#gotta get to all my people

[defectivevillain]

guarded by the shadows

pairing: Michael Myers/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

No one wants a murder house, even when it’s absurdly cheap. No one except you, it seems.

In which you buy the Myers house.

word count: 1.7k | ao3 version

warnings: carbon monoxide poisoning, hospitals and IVs, unconsciousness

You knew what you were getting into when you purchased the Myers house in Haddonfield. It had been something of a ghost house for years, lying neglected and practically abandoned despite the countless realtors who attempted to sell it. Supposedly, many of their efforts were waylaid by Dr. Samuel Loomis—who has a bad habit of barging in and dissuading interested parties from buying it. He did the same thing to you: storming into the house just after your realtor gave you a tour, warning you that Michael Myers would likely return to his childhood home. 

His little display had scared you for a second, sure. But you weren’t going to let that frighten you off of the one property you could actually afford. Together, the realtor and you managed to get the man to leave—albeit with a lot of grumbling and muttering. Then, the two of you turned to each other and exchanged relieved looks. A few hours later, you were standing in front of the property with the keys in hand and a nervous smile on your face. 

Maybe it was a little optimistic of you, though, to buy the house so fast. Your moving process has been somewhat impeded by the basic repairs needed across the space: the cracked toilet, freezing cold water from the shower, broken stove, and shattered windows all desperately need attention. In your scramble to fix the seemingly endless amount of things that don’t work in the house, you forget to acknowledge one appliance: the carbon monoxide detector. The thought completely slips your mind, as you attempt to make your new home more livable and less imposing. You even have to get the garage door painted over multiple times—after a few rebellious kids spray paint “MURDERER” and other flattering messages all over it. 

Fortunately, as time passes, you slowly tackle each of these projects. It’s a bit harder than you expected to get plumbers and electricians to actually agree to enter your home, with its reputation. But you finally find some brave (or just uncaring) ones and, before long, you have functioning appliances. 

Even so, there are still a few eccentricities to the house. There’s a small darkened red-brown stain in one of the rooms—smeared as if someone tried to clean it up. You resolutely convince yourself it isn’t blood, even though you know deep-down it must be. The floorboards are very creaky; sometimes, the frames on the walls will shake and clatter in impatience; and you occasionally lose track of items you put down, as if someone is sneaking in and taking things. Although these happenings sometimes scare you, you manage to dismiss them as nothing more than coincidences. You’re a bit too preoccupied with making a living for yourself to put much thought into insignificant observations. 

The main problem you’ve encountered at this point, after weeks of living in the house, is the unstable temperature. The furnace is kind of shitty and the air conditioning is a complete joke. Even after you get these things fixed, though, you start to notice that you still feel a bit… off. At first, you write it off as  some sort of seasonal allergy. But allergy medicine doesn’t resolve the issue, and you’re soon fighting off pounding headaches every day. You’re beginning to suspect that you came down with some sort of bug. Eventually, it gets to the point where you have to leave work early and return home to rest. 

When you wake up the next morning, you find that you’re particularly weak and exhausted. You feel as if you’re trying to walk through quicksand. Frowning, you push yourself out of bed and attempt to walk out to the living room—only to collide with the nearby wall as your balance nearly gives out. You press a shaking hand to your forehead, idly wondering if you could have a fever. The cool sensation—combined with the fact that you took your temperature last night, only for it to be normal—convinces you that it can’t be a fever. Maybe you have some sort of head cold. That would certainly explain your loss of equilibrium and dizziness. 

You manage to get yourself back to a standing position and take slow steps out into the living room. It’s a very short distance—maybe five steps or so—but your chest is burning from the exertion. Why does everything look so blurry? You blink dazedly and attempt to get to the couch, only for your legs to crumple under you. 

You fall to the ground like a puppet with broken strings, feeling like a spectator to your own movements as your vision twists around and you hear a dull thud. A harsh pain reverberates throughout your temple. You think you’re shaking. Your chest still hurts; and the aching in your temple has spread down to your cheekbones and across your face. Your eyes slip shut and you slip into a bleary haze.  

You’re not sure how long you’re lying there before you manage to pry your eyes back open. But the effort is really no use—as you’re too weak to even move. Your headache is so strong that you feel the urge to throw up. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you see a flicker of movement. A shadow passes across your vision and suddenly, there’s someone leaning over you. 

Even in your fatigued and confused state, you’re able to recognize them. Michael Myers is leaning over you, his mask secured over his face. A shiver rolls down your spine and you’re overtaken with fear. It seems Dr. Loomis was right. Michael did return to the house. Does he have something to do with this? 

All these thoughts and more run through your head, sending a renewed wave of adrenaline through you. You try to push yourself up and crawl away, but your body isn’t obeying any of your commands. A relentless drowsiness is pushing you back to the floor, alongside a dizzying spiral that makes your vision hazy and convoluted. Michael’s blurred head tilts. There’s a horrid ringing in your ears as you make one final attempt to move. A minute twitch of your fingers is the best you can manage, before you’re fading back into unconsciousness. 

You wake to the feeling of something digging into the skin of your arm. Wincing, you weakly reach out with your other arm and feel around for the intrusion, finding an object attached to your arm. You attempt to pull it off, but there’s a calm voice chiding you and pushing your inquiring hand away. Blinking away tears at the blinding fluorescent lighting above, you slowly take in the environment around you and come to an easy conclusion: you’re in the hospital. The pain in your arm is from the IV; the voice from before was your nurse. 

The nurse hands you a glass of water and you eagerly take a few sips, before they place it on the table at your bedside. You cough to clear your throat, recognizing a lingering pain in your chest. “What happened?” you remember to ask. 

“Carbon monoxide poisoning,” the nurse responds with a sympathetic grimace. Damn it—that was what you had forgotten to do. You never replaced the carbon monoxide detectors in the house. “One of your neighbors found you unconscious on your front lawn.” 

The front lawn? Your memories of that night are hazy and hard to reach, but after a few minutes of concentrated effort, you recall that you had collapsed in your living room. You frown. You certainly wouldn’t have possessed enough strength to make it out of your home and onto the front yard. How did you get outside? 

Before you can ponder the question any longer, the nurse is asking you a series of questions and evaluating your symptoms. When they’re finally finished, they’re about to leave—before they pause in the doorway and head back into the room, a contemplative expression on their face. “It’s a miracle you made it outside,” they say candidly. You blink at them. “Do you remember leaving the house?” the nurse hums. 

“No,” you answer, a frown rising on your face. A miracle. You resist the urge to huff in amusement. You can’t necessarily say that succumbing to carbon monoxide poisoning was miraculous. And your supposed “escape” from your home is more perplexing than anything else. “I think I passed out in the living room,” you continue. 

A strange expression passes over the nurse’s face. “Oh,” they remark quietly, suddenly looking concerned. They shake their head as if to clear their thoughts. “Well, it’s a good thing your roommate found you!” There’s a somewhat forced cheeriness to their voice. But that observation fades to the back of your mind, when you comprehend what they’ve just said. 

“I don’t have a roommate.” You’ve lived alone for as long as you’ve stayed in that house. But the nurse’s remark does jog your memory, reminding you of the one presence who made himself known that night: Michael Myers. Goosebumps rise along your skin. The nurse seems to notice and pulls the blanket over you, which does little to quell your mounting fear. 

Then they seem to process your remark, and a somewhat patronizing smile rises on their lips. “Sounds like you have a guardian angel, then.” They don’t seem to believe you. But before you can ask any more questions, the nurse exits, leaving you to your growing confusion. 

Just what happened? You suspect someone saved you… but who? And why? You continue to contemplate these questions as you recover in the hospital; after a few days, you’re discharged from the hospital. You return home to find a note on your front door, wishing you a quick recovery and saying that the property has been aired out and cleared of carbon monoxide. A small smile rises on your lips and you remind yourself to thank your neighbor. 

The house is a bit brisk and cold, evidently thanks to the windows being open for so long. Otherwise, it looks entirely the same as you left it. Relief courses through you as you explore the house, double-checking that nothing looks out of place. You’re about to relax when your eyes find something on the kitchen counter: boxes of new carbon monoxide detectors. And through the nearby window, you catch a glimpse of a masked figure between the trees, watching you. 

A disbelieving, frightened laugh crawls its way from your lips.

here's some incredible fanart by @manulodo ! 🖤

thanks for reading! <3

check out my other works, sorted by fandom.

general taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @kingkoku @the-ultimate-librarian @gayaristocrat

friendly reminder that i don't give permission for my writing to be shared to other sites, stolen, copied, translated, or used in any way. thanks!

[stemmmm]

more people gotta try this shit where bill has not improved and will not change but he's just chilling so its fine probably. its great

[hinamie]

how many hoodies can i give this kid

[bookalicent]

yeah so this was insane

[fictionalsownme]

smash???????? who said that?????????

engineer doesn't get enough love on this blog considering how much I cannot express my devotion to him, so I’m working to fix that :) this is similar to what I did for damien but it took foreverr!! iswm lighting is so so pretty which makes it impossible to get right ;;u;; the saturation is really high and there's multiple light sources so in terms of rendering it, its like it was personally designed to leave me dead on the floor :))))) either way,, I'm happy with how it turned out!! he’s very prettie :))

also bonus:

[pinacoladamatata]

blink and you'll miss it moments around skyhold....

[soldrawss]

Uploading a BUNCH of Gio content from @goodlucktai fic "raised on little light" that absolutely ALL of you should go read right now this very instant because im OBSESSED with this little man. The long lost 5th brother, you are everything to me🥺❤

[accirax]

Happy 5th Anniversary DRDT!!!!!!! and happy birthday Mai too :D

[deadsetobsessions]

Tim Drake, Danny’s human identity in this universe, is a boy trapped in an empty manor with absentee parents a low socialization.

Danny Phantom, on the other hand, is Gotham City himself. He could fly, he could interact, he could be the heart of his city like he needs to be. From the lowest of the lows to the highest of the highs, Danny loved the people that were his. Well, most of them. Child molesters often found themselves crossing paths with a vengeful, mostly recovered Robin.

He is the city, he is Gotham. And with his status came more changes, ones he welcomes more readily that the changes that came with his title of Ghost King.

Being a city couldn’t change him as much as it would have, had he gained the title before becoming King. But now, his shadows are dark, curling around his shoulders and curling away what little light he allowed into his city. His skin, having once glittered green with stars and galaxies and black holes, clouds over just a bit. It gives him a misty quality. His hands become sharper, stronger. Gargoyle-like. He wonders what he looked like to Batman, holding his broken son cradled safely to himself. He’s crueler, now, but that’s easily balanced by his years of being a vigilante himself.

He loves these changes. They are loved in a way changing into Dead Danny Phantom and Ghost King Danny Phantom will never be loved. And even though his human features are different in a way he never had to deal with as Danny Fenton, because it was his body that he died in, Danny finds himself enjoying the distinction. And he enjoys when they combine, because in the end, they’re just facets of who he is, now.

Gotham flies through his city, and enjoys it as a whole. A bigger picture.

Tim Drake walks through his city, and enjoys it as an individual. The smaller picture.

Being Gotham reminds him of what he had to protect as a whole. A duty he gladly bears.

Being Tim reminds him of the people he’s meant to help, the stories he doesn’t get as Danny. A connection he gladly encouraged.

Gotham is power. He is duty, he is fierce love. But for the good of the whole.

Tim is kindness. He is choice, he is gentle devotion. But for the good of the individual.

He’s both.

Danny. Danny Phantom.

Phantom glides through the smog.

The ebb and flow of people is his life blood, the thrumming of life and death and fear and hate and love and everything the city is sung through him and Danny sung back with everything he had. Danny is the gargoyles perched high, watching everything. He’s the stone curves of the sewers, sheltering his rats and mutant murderous crocodile man. The is no love comparable to a city’s mutant rats and their sewers. Ancients, he loves his city.

It would be nice, Danny thinks wryly, if they’d love me enough to stop blowing up buildings.

The sting of destruction to his city would hurt much more, had he not also been King. Regardless, every time there’s an explosion or general large scale property damage, he feels a stab of mild pain. Catching sight of his Bats, Danny stays invisible while following them. He wills the shadows to cradle them, to hide them further. He softens the stone, the mortar, the steel, just a hint. Their footsteps, silent and aided by the city himself. The wind steal away the noise of the grappling guns, so when Danny’s favorite vigilante duo (a fascination he shared with original text!Tim) broke into the building, not a single soul aside them are aware of the intrusion.

Batman skulks across the support beams, Robin following with an anticipatory grin. Danny floats, invisible, undetectable, besides them.

“C’mon!” A goon grunts beneath them. Danny tilts his head. A… Dresden Aberthy. Wow. That’s one hell of a name.

“Hurry it up! Boss said Batman’s going to get here soon!” Another goon- Robbert- said, waving around a gun like a moron at the terrified hostages. Danny could tell half of them were part of a tour bus, mostly because the other half were his Gothamites, bored and unfairly used to this kind of thing. The tourists… He’s fond of them, having kept track of their progress through his city. He doesn’t care for intruders on his haunt, but tourists like to appreciate his city and its doubtlessly Sam-approved architecture. Most of them. Rude tourists get pigeon shit on their heads and food stolen by his lovely rats.

He’ll have to make sure none of the bullets hit the tourists. He likes this group, even if he has enough awareness to question their sanity in choosing his city to sightsee. He knows it’s a mess. It’s Danny’s mess though, so whatever.

——

All said and done, Batman whoops ass and Robin rescues the hostages just fine. Danny grins proudly as Robin knees a guy in the crotch and punches a lady’s throat in order to incapacitate them.

After they tied the goons up, and interrogated them for Two Face’s plans- explode a quarter of Gotham to distract the Bats from his diabolical plan to murder half of Gotham’s judges and lawyers that have been going after him and his people- the duo retreats to the rooftop.

“Didja think Gotham saw that?”

Batman goes to reply, but Danny beats him to it, coming back to visibility with a wind touched laugh.

“I did, little Robin.” Danny smiles, fangs and shadows on display as his vigilantes startles and whips around to face him. “You did well.”

Robin- Jason!- gapes at him.

“I see you’ve recovered, little bird.”

“Gotham! Oh. Wow. People always said Gotham was a lady, but you’re a guy!”

“It was a Lady,” Danny confirmed. “It’s complicated, little bird.”

“So, you’re really… you’re really Gotham? The city?”

Danny looks at Robin with the weight of the city behind his gaze.

“I think you know the answer to that. But yes, I am your city.”

“Constantine,” Batman starts. “He said that city spirits only appear in times of grave danger.”

There is deference in his words. Batman is Batman for Gotham, after all. Danny just wishes he could… well, be friendlier with his knights. May this is a good place to start.

Are you in danger? What threats do we need to handle? How can I help? How can I protect? Please, let me help.

His Knight always felt more than he ever says. Danny smiles.

“Was Robin’s wellbeing not in grave danger?” Danny floats closer. “I am your city. You protect me, it is only right that I protect you, no?”

“Thank you for saving me, Gotham!” Robin’s grin is a touch more sincere than usual.

“Of course, Robin. You are loved.”

“Is there… a reason you’ve shown yourself today? Gotham.”

Danny chuckles, understanding the awkwardness that was Batman addressing someone with deference.

“I wanted to tell you that you did well tonight. Those tourists weren’t harmed in the slightest. Well done.” Danny gave Robin a playful but sincere thumbs up.

“They weren’t a match for us!”

“No, they weren’t.” Danny ruffles Robin’s hair, noticing how still he grew at it. “Robin was too fast for them. That maneuver at the end was masterfully executed.”

Batman clears his throat and Danny resists the urge to laugh at him. It would be mean.

“Thank you, for the… praise.”

Fuck it. He’s played well behaved for too long.

“Yes. I read in child rearing books that positive reinforcement is necessary for healthy development. You did well, Batman.”

Despite trolling Batman- and somehow holding a straight (and hopefully wise face)- he meant every word.

Allowing a small smile to slip at Robin’s chortles and Batman’s quiet sputtering, Danny moves on.

“Where is Nightwing, Batman?”

“He’s still on a mission...”

“If it is awkward to refer to me as Gotham, Phantom will do.”

Batman dips his head once. “In space, with the Teen Titans.”

“I see. Please tell him I request his presence,” Danny barely waits for Batman’s oddly acquiescing agreement before summoning a pigeon.

“Follow her,” Danny instructs the duo. “She’ll lead you to the places with explosives. I will guide you through her, to Harvey Dent.”

Danny winces as another explosion rings out.

“Your face is cracking!” Robin exclaimed, worried. He surged forward to stare at the hairline cracks appearing on Danny’s jaw.

“That would be the explosives. Any damage to the city will be shown on me.”

“Well take care of it.” Batman growled, shoulders straightening once more into an imposing symbol.

“Yeah!”

“I know you will. Stay safe.” Danny disappears, spreading his awareness and directing his Birds to the explosives that will go off the fastest.

Batman and Robin share a glance and leaps off the roof, ready to save their city once more.

——

Tim Drake wanders around Crime Alley, and meets a blonde nine year old trying to throw hands at her absentee Riddler knockoff of a dad. He dodges the brick en route to his face and kicks the guy’s knees out.

“You okay?”

The girl blinks. She stares at her dad, groaning on the dirty street of crime alley, and flicks her gaze back up to Tim, who waits casually.

“Yep. I’m Stephanie. We’re gonna be friends now!”

She grins at him, a baby tooth missing, and Danny melts.

“Heck yeah. Tim!” He introduces himself for the first time in a long time.

Maybe with Stephanie around, he’ll finally use the name Tim? Maybe he’ll get used to it, finally!

[nyanbinary-87]

PRINCESS TUTU ASPEC WEEK: QUEERPLATONIC & BONDS.

i think they should be weirder and more fucked up abt each other. feat a simpsons quote. what they have isnt romantic they have something much more sinister going on etc etc (its The Narrative)

[triglycercule]

alright,,,,,is this newyears gift,,,,,, i dont no. but maybe it's late enough that i'll be able to forget that i drew this 😁😁😁😁 mttpoly doodles. whoever sees this sees this

[nebuladreamz]

A little different than last year's, but here we are again. To say that this past year hasn't been absolutely wild would be a lie, cause HOLY SHIT MAN

This year's birthday is. A little different for me, but you already have the silly comic to show that so I won't make like a broken record oops

But, despite the changes and hills that life's decided I should climb or throw at, it hasn't changed the fact that I'm so genuinely fucking thankful to the people that I've known since joining this fandom. I'm not even kidding when I say that being here has actually changed my life for the better. I know I said something similar last year, but this time, hoo boy it sure turned up the AMP and test how far I could go.

So, to everyone, both new and old; thank you for being here :D

@garbagechocolate @darkxsoulzyx @smoljeanius @bunmuffin @skizabaa

@tuzesdays @sleepykas @fernzwing @kandidandi @starsketchez

@just-a-drawing-bean @notdysfunk @ilsole @amberluvsbugs @cloudyvoid

@nomsthecat @alfinefalf @nosleepygay @theblog-with-thestuff

@cacaocheri

(Edit: ty kibbits for informing me of the. Fuck ass tagging system)

AND TAGGING OTHERS BECAUSE. POINTS. BONKS WITH HEAD. GETTING TO EITHER INTERACT OR TALK OR WHATEVER IS ALWAYS A DELIGHT

@ohno-the-sun @kibbits @ink-yy @saltyfryz @kaprisvn

@hierba-picante @sunny-sophies-garden @cookiiemancer @sneeblbop @justaduckarts

@pepethehumanz @crystalmagpie447 @woolysstuff @mocha-illustrates @duhsty1

@sanchensky @pillowspace @victarin @witherfide

[I DEFINITELY GOT SONAS WRONG AND THESE AREN'T ALL THE SILLY PEOPLE I KNOW BUT IM SITTING HERE AT 2:30 IN THE MORNING JUST KNOW YOU'RE THERE IN SPIRIT HANDING YOU ALL POPTARTS WAUGH]

[ghost--girlfriend]

Self Shippers! Here is your free pass to be bitchy about fandom ships! Feel free to reblog, comment, or whatever and rant about how your f/o would NEVER date them(because they wouldn't) and how people just don't understand what f/o wants/needs in a relationship(which is NOT that canon character, it's you!) let that anger out!

[starscreamingg]

Okay I'm so sleep deprived so pardon whatever this is but something that's got me FUCKED up about ai generated pictures songs writing is that it just fucking kills the ability to analyse for me because there's no fucking INTENTION behind it. Like why was this decision made why were these colours used what does that say about the work NOTHING because a bunch of programming took work that DID have intent and theme and purposeful choices and turned it into SLOP. Like I COULD analyse this but it doesn't MEAN anything it's EMPTY I want to EXPLODEEE

[emry-stars-art]

(Op of the text post is no longer in the fandom/no longer wishes to be so I didn’t tag, and I’m hesitant to say to flood their notifs! Let’s be respectful but I wanted to give this its dues lol)

I literally have been thinking about this text post for a full year and it’s FINALLY TIME. Happy Halloween 🎃

[teleportzz]

now some of you might think that rise leo would make it all the way to the end in a slasher movie because he's canonically the final girl in flushed but never forgotten and also technically the second-to-final girl in the bad future but you would be WRONG and NOT A VISIONARY. he's the skeptic character who's like "🙄guys there's no killer in the woods you're all being ridiculous" and then immediately dies but it's ok because his death scene would be objectively the funniest which is what he would have wanted