#scared of many things. hates fighting and hates blood and hates being violent but is also addicted to the thrill of it all

[ruvviks]

new cyberpunk blorbo has a name a picrew and a pinterest board it's so over (we're so back)

[weebsinstash]

When I say with my entire being in my heart of hearts that I know with certainty that this-this-this THING right here would do the absolute most unbelievable petty gross obsessive dahmer level shit to you

He's petty he's evil he's got a childlike fascination for seeing what breaks people down and I hate him I hate him I hate him but ALSO what that dick do tho? 🤔

Mahito is the yandere over here doing shit like imprisoning you for his own selfishness and perhaps genuine affection but making you live in absolute deplorable conditions because He's Not Fucking Human And He Doesn't Even Know How To Feed You. He locks you away and disappears for an entire day and comes back with like a single can of wet dog food that he watches you eat from a squatting position like 5 inches away looking at you like Harley Quinn and the egg sandwich. Motherfucker would take all your clothes because he wants to see more of "the natural shape of you" and then doesn't understand why you start shivering. Or he deliberately keeps you like that because he wants to see how long it takes you to crack and beg him for help. He wants to see the depths of your pride as you refuse to grovel, curious of the lengths you'll go, the limits of your body against the chill

This depraved fuck will do dehumanizing little emotional experiments on you where he does shit just because he wants to see how you think and feel and what you'll do and I mean like he'll do SOME REAL SHIT. I'm talking maybe he's stalking you and you can't fight or use cursed techniques and you think he's just like, a human shaped spirit or something who's just a trickster, he's not being violent or getting you alone or anything yet, and then you come home to your apartment one day and he's literally disemboweled your cat on your coffee table and he's playing with pieces of it and says you were giving it more attention than him and sits there pouting as you scream and even tries to like touch you or hold your hand or hug you with. The fucking blood covered hands. like he would be so fucked up on purpose, "awww do you need me to hold you? You're so sensitive but i dont mind :3"

This man out here like "wdym you want me to stay away from you, all I did was kill your cat kill your mom kill your neighbor kill your best friend kill your boss' cousins' landlords' newborn baby BUT WAS THAT REALLY SO BAD 🥺" and does something infinitely worse to scare/coerce you into tolerating his presence

I'm not really uh into body horror or gore but as a side detail I feel like. Uh. There's like a legitimate risk of him actually unintentionally REALLY hurting you and has to use his powers to heal you. Like the one good thing he does is if he were to have you on death's door or like horribly injured he could just. Fix it. He twists a limb in a way he doesn't know it's not supposed to go and breaks it and then puts you back together like a broken toy while ooo'ing and aaa'ing at the way your skin stretches over the grotesque misalignment. Dare I say the horror of "him putting things that are way too big or weirdly shaped in you" also yeah he's one of the things he's putting in you and he's got a really gross like fascination with learning all about that stuff

He's really living just to see how many different ways he can make you cry and how many different emotions he can get you to display, just absolutely dedicated to terrorizing you while also chasing his own internal weird repressed desire for his own sort of belonging. You could be sitting there sobbing and he's either borderline getting off on it or he's standing there MAKING FUN OF YOUR CRIES like deadass even fake crying back to you

And the worst part is he'll do all this fucking shit to you and then the night comes and he'll still be over here like "and you'll let me cuddle you while you sleep right? 👉👈" and he'll be doing that Every. Single. Night. And what are you gonna do, try and kill yourself? Have fun risking accidentally making yourself a Curse and being stuck with him basically FOREVER

[starrclown]

I've see ALOT of LMK angst and I have nothing better to do (cause it's late at night) and I'm not working on my LMK apocalypse au right now sooo-

LMK ANGST HEADCANNONS

Triggerwarning for Violence, Blood, Suicidal thoughts, and other general upsetting topics.

(Feel free to leave yours below. Let's make these characters sad together!)

:D

Pigsy gets upset when people joke about Wukong being Mk's dad. It's insulting to him, the one that raises Mk since he was so little.

Wukong is someone that craves physically touch but also can't stand it. It stems from all the violence he's been apart of + the crown messed him up alot. He was SUPER uncomfortable with Mk touching him in the beginning. It has to be on his terms if you wanna touch him.

Macaque doesn't have a heart beat anymore.

Because of Macaque never coming back when Wukong needed him, Wukong had no trust that Macaque will come back if they have a argument. He assumes that Macaque is just gone and gets upset about it. Eventually Macaque comes back and realizes Wukong's upset but he doesn't bring it up cause he doesn't know how.

Redson doesn't really understand why his father doesn't seem to like him. He assumed that his dad would be overjoyed to see him again, not how he's acting now.

Mei had many breakdowns because of her grades and the pressure to be a spectacular student.

Pigsy got bullied alot in school for being a pig demon. It wasn't everyone, most people liked him, just a specific group of kids.

To add on to #7, Tang used to beat himself up over not being able to help Pigsy. He HATED seeing Pigsy getting bullied but he knew that if he tried to start a fight he would either get beat because he can't fight or get himself kicked out of school.

Mk gets nightmares of Wukong getting forced into the scroll. Sometimes he wonders what would of happened if Wukong never got out. He usually ends up crying.

The closest thing Sandy ever got to being violent is when one of his cats scared him and he accidently dropped Mo. He cried. Alot. (Mo was fine but he just hates his cats being hurt.)

Sandy still doesn't know Hunstman is dead. He just thinks that Huntsman was scared of him so he never came back. (Guess Hunstmans my favorite and he's dead and i hate it here god dammit.)

No one can say anything about Azure or Azure's death around Wukong because he will get upset. Macaque made a joke one time and Wukong lost his shit. He's still kinda shooken up about it.

Some of the baby monkies recognize Macaque as the one disguised as Wukong that ate the monkey and passed it around. Those monkies REFUSE to be around him. They get violent if they have to be around him.

Nezha wants to see Wukong, Redson, and the others more but his job is so demanding he barely gets to leave.

Wukong physically couldn't be around Tang for long periods of time when they first met. He got more comfortable with him over time but Tang reminded him to much of Tripitaka and he couldn't handle it.

Mei doesn't yell out of anger, like serious anger alot. When she finally yelled at Wukong because of the fire, all Wukong saw was Ao Lie screaming at him. (Stole that headcannon from a friend of mine. Thanks Ainnur you ruined my life.)

Mk brought up the fact that Wukong was willing to put the fire into himself and sacrifice himself, almost certainly killing himself in the process one time. Wukong kinda laughed and just said "Yeah, had to save the world bud. It's a shame Macaque messed up my plan, the world woulda been a little bit more peaceful if me AND Lady Bone Demon died." He wasn't even trying to admit suicidal feelings, he was just being honest. This scared the SHIT out of Mk because Wukong just admitted that he can and will kill himself if he feel he needs too.

Sandy often feels left out of the group and not as important but he doesn't wanna ruin everyone's fun so he stays quiet.

Bai he was ready to die when she was found by the Monkie Gang. She wasn't scared of death anymore.

Bai he was scared of Wukong when they first met face to face. Wukong apologized and explained himself. Over time she got a little more comfortable with him. She understands why he's apologizing but at that point she was so ready to die she didn't care who did it.

Redson wants to be around Sun Wukong again but he doesn't know how to start the relationship again. Same on Wukongs part but he's a bit more forward.

Macaque gets physical in fights fast. Partly cause his fights with Peng, Partly cause of his life before Wukong, Partly cause of Lady Bone Demon. If Macaque thinks a situation will get rough, he'll try to fight but if he thinks he'll lose he'll dip.

Princess Iron Fan unintentionally critiques Redsons's looks all the time. It messes with him alot so he's quite insecure.

Mei feels the need to always be upbeat and cheerful so Mk doesn't sink to far into depression. She can tell when he does this for her but she doesn't bring it up.

Pigsy's worst fear is that Mk won't come back home. The nightmares he's had of this is brutal.

I could make more but I'm sleeeeepppy. I'll make a part two one day though. Leave your own headcannons cause seeing other people break down these characters is so fun.

(How some people think Mk will be in season 5)

- ⭐️StarClown⭐️

[hughiecampbelle]

Imagine being the only Supe Homelander is afraid of and dating Annie:

Requested: anon

"Happy?"

"Very." She smiles, waving to the crowd. Homelander watched where his hands were, keenly aware of the many camera angles. Annie already promised you were watching from home. If you didn't like something you saw, if you didn't agree with the way he touched her, he'd be seeing you face to face. That was the last thing he wanted, but you were always looking for an excuse to see him, to put him in his place. The last time he saw you, the last time he dealt with you, it left his heart racing. Homelander hated the way you made him feel. Insecure, and scared, and defensive. Annie loved it. Every chance she could get, she brought you up. Yes, because Homelander didn't like you, but also because she loved you and was proud of you.

"Gonna keep your guard dog on a leash?" He asks through grit teeth, his smile never faltering. You and Homelander were eerily similar. Where you had a relatively normal upbringing, he was brought up in Vought labs. You were happy, in a healthy relationship. You had friends and a job and cause to fight for. But one on one, you and Homelander matched. You were powerful, feared. You demanded respect. Where you were naturally charismatic, he was violent. That didn't mean you couldn't be, though. The first time you met you were covered in someone else's blood. You showed off your abilities, hurting him in the process. Not just a bruise or bloody nose, you broke his bones. You wrapped your hand around his neck and as hard as he fought back, you were stronger. You let him go, showing him you had more humanity than he did. For weeks, while his leg healed, he hid, not wanting anyone to know someone got the better of him.

"I can't control everything they do, you know that. Play nice and they might behave."

[christinebloodwrittings]

Something exactly like this.

Here we start a new series, at last I regained my love for writing n' reading 🥰

I have no idea how to write Hobie's accent, so apologies for that in advance. Any input and advise is well welcomed ☺️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mention of blood, injuries, fighting, cursing, anxiety.

Words: 2022

Chapter one: What else you got?

"When will you ever grow up?! Going against our path, is going against the family!" My father yelled, speaking about his religion and how I refused to believe in his insanity while punching the table to accentuate his anger.

"Then maybe I was never really a part of this shit family!" A smack on the face, it came from across my step mother that had entered the conversation, "Never come back, insufferable brat" she spit at me.

I had had it with them, so I flipped them off and left with a duffle bag on my shoulder.

As soon as I arrived to the train station and took seat inside the train, my heart broke, tears streamed down my face, like a wild river I tried to hold back when I looked the disappointment in my father's eyes.

Let's start from the beginning, my name is Y/n L/n, and it's been two weeks since I moved to the big city. A friend got me a job on a coffee shop and a small flat near it, without her I would've slept on the streets probably, so I owe her a lot.

Every day is the same! It's going to drive me crazy. I make the minimum for attending crazy fucked up people! Every day is the same compalints, some about the damm prices, the ice cream flavors, the fact that not always we have cash to break a 20, bitch come on, who buys a two dollar coffee with 20 or 100 bucks?? Seriously, people are crazy, and they take it on me just because I'm on the counter almost all the time.

I'm fucking tired.

Then one night, I was doing inventory when Jess, on the subject that I owe her a lot, she practically begged me to accompany her to a very illegal show downtown, on a sketchy bar no less. "I don't know Jess, those shows aren't really my thing, neither is a lot of people on a confined space" you shrugged, "Come on Y/n, my boyfriend is playing the bass, but I don't wanna go alone, maybe I could even present you to a few people, so you have friends, other than me" I looked at her with a stern look, that was the least of my concerns.

"It's just...you look so lonely and sad all the time, maybe you could have some fun, ya' know, to loosen up the stress from work" before she could keep blabbering reasons to go, I caved. "Fine" she yelled a high pitched "Yay" and hugged me.

It's amazing how easy is to get killed in the city nowadays, my first couple of days working I got shocked with how many corpses I encountered as soon as I opened my apartment door, but then I got used to it? I don't throw up as much as before, so that's a start.

But everything is so messy right now, with V.E.N.O.M tasks forces roaming the streets, people instead of being scared, they've become violent. I have no idea how Jess can be so hyped about a show when there's like an 80% chance we'll get killed in the process.

But hey, YOLO right?

Since it was a punk event, she wanted me to "blend in", as to not dress as a total nerd like I always do according to her. So we stopped at her apartment to get ready.

She lend me a plaid mini skirt, mid thigh stockings, a learher jacket that ended mid torso, a dark red shirt with a weird spider logo, a spiky choker and did a very goth or punk-like work on my face.

I didn't recognized myself, but I didn't quite hated it either.

Black boots with chains completed the look according to her, "Ya' look stunnin', honey" she squealed, coming out of the bathroom ready herself, wearing all things similar to mine, with the addition of a oversized denim jacket filled with band related pins and patches.

"Your boyfriend's, I suppose" she turned back to me, blushed slightly, "He gifted this to me, he's so cool and corny, I love him so much".

I am jealous of her. Her boyfriend has stopped by work a few times, he's tough but nice and very likeable. I could tell he would go to hell and back for her.

I was so fucking jealous of that.

The place wasn't really far from my apartment, which would allow me to slip away in case I needed it, oh boy, not even two seconds inside and I already wanted to run away.

It was a mess of all kinds of black dressed people, like the pride parade but goth, punk and violently weird. Jess seemed to be fine around the mess, she was a natural, totally in her element.

There was this feeling climbing up my spine, weakening my knees and my lungs, anxiety making her debut.

"C'mon let's get to the front before they start playin', otherwise we won't be able to see shit!" She pulled me across the sea of leather and spikes, I sensed a lot of stares and wolf whistles, probably not for me, but it felt so alien to me.

The group made its introduction, the crowd wildly started screaming and jumping, shoving us against the fence that kept us away from the stage. The amps to the limit, and the people jumping and shoving, everything begun to spin, in a haze I believed myself to be drunk but totally sober, "Jess! I wanna leave" I tried to scream but she couldn't hear me. Couldn't move either, trapped in between the fence I could only close my eyes in hopes the pain in my ears and my chest would end soon.

A hand took mine, out of a sudden I was on the other side of the fence. Due to the momentum I clashed against a bunch of pins and chains, "Follow me" He said, not ever letting my hand go, he lead me backstage, where the sound of the still going music and cheering was a bit muffled, barely bearable.

"Better?" I looked up to him, he had a wild black mane, piercings on his brows and his lower lip, stunning factions and he was built amazingly. "Yeah, sorry about the trouble" he chuckled at my embarrassment, "S' nothin', stay here all you need" he winked and rushed back to the stage, the screaming intensified as soon as he did.

A while later, Jess got to the backstage by the arm of her boyfriend, "Oh, honey I'm so sorry, are you feeling okay now?" I shook my head, hugging myself in absolute embarrassment. "'m gonna head back, sorry" she held me as soon as I was about to leave, "First, your knight in denim armor, Hobie I can't thank you enough" she thank him.

So that was his name, Hobie.

"No problem, that was a bad edge" his accent was so thick that's all I got to hear him say. "Hobie we need to scram, they are on their way, get the explosives" said none other than Jess's boyfriend, "Another raid? But babe" she whined, not caring about the sudden violence about to be unleashed apparently.

"Jess we need to leave, now!" I tried to take her away, but she resisted and shoved my hand away from hers, "I'm actually gonna stay for this one, Spider-Man might actually appear this time" She excitedly left with her boyfriend.

How could she just left when there was going to be another raid outside?! "Why today, I knew I shouldn't have come to this stupid thing!" Searching routes, but nothing came to mind, the sound of the tasks forces was loud, and the one from the rebellion was even more so.

Everything went down because of Oscorp taking over, then Spider-Man showed up to shake up the masses into a furious rebellion, it bothered me tat the rebels acted as if the destruction, the purchase of weapons from gangsters, and the eternal bustle, would change the fact that V.E.N.O.M had almost completely taken over the streets. The rebellion regained territory in the last assault, but in that hell several young people died, and not even Spider-Man could do anything about it.

Usually I don't get into that shit, because for fun I rather go dancing at the club, though I admit I threw a Molotov at a task forces's car, once the opportunity presented itself.

When I got out, everything was smoke, explosions, people running, crying and shouting with hate. The alley that led to the passage where I would hopefully make it to my apartment was across the fire. I plucked up my courage and ran, a little difficult because of the platforms on my shoes, the damn mini skirt, and because of the shooting that started when I managed to jump over the puddle of burning gasoline.

I fell and hit all the cement on my legs and arms, I got up quickly because the adrenaline was stronger than the bullet that grazed my knee, so I managed to take refuge in the back of the building.

"Where you think you goin' bitch" A cop grabbed my arm, seeing that I resisted him the baton on his other hand hit the back of my knees and then I had no other choice but to fall, the cut on my knee bleeding even more, but I couldn't feel it yet.

He rises the baton to hit me again, but it got swooped off his hand, in about a second that same cop was literally mummified to the wall, all covered in spider webs.

"You okay?" Red and blue suit, spikes on the head of the mask, denim jacket and boots, yeah a hero alright. "Peachy" He just saved me, but the bitterness from my friend bailing on me, the recent anxiety attack, the raid, the pulsing wound that I made the mistake of acknowledge, and the posible bruise from the baton, got to me pretty fast.

"Go save the others, I'm fine" he didn't moved, instead he stretched his hand towards me, "Let me take you some'ere safe first" normally I would've sent him to hell itself, but taking everything into consideration, I ended up agreeing.

As soon as I took his hand, he pulled me up and into his arms. He secured my waist with his arm, "By the green building is alright" he nodded then fired his web, without warning he took flight, taking an even firmer grasp on my waist.

Meanwhile I hid my face on his neck and yelled a bit.

As soon as we landed I shoved myself off of his grasp, clinging to the fire stairs railing for dear life, "Bit nauseous there love?" He joked, "A warning would've been appreciated" I swallowed the bit of puke that threatened the back of my throat, "But thanks, I'll take it form here".

My knees quivered when trying to make a decent step, the pulsing hurt behind my legs, "Ya' sure?" He asked, getting at a safe distance from my pathetic state, "Yeah, now aren't you needed elsewhere?" He slightly laughed at my embarrassment, "That can wait, they were holding it up, a'right" I could hear his smile under that mask.

"Need help there, love?" He offered, making it sound more like a tease, his hand reaching towards me once more, "I'll be careful" He promised. I caved again, after all, I lived in the eighth floor.

"Now we're good, night spiderman" I tried to close the door but he stopped it with his combat boots, "What" he stayed silent for a second, "Not even a kiss?" He joked? I couldn't tell because of the mask, then he just leaned on the doorframe. I genuinely laughed, like I haven't in a while, "Thanks for the laugh, maybe next time you save me, I'll give you that kiss, how's that?" He tilted his head a bit, like thinking, then just nodded.

I think he was about to say something, but an explosion on the raid site got to his attention, "I think you're needed" When I turned my head around he had already left.

[solomons-poison]

okay so hear me out. for the kinds of kisses prompt that you reblogged. satan from obey me and the prompt "kissing them while tending to their wounds". like he gets angry with someone (not mc) and gets injured somehow and mc tends to his wounds.

Aww I like that idea! I'm sure Satan would love MC tending to him, and I think it's nice to imagine comforting Satan that way after he's in a fight. This one got away from me a little bit lol, the paragraphs are a little long but I'm still keeping to my 5 paragraph rule

Satan x GN!reader

♡ sharing a kiss while cleaning their wounds

Satan was always so careful about his fits of rage these days. In the beginning, of course, he let his emotions fly loose and could be incredibly cruel, a true demon in his personality and viciousness. But after meeting you, he became cautious, careful, a sweeter side emerging as he embraced other emotions besides his rage. Although you'd never deny him his natural sin, he knew you didn't like it when he was violent, and he never wanted to scare you away by doing something wrong. But sometimes it just took the wrong comment or someone's stupidity and it was easy, then, to give in and let his rage take him.

That's what led to now, as he trudged into the House of Lamentation, covered in some cuts and bruises, drying blood stuck in his hair and clothes. Someone at R.A.D. had made a less than savory comment about you, making disgusting implications about you and the Devildom's most powerful, that instantly made his blood boil, and all he could see was red. The fight was over before he knew it, his opponent barely being able to limp away at the end, and he instantly hated himself for what he'd done. It mostly just looked worse than it was, asides from the ache developing in his bones. He had hoped to maybe slip past you, get himself fixed up before you found out what happened, but of course you stumbled across him first.

Regardless, he hated being dishonest with you. As much as it would hurt, he still made sure to be up front about these things, made sure to never lie about something so important. He had earned your love and your trust, and he was so, so careful in keeping it. But that didn't stop his heart from feeling like someone was squeezing it tight when he saw the look on your face, a mixture of worry and fear as you took in his sight. He knew it wasn't fear of him, you always reassured him of that. (Sometimes he worried too if your life wasn't at risk being with someone like him.) But rather you feared for his safety.

It was almost comical, the fragile little human worrying about the safety of a near-immortal being with a great amount of power. He could even use magic to heal most wounds, not much worse for wear by the end of it. But he knew you better than that. You weren't a fragile creature, you were stronger than most people he knew. Perhaps not physically, but your courage and honestly gave you strength beyond his measures. And you were always there when he needed you, ready with your little first aid kit and careful hands to pour your strength into him, help him heal with your touch.

As he watched you patch up his wounds, now cleaned up after a shower, his earlier rage was now replaced with overflowing love and adoration. It was incredible the way you affected him, turned him around and let him experience so many new feelings while being so forgiving to his darker side. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to verbalize just how much it all meant to him, how much you meant to him. But as he leaned forward to press a kiss to your lips, warmed from his hot shower but warmer from his heart beating wildly, he hoped that perhaps his feelings still came through this way, at least. And given the way your hands paused in your tender care, eyes fluttering shut to lean into him, give in to his touch, it reassured him a little that it did.

—

Send me a type of kiss and a character!

[whatwooshkai]

ANGST

couldn't get this scenario out of my head. ended up being really long so I stuck it under the cut.

Heatwave's yelling, but Quint can't hear a word he says.

It's already been too long of a day, and it's barely noon- Baz had an episode this morning, Saint knocked over the tar, and Quicksilver fried the power grid again.

And now Heatwave's here, clearly in a shitty mood, and making it Quint's problem.

He's just a kid, he tells himself, lightly patting his thighs in an attempt to ground himself. He needs you. You've just gotta support him.

How am I supposed to support him if I can't even look at him?

Quint reaches out and grabs Heatwave's shoulder, holding him an arm's length away. He can feel the kid's too-fast sparkbeat thrum angrily through his frame, can feel the reverberations of his shouting. He still can't understand a word.

Vent in, vent out. Quint doesn't say anything, just leans a little more of his weight against Heatwave. What the hell am I doing? Why can't I-

Oh. Heatwave's hitting him now, whacking oddly thrown punches against his hip and torso. I taught him proper form, didn't I? He must be really upset.

Ooh, that one actually hurt. Shit. Just. Do. SOMETHING!

"Will you-" Bang. "-just-" Bang. "-fucking-" Bang. "-look at me!"

Something feels like it snaps. Or maybe it doesn't. Either way, it feels like Quint is underwater when he obeys the request, slow moving through a heavy-gravitational atmosphere. Lethargic. Delayed. Wrong.

There, leaning against him, attacking and looking for a fight, is himself. Smaller, younger, Quint. A mech who made so many mistakes, did so many things wrong, and yet. And yet who had the audacity to treat the world like it had hurt him. A mech he hated.

He stares down at himself, still shouting, hitting, crying out for attention, and says the thing he wishes someone had said to him thousands of years ago.

"WILL YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP?"

Something about all this clicks in his processor the second the ladder slips past his digit-tips, that he can't possibly be seeing himself. He's never been prone to hallucinations, and there's no physical aspect to that, is there-

Heatwave. Holy fuck, HEATWAVE.

It's like his optics blink back on- the florescent lighting of the training room floods his vision as he cycles his optics, once, twice, three times. His servos are shaking. He thinks he might purge at the sight on front of him.

Heatwave, trapped against the wall. There's a ladder, one of Quint's ladders, parallel to the floor, buried deep in the wall, trapping Heatwave's neck in. The glass of his windshield is smashed with the metal around it dented. Blood drips off the sharp edges.

He's used that move before. Smacking someone with a ladder then trapping them with it.

He could've killed him.

"Are you okay?" Quint's voice comes out staticy, and the ladder shivers under his servos, shaking violently. "Are you- oh, Primus, you're not, I-"

Heatwave's looking at him strangely. "You have to teach me that move," he says softly, awed, but there's a slight shake to his voice. He's in pain. Scared. His field isn't hiding shit.

Quint tucks the ladder back into his frame, crouching. "Yeah. Yeah, I can teach you." He offers a servo to Heatwave. After a moment of hesitation, he takes it, and Quint yanks him into a hug, careful of his chassis.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers. "I didn't mean to hurt you. Or scare you. I'm sorry. Primus, I'm so- you're hurt. You're bleeding. Let me fix it."

Heatwave's quiet and stiff in his arms, but he tentatively returns the hug. "Yeah. I kind of... can't walk around like this."

"Right," Quint mumbles.

"I'm not scared of you," Heatwave says, voice a little stronger now. "I've had worse."

"You shouldn't be scared," Quint assures, then quieter, he adds, "you're not me."

The slight pulse of his field makes Quint wonder if he understands. He hopes he does. He doesn't want to have to say it.

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

*points* you've been talking a lot about ruju lately so let's do fear, guilt, hunt, and secret for him (for that ask meme) >:)

oc asks: not-so-nice edition

Ty so much for giving me an excuse to talk about The Rat™ even if this is very, VERY late... And long. Whoops. This is going under a cut, I think all of your dashes will thank me for that later.

I'll stick to just his Commander verse for this batch!

fear: What is your OC's greatest fear? What do they do when confronted with it? Are they open with their fear, or do they hide it away?

At his core, what Ruju fears most is feeling helpless.

There aren't a lot of times in the present that he's truly cornered, but in his youth it was a lot more obvious; he learned early on just how cruel his peers could be, and how eager they were to circle even the smallest hint of blood in the water. So he stopped showing the world he was scared. He buried it all deep, deep down and put on the air of confidence and aggression worn by so many Inquest because, well, nobody dares to mess with THEM, right? Better to blend in with the sharks than wind up as chum for the real deal.

But helplessness is more complicated than just being cornered in a fight. He's afraid of so much more than that; that his choices won't matter, that everything he's done will be for nothing, that forces he can't control will steamroll it all no matter what he does, that he just plain isn't enough for the role he's trying to fill. That fear only grew more and more as each dragon fell, the next picking up more and more new powers from each one he's taken down. What if he's just making it worse? What if that monstrous version of himself from the Infinity Ball was right-- what if the future really is unavoidable?

What if the one obstacle he'll never be able to surpass is himself?

Ruju doesn't let anyone see the deeper layers of his motivation, though. He pushes harder, fights fiercer, burns brighter. He won't let anyone see him falter. At its worst, it creates a vicious cycle of intense impulsiveness and aggressive independence, rushing past everyone else to reduce the number of variables and just deal with it. His solutions are direct and violent; as long as it works, he doesn't really care what the consequences are. And more importantly, it gives an outlet to his burning need to do something.

It takes a long time and a lot of work for Ruju to start trusting and leaning on others more instead. Even then, though, his most natural instinct is still to bristle like a cornered animal-- and if you jam your hand where it shouldn't be, he might not pause long enough to consider whether you're a friend or a foe. Watch your fingers, he bites.

guilt: What is your OC guilty about? How do they handle their guilt? Do they try to avoid guilt, or do they accept it?

While there's lots of little things-- rude remarks, losing his temper, impulsive choices, and so on-- those he usually apologizes for shortly after. He hates leaving things to fester. Ruju knows himself well enough to recognize that if he doesn't deal with it right then, he'll default to option 2 which isn't particularly great for anybody.

By far Ruju's heaviest guilt is the knowledge he bears of the future, and what he might become for reasons not even he understands. The only person who knows prior to EoD is Zojja-- and he had no more contact with her than anybody else by that point. While he wants to believe that he's fighting to make the world better, there's always a part of him that's afraid the 'Sovereign' was right and the path he's following is going to doom the entirety of Tyria. Ruju hopes that he's making better choices this time, but how can he know for sure?

What if he's just leading all these people right to their doom?

But he handles that just about as well as he handles his guilt about being a notorious college bully: avoidance. He just tries not to think about it, focusing on the future and keeping himself busy and hoping it never comes up again. It doesn't work particularly well, though, once the void finally shows itself-- and at that point he cracks.

Ruju has something that his other, doomed version didn't, though.

When he falters, he has people who care enough to catch him.

And once everything is out in the open, he does confront it; it's a complicated conversation (and one not even Taimi dares to make more than a single jab about) but it does lead to Ruju becoming much more honest moving forward. After all it's not like he can get any worse than THAT, right? 'Possibly causing the apocalypse' is a bit hard to beat.

hunt: Who or what is your OC hunted by? A person, a feeling, a past mistake? Is your OC able to let their guard down, or are they constantly alert?

The shadow looming over Ruju's shoulder has always been his own-- his past and his future. He never really felt its weight until the Infinity Ball showed him one of his potential futures in all its grisly, self-destructive glory, but knowing what he does now? Ruju is keenly aware of his own impulsiveness and is in a constant fight to choose a better path; in more ways than one he really is his own worst enemy.

And if not that, there's his unstable magic to worry about, too. His fiery disposition isn't just in personality; Ruju's power is destructive, and at times it can be a genuine challenge to keep it in check.

But as time progressed and he gained meaningful bonds of trust, learning to lean on his friends and allies... He's gradually come to realize that the best way to keep himself in check is to rely on people who can catch him when he stumbles. Ruju has found exactly the support network that his doomed timeline never had-- and together they ensure that the future he witnessed will never come to pass.

The Doomed Sovereign was wrong; there may be no delaying the future, but that doesn't mean you can't choose how it goes.

By the time the Dragon Cycle ends, he finally knows they've won.

secret: What's one secret your OC never wants anyone to know about them?

There's actually a reason Ruju's magic is so potent and unstable.

His parents worked at the Crucible of Eternity, with his mother being a high-ranking researcher working directly under Kudu. As a refresher crash course: Kudu's whole deal was controlling and weaponizing dragon corruption, with him even applying Branded corruption to HIMSELF so that he could control powerful dragon minions.

His mother wanted to be home more, but her position also required long hours-- so she took to bringing some research materials to her home lab, continuing her studies right under their roof. While she was out, Ruju got into her lab and tried to 'assist' with her research; after all, if all her work was done then she'd have more time to spend with her family, right? But, well, he didn't exactly know what any of this stuff was, or just how dangerous it could be.

The ensuing lab accident destroyed basically all the records they had so far, along with making him deathly ill from exposure to multiple heavily altered strains of dragon corruption. They didn't expect him to survive, let alone make a full recovery seemingly unscathed.

But when he did recover, while Ruju didn't show any obviously visible signs of dragon corruption... He did develop some extremely unusual qualities that they couldn't quite explain. A lot of the top secret research that the asura kept under wraps about dragon minions? They confirmed it from secretly studying him. The biggest breakthroughs were confirmations of dragon minions absorbing magic-- something they directly observed from him accidentally draining nearby power sources and reacting to ambient magic-- and being able to stabilize strains enough for Kudu to weaponize.

Ruju never knew about this until he got into the records at the Crucible of Eternity, though. Zojja saw it too, but they never really talked about it; after all, what was there to say?

And after seeing how the world felt about the sylvari... He decided that there was no way he could EVER tell anyone what he was.

If they couldn't even handle the comparatively stable liberated minions of a dragon, they definitely wouldn't be able to handle a medically inexplicable volatile freak like him. Most running theories in the present are that it has to do with being the Champion of Aurene, and he's certainly not about to tell them otherwise.

[bluezeri]

rambling about connor and noah to my friend who doesnt even know whta im talking about so i figured i should post it here

plus ao3 link if anyone wants to read it on there

anyway heres the actual rambling below the cut

Thinking about the things Horror!Connor said to Noah before anyone knew he was a horror. Thinking about how over the past year Noah had well and truly come to believe that this was the only person to see the good in him other than Devon (who was currently a ghost and the person he "murdered" so he doesn't really count). thinking about how even though he got his boyfriend killed, Connor had come to love him anyway. He really, really came to believe over many months of convincing that Connor loved him 

and then,,,, they revived Devon, and everything was fine for about 2 days. And then Devon woke up, and connor was acting weird, and then everything Connor had previously tried to convince him of came crashing down when Connor started lashing out at him, telling him he had murdered devon, that it was his fault. he didn't even- he didn't even know what to do, what to think 

he didn't even get time to process it anyway, because 3 hours laters he's staring at connor chained to a chair in the basement, practically frothing at the mouth, skin pale and veiny, and his eyes no longer that grey-blue shade he loved so much, instead a sickly bright cyan that pierced straight through his soul. All he could do was grip Devon's hand tightly, as they both vowed to save Connor

Noah loves Connor, so, so much. he didn't think he could love anyone as much as Devon, but here he was, after realising that connor does actually blame him for Devons death (<- he doesn't, but Noah is unreliable narrator of the year <33) and still doing everything in his power to save him 

Hey, he owed him that much, didn't he?

–

Connor remembers it

his descent into being a horror was weirdly slow, and no one ever really figured out why. but he could remember hearing thoughts that weren't his- violent thoughts, thoughts that scared him

he brushed them off though, they had enough to worry about, and he figured this was just his way of processing his moms death

 by the time he realises, it's too late to stop. he hates it, can't stand the voices invading his mind. he tries to fight it, he really does, but before he knows it, his mouth and throat are working together to curse Noah out against his will, telling noah the opposite of what he's been trying to convince Noah of for months, undoing all love he's tried to give to noah, that he's only just recently managed to convince he was deserving of

he wants to cry, except he can't, as the power takes over. and like before, he can only watch as he threatens not only his friends, but the two people he loves most in the world

 and then things get hazy. And then he's so angry. He's so angry that he finally manages to break the chains binding him. He sees Noah, registering the pure fear on his face, and laughs at it. but Noah was not his priority. He wanted the bastard that killed his mother, and he got him. 

found him, eventually, he's not really sure where, nor does he really care. He ripped his heart out, threw it against whatever wall was nearby (a cave? when did he get in a cave??), and then– 

he could sense them. his sweethearts. the ones he promised an cruel and painful death 

he raised his head, trying to find them with his eyes first. but his vision was hazy too, bathing everything in anger and hate and blood, and then... noah was there 

he didn't really register him at first. didn't register much of anything except kill kill kill- but he recognised that- that voice. 

that voice that spoke so softly, so gently to him, like.... when they cooked together, and noah was trying to teach him how cut vegetables correctly without chopping his own fingers off, or like when they were rewatching some shitty horror movie for the 5 time that week, making fun of the terrible cgi and stupid character 

and then his hands appeared. soft, barely calloused from handling weapons, long, bony fingers. raised in a gesture of peace and surrender. he liked holding them, he remembered. he likes rubbing his thumbs over his knuckles to calm him down, and liked when they linked their pinkies together, with burning ears and cheeks, avoiding each other's gaze and then giggling about it like idiots 

and then... through the haze, he could make out a face. Noah's face. the face that he's woken up to for the past 3 months, kissed even longer than that, and pined for even longer than that. the face that scrunches adorably no matter when he's in. the face that- that he loves and holds and hes doesnt want to hurt

and the noah must see his rage filled expression softening out into confusion despite the darkness of the cave, calls out his name worriedly, and rushes to catch him as rowans powers finally cleanse him 

he doesnt think about the things he's done, he’ll save that crisis for a later date. Instead, he only looks up at Noah with tired, wet eyes. 

"i love you." he barely croaks out, and noah looks back at him, with that scrunched up face, cheeks wet with tears that he desperately wants to reach up and wipe away if it weren't for his current lack of strength, and he responds by cradling Connors face and saying "I love you, too." and then connors eyes fall shut, and slips into unconsciousness

[simperoniandcheese]

The One Time I Wasn't There - Part 3 (oh my god someone pinch me) - The Fact That He's Always Been Here Scares Me (whump, please read de tags!)

A cloud.

Her mind was in an isolated cloud, alone, up where the air was thin enough to kill.

She would've preferred it that way. But try as she might, Cora considered herself to be severely lacking in the 'luck' department.

Except for when she found the family that took her in and invited her for dinner and made her feel emotion again.

19 year old Cora Vasquez, if asked what she would be doing once she had a day off, would scoff in the asker's face, fill her calendar up with work, work, and more work just to let people know that she was fine, thank you very much.

Because, after everything that she'd gone through, why should she let anyone in? If she trusted, she believed she'd lose everything.

And she still believes it now. Just less.

That year, Cora spent her Christmas looking out of the coffee shop's window at the families passing by, wrenching her gaze away from the wooly mittens of the children, or the snow-bitten but smiling faces of their parents.

And she's been chasing after so many unreachable things that she hasn't paid any attention to the things that really matter.

The squad and all the jokes, gags and fake blackmail they had accumulated over the years.

When Ryan brought his new cat in and the whole room went to chaos.

Burl's leaving party, and how it was extended a whole week because nobody wanted him to retire, and "leave us with the choir boy!".

The little clump of girls that worked in the force that gathered every Friday at Farrell's for drinks. Somehow, a handful of guys would be dragged along with them. Cora didn't think she'd ever get to see or hear her own boss do an impression of 'Total Eclipse Of The Heart' on the old karaoke machine.

She loved it though, regardless. TJ was just an angel, and she loved it.

She loved him.

She'd taken so long to realise that the coffees he refused to let her pay for, the sideways glances when he thought she was looking at the case files, the warm smiles, all of it was for her.

TJ Caruso was a pain in the ass, but he was also her closest friend, her mentor, and (even if she hated it) he was and had her whole heart.

She just didn't know how to express it anymore.

It had been 3 weeks, and the staff had informed everyone that today would likely be her last day in anesthesia because of the thinning they'd commenced in the meds about 5 days ago.

And TJ was working late that evening.

The night before, he'd (like every day since the shooting) gone to talk to her about everything and nothing at the same time. How all the detectives and officers were doing, stories that his father had told his friends too many times to count, how his day was going (she'd definitely laugh at this)

He'd been researching all the information he could find on induced comas, and other related things, so he didn't screw up and could help her the best he could. She deserved only the best, after all, she was the definition of best in his opinion.

Smart, funny, and god, if he looked too many times at her on a normal day, he'd usually be wound up for the rest of their shifts.

Is that bad? It's probably bad. Oh dear.

TJ swiped the weariness out of his eyes with the back of his hand, resettling on his desk chair to get a better angle of the witness's hastily-scribbled report.

He'd have to re-assess it in the morning.

She winced as the iron-tang of blood hit her in the face, and as she looked slowly, drowsily down at her body, where a swathe of bandage was secured around her waist down to her stomach, the other stretch of white which was on her arm being eased off by a stressed looking nurse, and she jolted her head away, fighting her gag reflex as red skin peeled away from the single yellowish, angry sore that must've been one of the places she'd gotten shot.

"Can I have some water?" She cringed as her raspy voice reached her ears, and started to cough violently.

"You're awake!" The nurse perked up a little, then upon hearing Cora's condition, she blanched.

"Hold on, let me just, Callie!" she got up off her knees, calling for who was presumably the other late-shifter assigned to this ward.

A head popped around the curtains, and the nurse who was changing the dressings motioned something with her hands, and Callie took off again, nodding.

"Was that..Is she deaf? I hope you don't mind me asking," Cora asked with wide eyes, her face alight in interest.

"No, Callie is just mute, the kind soul, so we use ASL here to communicate with them and also it's kind of easier to gesture than to speak." The woman smiled. "Ooh, I was also going to say, there was a young man at the front desk asking to see you a few hours ago, he looked so worried, poor thing..."

She sharply looked up from picking her fingernails, a jolt of surprise zipping through her nerves as she stared at the nurse.

"Is that..alright? We can send him away, so many women here get visitors-"

"No, no please don't. Can you um, possibly let him in as soon as you can? I really need to tell him something, before it's too late and I fuck up again." Cora half-begged, not caring if her nerves showed through her voice. She'd had enough of holding her tongue anyway.

Callie returned, her curly red hair falling slightly out of place as she lowered down to give Cora the water, and a mutual smile of gratitude was shared between them before she stepped back into the seat of her desk, her eyes trained on the screen as it lit up her face in the midnight lighting.

"I can maybe ask around for you in a few hours, I think you should get some rest while you can, First, before that happens, I need to change your dressings." She answered warmly from the other side of the room, where she was dropping the used equipment into a yellow bag.

Cora nodded, tapping on the small cannula that snaked off the bed, behind her, where it connected to a small bag of what looked like water, even though it clearly wasn't water.

As the nurse came over, she took Cora's forearm in her hands affably, and in a second or two, there was a fresh sheet of cloth on her wound, the sting of ointment felt easily beneath the layer.

"Right, so I'm not trying to be weird, but since the other bandage is around your torso, I'm going to need you to loosen and pull down your gown,"

"Oh, okay. Also, I was wondering, what's your name, so I can stop referring to you as 'kind woman'?"

The lady laughed a little, her eyes crinkling at the sides, easily visible even through the lack of light.

She looked a little bit like Cora, if she was going to say anything about it, minus her bleached hair tips and her long high-ponytail.

"It's Frieda, but lots of people find that weird, so just Freya if you're one of those people." She smiled, looking back at Cora as the curtains were drawn quickly.

As she untied the small knot in the back of her hospital clothing, Cora looked the other way awkwardly as the nurse produced an intimidating roll of fresh cloth, covering her chest with her hands.

Sooner than she'd thought, the cold sensation of the ointment on her overheated skin made her stomach flip, and she let out a small, surprised yelp, at the amusement of Frieda, who was focused on her patient's side.

She was muttering words under her breath as she worked, even if Cora wasn't looking her way, she silently wondered how working in a hospital would be different from working in the squad. Did they have the same kind of banter? Was it harder on your mental health?

Most of all, did the nurses fall in love with their boss?

That was a weird question.

As soon as the bandage had been secured around her waist and lower chest, she got to work, busying herself with the strings of the gown as Frieda once again returned to the yellow bag, then checked on the IV drip.

"I'll just go now and tell your poor friend he can see you," Frieda announced airily as she opened the curtains, and the light, as little as it was, poured in. Cora gulped, hoping she wouldn't start crying like she had the last time she'd been as low as she was.

Which, funnily enough, she hadn't even apologized for.

She'd been angry at everything that night, not to mention tired, still drowsy from whatever Warren put in the champagne, and she'd taken it out on poor Anthony, who'd just been trying to help. She failed to ask his dad where his son had been when the reception took place, eventually finding out that he went through something that was probably worse than what she had from the grapevine of chatter that circulated around the offices, since TJ was conveniently ushered out of the room whenever she came into it by anyone who was there at the time.

But despite TJ's physical presence (and the warmth and light and love he brought) being absent from the too-long hallways that her boots loved to echo on as she tried to sort her shit out on the walk to and from a taxi (she'd been too terrified to use her car), she'd still think of him.

And it helped chase her demons away for a while.

Wiping her eyes a little, she wondered how far from the ward TJ was, and if she would have any time to bury herself underneath the sheets and sleep.

[fox-daddy]

Random facts about my Mc's spoiler edition. Warning, spoilers.

Kyle;

Out of my Mc's was the one to spend the least amount of time under Julian. Pretty much only studying under him for about a week or two before moving the Lazaret to work as a nurse.

Despite having the title of plague dr. Kyle was actually more of a nurse/assistant. Being in charge of helping plague dr.s preform their attempts to cure the plague. Helping patients feel more comfortable.

Due to this role he had very little contact with Vladimir.

#487 (it makes a plague dr face.)

Their argument with Asra never become yelling but it was still quiet intense. While Kyle did raise his voice it still never got to the point of either of them shouting. The closest being a sharp growl and exaggerated hand movements to vent out the feelings.

Growls and muttering the entire way to Julian's clinic along with jump stomps and normal stomps. (Was never physically violent but finds a big jump stomp helps vent the angry energy he gets out. Has better ways of dealing with it post-plague unless it's that bad. Then he'll do it in private.)

The quickest of my Mc's to succumb to the plague partly due to not fighting the drs when they said it was time having already accepted his fate the moment his sclera turned red. Caught it in the morning ash by nightfall.

Hunter;

Had the most 'explosive' fight with Asra. Ended up with Asra having to leave the argument. (This does leave Asra with the feeling maybe if they had approached it better it would've had a different result. But deep down they know it wouldn't've)

Violently kicked a wall before heading to Julian's clinic/the palace. Hurt their toe badly which they had to heal with magic.

#420 (found dr #420 and forced convinced them to give them that number.)

Worked closely with Vladimir unlike Kyle and did a lot of gross work.

Wasn't a qualified dr but would look into other people's work and pick up where they left off.

Took a bit before they caught the plague. As they kept super clean hating blood and gross stuff. But still not too much longer than the typical plague dr.

Showed the most resistance to being sent to the Lazaret. Escaping onto the streets to roam before being forced onto an over crowded boat. Once there they weighed up drowning trying to swim back or fire.

Picked the fire because it was more dramatic but you can bet they drank like it was the end of the world. (Which it kind of was for them.)

The plague drs were scared they were going to punch them so let Hunter do their thing until too drunk to fight back.

Their red irises almost seemed to bleed into their red sclera causing completely red eyes with a black dot in the center for their pupils.

Bluebell;

#248

Was the only qualified dr our of the Mc's and thus did a lot of plague dr work.

Took the longest to catch and succumb to the plague. Having strong healing magic to help fight the magical side and keeping clean.

Was forcefully snuck out by Julian saying dying on the Lazaret while horrible would be better than being cut open while still alive.

Similarly to Hunter wondered the streets but instead of getting drunk tried to help as many people as they could.

When sent to the Lazaret it was because they could bearly stand anymore. Using their healing magic to heal themselves as much as they could. Healing drains you. Eventually a plague dr told Bluebell it was time to let go. As they were bearly grasping concussions when the flames took them.

They had the least dramatic argument with Asra. Firmly stating they weren't leaving but ultimately calmly walking out. Too calmly.

Unlike with the anger of Hunter or the determination of Kyle it just left a cold feeling like ice. Their was no fiery determination for Asra to remember no passionate spark. Just an already tired dr with healing magic and a cold see you later, that turned into a goodbye.

[crimsun-n-clover]

psa to every parent who thinks i’m a good christian teenager who is a total sweetheart

—your child loves me for being batshit, gay, and a complete dick to anyone who doesn’t like that.

—i fight dirty physically because i’m no more than an edgy little paperweight. i have probably given your kid a lesson on beating the goddamn daylights out of somebody effectively.

—i learned latin to make up incantations on the spot to scare the shit out of old christians who say shitty things to and about me.

—i have definitely at LEAST helped your kid roll their stats for their character sheet because if i love you, you’re joining my nerd game. everyone has a portion of a sheet done, and some people have multiple. many of them are named after musicians, which is only mildly terrifying.

—your offspring probably chose the loud music you hear from my car. unless they admit they’ve never even heard of misfits or whatever, in which case, i picked because jesus FUCK kid, it’s like no one loves you. do you need to me to break you out? because i know a guy-

—they come over and read my violent comic books. enough sex, drugs, and radioactive queers in spandex to set your little brain ablaze.

—they are picking up my vocabulary. when your child says “prithee” or “rad as shit” in front of you, that one’s on me.

—no one teaches a better lesson than someone who understands the law and how to get around it (moonshiner blood in me says vroom fast car government eat my ass hit the pigs. punk mindset says they’ll drag me down and i’ll take them with me if i can’t just get out if it), and your kid is now a disciple of my gospel (bad music, bad words, bad behavior)

also a lot of people think i’m a satanist but nah. i just hate god. jesus and i would be BROS though. satanists tend to be a bunch of neonazis so noooo thank you.

i had a VERY long day of being a horrific influence on the youth.

not that i encourage illegal behavior, but when a sheltered little 15 year old mentions wanting to try shoplifting, you read them their goddamn rights and tell them which tags scream when you hit the towers by the door.

she was gonna do it anyway, i taught her some stuff to keep her nose clean while she gets out the urge.

can’t have the lil bastard getting a criminal record before she even gets a job. just doing my older sibling duties.

i showed her the joys of ranch on fries and she admitted that i’m right about it being the best thing to put on them.

and we got ice cream and i won a claw machine so like i’m livin the dream out here

[wrenqueenisboss]

Thantophobia - c!Technoblade x gn!reader

Table of Contents - Masterlist

Warnings: blood, violence, war, injury, murder, grief, mild language Pronouns: you/yours, they/them Words: 1.5k+ Summary: Thantophobia- the fear of losing someone you love Enjoy the c!technoblade angst, people!

~-~-~-

Technoblade absolutely hated losing. For one, it was humiliating. Second, it had been over a decade since that had happened and he had no inclination to break the streak.

The last time he had lost, he had lost everything.

As the village's strongest fighter, he had a lot of weight piled onto his armored shoulders. The armor had been made specially for him by the blacksmith. At ten years old he was too small for the normal sets.

His heart had been too kind for the cruel atrocities of the world. The Nether, with its red earth and perpetually burning fires, seemed more like hell every day.

Gods, his life was punishing. Training was brutal. It had to be, if he was to grow up to be the village's protector.

He grew up too quickly.

To practice, there were sparring matches. At fifteen, he was fighting against the strongest beings around. Every night, he'd return to his family's cabin with dark blood running down his hands.

Everyone knew not to question who it belonged to, for they feared the answer.

And so the little broken boy built himself up.

He worked to become stronger than everything life threw at him. Day after day, more scars marred his skin. Every wound he cleaned himself. For getting help from the village healer was a sign of "weakness".

That was over a decade ago.

The Blood God still hates losing. It hasn't happened in so long. He'd like to keep it that way.

Betrayal doesn't count. That's a setback.

He's had many setbacks.

Technoblade hates making friends. It's dangerous. An emotional attachment to be used against him at the drop of a hat. It makes him scared. He knows how easy it is to be manipulated that way. He knows because he's done it too many times. Watched the way people crumbled when they couldn't saved those they loved.

Technoblade hates that he met you. It's a love-hate thing, actually. You were the kind soul that showed him around the village he had been traveling. You were the one who didn't hesitate to draw your sword and slay the skeleton that had its bow pointed at a small child.

You were kind and brave. Everything he was not. The pigling hybrid preferred to run from his problems. It was easier, for one. And it had a much lower risk of losing.

He finds himself loving each visit to your village more with each time he goes. Your bright eyes make him forget the tapestry of scars he stares at in the mirror every day.

You know who he is, for sure. The gold crown atop his pink hair and the velvet cape across his shoulders are a trademark. You know his dark history, even darker sins. You still accept him as a friend and he is eternally grateful.

Techno gives you a golden bracelet one day, specially carved. The edges are purposefully imperfect, because he knows how you like to rub your fingers around your wrist when you get nervous. Months later, the bracelet is worn smooth. You smile when you find another on the table a few days after.

No one else knows about you, thank the gods. The others in the SMP are too volatile, too violent. He doesn't trust them to not hurt you. He doesn't trust himself with what he'll do if you get hurt.

But still, he goes on a late night patrol with you. It was intended as a patrol. But now it seems more like a moonlight walk. A chilly moonlight walk, because you're shivering. The man tries to keep the blush off of his face as he pulls you close and wraps the cape around your shoulders too.

Techno stares at the ceiling that night, realizing he's let you in to his heart, the one thing he swore to himself would never happen. Because it's dangerous. But he can't bring himself to leave you, so he stays.

Thank the gods he did because you're there to help when the voices rage with demands of violence and rage once more. It's too risky to be sitting so close when the angry voices are chanting. Your embrace is too warm and comforting to break out of, so he stays.

He panics when a note is left tacked to his door. "Say hi to your 'friend' for me" it reads. Signed at the bottom with a simple smile. He sprints to your cottage before a rational thought can convince him not to.

You're safe, just tending to the little garden behind your house when he arrives, breathless and beyond grateful. You are safe, smiling as always. Out of instinct, he just hugs you, pulls you close and inhales the sweet floral scent of your hair.

That one day made him confident, too cocky. He walks for hours with you the next day, just enjoying a little adventure with the person he may-or-may-not love. He doesn't realize that your two close figures are visible from the grounds of the populated parts of the server.

A certain masked man notices with a hidden, malicious smile. He runs the whetting stone over the blade of his axe with a deeper intent. A scarred man sees. He laughs harshly, flicking the coin in his hand a little higher. He smiles when it hits the table and lands on the right side. The cards are lining up for his perfect revenge.

Technoblade walks you back to your cottage that night without a care in the world. Your eyes are too bright, smile too wide for him to be worrying.

He sleeps better than he has in a decade that night. He should have recognized it was a bad omen.

The next day, when he goes to give you another golden bracelet to add to the set, you aren't there. There's a note tacked to your door this time. Still signed with a smile.

Your house is messy. Not messy- a mess. Furniture is thrown everywhere. Pillows are a mess, the feathers dusting everything. Glass is shattered. But worst of all is the obvious gashes in the wood. The cleaner, thin lines are the remnants of a messy sword slash. Your sword. After all, fighting in a little cottage doesn't give a lot of room. No wonder your slashes were messy.

But the plain splits in the wood are unmistakable. The obvious work of an axe. Dream's axe.

Technoblade looks back at the note one more time, this time actually pausing to read what it says.

"you never said hello for me. I had to introduce myself."

He drops to his knees, in shock.

All because he let you in, he's gotten hurt again. He broke a vital rule he set for himself and now another scar is there. One you can't help him treat. One that's nearly impossible to treat himself. Heartbreak. Heartache.

There's absolutely no chance you're alive. No, absolutely none. Because he had been getting too comfortable. The voices had quieted down too much. Dream had left him alone. Dream only leaves people alone before tormenting them.

Technoblade is suddenly a child again, lying still on the sandy floor of the arena in his village. His blood stains the earth and everything hurts. He builds those walls up once again. The stone barriers that kept him sane when everything was meant to break him.

He lives the next week alone, after making a beautiful grave for you. Niki helps him pick out the perfect flowers. Techno leaves the bracelet, the last one you never got, by the carved stone. He makes three more to wear himself. The two of you match, now.

He's setting down a fresh bouquet of flowers when a figure drops down from the trees above. The Blood God doesn't have to turn around to know who it is.

He whirls around, sword already drawn and pointed at the person's neck. "Dream," he snarls, eyes dark. The voices chant horrible things and gods how he wish he could act on them.

It's obvious that the masked man is smiling behind his porcelain veil of malice and mystery. "Ah, Technoblade. How nice it is to see you."

"What the hell do you want?" He demands. The tip of the sword brushes Dream's exposed neck, drawing the smaller trickle of blood.

The server's villain notices the blade in his hand. He lets out a vicious laugh. "Saved your lover's blade, eh? Is it painful, holding that sword and knowing who once held it?" He knocks the blade of the nephrite weapon away from him. "Does it hurt knowing that they're dead because they could use that properly?"

The Blood God swings a punch. The days in the arena come rushing back. The rage the adrenaline. Everything.

With an infuriating chuckle, Dream dodges it gracefully. He springs right back up onto the branch, hanging upside down by his knees.

"Don't feel bad, Technoblade. You just have thantophobia. You hate losing the people you love."

A rustle of leaves, and Dream is gone.

Techno throws the sword to the side, letting it fall harshly to the earth.

It's true. It always has been. He hates losing. It's humiliating. And it's painful, he's learned.

His eyes drift towards your headstone, and the wreath of flowers resting atop its gray surface.

That decade-long streak is gone. Broken in the most painful of ways.

Your death.

~-~-~-

Taglist:

@gray-moon2 @allywritesforfun @pixviepie @i-tradio @cloudslostlibrary @toodeepintofandoms @meimeihershey @ghostofscarley @icarusthefoolish

[love-toxin]

plagas; leon.

a/n: in the midst of some writer’s block i stumbled upon an old concept i never finished. enjoy some good ol’ plaga leon <3

warnings: parasitic possession, yandere leon, female reader, violence, blood, groping, leon’s teasing is just straight up bullying, pet names, almost noncon, slight boot kink, chasing. 

word count: 1.9k

“Leon..?”

The sun had set on your terrifying journey, and cast a shadow over the room you'd found yourself trapped inside. Not by locks this time, or villagers, or Saddler himself...but by the person you had trusted throughout this entire nightmare. The man that had saved your life stood between you and your only way out, and even then, you doubted that you'd be able to escape if you managed to slip past him. The road home was so long and the stifling, smothering Spanish heat had made way for a chilling cold that breezed through your body in the night and froze you to your spot.

And Leon was gone. His mind and body had succumbed to the disease he'd been injected with, the parasite that he'd protected you from...but instead of saving you, now all you felt was panic, fear, and dread when you looked into his eyes. 

“You can’t suck the poison out of this wound, sweetheart...but I won’t stop you if you wanna give it a try.” 

Leon took slow steps around you, his footsteps echoing in the marble hall of the castle as he eyed you up like you were his prey, while his fingers spasmed and twitched at his sides, like they were itching to either grab you or wrap themselves tightly around your throat. So much had happened since he'd rescued you from the farmhouse, and reassured you with infectious confidence that everything would be okay. It felt like a lifetime that you'd known him, even if in reality you'd only spent less than a day together--but running and hiding and waiting for Leon to dispatch any threats made the hours seem so long and torturous. You prayed for his safety at every turn, and felt terror grip your heart as you waited for him to come back and retrieve you from hiding…

And now you were here.

"Saddler wants me to kill you, you're not worth the hassle to him. But to me...you're my treasure. Mine." 

The way that word rolled off his tongue sounded like an echo in your brain. He said it once before, and it stuck with you awhile--but hearing him say it now was like having it permanently seared into your head. 

It wasn’t a secret anymore. You’d fallen in love with Leon, as so many had before. You fell for his confidence, his strength, his effortless teasing and sincere concern for your safety, and maybe it was all just backed by your appreciation for him saving your life and playing the hero so well. But even if it was temporary, you were in love and you wanted him to survive just as much as he wanted to save you, and even if he succeeded and brought you home just for you to never see each other again, there would always be a part of you that loved him, and you had accepted that fact. 

But things had changed. Seeing Leon no longer filled you with relief and happiness, that smug grin on his lips as he greeted you after fighting off monsters you could only imagine in nightmares. He took a step towards you, and this time you took a huge one back--and he chuckled, his tone dark and biting, before continuing on and piercing through you with blood-coloured irises. 

"I found you, I get to keep you. Finders keepers, huh sweetheart? That's fair, isn't it?"

His gaze held nothing less than a deep, ravenous hunger within him, the unsettling smirk on his face in no way easing that tension that weighed heavily on your mind. 

“Maybe I’m just a monster, now...if I am, then so be it. If being a monster means seeing that look on your face forever, then I gotta say, it feels pretty damn good!” 

"Y-You're not Leon!"

His shoulders suddenly tensed like he was about to lunge for you, but letting him have the upper hand would mean the end for you. You knew that fact so well that you acted on instinct, and unsheathed the knife whose handle you'd been stealthily gripping this whole time, to stab it into the eye of the man you wished you could have a life with. And you missed, the realization both relieving and terrifying, as the blade clanged and stuck into the wall behind him and barely clipped a few strands of his light-coloured hair. 

"Is this my knife? Now that's pretty cute,"

A shudder violently wracked your body as Leon's tongue slipped past his lips, and he turned his head to lick a slow stripe up the gleaming, bloodstained blade. He'd ended plenty of lives with that thing, but it seemed as though his own had yet to be one of them. 

"I've played the hero long enough. I want a reward for all my hard work...I want you."

His hand crept up your waist before you could react to it, rough fingers spreading warmth through your stomach as they grazed the exposed skin of your hip. But once you tried to break away from the touch you wished you didn't crave more of, his other hand shot out to grab you by the waist and keep you pressed uncomfortably close to his body, so close that your lips were mere centimeters from his neck and breathing in gave you a good whiff of that faint scent of cologne that still lingered on his skin. 

"Don't fight me, pet. I can already hear you crying for me to use you...you know, you're so cute when you're scared."

You squirmed even still, thrashing and shoving against his chest to try and find some way to twist out of his hold--but moving him was like trying to push a brick wall, and his grip on you got tighter and tighter until you whimpered with pain. The things he was saying just didn't make any sense, and you never wanted the real Leon more than you did in this moment. Knowing what it felt like to have his strength used against you instead of to protect you...it was becoming too much to bear, and in your terror you found comfort in Leon's touch again even if it was brief, his thumbs rubbing circles into your skin and working to relax you enough that you weren't so tense. 

"You're gonna forget all about that fear when I'm balls deep inside you." 

What little comfort you found was gone once he whispered that into your ear. You felt your eyes widen and Leon's fingers worked their way under the waist of your shorts in a moment, the danger so imminent that your reaction ripped itself from your throat in a scream, and you returned to struggling against the unmistakable stiffness that dug into your inner thigh through his tight pants. 

"Leon, stop!"

You wailed, beating your fist against his chest and even catching him in the jaw, not that you really noticed in your frenzy nor did he react save for his brow furrowing in fury. It didn't last forever though, it was easy for him to use his leverage to shove you off, your back hitting the ground hard enough to sting while he loomed over you and watched with sick glee as you trembled too hard to get up. 

"You don't want me to stop. Be honest, doll." 

You weren't expecting this kind of violence from him, especially not when he brought his foot down right between your legs, as was evident by the way you shrieked and tears pricked at your eyes at once. Somehow he managed to aim the heel of his boot right at your clit, and you were certain now that it was by no way an accident by the way he ground into it in slow circles, and watched with a smirk as your hips shakily followed his rhythm of their own volition. 

"You want me to take everything from you, and I swear to you I will. I'll strip you of every inch of your pathetic life and make you mine." 

The pressure was starting to hurt, and your arms shot out to grab his calf and try in vain to wrench him off of your sensitive areas. It seemed to just entertain him, however, and his taunts were starting to sting your broken heart even more than any physical pain he had inflicted. Even worse was watching him lick his lips as he reveled in your suffering, and one of his hands descended beneath the belt of his trousers to stroke himself under the tent that was so clearly obvious. He loved watching you in pain, and nothing but rage bubbled up in your chest from the humiliation of loving somebody so depraved, even if he wasn't really Leon anymore. 

"I hate you,"

You muttered through gritted teeth, trying so hard to hold back your tears that your whole body was shaking. He let slip a soft moan as he twisted his grip on his cock, and didn't stop even as he focused those bloodred eyes on yours and growled in time with an especially rough tug. 

"Liar." 

Leon's grip fastened on your shoulder, but instead of pushing you back down to the filthy ground, he yanked you forwards and crushed your lips against his. Nothing but heat and the scent of blood overwhelmed your senses, your eyes fluttering closed when he started sucking on your lower lip and grazing it with his teeth. You wanted to hate the shivers that snaked up and down your spine from his kiss, but when it was from the man you still loved, it was difficult to brush those feelings aside. It wasn't impossible, however, because when he prodded past your lips with his tongue and moved in close enough for you to feel his cock twitching through his pants, panic flared up in your throat and you bit down on instinct, the coppery tang of his blood flooding your mouth at once. Leon shoved you off him much harder this time, but with the pain causing him to stagger you managed to scramble to your feet and back away a few steps to get some distance. But the fear of turning your back to him kept you frozen in place.

"You wanna be a brat, huh?"

Despite inflicting some much deserved pain, his glare barely wavered as he pulled his hand from his pants and wiped the blood that dribbled from his mouth, eyes gleaming with a lust for violence that you feared right now more than ever. 

"I'll let you have a ten second head start then, sweetheart. Better hurry."

You hesitated, his offer confusing you for a moment, but once the realization dawned on you your feet moved on their own. Sore and stained with tears and blood, you tore off down the castle corridors to search for an escape, and if not, then just a place for you to hide until Leon gave up on you, which would never happen. The thought of monsters barely dwelled in your mind when the most dangerous one was Leon himself, but little did you know that it would only take a short while for you to realize how fragile you really were when he wasn't protecting you, and that escaping without him was just simply not possible. 

"...Cheeky little slut. Let's just see how far you get before you come crawling back to me."

[domaslut]

Clarice Charlotte Blackthrone, my Mc.

In order to introduce you to my main Hogwarts Mystery oc, I have decided to create this post. If you’d like our Ocs to interact, let me know and I might mention them in the future drabbles and one-shots I will publish.

I have personally edited the picture below. If you wish to use it, or re-post it, please, give me credits. It took hours.

Name: Clarice Charlotte Blackthrone.

Face claim: Nina Dobrev.

Date of birth: 28th August 1970.

Occupation: Hogwarts student (1980-1987); Auror.

Affiliation: Death Eater (forced by her family); secretly, member of the Order.

Status: alive.

Hair: she has long and straight brown hair. She usually lets them loose down her shoulders and wears a simple black hairband.

Eyes: the color of her eyes varies. It depends solely on the light. They are essentially blue, but, if you ask her friends to define their shade, it might end up being a real argument.

Blood: she is a pureblood. Her parents were both Slytherins and they were top Death Eaters. They both survived the first wizarding war and now are helping the Dark Lord to gather followers to raise again.

Wand: beech wood with a phoenix feather core, 12 1/4” and reasonably supple flexibility.

Patronus: her patronus is a wolf. It symbolizes her aptitude to rely on herself only.

Personality: Clarice is a kind and lovely person. Despite her kin with Death Eaters, she does not share their ideals. However, her childhood and living with her parents have deeply influenced her. She might turn out to be aggressive, exceptionally cunning and sarcastic. Her sadistic side emerges during duels and, after them, she usually spends her days on her own, regretting her violent outbursts. As a real Slytherin, she is shrewd and ambitious and would do whatever it takes to achieve her goals, or protect the ones she loves. She is brilliant and competitive. Some may say she is morally grey and that is indeed truth. She is willing to sacrifice her happiness to see her loved ones happy. She is a supportive friend and a generous person.

What does she hate: she hates lies and manipulative people. Her parents have lied to her for years, imposing their authority on both her and her older sister. However, she is keeping just a secret from them and from some of her friends. In addition, she loathes losing and bullies. It might be a “Slytherin thing”, but she hates Gryffindors with the only exception of Bill Weasley.

Abilities: do you remember the little secret she is keeping for herself? Well, Clarice is an Animagus. She has not declared her ability to the Ministry, since it is her only way to truly escape from her parents and avoid conflicts when she is not in the mood for confronting people. Clarice is also exceptionally skilled in Charms, DADA and Potions and she gains a lot of House Points to help her House. She is labeled as “the best duellant of Hogwarts”. Being the daughter of two Death Eaters granted her the chance to know how to fight and defend herself before many of her classmates.

Years at Hogwarts: she had started attending Hogwarts in 1980 and graduated in 1987.

Sexuality: straight.

Friends: Clarice has two best friends: Chester Davies and Felix Rosier. Among her other friends, the only significant one is Bill Weasley. Although she would have loved to make more friends, most of the students labeled her as a person to fear and pity and she never really got the chance to approach them without scaring them away.

Romance: she dated Chester for a while, but her heart had always belonged to Felix. Her friendship with Chester was not messed up when they broke up and they kept on being the iconic trio they had always been. Moreover, her family had already told her that, in order to be able to marry Chester, he should have agreed in become a Death Eater. That caused the girl to break up with him to save him from a future of misery. She is now married to Felix out of pure, unconditional love. The Blackthrones had already set up their wedding not caring about their feelings. However, the couple had got married in secret, as an act of rebellion against their parents’s will to strictly observe the protocol.

Interests: she loves reading muggle novels and listening to music. She usually drags Felix, Bill and Chester with her to explore the muggle world and the famous museums. At times, she goes to concerts too with her older sister. During her free time, she loves drawing. However, she does not like coloring. All her works end up being black and white.

Significant members of the family.

Clarice Charlotte Blackthrone (my MC).

Tobias Richard Blackthrone † (Clarice’s father);

Gemma Vivienne Blackthrone-Rossellini † (Clarice’s mother);

Gwendolyn Mary Blackthrone † (Clarice’s older sister);

Jackson Ross † (Gwendolyn’s first husband);

Totila Samuel Pearson (Gwendolyn’s second husband).

TRIVIA & QUOTES.

Some lines she told people.

• To Chester Davies, talking about her family:

“They are monsters. I was told about the unforgivable curses at the age of seven, Chester. I will never forget the day my father murdered a muggle before my eyes. I was sitting on my mother’s lap, writhing in fear, begging her to let me go… She laughed at me, holding me down and forcing me to watch my dad torturing a poor man in our living room. If I ever become a murderer, the blood on my hands will be theirs”.

• To Felix Rosier, during a party at the Rosiers.

“You are the only person in this room I do not despise. Now, let’s dance. Our parents are watching us and, probably, discussing about our future marriage”.

• To her older sister, Gwendolyn, before joining the Death Eaters about to attack Hogwarts.

“Either you kill mom, or I will. But don’t you dare dying on me, alright?”.

• To Felix Rosier in France, after she killed a muggle instead of Felix during a Death Eaters’s meeting.

“I don’t regret doing what I did to save your soul. I don’t care about mine, anymore. I am already doomed… All I care about is you”.

• To her mother, during the battle of Hogwarts.

“Avada Kedavra”.

• To Bill Weasley, drinking Butterbeer to celebrate the end of the sixth year at Hogwarts.

“Thank you for not having given up on me, even if I am… Well, you know. I am glad you are here. I love you, Bill, for real”.

• To herself, crying in her bedroom.

“Let’s go back to what I do best: self-deprecating for being my father’s daughter… Is it just another way to self-destruct, though? Argh, whatever”.

• To a Gryffindor bullying her and Felix.

“You are fucking right about my family, you know? Rather foolish of you to step into a pit of vipers… Allow me to introduce myself. I am Clarice Charlotte Backthrone, the witch who kicked your brother’s ass during our first year at Hogwarts. What makes you think I won’t just rip you to shreds in the Great Hall?”.

• To Chester, sneaking into the Ravenclaw Tower to sleep with him.

“What do you think it would be worse: Flitwick having an heart attack, or Snape detracting House Points from our Houses?”.

Some facts about Clarice.

• Her Animagus form is a white British Short Tail with piercing blue eyes;

• She can practise some powerful spells without using her wand, just like her grandfather;

• She speaks Italian fluently, since her mother is italian;

• Although the color of her eyes is blue, she loves turning it brown instead because the natural blue pigmentation reminds her of her father’s eyes;

• During the battle of Hogwarts she was standing with the Death Eaters in order to protect Felix, but also help the Order to catch some Dark Wizards without them knowing that there were traitors among their crew. However, she was forced to kill some allies from the Order who did not know her truly intents. Among the Death Eaters, she killed her mother, but she got severely injured by her father. She was saved by Felix and Chester who managed to kill him. She was the responsible of the Death of Tulip Karasu, Liz Turtle, Barnaby Lee, the former Gryffindor prefect and Penny Haywood.

• She attended all the funerals, taking the full responsibility for what she had done;

• She named her first child after the name of her deceased sister, murdered by her mother;

• Currently, she lives in Paris with Felix and their children.

[mara-xx217]

Pokes head

May I request Michael being a possessive daddy and fighting a killer who hurt his girlfriend ? It can be anyway you like 💙

Why of course you can~ This isn’t based in Dbd, but the normal world. Hope you don’t mind!

Possessive, Protective Mikey

You were like some sort of disease to Michael. Or, perhaps, a parasite was a better descriptor of how you affected him. You wormed your way into him, deep into his chest, right beside his cold, soulless heart. You made him… feel, regardless of what that actually meant, it was beyond unacceptable in his eyes. That warm, painful throbbing in his chest was more than distracting, it was nauseating, disturbing. Terrifying… In a sick, twisted, wrong way, you terrified the Shape of Haddonfield. Michael fucking Myers was absolutely terrified of a small, defenseless creature that was completely helpless against the evil and cruelty he wielded against the world. He should kill you a hundred thousand times over for this transgression! But… it wouldn’t make him feel any better. He only… feels more empty every time your cheeks are stained with tears. Cold. Dead. Michael would feel dead without you…

This isn’t the first time he’s caught someone hurting you. It’s happened many, many times over, and his reaction has ranged from blinded rage to searing hatred. Not just for the one harming you, but towards you, yourself. It was that lack of control that drove Michael insane. He couldn’t watch you 24/7, couldn’t always follow you around or know where you were at any given moment… It drove him fucking crazy, and he took that frustration out on not just the asshole unfortunate enough to have crossed paths with you, but onto you, as well.

But, even that was quickly losing its luster to him. Michael had thought that hurting you would bring him some sort of fulfillment, like it has always done in the past when he had hurt others. It never has, though. Sure, he’s lied to himself, trying desperately to convince himself that seeing you all small, all scared and teary-eyed brought him a measure of enjoyment, to have your blood on his hands, to have you groveling in terror before him- but it didn’t. It- He- Michael felt… not good, when that happened. You made him… stop to consider how his actions would affect you, and he hated that.

Michael despises that you’re a magnet for trouble. That you just can’t seem to stay the hell away from people that want to do you harm. Sure, he doesn’t mind killing them. Quite the opposite, in fact, he rather enjoys seeing them covered in their own blood, begging for their pathetic lives before he mercilessly snuffs them out. No, Michael hates that you get hurt in the first place. The only one that should ever have the right to put their hands on you was him! Him, and him alone. Anyone else would be destroyed.

Some wannabe serial killer punk had set his eyes on you. Luckily for you, Michael knew better than to leave you to your own devices, anymore. He caught the little bastard scoping out your home before you had any idea of the danger you were in. He’d make sure that, this time, he’d be in complete control of the situation. You won’t be hurt, but that idiot thinking that he can do as he pleases? He’s going to regret the day he was born…

Sitting in your kitchen, you drank what must be your fifth coffee of the night. Strange things were happening, and it left you unable and unwilling to sleep at night. Rustling outside your windows, the sound of someone possibly jimmying your doors and windows, looking for a possible way in… Muddy footprints on your porch and small, dead animals left on your door mat… It was becoming too much. You’re… pretty sure it wasn’t Michael. He did love to torment you, but this wasn't really his thing. He was much more… direct, with his approach to you. This… this was someone else…

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you rub your eyes, feeling them water involuntarily from how dry they were. Anxiously, you tap your fingers on the top of the counter, before sighing heavily and grabbing your coffee mug. You decided to make your way to the living room, thinking that some TV would help calm your nerves and get your mind off of things. Fuck, I’m exhausted… You thought bitterly as you crashed onto the couch, nearly spilling lukewarm coffee all over yourself.

Picking up the remote, you absentmindedly flipped through channels, not really wanting to watch anything. It was just something else to focus on, rather than the impending sense of dread that was washing over you. This feeling was one that you were well acquainted with: the feeling of being watched. Your heart was pounding in your chest and your palms were slick with sweat. Slowly, you sit up, clumsily placing your mug on the table in front of you. The hairs on your entire body stood on end. Something’s not right here…

As you begin to rise off the couch, a firm hand pushes you back down into a sitting position. Your heart jumped up into your throat. You’re very familiar with Michael’s hands, and the one still gripping your shoulder was much, much smaller than his… Short, shaky breaths escaped through your clenched teeth. Fuck..! Oh shit- Oh my God no no no-! You don’t dare to move, only stare straight ahead at nothing as your mind runs wild with possibilities. Who the hell is it?! How did they get in?! Why me?! Where the fuck is Michael when I fucking need him?!?

The intruder sucks in a deep breath, as though he’s about to say something, but instead yelps in surprise as he’s ripped away from you suddenly and violently. You gasp, shooting up and scrambling across the room, back peddling into an opposing corner. Curling in on yourself, you crumple onto the floor, watching the brutality unfolding before you through the cracks of your fingers.

Michael had thrown the intruder back, sending him crashing into a mostly bare bookshelf, breaking most of the shelves along with it. You cringe and jump, feeling your insides twist and revolt against you. Michael drops to the floor, straddling the winded, smaller man as he desperately tries to fight back. Vainly. It was laughable, really. The idiot didn’t stand a chance against the human incarnation of evil, itself.

Michael briefly debated on playing with his food. There was something about seeing them crawl and beg that really set him off, but when he glanced at you over his shoulder, in the fetal position and hyperventilating, he actually decided against it. It was getting under his skin seeing you like this, and the quicker this is… inconvenience is dealt with, the quicker things will be back to normal. Well, to Michael’s fucked up definition of the word “normal”, that is.

With a quick stab to the back of his neck, the intruder was killed. Normally, Michael would have painted the walls with this creep’s blood, but he decided that it would be too much of a pain in the ass to clean up. With a flick of his wrist, Michael twists and pulls out the blade, wiping the excess blood onto the back of his victim’s shirt. He looks back over to you, and sees you stiffen. His… Huh. His chest actually hurts…

With a heavy sigh, he stands, stepping over the dead body as he makes his way over to you. A major part of you was beyond terrified. Is he gonna hurt me..? Oh- Oh God..! I’m gonna- I’m- I’m gonna..! You were trembling, shaking so hard that your teeth were actually chattering audibly. Michael’s eye twitched. He was conflicted: one part of him loved that you were this scared of him, as you should be, but the other… the other hated it. He- Well, he wanted… something, but he just didn’t know what. Fingers twitching, he reached out to you, struggling to ignore how you froze as he slowly approached you.

You really thought that he was going to grab you by the hair and drag you off to the bedroom, so when his fingertips just barely brushed the top of your head, moving the hair from your face, you were, well… at a bit of a loss. Michael has never, ever been that gentle while touching you. Ever. You raise your head slightly, just enough so that you could see him. He still had that damn mask on, of course, and his body language hardly betrayed what he was thinking or feeling, but- You couldn’t deny that his fingers were trembling ever so slightly.

He slowly crouches in front of you, treating you as though you're some kind of animal that will either bolt at the slightest movement or go for his jugular, or something like that. You don’t move or speak, unsure of what he was doing. When he placed his hand where that stalker touched you, gently- carefully squeezing your shoulder as though you were made of glass, you… you relaxed.

You could tell that he was struggling to be gentle, with how his fingers twitched uncontrollably and the pressure of his fingertips varied. You looked up to him, then down at his chest as an odd warmth spread through your cheeks. Michael was extremely possessive over you. He hated it when you interacted with anyone else, especially other men. But, right now, even though another man had touched you, he wasn’t flying off the handle like he usually did. He was still extraordinarily pissed off that he had given the bastard just enough time to physically touch you, but it was remedied.

He was fucking dead, and you were still here. You were his and his alone. That wasn’t called into question. There was no dispute. Michael Myers is the only person that is ever allowed to touch you. You’ve come to accept this, and slowly but surely, you’re even beginning to enjoy his touch. As sick and messed up as it was, you’ve started to develop feelings for him, despite the fact that he made your life a living hell. If anything, you knew that no one would hurt you ever again. No one, except for him.