#this fic will rotate in my brain for a while i think

[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

Smoke & Mirrors (M)

🎡 Summary: You��re feeling uncharacteristically adventurous and your boyfriend just can’t say no to you.

🎡 Pairing: Stoner!Seungcheol x Stoner!Afab Reader

🎡 Genres & AUs: Smut, established relationship au

🎡 Rating: 18+ (MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED)

🎡 Warnings: Marijuana usage, profanity, hair pulling, pet name (baby), dirty talk, blowjob, unprotected sex, mirror sex, sex while high, semi-public sex, creampie

🎡 Words: 3.6k

🎡 Note: Written for @k-vanity's Wanderlust Festival.

Genre/ride: smut - ferris wheel Trope/event: petting zoo - established relationship

Thank you to my beta bby @horanghater mwah 💋

Taglist: @duhnova @gyuwoncheol @multi-kpop-fanfics 💗

“Oh my god. The carnival is in town.” You spring up on the couch from where you’ve been lounging, head in Seungcheol’s lap. He nearly drops the bong in his hands, but manages to keep it in his grasp.

“You wanna…go to the carnival?” He asks, his sentence coming out just slightly slower than usual. Your Saturday date nights with Seungcheol typically consist of getting stoned, watching tv, stuffing your faces, and then fucking a few times, but you’re feeling restless and adventurous tonight and are itching for something else to do. 

Saying no to you has never been one of your boyfriend’s strong suits, which is why you make the short walk from your apartment a couple of blocks to the fairgrounds. Living in the city means easy access to things you need and it helps that it’s the middle of fall, so the air is chilly, but not uncomfortably so, making the walk enjoyable.

“What if people figure out we’re…high?” Seungcheol asks after you arrive and purchase your tickets. He looks around and whispers that last part as you file into the entrance.

“They won’t as long as you stop acting suspicious!” Seungcheol raises his eyebrow at you and purses his lips.

“Me? Suspicious?” You blink back at him, two of you having an impromptu staring contest before bursting into a fit of shared giggles. You likely look insane to the people passing by you standing off to the side, doubled over in laughter, but you don't pay them any mind. Seungcheol’s wide smile and infectious laugh are all you can concentrate on.

When you finally get a grip on yourselves, you take his hand and drag him behind you onto each ride you can. Typically, you’d be hesitant about getting on a ride that came out of a suitcase, but the weed makes you more daring and puts you in a good mood. It helps that Seungcheol, who normally would prefer to stay on the ground, goes on each ride with you, even if he’s a little more apprehensive than you.

Seungcheol lets you drag him around to all of the fast-paced rides first: the tilt-a-whirl, the pirate swing, the slingshot ride, bumper cars - anything that satisfies your cannabis-induced need for speed. He even lets you buy some feed to give to a few farm animals in the small petting zoo. Unfortunately, he does need to practically lift you in his arms to lead you away from the piglet you attempt to steal numerous times. (“We can name him Wilbur!” “That pig is not ours, Y/n!” is the last thing the animal’s owner hears, frowning as you’re taken away.)

Between putting your life and trust in the hands of bored looking carnival workers, you and Seungcheol make it a point to eat. You had left your apartment before you got too deep into your munchies stash, so you had to make up for it with as much funnel cake and kettle corn you can inhale without getting sick.

“Can we please go on the ferris wheel?” Seungcheol pouts at you after you finish off your pretzels. 

You’re surprised, eyeing the giant wheel a few feet away from the picnic table you’re sitting at. 

“You wanna go on the ferris wheel?”

“I need a break from all the fast and furious rides and that’s the only one that will slow your crazy ass down.” He laughs and you can’t help that your eyes stay locked on the way his eyes squint and his nose crinkles when he lets out the sound - one of your favorite sounds.

You relent because of course you do, and you let him take you to the ferris wheel with him. Seungcheol holds his hand out to help you enter the ferris wheel cart then files in after you, the ride worker shutting the door tight behind you. Seungcheol sits close to you in the small box, his thighs pressing against yours as you wait to start your ascent. 

Once the ride finally starts to move, you marvel at the way everything beneath you gets smaller and smaller the higher you move, even if it’s slow and easy-paced. Seungcheol glances out the window on his side here and there, but the weed doesn’t seem to be doing enough to ease his mind at the new heights you reach on the wheel.

To distract him, you reach out and hold his hand, startling him, but he recovers quickly and grips your hand. His fingers are cool as they link with yours, his hand soft and secure.

Something in you stirs and you let your eyes wander, refamiliarizing yourself with the shape of his hands. Your eyes trail up to his arm covered in a jacket that isn’t too tight but still hugs his biceps enough. It’s not zipped all the way so you can see his chest underneath, the cotton shirt underneath hugging his defined pecs (and by god are they defined).

It only takes you a few minutes to feel your stomach churns with a familiar need for Seungcheol. You squeeze your thighs together as you eye his neck and up to his face. All of the skin along the way is much too clear and mark-free if you do say so yourself.

He’d taken his beanie off when you got on the ride and you can see how messy his hair is, especially after he ran his hand through it as many times as he did while you waited for the ride to start. You want to run your fingers through the dark strands so bad. 

So you do. Seungcheol is surprised but doesn’t shy away from your hand. He does the opposite in fact, bringing his head closer to make it easier for you. Seungcheol has a lot of qualities you like and one of those is how even though he’s usually in charge in the bedroom, it takes little to no time to initiate intimacy with him. 

He simply cannot say no to you.

Knowing this, you start to move your hand down, giving his hair one last comb through before grazing your fingers over his thick neck, fingers tapping the sensitive skin as you go. Seungcheol sighs, leaning into your touch and you go down to his bicep, squeezing it as you keep going until your hand lands over the crotch of his sweatpants. 

That seems to break Seungcheol from the daze he had slipped into when you started touching him. He looks at you wordlessly, red-rimmed eyes half-lidded but still asking you a million questions. What are you doing? Are you sure? Here?

Wordlessly, you give him your answer by squeezing his already half-hard cock. You’re so damn lucky that weed makes your boyfriend just as needy the same way it does for you.

Seungcheol groans but doesn’t stop you and instead spreads his legs wider, inviting you in. 

Without hesitation, your hand slips into the waistband of his sweatpants and his underwear 

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, head slowly angling back to the window of the cart.

“Want you so bad, Cheol,” you whisper even though there’s no one around. “Wanna suck your cock. Can I please?”

“Shit, baby of course.” Seungcheol helps you pull the waistband of his sweatpants down enough to expose the opening in his boxers. You fish out his cock, the heaviness of it weighs in your hand and you can feel just how sticky your panties are against you. You have enough sense to glance out of the ferris wheel card window and you notice that you’re still inching at a snail's pace to the top.

Bending over still in your seat, you give the head of Seungcheol’s dick a few kitten licks. A deep sound rumbles in his chest and it almost makes you moan in response just hearing him.

But time is of the essence, so you swallow him down your throat in one go, the man bucking his hips and yelping in response. His hands fly to your hair, fingers weaving into the base of your strands to tug.

Moaning at the slight sting, you bob your head, letting his dick slide against your tongue, making sure to hollow your cheeks as you work him. Seungcheol loves it when you gag around his length so you do it for him, letting his cockhead nearly hit the back of your throat each time you bring your head down.

“Fuck, babe. You’re so fucking good at sucking my cock…” his words draw out as he starts to fuck your face, albeit lazily. You hum out affirmatively around him, your pussy clenching at the praise. 

Your hands wrap around all of him that you can’t take, moving in tandem with your head as you gulp him down, listening to his heavy grunts echo off of the cart walls. It mixes with the wet sound of your mouth working him up and taking him in over and over again.

When Seungcheol starts to pant frantically, you know he’s close.

“Mmm, want you to cum in my mouth,” you drawl around his length, only coming up for a big gulp of air and to tell him what you want.

“W-wait, I wanna fuck you.” The fingers that are tangled in your hair still as he tries to lift you from his cock.

You let him fall from your mouth and sit up, pouting at him. “I don’t think there’s enough room, Cheol.” He seems to remember where you are and how small the space you’re in is.

“Y/n, I can’t wait till we get back to your place. I might cum in my pants on the walk back.”

The thought makes you giggle which earns you a sharp smack on your thigh. You can feel the sting through your leggings and it only serves to make you wetter, your panties inevitably a complete mess.

“Hmm…how about when the ride is up if you can find someplace to fuck me we can do it here.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, Seungcheol’s expression turns serious, clearly a man on a mission. He finally turns to take in the ground beneath you, scanning for some place, any place, to take you away from prying eyes. Just long enough to fill you with his seed and watch the look on your face as you cum all over him - for him. 

The ferris wheel is beginning its descent as he tucks himself back into his pants and you think he sees something that may be promising, a determined look on his face. When you safely reach solid ground and your cart door opens it’s his turn to drag you around the grounds.

You walk past plenty of rides with their bright lights and loud sounds trying to distract you from what you both want - no, need - right now. All of the booths and rides seem to be running and packed with patrons, nowhere private in sight as of yet.

The answer comes to you when the two of you stumble upon a mirror maze attraction. The building has a ‘closed’ sign on the front doors which are assumedly locked tight.

This doesn’t deter Seungcheol as he simply sneaks with you around the building, looking for some way to get you both inside. When he finds that the back door to the attraction is way too conveniently unlocked, you think of it as a gift from the universe. The universe obviously wants you two to fuck and has handed this to you.

Seungcheol holds your hand tight as he goes into the door first, tiptoeing into a back room, presumably where workers would be when the attraction was live. There is another door that leads you right into the maze. The lights are dim, but they’re on and you can’t help but wonder if someone plans on coming in here at some point.

He takes you far enough into the attraction that you’re surrounded by nothing but yourself, but you’re still close enough to where you came in. The last thing either of you want is to get lost and need to call for help.

“It’s so weird seeing myself so many times. Do I look silly?” You question out loud, eyes sweeping over all of your reflections surrounding you. It makes you a little dizzy seeing so many copies of yourself.

“Of course not, baby. You look as beautiful as always.” Seungcheol’s words echo through your mind when you finally notice he’s behind you now, meeting your eyes through the mirror when you look up. 

He's pressed up against your back, his hard cock obvious against you. “So pretty and all mine.” Seungcheol grabs your jaw and turns your head to the side to bring his lips crashing into yours. His tongue immediately pushes through the seam of your lips, wrapping around yours as he grinds against you fully clothed.

You moan into each other’s mouths as his hands move to grab at every part of you - your tits, your stomach, your thighs, your ass. Seungheol explores your body and your mouth and it leaves you as nothing but absolute putty in his hands.

When he pulls away from you, you whine in protest and he places a peck on your cheek.

“I know, sweetheart, but I need to be inside that pussy so badly. You want that too, right?”

“God, yes, please. I need you so bad, Cheol.”

“Fuck yeah, you do. Gonna give you what you need, baby.” He hurries to pull his sweats and his underwear down enough for his length to be free, letting the fabric rest around his thighs. He helps you shimmy your leggings and panties down your legs and drop at your ankles. You’re close enough to the mirror now that Seungcheol bends you over, your hands resting on the cold glass.

“Look at you already, baby. Already dripping for me just from sucking me off and making out?” Seungcheol taps the head of his cock against your ass then down to your pussy lips. He nudges it against your folds once before pulling back, and you whimper at the loss. 

“Yes, please, Cheol. Need to feel you. Need you to fill me up.”

“Fuck, baby and I will.”

Through the mirror you watch Seungcheol bring his hands around you to your mouth, offering you his index and middle finger. “We have to be quick, so can you help me get you ready?” 

Without a second thought, you’re nodding and when he brings his fingers around to your mouth, you suck them in greedily, making eye contact with him through the mirror. You suckle on his digits, wrapping your tongue around them just like you did to his dick.

When he deems his fingers sufficiently coated, he pops them out of your mouth and brings them to your sticky folds. His first stop is your clit, rubbing a few circles into the sensitive nub. Your head falls forward as a long, drawn-out squeal leaves you as soon as he makes contact. You’re already so wet and wound up that you don’t think you’ll last very long at this rate. Lucky for you, your boyfriend is at the same point, his breath shuddering as he slides his fingers inside of you, reveling in how warm and tight you are.

Seungcheol’s thick fingers piston in and out of you, scissoring them with each plunge back into your heat. You love the feeling of him prepping you. He always takes his time to get you ready to take him, giving you extra care, but this is different. You’re not in one of your beds or even the car;  you have to be quick to avoid getting caught, but you also need him badly.

“Cheol, please just fuck me, please. Can’t wait anymore.”

“I wanna take my time with you, but fuck, I can’t wait either.”

When he pulls his fingers from you, you look up again and through the mirror, you watch him suck on them, eyes fluttering closed momentarily as he savors your taste. Then he’s grabbing at your hips, his cock nudging your entrance. 

Your eyes roll back when he finally slips in, sheathing himself perfectly into your walls. The two of you share a noise of pleasure, his much deeper than yours, and you swear you can hear the bass in his voice vibrate through him and into you. It drives you absolutely insane.

Seungcheol’s hands take hold of your hips, starting at a pace that already has you breathless. Your palms lay flat against the mirror in front of you, fingers splayed to keep you balanced. He fucks into you frantically and with power, the slaps of his pelvis smacking into your ass sound bass-boosted to your ears and it’s your favorite sound at this moment.

The weed always makes feeling Seungcheol inside of you so much better than it already does when you’re sober. Coupled with how he’s driving into you so quickly and so harshly, you feel that much closer to floating away. All of your senses are on hyperdrive as he pistons his hips harder and harder, only making your cries and mewls for him that much louder as your eyes slip closed.

“God, you sound amazing, baby. But you look even better.” Seungcheol cups your face to keep you focused on the mirror in front of you. “Open your eyes.” It’s a demand, not a question, so you do. 

Sweat beads at your forehead, your droopy, red-tinged eyes staring back at you looking wild. Your tits bounce even from underneath your jacket due to Seungcheol’s thrusts. The mirror is fogged up where you’re breathing and your hands keep readjusting to keep you up, leaving sweaty prints in their wake. Seungcheol looks no different behind you. His eyes are tired but still boring into yours with each thrust, his tongue darting out to lick his already saliva-slick lips as his face glistens with sweat.

His broad chest rises and falls underneath his layers and you can’t help but think about just how good he looks when he’s not bundled up. The thought makes you clench around Seungcheol’s dick and it only serves to make him fuck into you harder, shoving his length so deep into you that you swear you feel him in your chest.

“Fuck me, Cheol, fuck gonna cum!” You sob, legs trembling to hold you up as your words slur together. 

“Yes, yes, come on, baby, cream all over my fucking dick.” Fingers that know your body almost better than you know yourself reach around you, pressing between your thighs and rubbing your clit. 

It takes only a few tweaks to have you falling apart, mouth hanging open as you do your damnedest to bite back the squeal you want to let out. Shockwaves roll over you as Seungcheol’s powerful hips thrust into you one, two, three more times and then he’s cumming too. The warm, sticky feeling of him milking himself into you has your eyes rolling back and your body going lax against the mirror. 

With the only sounds now being just you and Seungcheol breathing heavily, you become acutely aware of just how fucked out you look. You wonder if people will be able to tell that your boyfriend just rearranged your guts in such a public place.

“Hey,” Seungcheol interrupts your train of thought by tapping your thigh to bring your attention to him. You meet his eyes in the mirror and he flashes you a warm, reassuring smile. “Let’s get out of here?” 

He helps you right yourself and pulls your leggings up, then redresses himself. He takes your hand once more and you’re able to sneak back out of the attraction, easily avoiding getting caught. 

“I can’t believe we just did that,” you snicker, your earlier adrenaline rush quickly returning now that you’ve gotten away with what you wanted.  

“That’s probably the craziest thing I’ve ever done,” he mumbles and you agree with him, sharing more laughter with him as you loop your arm through his.

Could you curl up right now and take a nap? Yes. Could you also do a lap around the fairgrounds like a crazy person? Also yes. But, when you catch sight of Seungcheol’s disheveled hair that he’s run his fingers through a thousand times tonight and his red lips that he’s still biting between his teeth, you only want to do one thing.

“We can do something else crazy if you want,” Seungcheol glances over at you, curiosity written all over his face as he takes in your words.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“Mmm, well the outdoor loveseat on my patio is spacious enough for both of us. And there’s a chance someone could see us up there if you were feeling up to being daring again.”

“Since when were you so open to exhibitionism?” 

“Since I let you fuck me in a closed-down carnival attraction that anyone could’ve walked into at any time.” 

Seungcheol licks his bottom lip again and you want so badly to have that be your tongue on him. 

“Let’s go back to your apartment,” he finally decides (not that it takes him very long to do so). “But I wanna eat you out first. Gotta have you ride my face for everyone to see.” His words go straight to your cunt, wetness already pooling and mixing with his cum still tucked inside of you. 

And just like that, you’re thanking the past, much more stoned you for feeling adventurous. You have a feeling after tonight, even more adventures await you and Seungcheol, and all of them more than likely involve you crying out his name. 

You can’t wait.

Net tags: @kflixnet @kbookshelf

[sluckythewizard]

Keep calm, and drink soda

[CW for blood and gore and vomit] takes place a day or two after emizel was sired. just two boys adjusting to a shift in their daily norms. would YOU drink your homies blood? still not used to writing fanfic so any and all advice IS appreciated. i hope u enjoy.

There were very few things that Soda enjoyed more than well, drinking soda. It was a hobby, an interest, a comfort. And by extension there were very few errands that Soda would look forward to more than the occasional soda run.

The gas station closest to the Demons hideout had stopped selling Faygo entirely about a month or two ago, and it was near impossible to find it anywhere else. The closest place was now this janky little Shell gas station, lovingly titled the Shady Shell, that thankfully sold more flavors than any of the other ones ever did.

It made the hour and a half walk here entirely worth it. Even if this side of town made his skin crawl. Normally he would ask someone to accompany him on this daring little quest, but everyone at the hide out tonight just seemed too tired, too preoccupied, too uninterested.

He knew not everyone really got the soda thing, but they were accepting of it for the most part. Soda is something that, clearly, Soda really loves, but he knew not everyone else was into it.

Which was fine, of course. They didn't need to get it. But, still, sometimes Soda found himself wondering how much of it was a bit, and how much was him.

Emizel gets it perfectly though. He would've been the first person Soda would ask to go on this soda run with him, but, well. He's been preoccupied too, with the whole vampire thing.

It's been a bit more than a day since Soda had last seen his close comrade. For a friend that he saw just about everyday, going without him this long left him feeling a little emptier.

That was fine, though. Emizel had shit he was working out, he had things he needed to do. It's not like he could go out in the day anymore, so of course Soda wouldn't be seeing him at all the usual times.

It was a lot of weird and heavy magical stuff, it made Soda think about those superhero shows. Where the hero needs to keep his identity hidden from everyone. Family especially. He knows how much of a piece of shit Emizels dad is, so he hoped that Emizels home life wasn't stirred up all stupid-like over this.

He hasn't told anyone else, about what happened that night. For the last 2 days, Soda would spend time with close friends and not let them know a thing about what happened to Emizel so, so recently. Why he's so suddenly absent, so distant, so.. off…

'Maybe his dad's just giving him a hard time', he would say, hoping to smother their questions. The less questions they ask, the better. At least until this vampire stuff gets figured out a bit more. Should Emizel wear a disguise when he goes out at night now? Just like a superhero? What kind of hero outfit would Emizel have anyways? Soda figured it would be something really cool.

If anyone could figure out a way to balance all this vampire stuff, and all the leaderly responsibilities that come with being the biggest dog in the Demons, it was Emizel for sure. That guy is so seriously cool.

He was sure this rough patch would even out, and they would weather the next rough patch together no problem. There was really nothing to worry about! All Soda has to do is stay positive, and well, drink soda.

As Soda walks quietly down the crumbling sidewalks of this dreary hive of strip malls and shops, he goes to pull his backpack around to his chest, fumbling with the zipper in the dark. Which was a little annoying, considering the tab of his zipper had fallen off forever ago. He really needed to get around to fixing this damn thing. Maybe another ziptie and a soda tab will do the trick.

Humid air hangs heavy in the night, the sidewalks still somewhat warm after a hotter day. The diesel-soaked air provided enough warmth on its own that Soda had considered taking his jacket off a few times, only for the occasional, annoyingly sharp and chilly breeze to brush by, reminding him to keep the thing on.

Tripping only once and only slightly on an uneven sidewalk, Soda manages to pull a bottle of Faygo from his backpack, a smile glowing on his face. Another short fight with the zipper seals up the bag, and he slings it over his shoulder again.

His flavor of choice tonight was actually the Red Pop, the tried and true, the absolute classic, one of the best Faygo flavors for sure.

But, this kind wasn't actually his favorite. Normally he would stock up on the cotton candy ones, but something about the last few days had him craving the red stuff.

Securing his backpack all the way, he goes to crack open the bottle. Just the clack and the hisssss of the fizzy drink were enough to lift his mood.

Not that his mood needed lifting or anything. Of course. Sure he missed his friend and sure he found himself wondering what he’s doing and where he is and if he's okay. Maybe sometimes he found himself wishing they talked about funeral plans more.

Emizel talked up all sorts of crazy funeral ideas for himself, usually involving the use of his dead body as an inconvenience for others. Outlandish and hilarious ideas, like filling it with explosives and tossing it into a busy road. But what would he want seriously? What would Soda ever do if he just stopped showing up one day?

He had to swallow down all these unnecessary anxieties, so he took a swig of his soda. Sweet, bubbly, comforting. He felt better already! Just stay positive, and drink soda..

It was a lovely night out, and he didn't come all this way planning on letting it go to waste. There was a place he was heading towards, a particular alleyway in this particular place that led off to a particularly tall concrete ledge.

 It was a run-down little space, littered with trash and shitty trees and those bushes with just too many goddamn ants in them. But the view was fairly nice, overlooking a massive deformed intersection. A particularly stupid one, at that; about 3 times a week you could witness a gnarly crash at this spot. Soda always heard people saying that LA folks can't drive, but he was just starting to figure that maybe no one can drive.

That was the place he really wanted to go to enjoy this soda, and he wasn't too far off from it. Just a few more blocks, and he would be there.

Oh wait, didn't he still have a bag of chips in this backpack somewhere? Hell yeah, he couldn't wait to sit down and relax with a good soda, a good snack, and a good view of the night.

Living as a Demon had its fair share of stresses. He felt lucky to have this life, but he knew well that it could be better. That not everyone has to worry about survival the way they do. That not everyone gets injured on the regular and not everyone has to worry about being sick and never getting better.

Living is hard. But it's finding the small moments of joy that make it all worth it. Dying would be scarier anyway. He didn't want to die, and he felt glad to feel so confident in that nowadays.

The sudden   THUNK  of something slamming into the ground just a block away from him, jolts him out of his thoughts, all his gears screeching to a halt as he freezes in place. What the fuck was that?

It looked like a person, laying flat on the ground with only their head and shoulders peeking out of the alleyway ahead. Fuck. He hated this side of town..

Anxiety churns in his stomach as he debates just turning around, but the way the victim reaches an arm out, attempting to crawl away; it made his heart ache aswell. he's no goddamn fighter, but he couldn't just leave someone like th-

The body is suddenly yanked back into the alley, snatched at a startling speed. It didn't feel exactly real, how could something vanish so fast? It reminded Soda of something from a horror movie, or whatever. What the fuck was that??

His foot takes a step forward, before the rest of his body notices its rebellion and locks down again. Was he seriously going to investigate that? He could just walk away and take another alley. But that was the one he was supposed to turn down! All the other alleys are either walled off or gated off and he wasn't about to go climbing over a damn wire gate. His soda would get too shaken up! Fuck!

Another foot goes in for another step forward. He's gotta get the fuck out of here. He could hear more commotion in the alleyway, a scuffle, a skirmish. He could hear someone cursing through a choked breath. A loud and nauseating crack echoes out from the alley, and yet, Soda takes another step forward.

This was stupid, he shouldn't be getting tangled up in someone else's business. What if something happened to all this soda?

Thankfully, it was that thought that actually got him to pause, and take in a deep breath. It wasn't worth it, maybe he should head straight home.

Atleast, that was the thought his heart and mind were about to agree on, until a particularly familiar grroowwwwlll bleeds out from the alley.

Emizel?

All reason immediately evaporates as Soda makes that connection in his head, stepping right up to the corner of the brick walls, and peering around to investigate.

There was a body on the floor, face down in a puddle of red, head split open in a way that reminded Soda of a smashed watermelon.

But standing over that body, was the familiar, blackened coat, and short blonde hair, of Sodas closest comrade, Emizel.

Despite the carnage on the floor, Soda couldn't help the smile that lights up his face. That was Emizel! That was his boy!

But before he could get over just how happy he felt to see his best friend, something else caught his eye. Movement, behind the dumpster closest to the vampire boy. A person, rising out from the shadows with a glinting baseball bat clutched fiercely in their hands.

"Oh fuck, look out!" Soda speaks up, and Emizels gaze immediately clicks over to him, silencing Soda with just that startlingly red stare.

He had forgotten just how uneasy those red eyes made him..

The attacker, silent and professional, rushes up behind Emizel and CRACKS the metal bat downwards onto his blonde head, the sound ringing out like a  gun shot  in that dark little alleyway.

Soda cringes from just the sound of the impact, but was amazed to find that the bat had warped under the force of it!

The attacker hardly had a chance to process his mangled weapon before Emizel whips around to retaliate.

It looked like he had just swung his hand at his opponent, so the way a shower of red spills outward from the slash, catches Soda completely off guard. The monster boy had cleaved an excruciatingly massive gash up from the attackers right hip, to his left shoulder, the slice spewing with scarlet.

 It wasn't until Emizel had pulled back his arm, that Soda could process the way it had darkened with more than just blood, distorted into an odd, spear-like shape.

The victim hardly had a chance to yelp before that blade swoops up into his chest at the speed of a snapping bear trap, plunging through meat and bone with disturbing ease, and forcing blood and viscera to erupt outwards. The red patters down onto the concrete behind, the sound similar to rain...

With another low, inhuman snarl, Emizel brings the twitching, dying body closer, until that signature squish of teeth sinking into fresh meat bleeds outward into the space.

What a disgusting sound, Sodas first instinct was to simply avert his eyes, but as the sound persists, he resolves that he has to do something.

He finally steps out into the alley, and speaks.

"Hey ma-"

He could hardly get two words out before Emizel suddenly rips its teeth away from its victims throat, tearing out a hefty chunk of jellied meat, and slamming the remaining fodder onto the concrete floor.

It immediately whips around to stare down Soda, red eyes glowing with reflected light, and with hardly a chance to process the moment-

-It's immediately right infront of Soda.

A gasp lurches from Soda's lungs as he almost stumbles back in shock. How was Emizel so fucking fast?

Other than that single step back, Soda was frozen in shock, his tongue buzzing with the physical pain of such a startling jolt. 'White boy jumpscare' is something that came to mind, but while usually such a thought would evoke some sort of laugh from Soda, this time it offered no such comfort. Okay maybe it did a little.

Emizels snarling face was only inches away from Sodas. Its eyes were wild and unnatural, teeth menacingly sharp and reddened with so much fucking blood. It was everywhere, coating most of his face, smothering his shirt and his coat, and absolutely choking the air with its thick, metallic stench.

Soda would gag if he felt he was safe to even move. He felt like he was locking eyes with that of a creature, something he would only ever see in his nightmares or in scary movies. But it was real. Those monsters are real. And his best friend is one of those monsters. His bestest friend in the world...

His mind was skewered on that unnatural glare, completely frozen with anxiety. Stalling too hard to come to a proper conclusion, Soda instead falls back onto what Soda does best.

"H-hey man... You want some soda?"

He very gently presses the opened bottle of Faygo into Emizels chest.

The two boys stand there for a moment, locked in a tense, silent pause, before the monster boy finally peels its gaze down to the bottle.

It's quiet, for a few seconds, the gears turning in its head. Until the monster blinks, and its eyes clear, and Emizel processes the sight of the bottle.

"Oh, fuck yeah dude, is that the Candy Apple Faygo? Man, that stuffs my favorite!" Emizel smiles as he goes to accept the bottle, and immediately takes a massive swig.

Soda tries to disregard the way his hands were still shaking. "Uh, n-nah man, its just Red Po-"

The words are bit off as Emizel suddenly retches, a heavy flood of red blood and red Faygo spewing out onto Soda, as the vampire boys body entirely rejects the fizzy drink.

The shock of getting fucking projectile vomited on had snapped Soda out of whatever daze he was just in, and it seemed to snap Emizel out of it too. Soda backs up with a groan, looking down at all the blood and bile and pop on his shirt and coat.

"Ohhh fuck dude, what the hell??" He cringes, not even wanting to try smearing any of it off with his hand.

Emizel was coughing, still holding out the Faygo bottle, but hunched over as his body dared to convulse again.

"Ohhhhhh fuck, ohhooohhh fuuuuucckkk" he grumbles towards the floor "Fuuuck I’m sorry dude, I don't know what fuckin- oohhhgg shit,” He coughs and groans,  offering the bottle back to Soda.

Soda was still staring at his messied coat with a displeased grimace, but looking up to meet Emizels eyes...

There was a guilt on Emizels face that Soda didn't see too often, and it helped wash away that irritation he felt. This sucked, but Emizel was probably going through a lot more. 

“It’s, uhm.. don't, don't worry about it, man..” Soda decides to reassure him, offering a sympathetic smile, and a hand on Emizels shoulder, as his comrade spits out the remaining blood and bile.

"Fuckin hell… I’m uh, I'm sorry about your shirt, man."

"What? Nahh it's okay man, don’t worry about it." Soda shrugs, taking the Faygo bottle back. "I mean, are you okay man? That uh.. looked like a pretty crazy fight."

Emizel was rubbing his eyes, smearing more blood across his face as he seems to be collecting himself. he spares a glance back at the carnage behind him.  

"Ah.. yeah.. I thought I uh.. I thought I saw that one fucker from uh. That one night. Yknow, the one that uh.." He snaps his fingers, as if trying to summon back the memory. "Vampire bitch... Anyway after that I just kind of, uh.."

He seems to space out again as he looks around. It was as if he was just woken up from a deep sleep, like he was certain he had just known what he was doing, but found the dream escaping him. "I guess I just.. went crazy on these guys. I dunno, they're Fangs anyways." he finally shrugs it all off, but Soda still felt unsatisfied by the answer.

"Oh.. huh…” is the only response he manages to scrounge together. Sure they were Fangs, but did they really deserve.. all that? It just seemed a bit brutal, even by Emizels standards.

He found his eyes wandering over to the split-open head. It was mostly red and bloody, but even in the dark, he could still make out some of the finer details of the gray jelly seeping from the gash. A human brain. He wondered if his own brain looked the same on the inside..

“So what are you doing out here, man?” Emizels question helps Soda pull his eyes away from the gore, instead looking over to his bloodied comrade.

Emizel looked messy and even exhausted, but his drowsy gaze was focused on Soda with a worried expression. 

“Oh, uh, yknow, just a soda run. Decided I would stock up on some Faygo from the Shady Shell.” Soda shrugs, his eyes flickering down to the opened Faygo in his hand. The top was covered in regurgitated blood. unnaturally blackened blood…

“Are you.. okay, by the way? Other than the whole..” Soda gestures vaguely at the gruesome crime scene. “Are you hurt?”

The question has Emizel pausing to consider. He straightens his back and stretches his arms, as if trying to detect any pain from any possible injury. Nothing seemed to be bothering him though, and after a second, he decides to shrug.

“Nah, I'm all good.”

“Oh.. That's good, I uh…” Soda found himself looking over Emizel aswell, searching for any wounds the monster boy might be simply disregarding, as he often does.

There was a fairly gnarly gash on his shin..

“Hey uh, I was actually gonna go hang out by the ledge down that way. Yknow, the one with the funny intersection.” Soda says, gesturing off towards where he intended to go. “Wanna come with?”

Emizel looks back that way, before turning back to Soda with a big smile on his face. 

“Oh hell yeah I do! I love the funny intersection!” he starts to walk down the alley, about to step over the body of the broken skull, when Soda speaks up.

“Uh, hey, shouldn't we uh.. Do something about the.. uh..” He waves a hand over towards the bodies, trying not to look directly at them. 

Emizel spares the corpses an inconvenienced glance, and a sigh, but ultimately shrugs them off. “Ehhh I'll just dump 'em in a dumpster again.. That's what I've been doing anyway.”

“And you're not worried about, like, anyone finding them?”

Soda anxiously watches on as Emizel paces around the body with the torn-out throat, licking the blood from his own mouth. Was his tongue always that long and pointed? That's neat, and normally Soda would point it out, but he was a bit.. preoccupied right now 

“Nahh not really. I haven't had anyone bother me at least.. Anyone been bothering you?” Emizels eyes finally flick back over to Soda. 

“Nah, I'd say things are actually more lax than usual. Anything that would end up being trouble’s been pretty much crushe- er, killed- destr- stamped out, by uh, by you.” Sods was cringing with every attempt to find a word that didn’t make his stomach turn, but Emizel didn’t seem to notice or mind.

Emizels eyes were currently a bit more focused on the body laying before him. He had that weird look on his face again… 

“Uhh, yeah, yeah that's good that uh, no troubles coming back to you guys…”

There’s a moment of quiet between the two as Emizel stares at this corpse, and Soda was about to open his mouth to fill the silence, but Emizel speaks up instead.

“Hey uh, why don’t you go ahead of me? I’ll uh, I'll meet you at the place.” He suggests, pointing vaguely off down the alley, but not removing his eyes from the kill. 

Soda certainly hesitates, his eyes narrowing before he even forms a thought. He opens his mouth to object, but then his eyes flicker back towards the body.

“Are you gonna eat this one too?”

The question leaves Sodas mouth as soon as it comes to mind.

Emizel pauses, and considers, before giving a shrug. “I don't see why not. Perfectly good blood.” He reaches down to grab his kill by the shirt, the one with the split open head. As the corpse rises from the concrete, gray matter drips and sloughs from the crack in its skull. Once again, Soda felt the need to look away, and yet his stupid eyes remained fixated on the horrendous sight. Emizel looks over the spilling brain of his meal, licking his lips curiously. “Dude, what do you think would happen if I ate his brain?” Emizel asks, looking back over to Soda with a wild, bloodied smile. Something about that look made Soda shiver, but.. Not really in a bad way… “Uh, I.. Dunno…. Eating a persons brain is how you get like, mad cow disease right? But you might also be immune to disease.. Are you immune to disease?” “Uhhh, I don't know yet actually. I'm still figuring out how much of this is like video games,” Emizel says, rubbing the back of his head as he idly sways the body of his kill around, watching the blood and gore drip and drop from its broken head. “Eh, I'll chance it later.” Without another word or thought, Emizel goes to sink his teeth into the shoulder of his kill, a pleased growl radiating from him as the blood gushes around the bite. More fresh blood upon less fresh blood upon old blood upon older blood. Just so much fucking blood. Soda thought he was used to seeing blood, but this… this was just egregious. Was he really starting to get used to this? It’s just blood after all, and it’s not from his comrades, so it's… fine… He finally manages to pull his eyes away from the gruesome sight of Emizel feeding, but his eyes instead wander down to the blood on his own shirt. Emizels blood was strange, darker than usual, and carrying a different scent. Something about the smell of his blood was more savory, more appealing than the standard metallic miasm. His shirt was smothered in it, his jacket was coated in it, and his opened bottle of Faygo was also splattered with the deep red ichor. Ink swirls within the bottle of red fizzy, spreading out into all sorts of odd patterns. It was a lot of blood. He was certain a lot of it came from however many people Emizels been feeding on. With how much hes been terrorizing the Fangs in just the last few days, and with how nonchalantly he feasts on his kills, who knows how much blood hes actually ingested… Soda swirls the bottle, watching the blood inside thin out into strands, dancing within the bubbly soda as they gradually dissipate, fully assimilating into the drink. A bad idea chews at the back of his head… The sound of ripping flesh once again knocks at Sodas head. He doesn’t look up this time, but he knew Emizel was just playing with his food again..  Did blood taste good to a vampire? Did some blood taste better than others? What did Sodas blood taste like? What did Emizels blood taste like? There's a visceral snap of something among the chewing and ripping, very clearly a bone or a joint snapping out of place. It made Soda shiver a little. When did his heart start pounding? There's an animal standing only 8 feet away from him, feeding on its kill. That animal is a person, and so is its kill. He wanted to know what vampire blood tasted like, but he already knew what human blood tasted like. It hung so densely in the air, he could feel it forming a vile film over his tongue. The blood of a person just like him. Eaten by an animal that eats people.  All this stress was no good. This bile rising to his throat was no good. This creeping anxiety was no good. He's friends with an animal that eats people. Would it eat him? This weird feeling was no good. Maybe it will never eat him. But it needs to eat people. This worry was no good. He needed to wash this awful taste from his mouth, replace it with something sweeter. He needed to keep his head clear enough to be there for Emizel when he needed to be. He needed to hold a light to these shadows. And he needed to stay positive, and drink soda. He takes a swig of the open Faygo bottle.

[polkadotpatterson]

so I've been getting into wolf 359 lately and I'm really normal about it (already thinking about a blaseball au for it) (lovelace is so jaylen coded) (hilbert would absolutely do necromancy) (doug eiffel (knows what he's gotta do)) (you see my vision here)

[echoheart0324]

I gotta rewrite my entire fic after the Gatto merch dropped....devastated... (not too much since the merch is very cute but still).

[dinogoofymutated]

im 100% new to x-men(i grew up in a DC family lol) but I am just. SO down bad for remy. idk how to write requests or anything, but can I ask for headcanons for him with a touchstarved fem reader? sfw or nsfw, both, idc really he's just rotating in my brain, gambit my beloved

Gambit/GN!reader

Dude I completely get it!! I was a HUGE x-men fan as a kid and as I grew up the hyperfixation fell into the back of my mind. I too grew up mostly on DC and I feel like the reason DC became my go-to was because there's just not a ton of fanfiction for the x-men, reader inserts in particular. I'm working on fixing that! But my full-length fics are a little hard to finish/start. Anyway- Remy is definitely one of the top #3 x-men to be down bad for lol!

TWs: none that I can think of atm. Mostly fluffy goodness! Written picturing a fem! Reader but no pronouns mentioned

I definitely think that it's not a completely ridiculous idea that one of Remy's love languages could be touch, despite how his relationship with Rogue revolves around the absence of touch!

Tbh, I feel like he's just respectful of his partner's wants and needs in a relationship, and if touching and cuddling is a no-go he's perfectly fine with backing off and showing his love in other ways!

BUT! when you give him the go-ahead, he's all over you. Hugs, cuddles, kisses, PDA, all of it!

One of his favorite things to do is catch you in the kitchen, coming up behind you and snaking his hands around your waist. He'll press his face into your hair and neck, sometimes giving you kisses, but really he just does it because he wants to feel you against him.

I think he secretly enjoys how easy it is to get you melting in his embrace. He goes out of his way to fluster you, flirting until you go red, then pulls you close. He'll nuzzle you affectionately, kiss your temple and cheeks, hold you lovingly until he feels all the tension leave your body. He especially likes when you lean into his hands when he holds your face. He knows just how much you love him, and he's determined to show you all the love he knows you deserve.

    “Cher.” Remy’s chest rumbles with the words. You only respond with a hum, tucked into his side comfortably. The afternoon had started with a movie, originally. The two of you had some free time, and Gambit had a movie he really wanted to watch, so movie night it was. You were watching at first, you promise you were, but it was easy to get distracted by Remy. When the movie started, you were sitting next to him, leaning into his side with a bowl of popcorn in your lap, but that position could only be comfortable for so long. You were squirming, trying to relax as best you could, but after 45 minutes of sitting on this couch, it was like every bump and corner on the sofa was digging into you.

    Remy, being the observant sweetheart he is, didn’t hesitate to scoop you up into his lap. You squealed at first, surprised by the action, but Remy simply laughed at you, leaning back to lay down on the couch with you against his chest. Unsurprisingly, this was much more comfortable. Maybe a little too comfortable, as it didn’t take long for you to stop paying attention to the TV entirely. You snuggled closer to Remy as you started to doze off. One of his hands rested against your lower back, his other hand cupping the back of your neck, caressing and threading his fingers through his hair. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep against him.

    “Cheerrr.” Remy says again, drawing the words out. “Movie’s been over f’ a while.” You pout at him, sighing sleepily as you tuck your face into his neck. He chuckles again, thumbs caressing your skin idly.

    “You don’t wanna cuddle anymore?” You ask, maybe a little bit more sad than you should be, or would’ve been if you were more awake.

    “Now Gambit didn’t say that.” Remy purrs. You whine again as he moves a little, adjusting a little so that he can press a kiss to your temple. You reluctantly untuck yourself from his neck, rewarded with a sweet kiss from Remy. The action makes you smile. He’s looking at you with such love and adoration, like no one has looked at you before, and it has you feeling loved beyond measure. You lean into his touch as he cups your face, holding his hand to your cheek to keep him there.

    Content couldn’t begin to explain how you felt in this moment.

[phecdasolar]

Tumblr I need your help I am in dire need of feral/unhinged Disaster Twins fics pleaseeee (and maybe Mikey as a bonus) I’m just in love with the idea of Raph being the impulse control for once with this iteration, and just the second he’s out of commission the other three go insane.

Weapons of War, Bioengineered Killing Machines, Manufactured Supersoldiers Rottmnt turtles my BELOVEDS

And maybe just like,,, set Leo and Donnie loose on one of the other dimensions and have them absolutely horrifically annihilate their counterparts’ villains while they watch on in horror

(B.E.A.S.T. was SUCH a good fic you guys oh my GOSH go read it I’m begging you-)

I NEED to have it addressed in fic form that the Rise turtles are fundamentally different than all their other counterparts, because their counterparts? They were accidents. Just a couple of turtles splashed with mutagen and oh look now they’re people but Green. (Huge oversimplification I’m aware but hear me out okay-)

But the Rise boys were created. They were specifically designed to be weapons of mass destruction. They were built with the intent to cause harm which means they were bioengineered to be stronger, smarter(?), faster, to heal quicker, to have the capacity to take hard hits while dishing out even harder ones, they were literally forged with a purpose to kill.

Add on their mystic powers? Then their unlocked Ninpo? You can’t honestly tell me that these four aren’t the strongest and potentially deadliest version of themselves out there.

Yes they still had to learn things, as did the other iterations, they weren’t immediately good (that much is obvious, like c’mon it’s IN the name) but I don’t think the other iterations possess the same instincts as these guys do. They’re just so. Unhinged. They’ve all had their moments in the show I think where it’s obvious they’re not really,,, stable. I love them.

In a plain fists only, maybe weapons, no powers fight, I do think some of the other iterations would win, but purely because they have way more experience than these guys do. (If I did any crossovers I’d say 2003 and 2012 are definitely older than these guys, especially if we’re basing this at the end of their shows) But put them against each other when they’re still at the same level? Rise is whooping butt, I know where I’m placing my bets. It’s called RISE of the TMNT for a reasonnnnnn they’re not there yet but they WILL BE, and as of the end of s2 and the movie I say they’re finally THERE.

I have no idea how this turned into a headcanon rant this was just supposed to be me asking for fic recs hsgdjdjdk it’s almost 3 am tho so whatever sorry if none or some of this is incoherent o7 o/

Editing this with a list of fics I have been graciously recommended below the cut:

Firefight by remrose [42/43 chapters 208k words] (edit: JUST FINISHED READING ch38-42 WATCH ME BAWL MY EYES OUT I was rotating them in my brain all morning at work) less on the feral side, more on the gut-wrenching angst side, still Disaster Twins and still super good

In Which Donnie and Leo Make Themselves Everyone Else's Problem in an NYC That Isn't Even Their Own by YukiSkyes [7/? chapters, 18k words] the CLASSIC “the Disaster Twins are unapologetically causing chaos” fic, always a delight to read

The Lemon Leak by TurtleSoupSwimmer [27/37 chapters, 143k words] I’m being told it’s very true to the theme here, and it’s very angsty, a suspenseful psychological thriller, and will make you scream at your phone. I for one am very intrigued

Eschatology by aenor_llelo, Alderous, ConcoctionsFromHell, izziel_galaxy, Jaybird314, Otakuforlife19, and Rocket999 [17/17 chapters, 344k words] “HEAVY on the boys being biologically engineered to destroy the world, it also delves into so much character building and worldbuilding that we never got in canon, and it gives even super minor characters the chance to shine” Sounds intriguing, AND it’s a BNHA crossover which I am a big fan of :D

The Hunter’s Bible also by TurtleSoupSwimmer [2/2 chapters, 15k words] Rated Mature, contains themes of SA and c@nnibalism so PLEASE keep that in mind!! Not a fic for the faint of heart this is a Dead Dove: Do Not Eat! The SA is only attempted, and never shown, only implied, and it’s only in ch 1, but the other stuff is fairly descriptive and takes place in ch 2. All that being said, flipping UNHINGED, just about lost my mind in ch 2, it was entertaining in a surreal kinda way if you get what I mean. Funky little feral creatures

[miraclecherryblossomsblog]

ANOTHER AU IDEA

Had this idea......like black myth wukong but YOU'RE the one that has to bring him back? Or something along that.....

still rotating this idea in my head but kinda goes like this:

Tw bit of spoilers of the game?, reader becomes a monkey, for my fellas who haven't read the novel.....me either lol

This shi long I'm sorry 😞

Like it starts like most of the fics where reader gets send from our world to the journey to the west

and with all your panic and existential crisis u fail to notice that u got a tail now..........and ur hairy, hairier than usual. Your feet freak The out the most when you start to really take note of ur body

The scream u letted out when u catch ur reflection in a nearby river think that most of the mountain heard it lol 💀💀💀

Takes u a few slaps to realize ur not dreaming and it is indeed the real shi

A long walk takes you to the Mount Huaguo where you get an overwhelming welcome from all the monkey dudes, specially the kiddos surrounding you and asking u lots of stuff while ur brain's a minute from explosion

After a long moment the others take you to the old monkey to figure what's or what could be happening

That's where he tells you about wukong's story and how he dispersed into the artifacts (what happens at the start of the game)

You knew about him cuz ur sorta of simp fan although you only knew certain parts from the story (cough cough overly sarcastic productions cough cough)

That's where you're being told ur probably the chosen one which would explain why you were sent here in the first place says the old monkey

you slap yourself a few more times JUST in case ur really alive rn (guess the earlier ones didn't kick in then lol)

and also you find out that only by bringing the relics back you can go back to ur og form and get a chance to go back home...

so ur like "fuck it we ball" energy cuz u really got no choice XDDDD

Feel like stuff would go a bit different, still unsure if I want the destined one to exist here or no

OH SHI WAIT mabey he could be like a bodyguard sended with you and the whole twist of him being wukongs mind still happens? Hehe it's coming together HEHEHEEEEEEEEEEE

Also mabey add like ur like wukong's spouse reincarnation which is why u slowly get like lil bits of memories of yall together?

But I don't wanna make it with the wife dies and gets reborn stuff

I wanna go different 😈

AND YALL GOTTA WAIT FOR PART TWO TO KNOW WHAT I MEAN HAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[reineydraws]

Hey Reiney! i've been following your Renkaza comic for some time now and it's kind of gotten me into the ship. Would you happen to have any fic recs to get me started?

im so honoured my comic got u into the ship! (@sshcomic for those who don't know! 🫶) i love giving out fic recs omg thank u so much for asking!!!! i have 15 for ya haha.

i'll have specific recs under the cut, but first i wanna just say that anything by emilieee @e-milieeee ; dragonsandcryptids @lesbiansanemi ; and tippertupper are great places to start! they're amazing writers with a good body of work and i've definitely gone through a lot--if not all--of their renkaza stuff! please check them out!

word count is rounded to nearest thousand btw! :) smoke and mirrors + demon's choice are big inspirations for my comic, if ur coming from there!

i've also realized these can be pretty lengthy so if u want recs with shorter word counts just lmk and i'll comb through my bookmarks for <15k. but anyways!

Smoke and Mirrors by emilieee (272k)

canon happens in modern times au, where akaza ends up as kyo's apartment neighbour, tho kyo doesn't initially realize akaza's a demon. it's emotional! it's plotty! akaza mentions kokushibo made all the kizuki's fake id's and i still think that's hilarious! it's got one of my fave enemies to besties akaza & shinobu plots ever! please read this!!!

last sunrise by DragonsAndCryptids (182k)

akaza turns kyojuro by accident bc he bleeds too much into kyo's open wounds during the mugen train fight, and neither notice until it's too late. shinobu notices too and decides perhaps that this might be a prime research opportunity... uh-oh! the ethical quandries are good in this, and shinobu while flawed is very well-written. renkaza also end up with a soul bond. another emotional one but god is the journey amazing. tw for some torture scenes that could be graphic.

Small Fire of Winter Stars by phabulousphantom (66k)

modern au where akaza is a tattoo artist and kyo runs a teens program at the local community centre. it's one of my faves bc i just love stories about jaded people opening up and finding love and trust again, and this is exactly that. i also love the ensemble cast in it. the teenagers are adorable, especially inosuke who is a problem kid that finds something aspirational with akaza. thinking abt this fic is making me smile again!

Camp Kasugai by si1verbird77 (20k)

also modern au where renkaza are both counselors at a summer camp. kyo runs a percy jackson program, and he and akaza fall in love over the summer with the help of the deep trust that camp atmospheres usually end up fostering. kyo and sen, and akaza as well, also touch on the grief of losing parents, and the nature of camps as a place to grow into yourself and how time keeps moving. it's nice. i love this one a lot.

Inertia (series) by TipperTupper (23k)

akaza saves kyo from freezing to death, and kyo marvels at the compassion and humanity that akaza seems to hold in his muscle memory. ends up digging a little bit into akaza's trauma both as a human and as a demon controlled by muzan. sanemi gets a little mad about it in the third part and it's funny. overall vibe of the series is warm.

The Neverending Night by apodis (155k - incomplete)

when i say this fic rotates in my brain 24/7!!! akaza gets stuck in a time loop that resets every time kyo dies. it explores akaza's nature as someone who is willing to sacrifice everything for loved ones, and it's interesting bc at first kyo hates him, and then he starts to realize there's something wrong with akaza's memories bc of muzan, and he starts to really see how self-effacing akaza is. it's SO good, and the realizations both kyo and you as the reader have build and layer as the story progresses. akaza and kaname (kyo's crow) also build a friendship that is so important to me.

Demon's Choice by Celeste Gladnick (lairMorbidon) (69k - incomplete)

akaza defects early and joins tamayo, and so many more people are alive as a result. kyo in this one is interesting bc he's bigoted against demons thanks to his upbringing in a slayer family under abusive shinjuro, and refuses to see that akaza is anything other than dangerous, despite literally everyone else sticking up for him. extra fun bc he crushes on butterfly assistant hakuji without realizing that it's akaza in a human guise. akaza himself also has some deeply held trauma he doesnt quite realize he has.

what i wouldn't give by DragonsAndCryptids (59k)

senjuro becomes terminally ill and his end is fast-approaching. akaza, who's been bothering kyo on and off for two years since mugen train, hears about it and offers to help by turning sen into a demon. at first, kyo gives a hard no, but as his baby brother's illness progresses... well, anyone would get a little desperate, wouldn't they? love this bc one of my fave things abt renkaza is pushing kyo to his moral and ethical limit lol.

if you fly (say you won’t come back) by apodis (10k)

siren au! well, akaza's a siren, and kyo is the caretaker of a house that sees many different travelers. akaza's just the latest one. i love this one bc it's fantastical elements are wonderful, and it builds a very interesting world. as the reader, you have a lot of questions and it's an experience getting them answered. it's also prettily written. :)

Little Fighter Boy Comes Marching Home by VTheTrashKing (19k)

akaza gets de-aged by a demon's blood art, and kyo comes upon a little human boy with black hair and blue eyes, a chip on his shoulder and a very implicitly sad past, what with the criminal markings on his wrists and the way he insists he can take care of himself. another one of my fave renkaza things and kyo getting bowled over by hakuji's tragic story so i loved the way he puzzles it together in this one based on the little boy in front of him, and just finds one sad thing after another.

“Don’t die, Kyojuro” by Lenasaurous (24k)

akaza lets kyo live and often tells him not to die. kyo, who's life is often visited by death considering his occupation, begins to rely on akaza's immortality as a demon, and depend on his company as a constant--that is, until akaza passes out from not eating, and stays down for the count. uh-oh. (i also love this fic 'cuz there's this scene where akaza tries so hard to make kyo like him by giving him herbs and helpful plants, even tho kyo doesn't really want him around at that point, and it's so sweet and so sad. i wanna give him a hug!!!)

Memories behind broken glass by GammaRays (58k - incomplete)

this is the akaza whump fic of my dreams lol he gets captured and experimented on by shinobu (and it can be grisly so tw for that). kyo lured him into a trap to get him captured and ends up standing guard and starting to question his morals when it becomes clear that shinobu is being intentionally cruel. as the torture experiments go on, akaza also becomes so delirious that he begins to remember his human past. kyo loses it a little. it's good.

All the things a cup can hold by Liatheus (9k)

akaza takes shinjuro demon hunting lol. this is actually more of a shinjuro character study with side renkaza, but i love it specifically for a scene near the end where they all have tea, and ruka's empty place at the table feels obvious, and kyo and shinjuro are sort of crying about it. i also love that it explores the way shinjuro used to be a hashira, and how akaza investigates his strength in that sense. shinjuro's strength is an important aspect to kyojuro that doesn't often get delved into, and it makes sense to me that akaza sort of looks into it, as someone who loves kyo's strength.

Hello Again (the weight of memories welcome me home) by VTheTrashKing (15k)

this one's more artsy than anything but i love sci-fi as a genre so i'm reccing it lol i'm being self-indulgent. for whatever reason, throughout his life, akaza gets visited by various hashira. it's all very timey-wimey and the renkaza is more implied than anything, but there's this scene where akaza's being held trial at a hashira meeting, and then a future sanemi and future giyuu come out of nowhere to protect him and shock the living daylights out of their past selves, and it's so wild. i love it so much.

the milk incident by lattelesbean (4k)

this is just funny haha! short and fun read. modern soyama twins au where akaza's a café barista and accidentally puts his foot in his mouth in a very embarrassing way, bc he was too busy thirsting over kyo, his latest customer, to double-check what was about to come out of his mouth lol. i am still laughing.

[lexosaurus]

stained teeth leave the aftertaste of rot (part 3)

Part three of my @ecto-implosion fic for @antleredweirdo's art [right here]! (seriously check it out it's amazing)

Characters: Danny Fenton Tags/warnings: minor character death, gore, ghost hunger Summary: Danny was just sick. It was probably some sort of ghost flu that was making his body heavy, his stomach hollow, and his eyes burn with fatigue. There was no way he was—no, he wasn't going to think about that. He wasn't. In the darkest corner of the room, something shifted.

[read on ao3]

[part 1] [part 2]

****

The days blurred together. Danny didn’t know if it was Monday or Wednesday or some other day that week. 

The only way he could confirm that time was passing at all was how each morning when he woke up, he saw the shadow standing slightly closer to him than it had the day before.

The first morning, he’d tried to order it back into its corner. But it just smirked at him and refused to move.

So Danny had given up. And now he was wandering around Amity Park because…he couldn’t remember. Was he trying to go to Tucker’s house? Or was he coming home from Tucker’s house? He thought Tucker might have been the reason he was outside at this hour and still in human form, but he couldn’t quite remember…

There was no reason to be in his ghost form, anyway. There was nothing to patrol. Ever since Johnny 13, Danny hadn't seen his normal rotation of ghosts. Skulker seemed nowhere to be found, and Ember hadn't stopped by either, which was strange because she'd said she was going to debrief with him after the new Dead Teacher single dropped and now, some unknown days later, he hadn't seen her even once. 

Maybe she'd forgotten?

Usually at this point, Youngblood was bored and looking for people to play a new game with, and the Box Ghost was out seeking new boxes to attempt to stake a very flimsy claim with. But strangely, neither of those ghosts had crossed over to the Human World either.

Since Danny was still sick with this ghost flu, he didn't particularly mind the peace and quiet. But, it did set him on edge all the same.

Why had no one appeared? 

Had something happened in the Ghost Zone?

Or, maybe Johnny 13 had told them Danny was tired and needed a break?

...Yeah, no. Danny amended that thought as soon as it popped into his head. He'd complained about being tired many times before and the ghosts had never particularly cared. Maybe their years of being dead had made them all forget what it was like to have human needs like sleep. Regardless, his human necessities had proven to have little effect on their abilities to cause chaos in Amity Park.

So, if not that, then what? Why? Why were they staying away?

And why did he care? 

He stopped, shaking his head. Was he seriously getting offended right now about this? Why did it matter if they were staying away from him? 

Do they know? a corner of his brain asked.

There was nothing to know, he argued back.

The shadow laughed silently next to him.

"Stop following me around," Danny shot at it.

That only seemed to make it laugh more.

His core groaned, and he paused on the sidewalk, lightheadedness swarming his head like a beehive. He leaned against the building beside him and rubbed his forehead with clammy fingers that seemed too pointed to be human any longer. His core had begun doing this a few days ago. It had been whining at him to transform for a while now, but for the past few days, it was pulsing with a desperation he found almost impossible to resist.

And he was resisting.

He told himself that he wasn't transforming into Phantom because there was no need to. With all the ghosts seemingly avoiding Amity Park, there was no reason for him to become Phantom. It was too dangerous, anyway, with the Guys in White constantly patrolling, as well as his parents, Valerie, and all the little contractor ghost-hunting companies that Vlad Masters (that douche) had begun to employ.

Lies... the shadow seemed to say, though it hadn't said anything at all. It didn't have a mouth to speak with. It didn't have a face to gloat. It didn't have eyes to glint at him, nor lips to grin mischievously at him with. But Danny could feel that all the same. 

"I'm not lying," Danny grumbled, his voice hardly loud enough to reach the air a few inches away.

The shadow, strolling across the middle of the road toward him, still with no ears to hear with, didn't seem to have a problem understanding him. You're lying.

"I'm not."

The shadow simply grinned a wicked smile at him in return, and Danny could imagine the ghostly fangs poking out from the corners of its lips.

It was all in his head, all in his head.

His core shuddered, and Danny closed his eyes, sweat beading on his forehead as he tried to repress the frost that crept up his throat. But he wasn't strong enough, he couldn't hold his breath forever in his human form, and eventually when he opened his mouth to let out the air he'd been holding hostage in his diaphragm, a blue wisp containing microscopic ice crystals and snow escaped his lips.

His ghost sense.

The pull was overwhelming. And suddenly, it didn't seem to matter if his human half required air or not because he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe right now. There was simply no oxygen in the air.

Aura took over his eyes and, like an addict searching for his next hit, his gaze whipped around the air, searching desperately for the ghost. 

It was here. He didn't see it, he didn't see it. But it was here. It had to be. 

His ghost sense never lied.

He felt the overwhelming tug of his core again, and he realized with a mouth-watering hunger that it was directing him. 

Boundless relief rushed through him. He was saved! If he just listened to his core, he could find the ghost after all!

Everything was going to be okay.

But then the human part of him stepped back in, begging him to listen to reason, to turn around and go home because if he listened to his core, if he gave in to the goading of the shadow and the hole in his body then he would lose every last drop of his humanity that his ecto-infused cells still clung to.

It was disgusting how easily his transformation snuffed out the screaming of his human consciousness.

Finally silent, his brain exhaled. Now, there was no confusion. No moral drama to tend to. All he had to do was follow his core. 

Yes.

Finally.

Phantom floated down the street as if in a daze. He rounded the corner, and continued on his merry way, humming happily. His core whined, and he shushed his body, promising to fix it all soon.

He didn't have enough sense left in his brain to pay attention to where they were going. He didn't know whether there were humans around him, or if any of them were trying to get his attention for a selfie or a Tiktok as they often did. He found that, for the first time, he didn't care about anything as insignificant as the wants of other humans. Why should he? He was a ghost, after all. And besides, he was busy.

Hunting.

The prey was near. He could sense it. The switch in his core, from electric whining to a hushed hum. He shifted out of visibility. For most ghosts, that wouldn't matter; they could sense when another specter was nearby. But for a ghost like this...

Phantom peered around a building and saw it: his target.

"Will you be my friend?" the ghost asked a cat rubbing itself against a wooden post.

The cat made no motion that it'd heard or even cared about the green ghost in its pink-striped pajamas. It stepped forward, letting the rough wood on the pole stroke across its body, and then turned around to get the other side of its long body.

"Why does nobody want to be my friend?" the ghost wailed, bringing thick fingers up to hide its face. It bowed, bobbing until its blond hair brushed over its fingers as if it were trying to bury its face in shame.

Well, it wouldn't need to feel shame for much longer.

Phantom crept forward, slowly, raising invisible claws but not directing power yet to the tips of his fingers. He needed to get closer if he wanted to make this clean.

Perhaps he was more eager than he'd realized at the prospect of bringing down this great beast because he'd hardly moved more than a foot around the corner of the building when the ghost sensed him.

A startled grunt escaped its lips as its head shot up from its hands. "Who's there?" it asked.

The world tunneled, and darkness began to shroud the edges of Phantom's vision. He grinned, the tips of his teeth pricking the delicate skin of his lips, but he could hardly feel it.

"Do you want to be my friend? I'm looking for new friends."

Phantom prowled forward, inching slowly. The muscles in his claws flexed as anticipation shot up his spine.

The weak smile slipped off the ghost's face, and its hands raised in submission. It said weakly, "Please come out."

Phantom's core cackled. This ghost was scared. It could sense his intentions. Good. Be scared. 

"I just want to make friends."

Phantom was sure the smile on his lips was wicked. And suddenly, some ghostly part of him urged him to drop his invisibility. To let the ghost see how easily it'd been overpowered by him. 

So Danny unshrouded his body from the linen robes of invisibility and watched in glee as the ghost's face relaxed in recognition.

"Oh, Phantom? It's just you. You know, for a second I thought—"

Phantom glided closer to the prey, the points on his claws turning knifelike as his teeth sharpened dangerously.

The ghost's mouth fell open in horror. 

"Wait, please. Phantom—I—please..." it babbled, trying to scramble back.

One last flicker of humanity, the part that recognized this ghost as one with a name, with personality, as Klemper, yelled at him to stop, please, stop! But Phantom just laughed, his chuckle twisted and cruel, biting the air with the acrid taste of starvation. Because Phantom was starving, and this was the solution.

Phantom's acid eyes slowly meandered back to the trembling, lowly ghost hugging its torso with baggy, pink arms. Its red eyes stared pleadingly, welling with tears as its broken voice let out one last whisper.

"I thought we were friends."

The last of Phantom's patience drained away in an instant, and he surged forward, closing the distance to the prey before it could react. His claws made contact with something soft, and he pushed power through his palms, throwing the prey into the alley behind it. It hit the wall hard, cracking the brick as shockwaves pounded the air. 

"Wait!"

But Phantom was done waiting.

His aura glowed like a blizzard as he followed the prey into the alley. The air was growing darker, darker, and there was his prey, glowing with fresh ectoplasm.

He shot forth, sinking his claws into the prey. His fingers tore through the pajamas easily, knifing the ectoplasmic body underneath and slicing the membrane skin like it was putty.

The moment the scent of fresh, liquid ectoplasm hit Phantom's nose, his eyes stopped seeing, his fingers stopped feeling, everything his brain knew and loved was green.

The first drop of the nectar of the gods hit his tongue, and suddenly he couldn't breathe. His body was a black hole, devouring ectoplasm with drunken craze as this sweet, citrus liquid candy flowed into him.

This was beautiful. This was everything.

He hadn't known why he'd been so afraid before. Why he hadn't let himself indulge in this incredible delicacy. Why he'd been so foolish as to let himself starve.

Now, he was saved.

The cries of his core lulled as he filled his stomach with ectoplasm. He could feel his energy rising again, and the black hole in his chest began shrinking, shrinking, until it was nearly gone. But not quite.

His body was alight with the thrill of the hunt, the enchantment of this feast. He scooped more ectoplasm into his sticky fingers and poured it down his throat. At last, his core let out a satisfied purr and settled down for a nap, and with a flash of light, the urge to dine was over.

Awareness came to his senses again. The gravel digging into his knees, the tingling of his feet as it ached with sleep, the chill of the evening air prickling his wet skin.

His wet skin...

He felt the blood drain from his face first. Then, nausea rolled through him like a tsunami, crushing his heart and lungs and brain with a sea of putrid green battery acid.

The urge to run had never felt so strong, and yet he couldn't move. His legs were plastered to the ground under an inch of ectoplasm. Ectoplasm that he alone had put there.

The pink-striped pajamas were nowhere to be seen, likely having dissolved to join the rest of the spilled ectoplasm the moment Danny tore Klemper's core from his chest. 

Klemper. Oh Ancients, Klemper.

Danny was shaking—violently—eyes searching for a ghost that no longer existed as the world began to spin. His eyes darted around the carnage, frenzied as he searched for Klemper's toothy smile. But Klemper wasn't here. 

Klemper's weak words, his last, defeated muttering of "I thought we were friends" bounced off the cavernous walls of Danny's mind. And then he felt sick all over again. He bent over, gagging, trying to expel all the poison that he'd just consumed. Klemper, it was Klemper. But nothing came up. His body refused to let him eject the disease within.

Ectoplasm dripped down his chin, and he furiously tried to wipe it away. But his hands were too sticky with the substance, and all he succeeded in doing was smearing the remains around his cheeks.

He trembled, and the cold bit him. His hands were still shaped more like claws than human fingers, and the taste of lime and acid and something sweet was still on the back of his tongue. His breathing picked up, ragged and icy, as an invisible hand reached into his chest and squeezed his lungs.

Delusion was still fighting his brain, and for a moment he could almost convince himself that Klemper had gotten away. Danny had injured him, but he was okay. Danny hadn't...he wouldn't...

No.

No!

Danny shut his eyes and rocked back and forth, the tips of his claws digging into his cheeks. Danny was the good guy. He was the hero. He wouldn't kill another creature, even if that being was already dead. He wouldn't. 

He wasn't a murderer. 

Where was Klemper?

His eyes flung open, desperate to try searching one last time for the ghost, and then he froze.

Standing at the entrance of the alley was the nameless, faceless shadow. It stood between the glow from the street lamps and the ectoplasm puddled on the ground watching him without eyes, without expression. It made no attempts to come closer, nor back away. Its posture wasn't tense, nor relaxed. And where Danny expected a goading grin, it had none.

"Say something," Danny growled at the shadow. "Fucking damnit, say something!"

But it just stood there doing nothing.

It didn't have a face. It didn't have a mouth to grin at him with. It didn't have any body language to even hint at an emotion.

And it never did.

It was just standing there. That's all it'd ever done.

A lampost in the street flickered, and the shadow wavered like a candle flame brushing the wind. And then, to Danny's horror, he realized that it wasn't a humanoid shadow at all, but the shadow of a trash bag lying next to the dumpster.

His stomach pitted once again, and his eyes glazed over. 

He thought back to this week. At the shadow in his bedroom—the curtains wavering in the open window—or the shadow following him to his classes—had there been a shadow at all? 

All this time. All this damn time. There wasn't anything there. There'd never been anything there.

He bent over now, his breath hoarse. His lungs burned with ice and acid, and every time he opened his eyes, all he could see was the wreckage that he'd done.

Him. Danny Phantom. A murderer. 

No. 

It was too much. Too much. His ribs were collapsing on his body, and everything hurt.

He forced himself to stand. To get up. He looked away so he didn't have to see the ectoplasm clinging to his jeans like a child glued to their mother's legs. 

"I—I'm—" Danny tried. I'm sorry. But he couldn't.

He couldn't do it.

So instead, like a coward, he ran. The ectoplasm squelched under his shoes, crying tears of abandonment, and it sickened him how he could remember how good it'd tasted, how he could still taste the remnants on his lips.

The hurricane winds slammed his brain, and he snapped, triggering his transformation and shooting into the air. Invisibility was quick to cover him again, hiding his crimes from the public eye and himself. 

He didn't know how long it took him to fly home. Time no longer mattered to him. But, crossing through his windowpane, he didn't stop. He was dirty, covered in ectoplasm that had begun to dry on the flight home, and he couldn't let it stain his body. He needed to get it off, to clean his skin, to cover and lie and hide every particle of the monster he'd become from the world.

The water pelted his back like ice pellets. He didn't have time to wait for the shower to warm up. He was too dirty for that.

He stood unmoving until the water heated, head bowed as he watched green mix with water and swirl down the drain. Steam began to cloud the air as the water turned scalding, but he refused to look away. Refused to turn away as Klemper flooded his drain.

He's still alive, his brain tried to reason. You didn't kill him. You wouldn't.

No, Danny knew. He was a monster. A cruel, evil monster.

He was shaking again. His limbs were growing heavier by the second. It took all his strength, but he managed to lift his hands—he had human fingers again—and scrub every inch of his skin and hair. Then again. And again, until the water that pooled at his feet was no longer tinted green.

He shut the shower off and watched the water as it slid down the drain. His legs refused to move until he could be certain that Klemper wasn't going to try climbing back out of it.

Danny wished the ghost would.

His bed was as soft and comfortable as ever when he reached it, but he didn't deserve it. Only humans could sleep in beds. And Danny wasn't human. So he lay on top of his comforter instead, letting the cold air nip at his skin. But his Phantom core thrived in the cold, and it was delighted to have the night to feel the chill air, and Danny wanted to hurl his phone at the wall and scream because his ghost core didn't deserve anything after what it'd done.

He got up and paced his room, human fingers gripping his hair and pulling while his arms shook and his stomach sloshed with ectoplasm that it refused to let Danny hurl up. 

Monster, monster, his brain yelled. He was a monster. He wanted to cry, but he couldn't. His shivering limbs and shuddering breath wouldn't allow it. 

Eventually, he crawled back into his bed and stared wide-eyed at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling. Delusion was still creeping into his brain, lighting candles of hope that Klemper was still alive somewhere. That he'd snuck away invisibly. That he was hiding and recovering. That it wouldn't be too long before Danny saw his toothy smile and heard his annoying voice asking for friendship again.

Danny was too tired to fight the delusions this time. He turned over in his bed and let them take him into their fantasy. And maybe, when he opened his eyes again, the fantasy would be real.

****

"Jeez, what happened over there?" Sam asked.

"What?" Tucker peered from the video he'd been showing Danny on the phone.

"Look!" 

Danny looked over at Sam whose purple-gloved hand was outstretched and pointing up ahead. Danny followed her finger along the sidewalk until he spotted something that sent his stomach plummeting through the pavement.

There was a trail of green on the sidewalk leading around the corner into an alley. It was ectoplasm, Danny knew implicitly. Even though it was beginning to dry and its glow had died down, Danny had seen enough ectoplasm to know with absolute certainty that this was it.

He hadn't realized that this had happened so near his house. That it was on their path to school.

Denial was a stubborn creature, and at once Danny's brain was trying to throw out possibilities. That this was from a previous ghost fight, that the sidewalk had always been green here, that his altercation with Klemper hadn't been bad enough to lead to this much ectoplasm outside of the alley—but he knew, as he approached the entrance with his friends, that this was from last night.

The sight of the ectoplasm only grew as they approached the alley, and Sam and Tucker sped up, gawking at the bloodbath. Danny trailed behind, trying not to throw up the contents of his breakfast in front of his friends.

"Holy shit!" Tucker exclaimed, reaching the entrance.

Sam blinked, her jaw opening and closing as if searching for the right words to describe what was before her. Finally, she settled on, "Holy shit is right."

The last few steps felt like wading through wet cement, but at last, Danny caught up with them. 

He looked up and took in the scene.

A sea of ectoplasm met his eyeline. It painted the ground with dry edges and pools of ectoplasm in the middle. Slashes of it crawled up the brick wall and tagged the dumpster, painting trash bags around it.

It was a massacre. A feral, insane massacre.

It was Klemper. 

It was all that remained of Klemper.

Any last thread of denial that Danny had still been clinging onto in the aftermath of his shock faded in an instant. There was no way Klemper had survived this. Even if Danny didn't remember flashes of his disgusting hand reaching into Klemper's chest and ripping his core from his body, there was far too much ectoplasm here for anyone to recover from.

"What the hell happened here?"

Silence hung in the air, and it took Danny a moment to tear his eyes away from the gruesome scene to see Sam and Tucker staring at him questionably.

As if they knew.

Danny glanced down at his hands, half expecting to see claws dripping with green, but only his human fingers remained. Then he remembered that Sam and Tucker weren't asking because they'd seen him in the alley, but because he was the town's protector, and this was a lot of ectoplasm.

An excuse crawled up his throat, but he faltered. His hands began to tremble again, and he shoved them in the pockets of his hoodie. His mind was drawing a blank. He didn't have an excuse.

He could tell them what happened. He could spill his secret right now. He could say that he was a monster, that he'd been craving ectoplasm for weeks now, that he'd ignored it because it was a repulsive desire and he wouldn't do it. But in ignoring that need, he'd starved his ghost half, which retaliated in the most brutal way possible. He could talk about how he'd lost control of his morality and had given fully into his desires just like Vlad would and that he was no better than his worst ghostly enemies.

He could tell them.

But then they would hate him. They'd see him for the monster he truly was and they'd never speak to him again.

It was selfish of him to want friends he didn't deserve. But he was a ghost, and ghosts were selfish.

So, he shrugged.

"You didn't see anything on patrol?" Sam asked.

Danny shook his head, not trusting his voice to answer. He wasn't sure he could speak without cracking.

"Well, whatever it was, it must have been brutal," Tucker said, awe tinging his voice.

It was brutal.

"One of the ghosts didn't make it out, I'll say that for sure," Sam echoed.

She was more right than she knew.

"Maybe feuders?" Tucker turned to Danny with a raised brow. "You know, ghosts that died fighting each other so their unfinished business is that they try to hunt each other down? Maybe they accidentally fell through a portal and ended up in the alley, and one finally finished the other off."

"Probably," Sam agreed. "Definitely looks like some sort of animal fight."

Danny shrugged and looked down at his shoes. It was an animal fight. A rabid, crazed animal fight.

Hardly a fight, the shadow in his brain said. It was an extermination. 

Danny recalled how delirious he'd been without any sense of right or wrong, willing to murder his friend if it meant not having to starve. It was despicable, the way he greedily swallowed each mouthful of ectoplasm as if it were the first and last meal he'd ever eat in his life. It was sick and twisted and vile and now here was the aftermath.

Klemper had never stood a chance.

Sam and Tucker gave the alley one last glance and turned away to continue down the sidewalk. They had school to get to, after all. And as they began walking, Danny heard their conversation slip back into video games or whatever they'd been talking about before coming upon this bloodshed.

But Danny couldn't turn away. He remained in front of the alley, staring into the mess of gore and the last of Klemper's life and blood splayed out in front of him.

"I thought we were friends," is what Klemper had said.

There was no way anyone could be friends with a monster like Danny.

****

Thanks for reading!

And HUGE shoutout to antleredweirdo for the amazing art!! I literally saw it in the submissions and it immediately went to the top of my list. I've always wanted to write a super dark Ghost Hunger AU fic, and this was the PERFECT opportunity! Loved playing around with the shadow, and ahhhhh the whole art piece is amazinggggg!

Hope y'all enjoyed!

****

< part 2

[insomnya777]

Hello! First I want to say I adore your boat boys super power AU so much, it’s currently rotating at light speed in my brain like a broken microwave. I think I’ve read at least six times all the way through with what you have, it’s fantastic!

I was also wondering if you had any other recs or personal favorites for boat boys fics, or just fics in general, I’m always looking for recommendations and wonderful authors usually also have great tastes in other fics as well! Thank you for what you do for the boat boy and smalletho community, you’re keeping us well fed lol

Oh my god I have many many recommendations!!!! I've actually been waiting for someone to ask me this LOL

Completed:

Settled is one of my favourites of all-time. If you read it you'll see the long ass comment I left on it lol. Description: A five plus one type of fic where Etho struggles to voice his feeling about double-life, and Joel is there to make it harder.

BIR Universe is a classic, a staple, even. One of the most iconic series of all time. Description: A very messy college universe with a bunch of hermitcraft/life series members.

Somehow, I always end up back in Marianas Trench is another personal favourite. I reread it way too often. The writing is incredible in this one + has a side of ranchers and impdubs. Description: AU where our three favourite soulbound couples go on a triple date! Except it's not a date, all of them broke up sometime before or during their last year of college and none of them are over each other.

Holy Father, judge my sins is so, so good. Anything by giddyfenix always is, I think I've read, like, all of their works. Description: Joel and Etho as the seven deadly sins. After all, what were they if not corrupted?

I Don't Smoke (Except for When I'm Missing You) made my heart break a million times over. I actually cannot read this fic without breaking down. It is a clockers-centered fic, exploring the Etho-Scar relationship, but I had to include it because it's just one of my favourite fics of all time. Description: A look into Etho's perspective on the life he and Scar share. They're not so different, you know? They both like to run away.

Works In Progress:

to all the ships at sea is another personal favourite, because the writing is just so, so good. There are currently six chapters out! Description: Etho has a job as part of the crew manning a lighthouse on a small island. With Cleo and Bdubs gone for a few weeks, Etho settles in to keep the Light running single-handedly. He wasn't expecting his life to be turned upside-down when a visitor turns up on the island, completely out of the blue...and he definitely wasn't expecting to develop feelings for the mysterious young man.

Good Luck, Babe is also very, very good. There are seven chapters out right now! Description: Etho couldn't get himself to turn Joel down. Even when Joel has made it clear time and time again that he had no problem doing the same to him. The lengths he was willing to go for a guy who would barely even let them be seen together in public...

hi, etho is super cute, too. I read it a while ago, and it's still one of my favourites, so do what you will with that. Description: About a month after going missing and having no memories to show for it, Etho gets a weird letter from a strange, anonymous sender who might have the answers to his questions.

And that's about it!! If anyone has more recommendations feel free to comment or leave in the tags because I'm always looking for more fics LOL <3

[massivedrickhead]

Pitch Perfect SpookFest Day 2 - R is for Run

Words: 3282

Summary: Chloe goes out for a run, but soon wishes she’d stayed in bed.

Notes: A vague summary, but I’m honestly not sure how to summarise this one other than a run from hell. I started running this year, and I came up with this fic while on one of my first 5K outdoor runs. 

A million apologies because obviously I’m several days late on this one. I’d hoped to have it done by Saturday but I was nowhere close, and both Saturday and Sunday turned out to be pretty busy days.

Trigger warnings may contain spoilers so if you want to avoid those, skip past them.

Trigger warnings: Themes of depression and suicide

Read on AO3

@pitch-perfect-spookfest

-

“It’s Sunday,” Beca groaned, rolling over in bed at the sound of Chloe’s alarm. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand, one eye closed against the sudden bright light. “It’s 7 am, you animal.”

“I’m just going for a run,” Chloe replied, quickly silencing her alarm and getting out of bed. “Go back to sleep.”

Chloe whipped off her pyjama top and began pulling on her gym clothes. Beca blinked a few times and propped herself up on her elbows. 

Chloe rolled her eyes and smirked. “Go back to sleep,” she repeated. “I won’t be out long.”

“You went for a run yesterday,” Beca replied. “I thought you were meant to take breaks?”

“It’s fine, it’s not like I’m running a marathon or something. I’ll just do 5K.”

“She says like it’s nothing,” Beca said, shaking her head. “You said your ankle was hurting.”

“I didn’t,” Chloe replied, pulling her hair into a tight bun. 

“You said it felt spongy,” Beca countered, cringing at the thought. 

“I mean…” Chloe tilted her head and lifted up her leg, rotating her foot. “It feels a little weird, but it doesn’t hurt.”

“Don’t you think that’s maybe a sign you should have a day off? If you wanna work out so bad, I can think of something for us to do.”

Chloe laughed. “And who says I can’t do both?” she said. “You aren’t going to talk me out of this, so are you gonna go back to sleep?”

“That depends, are you gonna stretch before you go?”

“I always do,” Chloe said. 

“I think I can stay up for a little longer,” Beca replied, settling back into bed. “Wouldn’t want to miss the show.”

“You’re a dork.”

“Uh huh. Less talky, more stretchy.”

Chloe disappeared into the bathroom once her stretches were done, and Beca began dozing again almost immediately. 

She was woken up by the feeling of Chloe pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

“I’ll be back soon,” she said. 

Beca caught hold of her wrist and pulled her back for a kiss on the lips. 

“Is everything okay with you?” Beca asked. “Like, really okay?”

“Yes,” Chloe replied. “Getting outside and exercising is all part of the plan. It’s good for me, it helps clear my head.”

“I know,” Beca said. “And I’m glad you have something to help you do that now, I just…” she trailed off, her brain still half asleep. “You’ve been running like every day this week. I’m worried about you, that’s all.”

“You don’t need to worry,” Chloe replied. “I’m fine.”

“And you’d tell me if things got bad again?” 

“Of course,” Chloe said. She kissed Beca again. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Beca said, finally releasing Chloe’s wrist and sinking back into her pillows.

-

After a five minute warm up walk, Chloe’s pace picked up and she started running. 

When she had left the house, it had been the perfect October morning for a run. Clear skies, bright sun, and a crispness to the air that Chloe knew would become welcome as soon she started running.

But by the time the walk had ended, the clear skies had been replaced by grey, and a mist had started rolling in off the sea. 

Chloe didn’t mind though. She’d never run in fog before, and liked the idea of doing something new today. 

They hadn’t lived in this little seaside town long, but Chloe had already established a 5K route. It started in the park and then continued down a stretch of path covered either side by trees and grass. At the end of the path was a road that, once crossed, would lead her to a promenade along the seafront. From there was the pier - which she ran up and then down - and then it was onto the more uneven sand-covered tracks which led all the way to the beginnings of the cliffs. The sea on one side, and the grass-topped dunes on the other. From there it was back to the sidewalk and a straight run home. 

The playlist Beca had curated for her was a perfect mix of musicals and pop to help keep her tempo up, and at this moment Chappell Roan was singing Red Wine Supernova over the sound of the waves crashing in the distance.

Chloe wasn’t sure if she’d ever felt better. 

She knew Beca was worried, but Beca didn’t need to be worried. 

Chloe was better now. She was good. She was outside and exercising and that darkness that had begun consuming her in New York was gone. 

She didn’t even think about it anymore. 

The path took a sharp right and Chloe followed it down the hill and beneath the canopy of trees. 

The leaves had begun falling in the last few weeks, and the normally clear path was now almost completely covered in hues of orange, yellow, and green. Beneath her feet, the leaves were slick and slimy, almost pounded flat against the path, like they had been painted on. She slowed her pace, careful not to slip, and followed the path down and around until she reached and crossed the road. 

The move to this town had been Beca’s idea.

“Are you an old timey doctor sending me off to convalesce by the sea?”

“Yes,” Beca said. “You have a case of the melancholies so we need the sea air to blast it out. I was thinking of getting some leeches too, since you have sad blood.”

“You’re a dork.”

Beca had suggested this place because it was quiet and calm, and no one was likely to know or care who Beca was. 

She had blamed herself and her overnight rise to fame for the resurgence in Chloe’s anxiety and depression. 

Chloe hadn’t agreed - this had been something she’d dealt with since she was a young teen after all - but she couldn’t deny that the sudden appearance of paparazzi everywhere they went, and seeing her wife’s name plastered over every gossipy news site, had made it worse. 

The final straw had been an article Chloe had seen written about herself, with a picture of her and Aubrey holding hands outside a bar. The headline implied cheating, and her social media had been flooded with hate messages only hours after it had been posted. Chloe had been told to kill herself no less than 52 times. 

She had counted.

Like tally-marks in a column, she had counted.

“Beca, I swear I didn’t-”

“Please don’t finish that sentence. Jesus, you do not need to justify holding your best friend’s hand to me.”

The wind had picked up slightly by the time she had hit the promenade, and Chloe was grateful for it. 

It slowed her pace, made her work harder, and cleared out any spiralling thoughts she might have hypothetically been dwelling on.  

She smiled at an old man walking his dog, and gave a nod to the runner coming in the opposite direction. 

She was good.

She was feeling good.

She increased her pace again, and felt the ache in her legs.

Good.

This was good. 

She had gotten into running in college but had fallen out of the habit in the years they’d lived in New York.

At a suggestion from her therapist she’d started up again in this new town, and the bug had quickly taken hold.

The fog was thicker now, and she couldn’t quite judge how far along the promenade she was, but she knew she was approaching her favourite part of the run.

The pier.

It was a mile long stone structure, and at the very end was a lighthouse. One side had a wall that came up to Chloe’s hips, and the other was completely open. It was wide enough for four people to walk comfortably side-by-side, but there was still the thrill of danger that, with one wrong foot too close to the edge, you could slip off and into the sea below. 

There was a moment when running along it that Chloe looked forward to every time. When the beaches on either side would fall away into the sea, and there would be nothing but open ocean around her. 

Chloe loved it. It felt like the whole world dropped away from her leaving nothing but the pier beneath her feet and the infinite ocean stretching out all around her. 

It was addictive, this feeling of breaking free and escaping. 

Today it would be different, she knew. The fog - which had steadily gotten thicker - made it impossible to see the pier stretching out ahead of her, and the ocean either side was completely hidden too. 

Never mind, she thought. I can do it again tomorrow. 

She took a sharp left and began the run up the pier. 

It was a strange feeling, running in the fog. Chloe likened it to running on a treadmill. There was no sense that she was making progress. No idea how far she had come or how far she had left to go. It was like running in a dream. In a void. 

The fog closed around her and, without the usual warning tone that let her know her earphones had died, her music stopped. 

“Shit,” Chloe muttered aloud. 

She was sure she’d charged her earphones the night before. She was sure she’d checked them that morning. 

She didn’t want to stop running to investigate, so she decided to just endure the rest of the run in silence, or as silent as it could be being so close to the sea. 

It was then that, without the music to drown it out, Chloe realised that she couldn’t actually hear the sea. 

She had done this walk with Beca a number of times, and you could always hear the sea. It crashed against the rocks at the base of the pier, and was often louder than their conversations. 

Chloe couldn’t hear any seagulls either, which was also strange. Chloe couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t heard one squawking.

Then Chloe realised she couldn’t hear anything at all.

Not the sea. Not the birds. Not the occasional bark of a dog, or a parent calling to their child. Nothing. 

It’s early on a Sunday morning, Chloe reasoned with herself. Everyone is probably still in bed. 

Even the birds? Came another voice in Chloe’s head. 

Chloe shook her head, and kept up her pace. 

Her ankle had started feeling weird again, and there was a slight twinge in the side of her knee. 

Maybe Beca was right. Maybe I’m pushing too hard and I need to take a break. 

There was a sharp pain in her back. An old injury she had sustained building IKEA furniture when she and Beca had first moved to New York all those years ago. She aggravated it sometimes by sleeping in a weird position, or spending too long sitting in one spot, and now it seems she’d done it by running. 

Annoyed with herself, and with how the run was turning out in general, Chloe decided that once she got off the pier, she would keep running forward, instead of left and down towards the cliff. She would cut the run off early. Go home and take a shower and then crawl back into bed with Beca. 

She judged she had maybe another few minutes left before the pier would end and she’d run around the lighthouse and then back the way she came. 

She kept running, the only sound coming from her feet hitting the ground. 

She waited to see the lighthouse loom into view. 

She’d expected to see flashes from it long before now. It should have been on, warning the ships of the rocks and shore ahead. 

But there was nothing. 

Just the endless grey of the fog. 

Assuming her pace had been much slower than she’d thought, Chloe checked her watch. 

She didn’t like doing this in a run, because it made her too aware of her speed, her form, and how long she had left to go. She liked to just run and then check out her stats when she got home. 

Now, however, she wanted to know how fast she was running. How long she’d been on this pier. 

But her watch didn’t show that. 

It didn’t show anything, not even the time. 

The screen was a jumble of shapes and colours, as if she was trying to read the time in a dream. 

Great, first my earphones and now this. 

With the intention of pulling out her phone from her running belt, Chloe slowed to a walk and then eventually a stop. 

The fog closed in around her, and suddenly Chloe felt white hot pain. 

It was everywhere, all over her body, and it startled Chloe so much she let out a scream. 

The only feeling she could relate the pain to was when she’d once ran along the beach on a windy day, and had been blasted by sand that had been picked up by the wind. Except now the sand felt closer to glass. 

Chloe looked at her arm and saw pinpricks of blood begin to bloom on her skin. 

Run, an urgent voice in her head said. Run! 

She turned on her heel and started running again, back in the direction of home, and the pain on her skin eased. 

What the fuck is happening?

-

There was no way to know how long she’d been running, but it was long enough to know she should have been home a long time ago yet here she was still on the pier.

She didn’t dare slow down but she knew this pace wasn’t sustainable for much longer. Every part of her was aching, and her exposed arms were covered in a coating of dried blood and tiny cuts.

Blood had begun blossoming through the toes of her white running sneakers, and her heels felt like they had been rubbed down to the bone.

Surely she would reach the end of the pier soon.

Her breathing was laboured and there was a painful stitch in her side. Tears had been falling steadily down her cheeks for what felt like the last hour.

She didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how to get home.

She wished she’d stayed in bed that morning.

Was Beca worriedly pacing their home right now?

Was she out looking for her? Calling her name into the fog?

Chloe felt a jolt of fear at the thought of her wandering out onto the pier and getting trapped just like Chloe had.

She tried to pick up her pace - to force her legs to move faster - but her body simply refused to cooperate. She had no energy left to spend.

Her left foot hit the ground and then her ankle rolled.

She hit the ground hard.

Elbows and knees hit first, the impact reverberating through her arms and legs. Beneath her leggings, the skin on her knees tore. Her chin scraped against sandy concrete.

And the fog closed in to rip up the rest of her skin.

This is how I go, she thought. A literal death by a thousand cuts.

She curled herself into a ball, eyes squeezed shut to protect them, and she thought of Beca.

Thought of how she’d looked that morning, half-asleep yet still beautiful. A crease of worry between her eyebrows that had been there for a long time now.

Ever since that night.

The night that prompted Beca’s sudden hiatus from work and eventually their move.

Chloe remembered the whirr of Beca’s printer that she had borrowed for the occasion as she printed off all 52 comments telling her to kill herself.

She read them through again, organised them in a neat pile, and placed them under the note she’d written her wife.

Chloe remembered pills. The smear of her blood against the side of their bathtub.

The sound Beca made that she wished would get out of her head.

Maybe I died that night, Chloe thought, as the tiny shards of glass reopened the barely healed scars on her arms. Maybe this is hell.

She tried to move, tried to stretch out her arm to push herself back to her knees, but it was difficult. Her hand slipped against the sand beneath it - a new graze to add to the collection - and she fell again. She stretched her arm out to try again, but felt open space where the ground should have been.

I must be near the edge.

It dawned on her that this was her way out. A faster end than being sliced up by a million shards of glass. 

Who knew how long that would take?

All she needed to do was roll to her right, and she would crash against the rocks at the base of the pier.

If that didn’t finish her off, the sea definitely would.

She felt… disappointed.

She really had wanted to get better.

She didn’t want to hurt Beca like this. Not again.

No, there had to be another way.

It would be easier to stop.

No.

Just one more roll and you’ll be free.

No.

No more pain. No more guilt. You’re allowed to stop fighting when it gets this hard.

“No!”

Chloe yelled the word until her voice was hoarse. The fog filled her mouth and cut into her tongue and throat but she didn’t stop yelling.

She spat out a mouthful of blood.

She had fought hard to get here and she wasn’t giving up now. 

If the sea was to her right, that must mean the wall was to her left. 

Maybe there were two ways off this pier, and she didn’t have to choose the way that ended her life.

Instead of rolling right, she rolled left. Again and again and again until she hit the 2 foot wall. 

She kept her eyes closed as she began pulling herself up the wall.

Her hands gripped the top, and she pulled herself into a standing position. She knew she must be leaving bloody smears against the stones. Once upright, she tried to lift a shaking leg over the wall, but it wouldn’t go high enough.  

She moved her hands until they were gripping the other edge of the wall and she pulled herself over, not caring she was about to drop head first into sand and rocks and tufts of razor sharp grass.

Her music came back on in a deafening blast as Chloe hit the ground on the other side of the wall.

One earphone was gone, and through that ear she could hear the sea and birds and sounds of life.

She started to cry.

Tears ran down her cheeks and mingled with the hundreds of tiny cuts on her face.

The pain was blinding, but she didn’t care.

She didn’t care because she was alive.

Chloe opened her eyes and saw the fog was gone. Her body was awash with dried and fresh blood and the cuts stung in the cold October wind.

She lifted her arm to check the time.

The screen of her watch was cracked, but she could see it was only 7:35 am.

She started to laugh but it quickly turned back into a sob.

She pulled herself up on shaky legs and began a slow walk back home.

Beca was in the kitchen when she got back.

“Oh hey, you’re back earl- Oh my god!”

The mug she was holding hit the ground and shattered, but Beca didn’t even notice because she was already hurrying towards her wife.

When Chloe spoke, her voice was rough as sandpaper.

“Bec, I don’t think I’m okay after all. I think I need some help.”

[spiderscribe]

For te character ask: gimme Starscream (TFP), Dead End (cyberverse) and Drift (mtmte)

:3💖

Ajfldksjlf you somehow managed to pick three of the five characters that I’ve been really rotating through my brain this past week so thank youuuu I had a ton of fun with these :3 enjoy the headcanons!!! 

Starscream (TFP)

Headcanon A:  realistic

When Starscream gets over himself and stops fussing over how to make himself look as good as possible, he’s actually a pretty good leader who’s skilled at managing all the small details to accomplish his bigger goals. Starscream himself doesn’t know this though, because even when other people genuinely think he’s doing a great job, they keep it to themselves for fear of inflating Starscream’s ego. (It’s Soundwave. He’s people.)

Headcanon B: while it may not be realistic it is hilarious

Starscream’s opinion on humans goes up from “occasionally amusing but overall useless life forms” to “extremely grudging fear respect” after that time Miko stole the apex armor from him and beat him up. Obviously Starscream doesn’t reveal this shift to anyone, but after some observing Raf figures him out. He chooses not to tell Starscream that Miko is an outlier and most other humans wouldn’t be able to kick his ass, because a) it’s an advantage he can maybe use in the future and b) he starts laughing to himself whenever he thinks about it.

Headcanon C: heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends

Starscream is desperately touch-starved, and craves physical intimacy and gentle touches. Alas, after everyone he’s lost and everyone who’s hurt him throughout the war, he never allows himself to be that vulnerable with anyone ever again. He does his best to keep everyone, no matter which side he’s currently playing, a careful arm’s length distance away.

Headcanon D: unrealistic, but I will disregard canon about it because I reject canon reality and substitute my own.

Since it’s canon that Starscream likes to browse the internet, my possible-but-still-probably-unrealistic headcanon is that Starscream is pretty fluent in internet memes and slang. He expects Soundwave to know a lot too, since Soundwave monitors everything, but Soundwave tends to filter out anything he deems pointless and that includes anything to do with human internet culture. The first time Starscream brings up a meme in reaction to one of Soundwave’s audio clips, he gets a very confused blank stare in response.

Dead End (Cyberverse)

Headcanon A:  realistic

Dead End is bad at forming close friendships, mostly because his unending pessimism tends to eventually put people off, but he’s actually pretty good at initiating small talk and making superficial acquaintances. That’s why he’s on speaking terms with most of Decepticon high command and makes a feeble effort to save them from the Loop. (Feeble because, well, being on speaking terms with them doesn’t mean he actually likes all of them. Case in point: Soundwave.)

Headcanon B: while it may not be realistic it is hilarious

As they slowly get to know each better by virtue of forced proximity, Dead End and Hot Rod both come to realize they actually have a lot in common: they’re both the “shoot first, ask questions later” type of bot, they’ve both got quick tempers, they both like to keep their finish as pristine as possible, and (although Hot Rod tries to pretend this one isn’t true) they’re both prone to negative introspection when things aren’t going their way. Rather than bringing them closer together, this realization horrifies them both and they silently and mutually avoid bringing it up, ever.

Headcanon C: heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends

I touched on this in my deadceptor fic, but reiterating it here with more heart-crushing-ness: Dead End doesn’t regret choosing to abandon everyone and leave the universe with Megatron. It’s not that he doesn’t care about everyone else, and if they were all hurt or killed by the Quintessons he would’ve been sorry that they died, but that’s not enough for him to feel bad about his choices. He’s not sorry about prioritizing himself and his own goals first.

Headcanon D: unrealistic, but I will disregard canon about it because I reject canon reality and substitute my own.

Shortly after joining the Decepticons, Dead End developed a crush on Megatron. It eventually faded into strong admiration and loyalty, but Dead End still thinks the whole situation was extremely embarrassing and would vehemently deny it to anyone who asks.

Drift (Mtmte)

Headcanon A:  realistic

Drift’s ongoing “see who gets more kills in fights” contest with Rodimus was actually his initial idea, not Rodimus’. He came up with it so he has something to focus on while fighting (keeping track of his increasing number of kills) and he doesn’t lose himself in a mindless rage the way he used to do as Deadlock. He only meant it as a one-time thing, but competing with Rodimus turned out to be so fun, and Rodimus’ sulking face when he lost was so funny, that Drift brought it up again the next time.

Headcanon B: while it may not be realistic it is hilarious

If a normal bot was fully aware that Ultra Magnus hated them, they’d do their best to stay out of Magnus’ way and avoid doing anything to piss him off. Drift, who is far from a normal bot and more mischievous than most people think, conspires with Rodimus to play really stupid pranks on Magnus like adjusting the lighting to be a few degrees brighter than regulation and using incorrect punctuation in his submitted reports. Drift thinks of it as “if Magnus thinks I’m the same kind of idiot as Rodimus, then he’ll stop seeing me as a dangerous Decepticon.” Rodimus just thinks the whole thing is hilarious and is glad that he isn’t the only one getting yelled at.

Headcanon C: heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends

Drift treasures every close connection he’s formed in the past and present—all the people who saw something good and worth saving in him. But after he defects from the Decepticons, he starts chasing that kind of close connection with a secondary reason: yes, he still desires that intimacy, but he’s also looking for people to devote his life to. Drift sees offering his unquestioning loyalty as a way to atone, and if he ends up dying for someone, then, well, it’s what he deserves after everything he did as Deadlock.

Headcanon D: unrealistic, but I will disregard canon about it because I reject canon reality and substitute my own.

A leftover habit from his days as Deadlock means Drift naturally has a very exaggerated fighting style. Think dramatic twirls and poses, sword thrusts that are a little flashier than strictly necessary, brutal punches that hit where he knows will cause the most energon to spray out, terrifying smiles, etc. As Deadlock, it strengthened his reputation as a fearsome berserker and he revelled in it. As Drift, it’s mortifying as all slag. It takes him conscious effort to not fight like that, and he still sometimes slips into the habit by accident. Rodimus tells him not to worry about it because he thinks it’s cool. Many, many years later, Ratchet admits it’s kind of hot.

[soulgazingwithbucky]

Details (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Maybe you and Bucky just weren't meant to be. Alpine (dis)respectfully disagrees.

Based on a prompt from this generator: "Y/N and Bucky break up, but they have a pet and neither of them want to give it up. Then they spend a few days each with the pet separately. But it kinda helps them get together again."

Warnings: mentions of food & alcohol

Word count: 3.1k

A/N: Writing this fic taught me that the Venn diagram of romantic flowers and things toxic to cats is a circle. I wrote this listening to Trust by Brent Faiyaz radio on Spotify, so I have no choice but to share it for any other hip hop/R&B fans <3 If you find yourself enjoying this, feel free to check out my other works here <3

You were the sun up above, he was fallen snow.

You were the beauty of flower petals, he was the strength of tree roots.

You were a song belted out loud, he was comfortable silence.

It took you a while to fall in love with Bucky Barnes. But,

as they say,

good things come to those who wait.

You were big picture, he was details. You were looking too broadly; he slipped between the cracks. You crept into every corner of his brain until it was an overfilled balloon. Oh, how he had pined until you finally saw him as he saw you. It was torture, those few months before you took his hands in yours, leaning in for that first kiss that ignited every nerve in his body.

The more time you spent with him, the more certain you felt about his psychic abilities. He knew you so well, like he was reading your thoughts. Or seeing the future. Was it an effect of the serum? But he indulged you in his secret: he just paid a painful amount of attention.

When you scratched your throat, he would get you a glass of water. Always three ice cubes.

When you shifted in your seat, he would take your leg and message it, pressing firm circles into the back of your calves.

When your eyebrows scrunched and made that little crease in between, he would kiss it. When he pulled away, it was gone.

He was details.

You mused that he should reserve that expertise for saving the world. He left a flutter of kisses on your knuckles, telling each finger that he would have no better use of his skills than to keep you happy.

You were grander than life. He was sure that if you had been the one alive for a century, you would have lived each year to its fullest. He looked up to you, his idol, his inspiration.

The sound of tape unraveling broke you out of your stupor.

Loud, screeching, sudden.

A fitting call back to reality.

Bending at the knee, Bucky gingerly placed the box in front of you. You knew he could’ve lifted and dropped it with just his pinky finger; it would’ve been the equivalent of you dropping a sheet of paper.

But he was always so considerate of you. Your feelings.

Your reactions.

You.

“I think that’s the last one,” he told you. A lie. He knew it was the last one.

“Thank you,” you said, staring at the box, rotating it to find the cutout handles.

CLOTHES, he had scribbled on every side in thick sharpie, the writing comically large. He was thinking of you, in your new home, surrounded by replicas of the same brown cardboard box. He wanted to make it as easy as possible for you.

It, the situation he had put you both in.

You were larger than life. But he had made you feel smaller than an atom. Like a child's once overused coat that now collected dust in the back of a dark closet.

Your name, so tender on his gruff tongue, drew you out of your thoughts.

You kept your face stony. You didn’t dare think what it had betrayed when you dove into the recesses of your mind.

“Sorry,” you spoke.

“Don’t be,” he murmured. Stay, he thought.

You stood, rummaging in your pocket. Well, his pocket. His sweatpants. You acted like you forgot they were his; he acted like he forgot, too. At least some part of him would still be with you.

A silver key emerged in your outstretched hand. His finger twitched. You noticed that.

He taught you to.

Then he reached out, closing the space between the two of you. His fingers curled over yours, ridding the key from sight.

“Keep it,” he said.

“What?” you said.

“Shared custody,” was his attempt to lighten the mood. As if on cue, Alpine rounded the corner.

you summoned, dad? she seemed to say, grazing the doorway as she made her way over.

Be strong, you had demanded earlier, pointing at yourself accusingly in the rearview mirror. Do not give in. Don’t let him see you falter.

But this beautiful, aggravating, wonderful cat was your whole world (surpassing Bucky, you made sure to tell him regularly), and you felt the tears well up. You thought you had finally run out. What an awful time to find you were wrong.

“Are you sure?”

“Never been more sure,” he said firmly. “I-”

The syllable lingered in the air. He had to be strong, for you. It was the least he could do. He brought this on himself, and he had to see it through. He had no idea how to balance the whole hero thing and being in love thing. He had never done it before. What an awful way to find out he did everything wrong.

He would never forget the day the straw broke the camel’s back. He had told you he needed to reschedule your Saturday date, not knowing the day you had planned out. But Wakanda had requested his and Sam’s presence at a UN meeting; you both knew they seldom called in favors from him. Your lip quivered in failed restraint until you abruptly stood up, nearly toppling over the takeout containers on your lap. Everything poured out of you in that moment, loud and endless and angry. Bucky had shut down, staring straight ahead with hardened eyes until you grabbed your things and left.

He was details. He was a quick pick-me-up after a hard day at work. He was a quiet back rub during a feel-good movie. He was a gentle reminder about that one errand you could never seem to remember.

He wasn't big picture. He wasn't a step back to see the writing on the wall. He wasn't the pieces coming together. He wasn't the painful realization of you weren't happy. Not until it was too late, anyway.

“I'll walk you to your car,” he offered. He hesitated before picking up a few boxes. Don’t be stupid, James. Don’t hope for her to change her mind. “Get the door, doll? Sorry. Could you...get the door, please?”

You managed to nod, though you felt as if every bone in your body had merged into one. You opened the door and watched him walk away with your life in a few measly boxes.

“Get the door, doll?” he had said, dragging in several bags of groceries. You harped on him for having a total of three items in his refrigerator, and stopped your movie night to go to the grocery store at 10pm. The clerks were not happy with you.

“Get the door, doll?” he had said, gingerly holding Alpine in her carrier. He did let you hold one thing that time- Alpine’s medication. You both loved her too much to let Bucky carry anything else but her, especially after the scare she had put you both through.

“Get the door, doll?” he had said, muffled over the armfuls of flowers, chocolates, and balloons. Your last Valentine’s together, though neither of you knew it would carry that title. You had laughed at the ridiculous sight of wine bottles tucked into his back pockets.

“I'm sorry,” he said after loading the last of the boxes into your car. He left enough space in the middle seat for you to still use your rearview mirror.

“Don’t,” you whispered. You had had enough of empty apologies. So do something about it. So end it if you wanted to focus on work. So ask Sam to enlist the help of literally any other superhero. Dr. Banner could get it done in, like, five seconds, you once huffed.

“But I am.”

You knew he was. And that made everything worse. The deadly Avenger with the unstoppable arm, capable of defeating Outriders and Flag Smashers. But to you, just your sweet and gentle Bucky. Your sweet, gentle Bucky, who revealed a side to you that no one else got to see. The hero of incredible strength, who held you like you were the lightest of feathers.

You knew that this was as new a world to him as it was to you. You had many a mirror pep talk reminding yourself of this. But you couldn’t help that empty feeling. You became a longing glance at other couples, kissing and hugging and laughing, while you sat in the empty booth. Another last-minute mission for your mighty hero meant another drink for you, liquid in your cup deterring the glistening in your eyes. You became a forced smile, an ongoing habit at work parties and social gatherings, dismissing everyone’s questions about why the hero wasn’t by your side. You became nostalgia, looking at old videos of Bucky on your phone, because you could count on the memories of the man more than the man himself.

“Goodbye, Bucky,” you said, speaking to your car door handle. You hadn’t met each other’s eyes once this entire time. You were kind of glad. You just knew one look would leave you gasping for air, lungs suddenly rid of breath and replaced with a whirlpool of ocean blue, the gray and cobalt turning your intestines into a loop.

You didn’t stay to hear his response. You got in your car, turned on the engine, and reversed out of the parking lot.

Don’t look back

Don’t look back

Don’t- Oh, for god’s sake. Of course you looked back.

There he was, still and staring. You knew he wouldn’t leave that spot until your car was completely out of sight. Making sure you were safe.

The next few weeks were filled with lots of ice cream, cheap wine, shitty movie nights, social media algorithms feeding you breakup posts, loud bars with too many people, your friends and family checking in, more tears (fuck, they never run out), takeout delivered to your doorstep, maybe an impulse buy or two…

When you were in distress, Alpine would always sit on your lap until your uneven breaths were in line with her quiet purrs. You would stroke her fur and mutter a thank you while you kissed the top of her head. She would eventually be irked by your flurry of kisses and promptly leave, knowing you were okay.

And so you found yourself turning onto an all-too-familiar street, pulling into an all-too-familiar lot, walking up to an all-too-familiar door.

Whatever trance you were in broke as soon as you felt the jagged edge of the key in your hand. You came to your senses long enough to reluctantly send Bucky a text, asking if you could pay your favorite girl a visit.

His response was almost immediate, shining brightly on your phone screen.

Open invite.

You sighed gratefully, though his response didn't indicate whether he would be in attendance. You pressed your ear to the door, and were greeted with silence. Carefully, you entered your former home.

It smelled like amber, like pine, like leather. Like Bucky. It was overpowering, threatening to shut off all your senses until-

Your heart melted as you spotted Alpine, summoned by the sound of the door. You hadn’t even let yourself into the space, instead falling to your knees and spreading your arms right there by the door. She came to you, stepping on your thighs and pulling herself up to your chest. You embraced her, and your tears fell.

You and Alpine stayed like that for a while, until she wriggled out of your grasp and disappeared.

that's enough, she seemed to say. dust yourself off.

You retrieved a few treats from the cupboard, leaving it for her on her favorite spot on the coffee table.

Your rendezvous continued every week. You seemed to have found the magical window of time where Bucky Barnes was never in his apartment. A weekly debrief with Sam, you guessed by the sticky notes on the fridge. You time, Alpine time.

At first, you stayed in front of the door, not daring to leave the space occupied by the doormat. Alpine would come to you, until she wouldn’t.

She coaxed you to the kitchen first, pawing at where Bucky kept her food. You gave her a little extra in her bowl, knowing that Bucky had already fed her. He was religious about it.

If she could roll her eyes, she would. 

i’ll indulge you this time, she seemed to say, nibbling while you sat on the ground and petted her.

Next was the living room. She walked across the cushions, inviting you.

i haven’t got all day, she seemed to say.

You sat next to her, feeling the familiar sink of the cushion beneath you. Though you sat uncomfortably, your spine stick straight and your bum right on the edge of the couch.

You left her treats every time, in the same spot. You didn’t notice how the bag seemed to magically refill every time.

On your next visit, Alpine napped peacefully on the glass coffee table, right next to a thin vase of flowers.

You flinched. He had decorated. For someone else? But as you stepped in, you recognized the blush pink hue of camellias.

Alpine’s eyes slowly opened until she registered your presence. She walked around the vase, tail adding a dramatic flourish. Totally unnecessary, as the plant stood out enough in Bucky’s horrifically monochrome home.

dad said they were your favorite, she seemed to say.

A week later, Alpine purred in your lap as you leaned back on the soft couch, even daring to turn on the television. You were greeted by an array of music videos lining the search history. All the songs you told him to listen to, but thought he never did.

“This one is the best,” you told Alpine, gesturing to the most recent video played. She looked up at you.

dad’s only played it a million times, she seemed to say as she lengthened her body into a stretch.

“Huh,” you said on your next visit. A single magnet sat on the fridge door, a cartoon bear operating a gondola. A souvenir Bucky picked up after a conference in Italy. Also known as, your old message to Bucky when he came home in the dead of night from assignments. It meant, food inside. eat, please, then come to bed. i love you. He would sit his aching body, massaging a bruise or picking at Sam's shoddy gauze work, and enjoy the meal you prepared.

It must have been a fluke, but you found yourself pulling open the fridge door. A nearly empty fridge, save for a styrofoam container perched on the middle rack.

You sat at the kitchen table, enjoying your comfort meal from the Thai restaurant you could never stop praising, while Alpine watched you lazily.

“Tell him thank you,” you told her sheepishly. “I guess.”

i’ll think about it, she seemed to say as she yawned and walked away.

Every time you visited, there was a small gesture to make your stay just a little more comfortable. Your favorite tub of ice cream. Your favorite candle. Your favorite author's new book. This was Bucky's love. It was quiet. It was subtle. It crept up on you, like the smile you didn’t know you were wearing. He was details.

You filled up his fridge, a colorful combination of fruit, vegetables, and snacks. You brought in bags full of throw pillows and blankets, arranging it carefully in his home. The muted colors looked blinding in contrast with the monochrome pieces Bucky preferred.

And this was your love. It was the big-ass elephant in the room, if the elephant also yelled, "Hello! I'm here!" It was a clown car, pouring out in impossible amounts. It demanded to be seen, it demanded to be heard.

“Big it is,” Bucky said, feeling the cool air of the fridge, staring at the arrangement of food that threatened to spill over.

Alpine had the honor of watching you both. There was a lot she seemed to say.

You hummed, turning the key until you heard the lock free itself.

Balloons grazed the ceiling, shaped in cheesy hearts and shining proudly in metallic pink and red. Bouquets of forget-me-nots and roses, asters and camellias greeted you from the tables and countertops. You heard the familiar rhythm of your favorite song filling the air.

Alpine stood in the middle of it all, mewing happily and swiping at one of the many balloon strings.

Bucky stepped out from the doorway that led to his bedroom, just barely. You could make out the blue shirt that stretched over his chest, the wrinkles in his pants, the nervous twitch of his jaw.

"No debrief?" you said hesitantly, stopping short at the door.

"Cancelled. I had something that took precedence.

“Alpine insisted on the decor. I told her it was too much,” he said sheepishly, still gauging your reactions, gesturing towards his pet that paid both of you absolutely no mind.

You stared at him in disbelief, still not sure he was really there, in front of you, but you couldn't help but laugh.

“I worked on a schedule,” he said quickly, “with Sam. We called Clint, we got his advice.”

“Uh-huh,” you said absentmindedly, dropping your bag on a chair.

“Even Scott had some advice, but a lot of it depended on being on house arrest…”

“Sure,” you said, fingers grazing over rose petals.

“All this to say, I'm sorry. And I know you hate hearing it, and I know I don’t deserve it, but if you were-”

“Bucky?” you interrupted, taking one last step to close the gap between you two. In his anxious state, he hadn’t realized you were making your way over to him. Your fingers reached out, the prickle of his stubble tickling your fingertips. He sighed into your touch as you traced the chain of his dog tags, setting off the familiar jingle of metal.

“Yes?” he breathed, barely audible. His arms stayed at his side, heavy as anvils, the desire to trace your curves overwhelming but wondering if he was deserving.

“Say what you need to say,” you murmured, “quickly.” You wrapped your arms around his neck; he lowered his head until your foreheads rested against each other. His hazy blue eyes rested underneath furrowed brows, tense with regret.

“I'll do it right this time.” He spoke to your lips, and you watched as his eyes dipped low, masking the blue behind a curtain of eyelashes. “For you. For us.”

“I'm just here for the cat, Barnes,” you responded with a smile, pressing your lips to his.

He chuckled, feeling sensation return to his arms. He cupped his hands underneath your thighs and lifted. You yelped as you wrapped your legs around his torso and your hands gripped the back of his shirt.

Alpine paused her playdate with a curling ribbon just long enough to watch you two disappear into the bedroom.

my job here is done, she seemed to say.

[gayferrari]

While the conversation is on r63 can I say that the concept of girl carlos haunts my brain? I can't figure out what she would be like. I had a number of Spanish friends growing up as a baby lesbian who was very bad at performing femininity, and maybe this is just the case for my small sample but to me they were Very Feminine. And carlos as he is is very definitively and comfortably masculine in a way that makes it hard for me to imagine girl carlos as Not being like that, but also one of the key things about Carlos to me is that he exists well within the boundaries of how everyone else expects him to be, and masc girl carlos would be transgressive of how a girl should present herself. But femme girl carlos? I cannot see her or at least I imagine her being very uncomfortable in her own skin. I need a proper Carlos scholar to puzzle this one out for me

I think about fem!Carlos soo much. I'm fascinated by the possibilities! You're so right that Carlos is so comfortable performing to expectations and I can't help but seeing fem Carlos as comfortably feminine too, but I think she'd be inherently... more odd, maybe? just by virtue of wanting to be a racing driver. She'd be the middle sister! With two lovely sisters who just like Carlos grew up up with their father being gone because he was racing, and somehow she's the one who decides that's what she wants to do, too, instead of going for something more conventional and convenient. I wonder what kind of relationship she'd have with her mother (probably a bit more strained than rl Carlos) and what it would be like to come up through the Red Bull junior program / her early career years.

anyway re: image I do actually see Carlos as being quite feminine but probably not in a polished “sexy” way — she wears skirts sometimes on her own time but wouldn't wear make up in the media pen. Much less closer to to the societal ideal of femininity than real Carlos is of masculinity. idk!! I'm rotating her in my mind still

anyway!!!! if you want a Carlos scholar I highkey recommend @/steviethenarwhal and their girl Carlos fics on ao3

[were-changing-cake-vaults]

Who’d Even Look Me In The Eye

“You realize we’re screwed, yeah? There’s no getting out of this unscathed, Wem. We’re dead meat.”

He laughs, an empty little breath. “We’ve been screwed since the beginning, Squiddo.”

Hello and welcome to my partykillers manifesto. They rotate in my head like rotisserie chickens constantly so it was inevitable that this fic would be written lmao

This isn’t ship! At best this is a doomed toxic friendship trying to mend itself and failing. If it came off as ship, uhhhhhh. Whoops I guess. Idk interpret it as you want ig I just didn’t intend it to be romantic.

Content warning for mention of vomiting and general lifesteal violence, title from Kiss Me, Son Of God by They Might Be Giants (which is THE Team Nuke song. To me)

Please reblog if u liked it and enjoy!!!

Wemmbu is sitting on the edge of the crater that used to be 4C’s base when Squiddo finds him. He’s idle, swinging his legs back and forth over the yawning gap below, leaning back on his arms as if he were simply enjoying a nice sunset. Conveniently, the sun is in fact setting, orange and pink hues filtering through Squiddo’s glasses. The final few rays reflect off of Wemmbu’s polished crown, scattering light like pockmarks of the wreckage.

Squiddo doesn’t approach him right away. She wasn’t exactly looking for the man- they were simply wandering, as a Squiddo often does, their feet guiding them as thoughts ran wild in their brain. Her feet and scattered mind brought her here either by coincidence or fate, and it’s never in her favor when she walks into a situation blind like that. Around Wemmbu especially, with how he can change at the drop of a hat, laughing one moment and snarling another. It’s best to watch him carefully, first, see how he’s acting when he thinks he’s alone before entering the fray. For that reason, Squiddo hides behind one of the boulders that came careening down in the explosion, hidden eyes trained on the man twenty feet away from them.

They don’t find it strange that he’s devoid of any tension while surveying the wreckage. This is his coup de grace, his shining achievement; a monument of his sheer power in a world that wants to beat him down. There’s a fondness in Wemmbu’s eyes as he casts them across the landscape, soft smile reaching them without any effort. Contrastly, if Squiddo weren’t focusing on analyzing him as if he were some sort of crossword puzzle that was being particularly difficult, they’re pretty sure they would be full to the brim with a manic sort of regret- small fits of laughter would bubble up from somewhere in her chest, despite a lack of a smile. And then she would probably vomit over the edge, because guilt does that to them.

Here’s the difference between Wemmbu and Squiddo, as partnered as they are: Squiddo never wanted this. The first time, when it was just a mean move on the chessboard in a family diner, it was fine. It was funny, even, to watch as people she had just gotten to know fall lifeless, their souls yanked backwards at a million miles per hour. That was part of the game everyone had agreed to play. This—the air strike, the destruction, the days of stress, the sound of Wemmbu’s screaming demands echoing through their head—was a step too far for them, even if 4C had agreed to it, and she had initially been willing to pitch in. Maybe it was because working on the nuke itself had worn them down to skin and bones, sleep abandoning them in moments of need, but something had switched in her head upon watching the TNT fall from the sky. Something in them screamed wrongness, and suddenly, instead of pride welling up at finally getting the damn thing working, regret surged into her for letting this happen. For having a hand in it. The sharpness in Wemmbu’s voice as he made his ultimatum—something he never clued her and 4C on—only solidified that feeling in her stomach.

Speaking of Wemmbu, he’s still just sitting there, kicking his legs. From this angle, Squiddo can’t entirely read his face, but there seems to be no tension as far as they can tell. He’s in his element, something she hasn’t seen from him since the nuke went off. It’s not odd in any manner, it’s just…off putting. Disconcerting. Something Squiddo can’t make an accurate prediction out of. But if fate brought them here, surely it meant something, the same way it must’ve meant something for them to join lifesteal in the first place, so she steadies her resolve and lifts herself from the crouching position she took upon seeing him.

They can tell exactly when he’s alerted to their presence- in an instant, his posture tenses, fingers digging into the rough terrain. His crown jostles a bit as he silently tries to locate the sound. It’s easily missable, those little quirks, but Squiddo knows Wemmbu better than anyone else on this server. She’s had to pay attention to those quirks for days on end, before. She can read him like a book if he lets them. Knowing him, he won’t give them the chance.

“Y’know I can hear your footsteps, Squiddo,” he calls out without moving.

“How’d you know it was me?” They reply, but they know the answer already. Wemmbu just huffs a laugh in response. So far, the tension in the air is minimal- both of them are holding their breath, keeping it light as if their friendship hasn’t been atomized three times over. She can almost pretend that nothing has changed, if it weren’t for the visual reminder in front of them.

Wemmbu doesn’t keep the game up for long, though. “Why are you here?” he asks, and the familiar sarcastic bite to his voice makes itself known between words. It’s less of a question and more of a challenge, a test to see if they’re worthy of his presence. “I thought you hated me, or something.”

That’s odd, Wemmbu getting vulnerable so quickly. Squiddo knows it’s an act, his way of lowering her own guard so he can lure them in, but she’s not entirely mad about it. As much as they wish he would just take the hits as is rather than scheming his way out of every mildly uncomfortable situation, they know it’s in his nature to put up the front as quickly as possible. Usually, the banter lasts longer, is the thing. He’s particularly bothered by them being here. They don’t know if they like that or not.

Instead of lingering on it, though, she moves on, ignoring the sentence that was tacked onto his question. “You know me. I wander. Ended up wandering here.”

“Right.” Translation: cut the bullshit, Squiddo.

The huff that comes out of her is a mix of frustration and relief. It’s still the same old Wemmbu, and that’s both good and bad news. Which Wemmbu it is, Squiddo doesn’t know, but they’ll take their chances on it being the one that won’t kill her on sight.

He doesn’t move when she walks up to the edge and sits down next to him. His sword, if he’s even got one on him, stays in his inventory. The only change between either of them is that Squiddo starts swinging their legs in sync with his, hands gripping the edge of the crater to keep balance. She pointedly doesn’t look down- as much as she dislikes Wemmbu’s lack of tells, she doesn’t want to show her own, and the queasiness would eliminate her already weak poker face.

For a long moment, both of them just watch the sun set in front of them. The air smells of smoke and iron, the lingering traces of their actions hanging heavy on their shoulders. Grass has begun to creep through the cracks in the rock, nature claiming the wreckage as its own once again. For anyone else, it’s beautiful. To Squiddo, it still is, but the gentle beauty is easily trampled by fear and guilt.

It’s Wemmbu who breaks the silence, voice flat and casual. “I don’t regret a thing, you know.”

Her tone is similarly flat. No tells. “Distinctly aware of that, yep.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” he continues, leaning back on his palms, soft smile gracing his face again, “it was hell. Building the nuke, I mean. Those schematics are burned into my retinas to the point where I could rebuild it blindfolded. I tried to, once. Spoke caught me before I could finish.”

“Were you gonna use it?”

He shrugs. Lets the silence between them simmer, as if he’s just enjoying the view. Knowing him, he probably is.

“Eh. Wouldn’t’ve done much, probably. Most likely would’ve just blown up in my face.”

More silence. Something Squiddo knows about Wemmbu: he doesn’t trust silence. This situation is probably eating him alive, with the way they’re dancing around the metaphorical elephant. It’s eating them alive, too, waiting for his reaction, for him to settle on a mood. She swallows her desire to just start crying, or laughing, or something. Now’s not the time for that. Now is the time to just get on with it, either by playing the game of chess he’s laid out with this conversation, or push him off the cliff while he’s vulnerable.

Her voice is steady when she speaks. “I don’t know if I regret it or not.”

“What, like it wasn’t exciting?”

“Our definitions of exciting are very different, Wemmbu.”

He chuckles at that, as if it’s another late night at the launch site and they’re goofing around again. “Squiddo. Squiddo. You can be mad all you want, but you can’t deny it wasn’t at least a little bit fun.”

He’s trying to get a rise out of her, she knows. She hates that it’s working. She hates that they’re sliding back into normalcy. She hates that she can imagine 4C next to her, swinging his legs in time with her. She lets that hate seep into her next words.

“Fun?! Fun was when Zam and Minute were dressed as the FNaF animatronics celebrating my fake birthday. Fun was when you would be away and me and 4C would dick around the launch site like children. Fun was 4C undulating in the wiring! Fun was messing with the secret controls! Fun was filling spawn with water! You?,” Squiddo gestures to the landscape in front of them, shadows forming as the sun dips below the horizon, “This? This was a living nightmare, Wemmbu! And I-“

She cuts herself off with a huff, falling back onto the rocky soil behind her. Tears are making their glasses fog up, so she takes them off, pressing her palms into her eyes to ward off any frustration. The breath they didn’t know they were holding releases from their chest. Wemmbu doesn’t move from his spot on the cliff edge, nor does he pull out a weapon of some kind. He must be in a really good mood today, if he’s not killing her for that jab against him.

In front of them, the sun finally dips below their view of the horizon. Stars speckle the darkening sky. In any other situation, Squiddo could watch them for hours; in this one, they break the silence with a quiet, wavering conviction.

“You realize we’re screwed, yeah? There’s no getting out of this unscathed, Wem. We’re dead meat.”

He laughs, an empty little breath. “We’ve been screwed since the beginning, Squiddo.”

She knew this. Those same words have been going through their head over and over, spurring her to pace, get out, go somewhere. Hearing it from him, though, is a heavy weight on her chest, one that makes the regret swirling in her stomach do flips.

“Then why’d you do it?”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, not set an ultimatum that couldn’t be fulfilled?”

By the sound of rocks rustling and pebbles tumbling down the side of the crater, Wemmbu has finally stood up. He takes the time to dust himself off, hands brushing against fabric in an almost rhythmic manner. If Squiddo opens her eyes, she can see him standing over her, arms crossed and eyes unreadable, assessing her as if she’s under a microscope. It doesn’t worry her as much as the fact that her eyes were closed around Wemmbu does.

After what feels too long of an analysis, he speaks, falling into his typical tone of monologue. “Power is a fickle thing, Squiddo. It’s not just you have it or you don’t. You have to earn it in a manner that no one has done before, and it never lasts as long as you want it to. But oh, I wanted it. I joined the race for power on a server where everyone has done everything to get it. I had to take the risk.

And you know, maybe it wasn’t worth it. You said it best. We’re fucked. No matter what we do, in the long run, there’s no getting out of this alive. But I have at least some time left before it all goes to hell, so I’m gonna make it count. Every second of it.”

The difference between Wemmbu and Squiddo, as partnered as they will be: Squiddo never wanted this.

Wemmbu holds out a gloved hand. The black contrasts nicely with the neon purple of his skin, bloodstains barely noticeable. Most of that blood is probably Minute’s, if they had to guess. “You’re along for the ride, as much as you claim innocence. Might as well stop crying about it and make it count too.”

They take his hand, hoisting themself up with his help. That heavy feeling hasn’t left their chest, but it’s something Squiddo knows how to live with by now.

“Never said I was claiming innocence, Wem. I was just mad.”

“Aren’t we all, Squiddo, aren’t we all.”

The reason Squiddo keeps teaming with Wemmbu, as different as they are: neither of them know when to stop.

For a long moment, they both just stand there, looking over the crater. In the moonlight, it takes on an eerie sense of calm, a silent mourning underneath the cover of night. That calm washes over Squiddo as she watches the patches of grass away in the breeze. Then Wemmbu turns to leave, shoving a hand in an unseen pocket and placing the other on their shoulder.

“You never answered my question, by the way.”

This time, it’s her who lets out the huff of a laugh. “About hating you? Can’t. I try not to hold grudges, if you can believe it.”

He laughs back in reply, a hearty thing combined with a layer of sarcasm. “God, you sound like Minute, the freak. I don’t think that man is capable of having a mean bone in his body.”

“I have no clue how he’s survived this long, honestly.”

It’s nice, as much as Squiddo doesn’t want it to be, talking to Wemmbu again. Her mind brought her here, and it’s probably because she needed it- she cares about her other server mates, of course, but the same way she knows Wemmbu, he knows her. No one else can rile up their audacity the way he can. No one else can make her feel okay with living in a war zone like lifesteal. Ash tried, but Ash is a different breed of player, and works on a different playing field. Squiddo sticks with what she knows, and she knows Wemmbu, as unfortunate as that can be.

And yes, they’re screwed, but for a moment, underneath the sparkling navy sky, Squiddo pretends that both of them have more time than they do.

[dandylovesturtles]

31 and 36 for the ask game 🏄‍♂️

Okay so I’m going to answer these in reverse because while I was thinking of the answer to 31 I ended up having a whole tangential rant and I’m going to put that part of my answer under a cut lol

36. I think Mikey is the hardest one for me to write. He’s easy enough as a side character, but when I try to make him the main character I have a harder time delving into his flaws and problems and what makes him tick as a driving force of the narrative. It’s something I would like to change, though, because I love Mikey a lot. I’m grateful to the people who write Mikey-centric fics because I can read those and learn more so I can better rotate him in my brain microwave haha

31. So it’s not necessarily that I dislike Donnie’s Gifts as an episode, but I do tend to pretend it didn’t happen most of the time, because I have no idea what to do with it lol. It’s definitely not meant to be taken too seriously and I think that’s fine, and I don’t really like taking it too seriously. But I am usually writing more serious-flavored fics, so bringing up that time Donnie put a shock collar on his brother feels…. well, it breaks the tone haha

I have enjoyed the occasional fic or comic that DOES choose to take it seriously but I prefer to just pretend it’s not there for my own work.

Mind Meld is kind of in the same boat but this is where I ended up going on a whole tangent so I’m going to put it under a cut

The thing with Mind Meld is I feel like they had a good idea but then lost the through line. I THINK they wanted the ultimate lesson for Donnie to be that he prefers his brothers the way they are, even if that means they don’t think and act like he does. And I don’t think this is a bad issue to tackle with Donnie. Overall I kind of like the idea of him using a machine to make his brothers more like him as a thing he thinks at first will be beneficial, so that’s not really where my problem is.

My problem with the episode is… it works? Like, they do the mission properly. And then the bros end up being even smarter than Donnie and better at doing things. So by the end it feels like Donnie isn’t reverting his bros because he misses them, it feels like jealousy. Especially because they start being actively hostile toward him.

If I were writing the episode, I would have them bungle the mission the second time too. And Donnie would not understand, because how could four of him have messed it up! But of course, it’s BECAUSE you have four people who all think the same way that it falls apart. They all get caught up in Classic Donnie Overthink and everything goes to shit. Mikey can no longer razz his tazz around an obstacle and Raph doesn’t want to use his fists for smashing and Leo is thinking straight forward and not in 4 dimensions.

Donnie having to come up with a THIRD plan, one that properly took his brothers’ strengths and personalities into account, and then convincing his Donnie-fied bros to think that way and thus accomplish the mission, would show that Donnie has learned the error of his ways and has come to fully understand the strengths that each of his brothers has even if they aren’t the same strengths Donnie has. Which is what Donnie’s Gifts was trying to do too but if they’re going to do the same story twice anyway might as well do it better the second time.

Anyway in conclusion Nickelodeon should hire me /j

Thanks for the ask!