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moth-boi-lycan · 9 months

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Got a little inspiration from a Donnie gif that @/sanfezu made. Idk where the hell this came from but my brain started braining and my hands started typing, so here:

T-C3ST DNI or I will rip your intestines out through your nose and then rip your heart out of your chest and use it to play wall-ball against your gravestone.

The Twin's Bond

(Hurt/comfort fic)

Twin senses are a powerful thing. One soul split in two. Feeling eachother's joy, rage, sadness, and everything in-between. Sometimes if strong enough, thanks to being one soul split in two, they can feel the happy stimming of the other. Or even the physical pain of the other, too...

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Everything seemed like it was going in slow motion for Donnie. In this moment he could just feel Leo's pain, it was lighter than what he knew his twin was going through, but he felt everything. It was unbearable knowing that's what Leo was feeling. But hearing him telling- no, begging Casey on what to do to save everyone, his heart dropped.

No. No no no no, this wasn't how things were supposed to go. He couldn't lose him. He couldn't lose Leo. The twins and their family were supposed to get a happy ending. Heros get happy endings! Then why- why was this what they were getting instead?! Damn it, no no NO, he couldn't fucking lose his twin.

He couldn't lose the one that helped him through his sensory overloads with weighted blankets and stim toys, the one who would send him random pictures with the intent of making him laugh, the one he stayed up with at ungodly hours of the night. He couldn't lose that.

He couldn't lose the one that had made a promise that they'd always stick together, the one that helped him sleep after a nightmare when they were tots (and still did it occasionally just by feeling the other's fear and knowing exactly what to do), hell, they even made a pact where if one died then the other would go out too so they wouldn't be alone.

He heard Raph begging Leo not to do it while he heard what sounded like Leo's shell cracking and bones breaking. His twin was in pain, he could feel every punch, every break, every slam into the Technodrome and he couldn't do anything to help him. He... he really was going to lose him, wasn't he...

He wanted to say something, anything, over the comms' to beg Leo to remember their promise and to not leave him, but he couldn't find his voice. He felt like he was choking, and that's when he realized the reason he was choking was because he was holding back tears.

He snapped out of it a few minutes later when a loud cracking explosion sounded off through the sky and debris from the now destroyed Technodrome began to fall down to earth around them on Staten Island and into New York City.

The portal closed and he froze.

Why didn't...

Why didn't he feel anything anymore.

Why didn't he feel his twin's pain anymore.

The tears he had been holding back were now freely running down his cheeks, but he didn't make any sound. He wiped them away and shook his head in disbelief as they kept coming. He couldn't stop them.

He preferred feeling Leo's pain rather than... than not feeling him at all.

Leo was gone after closing that portal. Donnie felt something snap inside of him, like how he imagined a rope breaking from too much strain and the ends going separate ways would. He fell to his knees like Raph had, dropping his bò as his arms hung limp at his sides. He felt...

Numb... Leo would occasionally talk about them being one soul split in two despite being completely different species of turtles and having almost no biological relation to eachother (spare their father's DNA, that was something that had been forced), and Donnie always brushed the supposed joke off not knowing Leo was serious. Now he was starting to believe it. Maybe they really were.

That snapping feeling he had felt... was that how it felt for a person to lose their twin? Their other half? The other part of that soul they shared? He heard Raph talking to Mikey, telling him to stop trying to open a new portal to try and get Leo back.

Mikey was trying to be the mystic warrior Casey had told him he was, but it wasn't working... there wasn't even a single spark of hope around him, his arms were still stretched out in front of him and his heels dug into the concrete as he continued to try.

Donnie silently appreciated how Mikey wasn't giving up, but he couldn't even smile. Knowing that Leo was most likely being beaten to death; Prime breaking Leo's bones, cracking his shell and plastron, tearing his insides apart and making him bleed despite never completely ripping him open, throwing him around like a ragdoll, crushing him and slamming him into anything and everything that would hurt him the most and refusing to even let him have a slight chance to get up and fight back.

It broke him. That numb feeling only intensified when Mikey stopped trying and fell down on his hands and knees with Raph going over to hug him tightly. Donnie really wanted a hug, but not from the family he had left, he wanted to hug his twin again. He wanted Leo to be ok, to bounce back and be at home with a stupid fucking grin on his face, joking about how some dumb interdimensional portal could never keep him away from his family.

He already wished he could just turn off his heart that now had a gaping hole in it; to forget he even had a twin, then it wouldn't hurt him. Yeah, it'd hurt his family by saying he had no twin, but he wouldn't be in pain because he never would've 'known' Leo if he forgot. He jumped when he felt Raph's hand on his shoulder, silently telling him it was time to go back to the others.

Donnie stayed still. He didn't want to go back. He wanted to stay right where he was. He didn't want to see the mourning faces of everyone else, he knew they were in pain, but not as much as he was. They had all lost their brother, for Splinter (and unbeknownst to Draxum), he lost his son, and for Casey, he lost the past version of his sensei-slash-uncle. But Donnie...

He had lost something much more important. Something that was more than just a regular brother. If soulmates could be platonic - which he wasn't exactly sure they could be - he had just lost his soulmate. His other half. He couldn't go back to see their depressed looks and he just couldn't go back to the lair, not when his room was right across from Leo's. He'd have to walk out and be reminded every fucking day of what he had lost and have it hurt even more.

But... they had made a promise. A death pact. If Mikey could bring Leo back soon, he wouldn't have to go through with it. But if Mikey didn't manage to bring Leo back at some point and Donnie DID go through with it, there was only a 50/50% chance that he'd see Leo talking about his life while gram-gram listened. Leo was a fighter. He- He could survive the prison dimension if he tried.

Raph kept on shaking him, trying to make him get up, but he didn't see Mikey anywhere; he had gone to try again. This time he tried even harder to open something, anything, even if the portal was just small enough for them to see if Leo was still alive. Donnie's eyes widened when he felt something.

Leo.

He was... he was alive.

He was hanging on for dear life, and he was winning the fight to stay alive. Donnie couldn't move as he watched Raph run over to Mikey, getting behind him and putting his hand on his shoulders to take some of the damage for him that was being done to his body. Donnie waited, unable to bring himself to move, but he felt the other half of his and Leo's split soul getting closer.

When Raph had finally moved to pull Leo out as Mikey closed the portal, Donnie finally forced himself up to run over to where his twin laid with his head on Raph's lap and Mikey was holding his hand.

"C'mon Leo, you can do it. Wake up, please! I-I know you can hear me Leo! Please..." Mikey pleaded, holding onto Leo's hand a bit tighter.

He smiled as bright as the sun when he felt Leo's grip tightened slightly. Donnie reached his hand out towards his twin, who was still partially unconscious.

He rested his hand on Leo's cracked plastron, already thinking of ways to help heal him, but he was mostly focused on him waking up. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against Leo's like they would do ever since they were little, the comfort of knowing the other was there helping them feel safer.

"C'mon, 'Nardo. Wake up for us. We know you're alive, please, Leo..." Donnie swore he felt the connection that had sewn itself back together tearing again, but it was refusing to break this time.

Donnie smiled as wide as Mikey did when he saw Leo starting to open his eyes and looking around.

"Hey guys.... everyone alright?... y'all look like shit." Leo joked wincing immediately when he started to laugh. Yeah he definitely had a few broken ribs, Prime had crushed him multiple times and pushed down on his chest for fucks sake, of course he had broken ribs.

Raph and Mikey rolled their eyes and smiled at Leo's attempt to be funny despite the current circumstances, but Donnie stayed unmoving. He had stayed in the position he put himself in, his forehead still resting against his twin's and his hand against his plastron, covering up the largest crack there. Leo smiled weakly at Donnie, his mismatched red and purple eyes staring up at Donnie for a few moments before painfully sitting up and pulling him in for a bone crushing hug - literally and figuratively. It hurt him, but he didn't care.

Donnie sniffled and hugged Leo back, trying to be careful of his injuries, but tightened the hug when he realized that Leo didn't care how much it hurt. Donnie was so relieved.

He was relieved he could feel his twin's presence again.

He was relieved that his platonic-soulmate had been brought back from cheating death.

He was relieved that he felt the other half of their split soul again, and he wasn't letting go of that anytime soon.

He wasn't going to let himself lose Leo ever again, Donnie needed Leo. And he knew Leo needed him as well. Thanks to the extend of both of their injuries, he knew they'd both be in the medbay for awhile, but that didn't mean they couldn't have their beds close enough to one another to hold the other's hand if they were in pain. Even after that, Donnie would definitely ask Leo if they could share a bedroom again like they did when they were little so they'd only be a few feet away if the other needed comfort.

He knew Leo wouldn't object to it. They were twins, they were closer to eachother than the others understood. And that is a bond they wouldn't let anybody break.

#rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt leo #hurt/comfort #spite fic #disaster twins #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt raph #i was gonna make this pure angst #buuuut...#if i did that then there would be some...#darker and more sensitive topics...#yeah i have some issues-

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trans-queen-administrator · 5 months

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Ok people seemed to really like the last post I made summarizing an unwritten fleshed out worm fanfic I had, so here's another! This one's an altpower and wait where are you going come back its good I swear.

(tw: suicide)

Taylor triggers with Ingenue's power after an incident involving Sophia (who is removed from the wards and not a part of this fic past this), and outs Sophia as a cape since Ingenue can see powers. She's forced into the wards because she has no ability to defend herself, is immensely powerful, and people will want her dead or on their side since she can out every cape in the city. She genuinely has no practical choice besides the Wards here, so she begrudgingly joins. It's not all bad though! She actually makes friends for the first time in so long :)

Her and Missy hang out a lot, and their powers synergize super well since Taylor can make Vista frighteningly powerful. She warms up to Dennis after some patrols, she can make his power non-touch based too! Dauntless is like a mentor figure, they meet up every day so she can make his charge way more powerful, speeding up his growth by like 3 times, and he gives her lots of advice, helps her begin to come out of her shell, and is generally chill. Good times.

So y'all remember that bit about Ingenue's power causing people to go insane in the long term? What if you didn't know about that and you constantly used your power on your friends? Wouldn't that be funny?

Clockblocker is the first to snap. He's on a train when he just decides fuck it, and freezes a pencil in the air. Everyone sitting to the left of him down the length of the train gets impaled by it, just goes clean through. It's covered up as a villain attack, he's ushered off to the asylum, and the wards are just. Really messed up by it. They miss him, they miss his jokes, and they don't get why he did it.

A week passes. Taylor confides in Dauntless about how she feels like it has to be her fault, like everything is, but he reassures her. It's fine, she's done so much good, sometime's people just go bad. Genuinely just a great pep talk, she still misses Dennis but she's grateful she has the rest of her friends and Dauntless is there to cheer her up. She also mentions how it's hard to walk around the city, she keeps seeing villains and she can't do anything about it. She mentioned a few weeks ago that a bunch of them keep going into the same building, but she's helpless and just has to sit by.

That night, Dauntless levels the Medhall building. A few E88 capes were inside and they fight, and he kills them. Everyone else in the building is injured at the least, collateral damage that Dauntless would have cared about before. There's no covering that one up, he's killed dozens. When he's caught more than half the empire is dead, along with upwards of a hundred bystanders, and he's sent to the birdcage.

Taylor doesn't leave her room for a few days. Vista reassures her that it wasn't her fault.

On their next patrol, Missy begs Taylor to use her power to remove her manton limit. Taylor doesn't, but she's pretty sure she sees the pattern now. Vista's going insane. Were the other two this obvious? Should she have noticed? Would everyone be alive if she had? Would she still have friends? How can she tell anyone about this, when she'll be blamed?

She goes to Piggot, pretty much accepting that she'll get birdcaged or something. She's a horrible person, she knows that. She never gets to talk to Piggot, because all the heroes get called into the field to stop an A class threat. Vista is twisting the city around her, killing countless people. She turns bullets back, she extends a knife with her powers like Jack Slash. She's finally proving what she can do, then they'll all see, and they'll respect her and let her fight the way she wants to.

(side note, ingenue's power makes people closer to their shards in this interpretation, which also means they're flat out way more powerful even without her touch after a while)

The heroes are fighting Missy, they're losing, none of them want to hurt her. Missy see's Taylor from across the city, she's using her power to see almost everywhere at once by distorting space. Within seconds, Taylor is next to Missy. She reaches out to touch her, if she can shut down her power then it'll all be ok and Missy can get help and they'll be friends again and it wont be her fault. The space between them is a mile long and a foot thick. Missy doesn't want her help right now, she wants to prove herself to Taylor so Taylor will finally appreciate her power and they can be a team. Taylor tries to look away as Missy kills someone, space is warped so her line of sight is directly on the act. She closes her eyes, and the space between her eyelids is stretched infinitely wide. She watches, unable to stop her, as Missy keeps killing and defending and destroying. Missy begins to try to upend the sea floor, to dump the ocean onto the city. She's taken out before that can happen. How doesn't matter, what matters is Taylor couldn't stop her. The city is in shambles, its her fault, she was RIGHT THERE and she couldn't do anything, she could just watch and watch and watch.

She tells the PRT about how she thinks her power is breaking people. She's banned from touching anyone. They don't do much more, legally speaking she's safe and it wasn't her fault. The rest of the wards don't talk to her anymore. They blame her, just like she knew everyone would. It's her fault everything went to shit. She can't blame them for hating her, she hates herself too. She sneaks out to go on a walk one night, when the hateful looks and resentment get to be too much. She sees a cape. Lung.

Taylor knows her power is practically useless alone, and she walks up to Lung and insults him, provokes him, riles him up to attack her. If she dies here at least she'll be remembered for dying as a hero fighting a villain, rather than someone who corrupts everything they touch. Lung burns her, bad, all over her right side. He lifts her up by the neck and prepares another fireball. This is what she wanted, but she can't do it. She twists his power, reducing his durability and fireproof nature to zero and ramping up his firepower. Lung burns himself to a cinder in seconds, erased by his own power once the protections were gone. Taylor gets burned again in the blaze. She couldn't even commit suicide without hurting anyone else. She couldn't even die without fucking it up. She's alive. Panacea refuses to touch her to heal her, for very understandable reasons.

She goes to the asylum, despite her request for the birdcage.

Filled with guilt, afraid to touch anyone and everyone, blaming herself for everything that happened, avoiding Dennis at lunchtime while he glares at her, closing up and being silent for days on end, haunted by the people Vista forced her to watch die. Her fault, all of it.

And that's the end! Woooo! She's broken forever, no coming back from that one!

#worm #parahumans #wormfic #taylor hebert #tw: suidice #there were some other ending ideas past the asylum but none of them felt right #i can't settle on something besides she's broken forever #funniest alternate ending is Contessa uses Taylor to get rid of PTV restriction #kills scion #saves the world #and all Taylor knows is that she just helped a hat lady kill the only hope against the endbringers #but thats just a silly fun way to break her a little bit more #tw:suicide #alright I figured out how to spell words

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via-the-cryptid · 9 months

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carnation au time. am I already writing a fic for this? yes! is it going well? hell no! that’s why I’m on tumblr babey!

ANYWAYS WHERE WAS I. yes the girls. their first meeting is an absolute disaster, as we’ve established, but now they’re both Rather Attached to each other, and as they head to Shells Town, they get to bond a bit! Koby isn’t really going to lose that hero-worship ‘she’s an angel in human form’ mindset until later, so right now it’s mostly Luffy bragging about how strong she is, Koby getting nervous because she’s incredibly weak and oh no what if Luffy is disappointed? and instead of being annoyed that she’s weak, Luffy just… immediately vows to protect her from Everything and Everyone until she’s strong enough to do it herself.

fellas, Koby practically swoons.

also Luffy is the taller of the pair because I said so. Koby probably gets a little taller, but it ain’t by much, she’s like 5’5 to her Amazonian-built gf’s 6’6 (a rough estimate at best. I am terrible at estimates.). listen I just think it’s really funny for post timeskip Koby to still be a short pink lass, but now she’s a short pink lass who also happens to be able to break an island in half if she so pleases.

#one piece #one piece au #Carnation AU #koby one piece #op koby #coby one piece #op coby #kobylu #cobylu #monkey d luffy #monkey d. luffy #fem!luffy #fem!koby #fem!coby #genderbend #lesbians

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levitatingbiscuits · 1 year

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Do you hve any fav superbat fic recs? Any fics with the trope u talked about recently (bruce tryna charm a slightly bewildered clark)

that particular dynamic is kind of rare, but i just checked my bookmarks and i have a LOT more fic recs that kind of sort of have it than initially anticipated lmao

first up, anything by mithen on ao3 is god tier. they are the definitive superbat writer and have been for over a decade. they wrote both the first superbat fic i ever read (interview with a batman) as well as my favorite superbat fic of all time (heroes of the squared circle). but all of their superbat fics are great, and there are a lot to choose from!

I also really like susiecarter's superbat stuff because she is fantastic at writing "awkwardly trying to make friends" bruce (who is often also pining for clark), which i deeply enjoy.

takes one to know one (the love square) by soetry is a SUPER adorable, very funny fic where supes and bats are besties but (unbeknownst to them) each nursing an embarrassing crush on each other's civilian identities. seeing batman stiltedly interact with cheeky intrepid reporter clark, who is totally unintimidated by him, was great.

The Salmon Incident by CoffioCake is another hilarious love square where batman gets very jealous of superman's growing crush on his new boss, which he whines to his bff about often and at length. of course, he doesn't know that clark's new boss is bruce wayne.

Satisfaction Brought It Back is an adorable fic where bruce gets magically turned into a cat, and who do we know who rescues cats out of trees? initially, bruce does not like supes at all, so it's great to watch him slowly warm up despite himself due to clark's inherent lovability. of course, once he turns human again, clark is not as fond of bruce as bruce is of him, but bruce is gonna make sure it doesn't stay that way for long ;)

Favorite Strangers is set in the DCU before Superman's resurrection. Batman is tortured by guilt and regret, naturally, and ends up dimension hopping to a lighter and softer comic setting where the Justice League is in its heyday and Superman and Batman are best friends (and maybe more). Lots of great angst as Bruce grapples with this vision of how things should have been, falls ever harder for Clark, and deals with his alternate self, who is PISSED that a version of himself hurt Superman.

Learning to Fly is a superbat beauty and the beast au where Clark wanders into a horrific bat monster's mansion in an attempt to escape his odious bald suitor. then the bat monster starts trying to woo him.

On the Half Shell is probably the closest to the dynamic I was talking about. Lois dumps Clark, Bruce jumps at the chance to seduce him Brucie-style, but things go wrong when Clark assumes they're having casual rebound sex and Bruce gets utterly thrown off his rhythm and predictably reacts in the worst way possible because he sucks at communication. Then he has to try to make amends for acting like, well, himself lmao

There are tons of other enjoyable superbat fics in my bookmarks as well, if you're willing to brave them! They don't even slightly have the specific dynamic you're looking for but they're still great. Of the two of them, Clark is my blorbo, so most of my bookmarks have dynamics that are not the typical "superman is in love with batman and tries to win him over" that you often see for this ship. at the very least, they tend to go in depth on clark as a character, which is unfortunately rare :(

#superbat #fic rec #anonymous #fanfiction recommendation

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fullofgutsndopamine · 18 days

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Feels So Nice (Smile like you’re hiding something)

TW: cursing, mention of fake blood, halloween decorations

this is a halloween fic im very aware it’s april

“this place looks pretty haunted.”

you peak at your side and see your little sister, dressed in an old bedsheet with crooked eyes for a ghost.

you pull the sheet back, constantly falling in her face, before you adjust it, crouching onto the hard cement.

the holes in your jeans are met with the wet cement and you’re thinking how you have to wear these stupid jeans to work tomorrow but your sister insisted you dressed up and how could you say no to those eyes?

“Cass,” You say gently, “i’d never let anything bad happen to you.”

she looks unconvinced, biting her lip and shifting her weight from one foot to the other to see over your head, where the thing that’s stressing her out stands in the mouth of their garage, handing out candy.

even a few houses down you can hear the ominous music that plays loudly from a hidden speaker some sort of circus music that cuts off every few minutes with a maniacal laugh and a chainsaw revving up.

the homeowner also changed every light on their front yard to a dark blood red floodlight, fog pours out of the garage and floats around the edge of the grass inviting you to come in, to take your chances, to see what happens.

“Honey,” you bring her back quietly, “we don’t have to go. We can go to the Anderson’s-“

Cassie huffs, “No that house is for babies!”

you hold in the sigh that’s threatening to escape from your lips, instead: “That use to be your favorite house.”

“Yeah,” she rolls her eyes through the sheet, “when i was seven. i’m older now-i’m not a baby.”

you swallow down the part of you that wants to remind her that she slept in your twin size bed last night because she thought she heard a noise and her head immediately went to a ghost.

“let’s go.”

she takes a step before freezing, offering her hand:

“i can hold your hand,” she says instead, “if you’re scared.”

finally, there’s the kid sister of yours you remember.

“Good,” you say and your voice is only slightly dripping with sarcasm, “I was scared.”

it’s a short walk to the house in question, but the winding driveway makes it seem bigger. thr wrap around porch doesn’t help instead.

as you get closer, you see him.

you know of him, of course. fucking everyone does-

he’s a small town hero (or menace, depending on who you ask) talked about in low whispers when you pay your overdue water bill at town hall with a. check that bounces only 40% of the time.

cindy, the clerk, will take the check, typing on the computer slowly as she gives you the tea. you’ve never been infested in the meetings, but you can hear the noise form inside even if the doors are shut.

“that’s hasan,” cindy will roll her eyes. “he hates this town.” shell slide the receipt back to you, “think half his fun is raising hell at board meetings though.”

He sits in a rocking chair, slowly slowly slowly rocking back and forth, a large box of kind sized candy bars on his lap, a smirk on his face. he wears large rimmed glasses and he’s smiling as you approach, using his knuckles to push his glasses up his face.

as you get closer, cass slides next to your body, making you run into her with every step. by the time you get to the porch, ready for the magic sentence, she’s fully behind your leg.

“Sorry-“ you apologize and you aren’t sure why you’re apologizing, it just seems like you should be

instead of seeming irritated, or rolling his eyes at you, or talking about the line that will eventually form now that news is getting out about the full size candy he instead sets the bowl on the ground, slides off the chair and crouches on the floor, as if trying to make himself smaller.

“My names Hasan,” he says gently, “what’s your name?”

right on cue the chainsaws rev up and he rolls his eyes, fumbles for his phone and pauses the music, holds his hands up like it’s a magic trick:

“Sorry. see,” he says gently, “it’s just music.”

her head pops out from behind your leg but her tiny fingernails dig into your legs and you know she isn’t full convinced.

her eyes are full on him and it’s like he suddenly remembers the wife beater he wears, the fake blood that covers his shirt and even his glasses-

he takes his glasses off, the world is blurry:

“This is fake too,” he says gently, “feel it. It’s sticky. it’s corn syrup.”

you’re about to insist he doesn’t have to do all this, when she hesitantly pops out from your leg, her hand going towards his glasses

he giggles as she swiped her finger on the lens:

“see,” he laughs, “it’ll dye your finger red. it’s all fake.”

he takes some and swipes it on her face, some that was revealed from the sheet falling again and suddenly she’s laughing.

“thatta girl,” he coos, “here.”

he turns around and hands her the box that she gasps at and slowly picks at.

his eyes pop to you and his face is pink, even with the lights on and the fake blood you can see he’s embarrassed

“sorry uh,” he scratches the back of his head as if he’s embarrassed now. standing at his full height, he towers over you and seeing him being embarrassed makes you smile harder, “didn’t think uh-the blood was that good.”

you snort, “for an eight year old? terrifying.”

he laughs back, “Yeah. i guess i didn’t account for kids.”

“halloween and kids,” you tease, “who would’ve thought?”

he laughs, but it’s small and he stares at his feet,

“sorry for uh-“ he shrugs, “all of that. Can i try again?”

you’re confused, but nod and his hand pops out in front of him, “It’s nice to meet you, my names Hasan. I’m your neighbor.”

cassie comes back into your side, a bag of m&ms in her fist.

you laugh, offer your hand and name back: “it’s nice to meet you, finally. you’re well known around here.”

he grips the metal bowl of candy, “hope it’s good.”

and he seems genuinely worried that you heard bad about him, heard the reputation, heard to stay away.

you don’t know this, you don’t know the parts that sit in the cul de sac with the engine running, his voice low and cracks as he reveals all about him, the fucked up parts too

“depends who you ask.”

and you think it’s a good enough answer, think it’s mysterious enough, but he seems worried by the answer.

“lemme make it up to you?” he says gently, “for scaring your kid. i owe you, right?”

“hasan,” you laugh as kids are giggling and running up behind you, “it’s halloween-“

“give me one try.”

you stare at him, the fake blood that drops, how he makes himself smaller, tried to make it less scary for her-

“okay,” you say gently, “okay. yeah. one chance.”

a smile spreads on his lips, “you won’t regret it.”

cassie pulls at your hand, and a new group of kids pile around hasan and you’re saying your goodbyes-

it isn’t until your three houses down that you realize you don’t have his number.

#caroline writes #hasan #hasanabi #hasanabi x reader #hasanabi x y/n #hasanabi x you #hasan piker fic #hasan piker ff #hasan piker fanfic #hasan piker fanfiction #hasan piker imagine #hasan piker x you #hasan piker x y/n #hasan piker x reader #hasan piker

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wicked-jade · 23 days

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WIP Folder Game

Tagged by @dream-beyond-the-fantasy

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.*

Some of these are WIPs that I've already started posting, others I haven't and may never seen the light of day. I'll bold the titles that are in progress and already have chapters up. I've also marked the pairing, if applicable.

A Day Late and a Dollar Short (gen)

A House With a Crowded Table (dutch/johnny)

Come Sit Beside Me, My Only Son (lawrusso)

Come the Morning Light (dutch/johnny)

Delinquent Valley High (robby/tory)

Dutch Sick Fic (dutch/johnny)

Give The Devil His Due (lawrusso)

Heroes in a Half Shell (lawrusso)

Hold Out Your Hand (dutch/johnny)

I Ain't Evil (I'm Just Good Lookin') (lawrusso)

I Get a Kick Out of You (johnny/?)

I Won't Be Home For Christmas (Please Post My Bail) (lawrusso)

Know Mercy (johnny/lyle)

Little Ghost

Mercy's Eyes Are Blue (dutch/johnny)

MerChozen (chozen/johnny)

More Human Than Human (lawrusso)

Neon Angels on the Road to Ruin (dutch/johnny, lawrusso)

Or Forever Hold Your Peace (dutch/johnny)

Prequels, Sequels & Reboots (lawrusso)

Red Right Hand (dutch/johnny)

Running Down a Dream (lawrusso)

Should've Learned to Play Them Drums (lawrusso)

Sunshine of Your Love (dutch/johnny)

Take Our Sweet Little Time (dutch/johnny/ruben)

The Beating of Our Hearts (dutch/johnny)

The Wrong Guy, in the Wrong Place, at the Wrong Time (johnny/lyle)

Top O' the Morning (lawrusso)

What Goes Around Comes Around (lawrusso)

What to Get the Karate DILF Who Has Everything (lawrusso)

Whistle While You Work (lawrusso)

Tagging: Yeah, I'm not tagging 31 people. I don't think I even have that many to tag, lol. So I'll just tag @phoomwhoosh, @desolateice, @lulamadison, @russolaw, @pinktintedmonocle and @zappedbyzabka. And anyone else who wants to do this, of course.

#wip folder game

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ymaohoh · 28 days

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'and she's a bride of the fucking devil' - Hellcheer Fic - Chapter One

Henry Creel has waited a lifetime for her. (and Chrissy thinks this is hell)

Yes, Henry was something else entirely. Not human, not like her. “Are you going to hurt me?” Chrissy whispered. (she was so achingly beautiful when afraid) There was a glint of something deep in his eyes. Something long-forgotten, something primal, something even he may not understand. “I don’t want to…but I will if you anger me and leave me with no other choice,” Henry answered after a small pause. He used one of his long elegant fingers to lift her chin so she had no option but to meet his burning intensity. “...but if you're good, Chrissy, and follow my rules, then I will keep you safe. I swear it.”

Lots of very iffy manipulation and dubious consent. There's going to be an underlying theme of Chrissy/Eddie (thus the relationship tag) Also on Archive. Word count: 7,355 Rated: M - next chapter is going to earn some tags.

Her body was numb (unfeeling) as it slammed against the trailer ceiling.

All Chrissy could do was watch and scream, but her body refused to listen to her pleas - please please stop, I don’t want to die. It was almost mockingly cruel how her body chose to ignore her. How once again it did not belong to her. She had wickedly starved and punished this body for the simple crime of not being good enough.

It was as unloved as an abandoned dolly (its hair brutally shaved, its glassy eyes scribbled over in biro, its plastic limbs snapped and bent in painful angles).

Her body crashed against the roof with a sickeningly loud bang. Through a fog, she could hear the distant sound of someone yelling, of someone calling her name over and over. But her body did not respond to the name of Chrissy anymore. It was rejecting her, shutting her out.

It owed her no loyalty. No love.

(though harsh, it made sense that the manner of her death would be removed entirely from her control, just as her pitiful life had been)

Because Chrissy had always been the type of girl to watch meekly from the sidelines and let things happen to her. Like the proverb - see no evil, speak no evil, hear no evil - she sleepwalked through life with her eyes and ears firmly stitched up without ever pushing back (it didn’t matter that her mom held the needle - she was complicit). If she would not fight for her life, then why would it fight for her now?

It owed her nothing.

Let her tumble and fall. Let her break and shatter.

The monster that stood before her was the culmination of every nightmare, every unknown terror in the dark, every shiver that creeped down her back. It was the evil that stalked her from the shadowy depths of her mind.

She was the hunted animal, and strained against the iron trap that held her. She wasn’t brave enough to gnaw at the flesh of her ankle to get free.

“Don’t cry, Chrissy…” the monster murmured.

It was not the kind of voice she expected to hear at her end. It was gentle, almost compassionate. Like the snake in the Garden of Eden, its forked tongue whispered half truths into the shell of her ear…or were they temptations?

“Sweet girl, it’s time for your suffering to end.”

She was terrified of this creature that towered over her (its dark eyes relentless). The fear wedged tight in her throat, threatening to choke and gag her.

Chrissy knew this was the moment in movies and books where the plucky hero would plead and bargain for the villain to let them go, to spare their life. She should use this chance to tell him how desperately she wanted to live and return to her beloved friends and family - please oh please let me live. There’s still so much I want to see and do. Didn’t she read somewhere that victims often said please when bargaining with their captors? As if the sugary sweet manners bullied into her as a child would be enough to sway this monster’s gruesome mind.

(she saw it all so clearly in her head - her eyes wide and tearful, her quivering lip, her hands clasped together like some maiden from a tale)

But instead she only trembled and wept, courage and words failing her. It was like her body had already shut down to face the inevitable.

(and she loathed herself for it. Like a lamb to the slaughter, she lay down to bear it without a fuss. She would cause no trouble)

She doubted anyone would miss her. What was one less coward in the world?

“It is time, Chrissy. Come…”

It was so much easier to lean towards him, to swallow his offer whole.

The monster held out its hand like he was offering the forbidden fruit itself but before she could take it (and accept it), its talons caught hold of her wrist in an icy cold grip and tugged her forwards.

Forwards into a waking fucking nightmare.

And Chrissy was desperately, fearfully, alone. That was the very worst thing.

She spent hours calling for help, calling out for anyone else who might also be stuck in this long twisted web of crimson smoke and shadows. She yelled and shouted, trying to hold onto hope that someone else had been taken by the monster, and she would have an ally.

An ally who would tell her what to do, who would keep her safe.

She wished bitterly for her boyfriend Jason, for her father, even for her granddaddy who died when she was eight and who used to swing her up on his broad shoulders. She even wished for Eddie Munson though she hardly knew him at all (she thought he would help her though - just like he offered to help her in the forest. He played that Dungeons and Dragons game that Jason labelled wicked and ungodly, perhaps he would enjoy playing as a knight on a foolhardy quest to rescue the maiden from the monster?).

Or more likely he would be snapped and broken, just as she had been.

Chrissy didn’t know how long she searched for as time seemed irrelevant in this world. It was Hawkins, she came to realise, as she drifted from home to home without any real plan of where she was going. Only this Hawkins was like something from the doomsday sermons she grew up listening to at church.

She remembered flicking through a book she found at a yard sale when she was still a kid. The pages showed scarily dark depictions of hell and the devil, images that had (of course) burned a hole through her young impressionable mind. They weren’t too far off what she saw now.

(she had snuck that book home beneath her sweater and stashed it under her mattress - her mom had raised (figurative) hell when she found it and slapped her so hard her teeth chattered. She was forced to attend Christian camp that summer).

She began to think of this world as some hellscape. Everything was crimson and decrepit and covered in a thick coating of dust and debris. The sky above her was always dark (there was no sun, no clouds, no stars) - though thunder and lightning often waged war, making her flinch. Whenever that happened the world around her would always shift as though waiting for something, and the creepy blood-red vines would twist and pulse.

If this was hell, did that mean she was truly dead?

She certainly felt like a ghost as she explored further and further, without any plan or purpose.

Her memory was starting to fail her (she wondered if this was a side effect of being here - that the smoke and dust she inhaled were clouding her mind), and the details of what happened were already hazy.

She couldn’t remember a knife or a gun. There were flashes of distant pain, of broken limbs…but when she looked down she found her arms and legs were smooth and whole, no evidence of foul play at all.

And the rest of her body was similarly unaffected. It seemed frozen in time, in a perpetual state of being from when she first arrived in this nightmare. She spent all of her time roaming but her hair did not grow greasy and any dirt or grime did not stick. She found she didn’t need to sleep - though she grew tired.

(when she eventually reached her own house, she used a knife from the kitchen drawer to prick the end of her finger to see if she could still bleed. She screamed when no blood would come, even when she pinched the flesh hard. She grew bold and cut into her arm - again, no blood or wound - but she felt it, at least)

Was this what it was to be a ghost then?

It was not a surprise to Chrissy that her childhood home offered no sense of safety even now, and so she didn’t linger. She crept from room to room, thinking she should collect some valuables in her backpack perhaps, but what good would any of that be to her now? Ghosts didn’t mementos or keepsakes.

She did try and change her clothes into something more practical (if she was going to go on like this forever, she wasn’t sure a cheerleading uniform was the most fitting) but when she tried removing her skirt she found the zipper would not budge. Her clothes and shoes seemed glued to her body. She tried pulling out her ponytail and thankfully that did come out, at least.

She only ever wore it up to please Jason. It would be a real kick in the teeth if that act of deference remained with her forever.

Yet bizarrely (or was it bizarre? She had no right to predict the rules of this place, surely) she started to feel the familiar pangs of hunger and dehydration. Her body was invulnerable to harm and illness and starvation, but it still expected to be nourished.

She tried drinking straight from the kitchen tap but found the water here tasted like rust and she gagged. Similarly any food she ate crumbled in her mouth like ash. It sustained her for a little while but soon her stomach was growling again. It seemed no matter how much she ate or drank, she could not quench the ache.

(the irony was not lost on her - that she gave in to these pangs now but ignored them while alive. Perhaps this hellscape created these rules in order to punish her)

Before she left, Chrissy considered setting fire to her home but as cathartic as it would be to watch it all go up in flames, she couldn’t muster the energy. She did pull down the hideous family portrait and used a pair of scissors to snip it up though (Ms Kelley’s sessions had never felt as rewarding).

Instead she found herself walking towards where it all started: the Munson family trailer.

By the time she reached Forest Hills, her legs were shaking with exhaustion and she could barely crawl. She let herself inside and collapsed on the shabby couch.

The lounge looked similar to when she last saw it, though she’d been preoccupied by way more important things than interior design - like buying ketamine, Jason finding out she was alone with the self-proclaimed school freak, the constant horrifying nightmares that left her muddled and sick with fear. She remembered the cosiness of the trailer, however, and liked how different it was to her own stark cold home.

Everything looked the same…except for the the large fucking something on the ceiling which made her leap up. It looked like a…window? A door? She peered directly up at it. Instead of seeing the metal roof or stormy sky outside, she thought she could see…more furniture.

Chrissy had to balance on a chair to reach, but even through the darkness (for a shimmering cloud of black smoke settled around it, as though protecting it) she saw another lounge on the other side of that window. Like a mirror image, she could make out the couch, the TV, the same damn goofy mugs displayed on the wall. It was brighter though, like a lamp was turned on.

Holding her breath, she reached up high but was blocked by an invisible barrier. It felt like scraping her nails against glass.

Only it didn’t shatter like glass, even when she banged her fists against it. Chrissy hit it with such force that her wrists throbbed and would have surely broken were she anywhere else.

She wasn’t the type of girl who swore, but she did so now. She cursed until she was blue in the face.

Eventually she curled up on Eddie’s bed and wept.

She must have drifted off to sleep (though maybe not…who could tell what was real or a dream anymore, and did it matter either way?) because suddenly she was no longer in the Munson home.

She was kneeling in the attic of an old stately house that looked a lot like her own, except it was decrepit and falling apart at the seams. There was no roof and two of the walls had crumbled away (or been blown off in an explosion). It was filthy and cobwebs decorated nearly every surface. She could see spiders lurking in the shadowy corners.

Chrissy couldn’t explain it, but she knew instinctively that wherever she was, was at the very heart of this shadowy hellscape world. The vines that twisted through the open walls were huge and the air seemed charged. It curled around her, enveloping her, and crackled with electricity and power.

Could this be the beast’s lair? Had it brought her here to finish the job?

She tried to stand, thinking it was better to meet this monster on her feet instead of crawling like a snake on the ground, but a sudden wave of nausea and tiredness hit her over the head and she saw stars. It was enough to make her cower and bow down.

“Poor girl.”

She managed to glance up, expecting to meet those terrifying dark eyes once again, but the man standing across the attic looked decidedly human.

The first thing she noticed was that he was an especially beautiful looking man. His sandy coloured hair waved back from his face naturally and his eyes were the same shade of blue as the sky in summer. His poise and bone structure was elegant, reminding her of an English aristocrat from romance novels and movies. Though he was dressed in plain white clothing, she could easily picture him in a gentleman’s ruffled shirt and waistcoat.

She had never seen anyone like him in Hawkins before. He didn’t look like he could belong in her kind of world.

A dream then (though she could feel the splinters of the floorboards dig into her knees).

She glanced again at the spiders in the corner of the room. They seemed to be inching closer.

“Don’t worry about them. I won’t let them harm you.”

It was a strange thing for him to say, but then everything about this was strange.

“Who…who are you?” she stammered.

“My name is Henry Creel.”

Creel. She knew that name from somewhere, tucked in a forgotten space of her memory like a childhood fairytale.

“I…I’m - ”

“Oh I know who you are, Chrissy Cunningham.”

His eyes swept over her. She felt very exposed beneath those (lovely) eyes.

“You do?” Chrissy frowned and placed a hand to her forehead to try and steady herself. She felt sluggish as she tried to bite out the words, every syllable draining her strength (of which she had precious little left). “Oh - I’m so sorry…I’m pleased to meet you, I am, but it’s so hard to focus right now. This place…I don’t know where I am… but I’m so tired and hungry…I hardly know what I’m saying...”

Henry Creel waved a hand through the air.

A silver plate appeared before her, filled with fruits and pastries. As did a pretty old fashioned goblet of what looked like water.

“Here, please help yourself. You look ravenous.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. She helped herself to a little of everything and swallowed it greedily. Unlike the other sustenance in this hellscape, this food actually tasted like food, not ash and rust. She moaned when she bit into a ripe strawberry and licked the sweet juice from her lips. She gulped down the water in one go.

She felt her mind and body welcome the nourishment almost immediately. In other circumstances she might have felt embarrassed at making such a sight (her mom would’ve called her some very choice words) but here it didn’t matter.

“Thank you. I feel better already,” she said and he nodded curtly.

He waved his hand again and the plate and goblet vanished.

(she didn’t even think to question where the food came from or why Henry had waited so long before tracking her down, time in which she had sunk near to the point of starvation - with no hope of succumbing to it)

He had spoken politely, in a measured cultured accent she couldn’t place. He seemed a lot more at ease in their current circumstances than Chrissy and had clearly been here for some time.

Though she was still afraid, she managed to find a sliver of courage (just enough) to ask…

“...are we dead?”

His expression didn’t falter even for a second. He must have been expecting it. “What do you think, Chrissy?”

“I think I am. I think…I feel…like I’m dead inside. I can’t sleep properly…or eat…or even bleed. If I throw myself over the side of this house now…I think I’ll fall to the ground unharmed,” she added, gesturing to the large gap in the wall. “I can just…feel it in my heart.”

Though she already knew she was dead (had done for a while, in truth), it didn’t hurt any less to admit it. Admitting it out loud made it feel real, and like she’d made peace with it.

Henry offered a hand and drew her smoothly to her feet. His hand felt solid beneath her own, his skin soft and warm. All that was missing was a Cinderella ballgown and a string quartet, if it wasn’t under such tragic fucking circumstances.

He was so tall that he towered over her.

(a push of something in the back of her mind, a memory dislodged)

“Are you…like me, Henry?”

“I used to be, once.”

“But not now?”

“No. I’m something more than human now.”

He was watching her reaction closely and began circling, his eyes trailing up and down her body as if to memorise every minuscule detail. His gaze felt like a piercing arrow and she shivered as it struck hard against the target.

He was taking in her measure and she wondered if he would still be kind after he found her utterly wanting.

Something shifted within her chest then. This was not the ally (the protector) she had so desperately searched for, but he wasn’t an enemy either as she could still taste his food on her tongue. Henry must be something else then.

Chrissy remained quiet as his eyes flickered to the kissed-blonde curls that bounced free around her shoulders and then to her crumpled cheerleading uniform (suddenly so childish and silly now). He scanned her heart shaped face, watching as she bit down on her lower lip nervously.

Chrissy knew she was trembling like a fawn. She forced herself not to cross her arms against her chest.

Relentless. Those eyes were relentless.

(another tug at some far-off memory)

“You seem so familiar…” she murmured, finally breaking the silence. “...but I don’t know how.”

“Oh we’ve met before, sweet girl.”

“We have?”

“Oh yes, Chrissy. I know you exceptionally well. You could say I know everything about you - that I’ve made it my task to learn every thought, every dream, every nightmare you’ve ever had. I’ve been watching you for an exceedingly long time.”

He circled close (far too close) and her knees almost buckled. She could feel now the strong unmistakable power rolling off him in waves, surrounding him like a cloak and shield. The world - the hellscape - around them seemed to hold its breath, as though waiting obediently for his command.

Yes, Henry was something else entirely. Not human, not like her.

“Are you going to hurt me?” Chrissy whispered.

(she was so achingly beautiful when afraid)

There was a glint of something deep in his eyes. Something long-forgotten, something primal, something even he may not understand.

“I don’t want to…but I will if you anger me and leave me with no other choice,” Henry answered after a small pause. He used one of his long elegant fingers to lift her chin so she had no option but to meet his burning intensity. “...but if you're good, Chrissy, and follow my rules, then I will keep you safe. I swear it.”

She tried to swallow her fear. “I’ve never so much as broken a rule before. I promise, I won’t…I won’t do anything to upset you or make you angry, Henry. Please…I’ll be so good.”

“I know you will,” he said quietly. “You are good and honest…and so very lovely. You’re completely perfect.”

A bolt of lightning suddenly flashed across the sky and Chrissy whimpered.

Then her vision began to fade and she felt weary again. Her eyelashes brushed against her cheek as she tried (and failed) to keep them open. She could feel herself swaying on her feet.

In the distance, like an echo, she heard him say…

“You may go back now, Chrissy, and this time you will sleep.”

And the darkness consumed her.

Henry was as good as his word.

Chrissy fell into a peaceful and deep sleep, and when she finally woke up (hours or days later) she felt rested for the first time since coming to this nightmare. She stretched out across Eddie’s bed and felt her body respond in full.

Rested, as well as nourished from his offering of food and water.

She was not happy exactly, but she felt a little less like a ghost today.

Chrissy remained in the Munson trailer for a long time and it became a kind of base camp for her. It felt like a place of safety (as much as anywhere in this hellscape could) despite the daunting fact she had died there.

She spent her time exploring the rest of Hawkins but returned every evening to keep an eye on the abnormal window in the ceiling. She still had no idea what it was and the invisible barrier remained firmly fixed in place, but it was strange enough to draw her interest. And to keep her wondering…and thinking, hoping, dreaming.

She liked watching the flickering lamp inside. The warm glow felt just like the nightlight she used when she was a child and scared of the dark.

She read Eddie’s collection of second hand fantasy novels and peered through his record collection too - though she never dared to play anything (there were bat-like creatures in this world who she kept far away from. She had no intention of revealing her location and discovering if they were friendly or not, even if they couldn’t kill her. Nor did she want to lure the monster out - she was sure it was still lurking somewhere in the shadows).

There were plenty of weapons scattered about in this world, but what good would they do against a Freddie Krueger style monster? She was no fighter; she could hardly wield a sword or lodge an axe in its skull. She did keep a crowbar close by in case the bats bothered her, but otherwise drifted around unarmed and unoccupied.

She had no plans, no purpose. It was a contrast to her busy life where everyday was rigorously mapped out by her mom or Jason (they’d even planned her future - too bad for them, fate had other ideas).

Without someone telling her what to do, Chrissy felt very lost.

Henry Creel summoned her back to the derelict house in the same manner as before, just moments after Chrissy lay down and closed her eyes.

This time there was a big bejewelled bowl of strawberries and cream waiting for her. She almost fell on them in her hurry to wolf them down.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that the attic was less filthy and gone were the cobwebs and spiders. Half a dozen large stuffed cushions had appeared out of nowhere and were scattered across the floor. She took the hint and perched against one as she ate her fill.

Henry was polite, attentive even, and he asked her questions about her former life - though she suspected he already knew most of the answers. As much as she tried to be cautious and keep up her guard, she was soon won over by his gentle manners and the elegant way he moved. At one point (while she rattled on about her mom’s punishments for overeating) he stretched out and propped his head back with all the grace of a visiting prince.

He was an excellent listener and sympathetic as he coaxed out more and more information from her. She almost giggled when he made a truly villainous suggestion of setting one of the bats on her mom. She didn’t see the glimmer of menace in his eyes, nor hear the unspoken afterthought of… and let them rip her apart.

“You’re perfect just the way you are,” he said instead. “I can’t imagine a more enchanting woman.”

He was always quick to flatter and compliment her and Chrissy felt herself glow under the attention.

She was still wary of him (how could she not be, considering the awesome power he wielded?) but at the same time she truly believed he meant her no ill-harm and wished for her to remain safe. She could read it in expression sometimes when he looked at her… and he did a lot of looking.

(she was used to men looking at her, had been ever since she could remember. She didn’t look away awkwardly like she did when alive. Instead she fixed him with a soft knowing smile, offering her permission)

She wondered if he was maybe just as lonely as she was. He told her he’d been trapped here for a long time (did this mean years or decades…maybe even centuries?) and her heart lurched at the idea of him suffering death all alone. Chrissy made up her mind that she would much rather be friends with Henry, then spend her time cowering in fear.

So she found herself confiding everything, and she told him about the strange window she found in the Munson trailer. She asked him what he thought it could be and was disappointed when he said he wasn’t sure.

(the next day she noticed an increase of creeping vines around the trailer)

“...but there’s no way back,” Henry added quietly. “You do know that, Chrissy? It would be best not to let yourself linger on hope, or you’ll be sorely disappointed. This is where you belong now. You should harden your heart and accept it. It would be easier.”

She was laying back on a cushion he’d summoned, her hair spread out beneath her like a halo.

“Do you think this is hell?” she asked after some time. “Or purgatory?”

“Those are human constructs. Foolish ideas to help the gullible sleep at night. A scale of morality to give them purpose, to steer them away from the harsh reality that all life is essentially meaningless.”

But she still thinks of this world as hell. Did that make the monster the devil?

Which begged the question of how she ended up here - she, Chrissy Cunningham, who had committed no crimes or acts of evil. She’d been pretty confident with her faith until a year or so ago when she began asking the big questions that made her pastor frown.

Maybe Henry was right. Maybe there was no right or wrong, or good or evil. Maybe none of it mattered. It was a little late in the day for existential questions.

Chrissy brought this up with Henry and she swore the corners of his lips twitched like he wanted to laugh. She found she didn’t mind.

“I don’t think it’s as simple as heaven or hell,” he said finally. “But I’m pleased you’re here at my side. I’ve waited a lifetime for you.”

Chrissy had long given up hope of finding anyone else here. Someone like her - mortal, vulnerable, powerless - someone just as torn apart as herself.

She fell into a simple routine of trying to get through the day (by reading, resting, cycling around the empty dusty roads) then spending her evenings with Henry. She found herself looking forward to their time together more and more and felt a sharp pang of disappointment in her gut when a night passed by and he didn’t summon her.

(she knew she was getting attached too quickly and Ms Kelley would label it unhealthy, but on the other hand she was already dead…so it seemed like a ridiculous thing to worry about really.)

She drifted through the days, almost willing time to speed up so it could be night already. Even the strange window in the trailer ceiling lost its appeal.

Chrissy was cycling down the main road towards the library (she needed a break from Tolkien) when a bright bolt of lightning flashed across the sky. She waited for the inevitable noise of flapping bats which always followed, but to her surprise everything remained impossibly quiet. Cautiously, she pressed on and…

…and saw a real life boy running down the road towards her.

She braked so hard she almost skidded over.

His name was Fred Benson and he recognised her right away. She recalled him distantly; a skinny boy who trailed after Nancy Wheeler at school. He was babbling so much that it was hard to understand anything at first and he asked a million questions all at once, his eyes wide and tearful. Chrissy did her best to answer them (with the painfully small amount of information she’d pieced together) and tried to keep her voice from shaking. She remembered how desperate and scared she’d been when she first arrived (died).

He told her about the car crash last year and his constant nightmares. He gripped the front of her uniform hard and warned her about the dark ruthless monster that stalked him. He wanted to go home to his mom (she would be so worried when he missed curfew) and could Chrissy please please help him?

Oh - her heart broke just then.

Chrissy let him cry against her shoulder as she oh-so-gently explained how that was impossible now…that she was dead… and I’m so sorry, Fred… but it looked like he was too. She watched as his face fell and crumpled with despair.

She took him back to the trailer to rest and offered him Eddie’s bed (though she knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep properly without Henry’s help - something else she would have to explain in time, along with all the other weird and unfair rules). Fred asked her if they could maybe stick together and visit his home tomorrow and she agreed kindly, before curling up on the couch.

That night she told Henry all about Fred. He looked happy for her, gifting her with a rare captivating smile. He knew all about her desperate search for another friend.

Chrissy grinned back, utterly radiant in her joy.

But when she woke up the following morning she found Eddie’s bed empty. She looked everywhere for Fred (even racing over to his house) but there was no sign of him. She dashed her bike against the road so hard the front wheel broke off.

She was still crying when Henry found her. He very gently tucked a loose curl behind her ear and murmured that perhaps Fred had simply ‘gone on’ elsewhere?

He told her everything would be okay, that she still had him. He would never abandon her.

“Do you promise?” she asked, her lips trembling. “Don’t ever leave me, Henry. Please. I couldn’t bear it.”

He swore it. He deliberately brushed his thumb against her cheek and captured one of her tears, bringing it to his lips.

(she would always have him. He had taken root beneath her skin now, whether she wanted it or not. She could not claw him out now.)

But it happened again. This time it was Patrick McKinney, Jason’s buddy from the basketball team. She knew Patrick, had hung out with him at senior parties and before practice.

He found her stocking up at the Starcourt Mall.

“Chrissy!” he had called, amazed at finding her whole and unbroken.

Chrissy laughed when he picked her up and spun her around. Later the tears came as she gently explained where they were and why (it was easier the second time round) - but overall he accepted their fate more readily than Fred. This time they went straight to Patrick’s house and she didn’t leave him for a second, worried that he'd vanish without a word. She even insisted on sleeping together in the same room and he didn’t mind after she explained about Fred. He swore he would stay with her. He would help her, protect her (he owed it to Jason). Somehow they would get through this.

They fell asleep holding hands.

(she was so distracted by his warm and sincere smile that she didn’t hear the rolling thunder and lightning, nor the vines pulsing like warning bells)

Chrissy jolted awake when she heard a loud terrified scream. Sitting up on the bed, she looked over to see Patrick being lifted up by a large monstrous shadow (its claws gripped his neck so fiercely that Patrick spluttered and choked, his legs dangling), but when she blinked again it was suddenly Henry Creel standing there, not a shadow. She hurriedly got to her feet.

“Henry…what’s going on?” she whispered. “What’s happening?”

Henry tore his eyes away from Patrick’s (gasping) face to glance back at her, but something was hopelessly wrong. Why was his face flickering like that?

He was panting, his chest nearly bursting with the effort it took to hold himself back (but from what?). She could feel the unmistakable pull of his great power as the air around them crackled with electricity. It was the first time she’d seen her friend look anything other than perfect and composed, and the first time she witnessed his otherworldly strength as he held Patrick aloft - as though he weighed nothing.

“I’m…I’m sorry you have to see this,” he hissed out. “But I have no choice…Patrick doesn’t belong here. It’s time for him to leave…just like Fred.”

Chrissy’s face twisted in anguish.

“But…can’t he stay? Please? He’s my friend!” She felt herself begin to cry. “I want him to stay.”

“Chrissy…I’m warning you…”

“You can do anything, Henry, please. Do this for me? Let me keep him, just him.”

His grip on Patrick’s neck tightened and Patrick’s eyes began to roll back. Chrissy cried out. She hung onto Henry’s arm before she could stop herself.

“Stop it! You’re killing him! STOP!”

But then Henry exploded with a roar that nearly deafened her. The force of it slammed her back against the wall.

Her beautiful ally and confidant Henry was gone. The monster from her nightmares stood before her now, its dark eyes blazing with pure unadulterated fury. She screamed and scrambled away, recoiling from its hatred.

The monster was shaking too. “I have warned you not to upset me, Chrissy. Don’t make me hurt you too!”

(she saw Patrick fall and slump against the floor, he was very still)

And it finally clicked into place that Henry Creel and the monster were one of the same.

Chrissy threw herself from the room before she could think. She raced down the stairs and ignored the screams and roaring behind her.

Heart pounding, she dashed out the house and into the crimson fog. The bats were hurtling around like a tornado but she dived through (her arms crossed above her head) and vaulted over the oozing vines. Her childhood home was nearby and she hurried inside, bolting the door as if a simple lock was strong enough to keep the creature at bay.

She huddled in her pink and white bed like a child, drawing the blankets over her head. She screamed and screamed as she hugged her knees close.

Patrick and Fred were gone and Henry was the monster who murdered her.

(how she wished a hero would come and save her)

Chrissy knew Henry would track her down, just as she knew there would be no point in hiding. She heard him rip the front door from its hinges and climb (slowly) up the stairs. He tore away the blankets and she held up the handgun she’d quickly grabbed from her dad’s safe…though hands were shaking so badly he easily knocked it aside.

She peered into his slimy face, the veins making her want to retch.

“I had to do it, Chrissy,” it said. “I don’t expect you to understand yet, but Fred and Patrick aren’t like us. They’re our enemies and would have ruined everything if I allowed them to walk free… so you see, I did it for you…for your safety. I promised I would protect you, sweet girl…”

“I want to go home,” she whispered, not really sure where home was anymore.

His gaze hardened. “This is your home now.”

She clasped her hands over her ears.

“I can’t do this…please, I can’t…I don’t want this!”

“You will stay here with me, Chrissy. Forever if I choose it, do you understand? YOU WILL STAY WITH ME!”

He screamed in her face, his breath hot against her skin. She felt herself flinch back in horror.

What choice did she have but to agree when the alternative meant inscrutable pain? This creature was her enemy, her captor. If she had a lick of courage, she would lodge an axe in its skull.

But she didn’t. Chrissy sat back and let it trace its claws over her throat.

Any semblance of normalcy vanished after Patrick. She was dragged back to the early days of her death, stumbling through the shimmering darkness as though mad with grief. She didn’t bother to leave the trailer or fill her days with semi-human pursuits. She just lay weeping in Eddie’s bed, trying with all her might to block out the godawful sound of Patrick’s neck breaking.

(she could smell Eddie’s shampoo on his pillow. It smelled like eucalyptus. Was this real or did she imagine it?)

In a low moment she took hold of Eddie’s beloved guitar and smashed it against the wall. She ransacked his tiny bedroom, using her nails to rip apart what she could. She used a pair of scissors to snip up the clothes she couldn’t force on her unwilling dead body.

Henry didn’t call her for a week, during which she grew ill and starved from hunger. She felt like she might die all over again from the stabbing pains in her stomach. Chrissy didn’t know if this was because he was still angry or because he wanted to punish her.

(she was well used to these underhand tactics)

When she was finally summoned (and put out of her misery), she was drawn not to the derelict attic where they had their usual tête-à-tête, but to what looked like giant blood-red ruins. Crimson mist and fog surrounded it, while thunder and lighting raged above. It perched high in the sky like a fortress with the entire town of Hawkins stretched out below. Everything here was covered in the same glittering dust and debris. The creeping vines oozed and pulsed with energy, forming a web around her. Trapping her.

At the centre stood Henry - the spider, the monster.

He was wearing Henry’s handsome face again. It was alluring and graceful.

He gestured lazily to a silver plate which held her usual fare of sweet treats and fruits and she loathed how easily she brushed aside her fear and dug in (if this were the Garden of Eden, and this the forbidden fruit, how quickly she would gobble up that apple and doom mankind).

Chrissy drank from the matching goblet but instead of water she tasted swirling red wine. She drank it down eagerly, though the bitter flavour made her wince.

Afterwards he held out something long and white. “I thought you might desire something new to wear. Don’t worry, you’ll be able to put this on. It’s my gift to you.”

She examined her cheerleading uniform and nodded her thanks. She was desperate to change into something new after being stuck in the same outfit for so long. Henry made no show of turning away and there was hardly a side room where she might change privately, so Chrissy shrugged off her clothing before him.

It had been a long time since her own pale flesh saw the light of day. She pulled the white dress over her head and smoothed the material over her tiny body, enjoying the way the silk pressed against her creamy skin.

It was a ravishingly beautiful dress. Long and sweeping, it was a dress that belonged entirely to fantasy and a long-ago world.

(she could not ignore the rush of gratitude she felt towards him. She felt better now her belly was full and her legs finally covered)

“You look like a princess.”

Henry moved at last and came to stand behind her. He tenderly brushed aside her hair before buttoning her up (how could he be so kind and gentle after brutally harming Patrick? Were these the same hands that clawed at his neck?). His fingers lingered at her nape and her skin burned beneath his touch.

He acted as if he were the groom, and she the nervous bride.

He untied the clasp of her gold ‘86’ necklace and tucked it away in his pocket. She didn’t dare breathe out.

“You are so very lovely and beautiful. You’re exquisite,” he said quietly, his breath against her ear. “I’m sorry if you were scared before. I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”

Was that a lie? He was her friend, wasn’t he? Her ally? She had confided everything to him.

“I was scared,” Chrissy replied softly. “I didn’t expect…”

“...to see me like that?” he finished. She nodded. “I can struggle with my temper at times, but Chrissy this is the real me. The other face…the face of the monster…you won’t see it again if you listen to me and do what I say. Can you do that?”

Chrissy found herself nodding. “I understand, Henry.”

“Look at me.”

She looked into his blue eyes (the same blue as a summer sky, or a calm sea) and utterly beguiling face. His eyes were half-closed, as though she were the sun and he was dazzled by her. Chrissy’s fingers itched to thread through his wavy hair and see if it was as soft as it appeared.

She didn’t want this face to disappear again. She would do anything (and say anything) to keep this version of Henry with her.

“Soon you’ll understand everything, I swear, I just need you to be patient for a little while longer, Chrissy. For now, just know that everything I do…it’s for you…for us,” he murmured. “As soon as I saw you, I knew you belonged here with me. I just knew it…”

He went on to spin her a tale of a broken and sad childhood where nobody really understood him, and all he ever wanted was someone special to confide in and love. Someone loving and sweet and honest. Someone just like her. He was painting her a fairytale and she found herself leaning towards him, eager to lap it up so she could feel less alone.

It sounded a lot like her own miserable shitty childhood. She too had been so lonely, so eager, to find someone (anyone) who saw her properly.

(her thoughts turned to a pair of warm brown eyes, to a mouth that smiled too easily, to a freaky man who noticed she was drowning and wanted to help)

Was Henry telling her the truth? Did he really hold her best interests at heart?

…and did it even matter?

What did lies or honestly matter to a dead girl? A dead girl (a ghost) who accepted gifts and kindness from the man (a monster) who killed her.

#hellcheer #hellcheer fanfic #eddissy #eddissy fanfiction #chrissy cunningham #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham au #hellcheer au #chrissy x vecna #chrissy x henry #chrissy cunningham x henry creel #mature fic #stranger things fanfiction #dubious consent #manipulation #vecna keeps chrissy #will get very mature in next chapter #cunningcreel

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asexualotl-does-fanart · 1 year

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I return to deliver more fanart for Heroes that are half-scaled by @nicoleisaboat-blog ! Turns out combining my Rise hyperfixation with my life-long love for dragons is a sure fire way to get me to obsess over a fic. Well played.

So here we’ve got some full body sketches of my interpretations on how they look like as well as two more quick doodles from work.

(I feel like Raph is starting to compete with Donnie over being my favorite turtle. I mean

look at this guy. Look at him and tell me you wouldn’t die for him. You can’t.)

I wanna go over some design choices real quick (I’ll try to keep it short lmao)

Mikey is very Round™️ except for his horns which resemble the stickers on his plastron (as stated in the fic). Unfortunately I think they’d prevent him from fully retracting his head (I also think none of the others can retreat fully into their shells since their limbs, necks and shells are kinda massive compared to before. I do feel like Mikey would get the furthest tho).

Donnie is obviously the smoothest both scale wise and in regards to lack of horns and spines/spikes. Like I said before, shortish legs, long-ass neck and tail (bc softshell turtles’ necks extend). Kept all his tech and, most importantly, his eyebrows. Speaking of tech, his draconic battle shell was one of my favorite aspects to design even tho I normally hate drawing machinery. Figured I’d give it a dragon scale pattern to fit the aesthetic and I think it works well. Also, snoot.

I absolutely love how Leo turned out. Braincell 1 was like ‘what if we gave him this kinda snout’ and braincell 2 went ‘absolutely based, let’s do it’. His red “ears” extending all the way to the tip of his tail is an awesome idea and I wanted to make them a bit jagged bc parallel lines are Boring. I broke up his “mask” so it’d be a bit more expressive and to have some extra variation between all of them (it does extend almost all the way to his shell on the back of his neck). Possibly my favorite design element is that the base of his antlers look like the base of his ōdachi!

Raph still is the most armored among all of them but like, dialed up to 11. Extra hard massive shell, scales extra spikey, alladat. I also gave him multiple rows of spines kind of like an alligator. He has the shortest neck relative to body size among all of them, mainly because I feel like bulkier, heavier dragons tend to be more stocky or “compressed” I guess (plus variation value. I wanted them to be 100% distinguishable even without looking at their shells).

As you can see I am obviously Very Normal about this AU.

#tmnt #rottmnt #fanart #fanfic #dragons #fic art #rise mikey #rise donnie #rise leo #rise raph

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aquariumgirls · 8 months

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ok so i have an idea for a fic/series abt the turtles revealing themselves to the public and becoming new most beloved heroes n shit BUT. its also gonna be set in 2023 (current year) and so im getting some hesdcanons written down basically.

STARTING W BIG RAPHIE!

- raph is 20, has been on hrt for 5 years and works at a daycare in the hidden city ^_^ (donnie synthesized it bc they do that for leos hormones and their own as well)

- shes very shy going outside at first bc shes big (over 8ft tall!!) amd spiky but everyone sees her as the big softy she is immediately :] and well. if anyone says anything bad abt her theyll have to deal w her three menaces of little siblings

- she has a hello kitty tattoo on her forearm

- princess peach is her biggest style inspiration! she mends and hems her own clothes to fit around her shell and knits sweaters every winter and donates them to clothing drives

- cried at the amount of people who said "hi barbie!" to her both before and after seeing the barbie movie

- infiltrates leos twitter lives to pick him up by the scruff of his neck to make him go to bed and people go absolutely nutty abt it (basically: OMG SHES SCRUFFING HIM LIKE A KITTEN, LMAOO GET SCRUFFED IDIOT, LOVE HOW SHE TREATS HER SIBLINGS LIKE UNRULY CATS)

- diagnosed Big Dog Energy by twitter

- does makeup asmr lives on twitter and youtube bc people tell her that her voice is nice

- most active on her youtube channel which is mostly her annoying her little siblings (in her words: they've been annoying me for my whole life, time for payback)

- theres a meme of her standing in donnies doorway menacingly. she's holding a blanket. the caption was "im going to get burrito'd someone write my obituary"

- posts pictures of their siblings when they've been burrito'd. even april isn't safe

- one time april stole raphs phone and showed a photo of raph burrito'd instead

- pinned tweet is her crying over a nearly 7ft tall teddy bear plushie someone gave to her as a thanks for saving the world

- she has a custom build a bear

- fosters puppies and kittens frequently! has two foster fails. one is a greyhound named alice who she raised from a bottle baby, and another is a gigantic maine coon named ghost bc he's all white and blind. ghost wraps himself around her neck like a living fur scarf. the cat is absolutely massive btw stretched out heslike half her size

NEXT IS...NEON LEON

- leo is 19 and shooting up like a weed (7ft 2)

- frequently uses mikey and donnie as armrests to be annoying (donnie will bite him. leo is undeterred)

- has a sick ass bionic arm courtesy of donnie! always makes arm and a leg jokes w donnie bc theyre both menaces

- works at run of the mill :] may or may not have a crush on a certain bunny waiter...

- is actually very good at customer service

- is the second most active online, and the most open w his face and being seen in public! cried when a kid said that he was their hero and is haunted by the videos of it

- tried to steal a duck in broad daylight.

- dresses like a modern eboy sorry.

- has (almost) as many piercings as donnie! almost. doesn't have snakebites, but has a septum piercing, eyebrow piercing and hangs little earrings and general things from his mask tails!

- every time hes in the background of a video, he default dances. it doesn't matter where he is, whos recording, he *knows*. its become a meme

- casually refers to cj (who is 17, almost 18) as his son. refuses to elaborate

- can be found basking in central park when its sunny enough, usually alongside mikey

- loves to say "me n donnie are actually identical twins you just can't tell bc we're turtles"

- has a yt channel where he covers songs, usually glam rock

NEXT................DONATELLO W A BOOK IN THEIR HAND

- 19 like leo (04 babies RIIIIIIIISE)

- scarcely goes outside in the daytime but when they do they're usually in the most extra outfits they have. ("if i have to be forced into the sun, i may as well dazzle!)

- people kept asking them if they went to barbie or oppenheimer. they went to barbie, duh?

- has so. many. piercings. snakebites, septum, bridge, cheek piercings, eyebrow. half their face is metal

- unsuprisingly modern cybergoth.

- wardrobe is either black clothes or purple clothes.

- genius built is an actual fully fledged company now, and they are very proud! and also they make a lot of money. (they donate most of it to charity, because eat the rich)

- is the frequent victim of 0.5 pictures bc of their snoot

- has a joke asmr channel (plague doctor tells you that you're dying asmr, carpenter finds bees in your walls asmr, sickly victorian child begs you for money asmr)

- is Tall. they seem much taller bc theyre lanky as hell (6ft 7)

- frequently speaks at colleges, except when people hear that purple is speaking at their college they dont expect a Goth As Hell Turtle with a snoot to rival a borzoi. most people guess their aesthetic incorrectly and donnie thinks its hilarious

- there are compilations of them smiling/laughing over the internet. the most common one is them laughing so hard they can barely breathe after someone called leo "lame-o-nerdo"

- is most frequently spotted at the local target. they like trinkets

- one time a guy tried to flirt w them and they politely redirected him towards leo

- came out very nonchalantly on a live. donnie was texting someone in the bg of one of leos lives and the chat kept asking omg what r they smiling at!! and they looked up and said "my girlfriend duh" and when people started saying YOU LIKE GIRLS??? they started directly into the camera w a vaguely confused expression for 10 seconds straight before saying "of course i like girls??? im a lesbian??" and three echoing voices shouted "I THOUGHT YOU WERE AMERICAN"

- the clip went viral. obviously.

- theres a clip of donnie biting an entire watermelon and it exploding

- is actually very open to taking photos w people ^_^ loves it when kids come up to them and say they look cool/shiny. never fails to make them cry

LAST BUT DEFINITELY NOT LEAST.......MIKEYYYYY

- 18! though he doesn't really care bc its not like he can vote anyways

- puts graffiti up on the weirdest places

- accidentally mentioned knowing rupert swaggart on twitter. also accidentally revealed that his dad is lou jitsu which made splinter get a twitter

- has a tattoo sleeve in progress that works around his mystic scarring and also sketched out hamato clan tattoos for his entire family which they then all got

- suprisingly has less tattoos than leo. but unsuprisingly less than donnie, who went absolutely batshit.

- favorite tattoo is his tattoo of karai on his shoulder

- apprentice tattoo artist in the hidden city, also made his own hot sauce (and was the first turtle to go on hot ones. never broke a sweat ofc unlike raph who almost immediately started crying from the spice)

- was dared by leo to scream "IM MAKING FUCKINH MACKING CHEESE IN THE MICHEAL WAVE" from a rooftop. he did it, recorded it, and pinned it on twitter

- lethal puppy eyes can and will be used on anyone and everyone. its how he gets away w so much

- small still (5'11)

- sometimes shows up on leos song cover channel along w donnie

- posts recipes on twitter and instagram

- instagram is literally just pictures of food

- loves to go sunbathing and will sit in a quiet park for hours

- ate an entire orange, peel and all, in front of st least 12 children as a dare

- no piercings but has silly bandz hooked onto his mask

- visits local art colleges frequently

- showed up on donnies joke asmr channel (the video was my little brother reads an entire cookbook front to back while i lay dead on the floor. raphs cat decided to start kneading donnies shell halfway in and then promptly loafed on them for the rest of the video while mikey tried very hard not to laugh)

- met beyoncé. cried.

GROUP HCS.

- leo and donnie will take off their respective prosthetics as jokes often. leo will offer someone a hand and detach his arm. donnie has thrown their leg at people. more than once. theres compilations of it. theres an unexplained no context video on leos twitter of donnie in the living room, detaching their leg, opening a hidden compartment and then proceeding to shake out nearly a thousand fake plastic spiders along with a truly uncountable amount of batteries. the video ends with donnie snapping their head towards the camera and shouting "DON'T REVEAL MY SECRETS DIPSHIT" before lunging at leo

- theres multiple videos of the disaster twins being a disaster as raph slowly approaches from behind them, scruffs them like cats and then flings them over her shoulder like particularly unruly sacks of flour. theres also compilations of her holding her siblings under their arms like cats. donnie seems to be the most receptive to it, bc they could be angrily ranting snd then raph picks them up and they just. dangle. pupils dilated and content to be carried off.

- theres a video of raph gnawing on an impressively large tree branch in the woods, illumimated only by a phone flash. she looks almost guilty in it.

- mikey took a video of his three aquatic siblings in the rain and titled it "turtle zoomies"

the video shows raph contentedly soaking in the rain, tail swishing in a particularly deep puddle. leo and donnie are chasing each other at inhuman speeds while chirping. raph looks at the camera and smiles before donnie runs into her, to which she then decides it's time for cuddles. leo runs at the camera and the video ends.

- donnie showed up on leos song cover channel and covered both world is mine (obviously) but also to the hellfire by lorna shore, metal screams and all. people have begged them to make their own song cover channel but they just said "why make my own when i can just steal my brothers?"

- the turtles accidentally revealed having mafia ties ala big mama ("oh yeah we have a mom too! not by birth though. big mama!" "THE FUCKING LEADER OF THE SPIDER MAFIA??" "the WHAT.")

SORRY THIS IS REALKY LONG

#tmnt #rottmnt #tmnt hc #rottmnt hc #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #teenage mutant ninja turtles #long post #postings #raphael hamato #leonardo hamato #donatello hamato #michelangelo hamato #rise raph #rise leo #rise donnie #rise mikey

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lovelytsunoda · 1 year

Text

formula two

🌹 = personal favourite 🎄= christmas collection

🍑 = spicy / smutty 🍂 = cozy collection

🌩 = emotional / angsty 💍 = wedding saga

dennis hauger

payphone 🌩🌹

summary: it's not easy dating a formula 2 driver, especially when you're trying to balance that with your first year of college and he's halfway across the world.

clement novalak

don't worry, darling 🍑🌹

summary: clem hates it when his girlfriend is stressed. unfortunately, with finals coming up, she seems to be stressed all the time. lucky for clem, he has an idea to help her relax that he really thinks y/n is going to like.

boy in love (mini fic)

summary: when marcus asks clem about the current state of his love life, they were all pretty shocked at the frenchman's answer

the poolhouse (mini fic) 🌹🍑

after watching clement spend the evening filming a tiktok for his podcast, y/n can’t keep her hands off her boyfriend

crying over it all 🌩🌹

failing your driving test is humiliating, world ending, even. but when you're dating someone who's entire profession is to drive, it's a little more mortifying than it would be to the average passenger princess.

you sexy thing (kinktober 2023) 🍑

someone has been watching a little too much magic mike lately. it’s ok, she likes it that way. (no smut, but it is spicy!)

arthur leclerc

dim the lights (close your eyes) 🍑

arthur leclerc is the only man she would ever trust to touch her this way. the only man she would want to take her virginity.

former f2 drivers

liam lawson

and they were roommates ( mini fic ) 🍑

summary: it was bad enough that her roommate holly decided to give her brother her half of the apartment while she was out of town. it was even worse when she realized that liam lawson was actually very very hot

zandvoort (mini fic) 🍑🌹 🌩

one man’s misfortune is another’s chance of a lifetime. so why is it that Liam just can’t get his head in the game?

the man with the hex (the cozy collection 2023) 🍂🌹

he’s supposed to be helping hand out candy. but he’s finally alone with his girlfriend in her house, and right now he wants to do anything but hand out candy

emergency contact (sequel to 'youre on your own kid') 🌩🌹

summary: in the sequel to 'you're on your own kid', y/n makes the first step in breaking out of her shell and overcoming her anxiety by attending her first race with the mercedes team. unfortunately for her, all it takes is four hours and a few text messages with a certain f2 driver to make things all come crashing down again.

this one isn't really a liam fic, its more about the friendship between the reader and the people at mercedes, however liam does play a fairly crucial role.

olli caldwell

holding out for a hero ( family are the friends we meet along the way series ) 🌩

recovering from the events at silverstone, y/n feels like she's in a good place, with work and with friends. when a group of f2 guys invites her to join them at marcus armstrong's house for a holiday party, everything is about to change.

again, not really an olli fic. he's there and important to the plot but this fic is more about baby merc and her friendship with the team, and her struggles transitioning into adulthood

#formula 2 x reader #formula 2 imagine #lovelytsunodas masterllist

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plexflexico · 1 year

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"Tell me a joke, Ghost." - A Call of Duty Fic

Characters: Ghost, Soap, Vargas, Fisher (OFC)

Themes: War. Loss. Severe injury. Amputation. Explosions. Hope. Leadership. Shitting on Americans a little (Sorry!). INCREDIBLY graphic descriptions of a rural legend that gets told over and over up here in the wilds of Canada.

Warnings: Everything you see in the Themes section above. So, so, so much angst. So much.

Length: 2.3k

Disclaimer: I do not play COD. What I have done, however, is binge consume about a hundred hours of clips and cutscenes from all the various titles in which Ghost features. I make no promises for accuracy, I just had some shit to work through in my head and Simon "Ghost" Riley was just the Blorbo for the job.

This work is intended for adults only. If you're not old enough to secure a line of credit on your own you should probably git. Go on! I said GIT!

**********

“Tell me a joke, Ghost.”

That was the second last thing he heard her say as she lay on the floor of a warehouse, bleeding out and half-crushed by the wreckage of a bombing run.

Her voice was beginning to slur, the panic leaking out and unreality setting in.

“Don’t feel much like laughing right now, Fisher.”

“Sometimes it’s not about you, LT.”

***

“...’friendly fire’ incident resulting in the death of two Canadian service members and multiple injuries among the Commonwealth Forces deployed. Major General John S. McCreary has promised a full investigation as the White House extends their deepest condolences to the families of all those killed or injured…”

***

“Sometimes it’s not about you…”

Those words echoed in Simon’s head as he sat with Soap in the helo on the way back to base. The radio, tuned to the international news, carried breathless descriptions of the total fucking clusterfuck they just hauled themselves out of.

Some dumb fucking cowboy with more balls than brains thought he was going to go home a hero and instead he’s on his way to the brig. If there’s any justice he’ll never see the outside of one again and neither will anyone else who was on that bird or in their COC.

Except there isn’t really any justice. Just actions and consequences and they only line up hard for people like Simon. Like Soap.

Like her.

***

“...when pickings are slim they’ll scavenge and enough of those lazy fuck weekend warriors only grab the rack and leave the rest to rot and attract predators that keep the rest of the deer away.”

Her voice was bitter and laced with vitriol, but only for a moment. Like a switch her scowl bloomed into a mischievous grin as she downed her fourth shot of the night and chased it with some of the on-tap swill that passed for beer.

“So they scavenge these carcasses along hunting trails, and the easiest way to get inside a big ol’ buck is right up the poop chute—”

Soap chokes on his drink, doubling over as Alejandro smacks him soundly on the back.

“—so they just chew their way in, hollow ‘em out, and leave nothing but a shell behind.”

“Fuckin’ christ,” rumbled Ghost. “That’s the name they gave you?”

“Better than the one they tried first. ‘Medusa’. By the time I was done with the guy who suggested it, ‘Fisher’ kinda stuck.”

***

“We’re down again in 5, LT,” Johnny’s voice cuts through his reverie, bringing him back into focus.

“If we grab a truck we can be at the infirmary in five—”

“No,” Ghost spits out. “We need to go debrief. We’ve got intel they’re gonna need. We need to get it to them as fast as possible so they can get ahead of the Americans on this.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Serious as a fuckin’ heart attack Johnny. How pissed is she gonna be if we fuck around where we can’t do any good?” Simon’s eyes behind the mask are tired, red-rimmed from lack of sleep and stress, burning bright in all the black.

Soap said nothing, turning his face away from Ghost’s stare and gazing out over the nighttime cityscape that flowed by under the fuselage.

“Sometimes it’s not about you…”

***

Simon aches to his bones. He and Johnny were separated as soon as they touched down, taken to offices and questioned, the same questions over and over.

His soldier's recall is perfect and no detail is too small to be left out. Hours and hours of it, but he sat and took it and hoped that Soap was able to do the same.

“Sometimes it’s not about you…”

***

Soap bursts into the hallway to find Ghost waiting for him, sprawled in a chair and flicking his thumb along the screen of his phone.

“Thought I’d never get out of there,” the sergeant grumbled. “Six fucking hours and the shittiest fucking tea they could find—”

“She’s still in surgery.”

Ghost’s voice is quiet. Flat.

“How— Is she gonna be okay?”

“Don’t know. Not a medic.”

“What now?”

“We smell like we’ve been rolling in dead bodies and pigshit. Hit the showers. Meet me in the mess in 30,” he growled as he lifted himself off the chair and stalked down the hallway, heading for the exit and not waiting for a reply.

“Sometimes it’s not about you…”

***

His skin burned pleasantly under the needle spray, the boiling heat of it helping him believe he might be finally getting clean after days of being stuck without any facilities in a city under siege. He should have been used to those conditions, but this mission left him feeling unclean in a way he couldn’t articulate.

“Tell me a joke, Ghost.”

Fuck. She loves to laugh. Always laughing about anything— nothing— whatever. Always ready to make him laugh.

***

“Hey Fisher, got a joke for ya. Knock Knock—”

“Come back with a warrant, LT.”

***

She liked to argue, too. Never afraid to say what was on her mind and never afraid to challenge anyone when what was right was on the line but also knowing how to bust balls just enough to get someone to listen to her.

***

“Hey, Fisher! What country’s capital is the fastest growing?”

“I dunno, LT. Which one?”

“Ireland. Every day it’s Dublin.”

***

He scrubbed shampoo into his hair and rinsed off, rolling his shoulders to loosen them as he shut off the taps and grabbed a towel.

***

“You gonna take that shot, Fisher, or are you waiting for an engraved invitation?”

“If you’re gonna ride my ass that hard, Soap, you’ll need to put a ring on my finger.”

…and she made the shot before anyone could say another word. Clean and precise, taken the moment the target stepped a foot to the left, leaving every single sheet of paper on the desk pristine and unsullied, making it that much easier to enact the next step of the plan.

“Nice shot,” comes Ghost’s deep rumble in their ears.

“Goddamn right, LT. That was art,” she crowed, her adrenaline high.

Each of them could picture her, grinning like a maniac, eyes bright and flint-hard. They’d seen it enough now to know that she lived for that split second when physics, skill, and luck all solidify into the perfect moment. The perfect shot. The flawless entry. The snatch so smooth it starts rumors about ghosts.

She wasn’t a perfectionist as much as she was driven to get it right. Driven to get it right to make it easier for the next step, the next team, the next generation coming up the ranks…

***

Johnny’s hunched over a plate, pushing food around, ignoring the racket of a hundred different languages and half as many accents of each that always filled the mess to bursting when the Five Eyes were playing nicely enough to try to reach a common goal.

The twang of American English is conspicuously absent tonight.

Simon grabbed a plate and made his way along, scooping up enough to satisfy his caloric and nutritional needs, not much caring what it was since it was all bound to taste the same, anyway.

He slid into a seat across from Soap, his back to the room, lifting his balaclava just enough to shovel dinner into his mouth.

Not a word passed between them until Ghost muttered, “Stop playing with it, Johnny. S’not yer pecker.”

“No time for jokes, LT. Not now,” the sergeant sighs heavily.

“Not a joke. Eat.”

The younger man was about to argue when he caught the look he was getting, so he forked up some ‘steak pie’ and started to chew.

“Sometimes it’s not about you…”

***

It was hours later when Ghost’s phone pinged quietly on the table in the small office that he’d managed to commandeer for the two of them. The rest of the JTF Ghost Team were scattered, and only Alejandro was near enough that he could drop what he was working on and make his way to the Five Eyes installation.

They’d had word that she was out of surgery at least three hours ago, transferred to Trauma ICU for monitoring. Since then he and Johnny had been methodically going through every scrap of telemetry and positioning, every order, every syllable of captured radio chatter, and every last bit of data they had— trying to find anything they hadn’t already come across in the debrief.

The message wasn’t, as they had expected, Alejandro signalling his arrival.

MEDBAY C65E:

‘She’s awake. Asking to see you.’

GHOST:

‘How is she?’

MEDBAY C65E:

‘Awake. You should get here as soon as you can.’

Ghost didn’t bother to reply, heading for the door as he half-shouted over his shoulder, “She’s awake, Soap. We gotta go. Now.”

***

In stark contrast to the unending activity outside its walls, the Trauma ICU was a place of quiet, darkend calm. Lights were low. Machines beeped and whirred quietly, alarms confined to lights on status boards and the low hum of pagers buzzing on hips.

The ‘panopticon’ layout meant that each patient was visible to the central desk at all times, each bed angled towards the glass windows that separated them from the main space.

“Lieutenant? Sergeant? Please follow me, I’ll take you to her,” came a kind, strong voice from the desk.

Ghost felt his heart lurch, his stomach sour and roiling as he followed the pretty nurse with the copper hair to the window behind which Fisher lay, tubes and leads coming and going from everywhere.

How the fuck is she so small? She’s never been small. Almost six feet. Shoulders like a bull and an ass like a dump truck. Legs that could mule kick an enemy’s head to a pulp. Arms that could haul a comrade out of danger like she was picking up a lamb…

Fuckin’ hell. Fuckin’ hell.

No. No! This isn’t right. This isn’t—

I can’t do this.

I can’t—

“Sometimes it’s not about you…”

***

“Hey LT,” she croaked, her voice sounding dragged over broken glass.

“Hey, Fisher.”

“You look like shit, Soap,” she managed to get out before she had to lay back again.

“His fault,” he griped, pointing at Ghost. “This fucker made me eat the crap they serve in the mess. I think that fuckin’ pie was made outta decommed tires.”

She smiled, nodding, not letting the tears that pooled in her eyes slip down her cheeks.

Ghost couldn’t look away from her face.

“Sometimes it’s not about you…”

“Give us a couple minutes, Johnny,” he said quietly.

“Sure, LT. I’ll go bug those gorgeous nurses. If you hear screaming, don't come save me.”

As soon as the door shut Ghost picked up a chair from the corner and took a seat by her bed, keeping his eyes on her face.

“I need a sitrep, Sergeant. You good for that?”

It made him ache inside to see Fisher struggle to keep her composure, and then win the battle with the storm no doubt raging inside her.

“Yeah, LT. I’m good for it,” she said, sounding stronger as she squared her shoulders and prepared to do what she had been trained to do. “What’d they tell you?”

“Nothin’. Just that you were awake and asking for us.”

“Turns out my mom was right. I can’t keep my fuckin’ legs together. Left one in that fuckin’ shithole and they took the other one here.”

“You in pain?”

“Nah,” she scoffed. “They gave me the good stuff and a spinal block. Can’t feel shit past my tits and I’ll be pissing in a bag for the next couple weeks. I’ll stay in the stratosphere until they get that fucking thing outta me.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Ghost’s heart breaking open in his chest because you can’t save all of them, or some of them, or any of them. War is going to chew them all up and spit them out broken, whether the world can see the cracks or not.

“Sometimes it’s not about you…”

“Hey, Fisher—”

“What’s up, LT?”

“Did you know I’m terrified of elevators?”

“Wh-what? When did—”

“Got so bad I started taking steps to avoid ‘em.”

The woman on the bed fixed him with a look that could have crumbled concrete, “I dunno, LT. Can you really trust stairs? After all, they’re always up to something.”

***

“...and then everyone was running and I swear to fuck there were a thousand lights going off everywhere around her bed. I was ready for the worst when I saw the LT come out of her room wipin’ his eye like he’d had his heart broke—”

Alejandro, who had been half-running to keep up with Soap as he rocketed down the hallway of the Med Centre, reached out and grabbed his arm, spinning him around.

“Is she okay? What happened?”

“The lass is fine. Seems LT told her a fucking joke and the she got him back with a quip so good that he couldn’t stop laughing— then she couldn’t stop laughing. Busted open half the stitches in her side. They had to give her another two units of blood before they got it under control.”

Vargas started to laugh, “You’re all crazy, you know that?”

“You’re one of us now, laddie. Better get used to it.” He clapped Alejandro on the shoulder warmly, “She’s gonna be okay, you know? She won’t be in the field again, but she’s not out.”

“That’s good,” he whispered, almost to himself.

“Damn right, that’s good. She’s with us until the end and we’re not ready to give up yet. Not by a long fuckin’ shot.”

END

**********

...and if you're wondering what the hell animal I'm referring to when I say "Fisher" it's one of these.

#simon 'ghost' riley #john 'soap' mactavish #call of duty fic #ghost + soap bein' bros #ghost is the big bro #soap is also the big bro #fisher is also also big bro

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mumms-the-word · 6 days

Text

A Macabre Masquerade - Ch. 7

Ch. 7 - A Danse Macabre

Characters: Tavs (multiple), Gale, Astarion, Karlach, Wyll, Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Halsin, Minthara + other OCs Plot: One year after defeating the Netherbrain and saving the city, Dani and Gale receive a mysterious invitation to a masquerade ball. The invitation specifically invites them to participate as the Heroes of Baldur's Gate. However, when they get there, they soon realize they aren't the only Heroes of Baldur's Gate that got invited. A/N: We finally meet the bad guy! And there is finally dancing in this masquerade fic! That's it, that's the note, you gotta read the rest for yourself.

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Dani could only watch with horror as the silent events taking place in the mirror unfolded, her body frozen with shock. No one else in the room seemed to notice, their attention on the performers on the stage as they bid their farewells, as though the mirrors behind them were not reflecting a literal bloodbath.

As the Astarion in the mirror drank deeply from the neck of one performer, the white-scaled dragonborn grabbed the second performer by the head, his claw-tipped fingers squeezing as if to crush the performer’s skull between his hands. Dani felt her gut twist as blue lightning skittered across the dragonborn’s hands and into the performer’s head, causing them to jerk and twitch uncontrollably, like a puppet dancing violently on its strings. Even when the performer’s eyes rolled back into their head, the dragonborn didn’t let up his lightning spell or his fierce hold on the performer.

“Good gods,” Gale whispered beside Dani.

She felt a harsh grip on her arm and flinched. Astarion had grabbed her arm, his gloved fingers digging into her bare skin, his eyes fixed on the mirror.

“Dani,” he said. “Who is that?”

She flicked her gaze uncertainly between him and the mirror, half fearful the image would go away the minute she looked away, but this time it remained. “The…the dragonborn?”

“No.” He pointed to the Astarion in the mirror. “Him.”

She hesitated. “Astarion, that’s…that’s you.”

He seemed to be expecting that answer, yet he swallowed hard, his eyes on his reflected form. Together they watched as both the Astarion in the mirror and the dragonborn let go of the performers in their grips. Both victims fell lifeless to the floor, while the crowd in the mirror continued to tangle themselves up in a confused mass of horrified onlookers trying to back away and gleeful spectators pushing forward for a better view.

The Astarion in the mirror straightened his formalwear and grinned, fangs flashing, using the pad of his thumb to swipe the blood trickling from his lips. He licked the blood from his thumb before turning to say something to the dragonborn, his lips moving around a satisfied smirk. Dani glanced uncertainly between the mirror and her Astarion.

“But that’s…how?” he whispered. The look in his eyes was an anguished mix of hungry envy and dawning horror. He turned his head toward Dani and Gale, yet kept his eyes fixed on his mirrored self. “What is this? Some kind of illusion trick?”

Dani exchanged tense glances with Gale but he shook his head. He didn’t have a ready explanation to make sense of this.

“Dani!”

Shadowheart and Lae’zel pushed their way around the edge of the crowd to stand on Gale’s other side. Lae’zel pointed one claw-tipped finger at the reflections.

“Explain,” she said shortly, looking specifically at Gale.

Gale held up his hands. “I haven’t the faintest idea what’s going on up there, Lae’zel, I assure you—”

“Well it’s clearly not part of the magic show,” Shadowheart said. “What do we—”

She faltered as she looked back at the mirror. Dani turned her head just in time to see a feminine figure step onto the stage, shell-pink lips turned down in an unimpressed frown. The figure rolled her eyes at something one of the other two said before tossing her long, loose, ink-black hair from her shoulders and turning to the dragonborn with a healing spell ready in her hands.

“Is that…me?” Shadowheart asked. She shook her head in disbelief, but it was difficult to ignore. Even with the indigo and black mask covering her features, the figure was instantly recognizable as Shadowheart, but with black hair and a darker kind of grace reminiscent of her more Sharran days. “None of this is making sense.”

Before Dani could reply, the two performers in the room—the living ones, the real ones—gave their final bows and disappeared in a flash of colorful smoke that billowed out across the stage and up toward the ceiling.

Astarion’s grip on her arm was suddenly fierce. “No!”

But the smoke obscured the mirrors and stage, covering the scene with the dragonborn and companions for several seconds before settling, revealing the black-and-white masked servant once more. Behind him, the mirrors were back to normal. No more bloodbath. No more dragonborn. No more Astarion or black-haired Shadowheart. Dani could see herself at the fringes of the audience, along with Gale, Shadowheart, and Lae’zel. But Astarion was as invisible as ever.

Astarion’s grip on her arm tightened painfully again before he let go, swearing under his breath. She spared him a quick, sympathetic look, but there was nothing she could do. The mirrors were beyond her control. And well beyond her understanding.

The masked servant bent in his familiar bow, his sweeping gesture clearing away the rest of the colored smoke. “Honored guests and heroes,” he said. “Lord Dormire hopes that you have been enjoying the festivities of his little masquerade so far. He has prepared several delights to entertain you throughout the evening.”

“Someone ready a hold person spell,” Dani whispered, directing her words mostly to Gale and Shadowheart. “Don’t let this guy get away without giving us some answers.”

“Isn’t he a devil?” Shadowheart whispered. “Just disguised?”

“I don’t know, maybe? Hold monster then! Whatever can trap him.”

“But first,” the servant continued, while beside her Gale began to make the gestures required for the spell. “Lord Dormire requests everyone’s presence in the ballroom upstairs. There he will officially kick off the main event. It is his wish that none of you miss it.”

He bowed again and as he straightened he disappeared in another whorl of ash and embers. Gale clenched his fist around the magic gathered in his hand, cutting it short, his incantation morphing into a frustrated grunt.

“Wily bastard, isn’t he?” he muttered, frowning. Dani huffed, mostly in agreement. Damned devil kept getting away.

As the other masked guests began to file out of the room, she crossed her arms beneath her gold feather wrap and glanced at each of her companions. “At least we know where to go next, but I hate the idea of going up there unprepared. Astarion, have you gone upstairs yet?”

He didn’t immediately respond. She turned to look at him, but his eyes were on the mirrors, his mind a million miles away. She tentatively touched his arm.

“Astarion?”

“Hm?” He didn’t look away.

She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Fine, darling,” he said automatically. But then after a beat he blinked and shook his head. “Actually, hang on, no. No, I’m not fine because what the hells was that?” He flung a hand out toward the mirrors.

She winced. “I wish I could tell you. The sooner we find Dormire, the sooner we’ll have answers, I promise. But I need you to focus for a second. Did you go upstairs by any chance?”

“I didn’t have the time,” he said, setting a hand on his hip. “I checked most of the rooms down here and spoke to a handful of guests. None of them said anything remotely interesting.” He frowned. “They almost act like thralls. Worse than thralls.” His eyes trailed to the mirrors, where the few remaining guests still lingering in the room were easily visible in the reflection, and he was not.

“Could this ‘Lord Dormire’ be another vampire?” Lae’zel asked.

“If he is, he isn’t any vampire that Cazador was aware of,” Astarion said. “I’ve been through all of his writings and Dormire’s name never popped up.”

“Perhaps they’re enthralled in some other way,” Shadowheart suggested. “By other means. Like Auntie Ethel’s thralls.”

“Or every True Soul not under the protection of the Astral Prism,” Gale said grimly.

They all fell silent, pondering that thought. It was the anniversary of their defeat of the Netherbrain, after all.

But Dani shook her head. “There’s no way anyone could recreate the whole…evil-takeover-slash-domination-of-an-elder-brain plot in so short a time. And besides, you’ve already given the crown to Mystra. Without it, no one can dominate an elder brain the same way Gortash and the others did.”

“And normal ghaik tadpoles would not have the same mind control effect as our tadpoles had,” Lae’zel said. “It must be something other than mind flayers.”

They all paused to think some more before Dani finally shook her head.

“Well, whatever it is, we’re not going to find the answers here. Let’s grab Karlach and Wyll before they go upstairs. I don’t want any of us going up there and getting caught unawares.”

She led the way back into the foyer where, thankfully, Karlach and Wyll were already waiting. Karlach looked a little relieved to see them, too.

“There you guys are,” she said. “I was getting a little worried you’d gone on without us.”

“Never,” Dani said, smiling briefly at her. “But we need a plan. Did you guys notice anything weird about the food or anything?”

They both shook their heads. The food seemed perfectly fine. Not a hint of magic or poison.

“The mirrors are a bit creepy though,” Karlach said. “Every now and again I see myself in one and I’m wearing something different in my reflection. Like a weird funhouse mirror, except it only lasts a second or two.”

“It’s worse than you think,” Dani said. “But I’ll let the others fill you in. If Lord Dormire is about to address this whole party, then we need to be ready for some kind of trick.”

“What are you suggesting?” Gale asked, tilting his head.

“I need you to turn me invisible,” she said, turning to him. Her spells weren’t half as good without her violin, even though she could easily sing or whistle the melodies she used to cast her spells. They were always a little stronger on the violin, however, and she wanted a powerful spell. Gale had only improved in his magical skills over the last year, no longer weighed down or weakened by the Netherese orb or the tadpole, so a greater invisibility spell from him would be as easy as snapping his fingers.

“Once I’m invisible, I’ll sneak upstairs and look in the ballroom,” she continued. “I’ll stay long enough to get an idea of the layout and what we might face, and then I’ll come back and we can make a plan.”

“And if you don’t come back?” Astarion asked, crossing his arms.

“If I’m not back within fifteen minutes and you don’t hear me sounding off an alarm, come and find me. I can’t say what Dormire is capable of, so come prepared to fight.”

Gale put a hand lightly on her shoulder. “Are you certain about this? You need not go alone.”

“It’ll be quicker and easier to sneak around if it’s just me,” she said. “I’ll be fine! Trust me.”

“I do trust you. It’s this Lord Dormire that I don’t trust.”

“Just give me fifteen minutes,” she said, turning to wrap her arms around his neck. She tilted her head to press a teeny kiss to his lips. “After that, you can come rushing in like the knight in shining armor I know you to be.”

He scoffed slightly and was on the point of arguing when she cut him off with another kiss. She felt him breathe out a resigned sigh through his nose and she smiled, knowing she’d won for the moment.

“Very well,” he said as she pulled away. “But you only have fifteen minutes, and this invisibility spell only lasts for one. Use your time wisely.”

“I will. Thank you, love.”

She stepped back and allowed him to cast the spell over her. As the familiar magic settled over her and her body disappeared from view, she wasted no time hurrying up the foyer staircase and through the double doors at the top of the stairs. She passed quickly through the little room to the next set of doors, which stood open and revealed the grand room beyond. There she paused to peer inside, lingering on the threshold.

The ballroom was a long, impossibly wide room filled to the brim with people dancing, milling about, and watching the dancers. The room seemed almost too big to fit on this floor, until she realized with a jolt that it only looked that way because each wall was covered with floor-to-ceiling mirror panels. The mirrors reflected back at each other so that the room seemed to stretch on into infinity, replicating all of the guests many times over. Even from her place in the doorway, she felt a little dizzy trying to make sense of where the room actually ended and the mirrors began.

A quick scan revealed that the room was relatively enclosed. Unless there were doors hidden behind some of the mirrors, the only way in or out was via these doors. There was very little furniture aside from several chairs and couches set up along the perimeter to accommodate guests waiting for a dance. In the corner to her left, an eight-piece band, all masked, was in the midst of playing a lively waltz. The air here was hot, almost cloying, and filled with a strange scent she couldn’t quite place, as though someone were burning incense.

She ventured cautiously further into the room, trying to peer through the swirl of skirts and coattails to the end of the room. Each step she took into the room seemed to increase the noise. The music, the chatter of idle watchers on the sides, the steps against the waxed wooden floors, everything seemed compounded and layered, as though she were standing in the midst of a crowd four or five times the size of the one in this room. She was used to noise and chaos, but something about this felt almost oppressively loud. She glanced anxiously at the mirrors, but she couldn’t easily tell if the guests reflected in the glass were the ones in the room as they repeated endlessly into the reflected distance. As long as she was invisible, she couldn’t use herself as a frame of reference either. She turned her attention back to the room, trying to step around guests without bumping into them. She didn’t want to leave here without a good look at Lord Aubron Dormire.

She managed to make her way more than halfway across without incident, pausing near a gaggle of whispering ladies to peer over their shoulders to the end of the room, spying a small raised dais. A large cushioned chair, not unlike a throne, was placed on the dais, centered so as to give its occupant a comfortable view of the room. For the moment, though, the chair was empty.

Where the hells was Dormire?

Dani frowned. She still had several seconds left of Gale’s invisibility spell and, in a pinch, she could recast a less strong version to escape if it faded. She stepped around the masked ladies and approached the dais, planning to peer around it, even though the mirrors behind it reflected nothing of interest behind the chair. But perhaps she might find a secret latch or hinge between the panels of the mirrors.

As she neared the dais, aiming for the centermost steps, she shivered as the invisibility magic on her body wavered. She froze, halfway up the steps. It was too soon for the spell to end—she quickly tried to remember the melody for an invisibility spell but it was too late. She felt it the moment the spell disappeared, leaving her suddenly visible once more, halfway up the dais, in plain view for everyone to see.

“My dear guest,” a masculine voice said behind her, “it’s quite rude to enter a ballroom unannounced and hidden from view.”

Shit.

She turned slowly to face the speaker, dread building in her stomach, though she refused to let it show. The center of the room was still filled with dancing couples spinning by unawares, but all the little groups of guests at this end of the room had taken notice of her. At the center of the gathering of guests, a man stepped forward and gave her a small bow.

He was a tall man, dressed in a luxurious outfit in black and red, as well as a large, debonair black cavalier hat with several draping ostrich feathers tinged with crimson. His diamond-patterned surcoat looked both lush and antiquated, worn over his more modern doublet and stark black breeches, cinched and buckled at the waist with a black and silver belt. Like the masked servant, he wore a cape decoratively draped from one shoulder and fastened with a broach that bore the same runic marking she’d seen on the seal on her invitation.

This must be Lord Dormire.

As he straightened, she tried to discern any details of him, like his race or his appearance, but it was impossible. Not a scrap of skin showed on him. Between his elaborate outfit, his black gloves and boots, and his masked face, every bit of his natural appearance was covered by his outfit. His surcoat and doublet covered his neck with a high neckline and a subtle, elegant ruff, and though his mask was a completely blank white half mask, the rest of his face and head was shrouded with some kind of thin black hood. It gave the overall effect of facelessness…and it eerily reminded her of the towering shadows back in Reithwin Town before the shadow curse had ended.

She turned to face him fully, keeping her place on the dais stairs so as to be level with him. “You must have devilsight to have seen me, saer,” she said, lifting her chin slightly. She was an entertainer—she could pretend to be a lofty noble, unfazed and pretentious, and not at all worried she might have walked herself into a trap. “I suppose you think I ought to be impressed.”

The man tilted his head slightly, but his expression was impossible to read. “I had hoped for an apology, honored guest, but no matter. I can see that you don’t trust me. I suppose that is no one’s fault but my own. We haven’t been formally introduced, after all, and you haven’t gotten the chance to get to know me yet. I am Lord Aubron Dormire, at your most gracious service.”

He bowed again and then stepped forward, offering her one gloved hand. “Perhaps you would honor me with a dance? We can discuss matters over a waltz.”

“I don’t dance,” Dani said coolly, folding her hands primly in front of her skirt. She was trying to look demure and cold, but really she was trying to hide that her fingers had started to tremble slightly.

She somehow sensed the smile on Dormire’s lips as he tilted his head again. “Oh, but I know you do, Lady Dekarios. The Beloved Bard of Baldur’s Gate, that is what they call you these days, do they not? Or perhaps, the Silvertongued Songstress? Such titles you heroes acquire. Your reputation precedes you, I’m afraid. So,” he extended his hand a fraction further, offering it again, “I ask again. May I have this dance?”

Again she hesitated. “You have me at a disadvantage, Lord Dormire. You know plenty about me. I know nothing about you.”

“Dance with me and perhaps you’ll find the answers to some of your questions.”

By this time the crowd of guests watching their exchange had grown. Dani was acutely aware of the number of eyes on her and the whispers that were beginning to grow louder and more numerous. She didn’t trust this guy as far as she could throw him, which was admittedly not far, but she didn’t exactly want to start a fight either. Despite everything in her screaming that this was a bad idea, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to help her down the dais stairs.

“I’m honored, Lady Dekarios,” he said, moving to her side and placing her hand on his arm. He towered above her by nearly a whole head, so as he escorted her toward the dance floor, the guests parting around them like water around a rock, he had to bend his head to bring his shrouded lips closer to her ear. “Although I can’t help but notice you’ve been meddling with my little party.”

She felt a shiver run down her spine, but she tried to ignore it, getting into place across from him as the music shifted from one tune to another. “I haven’t meddled in anything. If I had, you’d know. Trust me. Something would be broken at the very least.”

He chuckled softly before bowing and stepping close, taking her waist in one hand and her hand in the other. She picked up her skirt rather than touch his shoulder; the less contact she had with him, the better. He took the first step forward in the waltz and she followed, step for step, allowing him to guide her in smooth, practiced circles around the ballroom floor. Many other couples joined in, spinning and turning within an arm’s length of the two of them.

She was a little surprised by his elegant grace. He danced better than some nobles she’d been forced to dance with this last year. Better than most, in fact. Other than Wyll and Gale, she could scarcely think of a better dance partner.

Too bad she expected him to twirl her into a trap at any second.

“Perhaps our definition of ‘meddling’ differs,” he said, smoothly turning her away from a couple dancing too close. Were there even more people on the dance floor now? She could scarcely see beyond the bodies to the mirrored walls beyond. “You direct your companions to probe my guests with questions, to investigate my home, and to test my food for poisons. You haven’t broken anything or endangered anyone, but curiosity can be dangerous. It can lead you to assume things about your host that simply aren’t true. Don’t you agree?”

“Are you suggesting you’re not up to any tricks, Lord Dormire?” Dani asked, tilting her head to look up at him. She couldn’t see his eyes at all. They, too, were shrouded by the thin black material that covered the rest of his face beneath his bone-white mask. “You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t trust you. This city doesn’t exactly have a lot of trustworthy nobles. I would know. Some of them have tried to kill me before.”

“And yet here you stand, a hero of the Gate.” He deftly spun her outward from him, keeping a hold of her hand, and guided her to spin back into his embrace, all in time with the music. For some reason, perhaps the heat of the room, the heady incense smell, or her own nervousness, the spin made her a little dizzy when it normally wouldn’t have. Had the music always been this loud? She struggled to focus on his next words. “I find you quite fascinating, really. All of you.”

“All of us?” she asked. “Or all of me?”

“All the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. What is it that makes you a hero? Is it honor and valor? Power? Or is it simply being in the right place at the right time?”

She frowned. “You tell me. You’re the one that knows everything about me.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll find my answers soon enough. Like you, I am a curious sort. Unlike you, I am also patient sort.”

They had made a full circuit of the dance floor and were drawing near the center. Bodies were pressing closer as they danced. More than once a lady’s full skirt brushed against Dani’s dress and she nearly bumped elbows with some other dancer passing a little too close. She started to glance around for a chance to escape, a little break in the crowd where she could slip out of Dormire’s arms and flee, but the guests who weren’t dancing had made a fairly impenetrable circle around the dance floor.

Suddenly she felt that dancing with Dormire was the worst mistake she could have made.

“Are you not enjoying our dance, Lady Dekarios?” he asked, bending his head close to hers. “A shame. Of all my dance partners tonight, you have been the most graceful.”

“I want to know what you’re up to, Dormire,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. “Stop with the games. Skip to the negotiations or the gloating or whatever it is you want to do and get on with it.”

“Impatient, aren’t we? I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. I have a glorious little game that I intend to play, but it requires perfect timing. Not unlike a complex dance or a difficult musical composition. I’m sure you understand.” He maneuvered them both to the center of the room, never once missing a step. Dani was compelled to follow, or else be dragged along. She tensed as he leaned in closer. “You will play my game, won’t you, Dani?”

“Only my friends call me Dani,” she said through gritted teeth. She heard him chuckle again.

“Ah yes, your friends. You rely on them too much, I fear. How will you ever be the best and brightest hero of Baldur’s Gate if you let them keep you from your fullest potential?”

She blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“No matter. Perhaps you’ll surprise me. But only on my schedule.” He spun her again, this time letting go of her, and she stumbled, falling into the arms of another masked guest. The guest took her hands and pulled her into a waltz, his grip firm and unyielding.

“Let me go!”

“I’m afraid I can’t have you going back to tell your friends our little secret,” Dormire said, as the guest spun her around. “These things require precision. Your meddling will only muddy the process.”

The guest let her go and sent her turning into the arms of another guest, who waltzed her even more quickly around the floor. The tempo of the music had increased, and it was all she could do to keep up without tripping.

“You’ll have your chance to play my game, Lady Dekarios.” Dormire’s voice followed her around the dance floor, even though she couldn’t see him. The crush of waltzing bodies was too close now. “I’m curious to see how you will fare…”

The room itself seemed to spin as she swapped partners for the third time. The fairy lights in the room were suddenly too bright, the room too hot. Everywhere she looked she saw other guests, other dancers, all masked, all strangers. If they weren’t a blur of whirling color dancing just out of sight, they stood and watched with leering faces in the shapes of devils and beasts, painted harlequin smiles and eerie blank faces. They stretched on and on around her into infinity. She was lost, spinning in a tumultuous sea of masked dancers. She clutched desperately to the partner who led her now, trying to keep on her feet, to fight the dizziness in her head. The music grated on her ears, pounding in her skull, and every breath was just inhaling cloying incense. Gods, if she could just stop—

Suddenly her partner sent her spinning and no one was there to catch her. She stumbled and fell to her hands and knees, her bones jarring painfully with the force of her fall. She looked up to find Dormire standing just a few feet away, the two of them the only stationary figures in the eye of a whirling hurricane of dancers. Her vision swam slightly as she tried to glare up at him, the dancers around her becoming little more than a blur of color in her periphery.

“I’m not playing games with you, Dormire,” she spat, breathless from her forced march of waltzes.

“Of course you aren’t,” he responded, reaching beneath his surcoat to pull something from an inner pocket. “Not right now, at any rate. Right now, I need you to be conveniently…elsewhere. But don’t worry. It won’t be for too long.”

“What are you—“

“Patience, Lady Dekarios.”

He lifted a small metal utensil. A tuning fork she realized, recognizing the two-pronged tool immediately. As she struggled to get her feet—gods damn this dress—he struck the tuning fork with a small mallet. The tool sang with a semi-high pitched drone that even several steps away could be felt vibrating within her chest. Though not very high-pitched, it threatened to split her already-pounding skull. She winced with pain, screwing her eyes shut and clasping her hands over her ears as the sound got louder, amplifying rather than diminishing. What kind of tuning fork was that?

She looked up just in time to see Dormire making a spell gesture, an aura of light purple and ice blue magic swirling around him. She dropped her hands away from her ears to brace herself just as he pointed the tuning fork toward her. The magic shot forward, a streak of bright magic, and struck her directly in the chest. Like a puppet yanked on her strings, she was flung backward into darkness.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #my fic #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #dani #meridan zavrai #dani got yoinked lol #where to??? find out next week #hopefully

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