#michael yiik

[themachine]

Yiik Irony part 1 Bonus sketches under the cut : 3

[lonesomejester]

She’s so miserable, she’s outside time and space, transition made her doomed by the narrative

[reverberation-ensemble]

[prognosticator5]

Michael yiik michael dick

[boppdizzle]

more tgirl michael AKA!!!!! miley :D

have sum close ups :)

[bubbie995]

I’ve lost sight of the whole plot— I can barely remember why I’m doing this.

Happy 4/04 to those who celebrate!

[yiikcourse]

Alchael Music Video

[noonbeam17]

hey gang guess whos forcing the yiik characters into fandom archetypes

[dearimasu]

this is for all the michaelheads out there!!

(tagging @bubbie995 bcz they inspired me to make yiik ponies in the first place)

[slopsuit]

Michael commission for oomf

[crystallizedkingdoms]

we all know a dog can’t lie

Michael lies in the lap of someone who won’t look at him. A dog starts to want, as all dogs do.

wc: 1K

day 2 of cape june-o! it’s a Michael day, so of course it’s dogy time. this fic is partially inspired by the poems Dinosaur by Richard Siken and Let Dead Dogs Lie by Silas Denver Mevin. also you can read this on ao3 <3

Gentle fingers thread through Michael’s hair in long, comforting strokes. He feels how they drag through the brown locks he swears he’s gonna cut soon. They push some strands behind his ear, then drag back up to caress closer to his scalp. Michael, laying on the lap of someone he can’t remember the name of, leans into their touch.

His eyes search the person’s face, but it slips from his mind when he fails to meet their eyes. Maybe it’s the shade from the tree they sit under or the twilight that bathes their bodies. The shadow across their face sits impossibly on their skin, but Michael doesn’t question it. He just stares up at them, with wide eyes and a dumb want in his mouth.

From the way they angle their face, they’re facing directly in front of them. Not even sparing a glance at him. Michael isn't sure if they’re deliberately ignoring him. He opens his mouth to prod, but that warm hand nestles back into his hair, and the words die on his lips. Then those fingers comb the words out of him, and he’s left staring up at an imperceivable face 

But the want is still there. Perpetual and unending. Michael thinks about reaching out to satisfy that want. Those soft strokes and invisible eyes beckon him more than any treat could ever. He reaches up to their impossible face, to the hair that blows in the muggy wind— he thinks it might be red, but it seems more a dull grey most of the time— and tries to touch them. 

Suddenly, the fingers tighten on Michael’s brown hair. Their nails scrape against his scalp for a second, until they’ve balled a fist in his hair. “Stop.” Their voice is harsh, but Michael can’t pinpoint whose voice it is. He stops anyway.

“Good,” they say. Their grip loosens, and Michael breathes a sigh of relief, but it doesn’t go back to those loving caresses. The hand remains clutching a fistful of hair, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to remind Michael that there is love being withheld. “You’re too eager sometimes, you know. You should learn to sit still sometimes, Michael.”

“Sorry,” Michael breathes out in earnest. “I just want to see you. I’m just trying to put you all back together again.”

The person laughs. It’s feminine, Michael thinks, but that thought doesn’t get very far when that grip tightens on his hair again. “You know I don’t want that,” they say. They’re still not looking at him, even as they cradle his head closer to their body by his hair. “You’re not being very obedient lately. You know that’s what I liked best about you, right?”

Michael leans into the hold to lessen the pressure on his head, exposing his neck to the person he rests on. “Look at me,” he begs, “please.”

“For what?” they ask. “You come bounding to me whether I do so or not. I say your name and you come running for me, searching for me. Always searching for every part of me that you think you can remember. It’s cute how you chase. Like you’re made for it.”

“I just need you back. Please, please, Al—”

“Hush.”

Michael’s throat is full of thick, warm pond water. He tries to speak, to yell, to cry, but not a single sound can leave his mouth. He lies in the lap of a nameless, faceless person, who won’t even grace him with the privilege of acknowledgment. And as he stares up at their indistinct face, he can almost imagine a face filled with a strange chimera of sadness and callousness.

“There you go. So you can learn to obey again. Good to know you’re still my Michael,” they say. A pause, then a sigh. They caress his hair with their same hand, but now their other hand appears to crawl up Michael’s chest. Their fingernails drag at his collarbone, until he feels them reaching up to his neck. Michael bares his teeth, but the person doesn’t seem to notice. “Michael, won’t you stop doing what you’re doing? You don’t even remember why you’re doing it. I don’t think you ever knew.”

Michael tries to squirm his body away from the hand encroaching on his throat, but the caresses keep him in place. “You don’t know what to do without someone by your side. You need eyes on you, or a Camera, or a dingy fucking forum full of nothing but the people you know. So listen to me, boy,” their voice turns into a hiss now, their nails starting to dig, “listen like you’re born to do. Stop searching. Just stay with me. Stop wanting—”

Michael twists his neck around in their soft lap and sinks his teeth into delicate flesh.

Searing blood blooms in between his sharp canines, and he fights the urge to let go when he hears the gut-wrenching scream fill his ears. He bites down harder as the hand on his hair now yanks and tears at the soft locks it once caressed. “Stop! Michael! Down, down, down!!” they yell at him, and finally, they’re looking at him. Their face is pointed down towards him, shaking right to left as they try to get his teeth off his skin, and their red hair frames features as they come into vision…

The impossibleness of their face doesn’t clear, not fully. Michael stares at it, willing it to clear, wanting to see more than the red hair and the red blood and the black frames. He wants it, he wants it more than he wants the pain to stop, and though he can’t see the features of this person’s face, he knows that they hate that want. 

“I ought to muzzle you,” they spit. Michael bites down hard one last time, and it’s enough for them to scream again. The hand in his hair drops to hit him in the face, but Michael is already kicking himself away from the lap that cradled him. There’s blood on his lips that coat his sharp canine teeth. When the blood settles on his tongue, it tastes of an old tree he used to sit under for hours. Always with someone.

Michael scrambles to his feet and runs away.

“Yeah, keep running!” he yells at Michael. “Like you always do! We all know you’ll just come back,” she screams.

Michael runs away until all he sees is his red and all he tastes is her blood.

[themachine]

If Yiik was marketable plush keychains

[bestieflexie]

expanding on my yiik au, this is Alex Michael or Mick ( he likes to be called by his nickname more so than his legal name) Mick is really into cars and body building and is really the opposite of the Michel we know. He even works at the local auto shop. When Mick and Alex first meet as kids when Alex moved to town they actually hated each other and Mick was even Alex's bully for the longest time but with Sammy going missing they start from a good friendship and they even made ONISM accounts at the same time.

[sofascribbles]

I love yiik yiik is fun

[bears-necessity]

love this guy, the mike all

[boppdizzle]

michrory…. VALENTINES?!?!

sorry for the lack of updates here! i have some things lined up. mostly because only Three people ever see my posts i often forget i have a platform here..

BONUS: i wonder what the note said…?