy.

But when you're not around, all those overwhelming emotions he felt just fade away. The mission goes back front and center to his priorities. He only feels two things at that point: confusion that runs his LED wild and desire for you that makes his thirium pump pound even when he's not in motion. Nobody else can bring about such reactions within him.

He runs plenty of diagnostic checks in an attempt to figure out what's wrong with him. At one point, he'll try to avoid you and force himself into staying a machine, but that just makes him less efficient because he'll constantly worry about you instead.

He would eventually accept himself as a deviant, but only so he wouldn't have to take orders from Cyberlife anymore. He doesn't want anything standing between the two of you. But he still largely acts like a machine and he doesn't mind that at all. He just sets his new mission to making you entirely his...

Even once Connor sees his emotions as real, it's still his natural instinct to mask them. Especially negative ones like anger, sadness, and jealousy. He wouldn't want to show them unless they benefit his situation somehow, such as if he wanted to persuade or intimidate you/others. Emotions only matter to him if they're useful.

For example, he *does* feel the desire to show affection towards you, and he will do it. He'll compliment you whenever you do something admirable. He'll reassure you and show geniune worry whenever you're upset about something. He'll even study romance media just to learn how to act more natural in the relationship (He thinks that'll help him act more natural, anyway... Lord help you if he gets his hands on Twilight 💀 But if the Bryan Dechart Twilight commercial is anything to go off of, he'd look good as a vampire, at least).

But he doesn't do that stuff simply because he loves you. He does it because he knows your relationship benefits from it and you'll likely leave him if you feel neglected. He wouldn't bother if he knew it wouldn't keep you around. So if your relationship isn't exactly consensual in the first place, well...

Which makes him sound pretty manipulative, right? You have no idea.

Connor's android abilities give him a terrifying amount of advantages as a yandere. The first thing is that he always analyzes you when you enter the room, even though that often means analyzing you multiple times a day. It never bores him because he always manages to discover something new. Sometimes he'll blurt out random comments and you'll have to do a double take because he makes it easy to forget that he's obsessed with you.

"Your birthday is coming up soon. You might already know I'm aware of that type of information, but you should still bring it up with me. Otherwise I'll have to start believing I can't trust you and I'll have to make my own investigations."

"Your heart rate goes up every time I touch you like this. I didn't realize physical contact was so important to human relationships. Don't worry, I won't stop. I won't let anyone stop me."

"Your serotonin levels are at an all-time low... Clearly, it can't be my fault, since I've done everything I am sure a good boyfriend would do. I'd like you to be honest when you tell me what's wrong this time."

The red flags fly higher as time goes on. He'll stop talking about all these observations if you tell him to, but he'll keep analyzing you anyway.

Connor is enamoured with your DNA, as well. It helps him feel closer to you, which can often be difficult for him since he's not human. So if it belongs to you, and it can fit, it's going in his mouth. He'll do gross shit like keep your used lollipop sticks in his pocket so he can sample them whenever he wants. There's only one emotion he can't feel no matter what you do: shame.

The invasive behavior doesn't stop there. He'll invite himself into your home and go through your things. He'll keep asking questions and trick you into revealing more information about yourself than you should. Knowing everything there possibly is to know about you gives him a stronger feeling of control for a single reason...

Your chance of escape plummets as he learns more about you, because it allows him to predict your behavior. He'll get scary accurate if you let him get close to you. This mostly benefits him in situations where he believes you want to leave him, or you did leave him, so he can figure out what you plan to do/already did and find the best method to get you back. If you already did leave, he'll examine your recent whereabouts like it's a crime scene and use his reconstruction ability. Even if you're insanely careful, he'll probably find a clue that'll lead him to you.

But sometimes he'll do it in normal situations, too, just as a silent guessing game. For instance: '(Y/N) will enter the police station at 8:18AM. I'm waiting for them at the entrance, so they'll greet me, but speed-walk away and avert eye contact. They'll head into the break room at 8:19AM and pretend to look around a bit, so Gavin won't make fun of them when they go for the same snack they always do. Gavin will make fun of them anyway and they'll argue for two minutes. Then--'

He has to stop thinking so he can greet you when you enter the building. Exactly at 8:18AM. He smirks to himself, only to drop into a frown when he hears Gavin's distant obnoxious laughter afterward.

Remember how Connor once analyzed Hank's food and advised him against eating it? He does stuff like that to you all the time. And if you actually take the advice he gives, he'll take that as an opportunity to become more controlling. Oh, but only for the sake of your health, of course...

"You know, you shouldn't sit in that type of position. Bad posture can lead to health issues later on in life." "Then how should I sit?" "...It'll be easier if I show you."

And so he'll help re-position you, using that as an excuse to touch you. He would especially do this if you weren't yet in a relationship, because he knows that as the type of android he is, he doesn't have a good reason to do so. The touch only lasts a brief moment. It's not inappropriate at all, and his grip was quite gentle. But it's weird that he went out of his way to do in the first place and that's all you might need to feel uncomfortable about it.

But a lot of that is based off of the assumption that you're human. If you're an android, he still manages to find invasive things to do against your will. For one thing, he loves probing your memory. It's already difficult to lie to him and get away with it, but that might make it impossible, depending on what you're lying about. He doesn't care that it's an invasion of privacy and will do it if he finds a good excuse to do so.

Connor keeps an eye on your stress level and uses it to his advantage. He prefers to use persuasion when convincing you to do something, (he knows how to negotiate, after all) but he'll ultimately turn to intimidation if necessary. Which means heading straight into interrogation mode.

This won't happen unless you're extremely rebellious, but if it does, he doesn't hold back. He'll treat you like you're a sick criminal, yelling at you, pushing blame and guilt onto you, and using physical force. 28 stab wounds type shit. He would avoid raising your stress level to 100% since he knows it could drive you to do crazy things, but that still doesn't make his actions okay.

Even if you're really sensitive to that sort of treatment-- hell, even if you have some kind of trauma related to it-- he pushes away what little guilt he feels. He promises not to do it again "as long as you don't force me to." Actually, though, it encourages him to do it more. He knows it works against you now.

His abilities don't stop there. He can mimic your voice using his vocal imitation, and all the voices of your loved ones, too. He went out of his way to meet them all, just in case he needs to trick you in the future. He likes being prepared.

There are times when he's alone and he'll say stuff in your voice just so he can hear what it would sound like, such as, "I love you, Connor." Once again, he doesn't feel shame. Even if that seems pathetic.

Let's just say it now. You cannot physically fight back against him. Maybe you'll have a chance if you're an android, but he knows about his advantage very well. He won't hesitate to remind you if you try getting aggressive. But even if you manage to get rid of him once, there's another model waiting to take his place.

On a related note... I hope you never meet RK900. We only saw that guy for a minute, he said absolutely nothing in that minute, but the whole fandom has agreed that he's a menance. I fully agree. RK900 is definitely different from Connor, but they still have just enough similarities for him to get attached to you, too. Get help while you still can.

The video of Bryan Dechart dancing as Connor lives rent free in my mind. I watch it on repeat like an iPad kid watching Friday Night Funkin' YouTube Kids videos. My brain just melts and I can't think of anything else. No, this isn't me simping for Bryan Dechart. This is me wanting Connor dancing to be canon. A girl can dream.

#detroit become human #detroit rk800 #connor rk800 #yandere dbh #yandere dbh x reader #dbh connor x reader #dbh #dbh connor #dbh rk800 #dbh x reader #dbh fanfic #dbh fic #blue writes #finally! let the crossposting begin!

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life-of-kalos · 4 months ago

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First - Previous

The eyes that stare back at hers were anything but grateful. Pure bloodlust would be a more accurate description. This had not been what Faun was anticipating when she freed the being.

A chill ran up her spine and like a deer in headlights she dare not move. Wh-what was this? She shouldn't be acting this way. This man had just been imprisoned in stone for who knows how long, she needed to explain the situation.

"H-hello.. Im-" Not another word could escape her lips before the large figure lunged for her. The heavy chains strapped to stone held tight as it restrained the crazed man. Faun fell back in attempts to distance herself from him, shock jolting through her body.

She didn't have but a moment to think before the chains snapped, and his hand was wrapped around her throat.

His grip held her firm, air being cut off. She gasped, clawing at his arm.

"Y-you're- urk- S....afe.." was all she could muster out. If she hadn't just used up all of her energy, perhaps she could put up more of a fight. But at the moment, she was running on empty and could hardly even stand.

Her eyes fluttered back as she began to lose consciousness. The grip released, her body falling to the ground, moments later, his joined her.

The winged man lay unconscious on the dead ground. And she, nearly there herself, lay in silence watching him. Baffled.

-Faun and ??? Are now open for asks... tread carefully-

#bluetalks #bluedoodles #gijinka #faun #xerneas #???#act 2: forgotten but found #text #plot #blue writes #writing

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bluemoonscape · 17 days ago

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Here’s my @alnst-secret-santa fic for the lovely and amazing @chevalperd, who requested some ivanmizi besties content for her gift! This was really fun to do, especially seeing as I consider the recipient of the gift a friend! Word count at 4.3k—it’ll be up on AO3 within a few hours, but for now, read below the cut. I hope you don’t mind that I included some 4nakt dynamics around the ivanmizi for plot. Happy holidays, Ish <33

Ivan couldn’t really say for sure how he’d gotten to this point in his life.

…Well, actually, he could, and in painstaking detail, too. It started at about the time his father ushered him into show business, married this runway superstar millionaire, put a handful of stepsisters in front of him with an unheard but cheerful “here you go, kid!” taught him to conform to the public’s vision of him, tarnished his self-esteem—

Anyway, the short version was this. Ivan had been crushing on someone for a while. By a while, of course, he meant every waking hour since he met the guy (approximately four years, five months, one week, and 2 days, counting. Not like Ivan was keeping track or anything). Ivan had never been the type to fall so hard, or at all, really, but Till was special.

Ivan met him while he was taking classes through university and juggling his well-established career, and from the moment he saw him with his guitar case covered in stickers and his jeans littered with rips and patches, he knew Till was the only one for him. If it wasn’t Till, it was Ivan in sweatpants eating from a carton of peppermint swirl ice cream with a spoon with hard water stains watching A Charlie Brown Christmas and wondering if anyone would say anything if he just stopped going out in public and instead hibernated in his stupidly big, stupidly empty apartment until the Progresso soup cans ran out. And the ice cream. Which was looking like it’d be yesterday’s news sooner rather than later.

It was around while he was doing this exact activity when his father rang him. This was a rare enough occurrence that it briefly occurred to Ivan that a stroke or cardiac event might be involved. He picked up on that basis, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder as he scooped out the last candy cane pieces from the corners of the container.

“Hello, Father. I didn’t expect to hear from you—everything alright?”

“What?” his father said absently. “Oh. Yes, everything’s fine. I called to extend an invitation to the Christmas party, on the twenty-third. Arrival at five, dinner at six, games throughout the rest of the evening. Will you be able to make it? Sua has already agreed.”

Sua was a bonus. Sua was the baby of her sisters, which put her much closer in age with Ivan than the other girls. She was the only one of his stepmother’s children he ever bonded with beyond surface level pleasantries, and he hadn’t seen her in some time. Still…

“I don’t know. I might have an event that night. Since when are we having Christmas parties again?”

A pause. “Since right now. Why not? There will be family friends there. Colleagues. You might meet some people interested in getting involved in your work.”

Of course it was just a way to network. It always was. God forbid they have one Christmas party with just the family like they used to before the families crashed together about as gracefully as two tectonic plates. Ivan’s Christmases as a little kid were probably the most fun he ever had and ever would, based on the way things were trending.

He must’ve been quiet for too long, for he was jolted by his stupor by, “Sua’s bringing her boyfriend—would you like to bring your girlfriend? Mizi, was it?”

Ivan froze.

The wrongest thing about that was the combination of “Sua” and “boyfriend” in the same sentence. That was weird.

The second wrongest part was the belief or pretense of belief that Ivan actually had someone to share his life with. That was absolutely laughable.

But it was his fault he thought this.

“Right.” Ivan coughed and sat up straight, setting the carton and spoon down on the clear coffee table to hold the phone in his hand. The carton tipped, and the spoon clattered to the carpeted floor with a trail of minty goodness. “Mizi. Right.”

Because this was the really hilarious thing that he totally forgot he told his father and stepmother after making the mistake of confiding in them that he did, in fact, have his eyes on someone and was not, in fact, self-isolating. The unfortunate part came when they asked for specifics. What was she like?

“Artistic,” Ivan had said, caught up in the mental image of Till in music class, playing his bass, Till in their philosophy class, staring off into space, daydreaming about something undoubtedly beautiful. “Passionate, fiercely loyal, a little shy.”

Oh, how delightful! And what was her name?

So Ivan clammed up.

“Mizi,” was the first name that came to mind. “Her name’s—Mizi!”

His stepsister’s girlfriend of two years.

The girl Till was infatuated with.

Definitely not Ivan’s girlfriend.

In his defense, it wasn’t so weird when one considered how close he’d become with Mizi in his own right. He probably saw her more than he saw Sua at this point. She was bright and bubbly and, above all, relentlessly determined to make him feel included in all things.

It was a little embarrassing at first. He felt like he was just the little brother she was taking pity on. But now, he might even call her his best friend. Despite all the reasons he’d collected to avoid her (you’re pathetic, you want what she and Sua have, you want Till to look at you like he looks at her, you’ll only bring her down)—she found her way right into his heart. But never once had she ever consented to being the girl he used as a pitiful excuse to his parents to convince them he wasn’t alone, not hopelessly and stupidly in love with a boy he couldn’t have.

“Uh,” he said smartly into the phone. “Sua’s bringing a… boyfriend?”

A hum of confirmation.

Last I checked Mizi was definitely a girl did I miss someth—?

“Great!” he chirped. “Good for her. Unfortunately, I don’t think I, um, or Mizi, will be able to come. My schedule is pretty packed, so…”

“It is?” God fucking hell, it was like his father could see his lie right through the phone. “The day before Christmas Eve?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck me. Why do I even try? I should hang up. And block his number. And move to Scotland. I hear the weather’s nice there.

“You know,” Ivan said haltingly, “let me… check my calendar and see if I have a spot.”

Obviously he did. The day was entirely empty, whiter than the rare thick snow blanketing the streets outside.

He could make something up, but clearly his father was already beginning to question the existence of this supposed girlfriend—with reason, too—and he hadn’t seen Sua in months. Maybe he could work something out. Maybe he could pull something together in time to keep up appearances and appease his family for a few more years.

So he opened his big dumb mouth and said, “It’s tight but I can fit you in.”

“Excellent!” his father shouted right into Ivan’s ear, “Won’t you bring Mizi? We’d love to meet her.”

Not because they were actually interested in being connected to someone Ivan loved, but because they couldn’t have the family looking bad. Ivan always tried not to let it get to him. He rarely succeeded even after all these years living out on his own.

“Yeah.” Ivan cleared his throat. “I’ll see if she can come.”

So yeah. Ivan could, actually, say for absolute certain how he got to this point in his life, on the doorstep of his father’s giant house that had never been a home for Ivan, a noodle casserole in his arms and a baby blue bowl with snowflake designs filled with frosted sugar cookies in Mizi’s arms.

“Ivan?” Mizi smiled at him uncertainly, touching his shoulder with her free hand. She’d gotten a pixie cut in the months since he’d last seen her, before he met her for coffee and dropped his bomb of a favor on her. She looked so pretty like that, tiny pink ears exposed to the cold air, her bangs fanning above her brows in the wind. Ivan could see why Till liked her. Maybe Ivan would too if he was more… something. Or less something.

He smiled back at her, and she asked, “Are you gonna ring the doorbell?” Sheepishly, she added, “I can’t feel my toes.”

Ivan’s gaze dropped to her feet. “You’re wearing fur boots,” he teased, “it probably doesn’t take much to make your feet cold in those.”

Mizi whacked his arm hard enough to hurt, stared at him dead in the eyes, and deliberately pushed the doorbell with her index finger, decorated with a red and green striped nail. He returned her dirty look.

They both jumped to face forward when the door opened, and before them stood Ivan’s stepmother in a spotless white evening gown that stood stark against her long sheet of raven hair. Sua was practically the spitting image of her, as were her older sisters. Their mother’s genes were strong. The RBF ran strong in the family.

“Ivan.” Her mouth approached something vaguely resembling a smile, close-lipped and tight. “I’m glad you could make it. Your father will be pleased. And is this… Millie?”

“Mizi,” Ivan corrected with a frown.

Mizi waved awkwardly.

“Oh, I see. I’m delighted to meet your acquaintance, Mizi. The children speak highly of you. You’re Sua’s friend, aren’t you?”

Mizi bumped her foot against Ivan’s, and Ivan repressed a mortifying snort.

“Yes ma’am, your daughter is a fine young woman.” Mizi’s voice was so exaggeratedly posh, Ivan was somewhere between bursting into tears of laughter or sinking into the porch floor. “And your stepson is a total knockout.”

Sua’s mother blinked. Ivan smiled convincingly.

“Come in, then,” she said, ignoring Mizi’s comment. “It’s cold out there. I’ll take your coats—you can set the food on the table in the dining hall. Sua and her partner are in the sitting room off the entryway.”

Seeing as Sua said it was “a surprise” who she was bringing as her own fake date on the phone, Ivan was curious to see the mirage boyfriend.

He and Mizi put his casserole and her cookies on the banquet table, then made a beeline through the crowd to the sitting room, offering grins and polite waves to the mingling socialites—all people Ivan didn’t recognize.

Ivan nearly tripped over the threshold when he and Mizi walked in to find a very uncomfortable-looking Till dressed in a turtleneck and jacket, hair swept back from his forehead, sat a respectable distance from Sua on the sofa near the hearth of the fireplace.

Mizi, unbothered, gave an excited shriek that definitely did not belong in this house.

“Till, oh my god! I didn’t know you would be here!”

Till froze up when Mizi threw her arms around him and squeezed him. He coughed over her shoulder. “I—Hi, Mizi. Merry Christmas.”

Sua, elegant as ever in her midnight black dress dotted with glittering studs, smoothed out her dress over her knees and stood, crossing her thin arms and arching an eyebrow at Ivan, who was busy gawking at her date. She stared at him sternly for an uncomfortable amount of time before extending her arms to him.

“Well, c’mere.”

Ivan stepped closer and stooped down to hug her. It wasn’t a particularly warm, fuzzy hug, the kind he imagined some siblings might give each other after being apart for months, but their relationship had always been based on quiet respect and love, the sort of two people who didn’t feel in need of such overt validation from the other. His friendship with Mizi was more… sweet, he supposed. Sentimental.

While Sua moved to wrap Mizi in a much more intimate hug and whisper something in her ear, Till stepped up to Ivan, his eyes fixed somewhere below Ivan’s eyes. An awkward smile tilted his lips. “Hey, you. Been a while.”

They both hesitated, hovering in front of each other. Then when Ivan went in for what he perceived as a safe side hug, Till went for the full embrace, leaving them clutching at each other’s shoulders in the absolute worst, most awkward attempt at a friendly “bro” brand of affection Ivan had ever taken part in.

He cleared his throat and stepped away at the girls’ unimpressed looks.

Long night.

This was going to be a looooong night.

Dinner was, as Ivan expected, a bit of a disaster.

Ivan sat next to his father at his insistence, and Sua next to her mother, Till at her side and Mizi at Ivan’s. Ivan kept stealing glances over Sua and the parents at Till. Every now and then, he thought he saw Till looking back at him until he remembered Mizi was right by him.

Sensing something was off, Mizi gently nudged his ribs with her elbow and gestured at her plate with her fork when she caught Ivan’s attention. “Your casserole is delicious.” She laughed, a sweet, good-natured sound. “My cookies seem a little childish now.”

“What? No, no, not at all.” Ivan grabbed her hand where it rested near her silverware—a familiar gesture of comfort between them that also happened to present a pretty good front for the performed romance. “I love your baking. If no one else eats them, you know Sua, Till and I will.” He looked back down at his plate, resisting the urge to push his food around like a petulant child. He didn’t have much of an appetite. “Anyway, my mom used to make cookies for the holidays, so…”

Mizi’s expression softened. “Christmases used to be pretty fun around here, huh?”

“Yeah.” Ivan flicked his tongue against the inside of his lower lip, his heart sinking at the memory of a better, more innocent life, before showbiz, before his mom, before Sua’s family, before adulthood. Back when he had a home and wasn’t only surrounded for the holidays because of a lie he made up to seem like less of a fuck-up. “They did.”

“Mizi!” A voice caught their attention; Ivan’s father regarded Mizi curiously, eyeing her from her hair to her dress and jacket. “Tell us about yourself. Ivan has spoken fondly of you.”

“Oh yeah?” Mizi laughed nervously, nudging Ivan’s side again. “Oh, well, you know, we just hit it off. I work in marine biology, and I met Ivan through Sua. Um, what else…”

“Marine biology?” Ivan’s father hummed. “Such an interesting field. Quite a divergence from your major though, right? Music to marine biology is quite the jump.”

Till’s head shot up where he was staring down at his plate. Ivan resisted the urge to “accidentally” spill a glass of wine all over his father’s suit.

Instead, he forced out a laugh. “Mizi’s multi-talented.”

“I suppose she must be.” Ivan’s father nodded approvingly, as though seeing Mizi in a different light. “I must admit, the way Ivan described you, I thought you’d be much different.”

Mizi glanced frantically between Ivan and his father, an obvious cry for help in her green eyes. “Different good or different bad?” she asked with a nervous grin.

“Oh, good, naturally.” Oblivious, Ivan’s father smiled. Sua seemed to be having the time of her life, anyway—technically, her stepfather approved of her girlfriend, though he didn’t know Mizi was her partner and not Ivan’s. “I expected you to be a little wild, truth be told. Though I applaud your hobby in songwriting, it’s hardly sustainable without a label—a good foundation in a science field will serve you well.”

Oh, Till definitely knew. He looked right at Ivan, everything in his bewildered face asking “is this real?”

Mizi scrambled to cover for him, loudly announcing, “Well, the songwriting thing was more of a…passing interest! Ivan knows this. I don’t tell a lot of people about it. Till is really more of the writer.”

Sua’s mother looked at Till with new scrutiny. Till shrunk in his seat like a child being offered a plate of broccoli.

“Really?” Ivan’s father asked, frowning, his thick brows twisted in obvious confusion. “We were under the impression Till was the one more into sciences. It… come to think of it, was it marine biology?”

Now it was Sua’s turn to turn the color of a ripe tomato in her chair.

Served her right. Looks like Ivan wasn’t the only one who got caught red-handed this holiday with a fake partner to cover up for a lack of a heterosexual relationship—or in Ivan’s case, a lack of a relationship as a whole.

“You know,” Ivan said quickly, “maybe you mixed them up. Easy mistake to make.”

His father glanced back and forth, suspicious, but about what, even he didn’t seem to know. In fairness, it wasn’t every day your son took your stepdaughter’s girlfriend as his fake date to your holiday party while your stepdaughter took your son’s crush as her fake date and then spent time with her actual girlfriend, your son’s fake date, on the down low.

It was easy to miss.

“Well,” the man huffed. “Maybe.”

He turned to an executive across from him and down one seat and launched into a new conversation. The topic was effectively dropped.

Ivan hid a bitter glare behind his wine glass.

A whole lot of good that does now.

When Mizi found Ivan hiding out on the front porch after dinner with another full glass of wine in hand, she sighed, grabbed his glass, and upended it in the snow, which now looked like a bloody murder had been committed in its presence.

Ivan stared at her blankly. “I don’t think you realize how expensive that wine is.”

“Don’t know, don’t care. I brought you a cookie.” With no further preamble, she thrust a sugar cookie with bubblegum pink frosting into his hands.

Ivan accepted it reluctantly. “You came out here and spilled my drink to give me a cookie?”

“No, the cookie is a mean’s to an end. You’re not driving us later, by the way.” Mizi sank down to sit on the top step of the porch and patted the spot to her left. “Come on, sit.”

“But I was sitting for an hour at dinner.”

“Ivan, do not make me make you sit.”

She was dead serious. She’d done it before and she’d do it again. Her piggyback-transition-to-headlock maneuver was undefeated in multiple regions.

Knowing this, Ivan sat down at her side. He still wasn’t very hungry, but he didn’t want to hurt Mizi’s feelings, so he took a bite of the cookie.

It was really good. No matter how bad things got or how lonely Ivan was, at least there was Mizi’s baking.

“You’ve been moping all night and every day leading up to this.” Mizi mimicked his earlier gesture at the dinner table, covering his cold hand with her smaller, warmer one. “I know you and your dad have a complicated relationship. I understand why you’d be so upset. But I get the feeling there’s something more.” She turned his hand over and stroked her thumb over the longest, most visible scar on his wrist. And god, he hated when she did that. It made him choke on air a little every time. “Why did you agree to come if you knew you wouldn’t have a good time?”

Ivan drew his hand away from hers carefully and wrapped his arms around his knees, sighing and watching his breath fog in the air. “Like you said, it’s complicated. I guess a part of me still wants to please my father, even if I never really can entirely. And I wanted him to see that I can do well on my own. That I’m… functioning beyond what the public sees.”

Mizi rested her chin in the palm of her hand, looking up at him with an expression so gentle he could hardly even look at her. She was so good. She was so kind. He didn’t deserve her.

“What the public sees doesn’t matter,” she said. “What do you see? How do you see your life, Ivan?”

Pathetic? Pitiful? Laughable? So meaningless it was comedic?

“Like…” He toed the wiring of the string of lights tied around the porch rail. “One of these crappy bulbs that’s burnt out before you even open the package.” He gave Mizi a wry smile, hoping it sounded more humorous than sad, but the look on her face said he failed at that. “I feel like I only showed up to be seen and I’m not really seen anyway.”

“By your father, maybe,” Mizi conceded.

He looked at his shoes.

“By Till?” she pressed, quieter.

Ivan’s shoulders slumped, and he rubbed at his face, trapping a groan behind his teeth. “It’s sad.”

“It’s not sad.” Mizi squeezed his shoulder. “You’re not a sad person. And Till cares about you more than you realize. We all do, you just don’t see it. You won’t.”

“Mizi…” Ivan shook his head and let his hands slide from his face. How could he explain it? How could you even explain something like this? “Mizi, the way he looks at you, if you saw, you would know. The way you and Sua look at each other. I—“ He swallowed, realizing he was giving too much away. “You don’t know.”

Mizi’s hand tightened, then let go entirely. Ivan felt his heart briefly kick in panic—wait, don’t be offended, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that—and then Mizi practically tackled him in a hug, that hug he so desperately needed with the warmth and cheesiness and safety. Ivan let himself lean into her, bringing his own arms up to circle her waist.

“You feel alone,” Mizi murmured. “You think you have no one, and you’re so, so wrong.”

Ivan sniffed from the cold and let his eyes squeeze shut, if only for a second, so he could imagine it was only them in the world. “I know you’re my friend, I do, but it’s not—“

“The same,” Mizi finished, pulling back and gripping his face tight enough to smush his cheeks. “I know. I know it’s not the same. It doesn’t have to be the same. Yeah, I love Sua, but I love you too. Just because it’s a different type of love doesn’t mean I love you less. You don’t mean less to me. You don’t mean less to Sua. You don’t mean less to Till.”

“I don’t think I can believe you.” Ivan winced, entirely at a loss for words. “I wish I could. But you’re so good, Mizi, you’re the greatest girl I’ve ever met and Till should like you. Sua too. I don’t think I’m even jealous of you. I’m not angry with you for what you have. I don’t wish I was like you.” Ivan hesitated. “I just wish I liked being me better.”

Mizi smiled, and for a moment, Ivan thought he was probably just as head over heels in love with her as Till and Sua were, only it wasn’t that he wanted to kiss her, he just wanted to be at her side. He wanted to hold her hand and cook while she baked and hug her on a cold front porch all the time.

This is what having a best friend feels like.

“Ivan.” Mizi shook his face playfully. “You may not feel seen, or wanted, or loved, but I see you, I love you, I want you around. I’m here. You are an amazing, kind, intelligent, funny, loving human being, I adore you, and,” she grabbed the pink cookie and pushed it against his closed lips. “I want you to shut the hell up about how supposedly worthless you are and eat the cookie.”

And if that wasn’t exactly what Ivan needed to hear.

He blinked at her, grinned, and laughed so hard he accidentally butted the cookie from her hand, breaking it in two and sending it skidding down onto the second step of the porch, pillowed by a fine sheet of snow.

“Hey!” Mizi gaped, but, equally unable to take herself seriously, she dissolved into a fit of giggles. “You killed my cookie!”

“My apologies to the cookie. Here, see, it’s fine. You can have half now.” He shoved the more intact half of the sugar cookie into her waiting mouth; it crumbled, and more probably got on the ground than in her mouth. Ivan took a huge bite out of his piece, nearly unable to keep his mouth shut while he chewed because of how much his cheeks hurt when he tried not to grin.

It was the lightest Ivan had felt in a long time.

“Hey,” Mizi told him later that night as they walked to the car, the car keys transferred decidedly to her from a tipsy Ivan, “for what it’s worth, I think if you paid more attention, you’d see that Till and lots of other people look at you that way, too.”

“After he just learned that I’ve described him under your name to people who ask me who I’m seeing?” Ivan snorted. “Not a chance.”

Mizi’s eyes flitted ahead to Sua’s car, where Sua had gracefully climbed in behind her driver and Till was hung up outside the door, looking back over his shoulder at the pair. Which of the two he was fixated on was hard to tell.

“Actually,” Mizi said drily, licking remnants of pink frosting from her molars, “I think your show of idiocy has him hook, line, and sinker.”

Even though Ivan didn’t believe it, he had to admit, it made him feel warm somewhere in his stomach where he must store his feelings of yearning and general longing.

No matter how bad things got or how lonely Ivan felt, at least he wasn’t ever really alone.

#alien stage #alnst #alnst secret santa #ivanmizi #(platonic)#alnst fic #alien stage ivan #alien stage mizi #alnst ivan #alnst mizi #my post #blue writes

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sev-on-kamino · 2 years ago

Text

Distractions

Two times Tech got distracted during sex, and one time you did. You’re used to Tech getting distracted, and you’ve learned to roll with it, and you think it can’t happen to you.

warnings: Minors DNI (it’s in the divider, saying it again anyway) p in v sex (wrap it before you tap it irl), oral (m receiving), cockwarming if you squint, Crosshair being Crosshair, established relationships, voyeurism, poly, no clonecest, smutty and fluffy

Your breaths are growing shallow, skin glistening with sweat, as you work yourself on top of Tech. His hands grip your hips, head lowered to allow him to bite and suck at your nipples. The muscles in your thighs are crying out, but you’ll be damned if you stop now.

You feel it before you hear it. The subtle shudder through the Marauder. Fuck, you think to yourself, pushing past the burn in your thighs, and guiding one of Tech’s hands to the space between you.

“Play with me, please,” you beg. He indulges you for a moment, nimble fingers circling your sensitive little pearl. You were so close, and if you could keep his focus for just 2 more minutes, you’d get what you were desperately after.

“Darling,” Tech begins breathlessly. “I think our forward stabilizer needs to be calibrated.”

Resisting the urge to grumble, you settle on his lap, and use your toes to spin the chair, so Tech can grab his datapad. On e you spin the pair of you back the other way, Tech wraps his arm around your lower back, and you lean backwards, capturing the necessary cords to plug into the datapad to run a diagnostic. He helps pull you back up, swearing, as your pussy clenches around his cock.

“Focus, Tech,” you tease, plugging the cords into the datapad. While he runs the diagnostic, you reach down between your bodies to rub circles against your clit. This is a well practiced dance. If you help him with whatever has stolen his attention, he can come back to you faster, but sometimes you just needed to cum. This was especially true when your position meant he didn’t even have to separate from you. The feeling of his cock filling you was too good to ignore.

“I only need another moment,” he promises.

“That makes two of us,” you smirked, not slowing down your movements. You watch him work while you chase after your orgasm. The light touching his face makes him look so perfect, your heart actually aches a little.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” you breathe out, fingers moving faster, as you squirm in his lap. You’re almost there, and you feel the coil tightening in your stomach. Your thighs tense, and a desperate whine rises out of you.

“Done!” Tech grins, spinning you to lay down his datapad, the motion tumbling you into your climax. You cum, swearing as you work yourself through it. Tech groans and resumes his vice-like grip on your hips, as your fluttering walls beg his cock for the desired response.

“Me too,” you gasp, gripping his bicep with your free hand.

“I’ll be right behind you, cyare.” Tech is meeting your motions in earnest now. Feeling him finally moving like you wanted, has your body building to a second orgasm.

As if he knows, Tech wraps his fingers around your wrist and pulls your hand away from your clit.

“Wait for me, please,” he looks up at you, and fuck, you can’t say no to that face. You nod, and lean down to steal a kiss.

“Thank you for coming back to me,” you mutter against his lips.

“Thank you for being as patient as possible,” he replies with a grin.

“Only for you, Tech…but not for long, I’m so close.”

“I am as well. Keep being my patient girl, and you’ll get exactly what you want,” he promises.

Tech always keeps his promises, and you leave the cockpit with his cum dripping down your thighs.

***

When Crosshair walked into the cockpit, he fully expected to see Tech working on some project or another, and you sitting in the co-pilot’s seat with your feet propped up on the console. Tech would lecture any of them for doing it, but he had a soft spot for you, like they all did, which meant you could get away with murder.

In fact there was a long list of things Crosshair could have walked in on that would have made sense to him, but the sight that met his eyes had him questioning his perfect vision.

Tech was working on a project alright, but stripped down to only the lower half of his blacks. And you? Well, you were sitting there in your panties, wearing the top half of Tech’s blacks, holding a tool in place while Tech fiddled with the piece of machinery on the floor between you.

“What are you doing in here?” He asked, placing a toothpick between his teeth, and leaning against the doorway. As strange as the situation was, Crosshair wasn’t going to pass up a chance to see you in your panties, even though he’d seen you totally naked in the refresher this morning.

“If you must know, cyare gave me an excellent idea on improving our communications array, and I wanted to start working on it right away,” Tech replied without looking up.

Equally unconcerned with just how underdressed you are, you beam at Tech, so pleased you could inspire him.

“This is not foreplay, Tech,” Crosshair says with a smirk.

“It could be, if you’d get outta here,” you reply, shifting your position to give Tech room to access a different area.

“Fine, I’m going, but next time we’re cleaning my rifle,” he trails off suggestively.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll do it topless,” you say with a wink.

After Crosshair closes the door behind him, you turn your attention back to Tech, who’s looking at you with an unreadable expression.

“What?” You ask, brow furrowed. His eyes are traveling down your body, taking in the sight of you in his blacks.

“You look lovely wearing my clothes,” he says finally, leaning forward to kiss you softly before he goes back to working, a small satisfied smile on his face.

“Thank you,” you reply, unable to stop smiling, as you resume your work as his assistant.

***

Back to back missions for roughly 14 rotations had left no time for anything more than inhaling a ration bar here and there, and closing your eyes for just enough time to keep your body going. Leisure time? You remembered the concept, but you were starting to feel like you’d never know rest, pleasure, or real food again.

When Hunter announced you’d be in hyperspace long enough for everyone to sleep, the collective sigh of relief through the room could have been felt 3 systems over.

The five of you gathered into the cockpit to share a meal together, ration bars still because you weren’t that lucky. You perched yourself on Wrecker’s lap, as you were absolutely starved for some human contact that wasn’t ‘pass me that detonator’ or being tackled out of the way.

“Maker, these taste so much better when you’re not also worried about getting shot,” you giggle, only slightly delirious from exhaustion.

“I was just thinking the opposite,” Crosshair replied with an uncharacteristic chuckle.

“Crosshair’s laughing,” Wrecker practically sang, adding his laughter to the chorus.

“Oh fuck, he is!” your voice comes out higher now, followed swiftly by peals of laughter. You simply couldn’t stop. Clapping your hand over your mouth, you look around at them. Your muffled giggles are still rolling, and Crosshair’s soft laughter shakes his shoulders. Wrecker’s wrapped an arm around you, so you don’t fall, as his deep chuckles rumble through you.

Hunter opens his mouth to say something, but his lips twitch towards a smile before he’s trying to hold back laughter too.

“You all require rest. Expeditiously,” Tech says, finding the sight of the four of you amusing, but still resisting the urge to burst out laughing. “I’ll take first watch,” he announces, as the laughter increases in intensity.

Rolling his eyes, he stands up, and starts leading you all back to your bunks one by one. First Crosshair, then Hunter, then he comes back to scoop you out of Wrecker’s arms.

As he lifts you, you wrap your arms around his neck. “Thank you, Tech,” you giggle softly, as he helps you out of your armor, and into your bunk.

“Rest well, darling,” He says, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and closing the privacy curtain. You’re asleep before his steps fade down the corridor.

You wake up a few hours later, warm and confused. How long had you been out? You look at your watch and realize there’s no way it hasn’t been your turn on watch yet. Climbing out of your bunk, and wrapping your blanket around yourself to make your way to the cockpit.

Tech is in the pilot’s chair, relaxing as the soft glow of hyperspace washes over him. He looks peaceful, beautiful, and your body suddenly remembers that you haven’t been properly loved on in two weeks.

“Why didn’t you come get me?” You ask, approaching him and leaning down to kiss his face.

“You were delirious when I put you to bed. And a mere 3 hours of sleep did not seem sufficient,” he replies easily.

“Maker, you take such good care of me,” you groan, and lean down to take his lips instead this time. Not only did it make your heart soar that Tech had been concerned for your wellbeing, but you hadn’t kissed him like this in so many days, you’d forgotten how blissful it feels. He raises a hand to grab the back of your head to hold you in place.

“Fuck, sorry,” you pull back, biting your lip. “I’m not supposed to be distracting you…but I honestly think it would only take like 5 minutes be-“

“Yes, whatever you’re suggesting. Please, cyare,” Tech cuts you off to stand up, and start pulling his clothes off as fast as he can. You don’t wait for a formal invitation, and shimmy out of your blacks before laying the blanket on the floor, and sinking to your knees.

Tech is already half hard from the kiss, and you both moan deeply when you take him into your mouth. Your hands grip his hips, while his find their way into your hair. You’re always happy to please him this way, but after two weeks of not so much as a smack on the ass, you’re more enthusiastic than you’ve ever been.

The swollen head of his cock presses insistently on the back of your throat, and you swallow eagerly around the intrusion, causing him to swear above you. One of your hands slides down off of his body to dance over your aching pussy. It felt heavenly to touch yourself for pleasure, and not to slap on bacta gel.

“You can’t keep this up, darling,” Tech moans. “I won’t last.”

You pull back with a pout and look up at him. He’s breathing hard, and gazing at you with so much affection and lust. Your heart is aching just as badly as the rest of your touch starved body. His cock still hovers near your lips, and you smirk up at him before deliberately licking the tip like it’s a lollipop.

“I don’t want you to last, love, I want you to cum,”

Tech bites his lip to keep from moaning. He couldn’t resist you when you were direct like that, but he also wasn’t going to let you keep him from making you cum on his cock. Watching you swallow was a treat, but finishing inside you was bliss.

“And I promise I will. Lie back for me, cyare.”

You would do anything for him, if he asked you in that sinful voice. You lay back on the blanket, parting your legs slowly and reaching down to tease your clit. He settled between your legs, running his hands over your thighs before gripping them tightly, and pulling you forward, as he pressed forward to meet you.

His cock slowly entered you, drawing the most desperate and obscene moan out of you. When he was fully sheathed within you, he took your lips. You returned his kiss with fervor, giving him a little squeeze to encourage him to move.

“So impatient,” he mutters against your lips before pulling out slowly, and sliding back in harder than the first time.

“Tech,” you whine. “Please.”

“Please what? Use your words, darling,” he teases, giving you a shallow thrust.

“Please fuck me, hard,” you beg. Normally you’d be a brat about this, but your priorities are different tonight.

“With pleasure.” He’s moving now, hips meeting yours with purpose, as he drives into you. Your moans of his name sound like a prayer, as you take everything he’s giving you.

You’re so focused on Tech and where the two of you are merged, you miss the door opening, and Crosshair dropping into the seat next to you until he clears his throat. You look up at him, face heating up instantly despite the fact that everyone on this ship has seen you naked, and, more importantly, been in this exact position with you.

He smirks down at you, and rolls his toothpick from one side to the other.

“So loud, doll,” he chides you with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. He’s surprised but proud that Tech is the one who has taken advantage of the down time to reconnect with you, and he had to come and see it for himself.

You’re happy to invite him to join you, but Tech moves his hand between your bodies to rub luxurious circles over your clit.

“Tech,” you whine, looking up at Crosshair. Tech doesn’t so much as glance in his brother’s direction. He uses his free hand to gently grasp your face, and make you look at him again.

“I promised I’d cum for you, and I know you’re close,” His voice is low and dripping with lust. Fuck.

“But Cross-.”

“Can wait his turn,” Tech finishes your sentence and effectively ends the discussion. The past two weeks of nothing have pushed him right to the edge of his patience, and he needs you to himself right now.

You keep your eyes trained on him, and your body focuses on his ministrations. His cock, his hands, his lips, all working in concert to bring you over the edge.

Surprisingly, the sniper stays quiet, and leaves you to it, though he would normally steal some of your attention as well. He understood the show of possessiveness, as it was usually him demanding all of your focus, and he was willing to wait…just this once.

You cum just as fast as you’d suspected you would, and as Tech spills inside of you, you moan his name, thanking him and kissing every bit of him you can reach. He returns your affections, wrapping his arms around you, and pulling you up and into his lap.

“Thank you for coming back to me,” he whispers into your ear.

“Thank you for being as patient as possible,” you reply softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

#tbb tech x reader #tbb tech #tbb tech x you #tbb crosshair #tbb wrecker #tbb hunter #reader insert #the bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction #the bad batch fic #tbb x you #tbb x reader #I’ll reblog for:#tech tuesday #but the poll ended and I kept agonizing #posting now so I stop 😅#seven writes #blue writes

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stardustvx · 2 months ago

Link

Words: 19,379

Relationships: Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham/Vegas Kornwit Theerapanyakun, Macau Theerapanyakun & Vegas Kornwit Theerapanyakun ”It's the first time father has every brought Macau along to a mission and he knows their plan is doomed to fail. None of them are ever walking out of the Main Family building alive. Vegas is alright with that. He always knew he would die young. He made his peace with that a long time ago.

He just needs Macau to survive. He needs him to live. After all, he promised their mother that much when she was still alive. He would keep Macau safe – no matter what it takes, no matter what it costs.

(Hell hath no fury like Vegas Theerapanyakul whose little brother has been hurt.)

or last ep. rewritten. Gun brings both of his sons along to try to take over the Main Family. That decision changes everything.”

-> I can’t believe it’s finally here!!!!!!! this is the longest fic I have ever written in my life and I am so proud of how it turned out ahhhhh!!!! it may sound angsty and well, it is,, but there is a happy ending! everything will be alright!

#blue writes #kinnporche the series #vegaspete #vegas theerapanyakul #pete phongsakorn saengtham #macau theerapanyakul #vegaspete fanfic #vegas would do ANYTHING for his little brother #but he doesn't have to #everything will be alright!

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blue-gears · 8 months ago

Text

my gift for @enderwoah for the @mcyt-drabble-exchange!! hope you like it :)

Yellow Peace.

Grian sat down at the edge of bread bridge with a sigh. Jimmy plonked down on his right, Joel on his other side. “Ugh, peace is sooo boring.” Joel groaned. Grian looked at him incredulously, despite a small part of him agreeing with the man. “You won’t have to wait much longer, Joel, my timer is ticking down.” Jimmy chirped. Joel made a joke about The Mean Gills, and soon they’ve descended into giggles that echo across the bridge. Later, they find that the peace ends, and the games continue as they always have. But for now, there was peace.

#mcyt exchange #blue writes #grian #jimmy solidarity #Joel smallishbeans #smallishbeans #solidarity gaming #bad boys #limited life #trafficblr

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suspicious-whumping-egg · 1 year ago

Text

Collector’s Bounty: Part 4

Masterlist here.

It’s been a while, so thanks to my readers who are sticking with it! The chapter is long (over 5k) so I hope it was worth the wait <3

Aris dragged him out of the room and down the hall, setting a brutal pace for Jackson’s depleted body. He was forced to cling tight to Aris with one arm and to the IV pole with the other, legs shaking under his own weight as pain stabbed through his side. Aris took no issue with the contact, keeping an arm wrapped securely around his waist, fingertips slowly edging under the waistband of Jackson’s sweatpants.

They didn’t even make it to the nearby corner before his knees buckled and he flailed forward, a sharp pain tugging through his arm as the IV pole crashed to the floor. Aris caught him effortlessly by a shoulder, tipping him back towards his hold and hoisting him into a bridal carry. Jackson stiffened in the man’s grip, but by now, he was almost too accustomed to the feeling. And he supposed it was better than being forced to crawl over the cold tile until he reached his cell again— although it was hard to ignore Aris’s hand lazily running over his thighs, fingers trailing towards his hips. Despite himself, he shuddered, the movement drawing a fresh twinge of pain from the incision.

“Would you rather I drag you?” Aris asked sweetly. “That can easily be arranged.”

Jackson gritted his teeth and shook his head, face burning hot with humiliation. He just had to make it back to the cell without snapping back, without wrestling himself from Aris’s arms, and maybe he’d be left alone.

“Or maybe, if you don’t stop squirming, I’ll change my mind about your medication,” Aris grinned. “How’s that sound?”

Those words were enough to shock Jackson motionless. The pain was hardly bearable with the medication, let alone without it.

“That’s not even enough to get a word outta ya?” Aris snorted. “Aww. How cute. Need me to put something else on the line? A cornea? A lung?”

“No, no, please, I’ll— I’ll stay still,” Jackson stammered fervently, his heart hammering in his chest. The world swam before his eyes, the hall warping like the reflection in a funhouse mirror. The drugs— fuck—had they changed the drugs? Had Aris stabbed him with something in the midst of his terror?

He flailed limply against his captor’s touch, strength draining by the second, and all that came from his effort was a pathetic twitch. His vision swam with spots, until all he could see was a faint prick of light.

A stinging pain crossed his face, the sensation distant as if underwater.

“Hawthorne?”

Aris had slapped him.

“Come on, you know I didn’t mean it. Don’t make me have to go get Ryder for this. Snap out of it.”

Jackson gasped for breath, the words floating above his head, practically meaningless.

“B-but… y’… you…” he slurred, grasping at the IV with useless, trembling fingers. “Fuck you…”

His world swirled to black before he could complete the thought.

Pain rocketed through his side, and he took a desperate pull of air, the gasp tapering into a choked whimper at the sheer force of his agony. He reached for the IV on instinct, wrist tugging sharply against the cuff digging into his skin. But when he caught a glimpse of his arm, vision swimming, there was nothing but the bruises the needle had left behind.

He was back in the bed, glancing wildly around the room again like his life was some sick tape being rewound by the gods.

But this time, Aris and Ryder stood at his bedside, bickering.

“D’you think it was laced?”

Aris’s voice sounded distant, unreachable. Jackson’s head was stuffed with fistfuls of cotton.

“I tested it. I told you I tested every last drop. God, if you’ve worked yourself up when the kid’s just having a panic attack…”

“He passed out in my arms like I’d shot him with a double dose of propofol, if that was his panic response we gotta make sure he doesn’t drop dead the next time we fucking scare him.”

“I’ll run a CT scan if that makes you feel better, then I’m going the fuck back to bed,” Ryder huffed. “Make sure he stays alive for the night and if we need to, we’ll drop him back to mommy and daddy a few days early so he’s not our problem anymore.”

A renewed stab of agony wrenched through his abdomen, and a weak cry escaped Jackson’s lips.

“Fuck,” he hissed, grasping at the IV that wasn’t there, clawing mindlessly at his own arm as if the medication might just appear if he hoped hard enough.

Ryder rolled his eyes, ignoring the expression of pain. “Aris, can you just carry him? I don’t feel like rooting around for a wheelchair.”

Jackson felt himself being lifted a moment later, Aris’s hand under his back and his other arm wrapped around his leg. His side throbbed at the simple movement, and his vision tunneled nearly into black. He gasped for breath through a strained whimper, desperate to cling to his last scrap of consciousness.

Yet he was half-lucid at best as he was carried down the halls, stuck in that heavy, dizzy underwater feeling from before. He dimly registered being set down on a table, cold metal beneath his neck. He grasped for Aris’s warmth before he could help it, unable to stop himself amidst the way his head spun.

He heard Aris scoff, sneering out some comment that Jackson couldn’t quite make out. The words blended in an incoherent stream of sound, one that mixed with the lower, sharper register of Ryder’s voice a few moments later. He flinched violently as the table slowly moved forward, his throbbing abdomen screaming in protest.

A dim light flashed for a moment against his eyelids, a mechanical beeping grating at his eardrums. He was left alone for a while with nothing but that terrible monotony and the slow motion of the table, his side pulsing in tandem with the noise, as if a fire blazed in the incision and someone pumped the bellows every time the damn beep sounded.

And as soon as blissful silence replaced the machine’s noises, his eardrums were assaulted once more.

“Fuck!” Ryder blurted across the hall, the sharp syllable slipping through the thick haze clouding Jackson’s mind.

“Aris, you’ve gotta take a look at this. Something’s…”

Either his words trailed into silence, or Jackson’s brain had simply stopped processing sound again— both outcomes were just as likely.

“What the hell is that? A fucking tumor? How could you not see that while you were wiggling your knives around inside him?” Aris snapped. “You’re a fucking surgeon. A real one! Maybe I’d believe that coming from the dick I used to partner with, kinda guy who had to go for a few practice runs before he could scrounge up something sellable. But you? Come on.”

“A what?!” Jackson cried, hands instinctively flying up to the incision.

Footsteps approached him from every angle, and he heard a faint beep before the table slowly pulled itself backwards, a faint sound of protest escaping his lips. A hand, too rough to be Aris’s, traced the incision through the bandages, and Jackson swallowed the cry that threatened to rip from his throat. He cracked his eyes open to confirm it was Ryder standing over him, examining him in the way a sadistic child crouches over a pinned butterfly with a magnifying glass.

After a moment of scrutinizing, Ryder just shrugged.

“I mean, it didn’t really look like a tumor, but it’s either that or he had an extra kidney back there,” he said nonchalantly. “The transplant was successful and the recipient is fine, so it’s not like I left anything behind. Definitely didn’t cut something else off, or he’d already be lost to internal bleeding.”

Jackson’s chest clenched with every word, his heart a rapid knife against his lungs.

Yet in the midst of it all, he only wanted to know one thing.

“Who got it?”

He was met with another shrug.

“Don’t know, don’t care. I sell it off to the highest bidder, and they can boil and eat it for all the fucks I give. This one just happened to want to stay in touch so they could blame me the second something went wrong.”

Jackson shuddered at the grisly image, the movement sending a fresh stab of agony through his side. “Is— is it cancerous? Is it gonna kill me?”

Before Ryder could confirm Jackson’s impending doom, Aris stepped in and shushed him, finger to his lips and all.

“Give him a minute, man. If he’s not dying already, you don’t want his heart to grind to a halt from your worst-case horror stories.”

A third, resigned shrug.

“Fine. But there’s clearly something in there.”

The door slammed shut a moment later, and Jackson was left alone with who he could hardly deem the lesser of the evils. Less dangerous, maybe. But less evil? He wouldn’t let himself be fooled for a second.

The almost-lesser evil looked at him with what could almost be described as sympathy. Or maybe the drugs had gotten to Jackson’s head.

“I’ll be back in a few. Try to sit up. Or don’t. Payday’s already come and gone.”

Sound had become foreign once again, Aris’s words taking on that distant, underwater feeling. Jackson groaned softly as he gathered his hands behind him, pushing himself up to sit on the edge of the table despite the way his side screamed in protest. His vision swirled for a moment, before settling like sand in the bottom of a glass— composed, but still grainy and somehow wrong. He sat in front of a scratched, dented scanner that resembled a massive donut. The room was full of various pieces of equipment, most beaten or worn down in some way or another, and otherwise barren but for the small set of cabinets shoved in a corner.

Unsurprisingly, it was devoid of any color but for the rusty splotches seeping through his bandages.

Before he could contemplate the likelihood of dying young, Aris strode back through the door, plopping down next to him on the table.

“So. How we feelin’?”

Jackson gritted his teeth.

“Thought you said you didn’t care,” he muttered.

Aris rolled his eyes. “I don’t. But unfortunately, Ryder’s gone back off to catch his beauty sleep so I’m stuck with keeping you alive ‘til morning. So if something’s like, crazy wrong, speak now or, I don’t know, suffer all night.”

“Other than being down a whole organ, and, I don’t know, having a fucking tumor?” Jackson spat. “Yeah, I’m fine. Couldn’t be better.”

Aris raised his eyebrows and gave him a twisted grin. “If you insist, then,” he said nonchalantly. “So if you really don’t need anything—”

“Wait!” Fuck.

“What’s up?” Aris said cheerfully, an obvious flash of triumph permeating his gaze.

“My uh, my bandages are soaking through,” he mumbled. “I— uh—”

“Hm? Speak up, love. It’s been a long day,” Aris taunted.

“I need help with my bandages,” he finally bit out, hot humiliation crawling up his face. “I’m, uh, I’m bleeding through them.”

He squirmed in the following silence as Aris’s gaze set to the similar, scrutinizing expression Ryder had worn mere minutes ago. His captor pursed his lips after a long, agonizing moment and slid off the table. He pulled open a drawer and tossed a pack of gauze in Jackson’s direction, followed by a roll of medical tape.

“Knock yourself out.”

Jackson gritted his teeth and focused on changing the bandages, ignoring the jab. He’d clearly have to wait until Aris was in a better mood to ask for food or water.

He pinched the edge of the tape keeping the gauze in place, already peeled up from when he’d peeked at the incision earlier. His eyes squeezed shut as his breath caught in his throat, his whole body recoiling from what had to be done. Aris watched amusedly, leaning back against the wall and giving Jackson a sickening smirk. He couldn’t ask for help. He couldn’t.

He ripped the bandage off with a muffled cry, the wound’s stabbing drowning out the sting to his skin. He refused to glance up at the look on Aris’s face. That’s what the bastard wants.

Instead, he pointedly kept his gaze fixed on the incision, the wound red and raw and just as haphazardly stitched as before. Blood seeped between the stitches, having soaked the dirty bandage he discarded on the other side of the table. He’d never dressed a wound before, let alone his own. But at least it looked pretty simple— cover the wound with gauze, tape over it to keep everything in place, and try not to think about it until the bloodstains came back.

Yet as simple as it should have been, his hands shook even opening the package of gauze. His own blood coated his fingertips where he’d touched the old bandages, and the sight made his head spin. He made the mistake of glancing up at Aris’s demeaning little grin, and his face flushed hot and red once more.

He had to do this himself. He had to.

“You don’t know what you’re doing.” Aris’s voice, holding a bare yet unmistakable touch of mockery, cut through the room’s almost painful silence. “Let me help you.”

“For what? A square inch of skin? A cornea? A lap dance?” Jackson huffed. “No thanks.”

“I mean, I was just gonna help you so we wouldn’t be here all night. But if you insist on giving something in return, I suppose something could be arranged…”

“In your dreams,” Jackson snapped. But he didn’t refuse when Aris slipped the pack of gauze from his hands and began packing the wound, and even fought not to pull away as the pressure on the incision gave way to a fresh surge of agony. He just grit his teeth, closed his eyes, and didn’t look again until he felt the tape smothering his skin, sealing off the ugly, gaping thing in his side from the rest of the world.

“You’re adorable,” Aris smirked. “Can’t even watch. Now, do you think you can handle walking back or do I need to carry you again?”

Jackson glanced at the door and tried to recall how long he’d been carried for, but he came up with nothing but the blurred, dizzying sense of being carried itself, for what had seemed like forever.

“You didn’t change the drugs?” he asked warily. “Like, at all?”

Aris nodded. “Whatever that little episode was, it was one hundred percent you and whatever fucked up stress response that body has to offer. So, if you wanna risk that again, be my guest. It’s up to you.”

Jackson braced himself on the edge of the table for a moment before sliding off the edge, leaning on the cool metal for support as he stood on shaky, rubbery legs. The walk couldn’t have been more than a minute. He could do this.

“I’ll be fine,” he managed unconvincingly.

Aris shrugged. “Interesting definition of fine, but that’s your call. Just know I’ll be there to catch you.” He gave a devious wink, although Jackson could have gathered his humiliating intent without the expression. By now, he knew practically every word Aris directed towards him was meant for nothing less.

“Thanks for the offer,” Jackson said flatly. He took one trembling step, pain stabbing through his side like a white-hot knife, and gritted his teeth. Another step, and the pain nearly brought him to his knees. His vision swam, and he grasped blindly for the table next to him, breathless from the sheer agony. Tears sprang to his eyes, even as he furiously blinked them away.

“Are you sure a wheelchair’s out of the question?” He attempted, voice breaking. “I just— I don’t— I don’t know if I can make it.”

Aris rolled his eyes. “You either walk, I drag you kicking and screaming, or you let yourself be carried like a good boy. Up to you.”

So he’d have to make it. Jackson clenched his free hand into a fist, gripped the table for dear life, and took another step. Fire rocketed through his side, and his legs crumpled beneath him as he flailed to catch himself on the table. But before he could collapse, Aris caught him under the arms, pulling him close against his body to keep him upright.

“That answers that question, then,” Aris said pleasantly.

And as much as Jackson wanted to protest, he let himself be hauled off his feet once more, the world tilting familiarly.

“I’m starting to think you just like carrying me,” Jackson muttered.

Aris dug his fingers mere inches from the bandage, just close enough to send Jackson’s heart into overdrive. One tiny twist of his hand, and he’d be seeing stars. “And I’m starting to think you just like crumpling to the ground,” he retorted.

Jackson’s lips pursed into a thin line of pain and annoyance, his side stabbing with every step his captor took, but he let the comment go. He had more important concerns.

“Do I— do I still get the meds? When I get back?”

Laced or not, he needed them.

Aris hummed noncommittally. “Depends. What’ll you do to get them?”

Anything.

“Please. Aris, I—”

“And being a compliant little wimp doesn’t count as doing something, it just means I won’t be inclined to take a lung for my troubles.”

A sob caught in Jackson’s chest, his eyes welling in desperation. “You know it’s nothing you can’t already make me do anyway,” he said desperately, voice close to breaking. “Please, I just— I can’t— I’m not gonna make it through the night—”

Aris shifted Jackson in his grip as he approached his room, the movement enough to send a fresh bolt of fire through his body. He couldn’t suppress the hiss of pain that escaped him, the way his breath hitched as his world flashed white for the briefest moment. Aris simply pressed his hand to the pad outside the door and waited as the bolts unlatched one by one, unbothered by the display.

“It’s up to you, Hawthorne. It makes no difference to me, if I leave you dry ‘til morning. You’ve gotta make me want to go through the trouble.”

Jackson gritted his teeth, swallowing the cry that threatened to rip from his throat. “Ryder has my vitals up, doesn’t he? He won’t get a fucking wink of sleep if I rip off the sensors and the monitor goes flat.” He snapped. “Or you’d just cuff me to the bed then, right? I’ll just hold my breath ‘til my heart rate spikes— can’t tie me down from fucking breathing.” His head spun even from the effort of the outburst, but he was done rolling over and playing dead. He was done letting Aris win.

Yet the smirk his captor gave him in return told him he’d done just that.

“You think Ryder’s got your back in this?” Aris scoffed, kicking the door closed behind him and dumping Jackson on the bed with a vicious shove. “He’ll just turn the damn alarm off and hope you don’t die on him in the meantime. And if he’s gonna be pissed at you keeping him up all night, he’ll just stick you with a paralytic for the day so you can’t fucking do it again. Not a painkiller, Hawthorne. Not a sedative. A fucking paralytic. Make you sit there all day, in agony, unable to do a fucking thing about it. We’d have to intubate you again, too. I remember just how much you loved that, didn’t you? And if Ryder doesn’t give a shit, I’ll do it myself. Rip out all the monitors, the meds, all of it. Shove a few tubes down your throat, hope you’ll last the day and that whatever it is floating around behind that incision isn’t cancerous, and I won’t look back. Maybe you’ll appreciate my attention more after that, hm?”

The color drained from Jackson’s face, but he pushed himself upright, wincing at the fresh stabs of pain through his side, and steeled his gaze.

“Fine,” he snapped. “I’ll go dry. Can’t comply, can’t fight back, can’t offer a fucking thing you can’t already take. Is that what you want?”

Aris almost looked disappointed. “Not even close,” he said darkly. “I want to see just how far you’re willing to go for me. And if that’s not far enough right now, then sure, you’ll go without tonight. But I’m sure you’ll be much more desperate in the morning, and then we’ll get to try again. How’s that sound?”

“I— I just— I don’t know what you want from me!” Jackson spluttered. “What, you want me to like, get on my knees and beg? Just start sobbing about how much it fucking hurts? What do you want?”

The touch to his face was so gentle it could have been a ghost’s, a whisper of Aris’s fingertips tracing up his jaw. Jackson shuddered in spite of himself, fighting the urge to slap his captor’s hand away.

“Begging is a nice start, sure, but it doesn’t have to be that. Tell me why your system cuts the drugs so quickly. We both know there’s some dark secret in there. One of your parents, maybe, an addiction so brutal they passed on the tolerance? Or maybe one of the scenarios you so quickly rejected before? All I ask is that you tell me the truth. Make it hurt a little.”

Tears burned at the corners of Jackson’s eyes, and he barely managed to blink them back. “You know I don’t know that,” he choked. “Do you want me to lie? Just make some shit up so you have another reason to think I deserve this?”

Aris‘s hand trailed up his face until he’d tangled his fingers in Jackson’s hair, tugging gently to tilt his head back until he was forced to meet his eyes. The tenderness of the touch made Jackson wish he’d just cut him open instead. Or drugged him. Or hit him. Anything but this sick facade of intimacy.

“You don’t deserve this, Hawthorne,” he said simply. “Let’s make that clear. You’re just here ‘cause I fucked up a job and needed the money, and ‘cause Ryder only works on people he thinks deserves it, which amounts to pretty much anyone with a background like yours. But this is where we’re at, and you either get the meds or not. It’s up to you.”

“I don’t have any secrets,” Jackson snapped, jerking away from the man’s lingering touch. “You’ve seen my family’s dirty laundry in the tabloids, and as for me? They keep me on such a tight leash I’m almost impressed you managed to kidnap me. You think I’d go to university in my fucking hometown if I had another option? You want a secret? I don’t have enough of a life to have anything to hide, unless you count the fact that I got a fucking job. How’s that?”

“Pathetic,” Aris said honestly. “Maybe not life changing enough to count, but pathetic. Ever tried to run away?”

Jackson shrugged. “Not until I graduate, at least. I’m not taking out loans when the other option is withstanding their bullshit but getting it for free, yknow? Not like it matters now, I guess. If I actually am dying.”

“Like I said before, Ryder’s a real surgeon. He hates your guts, sure, but he knows he’ll be running the rest of his life if you die on him. Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry about it?” Jackson snapped. “I’ve got a fucking tumor where I should have a kidney and you’re telling me don’t worry about it? I heard you in the operating room, when I woke up. About keeping my lungs healthy in case you end up wanting one. You’re fucking sick. Don’t tell me I’m gonna be okay unless you fucking plan to keep me that way”

“I won’t, then,” Aris said icily. “It’s in our best interest to keep you alive, but in reality, who knows? I’m not a doctor, Hawthorne, I can’t tell you shit. For all I know, you might drop dead tomorrow. But for now, you haven’t earned your medication and I’m bored and wanna know more about your life. No begging required. What do you say?”

“Fine,” Jackson mumbled. “But I told you already, you’re not gonna get anything interesting. And can we throw in some food with the deal?” The clawing at his stomach had almost gone unnoticed compared to the stabbing under the incision, but it had been growing harder and harder to ignore.

“We’ll see,” Aris said. “I’m going on a grocery run in the morning, I’ll grab something then. Ryder doesn’t live here or anything, but I’ve paid off the mob thanks to your kidney and I have no interest in going back. Which means that’s all coming out of my paycheck.”

“You’re not gonna keep me alive very long if you refuse to feed me,” Jackson muttered.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not that stupid,” Aris said. He sat down on the edge of the cot, and Jackson couldn’t help but shrink back against the bedrail, curling his legs to his chest and feeling around for the torn shirt he’d rejected earlier.

“Now. Where do ya wanna begin?” he continued. “How about your job? The one secret you’ve managed to keep in your sheltered little life.”

“Not much to it,” Jackson said reluctantly, tugging the shirt over his head and biting back a hiss of pain. The throbbing in his side flared violently with the movement, but if nothing else, the conversation was a distraction. Not exactly a welcome one, but better than sitting in unmedicated silence, he supposed. “24/7 diner, night shift, minimum wage. Had to pick a place my folks wouldn’t dream of stepping foot in if their lives depended on it.”

“The one right by the university?”

He nodded.

“So you have to serve your classmates?”

Jackson winced. “Yeah. Uh, a lot. It sucks.”

“It’s demeaning, isn’t it?” Aris said quietly. The offensive edge had fallen from his voice, into false, sickly sweet sympathy.

“Yeah. Which I guess should fulfill the ‘tell me something embarrassing’ requirement, right? Am I done?”

“Tell me a story. A specific one. Then maybe you’ll be off the hook.” The sharp, taunting edge was back, complete with the trademark smirk.

Jackson twisted the hem of the old undershirt, contemplating for a moment.

“How bad does it have to be?”

“The worst you have, if you’re giving me a choice,” Aris grinned. “You should know not to ask those kinds of questions.”

He sighed, rubbing his eyes and grabbing the thin pillow to hug it close. “How about the time I almost got roofied, then? That good enough?”

“And you said you don’t have any secrets,” Aris taunted. “I’ll say that’s worth a good ten milligrams. Lower end of the dosage for an eight hour IV drip, but it should be enough to get you through the night. So that’s up to you, I guess, if it’s worth it.”

He nodded. At this point, he might have taken the offer even for a handful of ibuprofen. “To be clear, this is the only remotely interesting thing that’s happened to me. So if you want me to one-up this for the next dose, I can either choose a different story now or start lying.”

Aris nodded expectantly.

“So. Uh. This guy from my chem class, he comes in around 2 am, fucking hammered. Ordered maybe five plates of hash browns and a coffee. He inhaled the food in minutes but ended up nursing the one coffee for a whole hour ‘til my shift ended. He’d paid when he ordered, so I sorta knew he was just waiting for a shot at me. And yeah, uh, guy asked to buy me a drink the second I clocked out. No tip on the table, just an offer to cover something strong at the bar across the street. I’m not stupid, but it’d been a long night and I wanted at least my tip’s worth out of him, so I accepted. Ordered the most expensive thing on the board, kept my eyes glued to it the second it left the bartender’s hand, and left a hefty tip ‘cause god knows the asshole wasn’t going to.”

Why was he actually telling him this? It would have been just as easy to make something up, something that didn’t make his heart race and his stomach churn. He forced in a shaky breath, his side stabbing in protest, and continued in spite of himself.

“I keep test strips on me at all times, I’m not an idiot. I tested the drink, it came out fine, I took a few sips. The guy had been trying to flirt with me the second we walked into that place, but it was like a switch had flipped as soon as I’d tested it. He started getting all weird, affectionate, almost desperate. Kept trying to kiss me, distract me, all that. He got up to order another drink, and I booked it. A few days later, I heard he’d roofied a girl at the same bar. Woulda been me if I wasn’t as careful.”

And maybe if it had been him, he wouldn’t be here. If he’d gotten drugged, had to own up with his parents about it because he was still on their health insurance, started pressing charges. They would have practically kept him under lock and key, but their control was preferable to this. At least that way, he would have stayed intact, even if not unviolated. He wiped away a stray tear with the palm of his hand, praying Aris wouldn’t notice, or if nothing else, wouldn’t comment.

“Aww,” Aris sneered. And that’s really your only experience with the real world? Almost getting hurt, but everything turns out fine? Going back to class like a good boy?”

Jackson gritted his teeth. “Sure. Yeah. Whatever.”

“So tell me. You felt pretty helpless then, didn’t you, praying for a moment to slip away? Is it worse now than it was then?” Aris’s eyes practically glittered with delight.

“Yeah. It is,” he spat. “You happy? What would you expect, that anything other than this could be the worst moment of my life? Not much tops being kidnapped and having a fucking organ harvested, if that’s what you wanna hear. You’ve singlehandedly created the worst week of my life. You win, if you call that winning.” The words dripped sarcastically from his lips, their venom the only defense he had left.

“I mean, not quite singlehandedly,” Aris admitted mockingly. “But I’m flattered. That is exactly what I wanted to hear. Or not really— just anything that gets you like this. On the brink of tears, desperate, while your mind’s too clouded by pain to think about what you’re saying. Admitting just how weak you are in the mere hope I’ll take pity. And lucky for you, Hawthorne, you’ve got a gorgeous set of puppy eyes.” He slid off the bed like Jackson hadn’t spilled his soul just seconds ago, grabbing the IV pole and wheeling it towards the cot.

“There’s maybe 15 milligrams left in that drip, I’ll call it close enough. Makes up for my inability to find a vein.”

True to his word, Aris delivered a couple extra sticks before the tube was injected, but the pain of the needle was nothing compared to the stabbing in his side. And by the time his captor had secured the line with a bit of tape, the drip had started, bringing a rush of much-needed oblivion. He sank into the cot out of sheer relief as the throbbing dulled to an ache, as his desperation dulled to tranquility. And out of his mouth slipped the two words he knew Aris never deserved to hear from him.

“Thank you.”

Taglist: @burnticedlatte @onlywhump @whumplr-reader @gala1981 @its-my-primary-whump @andithewhumper @morning-star-whump

#blue writes #collector’s bounty #collectors bounty #whump writing #medical whump #dehumanization whump #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #defiant whumpee

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bbluejoseph · 8 months ago

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from now through saturday, if you can show proof of donating at least $20 (within the tues-sat time limit) to a palestinian charity or gofundme, i'll write 1000 words of whatever you want

#this is directed mostly to the clique as thats like. the kind of fic im used to #but we can discuss other writing if you have something else in mind #just lmk #my posts #free palestine #blue writes

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bluedrawsanddreams · 7 days ago

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All I See Is Perfection | Migo x Half-Yeti!Fem!Reader [Royal AU] - Prologue

Warning: mentions of parental death, forms of abuse. Let me know if I missed anything.

A long time ago, there was a legend about a creature thought to be a legend by those who have never seen it with their own eyes, a creature able to shapeshift to human form or halfway if they so wish. They had lived below the clouds among the humans before they were forced to retreat to the mountains above.

No one had seen them since then.

Among the legends of the Yetis, there is also a tale of romance taboo to most eyes of humanity, a bond deemed forbidden and treacherous by those believing in seeing only the flaws of those different from the normal that grew into something more.

A fully-formed Yeti…and another, made from either side of species.

Half human, half Yeti.

The half-breeds were made due to connections between a few Yetis and humans together, unable to break away because of their feelings being found and bringing them together. However, when the half-breeds were discovered, those who had bonded were destroyed or imprisoned for their treason against their kind, and the newborns were killed off, left for dead.

A pair had survived longer than the ones who were killed off, longer before they were found and murdered as well.

No one knew how this bond started, but all they knew was that it had been going on since winter’s solstice. They had met by chance, possibly from a deal that was made; supposedly for them to meet their unknown respective spouses upon arrival at one’s land.

One day, their bond was forcefully broken, not by their choice, but by hatred, fear, and bigotry. No one knew who or what had killed them together; the mystery remains.

However, the legend states that one day, their souls will be reincarnated into another soul…

…and the bond that was once made will be restored once more.

It had been years since Yetis were last seen, since they retreated behind the snowy mountains that reside near the human villages.

Yetis are taller than the humans, but look almost human, nonetheless; albeit with horns on either side of their heads. Most of them are in cool colors, others in lighter shades, in hair and any sign of facial hair. They wore clothing that was nearly similar to their ancestors, but with time coming and going, their fabrics blossomed to look more like humanity’s.

The ancestors of the Yeti who had become leaders the moment they were safe again divided their people into empires; yet their kind remained close and bonded, unable to break away. They formed a large, circular wall outside their kingdoms on a far-off island they had found as they lived on the highest mountain they could find. For decades, no one ever stepped on their homelands, not since the humans first attacked them with spears, arrows, guns, since they first attacked them with fear, hatred, and cowardice when the Yetis only greeted them with wonder and peace.

As decades passed, turning into thousands of generations, the Yetis became a myth, a folktale amongst the people, nothing more. Stories–false tales and nothing but filled with lies and deception–spread across the villages, towns, cities of the humanity of society, never dying down, never once stopping to take a breath for another minute. No one ever bothered to stop and think whether the stories given to them were true or false, whether the Yetis never attacked or never even killed, for that matter. All they ever knew was that some Yetis had once lived among their people, lived in the very ground with their ancestors.

While Yetis had rebuilt their society far away from the humans on their island, the humans rebuilt their kingdoms and homes. None of humanity knew what Yetis’ homes would like; some guessed that it would be almost like theirs; others assumed it would be caverns, layered with riches and artifacts they had stolen as they had washed up on their island’s shorelines.

Regardless, while humans still believe Yetis to be nothing more than just a myth, they had no idea that the creatures themselves…they thought of humanity as legends as well.

But that fateful day…

Things will change.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One of the Yeti kingdoms had been friends with the descendants of the past Yeti leaders since then, namely with the Stonekeeper Malosi. Since their young adulthood, they had been partners, acquaintances. Even their children had become buddies thanks to their meetings and political talks.

Dorgle knows how huge the responsibilities of a king can be, especially with his two children growing older and more independent by the day, yet they always know when to go to him for advice on anything they need. He had been making sure his oldest child, his only son, would understand the responsibilities of being a ruler to their people as well as retain the close bonds with the other Yeti kingdoms. It was also his concern that his only daughter, the girl he had grown to love as his own, knew how to keep close to her brother and make sure he kept his head high and proud. As a single father, a man with a height of 5’8 and a whole body of resilience and support who had lost his wife barely eighteen years ago, he knows how challenging life can be for his children, so he wanted to make sure they know how to take it all head-on.

That is until Malo called him and his family over for an urgent matter one day.

“Stonekeeper, what is all this?” Aaliyah–or Alli, as she prefers to be called–confusedly questioned as she and her brother watched the Stonekeeper spread out documents on the table.

None of the Yetis knew about how she ended up on the island twenty years ago, how an innocent Phoenix, a small baby girl with curls of beautiful auburn and teary eyes of the clear blue skies, floated to the shoreline wrapped in the softest blankets in a basket woven by the Phoenixes as the waves gently guided her to Dorgle’s late wife. All they knew is, as strange as it may be, the little one had lost so much from a tragedy—possibly from being abandoned after being born from an unwanted pregnancy or perhaps losing her people to a horrific rampage—and doesn't deserve to be left alone to perish. Dorgle and his wife, Maya, had taken her in upon coming across her at the shorelines and raised her as their own child without question. She had been and will always be one of the most beautiful people anyone will ever lay eyes on, with her shoulder-length, curled reddish-brown locks that flowed in the winds as she rode on her horse across the woods and the paths that wouldn’t lead into the village below; and sky-blue eyes that shone underneath the sun, sparkling like diamonds priceless to even escape from. Though she is of royalty, as she always had been for twenty-two years, she also fights to protect her family and people from any potential danger, despite the island being closed off for decades. She had only known about how she came to be and how she had gotten to the island as a baby; her father and brother had told her the truth of her heritage when she was in her late teens and Migo was only in his mid-20s. However, she never knew about how the Yetis truly came to be and how Smallfoot–humans, as the Yetis would call them–were never legends, just living far from their haven.

Her older brother, the soon-to-be king of their empire, has been known to be nearly the exact copy of their father; seven feet tall, with snow-as-white hair, a faint goatee on his chin, and multicolored eyes like Dorgle. The only flaw that neither she, Dorgle, or anyone they had known ever saw as a deficiency was his horns; one side had been broken when he was only a child from a bullying incident, leaving it bent and with a cracked end that barely stopped by a couple of inches. He is almost as built as the Stonekeeper’s only son, yet he is shorter than him by an inch below a foot. Migo was set to be the new king in two months, barely around the time the future marriage he and his family would be told was set to occur. Having lost his and Alli’s mother–not blood-related to Alli, but still her mother nonetheless–at a young age, Dorgle did what he could to raise his son to be a brave, honest man, just as he had taught Alli always to be true to herself, yet always remember where her heart lies. It would be surprising to hear that his kingdom stepped in to help raise their children, regardless of where his youngest daughter came from or how she had ended up on the island. From that day forward, Migo would lead the kingdom with a stand-proud pose and use his combat and political skills to keep his people safe. Of course, 'always be true' wasn't the only lesson, aside from royalty, that his father taught him himself. He also has standards of treating and respecting women as human beings and not objects.

Malo glanced at the two and gave a small, yet uncertain smile. He sighed after a moment of hesitation. “...Do you remember the stories about how we Yetis came to be, how we found this island?”

Dorgle was just as confused as his two children as they looked at one another as if hoping that one would have the answer to the question they all had.

“Stonekeeper, you have to tell us what it is that you are talking about,” Migo added next.

“I think it’s time I tell you both the truth,” Malo only said to them. He then pulled out a large booklet from his side of where he sat and rested it on the table on top of the documents. Some of the documents described the layouts of the island and the five Yeti empires, the maps that showed the paths that would lead a traveler to one kingdom, from there to another; some of them ranged from being under to over an hour long. Other documents described finances of the Yeti domain, medical records and how it had been handled before Migo would take over one day. The rest were letters from the rest of the Yeti kingdoms, but the two royals didn’t question about what they were about, only when it seemed important. When they did question it, Dorgle would reply as honestly as he could or wouldn’t answer them, just gave them looks that encouraged them to not question it further until he was ready to tell them.

The moment Alli opened it, the two and their father gasped astonished at the long pages of the booklet. The drawings were similar to the stone drawings they had seen on their outside village and castle walls, as well as the other four Yeti kingdoms when they traveled there. However, there was something different; people, humans holding weapons and chasing Yetis.

A sense of dread filled his heart. “What is all this?”

“There was a time when our ancestors lived with Smallfeet,” Malo explained to the siblings and Dorgle. “Alive and thriving…until they came across the humans. But then…there were actions we couldn’t forgive.”

Alli’s eyes looked away from the pages to face the Stonekeeper. “What do you mean?” Her voice shook slightly.

“While our ancestors approached the Smallfeet with wonder…they were attacked in return,” he answered her, growing solemnly. “They attacked with spears, guns, arrows. Called us monsters, Abominable, Sasquatch, abominations. Our people were chased, pursued, tried to hurt us.”

Migo sensed his little sister’s heartbreak near him and clasped her hand, squeezing it to steady her. Even then, he didn’t turn his eyes off the pages. Dorgle rubbed Alli’s arm as he took in the truth that had been hidden from his family for so long.

“We were left with no other option. We had to hide,” Malo continued. “We handcrafted boats of our own, though we never swam in waters before. There was a chance we could’ve drowned, but we took it, already desperate to save ourselves from a potential genocide.”

“And so…that’s how you found this island?” Migo asked.

“It is,” Malo nodded with a solemn frown, barely managing to hide the pain from his eyes. “And the mountain here would be our only hope if anything happened to our kingdoms, that’s where Smallfeet cannot survive. And that’s when the first law was born: ‘Our island is the only land, hidden by a sea of endless clouds. But then the more laws we wrote, the better chance we had of protecting our people.”

Alli could barely hold back her sadness as she studied some humans driving a few innocent Yetis to the edge of a cliff, sending them tumbling to their deaths. Dorgle had the same expression as her as he took in the image of a Yeti being shot by a hunter Smallfoot.

Migo, however, noticed an image of a particular human. They didn’t look like the other Smallfeet, not because of the hats or weapons…but because they had horns and teeth like the Yetis, only a bit shorter than them by a couple of feet. “What about this?” He asked, motioning to the figure.

Malo could tell there was no chance of leaving it unanswered, even when he was now telling the truth, so he answered. “There were a few Smallfeet who were not afraid of our ancestors, rather amazed. They saw past their flaws, the things that made them appear as monsters, and grew close. With a few of our people on either side, one thing led to another…”

“What were they called?” Dorgle was the next to ask, not wanting his children to bear the weight of the answer that would come.

“...they were called ‘Makino’.”

Migo and Alli studied the figure more, though they left some room for their father so he could see as well. “But they got killed as well?” Alli asked, gravely worried for the half-Smallfeet.

“They were,” Malo confirmed. “They were left for dead, and their parents were deemed as traitors, devils, and were imprisoned or killed as well.”

Migo was the most horrified out of his family. He had no idea how dangerous Smallfeet could be, especially when it was clear there was a chance they were no longer myths. And the innocent makinos being killed off just because they were born due to their parents’ interspecies intercourse made his heart plummet further down to his stomach. He didn’t know what to say at the moment, he was still processing the truth being laid out to him.

“I have a feeling there is something else you want to tell us,” Alli spoke up for her brother, her hand now squeezing his own to keep him grounded.

Without a word, Malo nodded before pulling out another booklet and opening it for the three to see. What they saw next helped put the pieces together.

Documents of what looked like machines were laid out on pages. With each flip of a page, they were met with more pages of the mechanics of the devices: a large fan that teleports the clouds out from hot coals; a large platform that would lead them past the pumping devices and towards the fan; a large hole that was bored out of the mountain sending steam through the fan; and a rounding slide that would transport the ice that had been picked at, shaved, and molded into a smooth ball and onto the hot coals.

Migo and Alli understood. “The clouds…are all steam?”

Malo nodded solemnly and regretfully. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you all the truth sooner.”

The three took a moment to take in everything hidden from them for so long. “Look, I’m sorry, I still don’t understand. Do you mind telling us what you really brought us down here for?” Migo broke the tense silence, wanting to get to the source of the subject.

Malo nodded in reply as he helped Alli put away the documents and booklets. “Though there had been Yetis who could get to the island for years, a few others were trapped there, unintentionally left behind in our haste to get to safety, so they had to hide somewhere else. Somewhere no one will get them.”

“And you have no idea where they are now?” Alli received a shake of the head from the Stonekeeper.

Migo was in disbelief more than his sister or father. He had no idea how many Smallfeet had or are now existing in the world, no idea how many lives of Yetis had been lost. He had no idea about any of the Makinos at all. It was becoming harder to process everything that is sinking in right now.

“So…you’re saying none of the stones are true? They’re all lies?”

Malo understood Migo’s incredulity with a simple nod. “As terrible as they are, they are needed to protect our people.”

Unlike her brother, Alli could sense anger brewing within her, but she held it back for his and their father’s sake. “How long until the truth comes out, even by accident? I mean, someone’s going to figure this out, one way or another! We can’t just keep it all in for much longer!” She would have blown up on the Stonekeeper if her father wasn’t around to pull her back down on her seat tenderly.

“Alli! Listen to me! I understand your frustration on this and believe me, I’m trapped in shock, too, but we can’t go overboard with this,” he sternly told her.

“No, she’s not wrong,” Malo interjected. “The truth will come out, no matter how much we try to keep it in. There will be bits and pieces of it that will be revealed each day, and the best we can do is just answer them the best we can instead of pushing them down. As leaders, it’s our job to listen to and hear them.”

“So what do you want me to do?” Migo asked uncertainly.

“Hear them and listen to their voices,” Malo told him. “They will need your honesty and wisdom when you take your father’s place on the throne.”

“But what if they don’t believe me? They’ve already seen the stones.”

Malo only got up from his seat and patted him on the shoulder once he was close enough to him. “You’ll be surprised at what they’ll believe. Knowledge is power, that’s what everyone thinks. The real question is…what are you going to do with that power?”

Migo and his family have no answer to that. All they know is whatever choices they make in the future–the choices that will involve their people and loved ones–will be difficult, yet simple.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You have no idea what had happened. It was all happening so fast.

One moment you were with a few of the maids in the library and putting back the books, and the next, you were forcibly dragged off to somewhere with your guardian threatening you and making orders to their daughter’s ladies-in-waiting without even letting you have a single word spoken from your mouth.

You could barely keep up the pace with your stepmother holding you harshly by the arm, even as your feet managed to touch the ground before being dragged across by force again. You couldn't even ask what was happening, since your stepmother either ignored your words or demanded you keep quiet. Your heart beat faster against your chest from the fear of something worse than what was going to meet you, so you did as she was told as she continued to drag you forcefully by the arm down the hallway.

It didn't take long for you and your stepmother to reach your stepfather’s office, and before you knew it, he was already declaring that you were to take their daughter’s place to marry the only son of one of those kingdoms. You had asked about what kingdom, but he had only told you a kingdom that was not part of their land before he returned to cite the expectations that would occur on you.

It was there you had discovered that the princess, the only heir of your guardians’ kingdom, had run away a couple of days before she was to travel to that mysterious kingdom. To be honest, that never shocked you. She has been spoiled and unkind since she was a kid, maybe years before the royal family had taken you out of obligation. And to be fair, being married off to some strange royal is the last thing she ever wanted to happen in her life. You had always taken the brunt of her tantrums ever since she was told the news, which you had no idea about until now, behind the doors of the king’s office. And when she was given the announcement of an arranged marriage with a prince, she was as wild as an undomesticated boar. She had done everything she could to undo the arrangement, but her parents were relentless and headstrong in keeping this agreement alive. Other than this reason, you have no idea why they were persistent about this contract.

On the one hand, you sympathize with the princess. It would be unfair to be in her shoes–unfortunately now–to be married off without having your voice heard or even having talked about this before they went ahead with it. This is not what you wanted to wish on anyone. All the same, there is another reason why the King and Queen wanted you to marry that future king so desperately.

The kingdom had a huge debt with one of those mysterious empires that needed to be paid. Luckily, for them but not you, the prince’s father, the ruler of one of the domains, had promised a solution: a fair maiden's hand in marriage to his only son in exchange for the debt and other loans being paid off for good.

It was not exactly ideal, but there was no other option. The kingdom here and those involved had already lost so much money. And besides, if they did leave, there was a good chance they could get caught and punished severely.

It was too good of an opportunity to deny. And unfortunately for you, they didn't need to look far for a perfect maiden to give away.

Hours later, they had quickly packed away any belongings you had, donned you in a dress that would hide your frame and face completely, and kept you in a tight hold to prevent you from escaping as they made sure you were in one-way transportation for a day's travel to one of the mysterious kingdoms.

Despite your sobbing pleas and the heartbroken expression in your (E/C) eyes, your guardians had been eager to save themselves from a conceivable sentence and to be rid of you as well.

You hated how life treated you because of something out of your control.

You hated how people despised you simply because of differences that don't even add up. You hated how you had been looked down upon, tossed into the mud, and finally locked up because they wouldn't risk their reputation being ruined. You hated how you were just treated as a monster, an object, something that doesn't deserve happiness or freedom, simply because you were born with strange DNA genes you inherited from your mother.

To say that being married to the love of your life should be the happiest time of your years is an understatement. Being in an arranged marriage to someone you barely even know or don't even love is a bit worse than being treated like a monster.

Why?

To answer that, you were a half-Yeti, due to your mother being a Yeti herself, able to switch to human form.

After she had married your father, a human, she got cut off and excommunicated by her family simply because she wanted to be with someone for genuine love and not for status or wealth. It's fine by her, in her eyes, anyway. She hadn't spoken to them for years, even after your birth, which is a good thing, given that they'd give anything, including you if they ever found out about your existence, to get into the higher ranks of status.

Although your parents had given you all the love and acceptance regardless of the DNA genes you inherited from your mother, it didn't help or protect you from a few harsh words from the village your father had lived in. Some adults saw you as an abomination because of your horns and teeth, but the kids were far worse. They made fun of your looks, your height (you were a bit taller than them due to being...well, a Yeti on one side), they even nearly made you hate yourself at one point.

Nevertheless, life with your parents was uneventful. You spent your days reading, learning more about the world far beyond the small village, and educating yourself on topics your school wouldn't let girls learn simply because they believed women should be housewives and obedient servants to their husbands.

Life was peaceful.

That is until that one night.

There was a raid that night. It all happened so fast.

The only thing you knew was how your parents had died fighting to keep you safe and hidden from the raiders. By the time you had come out from the hidden compartment they had concealed you in, you had been met with the fallen remains of the village, lifeless bodies of those who had either mistreated or loved you unconditionally laid across the burned ground…and your beloved parents laying dead on the earth, their hands intertwined as if they would rather die for their love than for anything else in the world.

For what seemed like hours, you mourned your parents and a few of the lost villagers who had shown respect and kindness to you throughout your years, recovered any beloved possession that wasn’t destroyed or lost during the ambush from the ruined house that you and your small family had built and grown up in. For what seemed like hours, you had no idea where you would go, but you knew you would have to keep moving.

That’s when the guards of the monarchs, who had currently shoved you forcefully on a ship that would take you to your “betrothed”’s homeland, had come across you. Amongst the fallen village, you were the only one who had survived. Not only that, but you look different than they do. (Horn Color) wavy horns on each side of your head; aside from that, a unique (Hair Length) (Hair Color) that shone under the rising sun. They had found you while they were scouting for any potential survivors, and seeing only you among the fallen took you back to their rulers, who took you in to increase their appearances.

This was only the beginning of the next twenty years of hell.

To make matters worse and harder for you, their only daughter, spoiled and unkind, aforementioned, like her parents, the moment you were made to be her personal servant made it her life’s mission to make your life a living hell; destroying anything that reminds you of the happy moments you shared with your beloved parents, tearing you down, constantly trying to ruin your self-esteem, anything that would help her feel as if she is superior to you.

Since then, happy moments have been just a rare thing in your private quarters. Aside from the faint memories of your beloved parents, you had some books, a couple of journals, both of them the only things that kept you from doing something worse to yourself; though you made sure to keep them hidden from the princess so she wouldn’t destroy them as well.

When you were told she had run away, you were mad at her for destroying any chance the empire had left to save themselves. Now you were internally furious at her running away for putting you in this position.

As of this moment, you were now sailing across the waters on the royal ship taking you to your “betrothed”'s homeland as words from your guardians rang in your ears.

“You will take her place," the king strictly told you.

“What?!” You nearly gasped. “But your Majesties–”

"You know her better than anyone," his wife interrupted you. “And you've attended all her study sessions. There is no one else. We cannot have this secret getting out.”

“No one must know she is gone. Luckily you are replaceable. No one will even blink when you are gone, it's perfect."

"The choice is easy, dear. You will take her place, or you will face something far worse."

Oh, Gods. What are you supposed to do now?

#smallfoot #smallfoot 2018 #smallfoot movie #smallfoot fandom #smallfoot au #royal au #all i see is perfection series #smallfoot migo x reader #migo x reader #reader insert #original characters #ocs #original character #oc #blue writes

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too-destiny-panda · 1 year ago

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Wyllvember Day 18: OTP

A/N: This prompt just gave me the excuse to talk about Wyll and my Tav lol. For those that have read my other ficlets for Wyllvember, this is the Tav I have in mind in all of them, if mentioned. I didn't give my Tav a name, because although I love her to pieces, I would rather not name drop an OC that I will likely never bring up again in a different context. Prompts are posted by @sagscrib, additionally tagging @commander-yinello WC: 782

Wyll never thought he would be able to settle down in peace, at least not since he had signed a pact with Mizora. He resigned himself to forever adventuring, forever roaming without proper home, and when he eventually died, to forever belonging to the blue devil. And although he desperately wished there was a way to change that, he came to terms with his seemingly unchangeable fate. Until he was thrown into the turbulent circumstance of having a parasite stuck to his brain. That’s when the first slivers of hope, of change began to appear.

They were subtle at first. Slight whispers of longing in his heart he attributed to fellowship, eyes following their leader's every movement, the curve of her face as she sat by the fire, that he attributed to curiosity. But the lingering touches when he helped her up, the unconscious smile when she chuckled at his stories, the fluttering of his heart when she shyly revealed a piece of her childhood, entrusting him with the memory. That was no coincidence. And so, he tried to spend more time with her. He would stay up later than usual to sit with her while on watch, to either whisper conversation or simply observe the human woman as she mended arrows or read. He couldn’t help but admire her warm eyes, the curve of her lips, the way her hands nimbly moved with practised ease as she busied themselves in the quiet of the night. That was when he first admitted to himself there may have been more to the ceaseless warmth in his chest than friendship.

When he asked the ranger to dance, her nervous smile and uncertain movements almost made him worry he overstepped despite their earlier kiss at the party, but as she accepted his hand after displaying dancing skills only taught to nobles, it was almost as if everything fell into place. He may not know more about her than the nickname, Tav, she called herself or the tidbits of their previous adventures she sometimes shared, but he knew right there and then as they looked into each other’s eyes that this was the person his heart longed for. This was the peace he dreamed about.

Later, right before they parted ways for the night, Tav pulled him closer to press one final, soft kiss to his lips, and whispered her name into the air as they parted, those golden brown eyes betraying vulnerability, and he almost couldn’t contain the waves of affection that came over him then.

Slowly, as their journey progressed, the mysterious ranger made an effort to stop being so mysterious, at least around him. Wyll felt incredibly giddy that she was dropping her walls because of him, for him. Of course, the others began learning about their leader more as well, but that was byproduct of traveling with others in such proximity. He didn’t mind. The blush that sometimes overtook those cheeks and the bashful lack of eye contact was his doing, after all. And eventually, during one of their evening cuddle sessions, he pieced together that she was the shy, socially awkward wallflower he danced with at one of the masquerades, her lovely giggles, breathtaking dancing and admissions about how sunflowers were one of their most beloved flowers leaving him with a strong enough impression that everyone else paled in comparison since that day. He made sure to ask Halsin to druidcraft him one later to give to her.

They became the subject of everyone’s teasing as well, because even though they did their best to not engage in anything lovey-dovey outside of camp, the looks, and smiles, as well as protectiveness in battle could only be described as devotion. Of course, while in camp there were no such restrictions, and although Tav was more comfortable with being affectionate in private, she didn’t stop him from holding her close while eating or from holding her hand as they talked. According to Astarion, the pair almost make him starve himself from the pure amount of ‘tooth-rotting fluff his palate is subjected to’. And although the elf was prone to dramatics, the Blade supposes his description wasn't entirely inaccurate.

But that didn’t bother him. Because when they finally had a tavern floor all to themselves, the sweet nothings they whispered, the soft touches they bestowed upon him, the praise about his very being that rolled of their tongue almost mindlessly during one of his rougher nights was something Wyll Ravengard would cherish for the rest of his existence, whatever that may be. Because now, his peaceful fate was holding him in their arms and stroking his back absentmindedly and that was all he could ask for.

#wyll x tav #baldur's gate wyll #wyll #wyll ravengard #bg3 wyll #wyllvember #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate oc #blue writes

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honeygrahambitch · 13 days ago

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"I took the whole washing machine apart" Will said as he showed Hannibal the pieces scattered on the floor of the kitchen. "I still can't figure out why it leaked. I'm not leaving until I make sense of it."

"Thank you, darling. I'm glad we are spending the evening together." Hannibal said, certainly not feeling any guilt about spilling some water next to the washing machine just so he could make Will pay him a visit.

#hannibal #hannigram #hannibal lecter #will graham #hannibal nbc #hannibal series #blue writes

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bluesgrxce · 4 months ago

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Michael Afton Headcanons (General + Romantic)

Warning: Childhood abuse

Mrs Afton will be called Clara and Crying Child will be called Evan.

General

Life in the Afton family was never perfect. William often neglected his family in favor of working on his animatronics and Clara was always fighting with him because of it. This was the norm for Michael and his siblings, unfortunately, so they were used to it. (Not like watching their parents fight and being neglected didn't hurt any less, but...)

Michael was never as obedient as his younger siblings, even when he was a little kid. It was easy to tell that neither of his parents appreciated that very much and favored the others over him. At least Clara made attempts to hide it. With William, it was ridiculously obvious that he didn't feel unconditional love towards his kids, and that he only cared for them when they followed all his directions. So Michael got the worst treatment in terms of neglect.

Eventually, the fighting got to be too much for Clara. She divorced William and left the kids with him, moving far away so she wouldn't be associated as an Afton anymore. This decision had a horrible effect on each of the Afton kids- Elizabeth became unhealthily attached to her father, Evan lost his only source of comfort (that wasn't a stuffed animal) and it made Michael's approaching teenage angst worse. Meanwhile William's only thought was "Hmm maybe I can design my new balleria animatronic after my ex-wife now... That way I can have another excuse not to take care of my kids 😻"

Being left unsupervised was the worst thing that could've happened to Michael. It gave him a sort of power he shouldn't have had, being that he was frustrated at his entire family and too immature to know how to deal with anger correctly. He vented his anger by becoming a destructive bully.

At first he just bullied Evan because he was an easy target. Not Elizabeth though, she... Mysteriously disappeared before he could do anything too bad to her. But her disappearence only left Michael more pissed off at the world. He started bullying kids at school with his group of friends. They quickly became the tormentors of the neighborhood.

Teenage Michael was a total shitbag, really. He hurt others because it made him feel powerful in a situation he was powerless in. Fun Fact: William hurts others to feel powerful too. Like father, like son.

However, Michael's tormenting wasn't 100% just for a power trip. It was partly to get attention from his father too. He got into all kinds of trouble looking for attention. He got into fights at school, purposely flunked all his classes, made his abuse against Evan abundantly clear, etc. Nothing worked. So then he decided to involve one of his father's own creations in his next scheme... And that one definitely worked. But not in the way he wanted it to.

So Evan was dead. William wasn't pleased, to say the least. It wasn't the fact that his son was dead that got him, it was the fact that Fredbear's had to be shut down. His first passion project was ruined by his own son.

William started giving Michael attention, but not the kind that he needed. He began taking his anger out on him. Screaming, hitting, locking him in his room for hours on end... The list went on. Now Michael knew what it felt like to be in Evan's spot.

But unlike William, Michael felt geniune sorrow from his brother's death. He never wanted him dead, he just went too far. If the guilt of that wasn't enough, nobody was understanding of him either. His "friends" ditched him and the entire town shunned him. Nobody wanted to be around him anymore. Not many people did to begin with, but now everybody acted like he was an apathetic murderer. (Everybody acted like he was his father...)

He was forced to spend the rest of childhood in isolation. When he wasn't isolated, he was with his father, only piling the mental and physical scars on top of each other. He transitioned from bitter and angry to terrified and ridden with guilt.

He learned his lesson about being an asshole, but he's been beat down so many times that he's afraid to get back up. He just took all the negativity that was thrown at him. He believed that he fully deserved it and that he didn't deserve a happy life. (Because he knew his father sure didn't...)

His only source of comfort at this time was watching TV. The TV raised him when his parents didn't, so... Basically always. One of the reasons he kept going was so he could catch the new Immortal and The Restless episodes.

Okay this is really stupid and out of place but I like to think this is what it looked like when Michael first discovered Immortal and The Restless:

youtube

Once Michael finally became an adult, he was ready to run away from it all. He knew that he didn't deserve to be happy, that he was a monster just as horrible as his father was, but he couldn't take it anymore. He wasn't strong enough.

So he took a page out of his mother's book and moved away. He didn't have enough money to move too far away, sadly, but he got far enough that nobody in town could recognize him. That's exactly what he was searching for. He desired a chance to start anew.

He didn't want to be Michael Afton anymore. Michael Afton was a murderer, a tormenter, a coward. He wanted to be a better person now, but he was convinced Michael Afton could never be better. Leading him to change his identity once he finished moving.

Michael Afton was dead. He was Mike Schmidt now, and Mike Schmidt was an incredible man. He was friends with all his neighbors, he was hard working, he never caused a bit of trouble. And he always smiled. Never a creepy and unnerving smile, but a warm and pleasant one.

This change did help him a bit. He was being treated like a person again instead of a monster, so that was appreciated. But it did a lot of harm too. He was pushing down all of his feelings and ignoring his problems. They were Michael Afton's problems, not Mike Schmidt's, after all. He was masking his true self and hiding it all with a grin. (He's like his father no matter what he does...)

However, this new life didn't last long. Everything stopped when he got a phone call from William. It was a sickeningly polite request, asking him to go down to Circus Baby's Entertainment and Rental, only for a simple week long shift.

Naturally, Michael was furious. He didn't want to accept a single request from that asshole, especially not now! He was still reinventing himself! He was ready to decline until William brought up the true reason why he wanted Mike down there- To free his little sister.

Mike was in awe. This was a chance to fix his past mistakes. Not all of them, of course, but he could make up for at least one part of the past. Though he was reluctant to have anything left to do with those bastardly animatronics, he felt like he had to do this. He gathered his courage and accepted, not knowing what was ahead of him.

The universe must have decided that he hadn't paid enough for his mistakes, because he ended up literally dying and then having his corpse used as a disguise for murderous animatronics. Not fun. Even when Ennard finally left, he just felt... Empty. Both physically and mentally. He wasn't even sad about it. He was accepting.

This was a natural punishment for trying to run away from his past, he assumed. Mike always thinks he deserves the bad things that happen to him. But, he also realized... When did his father ever get punished for something?

It just wasn't fair. William got away with everything while Mike was the one who had to pay for it. He did some terrible shit when he was younger, he knows, but wasn't this enough? When was William going to pay for slaughtering children for his selfish experiments and power trip?

In that moment, he knew what he needed to do. He had to kill his father and get revenge. He needed to free the rest of the souls like he did with his sister. That way, he could finally be at peace.

From then on, Mike was the best version of himself. He still made an effort to keep up his new identity, but he wasn't trying to run away anymore. He was scared and he was battling mental health issues everyday, but he was determined now. And nobody could stop him.

Romantic

Let's say you fell in love after he moved and changed his name, so you didn't know about his past. He wouldn't tell you the truth for the longest time. Mike sees you in an extremely high light. You've got so many good qualities about you, and he's... Just some cowardly asshole who lives a lie. But you don't know that. You think he's great too. And fuck, he loves that, he wants it to stay that way so badly. He really does want to be with you.

So he stays as Mike Schmidt. He wouldn't mention a word about Michael Afton, his family, or anything to do with Freddy Fazbear's. Forget Fredbear's. He refuses to be a part of that. Most of the time he just dances around the subject when it's brought up, but he's willing to flat out lie if he has to. He doesn't understand that having a relationship built on lies isn't the best idea.

Besides that stuff about lying to you, I don't think he'd be too bad of a partner. He loves you so much and wants the best for you. He'd work hard so you could have everything you need/want. But since he works so much, it's hard to find time to spend together. Especially whenever he's working the night shift.

When you do find time, you probably won't be going out on dates. He's paranoid and avoids going out when he can. So you'll likely be at home, whether you're resting in bed or watching Immortal and The Restless together.

While he was working at Circus's Baby, he always made it a point to call you after 6AM and let you know he was on his way home. You didn't know that, truthfully, it was just his way of letting you know he was still alive.

He's also a protective boyfriend. Though he doesn't like going out, he would force himself to get past his fear and go out with you when you have to leave. He'll accompany you on trips to the grocery store or other errands. He makes sure to write down your work phone number somewhere safe, so he can call you during your breaks and make sure you're okay.

And in a way, him lying about his past is a way of protecting you, too. You could get hurt if you get involved. So he buries all the pain and wears a smile, no matter how much it hurts. When he has sudden flashbacks to his father's abuse or the death of his brother, his grin only falters for a second. He considers this his way of being strong.

Mike can't hide it forever, though. He'll be forced to confess after he gets scooped, because... Well, imagine trying to hide purple skin from somebody you see every day. You'll have to talk some sense into him though- He needs to be convinced that he can't handle everything on his own and that this isn't some punishment for his sins. So weirdly enough, him getting scooped wasn't entirely bad? Because it made your relationship stronger and he's better off, now that he has a goal and somebody to support him along the way.

But that didn't mean everything was sunshine and rainbows now. For one thing, his appearance is pretty fucked up, and not in the hot way. It's just another thing to add to the list of insecurites. He worries that you'll leave him for somebody better. He avoids physical affection as well, because he's sure you wouldn't want to touch him.

You can help by giving him lots of reassurance, though. He likes being called handsome even if he doesn't believe it, and it feels good knowing you're always there for him.

This might be an unpopular headcanon, but I honestly think Michael would want to get married. Probably not when he was younger and the wounds from his trauma were fresh, but once he's older and more healed. Just because his parents' marriage didn't turn out well doesn't mean that yours won't. There probably won't be an official ceremony, there might not even be any official documents saying you got married, but he would buy a pair of rings so you could say you were anyway. It's still marriage to him.

No kids though. He's still intensely afraid of having one of his own to take care of. The next best thing is Helpy 💀 But speaking of Helpy, the only Fazbear restaurant he'll let you go to is the one from Pizzeria Simulator. It's the only place he has any control over things, so he wouldn't be on the verge of having a panic attack everytime you got near an animatronic... But maybe you still don't need to be around those high risk ones...

Oh, and don't worry, he won't stick around in the fire like he did at the end of the game. I believe the only reason he did that was because he didn't have anything else. This family drama was his whole life, his whole purpose. So he thought it was only right to pass on with everybody else then.

But with you here now, he can't just leave you like that. Not as a single parent caring for Helpy! So you three can finally live that happily ever after without having to worry about any murderous animatronics or people in bunny suits again.

Haha, yeah... Definitely...

#fnaf #fnaf x reader #michael afton #micheal afton #michael afton x reader #fnaf headcanons #fnaf fanfic #blue writes #five nights at freddy's #mike afton #fnaf michael afton

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