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yandereaffections · 6 years

Note

Hi :)) would it be possible to get a Yandere! Peter Parker x Zombie Apocalypse imagine?

Hope descriptive headcanons is good enough

Have I ever mentioned the eyes of his suit is my favorite thing

Any of you watched Nation Z?

It’s great

Anyways

The apocalypse probably spreaded quickly from the center of New York City to Queens, you and peter in school during lunch

A crowd gathers around a student struggling and twitching on the concrete floor, teachers pushing them away trying to help the student before getting bitten and progressively spreading it more and more

Peters seen enough movies to know were this is going

He wasn’t even thinking clearly as he grabbed you and pulled you away from your friends, running past teachers yelling at the two of you into a empty part of the schools hallways aiming towards a back door

Before leaving he stopped you and emptied the both of your backpacks, keeping whatever would be considered useful

You’re yelling at him in confusion before becoming silent as you hear the yells and screams of thousands of kids faintly down the hallway

Pulling you away from the school walking out into a sea of chaos, drivers hitting those on the road both zombie and human, ultimately stoping or crashing.

Watching as the closest option gets pulled out of their car and ravaged by the undead, dragging you along with him as you try to contact your parents

Shoving you into the car as he quickly jumps in from the other side, zombies eating away at the struggling man on the side

Backing up and quickly driving away, not bothering to take the roads but rather every spot that seems to be empty.

If there’s only one zombie on the sideline where as the other option is a wreck he will choose to take the risk of running it over

Instructs you through out the entire time he speeds to Aunt Mays

Look through the glove compartment

The back seats, everywhere

This is America this person must of had some sort of weapon in their car

Checking every spot you could while texting and calling your parents nonstop, no response

Peter sighed as tears slid down your cheeks, clutching your phone as the whole situation dawns on you

Asks you to call Aunt May

hopefully she’ll pick up

She doesn’t sound like she’s in a good situation when she does pick up after the tenth time of calling

Screams and banging heard in the background, the sound of wood braking before hearing May run into the small bathroom with no window to escape through

You watch as peters face twitches and shifts with each noise that’s heard, taking things calmly on the outside while driving. Questions being asked if she can escape, if she’s ok.

Peter knows the lay out of his house, she’s already dead if she’s in that bathroom, surrounded by zombies outside the door

Suddenly takes a sharp turn, not aiming for what was once his home but instead a safe place for the two of you.

Taking the phone from you, peters voice cracking through his uncharacteristicly monotone voice, telling her what the situation is, what the most likely outcome is, and that he’s sorry

Hearing the door break peter hung up before the sounds of screaming came through the phone

Taking your phone from peter you stared at him as he looked forward towards the street making sure to avoid everything he could. Slowly reaching out you took his hand in yours, squeezing it while holding back sobs

Peters hand shakes in your own as he leads both of you out of the state

Hours pass as you leave to a different state, the car tank thankfully being filled completely getting you near the middle of Massachusetts

While the disease already spread here it seemed like most of the chaos moved towards New York, zombies running out of food as quickly as they found it

Once the car lost all the gas it had peter sat there, your hand gripped in his.

Siting in silence, looking around the empty street before getting out of his seat, fiting himself inbetween you and the dashboard

Siting on your lap, bringing you into his shaking chest kissing the top of your head before a few sobs leave his throat

Arms around your shoulders, hands playing gently with your hair

Everything that’s happened over the few hours breaking the two of you down, your tears dripping onto his shirt

Both you and peter takes time to process everything before moving on, before leaving the car and taking what you can from abandoned buildings

The bags on your back filled with toliet paper along with nonparishable foods and whatever clothing that seemed to fit

The town around you destroyed with only a few lonely zombies either trapped in rooms or wondering the street.

Glass covers sidewalks along with blood stains and bits and pieces of ripped off flesh

You and peter finding a place to stay for the night, a abandoned warehouse.

While the ceiling leaked when it rained and it didn’t smell any better than the blood covered city in was in, it was a place to stay, safe too

The stairs were torn down, not sure by what but there isn’t a chance for any threat to come up there with out the use of Peters powers

Using his spiderwebs as a express elevator, holding you close to him as he pulled the two of you up.

The second floor completely empty, less filthy along with more supplies

Finding what you could for the weapons currently available to you, being iron pipes and glass shards.

Peter doing his best to keep you both talking, staying close to you while looking for anything more comfortable to sleep on rather than the metal floor as the moon light shines through the small holes in the roof

Newspapers with a date of a few days ago covers the two of you, holding you close against him looking through his phone to see if there’s any type of survival guide or explanation of what’s happening.

Turning off his phone peters arms wrap around your waist bringing you close, bags of supplies around the two of you as sleep slowly takes over your exhaustion selfs

Peter will keep you safe

Will keep you protected

No matter what he has to do

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illusionsofdreaming · 6 years

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So I don't know the difference between a prompt, a headcanon and an imagine... But how about a cute AU where Robin wasn't found by Chrom and made a life for herself as a baker in a village, and Gaius meets her through her shop? Feel free to improve the details of course to make this more enjoyable for yourself :)

Notes: Honestly, sometimes I get confused myself haha the lines that separates imagines and headcannons can blur. But basically imagines are longer, fully written scenarios/flash fictions (so this one is technically considered an imagine request and these) and headcannons are bulletpointed and gets right to the point (these). You can find a better explanation between the differences between these two types of writing I offer in the rules page :’3Anyways. As I was writing this, I imagine that this AU is set after Robin and her mother fled Plegia but before she lost her memories. The imagine was actually several sections longer but then it.. got too long so I just left it at this. :’D Enjoy!

Ft: Gaius

The shop was quiet and empty, peaceful even but you daren’t fall in love with this quaint little village for fear of heartbreak as you knew you’ll have to leave it one day. Constantly having to move and say goodbye was painful but it was a small price to pay if it foiled the plans of your maniacal father who’s hell bent on raising the God of Death itself.

The little village you and mother happened across straddled the borders of Plegia and Ylisse. Since you knew a little of baking, you had offered to help out at the local bakers for some extra gold.

Business was not exactly roaring and rarely do you find new faces visiting the store. Which, considering your situation, was a blessing in disguise as it meant father would be no closer to discovering the whereabouts of his runaway child and wife. The less new faces you meet, the lower the chances were of someone recognizing you or your mother’s face. Perhaps this little village was the sanctuary you and mother have been looking for all along.

You were reflecting on how you could get used to the peace and quiet when trouble and mischief brought itself crashing through the doors. Immediately your hand brushed towards the Thoron by your side but before you could question or even threaten the intruder, the man had all but vaulted over the counter to your side, pressing his back against the thick hard wood and pressing a finger to his lips in the universal sign for silence.

Not a moment later, the door swung wide hitting the back of the wall so hard it rattled the shop.

“Where is he?” The one leading the charge into the bakery yelled.

You resisted the urge to glance down towards the side as you felt a light pressure against your boots. “Who?” You managed pleasantly as you adjusted the strawberry cake on the counter.

“The man with red hair! The candy loving dastard of a thief took all our spoils!”

You frowned, not liking the fact you could be harbouring a thief but hating the temper of the man before you even more. Just when you were musing on the beauty of a peaceful village too.

“Whoever it is you’re looking for it’s clear that they’re not here.” You stated softly.

“What do you have to worry about! We’ll be out of your hair soon enough!” The thug hissed as he jerked his shoulder forward, a motion that seemed to signal to his friends to start turning the bakery upside down.

“All the ruckus you’re causing is bad for the business, I haven’t seen the man enter and the shop clearly only has one entrance. Your thief’s not here, you should look elsewhere.”

“Or else what?” Big, mean and ugly taunted and immediately got a blast of magic scoring past his face in response.

“It wasn’t a suggestion.” The Thoron tome was out on display now, pages flickering with magic as lightning crackled at the tip of your finger tips.

The bandits seem to understand the threat you pose as all movement ceased. Starting a fight in such cramped spaces would be disadvantageous for the thugs, especially with a counter between the two parties. Your magic would easily take all of them down before they could whip out their swords and cross the barrier.

“This is not the end of things you meddling witch.” the leader spat before turning around and leaving the premises, his two lackeys slinking off following his shadow.

You waited a good ten seconds and then another ten to make sure they weren’t coming back before turning to face the one who started this mess in the first place. “Tell me one good reason why I shouldn’t just turn you over to the authorities right no- Hey! Those are for the customers!” You snatched the plate of half eaten cream puffs from his hands, horrified to find most of them gone.

“Got to give it to ya, those are some of the best pastries I’ve ever had.” the man grinned, licking the cream off his fingers.

“These were for Mrs. Betson! And you ate all of them!” Your face paled, as you picked at the remaining puffs on the platter, realising none of them are salvageable.

“That means you’re making more right? Then excuse me as I finish the res-“ He hissed in pain as you slapped his greedy fingers away and levelled your magic tome at him.

“I knew it! I should’ve handed you over to them, you’re obviously nothing but trouble!”

The thief stumbled back, eyeing the Thoron book nervously - obviously he hadn’t been too busy snacking on Mrs. Betson’s cream pastries to miss your magic show. “Hey, hey, hey Cinnamon, why don’t we all calm down and talk things out yea? You don’t seem like the type to go blasting your guests.”

“You want to test that theory out?” You snapped, wielding your tome high, ready to use it as a blunt weapon. “You crash into the bakery bringing menacing thugs along who stalk around causing a ruckus and threatening to tear down the store.” You took a step forward which the thief echoed with one step backward. “You made me pull out my weapon and make enemies of them who no doubt will be coming back for more and you ate all the customer’s pastries that took me all morning to pipe!” There was a soft thump as the man bumped against the edge of the counter, cornered.

“Is it just me or does it sound like you’re more heartbroken over the buns-“ The thief yelped as he dodged your book in an impressive feat of acrobatics, summersaulting backwards over the counter, efficiently placing some much needed distance between you two. You however was not to be so easily deterred nor have need for such parlour tricks, you simply lifted a flap on the counter and crossed over to the other side, inwardly smirking at the crestfallen expression that came over the other’s face.

“Wait, wait, I know how it looks but I swear on all the sweets I own, it’s really not as bad as you think!”

“That’s rich coming from a thief!”

He scrunched up his nose in offence at your tone. “Believe it or not, even a petty thief like me have morals and follow an honor code too. I don’t steal or hurt the defenceless, women or children. These guys took advantage of a merchant who’s cart had fallen over when its wheel broke. Robbed him blind they did, old man was crying like a newborn babe. Stuff like that just ain’t my cup of chocolate you know? I did what had to be done, return his precious cargo and sent him on his way, even got a pretty sweet tart out of it. But as you can see, Brandon an’ the others didn’t really appreciate it all that much.”

You paused, considering his words carefully. You did hear from the others that a large merchant cart had fallen over on it’s side, blocking the road a few days ago but you have no way to confirm that it’s the same cart this man was talking about. You lowered your tome but your eyes remained locked on the thief’s every movement.

He must have noticed the distrust still in your eyes because the sigh he let out next was tired and exasperated. “Yeesh Cinnamon, you don’t have to give me that look. I get it, I brought them here so I’ll deal with them, make sure they won’t be coming back for seconds. I’ll even throw in one of my precious custard pies for those cream puffs you mourn, happy?” He grumbled as he drew the collar of his heavy cloak up to his chin.

“Fifty gold coins.” You returned sharply, gripping onto the edge of his cloak, holding the man back before he could escape.

“Fif-Fifty?” The thief spluttered and you can hear the sharp crack of his lollipop as he snapped the stick in his mouth. “Are your cakes made of gold? They taste pretty damn amazing I’ll give ya that Cinnamon but fifty gold coins? You might as well take out a dagger an’ tell me you’re robbing me now!”

“Fifty gold coins barely covers the cost of ingredients and labor put into those dozen cream puffs you devoured in less than five minutes flat!” You snapped, tightening your grip around the stretch of fabric you held. “I haven’t even charged you for the physical damage done to the shop or the emotional damage I suffered from having criminals crashing into the store!”

The smile on his face was tight as a muscle underneath the man’s eye twitched. “Yeah, cuz it’s clear handling Brandon and his goons took a real toll on ya.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, not appreciating his sarcasm but neither did you want to bother with explaining your situation to a shifty thief. If wasn’t that you wouldn’t be able to deal with the thugs if it came down to a fight but it would definitely ruin your image as the very average, unassuming new neighbour in town. If word of a powerful mage was hiding in the small village got out, you’ll be forced to leave your home again!

“Deal with your friends and fifty gold for compensation or I’m calling the authorities.”

“Can’t you put it on my tab or something?”

“You’re not even from around here!”

“You drive a hard bargain, Cinnamon! What about two custard pies? I’ll even throw in several honey cakes!”

“Are you going to pay or not?” you growled, raising your tome once more ready to knock the infuriating man out.

“Alright, alright! You win! Take it!” From underneath his cloak he grabbed a small pouch and tossed it at you. You caught the heavy pouch with one hand, releasing your grip on the other’s clothing. “It’s one of my most precious collections and I can assure you that I don’t have anything on me worth more than that! I’ll have you know that you won’t find anything like these on the market anymore! The craftsman retired several years ago and I’m the only customer he still entertains from time to time. Hopefully this will satisfy your greed for now!”

You loosened the string holding the pouch close to peer inside to judge its contents. If the items within were really that precious then perhaps you could sell them to cover the costs for repairs. “Wait a minute.. aren’t these candies?” Your gaze snapped up but it was already too late, the thief had long vacated the store the moment you released him from your grip.

“Dastard! Come back here!”

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djhinnwe · 7 years

Text

Stranger Things: If Billy Ever Needs a Redemption Arc, This Is My Headcanon (WIP)

The void, the in between of worlds, is a place few know and even fewer visit. Darker than midnight beneath cloud cover, as dank as a swamp in spring, with static akin to changing stations on a radio. A shadowed figure strolls through the dank dark between rows of doors, the station changing between each one. One in particular catches the figure’s attention and they open it to the sounds of music from outside the year they know. With a slick smile, the figure opens the door and steps through to the sound of Pink’s “Secrets”.

---

Pa’s Garage and Diner sits on the edge of Hawkins, Indiana, standing proud along the highway to serve its purpose as a refuel for truckers. Whether the trucker needs to eat, sleep, or simply pick up some gas, Paul Blacks built the Diner to serve the profession the accident of ‘69 had forced him out of. Up until her death Saundra, Paul’s wife, had run the diner end while Paul dealt with the mechanics and gas end of things. She is the one who insisted on taking in foster children, and for that Paul still finds himself grateful. From the system they had given a home to Saskia Dawn, a native teen they had managed to get their hands on after she was kicked out of her final residential school. Once Saundra passed, the torch passed from wife to husband, and father to daughter.

Saskia Dawn sits in the open garage, her foot tapping to a beat only she can hear while she works on a 1949 Harley-Davidson WLA. She hums as she works, hopping off her stool and triple-stepped to change out her tools. When she finds what she is looking for, she twirls and taps back to her station.

A bang of metal hitting concrete breaks her attention. “Fer the love o’ Gods,” she mutters as she grabs a pipe wrench and marches toward a shelf full of spare parts. “Can’t get one night o’ peace, can I?” Saskia Dawn demands of the invisible entity. She squats down to pick up the offending rim.

A black and brown ophidian lunges toward her off the shelf. It opens its maw to reveal several rows of teeth. Saskia snatches the ophidian out of the air and slams it onto the ground. Her heavy boot stomps on its head. The satisfying crack of bone echos in the otherwise empty garage. She swings the pipe wrench down over and over until she severs the ophidian’s head from its body. She picks it up by the tail and scoffs. “Geese woulda been hard.”

---

Fear breeds anger. Fear breeds resentment. Fear breeds hatred.

Neil Hargrove slams his son into the bookcase his wife, Susan Hargrove, had just purchased a few days before. “I bring you here to start a new life, and this is how you repay me?” he yells, the quiet scream that sends shivers down Susan’s spine and makes Max Mayfield cover her ears even though she is in her bedroom. “By getting in trouble with the police?”

Billy looks away from his father. For all his bravado, he can’t find the strength to stand up to his father. Nor can he find the words to speak. Fighting Steve Harrington is easy. Steve doesn’t know how to hold his ground.

“Is jail what you want? Look at me.”

He’s frozen.

“I said, look at me.”

Billy closes his eyes to steel himself. If Max hadn’t opened her damn mouth to her father, they would still be in California. If Susan hadn’t said yes to Neil, Billy would have left and not looked back. He would have been free. Neil grabs his face and forces Billy to look at him.

“You will not make another mistake. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“Useless felon,” Neil snarls and gives in to the temptation of slapping his son again. “Pull this shit again, and you’ll be without a roof over your head.” He shoves Billy into the shelving unit one more time before taking a step back and turning his attention to Susan. “Go make dinner.”

Billy takes just enough time to compose himself before he storms outside and throws himself into his car. He takes off, ignoring the sight of Max climbing onto Lucas Sinclair’s bike. He still remembers the thunk of the spiked bat landing between his legs like a guillotine. Fighting with her is not worth it, not that she deserves to suffer for her mother’s stupidity either. She could have chosen different losers to hang out with, though.

The next time he slows down is in front of the Wheeler house. Karen Wheeler is home, but so is her ingrate of a husband, Ted. Billy hesitates and takes a drag of his cigarette. The thought of storming in and stealing Karen away on one of their rendezvous, Ted be damned. Bastard wouldn’t notice, but Holly needs her mother and as much as Billy doesn’t care, Karen does and he doesn’t want to lose such a nice piece of tail quite yet. She is fun, and free.

And the knowledge. Oh man, the knowledge.

The corner of his mouth twitches and he drives. Scenes fly by his window and he loses himself into the blaring radio and the empty asphalt. He could just keep going, not look back. Just like he’d intended in California before everything went to shit.

Except he hasn’t topped up the gas, or grabbed the money from under his mattress, and the car is rolling to a stop. He hisses through his teeth as he stares at the gas gauge with its arrow pointing to the E. His fists smash against the steering wheel over and over, not quite enough to break the wheel the same way he had broken Steve Harrison’s face, but close. “SHIT!”

Billy flings himself from the car and kicks the useless piece of junk, still swearing. The approaching truck, an ancient thing that look as though its lifespan should have ended more than a decade ago, does little to dissuade Billy’s abuse on his car.

“You alright, boy-o?” the driver asks. Billy swings around, caught off guard by the good-natured voice. The stranger, a balding man whose hair must have migrated from his head to his arms, smiles with the patience of a saint. “What’s got your goat, aye?”

Billy shoves his hands into his back pockets and holds his chin high to curb his embarrassment. “Ran out of gas.”

“Aye. Cars’ll do that. Normally I got a jerry, but a sweet li’l lady needed a bit of a rescue out the way. Hop in, and I’ll get you taken care of.”

Billy shifts his weight with indecision. The adults ignore him unless he does something worthy of their attention, and they’re all too happy to chastise him for it. The man seems harmless, but harmless is not always so.

“Could walk, too,” the man says and gestures down the highway toward Hawkins. “Gas station’s ‘bout a mile back. You look fit, shouldn’t be an issue.”

With one more curse, Billy storms around to the truck’s passenger side door and yanks it open. “I’ll take the ride, thank you,” he grumbles and pulls himself inside.

The man’s smile turns into a grin and he holds out a wide, worn hand. “Name’s Paul. Nice to meet-ya.”

Billy takes the hand, noting the calluses and burn marks between the mottling. “Billy,” he introduces himself. The man, Paul, radiates a steady warmth as he drives. He talks without expecting Billy to answer, and Billy is torn between annoyance and muddled gratitude.

How he missed the turn-off to the garage was beyond him. The sign may as well be neon, with the chipping mint green paint with red lettering not needing help in standing out, and the structure is...obvious. Two pumps sit in front of a diner, with an extra door presumably leading into the attached garage. A woman around his age sits in front of the second door, one leg swung lazily over the other as she smokes a cigarette. Her dark eyes watch him beneath fringe bangs in a way that make his stomach flip. Instinctively he checks his hair. She ashes the cigarette against the side of her armrest.

“Saskia Dawn’ll take care of ya, boy-o. Looks like the kitchens need me,” Paul says and hands Billy the large jerry can. Billy follows Paul’s gaze into the windows of the diner where something has caught fire.

He huffs. “Okay.”

“Come in when you get your car back. I got some pie for you.” The warmth surprises him. He nods to Paul’s back and straightens his jacket. He approaches the woman, Saskia Dawn by his guess, and gives her one of his most charming smiles. The same one that had Karen falling over herself when she had opened the door that fateful day.

“What’s a pretty thing like you, doing in a place like this?” he asks with as much sincerity as he can muster as he props his foot onto a log being used as a side table and leans over her.

Saskia Dawn blows smoke in his face with the most disinterested expression he has ever witnessed. She sees through me. A ripple of power emanates from her and he can’t hide the shiver. His smile only wavers when she asks, “Depends. What’s a donkey’s behind like you need?”

He forces a laugh and she cocks a brow. Lifting the jerry can, he waves it in front of her. “What do you think?”

“Haircut,” she quips dryly. She stabs the cigarette out in a crystal ashtray and pushes herself out of the chair. Billy frowns as he steps away to let her by. She snatches the jerry can out of his hand and walks to the pumps. “Pa say you were payin?”

“He has pie,” Billy said, cursing himself as he follows her to the pump. She grunts and starts filling the jerry can. He pulls his cigarettes, placing one between his lips as he goes for his lighter.

“No smokin around the pumps,” Saskia Dawn interjects. He flicks the lighter, it doesn’t light. “Don’t care if you want to blow yourself up, but I’m interested in dyin today.”

Billy purses his lips, but the quiet power reminds him of his father and he has quite enough confrontation for one night. He shoves the cigarette back into his jeans. “Happy now?” he snaps at her. This earns him a shrewd smile.

“It’ll do,” she says. It feels like praise.

“My money’s in my car,” he starts, leaning against the pump and shoving his hands in his pockets where he fiddled with the lighter. “I’ll-”

“Don’t worry about it. Pa’s got pie,” Saskia Dawn says, as though he is supposed to understand the damn pie reference. He balls his fists. “Means he don’t expect to be paid. Where you parked?”

---

The drive with Saskia Dawn back to his car is different from the ride to the gas station with Paul. She is quiet, smoking a fresh cigarette and tapping the ash out the window, looking straight ahead. Billy wonders if her silence stems from her father’s ramblings. He watches her and realizes the quiet is just as peaceful and warm as Paul’s stories.

“If you don’t return the jerry can yourself, keep in mind that I’ll find ya.”

Billy blinks and sits up as the truck coasts to a stop. “I’ll return it,” he says, hand on the door handle. Saskia Dawn starts to give him a nod, but something outside catches her attention. She grabs his arm. The grip is strong, but it doesn’t hurt. Billy can’t see what she’s looking at.

“Wait here,” she orders, her expression serious as she barrels out of the truck and grabs a pitchfork from the truck bed. Billy hops out and she twirls to face him as the night air fills with a rattling sound. “Back. Inside. Now.” The urgency in the order means squat.

“No one tells me what to do,” Billy growls, stepping toward her in a way that causes most people to change their pants. She stares at him as the rattling gets louder. It’s too dark to tell if she’s blinking, but she isn’t rising to the occasion. If he throws a punch, she won’t bother meeting it with anything except the pitchfork.

“Suit yourself.”

A hiss catches Billy’s attention, just over the rattle. He can’t pinpoint the sound at first, not until the pitchfork lands next to his foot and he hops back to see her fighting a diamondback rattlesnake. At least that’s all he can assume it is in the dark, though it’s large and fat for a snake and unearthly wails fill the air, mixing together with Saskia Dawn’s angry breaths. “Stupid. Don’t learn. Motherf-...GAH!” The pounding of her pitchfork gets heavier as the creature writhes and stills. She brandishes the pitchfork at Billy. “Please, get the sack from the back of the truck. When we-”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Boy, do I sound like I’m tellin right now? Get the damn sack and enjoy the damn pie. I don’t have time for your shit right now.” The quiet power she wields roars over Billy like a tidal wave. His anger builds and he loses focus, the world fading to haze. When he comes to Saskia Dawn has him pinned to the side of her truck with more force than his father had mustered when throwing him into the bookcase. He struggles, but the grip is there and he feels her power and he wants it as much as he wants to hide from it. His breathing slows and he closes his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, because that is what is expected of him.

“I don’t want your apologies. I want the rucksack.”

He staggers when she releases him, knees quacky from the rush of adrenaline. Blood ran down his temple and he saw the broken bits of glass that should have been from her head going through the window, but somehow she had put his through instead. “I’m sorry,” he breathes again.

She grabs the rucksack from the back of the truck, along with a sharp metal stick and scoops the unidentifiable corpse into the sack. “I told you. I don’t want no apology. Should only say ‘em when you mean ‘em, and right now you’re in shock, not remorseful.” She ties the sack off and tosses into the bed in what can only be described as a single motion. “If you want some good pie, go back to the diner. And watch out for snakes.” --- TBC

#stranger things #fanfiction #Billy #Redemption Arcs

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ravenvsfox · 7 years

Text

remember everyone’s favourite headcanon about neil coming back to life once upon a time and telling his unsuspecting friends about it on movie night?? I wrote that bitch!!!

The light from the TV seizes every time a scene leaps off a building or the action crashes into the protagonist. It’s exhausting to be in the same room as the flicker of it; the pulsing gunfire and longwinded monologues intercut with showy violence that’s all soft in the middle.

The combat is slow — it’s obvious the director wants you to follow the stunt double’s prowess with your eyes, to take the moment that someone goes sprawling and package it, understand it, delight in your own understanding. The urgency of the fight whimpers and dies. It’s a half-time waltz set to galloping music, stilted dialogue fed into it all like splinters.

It’s almost a comedy, this palatable brutality playing out in a room full of fighters.

A woman hooks her leg in the window of a moving car and slides inside, and Neil makes a tsk-ing noise. She grapples with a driver and wins impossibly. The scene shifts and becomes a greyscale basement; the villain orders his cronies about in German that can’t figure itself out. Neil nudges Andrew’s foot with his and Andrew nods without looking.

The screen hiccups, abruptly paused. “What is it Lassie?” Matt jokes, mouth twitching. “Something wrong?”

“No,” Neil says, sour. “Just wondering if his German coach spoke any German.”

“I thought it was cute,” Nicky says.

“You think he’s cute,” Allison corrects, reaching over Renee to steal a twizzler from the knot of opened snacks on the coffee table. She bites into it viciously when she says, “you’re into boys who can’t speak the same language as you. They’re easier to trick.”

“Wow,” Nicky says, bewildered. “The bitch is out today.”

Allison swipes primly at her lipstick. “Always is.”

“You got another horrifying factoid to share with the class, Josten?” Dan asks. “Something about the proper technique for jumping between cars maybe?”

“Yeah. Don’t lead with your legs. That’s a good way to get yourself ripped in half.”

“Un-pause,” Renee prods, and Matt laughs when he hits play. The movie skids around and tries to find its own plot again. Light flickers over Neil’s frown.

The protagonist shoots at a tank until it blows up, and Neil snorts, jostling Andrew’s side when he stands up. He watches Matt and Neil have a conversation in gestures, and Matt relents after a moment, letting Neil slip away without pausing anything.

He’s gone for a while. Doubtless somewhere in their bedroom or breathing secondhand smoke from his own hand or killing time cross-legged in the brightness of the kitchen.

It’s less bearable, trying to swallow the movie without Neil shaking with laughter against him every time someone lies or shoots the wrong way. Andrew feels uncomfortably like the only other person in his lifeboat had just been rescued without him.

Another explosion rocks their sound system, and Andrew flicks bored eyes back to the villain circling the lead in a helicopter. He’s still waiting for the plot twist to get over itself and make an appearance, or for Neil to do the same. It’s starting to chafe, being in the dark with the whole team, shifting and breathing and rustling plastic packages around him.

The protagonist gets suddenly skewered by the debris from the helicopter he just shot down, and the heroine tumbles down over the rubble, scrambling to hold his face in both hands. Dialogue devolves into blood-bubbling I love you’s and come back’s from there, and Andrew concentrates on zoning out.

“He’s not actually dead,” Nicky says incredulously, mouth full of popcorn. Dan shushes him. “He’s too pretty to be impaled to death.”

“I bet you want him to impale you to death,” Matt says slyly, pleased with himself, and Renee frowns at him.

“Ay, he’s back!” Nicky says, popping another handful as the protagonist gasps back to life, face wet with tears or sweat or rain. “What’d I tell you?”

“You’re ruining this movie,” Aaron says flatly.

“Do you think he went to heaven for those five minutes?” Nicky continues, ignoring his cousin. “Like I get that he’s a mass murderer, but it was all ‘greater good’ stuff. Like charity work.”

“I don’t think God had time to decide,” Renee says softly.

“Like he was hanging out in limbo?” Dan asks, playing along. Renee shrugs generously.

“I’d love to die for like ten minutes, make a scene, have Erik weep over my broken body. Then high five God on my way back to life.”

“Nothing happens when you die, Nicky,” Neil says matter-of-factly from the doorway. He smells like Andrew’s cigarettes when he climbs back onto the couch, legs tucked underneath him. He reaches for a handful of popcorn.

“You can’t know that for sure,” Renee says, frowning a little. Her beliefs never show on her face so much as when she’s trying to fight back without fighting.

Andrew can feel his heart wind up and get ready to throw something, though he’s not completely sure why until Neil says, “I died once.” He shrugs. “God looked a whole lot like an endless abyss.”

Renee reaches over and pauses the TV. Matt looks anxiously at Dan, who can’t seem to look away from Neil or close her mouth.

“You’re not serious,” she says lowly. Neil looks up from his handful, startled by the mood shift.

“Wouldn’t be a very good joke, would it,” Allison says, blatantly overcompensating. Her hand is making dents in her plastic cup.

“You died?” Kevin says. “You didn’t think to mention that?”

“I didn’t mention a lot of things,” Neil says narrowly. “Just like you didn’t mention a lot of things. You really want to play that game?”

“Neil,” Matt interrupts. “I know you think this is one of those things you can say and then we hit play and move on, but it’s really not.”

“Who did it?” Andrew’s mouth asks. In his head he’s already flipping backwards through the filing cabinet of stories Neil has pressed into his hands and said into his neck and written down and handed to him because his voice gave out. Everyone looks at Andrew, then Neil.

“My father,” Neil says stiffly. Andrew can see Dan close her eyes and keep them closed.

“When?” Andrew demands. He doesn’t know why these particular questions matter so much, if they matter. The taste of ‘I died once’ is making everything that comes out of his mouth bitter and dull.

“I was nine.” His eyes are on Andrew, fixed and screwed in. His brow is twisted, and Andrew knows that this is a story he hadn’t intended to be sharing until he already was. “I let someone give me a ride home. He insisted, I don’t know. I wasn’t good at saying no yet.��

Andrew blinks. Some part of him wants to heave, and his muscles strain against the impulse.

“You don’t have to tell us,” Renee says. She looks troubled. Almost everything has happened to her at least once, but not this.

“Tell me,” Andrew says, lets the anger curl his mouth into something demanding, knowing it won’t do any good.

Neil’s face flickers, a flame buffeted by wind. “He dropped me home, and when no one came to the door he walked around back. He didn’t see anything but— it was. Close. It was very close. My father was slitting someone’s throat in the basement at the same time that this guy was lurking around our fence.”

“Jesus, Neil,” Nicky says, reaching for Neil’s shoulder. Andrew catches his wrist before he can make contact. Neil shrugs again.

“He heard the knocking, finally, and came upstairs. He let the guy live. I still don’t know why.” He pops one kernel of popcorn into his mouth. “He held me down in the bathtub until I blacked out. Or — died, I guess. Surprisingly merciful killing, for him.” Another kernel, thoughtful. “Business, not pleasure.”

“What happened?” Dan asks thickly. “Your mom…?”

Neil nods. “As soon as he was gone, she dragged me out of the tub and did CPR, I guess. I didn’t have a pulse for— minutes. I don’t know. She said I turned blue.”

“No shit,” Matt says, running a hand through his hair, displacing the spikes so they look as sad as he does.

“He was pissed that she’d done it, though. He beat us both. I remember the bath flowing over, and the water going red—“ he seems to come back to himself, catching Andrew’s eye and frowning at what he finds. “It was ten years ago Drew,” he says quietly.

“I would kill him again.”

Neil’s jaw works, and he flushes, overwhelmed. “I know,” he says finally. “So would I.”

The silence stretches, then breaks uselessly to pieces like wet paper. Everyone stopped pretending they were going to watch the rest of the movie five minutes ago.

“And you…” Nicky swallows. “You didn’t see anything? In those minutes?”

Neil looks at him consideringly. “No. I was gone and then I was back.”

Andrew can see that ‘back’ most clearly, the way Neil’s mouth pops open around the word, trying to let it go. He remembers the way living feels so much more deadly than dying.

Renee’s face is a chess game; she’s trying to strategize her way out of the other team’s looming checkmate. She doesn’t trust Neil’s story, or she doesn’t trust herself, or she trusts both and her religion is tugging her sleeve until she answers it.

“I’m sorry,” someone says.

Neil shrugs, tosses popcorn into his open mouth, looks at the ceiling. “I’m here. There are worse things.”

“Than death?” Kevin says incredulously.

“Yes,” Neil says without hesitation.

“I think,” Matt says hesitatingly, “I think maybe we should go.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Neil says, at the same time that Andrew says, “yes.”

“I didn’t die today. Don’t stop on my account.”

Matt glances around the room, eyes catching on the screen — still paused on the tear-streaked heroine with her arms strung like lace around the hero’s neck. “I think I might need a breather. Your childhood kind of… makes me believe in real evil, so, like. I’ve gotta deal with that.”

“Sort of undermined my belief in God, too,” Nicky pipes up, and Aaron snorts.

“You only ever believe in Him when it suits you, anyway.”

“Yeah well I don’t believe in Him right now,” Nicky snaps, surprisingly fierce. Neil looks surprised at the way he has anything to do with his friends’ beliefs or moods. He still doesn’t quite understand that he influences people with his honesty just as much as he did with lies.

“Matt’s right, I think. We’d better go,” Renee says. Andrew can tell that her religion is unscathed, ultimately. It’s always been more powerful than her fear.

The movie’s shut off, snacks scooped into the bags they were purchased in, and the upperclassmen trudge from their room with their shoulders bowed, apologies bouncing straight off of Neil. Aaron and Nicky follow the crowd, and the dorm trickles down to three again.

Kevin stands awkwardly, looking utterly unlike a professional athlete with his hands folded in front of him and his expression curdled and un-charming. He looks like he wants to say something, but he leaves abruptly for their room instead. He looks profoundly sad for the second before he turns to go.

“Tell me,” Andrew prompts as soon as they’re alone, and Neil sinks down further into the couch.

“Death scares me more than it used to,” he admits. Andrew watches the little rueful set of his mouth, the way he’s holding his own arms to his chest. “I remember my lungs going rubbery and my vision cutting out and I felt— I was more scared that he wouldn’t finish the job. Or that he’d find a way to do it wrong. But if it happened now… I don’t know. I don’t want to leave you.”

Andrew looks at the wall, breathing hard through his nose. He wants to tell Neil that he’s been waiting for him to leave him alone, that death is easy, that nothing— not even the mornings where they wake at precisely the same time and grope their way back to life together— means anything at all. “Then don’t.”

“Andrew,” Neil says. “I don’t want to be the one that derails everyone’s lives because I couldn’t keep my past in the past.”

“Then don’t,” Andrew repeats. “You don’t owe them any truths.”

“I owe them everything,” Neil tells him quietly. “The truth is the least of it.”

“Then get over it.”

“Get over it,” Neil repeats.

“They asked,” Andrew says slowly. “You answered. All they lost was the last ten minutes of a movie with a 34% approval rating and poorly performed German.”

Neil huffs, almost a laugh. He leans in haltingly to kiss Andrew on the mouth, off-centre, barely there. He holds onto his hair when he pulls back, heavy-lidded.

“Neil,” Andrew says against his lips. He traces the slender scar from Neil’s cheekbone to the corner of his mouth. “Were you ever that close again?”

Neil’s brow furrows, close enough that the feeling of it registers on Andrew’s forehead. “To death? No, not— no.”

“Don’t be,” he says as clearly as he can, weakness thinning his mouth.

“Okay,” Neil whispers. “Yeah. Okay.”

#this isn't in order of like when i received prompts but whom gives a fuck #aftg #the foxhole court #andreil #tfc fanfic #long post #prompt #mine #abuse tw #death tw

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joulethieves · 7 years

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2, 5, 14, and 15 for mr. worldwide 👀

dale bitch–ANYWAY here’s Balthier headcanons in the form of drabbles cuz Im in a Mood

2) Cooking Headcanon

He’s dashingly handsome, a piloting prodigy, a sure shot, and dashingly handsome. One can’t expect him to be adept at cooking too. Balthier isn’t quite partial to the culinary art but will do so when it’s necessary. He prefers Fran’s cuisine, as her food just tastes alive in a way most hume cooking cannot. And, at the very least, she is merciful to his near-fatal sensitivity to heat-spiced fare (unlike Vaan and Penelo, who in their attempts to woo everyone with authentic Rabanastran streetfood, nearly killed the sky pirate with some fiery hellscape excuse of roast cockatrice). When traveling with the merry band of fools across every crevice of Ivalice, Balthier’s culinary skills are put to the test on nights when it’s his rotation - he finds the party is satisfied enough with his doings, or at least, they’re eating and thus kept alive, so no one should honestly be complaining, thank you very much. Especially Vaan, with the griping about there’s no spice in here, this tastes like paper. Would that he could shove his mouth with some paper. Shut up, Vaan.

5/15) Bathing/Showering Headcanon & Singing Headcanon

It was nice to have his own shower, once upon a time. Well, his and Fran’s, but they’re a package deal, so who bothers with plurals when she’s practically his right arm. Fran is a lovely shipmate, all things considered. She picks her hair out of the drain, and only chides him a little bit when his stray earrings clog the pipes. Once upon a time, it was nice. With four others aboard his ship, there’s only so much hot water, and only so little patience. It’s after a particularly messy hunt in Sochen leaves nearly everyone dripping with flecks of blood and strips of maggoty flesh that Balthier puts his foot down (unfortunately, on a heaping pile of Coeurl shit somewhere in Tchita). “We’ll settle this the old fashioned way, lest we all murder each other before the Empire attempts to.”

Fran, the least filthy of them all thanks to her ranged weaponry and foresight, is a calm referee when she presents everyone with twigs in her curled fist. “Tallest twig earns first shower, so on and so forth.”

“WHAT?” Vaan shouts, so loudly that a happily roosting nest of doves in a nearby tree fly off in a fit of terror. “I CAN’T HEAR YOU I HAVE GUTS IN MY EAR.”

Balthier doesn’t let that sway him, and when he catches Fran’s eye while the rest of the party is distracted with Vaan’s performance, she subtly twitches a long dark finger along the outermost left twig in her palm, and raises a white brow at him.

He would embrace her then for the gesture, but she’d slap him for getting blood on her new accessory.

“As a leading man and pilot of the Strahl, I’ll choose first,” Balthier says, and Vaan still can’t hear him because he’s banging the heel of his palm against one ear while tilting his head over the ground. Some disgusting squelching sounds follow, and Vaan sighs.

“That’s better. Anyway what’s going on?”

Balthier grabs the twig Fran instructed him to and holds it in his hands as Fran approaches the rest of the group. “Why, a lesson in the art of patience, my dear Vaan.” The boy is absolutely disgusting, and should be nowhere near the confines of his ship without first being doused in soap and water, but Balthier will take his hot shower first when he can get it.

On their trek back to the anchor, Balthier hooks an ankle under Vaan’s footing, sending the boy tumbling into a rushing Tchita stream. That will, at the very least, wash off the loose guts. Vaan’s screams are garbled in the river and Penelo runs after him, swept in the current. “Oh my god, Balthier, HE CAN’T SWIM!”

Balthier is still laughing in the steam of the shower an hour later. He takes his time, and sings.

14) Dancing Headcanon

“Fine-faced though you are, Vaan, I know you at least know how to count to three.”

Vaan huffs indignantly and scratches again at the stuffy Archadian one-piece bodysuit monstrosity he’s outfitted in. All things considered, he looks rather becoming, and if he could wipe that expression off his face that screams Someone Please Help Me and Let Me Run Around in Crop Tops Again he could look almost befitting of the Archadian ball they’re crashing tonight. “I was doing it just fine. One two three one two three one two let me fucking leave I wanna go home and I hate this stupid outfit.”

Balthier scratches the back of his head. Seems he couldn’t count after all. How sad. Never mind, he thinks, the boy will be distracting arm candy enough. The Archadian gentry despise same-sex relations despite the legality of it; thus the spectacle of them both together will be distracting enough while Fran pilfers the grand manse outfitted in opening-night grandeur for of the Opera star Yagadia Nieidrie Licentio.

The taller sky pirate of the two takes Vaan’s waist again, pulling him close. “If you’re wont to be so very insolent at least confine it to the shake of those hips of yours. I’m well acquainted enough to how those move,” he adds almost ruefully, remembering a night he almost can’t in a haze of snakehyps, liquor, and way too much shock factor. “Now, let’s try this again.”

Vaan’s face is nearly flushed to match the crimson brocade of the cropped jacket layered atop the bodysuit. Balthier would say it’s from embarrassment but no, Vaan’s actually just extremely overheated. “Can I get some water first? All this ballroom stuffiness makes me thirsty.”

Vaan breaks from his hold and Balthier watches the Dalmascan sway away, putting on a show with those hips, and finds himself licking his lips. “Do bring me a glass of that, then, would you? Neat, with a twist.”

Vaan snorts and waves his hand dismissively as he saunters away. “At least take me to the ball first, Balthier.”

–

(read more of my writing on AO3)

#my writing #balthier #vaan #fran #ffxii #final fantasy xii #balvaan #issun-boshi

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