#Danny’s kind of growly in this

[racerchix21]

You’re Safe In Our Arms, Prince Charming

Summary: It’s Ricky’s birthday and it should all be sunshine, rainbows and unicorns but some of his past issues come to light. Now it’s time for Danny and Wheeler to save the day.

Word Count: 1067

Warnings: Talk of past abuse, talk of past unhealthy Dom/Sub relationships,

Tagging: @sunnyfleur23 @paradoxunknown @alanangels @sheinthatfandom

A/N: This was meant to be for Ricky’s birthday last weekend but I kind of emotionally exhausted myself writing this so it’s reeeeeealllllly late 😬

Work Text:

Opening the door of the hotel room he’s sharing with Danny and Ricky he’s not expecting for Ricky to immediately attack him when he walks in. Nor is he expecting for Danny to begin talk a trillion miles an hour about some little indoor fun fair happening down the street.

Slowly walking Ricky backwards with one arm wrapped around his waist, Wheeler snags Danny’s wrist dragging him into their odd little hug before getting them all situated on the bed. “So a fun fair? Ricky, baby is that what you wanna do for your birthday?”

“Yeah, Yoots if that’s okay? I mean if you wanna do something else we can do that too!,” Ricky says kind of shrill, looking down trying to hide the tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Prince Charming, if you wanna go to a fun fair we’ll do that. If you wanna go to a club and dance all night long we’ll do that too. It’s your birthday so you get to call the shots and when D’s birthday rolls he gets to call the shots on what we do,” Wheeler says lifting Ricky’s chin as Danny reaches over to kiss his cheek and wipe tears off his face. “That’s the way our relationship works and if you don’t like something just say the word and we stop immediately, okay? Whether it’s something we’re doing behind closed doors or it’s something in our everyday lives you’ve got more control than I do.”

“You mean it? I can say stop and you will? But you can’t be serious, you’re wrong I’m not allowed to say no to things. I say no and I get hit until I say I’m sorry,” Ricky says sadly still not making eye contact with either one of them.

“Ricky, hey look at me,” Danny pleads, “Wheelers right baby if one of us says stop, we stop and talk about it. We all have safe words and it’s okay if we use them. If you’re curious what ours are mines Buffalo and Wheeler’s is Beretta.”

Rubbing Ricky’s back, Wheeler can’t help but wonder what exactly they’d allowed Cage to do to Ricky while he was with Team Taz. Not that he was sure it was just Brian, he had the suspicion that there was more going on behind those particular closed doors. For all he and Danny knew it could have been a situation where Hobbs had hit him or maybe Taz himself which Wheeler hoped not because he liked Taz and Hobbs.

“Baby, what exactly did they do? I just wanna know who I’ve gotta protect you from,” Wheeler murmurs to Ricky tightening his hold a little more when he feels him try to squirm away.

“It was Team Taz wasn’t it?,” Danny growls crowding up against Ricky forcing him to stop trying to get away. Wheeler’s actually kinda proud of Danny and his little protective streak.

“No, no, no it wasn’t Taz or his boys. In fact Taz and Brian are the ones who encouraged me to come to you and ask if I could maybe join you guys or at least if you’d maybe help me out when I needed to go down for a while. It was an old boyfriend from back home. He realized that I was “different” and he took advantage. I said no the first time he wanted our relationship to go farther and he punched me. He pun-,” Ricky lets out a shuddering breath before he continues, “he punched me until I said sorry and agreed. The emotional and mental were probably worse than the physical by a long shot believe it or not. He told me that I was useless, worthless, accused me of sleeping around even though I wasn’t.”

A growl and the whimper that follows catch Wheeler off guard and he’s proud of Danny for wanting to be protective but he can tell that Ricky’s coming to all the wrong conclusions and that just won’t do. “Baby, you are so incredibly brave, strong and amazing that you fought and survived that. We’re so so so proud of the man you are sweetheart, now why don’t we go to that little fun fair you two were going on about earlier,” Wheeler breathes out kissing at Ricky’s throat. Turning his head towards Danny he kisses the tip of his nose and laughs at the look on the poor boys face as he goes cross eyed.

“Can we just order room service and cuddle instead, Wheeler? I don’t wanna have to deal with anyone else tonight other than you guys.”

“Yeah honey. Why don’t we go wash your face and Danny can order our normal stuff, plus I’ve got a cute little surprise for the birthday boy,” Wheeler says guiding Ricky towards the bathroom. He can hear Danny talking as he watches Ricky getting his skincare products out and he’s slightly shocked when Ricky pushes them all towards him.

“Help me Yoots?”

“Yeah baby. You’ll have to guide me through everything so I don’t mess anything up but I’d be honored to help you.”

Ricky lines everything up in order of importance and hops up on the counter letting Wheeler take over from there. “Well, what do we have here? I spy a couple cuties and my my my is THE Wheeler Yuta actually doing skincare?! I didn’t know you even knew what that was babe,” Danny sarcastically says leaning against the door and Yuta can’t help but smile at his boys.

“Alright smartass get over here and help me keep Prince Charming still. He keeps wiggling and laughing every time I touch him.”

“It’s ticklish,” Ricky says laughing before it cuts off into a moan when Danny begins kissing a line down his throat.

“DANIEL! I said hold him still not make him wiggle even more. But I do have to say that I am liking this giggly, squirmy baby,” Yuta says laughing himself as he finishes up with Ricky’s routine then pressing another kiss to his cheek. “All done baby boy. Now come on I wanna give you your surprise!”

Following Wheeler back to the bed, Ricky and Danny both flop down making out until Yuta clears his throat. “Claudio helped me out with making this. I wanted you to have a little reminder that you’re one of ours and that we’ll always be there to support and protect you.”

#Ricky’s a survivor #Wheeler and Danny love their boy #Danny’s kind of growly in this #Overprotective Wheeler Yuta #Overprotective Daniel Garcia #Wheeler Yuta x Daniel Garcia x Ricky Starks

[mokulule]

Almanac - Chapter 1

Fandom: DP x DC Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason) Masterpost Summary: Summoning extradimensional beings was never without a cost. Jason didn’t consider himself particularly knowledgeable when it came to magic, but that he knew. Desperate situations however called for desperate measures and the Justice League was desperate with Trigon suddenly allied to ghosts of all things. Summoning the Ghost King in that context even seemed like a sensible choice.

For better or worse John Constantine was the expert on those kinds of deals.

At least when his information wasn’t out of date.

Chapter 1 - September 23rd Fall Equinox

The summoning circle blazed in tall green flames. John grit his teeth against the terrible heat. Sweat ran down his brow, but he barely even dared blink. Across from him Zatanna was equally affected. This was like no summoning he’d ever done before. Normally the circle and the ingredients in a summoning ritual would do most of the work, that was the whole point. But this, John thought, as he doubled down on his hold on the magic, this was like riding a dragon. It was almost like the Ghost King really didn’t want to be summoned.

What else could cause this?

But they couldn’t give up, the fate of the world depended on it. Zatanna was not looking good, John didn’t suppose he himself was looking chipper either right now, but he had done things to increase his magic power Zatanna never had, because she was too good, and she was flagging. John growled, he’d be dammed a hundred more times if he lost her to this ritual.

Come on you bloody bastard!

A green rip opened in the middle of the circle with a terrible screeching sound. There was yelling and ears being covered behind him by the Justice League, but John couldn’t focus on that, it was not over. They were nearly there. A flickering dark shadowy form was getting sucked upwards through the rip. Wind rushed around the room, throwing papers and small objects around the room; The bucket of stag blood they’d used for the circle splattered onto Green Lantern judging by the sound of disgust. As long and tiresome as the ritual had been as suddenly it was over. Like an elastic band finally snapping, the shadow was pulled all the way through, the rip closed and the flames died.

“ ̵̨̜̩̜̖͈̺͈͎̜̩̻̖͔̗̺̳̘͈̳̖̩͂̄̏̇͂̂̃͒͌̊̓́̿̽̽̀̚͜ ̶̧̡̢̜̯̘͔̺̻̖͚͚͍̪̼͙̲̭͌͛̈́̈́̆̀͝N̵̢̢̧͓̩̱̮̰̪̘͙̹͍̪̤̼̺̑̀̓̔̔̍̂̍͛̈̈́͋͛͆̆͌̌̃̀̄̕Ơ̵̡̱͕̬͕͎̞̞̟͔͇̽̀́̇̐̂͂́̈́̈́̾͜͠ͅ ̷̢͖̯̰̙̥̤͔̹̜̦̙͙̲̪̲̯̗̙̦͓̜̓̋̂͋͘̚͝ ̶̭̺̣̻͖͗̍̔͂ ̶̡̰̞̹͇͓̫̜͖͛́̀̒̃͆̀͑́̅̂͌̿͐̚͝͝.”

The word rung in the sudden silence like a bell, cracked like glaciers, skittered across their mortal senses like small needles. John fell to his knees clutching his chest. It was so cold it was hard to breathe. Teeth chattering he forced himself to look up. The shadow coalesced into something with too long limbs, too many joints, claws, teeth. It had gained a blazing white flame and underneath there were two pools of green.

It observed them with an intensity like a thousand eyes on them, then it drew in on itself, getting smaller until it was more person shaped and the cold disappeared.

John gasped in relief. He wasn’t the only one. He looked to Zatanna, she met his eyes with a pale and tense nod. She was alright.

“Aaaaargh!” The frustrated scream had them quickly focused back on the circle. The green pools, now more eye shaped glared back at them all.

“The fucking Justice League of course, who else would summon me to save the world?” The shadow for lack of better words paced back and forth in the air, then spun on John. “And you John Constantine should know better.”

There was a pool of dread in his stomach and every single backup plan vanished from his mind as those toxic green eyes held him trapped. “If you have a problem that calls for the assistance of a ghost, why do you not ask a ghost you know? Why in the Realms would you summon the Ghost King? Of all the bullheaded…” The angry words devolved into an angry growly mutter too low for anyone to hear the words, but it was a sound that grated in their bones. And the Ghost King resumed their pacing.

“Deadman is-“

“I’m talking about Phantom,” the king snapped.

“Phantom?” John repeated baffled, meeting the equally baffled eyes of Zatanna. The friendly spirit from small Amity Park? “No offense, your Majesty, but Phantom is small fry compared to this.”

“Full offense,” The King growled. “I am Phantom.”

With a bright flash, suddenly there was Phantom. The surprisingly human looking ghost, who would have fit in perfectly amongst the Justice League standing outside the circle with his white highlighted tight black suit and the logo on his chest. Right now his usually friendly face was drawn into a glare.

It was then, when it clicked with a small delay in his brain that Phantom was the Ghost King, that John Constantine realized how much he’d fucked up.

Oo o oO

Danny was livid. He had done his very best to resist this summoning, but of course summonings weren’t meant to be resisted and with John Constantine and Zatanna Zatara two of the Justice League Dark’s most powerful magic users being the ones reeling him in like a fucking fish, it was no wonder he hadn’t succeeded. This was a disaster. Why did they put him in this situation?

“We thought you were a city spirit…” Constantine trailed off helplessly.

And that had Danny gaping. They thought… how? why? He was confused, but most of all-

“Excuse me, did I introduce myself as Amity? No, I did not.”

Of all the stupid things to think. City spirits were some of the proudest ghosts around, to even think a city spirit would introduce themselves by anything other than their name was beyond moronic. And last he checked his hometown wasn’t called freaking Phantomville.

“We thought, since you never left the city-“ Zatanna cut herself off when Danny swiveled his glare on her.

“It. Is. My. Haunt,” Danny hissed enunciating each word clearly, the lights in the room flickered. “Did you not at all think it was weird that a city spirit-“ he made quotation marks around the words- “was visible to regular people?”

“We figured it was because of all the death magic in the air,” fucking Constantine said and Danny keened in despair. It was a sound just at the edge of human hearing, and most of them really couldn’t hear anything of it aside from a very high pitched tone that had the entire group flinching. Superman though, not only flinched but also took a step back covering his mouth, he looked sick.

“You could have asked, like normal people. What did I do to give you the impression you couldn’t just ask?” He dug his hands into his hair and tugged, doubled over and took a deep calming breath.

“Okay,” he forced his voice chipper, “so we’ve established you’re morons and now you’re all going to pay the price.”

There was a moment of silence as they all took that in and Danny’s eyes ran over their faces: Constantine, Zatanna, the big seven of the original Justice League and would you look at that Batman brought a bunch of his brood along, one of which was an actual child. Danny whimpered.

“I don’t really understand the problem,” the Flash stepped up to the circle in, well, a flash. “If you can help us then what does it matter that we summoned you instead of going to you?”

“It matters,” Danny said rubbing the bridge of his nose, “because you’ve gone and made it official. You didn’t ask small time ghost hero Phantom for help saving the world, you went and summoned the High King of the Infinite Realms.” He waved a hand allowing the green flaming crown to manifest over his head and the ring to appear on his right hand, the long starry night cape settled over his shoulders with a familiar weight like freshly fallen snow.

“The fact that I am one and the same is irrelevant. Intent is the most important thing in magic.”

“So we can just unsummon you?” The Flash suggested, looking from Danny to Constantine and Zatanna who both looked away.

Danny chuckled humorlessly. He touched a hand to his chest pushing energy into the chains binding him, so they could all see the chains going from him to each and everyone of them.

“We are already bound in a pre-contract, that’s what a summoning is.”

Oo o oO

Jason looked down at the Lazarus green glowing chain, going from his chest to the Ghost King. From each of his brothers including the brat’s - the brat, who actually looked scared. No matter, his maturity and upbringing he was still just a kid. Anger flared in his chest, but before he could do anything Bruce stepped forward.

“John, what is the meaning of this,” he demanded. To the League, that was just the gruff Batman voice. To Jason and the birds, the undertone of fear was obvious. Nothing set the old man off like a threat to his birds. Jason would know, he’d taken advantage of that before.

Constantine grimaced, “well, you see-“

But the Ghost King interrupted him. “No, let me explain. John Constantine is the greatest con man that ever lived. He could sell sand in the Sahara. He’s swindled demons and gods alike. He’s somehow managed to sell his soul like fifty fucking times, making the day of his eventual death into a jurisdictional nightmare of interdimensional proportions.”

He paused to take another deep breath - something Jason noticed with bemusement was a bit strange for a ghost.

“Ol’ Johnny here probably expected Pariah Dark, the previous Ghost King, the kind of mad hat conquerer who’s been locked up for millennia for unspeakable crimes against the Realms - just the kind of proud, single minded sod that’s ripe for John’s kind of swindling. Whose only spells of freedom came from summonings like this, which were thankfully rare, ‘cause very few people are stupid enough to summon the Ghost King.”

“But me-” he touched his chest, “there’s a reason I’m not locked in a sarcophagus. For one I don’t deal in souls or eternal damnation, secondly even if I did I wouldn’t touch that soul of yours with a ten feet pole.”

“Congratulations, Jackass, you managed to summon the actually ruling Monarch of the World In Between Worlds at full power and there’s absolutely nothing you can offer me. I deal in equivalent exchange. Nothing matters to you as much as the world, except your own skin and your ownership of that is questionable at best. That leaves your… friends? Or coworkers? Is that what they are? to pay.”

And with that the King turned to them all, green eyes both angry and resigned.

“Better start thinking about what things you’re willing to give up, I’ll be friendly and let your offerings stack, the world is heavy enough as it is.”

An unsettled murmur rustled through the assembled heroes. It was one thing to sacrifice in the heat of battle, but this was something none of them had prepared for. They had all expected Constantine to handle things, they all were just present for safety’s sake. It was certainly why Jason was there or he wouldn’t have been in same room as the heroes.

Ever since his revival he’d had somewhat of a magic resistance and the All Blades were the best bet if something went south. That had been the idea at least, but this had gone south in the entirely different direction. And, Jason suspected, the All Blades probably wouldn’t even work on the king. The impression Jason got from him wasn’t evil at all; he had purposefully directed their thoughts in the direction of physical possessions.

With the room stalled in uncertainty, Jason felt anger rising. They were wasting time when the solution was obvious. He’d said he didn’t deal in souls or eternal damnation that still left a wide range of interpretation to Jason’s thinking.

“Oi, Spooky!” He stepped forward tilting his head up in challenge, “You can have me, - a willing sacrifice gotta be worth a good deal.”

There were gasps all around him but he didn’t look just kept eye contact with those glowing Lazarus eyes as they turned to him in consideration.

The was a sudden cacophony of protest from his brothers, hands grabbing onto him pulling him back but he stood his ground.

“J-Hood, back down right now!” That was Bruce’s voice and for a moment there, it was almost like he actually cared, but then he was just ordering him about like usual. Then Dick was in front of him and even he couldn’t ignore that.

“Jay, no,” he hissed lowly horrified, “what’s the matter with you?”

The was a small tug in Jason’s chest at that.

“He said he didn’t deal in souls,” Tim pointed out urgently.

“Todd,” was everything Damian said, but there was a vulnerability there that was rarely in the little brat’s voice.

Jason couldn’t help but smile. It was heartening that they cared at least a little. He set a hand down on Damian’s head and ruffled his hair roughly. “Take care of my books, brat.”

“NO,” That was Dick, and he held on tighter, Jason couldn’t shrug him off, but as it turned out he didn’t have to.

There was a tug on the chain in his chest and he slipped right through his brothers and flew right up to the king inside the circle until he hovered level with the Lazarus green eyes.

The was a cacophony of protest but it was somehow muted like background noise from here inside the circle and yet the crackling fire of the crown was loud in his ears. The inhuman Lazarus eyes flickered from Jason then behind him and then back again.

“You offer your life to the High Ghost King as a sacrifice?”

Jason shuddered, felt fear grip him at the wording, because that was what it meant. Truthfully he didn’t want to die, but he’d been there and he’d done that, and if he was to die again, at least those eyes held no cruelty. He was the obvious choice. He clenched his jaw and steeled his resolve, the world would do fine without him.

“I do.” There was a momentary frown like regret on the king’s face before he looked to the wider room.

“Then with the consequences of that we have a deal, and I, High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms, will save the world.” The chains leading to everyone but Jason burst into showers of tiny green stars.

“Come.” A white gloved hand was reached out to him, deceptively human if it wasn’t for the glow. Jason took the hand and next he knew the world turned into a green swirl.

The world solidified suddenly like a punch to the gut and Jason fell to his knees in loose sand. He gagged, but nothing came up from his empty stomach. Slowly he looked up, they were in the desert. In the distance was the nightmarish portal to the Dark Dimension Trigon’s forces were coming through. If only Raven hadn’t been hurt so early in the fight, but Trigon was working with someone else, someone Constantine had claimed was a powerful ghost and the combined forces were not something they had been prepared for. Even so there were heroes in the distance trying to hold back the hordes.

“What are we doing here?” He looked up to the King who was floating just half a foot off the ground and he was suddenly aware of the fact that he was kneeling.

“Figured the least I could do is show you that I uphold my end of the bargain. Stay here, this distance should be safe.”

With that the Ghost King flew off.

Jason had half a mind to try escaping, but as the first punch was thrown in the distance the futility settled in his gut. At least he could enjoy the show.

Oo o oO

“Daniel,” Vlad greeted him in his typical self satisfied drawl, “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Danny’s lips split in a grin. He wouldn’t be so satisfied in a moment. He flashed forward throwing a punch that sent Vlad into a crater in the ground. He looked down at the man who at one point had been his nemesis. Now he just looked sad and confused.

“I think you’ll find you miscalculated this time, Plasmius.”

Finally Vlad actually seemed to register that Danny was wearing the full regalia and what that meant. His face paled to white.

“No, your Majesty, please, have mercy,” he begged, folding instantly - pitiful.

Danny snarled, fangs and limbs growing and growing with sickening cracks, like the frozen surface of a lake when you’ve stepped too far. He was the darkness of space itself, too many mouths split into white fanged grins.

“A line was crossed today.” His words reverberated across the field halting all the combatants in place as terror gripped them. “You have been warned time and time again. Now a price has been paid, a deal has been made and you shall reap what you have sown.”

With that he swept across the battlefield dark and all encompassing leaving only the heroes standing cold and shaken as he pushed Trigon’s army and Vlad and his panicking ghost minions back into the Dark Dimension.

The portal closed behind him when he willed it.

The large horned guy in the armor who was shouting in outrage had to be Trigon. The Ghost King was bound in contract to save the world from this threat. He could technically stop now, the threat was ended they had no portal and those were not simple to make, but was the world really saved when Trigon still stood and his army was still whole?

No, the Ghost King did not think so.

It had been a very stressful morning. He would very much enjoy taking it out on these fools.

Oo o oO

It didn’t take long before the Ghost King reappeared, thankfully looking more human, though there was still a wild glint in his eyes as if the beast hadn’t quite been sated.

“It’s done then.” Jason said with resignation. The green eyes blinked down at him slowly and again a white gloved hand was offered as if Jason had any real choice in the matter. Annoyance that he wouldn’t just get things over with rose up and Jason grabbed the hand with more aggression than was maybe wise.

All he got in return was a bemused look, as if he was less threatening than a kitten. Which arguably, compared to the eldritch monarch of the death, he probably was.

The world turned into a green swirl again. When the world solidified he found that traveling this way didn’t get easier a second time. He was down on his hands and knees in plush red carpet, his stomach turned nauseously. Shit it felt like he really would puke this time.

Suddenly a cool hand touched his forehead, somehow easing enough of the nausea that he could look up.

The king was kneeling in front of him, a worried look on his face. And that had anger rising in Jason’s chest, because how dare he.

“Why don’t you just get it over already?”

Black eyebrows rose.

“Get it over with?” He had the audacity to ask.

“Just kill me already, stop playing with me.”

Any leftover amusement went out of the Ghost King’s face at that.

“Why would I kill you?” He asked flatly.

“Because I gave you my life? What else would it mean!"

"Your life belonging to me, does not mean I have to kill you, in fact that would be rather stupid of me.”

“What difference does it make? Aren’t you the king of the dead!”

The King shrugged. “Sure, but I don’t own my subjects. Death is the one thing that will free you from me.”

Jason paled, he hadn’t considered this. The Ghost King had said he didn’t deal in souls or eternal damnation, but a human life wasn’t eternal - hadn’t he himself thought there was a lot of leeway in those statements?

“No no no, I’m gonna stop you there, you look like I ate your favorite pair of slippers.”

Jason blinked, startled out of his spiraling train of thought by the sheer absurdity.

“Is that something you have experience with?”

“You’ll never know.” The king grinned back at him teeth definitely sharp enough to rip slippers to pieces. His features turned serious. “Now you listen closely. You did not offer your mind-“ he poked Jason’s forehead firmly- “your body, your soul or your service-“ he underscored each of the last three words with a poke to Jason’s chest.

He got up to his feet.

“All I own in capacity of King is your life. And so your life will be lived here with me, that is all. Wording is very important in magic.” With those words he strode down the hall, cape flaring out behind him.

Jason was left on the floor, mind reeling.

“You changed the wording,” Jason realized, because he had offered himself - all of him being implied. But the Ghost King had changed the wording when they made the deal. He jumped to his feet to catch up. It’s wasn’t hard, the Ghost King was actually rather short when he deigned to touch the ground.

“You changed the wording,” Jason repeated firmly, “you-“

“I already told you I’m not into the soul trade. Nor do I want any slaves, there’s enough of that mess leftover from the previous king.”

He grimaced at that.

He wouldn’t kill him. He’d changed the wording, so Jason’s will was his own. He wasn’t a servant or slave, or a soldier or anything. “So what then?”

“What then?” The king stopped and looked back at Jason bewildered.

“You own my life and you have no plan or purpose for me, what am I gonna do?”

His eyebrows drew down in a frown but Jason was not done. Indignation burned hot in his chest.

“If you are not going to kill me or have any use for me, why even bring me here? You could own my life just as easily in Gotham as you can here!”

There was a rumble, it sounded like it was in the distance but somehow Jason knew it was from the ghost king in front of him. His legs suddenly felt unsteady.

“You are here,” the King growled, “because idiots decided to summon me and you and your family are paying the toll for saving the world.”

The anger turned to ice in his chest. “My family, what do you mean?”

“I mean, Jason Todd, that you mean the world to them and if it wasn’t for that your sacrifice wouldn’t have been enough, you think too little of yourself for that.”

What? No! That couldn’t be right?

“You’re lying,” he whispered. It couldn’t be true. Jason was the one paying the price, not his family. It couldn’t be.

The Ghost King snarled, morphing into sharp shadows and glowing eyes.

“You dare,” his voice boomed from all around Jason and he clapped his hands over his ears.

“I have stretched-” he seemed to grow longer and longer into spindlier shadows, chittering and cracking, “stretched, as far as I can on this deal and you call me a liar!”

The last word rumbled through Jason’s bones like a bulldozer and he fell to his knees. Nothing existed for Jason in that moment but the pain and the voice- he had nothing left to do anything with, he could neither protest or apologize. Only feel and hear despite plugging his ears.

“You summoned me! I did not ask to be cast as a villain in your Saturday morning cartoon!”

The temperature plummeted and there was something like a mournful wail in the distance, then a long spindly arm opened a door in the wall. Jason could have sworn it wasn’t there a moment ago, but honestly up could be down right now and he wouldn’t know. His teeth clattered and he desperately wanted to wrap his arms around his body, but dared not move them from his ears.

“Your room,” the King spat. The tapestries on the wall melted slowly together with his shadows.

“You may move around the castle, but don’t go into the west wing, those are my rooms, and don’t go into the dungeons - for your own sake.” He disappeared in a short flash of light.

Jason’s ears popped as pressure and temperature returned to normal and he gasped as if he hadn’t breathed for several minutes. Maybe he hadn’t. He couldn’t remember.

His mind was reeling, unable to comprehend, to process, what had happened. Words, he didn’t know them, but the King’s voice felt engraved onto his bones.

Beyond the doorway was a bed. A bed, he turned the concept around in his head as if it was a strange new thing, despite that he knew he should know the concept.

Slowly he picked himself up. With every staggered step, he felt more and more worried he would just melt into the carpet, but finally he fell down on top of soft covers.

Bed good.

-

Next

We are not talking about the fact that this is another wip... >.> I wanted to do something for Trauma Tuesday, but in the end I'm too tired, and then Clock suggested it would be Trauma Lite Tuesday, so that's what we're going for XD I don't tag people, if you want to follow the story please subscribe to the handy masterlist/subscription post

#Almanac #dp x dc #dead on main #summonings have consequences #trauma tuesday #though more like #trauma lite tuesday

[madam-o]

Ok truth time: as obsessed as I was with Beetlejuice in all its forms as a kid, I never found the cartoon truly satisfying. It was cute and Tim Burtony, but in a very muted kind of way. Not enough death and too many silly puns. The Maitlands, Juno, and the Neitherworld Bureau of Afterlife Affairs (my name for it, honestly I don't think it was ever named) were completely absent, which I always found deeply disappointing. The show looked great, though, and it was sometimes pretty cool.

But now after over 30 years and Beetlejuice getting a musical and a sequel and everything, I'm like, ok so where's my new cartoon? Every other IP from my youth is getting pimped out with new stuff, so surely another cartoon is down the pipeline. And after Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss, it would be a waste not to make it a musical with Alex Brightman. I dunno if Keaton would be cheap enough to hire as a VA, anyway. Just sayin.

I realllly did not like the idea of the BJ musical at first, btw. I saw the performance at the Tonys and while I didn't hate it, I did dismiss it as pretty cringey. I fully admit to having been a musical theater snob, and anything from the 80's onward has generally been "Pop Culture IP: the Musical" and a waste of time in my estimation. I've only really liked Soundheim and the few original musicals that have come out in recent years. And yes, Lion King was good.

But Vivziepop has ruined my life and now all I think about is animated shows for adults, musical theater, and most of all, musical theater boys. Damn Jeremy Jordan and his fucking angelic vocal chords. Curse Alex Brightman and that cartoony, growly thing he does. Fuck Christian Borle and his sexy asshole characters (but no seriously, can I please?)

So back to my first point, which is: where's my animated series/movie that perfectly combines all three iterations of Beetlejuice (movie, cartoon, musical) into one satisfying package? The one where Juno and the Afterlife Affairs office are back and things are gruesome and a bit scary but wildly fun? Where Beetlejuice can swear and smoke and do completely offensive things that are only acceptable for an amoral demon/poltergeist/whatever to do? Where he and Lydia are close pals again and she gives as good as she gets? Where the music is both Danny Elfman-like and Eddie Perfect-esque and the animation is either stop-motion or 2D and the style looks like an homage to every BJ property that came before?

*holds out hand* I'll take that NOW, please and thank you very much.

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice musical #beetlejuice beetlejuice #hazbin hotel #alex brightman #christian borle #jeremy jordan

[mood2you]

#dungeon meshi #poll

[evermoire]

told me all of my cages were mental | pack.

foot balanced on the edge of her seat, erica tipped her head back, staring up at the moon through the battered and torn roof of the train. she couldn’t remember who’d suggested this; she vaguely recalled the not-at-all-dead cora hale’s discomfort about using the basement of their still-kind-of-burnt house for this kind of thing; she vaguely remembered getting into stiles’s car once again and walking into the train depot. her foot shifted again and chains rattled loudly.

that, too. she only vaguely recalled consenting to someone putting chains on her.

when they’d all gathered at the hale house –– with her standing in a corner, claws pressing against her skin but not piercing, a test in her own precarious control, surrounded by what felt like a million people she’d never even spoken to, save for lucy, stiles, scott and danny –– there had been a recap of all that’d happened. scott had explained what’d happened to him, then jackson, more or less what’d happened to isaac and sophia, then what’d happened to erica and lucy. and the latter explanation reeked of nothing but guilt, another handful of apologies for not being able to stop the wolf.

from where erica was standing, it didn’t sound like scott had been doing this long enough to fight the wolf, let alone take him down. but he hadn’t felt any less guilty when she’d said as much on friday, so she didn’t bother repeating it at the meeting.

they’d gone over how this night would go, that it would get easier after this, but the first time is always the hardest.

now, she sat on the torn and musty seat of a train car that hadn’t been used in years, and the whole lycanthropy thing was just hitting her. it hadn’t hit when she sat on her living room floor, coaching her friends through breathing exercises and ignoring the blood that still pooled from her side and the back of her head; it hadn’t hit when she’d woken up the next morning without a scratch on her, tuned into everything around her; it hadn’t hit when scott and stiles had brought them to the house and introduced them to people who were rumored to be dead.

but it hit her now, when her vision grew tainted with yellow and a growl threatened to start in her chest and bubble outwards. it hit her now, with chains limiting her movements, and her skin vibrating with something that she couldn’t identify. derek had said it would be rage; she didn’t feel angry. scott had said it might be fear; she didn’t feel scared.

erica wasn’t sure what she felt, but it grew tighter and tighter around her lungs until her breath quickened and she had to shut her eyes and deliberately slow her breathing down.

“you okay?” the girl who’d introduced herself as aoife asked, kneeling down in front of erica. derek had advised that all non-wolves left, but they had all firmly made themselves comfortable. they’d agreed to step out if things got dangerous –– rather, danny agreed, and he promised that he’d make the others listen, too –– but with the moon still hiking into the sky, the witches, humans and emissaries still mingled with the werewolves. aoife in particular had been making her way to each wolf, asking if there was anything she could do for them.

erica hunched a shoulder and crooked a smile at her. “i think ‘okay’ is pretty subjective right about now, but i’ll update you once i have a better answer,” she promised, throwing a wink at her. 

aoife grinned, then hopped up and moved along. “hi, isaac! how are you feeling?” she leaned against the pole nearest to him, smiling kindly at him. camden had been sitting beside his brother the entire time, aside from when he went to talk to sophia, and the man smiled up at aoife now, but didn’t answer for his brother. “anything i can do for either of you before things get growly?”

similarly, lydia sat down beside sophia. while she’d always been protective over the blonde, she’d been especially doting lately, considering all that’d happened. with cora and danny sticking with jackson for the moment, aoife checking on isaac and jude attaching herself to ana’s side, lydia felt it safe to narrow her concerns to sophia, at least for now. “hi, sweetheart. how do you feel?”

scott stepped back into the depot after calling rosita to tell her he was sleeping over at stiles. his eyes first sought his best friend and he threw him a shaky grin; scott still felt awful for how things had gone with erica and lucy, but he wasn’t going to take his guilt out on anyone else. he saw noah, bailey and lori going over the alpha wolf’s patterns and quickly ducked his head to move along before either of them could notice him. in his desire to disappear, he accidentally bumped into andrea. “oh! i’m so sorry,” he said, backing up. “hi, andrea. are you okay?”

“hey,” michonne said, coming to stand beside stiles, watching scott stumble through an apology to andrea. while the new wolf was clearly drowning in his guilt, he at least seemed in control for the night. if nothing else, michonne didn’t worry about him accidentally hurting anyone, let alone andrea. so she looked to stiles, a small smile on her lips. “how are you holding up? i don’t think this has been any easier for you than it has been for scott. you doing okay?”

as everyone checked in on each other and prepared for the worst of the night, derek focused in on the one who seemed, at least to him, most likely to fall apart tonight. not because she seemed angry; she just seemed scared, and he could hardly blame her for it. scott had told him that lucy’d had a panic attack on the night she was bitten, and he was worried about how she would handle the rest. derek had told the kid that he’d look out for her, but now he wasn’t sure how to do that. 

“lucy,” he said, crouching down in front of her. this was, like most things, better handled by lori, but the witches talking to her, derek would have to handle this. he tried to keep himself as non-intimidating as possible, but he couldn’t promise that he succeeded. “are you ready for this?”

#gen. : ❛ pack ! #par. : ❛ pack paras ! #tit. : ❛ told me all of my cages were mental !

[platypanthewriter]

Strangest 1: Pandora’s Trunk

Strangest takes place the same night as the climax of season two, after Steve and Billy’s fight and Joyce Byer’s BF died.  (Did Tumblr eat chapters 1-3?  Did I never post them?  I do not know!  I couldn’t find them, so here’s the first!)

It totally made sense that Max would stay with Lucas and Dustin in the blanket fort that was taking over the living area of the Byers house. And of course El and Mike had laid claim to the table, where it looked like they were assembling crowns and helmets, of Will’s design.

Mrs. Byers and Hopper had taken over Adulting, which was a relief, and Steve had ducked out amidst a general explosion of affectionate profanity and hair ruffling. Through the window, he could see them tearing hot chocolate packets open--he watched Mrs. Byers teasing the kids with different mismatched mugs, and cocked his head. He didn’t really fit in there, he thought, in the blanket fort, or in the tense kitchen after the kids retreated to their realm. He definitely didn’t belong wherever Jonathan and Nancy had disappeared to. It made sense for him to leave.

The fog had lifted, and he willed his shoulders to unclench, all the while trying to figure out the closest place to his bed to hide his bat. An evening project to keep him from thinking about his completely empty house. His house was also fine, since he was not injured, or twelve years old, and had working light switches. Logically, it was over. His brain just wasn’t catching up to breaking news.

He sat more heavily against the Camaro, and it thumped back, which provoked an, again, entirely logical windmilling tumble as Steve tried to keep the bat and both eyes pointed at it all the while scrambling away on three limbs. After a moment of eye-burning terror, he recognized the pattern of sound as kicking and a lot of things Max’ brother probably didn’t need to be calling her, and he stood with a nervous spin, yanking his jacket straight.

He took a breath and held it, rolling his shoulders as he looked back at the cheerily lit Byer’s house with every light on, and back to the car bouncing with the booted feet slamming against the inside of the trunk. After several paced circuits of the car, Billy’s voice had stopped threatening. He was laughing, slamming himself around in there, his voice getting higher. Steve scrabbled at his hair, sliding his hands down to cover his face. He really wasn’t sure any kind of logic applied to Billy Hargrove.

If he let Billy out here, he might just run in there and Hopper would have to shoot him, in front of a ton of little shitheads who had barely escaped being eaten by monsters today. If he just...drove him to his house, somebody would eventually let him out, and...would Max let him out?! Steve groaned to himself, long and slow, because if they were anything like Steve’s parents, Billy Hargrove’d be no trouble to anyone ever again, after he died because nobody looked for him and Steve Harrington knowingly left a human being in the trunk of a car. 

Steve took a few deep breaths, idly walking back around to regard the open car window, and the keys on the seat. He looked back at the house for one long hopeful moment, to see Hopper patting Joyce on the back as she threw weak punches into his shoulders, flailing before he caught her against his jacket. They swayed there in silhouette, their shoulders shaking. Steve sighed. He kicked the trunk. The thumping stopped, then exploded again, and Steve banged again.

“Listen,” he started, and the banging stopped, for long enough that Steve thought it would have been better if he had something to say. “I didn’t leave you in there, and I can’t let you out--” the banging started again in earnest, along with a lot of “fuck”s, “bitch”s, and demands about Max--it was a good thing Hopper’d put music on in the house. “Max is fine! She’s inside--I’ll let you out somewhere else, do you want me to take you home, or--” the thumping stopped.

“Where the fuck is that freak, I’ll kill her, I’ll kill you, you fucking--” Steve banged the trunk again, and Billy pounded back, screaming incoherently.

“Mrs. Byers called your house, Max is staying over!” he tried, on the off-chance this could just suddenly turn into a normal, post-monster, partially kidnapped conversation. “I’LL TAKE YOU HOME, THEN,” he said loudly into the seam of the trunk, and Billy started struggling again.

“Max has to go home,” the muffled, furious voice yelled back, pounding and scraping at the inside of the trunk loudly enough that he was probably injuring himself, and Steve thought it was completely unfair the death threats were still audible. “I’ll be back here the second you open this fucking trunk, Harrington, I’ll drag her back by the fucking hair, I’ll tie it to my car, I’ll run over her corpse, I’ll drive through their fucking house--”

Peaceful options exhausted, Steve climbed in the car, leaning his face on the steering wheel as the car shook with Billy’s screaming fury, and took another deep breath. Count on Steve Harrington to forget how to breathe, he thought, only been doing it for sixteen years. Only Steve Harrington wouldn’t have figured it out enough to let it run in the background. By the time they were halfway to Steve’s house, Billy’d stopped yelling. Occasionally there’d be another kick.

By the time Steve pulled in the garage, he was worried enough about exhaust fumes as a new method of involuntary manslaughter he ran right around and banged on the trunk about six times. “Hargrove! William Whatever Hargrove, you answer me, say you’re alive.” He leaned against it, panting, feeling like he’d aged sixty years in body and vocabulary. The trunk thumped back, and Steve slid down to sit against it, reminding himself to breathe, which was apparently something he did now. He’d probably fail his remaining classes, trying to study while remembering to breathe. How would he hold down a job? He’d show up for the interview and have to say “I’m Steve Harrington, and sometimes I forget to breathe.”

The trunk was silent again, and after a while getting his lungs some breathing practice again--maybe they’d take to it--Steve thumped it again. “We’re at my place. If I let you out and call for pizza will you please not kill anyone.” It came out tiredly even.

“What the fuck,” came from the trunk. “Gonna get the police here, tell ‘em I attacked you like a psycho, have your mommy and daddy hold yo--”

Steve banged the heel of his hand on the trunk again. “Nobody else is here. Look, it’s pizza or trunk. We can figure this out in the morning. Promise you won’t do anything to Max.”

The banging in the trunk was taking on a rhythm, and Steve banged over it. “Fucker. Tell me you won’t rat Max out, I’ll let you out.”

Billy began screaming lyrics to his beat, and Steve groaned, letting his head thunk against the trunk, before doing the math on how long Billy’d been in there, and how little he knew about the random syringe Max had shot him up with, and he opened the trunk. Billy’s ankles and wrists were duct-taped together, wedged in, and he swore roundly as he tried to cover his face. “Come on,” Steve sighed, standing to the side where he hoped he was out of range, but reaching over to rip the duct tape off Billy’s ankles. Billy was laughing, inexplicably, holding his arms over his face.

Steve sighed. “Can you walk.”

“Anyway you want, Princess,” Billy giggled.

“Come on,” Steve stood over by the door, arms crossed as he watched Billy kick a bit out the side of the trunk, then get himself rolled sideways. He scrabbled before landing on the cement with a thud, and lay there, laughing harder. It was starting to sound growly again, and Steve rethought his impulse to offer help. “I’m getting pepperoni. With olives.”

When Billy finally staggered in from the garage, Steve had called for the pizza. He turned to see the door slam shut, and Billy slide down it, gnawing at the duct tape around his wrists. His hands were purple.

Steve slammed a few kitchen drawers and stalked over with the carving knife, and Billy went very still, watching him crouch, and allowing him to pull the duct tape close enough to slide the knife up.

When Steve finished slicing, he tossed the knife behind him at random, grabbing one purple hand and rubbing it until it felt like a hand again and not a dissection frog. “Jesus. Max thought you were gonna kill me. And Lucas. Don’t sell her out.”

Billy drew a shaky breath. “And you’re not gonna tell your fancy lawyer dad I broke your face.”

“...my dad’s not a lawyer,” Steve frowned at him, --“Hopper’d probably have locked you up.” He placed the warmed hand on Billy’s knee, and moved on to rub life back into the other one.

“So I behave,” Billy sneered. “Be a good little cunt.”

“Wish the fucking pizza would get here,” Steve muttered, sinking down against the arm of the couch that let him see the whole living room, kitchen, and stairs. When the pizzas arrived, his kidnapping victim shoved by him to drop into that favoured spot on the couch, and Steve sighed.

When morning came, Steve called Max, and she agreed to Billy picking her up for a ride home. After he left, Steve stood in his silent house, getting a little more breathing practise in as his vision started to haze around the edges, thinking of all the things Billy Hargrove wasn’t, like an underground tunneler, or a demogorgon. Billy Hargrove was from Risky Business, not Alien. He was the sweaty “enhanced human” Khan.

Steve forgot about his breathing regimen entirely as he imagined Billy Hargrove in the cast from Grease, and laughed ‘til he choked. Shaking his head, he leaned back against the door, and rubbed his face. All day at school when his brain started to remind him of the previous week, he’d imagine Billy Hargrove as Danny Zuko, shimmying down his Camaro with Tommy behind him trying to carry a tune.

Hopper called that day, to tell him that Mr. Hargrove had called the cops the last two nights on Billy driving around at night, and they’d escorted him home from close to Steve’s house. “In case he ran somebody over drunk. I hear stuff, kid.” The doubt came clearly through his voice. “I don’t know that he’s headin’ for you, but I don’t know that he’s not.” Steve took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, completing the line for himself--maybe keep that bat handy.

“Thanks, Hopper,” he tried the nickname aloud.

Hopper huffed a laugh and hung up.

Billy Hargrove was back at Steve’s house three nights later, serenading under his window. Steve looked longingly at his ski boots, but lifted the sash without projectiles in hand. “What the hell,” he shouted back.

“Lemme in or I’ll tell my dad you offer rides to Max all the time!” Billy yelled up. “Alone!”

Steve, who had gone to an in-class-only new sleeping schedule, suddenly wished his vocal cords could produce the earsplitting rage screeches from Ghostbusters, but let his head thud against the glass in surrender before he went down and unlocked the door. “The fuck do you want, Hargrove,” he squinted up at the moon. “Are you a werewolf, is this where I die.” Later, he’d think, that moment would have been the time to call Hopper.

Billy shouldered him aside as he opened the door, cigarette in hand and reeking of sweat, cologne, beer, and...cooking sherry? It was both reminiscent of and an improvement on Steve’s great-aunt, who usually smelled like baby powder, cat pee, and creme de menthe. Steve’s lungs apparently appreciated it, because they decided to do their job for once without his constantly reminding them. He scrabbled angrily at his hair, before tromping into the kitchen to start making some Folger’s. When the microwave beeped, he stirred in about half the remaining jar of crystals, and went to see why there was no noise happening anywhere.

The couch was covered in Violent Highschool Stranger, under a blanket. Steve dropped into a chair, watching the knee-lumps and elbow-lump stay very still. He wondered whether he’d sleep better upstairs with an unpredictable problem on the couch, and whether suggesting a movie would get his face beaten in--with admirable calm, he thought.

He also thought of not living alone--having a mom like Mrs. Byers, or a sister like Nancy, and imagined what they'd do if they came in and saw he'd brought Billy Hargrove, the guy who almost beat him to death, into his house twice. They'd probably murder him, he thought, and then murder Billy. And then him again--this had to be at least a three-murder event on the Stupidity Scale. Hopper would probably have even more to say. It was a strangely comforting thought, except they weren’t here, and Billy Hargrove was. He didn’t seem to want to break Steve’s nose again, but then he hadn’t given that much warning the first time, either.

Between Steve’s new not-sleeping regime and thinking about the Byer’s ceiling, map taped everywhere, Billy’s fists hitting his face, the world had just started to tilt a bit when the blanket said “Take a picture, Princess, you can jack off to it at night,” and Steve lifted his coffee stew and breathed in the smell.

“What didja think I did with that blanket,” he tried, and watched it get flung as Billy scrambled as far from it as possible, thudding onto his back off the side of the couch, and Steve realized he was laughing again, wheezing with his hand against his face. When he finally looked up, Billy was brushing himself off, straightening his jacket, and Steve imagined the look on his own face after his trunk had thumped back. “Nah, I didn’t.” He patted his lip where the grin had stretched it, glancing down to check for blood. “Much.” When Billy’s hackles raised further, Steve shouted over his rising glower. “How about Star Wars?”

“Hell is wrong with you,” Billy muttered, but settled in the corner of the couch, apparently waiting for Steve to set up the movie. By the time C-3P0 was trying to get to Obi-Wan, Billy’d passed out against the arm, his boots tucked up between the cushions. The smell of cooking sherry intensified, and the glint Steve noticed against the black leather and laces proved to be a hunk of broken glass. There was more in the boot treads, and he could see a couple very small pieces caught in Billy’s shirt and hair. It was hard not to imagine the bank-robbing explosion Billy Hargrove would be walking away from, but his car was parked right out front, hard to miss, if the cops were looking for him. Steve had never seen a SWAT team. Count on them to miss out on actual monsters and chase Billy Hargrove to his house, he thought, indignantly sleepy, and shivered awake hours later, to fogging breath and the white noise of the TV. He groaned, leaning forward to flap one arm at the remote, and switched off the TV. In the dark, he realized the slight rasp of Billy’s breathing had stopped.

“...don’t die on my couch,” he mumbled, frowning into the darkness, which remained dark, but the normal, fridge-humming kind of dark, not the strange blue fluttering darkness where Dustin had screamed. He breathed in stale cigarette smoke and cooking sherry.

Billy snorted. “Just for you.”

He was back in the safer kind of movie, again, Steve thought muzzily, kids having sleepovers. There were movies where killers interrupted sleepovers, but they were humans, not monsters, and anyway he was not actually having a slumber party with Billy Hargrove: Probable Bank Robber. He felt around next to the couch for the blanket, and pulled it clumsily over them. It occurred to him he hadn’t actually asked. “Sooooo...you rob a bank?” he tried, keeping it casual.

“Sure did,” Billy scoffed, “--shot four guys, too. And there’s a stolen police car out there.”

“Oh, it’s that kind of movie.” Steve squirmed down against the back of the couch, letting his head fall against his arms in the safe darkness. The blanket fell over his face.

“You’re not going to call the cops and tell them you’ve got a bank robber?” Billy kicked him, and Steve batted weakly at his foot, eyes sliding shut again.

“Watch it, you--broken glass...shoe.”

He woke to the fading smell of cooking sherry, and blinked slowly at the ceiling, the sudden deep sleep disorienting after he’d thought he’d never sleep again outside of Biology class. “...wha--um,” he muttered, scrambling to look around. There was no sign of his home invader. He wondered how many murders “falling asleep with Billy ‘bank punching’ Hargrove a foot away” rated on the Idiot Scale, he had to be up to, oh, at least four. He felt a weird temptation to ask Nancy before first period. He fiddled with his locker, considering it. The line between her brows deepened, and probably became downright thunderous as he grinned awkwardly at she and Jonathan, turned on his heel, and walked off.

That day after basketball, in the showers, Tommy guffawed at the hand-shaped bruises on Billy’s upper arms. “Where were you last night? All night long, huh?” He leered, shifted to making long groans and grunting noises, and before Steve could catch himself, words fell out of his mouth.

“Those are huge, though, is your girlfriend Sylvester Stallone or--” he yelped as Billy shoved him against the wall, grin manic.

“What you trying to say, pretty boy King Steve?”

“I think he’s calling you a--” Tommy smacked the wall and showerhead on his way to the floor as Billy shoved his face. “A fucking faggot,” he yelled triumphantly, from the floor, as Steve wondered why he was allowed to open his mouth, ever, at all, and Billy tried to swing around and punch him and almost fell on his ass.

“It was my fucking dad, okay, it’s no big deal. My dad,” Billy was screaming between them, as they both dodged around, until the teacher and half the class shoved their way in and pulled him away. Steve fled. He dressed wondering how many more deserved Stupidity Murders he’d earned, getting in the communal shower with the guy who’d beaten his face in, and then opening his dumb fuckhead mouth and suggesting he’d had sex with Rambo. Nancy was in the hall listening to Billy yelling inside, when Steve ducked out of the locker room with his pants on but half his head still soapy, and she helped him rinse his hair in the drinking fountain.

“I think you and Hopper and Jonathan’s mom need to murder me about eleven times,” he told her, laughing, as he wiped water from his eyes. “I think I just asked Hargrove if he was gay, in the shower.” Her mouth fell open.

“Uh,” her eyebrows drew together as she looked at the locker room, but her mouth quirked, “--should we be running, then?”

“I probably should carry my bat,” he laughed, feeling around his ears one more time for soap, then grimacing and digging around in his bag for a sweaty gym shirt to rub on his head. When he pulled it out, she looked even more disgusted than he felt.

“I’ve got dry clothes in my locker. You can at least use a clean shirt.” She stuck her tongue out, trotting confidently off. “Bleah.”

Steve’s unfriendly neighborhood home invader didn’t reappear for over a week, but falling asleep to movies apparently worked, so he re-watched the beginnings of Rambo, Tron, and The Last Unicorn, discovered he could not fall asleep to Monty Python, and bought a much larger jar of Folger’s for mornings when even the dulcet tones of Winnie the Pooh hadn’t let his lungs work through the night without reminder.

The next time Billy showed up he just banged on the door, startling Steve out of the haze he’d fallen into during a Secret of NIMH song. Steve groaned, flapped unproductively at the remote to stop the animated mice, and then stumbled to his feet to make the door-abuse stop. The pounding continued through his shouted “I’m coming! I’m coming! ” until Billy Hargrove nearly fell in on top of him, half naked, and began hopping into the other half of his jeans.

“...what the hell.” Steve stared.

“What is that noise.” Billy scrambled to pull his jacket on, shivering, and nearly elbowed Steve in the face.

“...uh, it’s, um, mice?” Steve blinked at Billy’s face, which looked like it needed some frozen peas. “Uh. Lemme get you some frozen peas.” Billy tried to slam by him as usual, but Steve wasn’t good at basketball for nothing, and slid by the predictable motion on the way to the freezer. He tossed over the peas, proudly not adding to his Stupidity Gauge by getting within five feet of the half-naked feral in his kitchen. It seemed unlikely Billy had accused anyone of having sex with Sylvester Stallone in a communal shower, but the parallels to his Eleven On The Stupidity Murder Scale day were hard to discount. The shiner he was sporting looked exactly like Steve would have gotten if he hadn't escaped to the hallway. Focus, he thought.

“Make me some of that coffee,” Billy was shivering, glaring at the peas. If he’d been anyone else, Steve would have teasingly explained how to press frozen peas against a black eye, but given their last interaction, he just let his lips thin.

“Hot chocolate? I’ve got marshmallows.”

The furious disbelief Billy had focused on the peas turned to Steve’s face, amplified. “Did you just offer me marshmallows.”

“I have some,” Steve sighed, taking down his blue mug, and one that said Happy Anniversary. After a pause, he returned the anniversary mug to the cupboard, and grabbed one with a robin on it, filled them both with water, and stuck the robin in the microwave.

“Marshmallows.”

“Look, if you don’t like marshmallows, don’t eat any.” He pulled out the bag, the Swiss Miss, and the instant coffee.

“Rainbow marshmallows,” Billy observed scornfully. “You’re girlier than Max.”

“Everyone’s girlier than Max, except Hopper and Mrs. Byers,” Steve sighed. “Coffee or chocolate. I mix them sometimes.”

“You rebel,” Billy snorted. “Gimme some marshmallows. You call the Sheriff ‘Hopper’?” He held out a hand, finally lifting the other to his face, and wincing as he placed the peas against the swelling bruise. Steve had seen enough marshmallow bags absconded with to just drop some in the outstretched hand, the bag protectively at his side. He watched Billy start to drop the whole handful in his mouth, wince as he tried to open his mouth wide, and begin eating one at a time. “...kinda got to know him. Me and El and the, y’know,” he held his hand at waist level, picturing Dustin’s indignant protest, “Muppet babies.”

“Yeah, how’d that happen?”

Steve reminded himself to breathe. “Barb died. Bob died. You should be careful, you’ve got half the ‘b’s in your name.” He turned away as the microwave beeped.

“What.” Billy’s eyes narrowed.

“Is it raining?” Steve asked. “Why are you all wet?”

“Fuck off,” Billy said around his mouthful of marshmallows, and Steve shrugged, presenting the steaming mug, a spoon, the box of chocolate mix, and the Folger’s.

“I give you the bird,” he said grandly, tossing his mug in the microwave. Billy snorted, dumping three chocolate packets in the mug, and making grabby hands for the marshmallows.

Steve surrendered the bag, leaning against the counter by the microwave. He watched Billy wipe the water away that was trickling down his neck, and try to pretend he wasn’t shaking, dripping wet, in November. Steve stomped off for a towel, returning to throw it to Billy just before the microwave beeped. “Gimme back those girly marshmallows,” Steve began dumping powders in his mug, stirring industriously, before topping it with a pile of rainbow.

Billy stalked off to take Steve’s spot on the couch, before sliding off to flip through the laserdiscs. “Gonna punch these mice,” he muttered, lifting one, and flipped it to read the back. "You have movies for grownups? Whaddaya do when there aren't, like, singing frogs, you just fall asleep or--?"

"Oh no, not that one," Steve breathed, horrified. "That's Nancy's, it gave me nightmares."

"...IRA bombers?" Billy frowned up incredulously.

"No! It's a romance, it's awful, the guy falls in love with the girl and she has a dick and she thought he KNEW--"

"What," Billy's voice had gone flat.

"That night I dreamt I was in bed with Nancy for the first time and she took my clothes off and I was dickless with a secret pussy--"

"Everyone knows that, Harrington--"

"Shut your face, it was horrible, she just kept patting my hand sadly and she's a problem solver, you know, she kept going to the kitchen and getting, like, a banana, and the pepper grinder--"

The laserdisc sleeve drummed softly at Billy's head as he shook with laughter.

"And she just looked more and more disappointed and finally she said she had to leave, she couldn't cope with a relationship where she had to satisfy herself with a garlic press, and she was sure I'd be happier moving on--" Steve had been laughing too, at the image of Nancy earnestly presenting him with carnally unsatisfactory kitchen gadgets, but he sighed, rubbing his face. "Usually when I dreamed she'd dump me it was because I was invisible, or she was the president and she caught me setting up a kegstand in the--"

"I'm gonna call you 'Secret Pussy' forever," Billy interrupted.

"You will the hell not--"

"What?!" Billy laughed harder.

"I'm not a secret pussy, I'm secretly Kurt Russell, all my..." he slid further down in the couch, curling around his snickers, "--ten out of ten trick-or-treaters agree."

"You telling me you're half-blind, because it'd explain--" The doorbell rang, over and over, like a blaring red alert, along with voices and the thump of bicycles against the side of the house, and Steve scrambled up to reach the entryway before Dustin, Mike, and Will all fell in at once. "We need hot chocolate," Dustin said confidently, and Steve grimaced, thinking fast, before inwardly throwing his hands up and outwardly yelling "BILLY! Put on the kettle for hot chocolate!"

Silence fell, all three kids going still, but after a few seconds the couch creaked, and Billy walked into the kitchen, and the sink turned on.

“Is he holding you hostage,” Dustin whispered, eyes wide as he leaned around Steve’s shoulders.

“He’s probably eating marshmallows.” Steve raised his eyebrows at them, wondering whether it was stupid or just evil to allow the kids around Billy, who’d settled in, in a weird way, but also probably bit occasionally. Unprompted. He didn’t want any of his stupidity murders to be because someone got actually murdered.

“Will came for a sleepover,” Mike reported, glancing into the kitchen warily. “And we were gaming, and it was fine, but then there was a short in the kitchen and sparks and--”

Will sniffled, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve. “I can’t call my mom,” he rolled his thin shoulders back, firming his chin as he looked up at Steve, “--she’ll never let me out again--”

“He started crying all crazy,” Dustin put in, ever helpful, to a general elbowing, “--and I said, Steve has hot chocolate, and a bat.”

“...ah,” Steve glanced at the kitchen. “Did you guys let her know you were coming here? So she doesn’t call and find you guys--”

“We called,” Mike laughed apologetically. “We said you invited us over.”

Billy tromped back out to the living room, presumably to sneer at singing mice, as Steve herded the tiny assholes towards hot chocolate.

“Why is he here,” Dustin whispered, very loudly, with his usual degree of subtlety. Mike and Will nodded, and Steve laughed, rubbing his face.

“It’s fine, we have classes together, he’s not going to do anything,” he tried weakly, and Will’s eyes narrowed.

“Do you need a distraction while we phone Hopper?” he asked softly under the noise of Steve getting more mugs and batting Dustin away from stress-eating all the marshmallows.

“Dustin could get your bat,” Mike suggested.

“Thanks, man, send Dustin out there,” Dustin sighed loudly.

“Dustin, get more marshmallows out of the garage,” Steve pointed, trying to channel Nancy’s no-nonsense tones. He flipped off the stove, opting for the hot chocolate prep that kept them all in the kitchen for a longer time. “Will, fill these up and microwave them one by one for two and a half minutes. Mike--” he glanced around, “--get spoons and see if there’s still whipped cream in the fridge.”

They slowly moved to obey, watching him closely as he began rifling the cupboard for candy canes. Steve vindictively didn’t point out the spoon drawer to Mike. It was one thing, he thought, expecting his stupidity assessments from Hopper or Nancy, but he was not having it from children that did things like try to raise demodogs in turtle cages.

Billy had settled in Steve's spot on the couch, as always--Steve rolled his eyes--and Steve headed for the other end, before noticing the kids standing in strained poses like awkward chainsaw art. "Ugh," Steve sighed, before dropping next to Billy, whose shoulders hunched around his hot chocolate.

"Okay, Will, you pick," he pointed.

"Pick this, Will," Dustin held up the animated Lord of the Rings.

"Shut up, Dustin," Mike threw a pillow at him, and Will yelped, dodging aside, before grabbing it and swiping Dustin.

Steve grinned. “I found the candy canes,” he told Billy, who turned another disbelieving look on him, as Will smacked Mike with a pillow, and it turned into a free-for-all between the three of them until Dustin crawled under the melee and put on The Hobbit. As soon as it loaded up, he plonked himself down next to Steve. Will sat cautiously next to him, and Mike dropped at the end, the quieter two studying their chocolate as Dustin elbowed Steve.

“Man, I been wanting to watch these without Lucas, he hates Return of the King--”

Mike grimaced over towards Billy at the sound of Lucas’ name. “Well, it is kinda silly. It’s for little kids.”

“It’s for Steve. He has to have the singing in there,” Billy put in, and Dustin leaned around to stare at him.

“You’re another reason I’m glad Lucas ain’t here, man, you a Nazi or what?”

“Neo Nazi,” Mike corrected quietly. “They’re called Neo Nazis, it’s not 1945--”

“Look, it’s Hobbiton,” Steve sighed into his mug.

“Or the Ku Klux Klan,” Will put in, “Like in the South.”

"No," Billy said finally, and after several seconds Dustin laughed.

"No?! No, you just slammed him into a wall? No, you just told Max to stay away from his kind?"

"I didn't say that."

Steve could feel Billy's entire body going tense, and shut his eyes, breathing in the blended chocolate, coffee, and candy cane smells from his mug. Twelve murders worth of stupidity, today, he thought, wondering whether he'd make it to the phone, and whether one of the kids would save him with the bat, and whether any of his Idiocy Tally would hit them, in a permanent sense.

"Why'd you beat him up, then?" Mike asked pointedly. Eleven's boyfriend felt no physical fear, apparently. Reasonable, if Eleven were actually present.

“Okay,” Steve tried to think of what Mrs. Byers would say, “--uh, whatever reasons he had, they weren’t good enough, can we all say ‘aye’ on that one?”

“Aye! ” proclaimed Dustin and Mike in a shout, Will firmly, and, thankfully, Billy, sounding a little rough.

“And unless he does it again, it’s between he, Lucas, and Max?” Steve continued, pushing his luck.

“Aaaaye,” came the sullen chorus from Steve’s right, and a fervent “Aye,” in low tones from Billy.

Steve sat back, wide-eyed, as his heart slowly stopped pounding. An hour later, his head was draped back over the couch as he snored softly, and Mike had quietly left and returned to drop the bat full of nails across the coffee table. Dustin pointed at it, speaking in his louder-than-speech stage whisper.

“That’s Steve’s bat. Look, it’s got blood on it. That’s bully blood.” He grabbed it and pointed it at Billy, who slammed his elbow into Steve.

“Harrington. Harrington. Is that blood on that bat.” Steve tried to roll sideways, growling, but Billy elbowed him in his chest, this time. “Harrington. Did you kill someone.” He glared around. “Did you guys cover up a murder?”

(I think Tumblr ate my posts for chapters 1-3, so I’m reposting them!)

Strangest chapter 1/chapter 2/chapter 3/chapter 4/chapter 5/chapter 6/chapter 7/chapter 8/chapter 9/chapter 10/  But really I’d recommend reading it on Ao3 under peterqpan, scrolling through it on Tumblr sounds crazymaking

#Strangest #platypan #platypan fic #Harringrove #stranger things #Fix-it #After season 2 #WIP #They grouch around each other like wary cats #Eventually they fall asleep on each other #It's soft

[rebellect-writes]

[SIZE=1] [b]Name:[/b] Jess. [b]Age:[/b] 21. [b]How did you find us?:[/b] I blame Danni AND Joe.

[b]Name:[/b] Victoria Eden Moreau. [b]Nicknames & Aliases:[/b][LIST]Eden Morrison; Fake ID, obviously. Tori Babe. Vicky. Toria. Psychotic Hell-Bitch. [/LIST][b]Age:[/b] 35 [b]Date of Birth:[/b] August 7th, 1977. [b]Gender:[/b] Female. [b]Sexual Orientation:[/b] Heterosexual. [b]Occupation:[/b] High school PE teacher, former supernatural and occult hunter.

[b]Species:[/b] Lion. [b]Description:[/b] [IMG]http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ERJonp0xx1s/Tnqd6kffXjI/AAAAAAAAArE/NWtjP-3SVXo/s640/002-LIONESS-RESTING%2540body.jpg[/IMG][LIST]If it looks like a lion, smells like a lion and growls like a lion, it’s obviously a domestic house cat ready to bite your face off. Victoria’s animal form is pretty average, there’s nothing remotely distinctive about her. She may look a bit ragged at time, but the large tawny gold cat is hardly going to blend in with the UK scenery no matter what. In her feline form, she weighs in at 400lbs of muscle and tamed aggression and stands at 3’6 at the shoulders. From her nose to the tip of her tail, Vic’s a pretty average 8’3. [/LIST][b]Do you have a hybrid/alpha form?:[/b] [URL=http://fc06.deviantart.net/fs70/i/2010/136/b/b/__Lioness_Line_art___by_sirius_spirit.jpg]Indeed she does.[/URL][LIST]Her hybrid form is more for show than anything else, just something to give her a little extra kick when her full feline form doesn’t provide her with it. She doesn’t turn into some raging half beast, half woman form either. Standing a little taller than her human form at 5’11, and weighing in at 280lbs, she’s covered from head to toe in golden fur and looks like the perfect mix of feline and human. She has claws in this form, never forget that, and fangs, and oh! She can talk even though it’s a lot more growly than her human voice is. [/LIST][b]Rank:[/b] Adwar. [b]How long has your character been a lycanthrope?:[/b] 24 years (infected at age 9). [b]Mind-Set:[/b] Dominant. [b]Power level:[/b] Alpha. [b]Abilities:[/b] [LIST] [*] [b]Speed:[/b] Like all lycanthropes, she’s fast on her feet and can move faster than the human eye can see if she uses her alpha speed. [*] [b]Strength:[/b] She’s stronger than your normal human. She’s not the strongest lycanthrope out there due to her size, but she can go head to head with a vampire and with a bit of luck, over power them. [*] [b]Durability:[/b] Victoria can heal almost any wound like most shifters can, bar decapitation and wounds caused by fire and silver. Wounds caused by more dominant lycanthropes and vampires heal slower. Almost human slow. [*] [b]Senses:[/b] Vic has extremely acute senses like most shifters. She can sometimes tell when someone’s lying to her face by the change in the other persons scent. [*] [b]Partial Shifting:[/b] She can shift hands and teeth into those of her animal or focus on shifting into a full blown hybrid form instead of a full shift from human to lion. [*] [b]Block A Vampires Call:[/b] It takes a bit of energy on her side but she can block out the call of a vampire up to 900 years old and extend that shielding to weaker werelions. Anything over 900 hurts her too much to block. [*] [b]Shield her Beast:[/b] She can lock her animal aura away and pull off the human vibe to most lycanthropes except from stronger alphas, and in some cases, stronger Master vampires since from her experience, they can force her lion to show itself. She does this on a day to day basis when it comes to her job. [/LIST][b]Face Claim:[/b] Charlize Theron. [b]Description:[/b] [IMG]http://www.topnews.in/light/files/Charlize-Theron5.jpg[/IMG][LIST]Victoria isn’t that outstanding to tell you the truth. She’s almost you’re typical blonde – though she’s got a thing for dying her hair other colours at times. She’s got the curves and the legs but the eyes, they’re not human. As a result of staying in her animal form when she as younger for longer than she should, her eyes are those of her lion’s. Of course, she hides them behind hazel green contacts that she never takes out unless she has to do so, she knows better. She’s pretty slim; and only 5’9, and a half inches tall, weighing in at 140lbs of toned muscle, that it’s pretty easy to work out that she’s fond of working out and keeping fit.

She’s not one for style; Vic just doesn’t understand the appeal of having the latest fashion accessories. Of course that doesn’t mean she doesn’t splash out on things like makeup now and then, but that’s purely for work interviews, she finds it works a hell of a lot better being ‘appealing’ then being herself. Whatever works huh? She’s more comfortable in reliable jeans and t-shirts; a nice pair of boots doesn’t go amiss or a leather jacket. Since she’s hung up her hunting gear though, there are fewer holsters for weapons. When she’s at work, its sports gear. Tracksuits for when it’s cold out, shorts and polo-shirts when it’s warmer.

Identifying marks are a little easier to describe. She has her fair share of scars, though most are long since faded. The most notable ones are what look to be claw marks curving down over her right hip. They’re just three jagged lines really, and she doesn’t talk about them ever. Her second most notable scar was given to her by a hunter that thought he was being clever and had all the time in the world, he put a silver hunting knife through her shoulder and left it there so it burnt her after he’d incapacitated her. Now, she’s not a fan of big tattoos but she does have two small ones of her own. A koi fish above her right ankle, and a small flower on the top of her right foot. The flower was gotten on a whim, but the koi is supposed to represent strength, determination, and persistence in the face of adversity. The only other thing that comes to mind is that her ears are pierced twice on both sides. [/LIST][b]Weapons of Choice:[/b][LIST] [*] Fangs, claws, full blown lion form. It’s fun to get messy! [*] She rarely hunts these days, so she’s hung up her holsters. [*] She does have a butterfly knife she carries regularly. [*] Has a necklace with a small vial of holy water attached. Just in case. [*] A white gold charm bracelet with holy items from different faiths. [/LIST][b]Special Skills:[/b][LIST] [*] She used to – and still does if a hunt crops up that tickles her fancy – ingests holy water to stop vampires from taking a bite out of her. Since she hasn’t hunted anything since late 2008, it’s not going to bother any vampires unless she starts up again. [*] She knows how to fight, mostly brawling and that’s what she relies on. However she’s dabbled in Krav Maga (grade: G1), and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu (grade: Purple belt) over the last 10 years. It always surprises people when they learn this. [*] She can speak French and Italian, not fluently but enough to get by, she’s also learning German and in the future, hopefully Spanish unless she forgets. [*] Gets and knows the basics when using guns. She’s more a blade kind of girl anyway. [*] Not a half bad thief, - when she needs the money - if she does say so herself. [*] Did a three year “general” sports course followed by her PGCE and QTS. She’s pretty proud of that, so don’t knock it! [/LIST][b]Personality:[/b]  [LIST]Victoria isn’t actually that loud of a person in most respects, she’s the type of person that would rather sit and wait and have something to say rather than open her mouth and spew a bunch of pointless words just to hear the sound of her own voice. Then again, she was an ‘attack dog’ for a long time, and when you’re beat as a kid to learn how to hold your tongue, things sort of stick to you. When she speaks, she doesn’t raise her voice in anger unless it’s to get a point across – and when she does need to get a point across it’s normally accompanied by a blunt object of some sort if need be -, but she does get listened to. It just another part of whom she is, people just think she doesn’t have something to say when in actual fact; she’s just watching and waiting for a chance to pounce. She knows that she’s not the most relaxed of people, that’s for sure. However when you get past the creepy silence, she does brighten up a bit. She’s a loyal lass and keeps her word, even though she has her trust issues, but she doesn’t always think things through fully. She’s used to bulldozing her way through issues in her life, and then dealing with the fallout afterwards. Protective of what’s hers. Practical and strong willed she’s not likely to be cowed by someone playing mind games; in fact the last time someone tried that, she broke their arm without blinking.

She even smiles, though it’ll often be accompanied with a wiseass remark or comment. It is almost like she’s care free and forgets about all the crap she’s gone through to get where she is today. She’s loving and caring, hell she even cares though it doesn’t normally come off as most would expect it from a she-cat that could snap at a moment’s notice and become a big cat. While it may look like she has no control over her animal side, she’s got it, people have assumed that she has next to none and that has been their downfall. Oh yeah, she’s more than a little mental! If you push her, she’ll push back, only most people seem to forget she’s more on the animal side then most shapeshifters are and she loves that. She’s not afraid of her animal instincts and embraces them to the point that sometimes she doesn’t want to be human anymore but then she sees what she has and pushes to be normal.

Her views on vampires are slightly [i]skewed[/i] however. Having been used by a lion calling master for years, she has a distaste for anything over a hundred years old, sure she can curb her tongue and be civil to the creatures but present her with a lion caller – even Mikhail got snapped at – and she’ll do everything in her power to make it clear that she won’t become another and she won’t allow anyone in the Pride to be one either. This can be displayed in sarcasticness, threats and violence and promises of death. She just doesn’t like the creatures that can bend her like a crazy straw if it suited them. It’s driven by fear, something she’s not exactly sure how to react to and falls back on her more comforting animal nature to deal with it. As far as the rest of the supernatural world, well, as long as they don’t try and harass the Pride or start something they can’t finish with the people she cares about then she won’t bother them. [/LIST][b]Likes:[/b][LIST] [*] Swimming. [*] A good strong drink after a hunt. [*] Taking to the country roads on her bike and just driving until she can't. [*] Making known bullies fear her. Doesn't matter if they're kids or adults or anything else. [*] Spending time in her lion form, she doesn't do it as much as she used to do so. [*] When she can surprise someone by doing something. [*] Reading when she can get five minutes peace, normally during first break at work. [*] Not being dragged into supernatural turf wars, she joined the pride to stop that. [*] Protecting the Jackford pride. Bradon Mackenzie gave her a home. [*] Chinese food. Don’t ask her why, she just does. [/LIST][b]Dislikes:[/b][LIST] [*] Getting a ticket because she’s left her bike in the wrong place. [*] People that don't pull their own weight. You either sink or swim. [*] Being touched in lion form by people she doesn't know. She tends to bite [*] Having to clean her apartment. If it doesn't bother her, she doesn't bother it! [*] Parent/Teacher night. She'd take a feral shifter over that. [*] Doctors and medical types. Being poked and prodded? No thanks. [*] Being cornered. Have you ever seen an angry lion cornered? It's not nice. [*] Vampires that force themselves on others. It's not so bad when it’s voluntary. [*] Poor weapons maintenance. What is wrong with some people? [*] Being told she's over emotional just because she's female. [/LIST] [b]Strengths:[/b] [LIST] [*] Very familiar with her feline form, she shifts quicker because of this. [*] Doesn’t care if she gets hurt. In fact, she’d put herself in the firing line to save people she cares for. [*] Good tracking skills, urban or otherwise. [*] Isn’t easily backed down with threats and tends to laugh when they’re given. [*] Trusts her gut instinct rather than follow others unless she trusts them. [*] Loyal to people she trusts. Sometimes, even to those that just put up enough money. [*] She can hold her tongue and temper in check if she wants. [*] Knows a bit about witchcraft and the herbs used in most healing balms.   [*] Very fast and agile, good for when she’s working with heights in the gym. [*] Still has a fair few contacts from her days as a hunter that she calls up when needed. [/LIST][b]Weaknesses:[/b] [LIST] [*] She has a bit of a one track mind at times. [*] Doesn’t always notice when she’s treading on thin ice. [*] Silver. She may’ve been a lion for a long time, but that stuff still hurts. [*] Comes off antisocial at times. [*] Her anger issues tend to put a crimp in certain things. [*] She doesn't have a good grasp on that 'relationship' thing. It's been [*] Practical in a way, she won’t blink twice at putting someone down if it means protecting others. Even if she's seen as a monster afterwards. [*] Doesn't trust many people at her back. There’s like four people out of billions. [*] Tends to spend a lot of time in her lion form, pushing the limits. [*] Can rarely tame that persistent stubborn streak. [/LIST][b]History:[/b]  [LIST]Thomas and Natalie Moreau never took another hunt once they found out that they were due to have a baby together. They were hunters by blood, marriage and by trade; they did everything to stop the supernatural from infecting their ‘world’ and to keep people safe, but they would not endanger their soon to be daughter and in the august of 1977, their baby girl Victoria was brought into the world kicking and screaming like any normal babe and her parents officially hung up their weapons holsters and retired as hunters. Thomas took on a new job as a property developer that worked in and around Lancaster where they lived, and Natalie worked full time as a house wife. Together they doted on their child as Victoria grew up, giving her anything and everything that she wanted. Like any princess, she even had a pony at one point.

The happy little family however was torn apart just before Victoria’s ninth birthday, as the small farm house that the family owned was torn apart by rogue werelions and wolves, headed by a particularly vicious vampire who seemed to know all about her parents who were shocked by his apparent survival. The scariest thing of all for Victoria wasn’t that lions were everywhere or big werewolves; it was the Asian vampire Khan. The right side of his face was thick with holy water scars, the eye socket a gaping hole and mouth a jagged gash. Khan was one of the very few vampires that had ever escaped her parents, and he delighted on tearing through her mother’s mind and body as a werelion held her father back. When Khan was done with Natalie, he turned his attention to Victoria and forced a rather nasty looking lionman to tear into her young body before simply snapping her father’s neck. She should’ve died, would’ve died except werewolf alpha Jacques Rousseau had other ideas.

The wolf didn't take pity on her, far from it. When Victoria regained full consciousness now and again, she was told that she was Khan's new 'pet'. What better way to scare off hunters than by using the spawn of two fairly vicious hunters against them, it was put to her, before she was told that she had only survived because she'd contracted lycanthropy. Being a young lass, she didn't believe it. She screamed and raged and howled for her parents thinking it was a bad dream. It was only really brought home when Jacques, sick of the whelps screaming brought in a lion to teach her a lesson. Miranda was only slightly less cold than the werewolf, but under orders, she tore the beast from Victoria's body. Over and over, and over. Eventually, Victoria started to submit and forget about being who she really was and it was exactly what Khan wanted. Oh he had his pride and pack of bumbling misfits that had been thrown from their various clans for treasonous acts or for having broken the law, be he didn't have one animal at his command that would do simply as he asked, no if's buts or maybes.

By age 14, Victoria was a feral but suitably tamed little lion. She would sit pretty for Khan when he wanted to make a point in a business deal and she’d attack when given the order. Her first real kill wasn’t a goat or even a chicken; it was a frail old woman that owed Khan housing rent for staying in a housing complex he owned. Victoria snapped her neck and left her body where it dropped much to Khan’s displeasure and as a punishment she was put in the fight rings that one of his acquaintances ran. She tried her best, she really did. She’d gone from a pampered princess as a human, to a killer. Her fall from grace was bloody and violent and was brought to a sudden stop when she was put face to face with a full grown adult and alpha lion in the ring. She survived, but was sold on for being a failure to Master Khan and everything that she had been trained to hold dear.

After being past from vampire to vampire, and even the occasional knowledgeable human that knew of the supernatural and dabbled, Victoria ended up on a black market of sorts, nothing but a lost cause. She was stuck in a small cage for days, surrounded by other troubled souls such as herself, left to starve and in filth. Supernatural species of all shapes and sizes came and went sold off to the highest bidder as slaves that worked, fucked and various other things or prey for something else altogether. She even had a plan; she was going to attack the first handler she could get her hands on and hopefully have one of them kill her. Except, instead of a handler that came through the backstage area, it was something else entirely. He was young enough if a little older than herself, he was scared going by his scent, and he was…attractive for a human stumbling around in the dark. He changed her life the moment she had his scent. He left her alone in a loading bay however, such a hero for being forced into a nightmare of a fairy tale.

Free of the life she knew, Victoria did something that went against everything that had been beaten into her. She ran. For over two years she lived wild and on the move, most of her time in lion form and when she had to return to human form, she stole what she needed to survive on her own. Clothes from washing lines, food from market stalls if a hunt failed and the like, she even went as far for a while as to steal and fence property for money even though she never really needed it. However it worked out for her, though when she noticed that her eyes had stuck as those of her lions, she made it a personal mission to stay in human form more and more to get used to that form again. She even tried to talk to people; mostly farmers or hikers that crossed into her ‘territory’ at the time.

Once she was happy that she could return to being around people, Victoria ended up in Cardiff where she befriended a young couple that had lost their children to supposed gang violence and were so down on their luck that she couldn’t not help them even though she was barely considered an adult herself at the time. What the couple didn’t know was that it was supernaturally related violence that lost them their kids, so Victoria being the stereotypical cat riddled with curiosity looked into for them while she helped fight off bailiffs and other idiots that wanted to break her friends down more. She followed her gut instincts and tracked down the people that had been known as suspects in the community. It was teens mostly, desperate to rebel against the rules that their parents had set down but then she hit a lucky break, a werefox informant came forward to talk to her. Well, it was more warn her away from snooping because things would get ‘unpleasant’. She threw that fox out of a second story window… and then went back to searching.

It took her a year and she was roughly eighteen when she found the person that had ordered her ‘friends’  children be removed – her cat had claimed them as Pride even though she hadn’t known them long at all – and was marginally surprised to find out that it was a werelion male. The dominance battle was brutal; she was only a young woman and not used to the fighting the male easily won and inserted his dominance over her, claimed her as his ‘mate’ even though she’d clawed on of his eyes out with her own fingers. It was a huge leap and all that was really expected of her was to open her legs, be a submissive little waif of a woman that cowered behind the big bad lion. Well, she did as what was expected of her and after he was finished removed his head from his shoulders using the element of surprise. She disbanded the males operation – yes, in some cases she used violence – and the money that had been going towards other things, she sent to her friends before vanishing.

Bouncing around the UK for the next four years, Victoria picked up odd hunts here and there. A fey running a coven of witches and assuming Godhood over a town was dealt with, a Naga in Devon was told to move on because he’d started a turf war with the local snake clan. It was silly stuff really but the payment was ok. She managed to grab a job on an international freighter headed for America, and by the time she was 22 she landed her rear in Flordia. No papers, no money that she could spend easily, she was effectively back to when she was released from that cage by the scardy cat of a boy. It didn’t last long, America was so different and there was a lot of supernatural activity as well as human crime. She made her way as a supernatural bounty hunter of sorts, and not the legal kind most of the time. She was a monster hunting monsters, ironic huh?

Twenty three years old, she was still roaming the USA like she had done in the UK. Only this time she was more well off; and while she wanted to settle down somewhere she couldn’t unless she contacted the Pride that controlled that area. From what she’d seen since she’d actually come to the States, was that most of the USA Lions were a mite traditional, meaning that it was the woman’s job to do all the work. Since she had no interest of being a Pride gofer, she just spent her time on the road, staying in motels for a week or so or squatting in old properties. That’s when she got an interesting hunt, and came across someone she’d never thought to see again. Jothial Chapman. The little boy that had freed her had filled out, he was a man now and if she hadn’t got up close and personal to catch his scent, she wouldn’t have really known that it was him.

Stubborn male pressed her buttons though, and rather than outright kill him, she threw him through a wall and opened herself up to attack from the beast that she was hunting. She almost lost her life that night, and would’ve done so if her lycanthropic healing hadn’t worked its wonders on her battered body. She watched as Jo blasted the creature to nothing but ash and cinders before she even hinted that she knew him. Of course, it came out that she was a werelion and a hunter, and he was a bit iffy about the fact in her mind. Victoria expected him to kill her for being evil, instead they teamed up together and took on the evil that thought it could get past the Witch and the Lion.

They were together a year, hunting monsters that broke the laws of various things, putting themselves in the line of danger. What she failed to act on was the feelings that had stirred in her by being in close quarters to Jo. She never acted on them because she didn’t know how even though they were pretty intimate. She gave him and his creepy familiar the space and time they needed and Jo gave her the same thing. Honestly, Victoria would’ve said something sooner if she hadn’t made herself visible to a vampire that could control lions in the area. The last time she saw Jo was he was drooling into his motel pillow and that marked the end of that. She vanished without a trace using every means necessary to avoid detection. She hadn’t left him out of anger or anything; she’d left him because she was scared that the vampire would use her against him.

She ran from one vampire and lions and into another vampire, and ironically it was another lion caller a year or so later. This one was different though, he was older than anything she’d come across and Mikhail seemed just as surprised that she was a lion working as a bounty hunter. Victoria found herself drawn to this one, he didn’t abuse his people and he claimed New York as his city. Rather than run off again or try and kill him, Victoria struck up a bargain with the vampire master. She’d work for him as security and a hunter if she was needed as long as he didn’t try to call her and bend her to his will. Mikhail agreed and they went their separate ways for awhile. While in New York City, Victoria settled down in her first real apartment. She didn’t want to run anymore, but she had no idea what to do. Making that apartment as her base of operations, she spent the next few years learning how to be normal. She got a job, went to night school, made a few friends that weren’t anything that she was used to. They were simply normal. She did get called in to do some hunts for Mikhail every now and then, but they were neither here nor there.

Then in 2005, she returned to the UK after saying goodbye to Mikhail and the lions that she’d grown used to more confident in herself and happy enough. There was an ulterior motive for her return though; Mikhail wanted her to pass through a place called Jackford every now and again to make sure one of his fledglings in the local Kiss was doing ok and rather than argue or brush him off with a smile and a nod, Victoria agreed on the understanding that she wouldn’t tie herself to one place for so long unless he helped her out finding a reason to stay. By the end of July ’05 she was studying to become a Physical Education teacher after a brief course as a teaching assistant at primary school in York - which wasn't that far from Jackford so it suited her - but maybe she should’ve been clearer in what she wanted huh? She didn't stay there for long and by the end of 2010 she was a full-fledged teacher working at Jackford’s comprehensive high school teaching children about sports and how to stay healthy three days a week and spending the rest of the week bouncing between Pride duty and her own time, which she used as time to search for the odd hunt to keep her claws sharp and she's stayed there ever since ducking and dodging the crazy that was worse than her. [/LIST][/SIZE]

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

Stella and the Wolf - Chapter 4

You can find it here on AO3, or the Tumblr Chapter Index here. 

This Alpha werewolf business is getting way too serious. When Stiles arrives at school the next morning, it’s to discover that the reason Dad hasn’t been home all night—his text messages did not share any of the gruesome details—was because some guy at the video store was literally ripped apart last night. Why are video stores still a thing, first of all? And secondly, why were Jackson and Lydia there trying to rent a copy of The Notebook? Wouldn’t it make more sense just to order the DVD off Amazon, since the word on the street, or on the lacrosse field, is that Lydia makes Jackson watch it at least once a week?

Stiles would like to share this observation with Scott, but Scott has apparently decided to ditch school for the day with Allison. Which is another thing that’s getting way too serious, frankly. Stiles loves Scott like a bro, seriously, but he’s going to end up dead if he keeps trying to hang out in the lion’s den and put his dick inside the lion’s daughter. And no, Stiles has no idea who the lion is in this metaphor—Chris or Victoria are equally terrifying, honestly—and yes, he’s aware of what a disturbing metaphor it is.

Point is, Scott’s adoration of Allison is just another added complication in this whole werewolf mess, but apparently he can’t be talked out of it.

Stiles has tried.

Stiles chews the end of his pen avidly in homeroom, trying to pay attention when his teacher reminds them all that it’s parent teacher night tonight, also known as Stiles’s least favourite event in the academic calendar. It’s not that he’s a bad student or anything—his grades are great—but he feels sorry for his dad, who has to sit through a procession of teachers telling him what he’s already known for years: that Stiles couldn’t focus if his life depended on it. He’s also an inveterate smartass.

Like they think his dad doesn’t know that somehow?

Please. Dad’s been dealing with Stiles for sixteen years. He knows better than anyone.

Anyway, how is Stiles supposed to care about stuff like parent teacher night when there is an Alpha werewolf on the loose?

He chews his pen so hard that he tastes ink, and then spits the bits of plastic out and wipes his mouth frantically with his sleeve to make sure there’s none on his face.

Danny gives him a weird look, but Stiles is used to those. It is literally the least of his problems.

The real problem, of course, is the Alpha werewolf.

Except when Stiles tries to focus on the Alpha, it’s another werewolf he finds himself thinking about. Derek Hale. Derek, who almost died last night—he almost dies a lot of the time, and Stiles is becoming seriously concerned about that—and was a total raging douche about it, but also—and Stiles feels this part is crucial—took the time to replace Stella’s sushi and bring then orange Gatorade.

Like, his angry, growly waters run deep or something.

Stiles thinks that his opinion of Derek is changing because of that tiny gesture last night. Or maybe it’s because he saw Derek’s abs. He doesn’t think he’s that shallow, but he’s sixteen. Sometimes it’s hard to tell when his brain is thinking or it’s off chasing butterflies and his dick has taken over the job.

Also, Stiles isn’t gay, but he is maybe bi? A straight guy probably wouldn’t imagine licking Derek Hale’s abs, right? Although they’d be missing out, Stiles is sure, because they are truly incredible abs. But no, Stiles definitely isn’t totally straight, because he also kind of wants to do things to Derek’s dick. Like lick it. And suck it. And—

“Stiles?” Danny asks, and Stiles looks up to see the classroom is empty. “Are you coming to chemistry?”

He flails to his feet. “What? Yes. I was just resting my eyes.”

“Your eyes were open,” Danny points out.

“It was a metaphor,” Stiles attempts.

“That’s not how metaphors work.”

Stiles shrugs, slings his backpack over his shoulder, and follows Danny out the door.

***

Stiles and Danny have Chemistry. Literally. And, Stiles wonders, figuratively?

Like, is that a thing that exists in the realm of possibility?

Does Stiles have game?

Clearly not when it comes to Lydia, although to be fair that’s because she is a goddess. But what about with guys? Does Stiles have game when it comes to guys?

Okay, no. Stiles has no game. Zero. Nada. Zilch.

But he’s pretty sure he doesn’t need game if he’s pretty.

Not that any of this is even about Danny, of course. Danny’s too nice. Stiles is thinking of a leather jacket, tight jeans, and a face airbrushed into perfection by genetics and God.

Does Derek think he’s pretty?

“Hey, Danny?” he asks, leaning over. “Hey, Danny, can I ask you a question?”

Danny gives him a long-suffering look, but he doesn’t say no.

Stiles leans over even further. “Am I attractive to gay guys?”

And then he leans too far and falls off his chair before he gets an answer.

***

Parent teacher night is what it is. Scott actually makes an appearance, so it’s great to know that he’s not dead and stuff following his day long radio silence, but Stiles can’t talk to him at all, because Scott’s got Allison hanging off his arm, and Stiles is flanked by Dad and Stella. Stiles tries to communicate with Scott in a series of narrow stares that they really need to get to the bottom of this werewolf stuff before Scott is compelled by the Alpha into becoming a bloodthirsty killing machine and Scott had better call him after parent teacher night before all this spirals entirely out of control, because taking the day off isn’t really the smartest thing to do in the middle of a supernatural crisis, you dumbass, but that’s a lot to try to convey with the power of a glare to a largely unreceptive target.

“So, um, you should come over for a Call of Duty session after this,” Stiles says.

“Oh, no,” Dad tells him. “Don’t you make any plans, Stiles. I know I’m going to find out something tonight that gets you grounded.”

Scott flashes him a sympathetic smile, like he actually thinks this is about video games. “Another time, huh?”

“Yep,” Stiles says, resisting the urge to roll his eyes so hard he can see his brain. “Another time.”

He follows his Dad and Stella down the corridor, then sends Scott a text message that says, simply: Idiot.

Stiles sits on a bench outside Finstock’s classroom with Stella, while Dad presumably gets the full Finstock experience. Stiles hopes it includes the speech from Independence Day.

Stella eats the rice crackers Dad packed for her to get her through the evening, and fills Stiles in on her day at school. Highlights include Brian Cassidy falling off the slide, Stella signing up for a new Reading in the Community program her teacher has initiated, and Faith Johansen inviting Stella to her birthday party sleepover in a few weeks. There will apparently be two different kinds of cake.

“Who gets two birthday cakes?” Stiles asks.

“Faith and her twin brother,” Stella says. “Duh.”

Well, that makes sense, Stiles figures, and leans back against the wall to wait for Dad.

“You wrote your essay on circumcision, kid?” Dad asks when he reappears. “Really?”

Stiles isn’t sure what it says about him when Dad can spend ten minutes with Finstock and come out thinking Stiles is the weird one, but it’s probably not anything to be proud of.

“What’s circumcision?” Stella asks loudly, and the freshman and his mom waiting on the bench beside them look horrified.

Dad sighs, and looks at his sheet of paper. “Who’s next?”

Stiles dies on the inside.

Because Harris is next. And Harris hates him.

This night just got worse.

***

They’re walking through the parking lot on their way back to Dad’s car when Stiles hears the screaming.

The Alpha, his stuttering heartbeat tells him.

“Wait here,” Dad says, his voice suddenly tight. “Wait here.”

“Dad,” Stiles says, gripping Stella’s hand tightly.

“Wait here!”

And suddenly Dad’s gone, and it’s chaos, with people rushing through the parking lot, and car tires screeching, and Stiles lifts Stella up onto the hood of the car they’re closest to just to keep her off the ground, and then—

A dull thud.

“Dad!” Stiles yells, pushing his way through a knot of people. “Dad!”

“I’m okay!” Dad says, climbing to his feet. “I’m okay!”

But he’s wincing, and his uniform pants are stained with blood below the knee. The driver of the car that hit him is still sitting in the driver’s seat, hands white-knuckled around the wheel.

“Stiles, where’s Stella?” Dad asks. “Get Stella and get—”

And then Stiles hears the roar, and his blood runs cold.

He turns, heading back for Stella. He can see her standing on top of the hood of the car. She’s craning her head to look at something and then, as Stiles watches, she turns and scrambles up the windshield onto the roof of the car, and god, it’s close… the Alpha is close.

Stiles dodges through the cars, his heart in his mouth.

A shot rings out.

Stiles skids to a halt just in time to see Chris Argent, Allison’s dad, holstering his firearm. He’s standing between Stella and…

Stiles turns his head to look.

A mountain lion?

Seriously?

A fucking mountain lion?

“A mountain lion?” he blurts aloud.

Chris Argent shows him a narrow stare. “Expecting something else?”

“No,” Stiles says, his heart hammering. “Nope. Not at all.”

Chris Argent looks him up and down, nods, and then goes to inspect his kill.

Stella slides back down the windshield of the car, her shoes squeaking on the glass, and into Stiles’s arms.

***

“You thought it was a werewolf, didn’t you?” Stella asks later that night when Dad—his grazes patched up—has gone in to work and Stiles and Stella are eating cereal in front of the television. “The bad one? The Alpha?”

“I thought it was.” Stiles closes his eyes briefly. “How messed up is it when it turns out a vicious mountain lion is the better  option?”

“Pretty messed up,” Stella agrees. She falls silent for a while, chewing her bottom lip. “Stiles?”

“Mmm?”

“Is Dad really okay?”

“Yeah.” Stiles nudges her with his shoulder, careful not to make it too hard so they don’t both end up wearing her bowl of cereal. “He’s fine.”

Stella hits him with a wide-eyed gaze that doesn’t allow him anywhere to hide. “What would happen if he wasn’t?”

That old, pervasive fear rises up in Stiles again. It’s been there ever since Mom died.

“I’d look after you,” he says.

“You’re not a grown-up,” she tells him. “Not really.”

“No, but I’d look after you,” Stiles says. “Dad has cousins in Portland. We’ve met them before, but you were probably too little to remember. If something bad happened to Dad, we’d go and live with them until I’m eighteen, then I’d look after you.”

Their mom’s death, and the realities of their dad’s job. It’s something that Stiles has thought about, and that Dad has planned for, if worst comes to worst.

“Okay,” Stella says, and nods seriously. “As long as we’d be together.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, and thinks of Laura Hale. Thinks of Derek, who is all alone in the world now. Thinks of how he’s lost everyone. Stiles’s chest aches, and he wonders how Derek is even still standing. Stiles wouldn’t be. Not after that. Losing his mom fractured a part of him that will never really heal, but to lose Dad on top of that? To lose Stella? Even the thought of it makes panic spike sharply in his gut. “Yeah, we’d be together.”

He blinks, his eyes stinging, and wonders how Derek is even still here.

#sterek #Stella and the wolf #my fics #discontentedwinter

[musikat18]

@FearOfDeathKeepsUsAlive What is Leonard McCoy's honest opinion on the other Urban boys when he first meets them?

Collectively? He thinks it’s a little weird, but he’s seen other universes before so he eventually just decides “fuck it, fine.”

Gavin is one of yhe ones he’s the most casual and open with, just because he looks like Bones when he takes a shore leave on his mama’s ranch. Sure, the dragon thing makes him question the guy a little, but he mostly seems okay.

Skurge, Bones comes to see like a little brother, the kind you try to help when something doesn’t quite click. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t amused by the kid’s energy, but it is genuinely fulfilling for him to show Skurge Midgardian things and teach him to not place his worth in others’ opinions.

Reaper and Kennex also get along quite well with Bones. Reaper is job-oriented, so is Bones. Kennex is grumpy, so is Bones. He’s a little put-off by their punchy-shooty natures, but they’re similar enough where he can overlook it without much worry.

Danny and Cooper, he kind of loops into the same category, since they’re both technically “government enforcement agents” (Dredd is different, we’ll get to him later), and they’re good for talking out trauma and hardship with, he finds, especially over a drink.

Vampup and Vaako…Bones isn’t quite scared of them, but certainly intimidated. Vampup is, rather obviously, a vampire, and Vaako has his Necroism, which both unnerve Bones, though he does eventually coax out a little of Vampup’s softer side and he respects Vaako’s respect of a chain of command.

Dredd is the one who scares Bones. He’s even-tempered, growly, a little bit a lot punchy when need be, and betrays no emotion. It spooks Bones to know they share the same face under that helmet. He’s aware there’s a person under there, but maybe not as person as whole as they could be.

Vincent is the one Bones will get snappy and snarky and even angry with. He doesn’t approve of his behavior, he thinks he’s spoiled and overpriveleged, and he can’t stand the thought that someone with his face could just take in a woman and then throw her away when he was done playing with her.

#musikat speaks #ask musikat #ask me anything #urban shitposting

[fluffymusketeer]

about fluffymusketeer

Updated 25th May 2019

Hi there! Welcome!

Danni | 33 | she/her | INTP | British | “mature” student | bisexual | fangirl

My blog is 90% Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan. It is not spoiler-free. Occasional NSFW content, if tumblr lets me.

My beautiful header was drawn by the fabulous Noe. If you want to reblog the full version, here is the link <3

✽ My favourite characters are: Levi, Eren, Historia, Armin, Falco, Zeke, and Hanji. My SNK husband is Porco #pokkudannu

✽ My ships are: Ereri (this is an ereri-centric blog) and yumikuri. Occasional  winmin, jeankasa, levifar, erehisu, and ererifar.  Zevi is a fun crack/trash ship. I won’t generally reblog “shippy” fanart for other pairings, because I think it’s nice to know what you can expect. I do reblog friendship/brotp/funny stuff though, I like all the dynamics in SNK!

Everything is tagged. 

My Content

my dolls | my fanfic

✽ I write fanfic, I’m fluffymusketeer on AO3. I have a fragile writer’s soul! Reviews are always appreciated <3

✽ I also have Twitter & Instagram!

✽ I have five SNK obitsuroids, and I also have obitsuroids for Yuri on Ice and Star Wars. It’s kind of an addiction. An Obitsuroid Guide.

Such handsome boys <3

What you will NOT find on this blog:

✽ Reposted art: I check carefully where I reblog from, but occasionally I might miss something, so please let me know if I accidentally reblog some reposted art, I will remove it straight away. I’m a pretty chill person but I get growly over people disrespecting fandom creators XD

✽ Fandom drama/ship wars: This is a drama-free blog! I like all the characters in SNK, there’s not a single one I don’t appreciate for what they bring to the story. I support everyone in shipping (or not shipping!) and will never get involved in any ship bashing malarkey. You are free to ask me questions about why I do/don’t ship something and I will do my best to answer! Though rude/hateful anons will just be deleted, sorry.

#personal #about blog

[marco-on-wheels]

Director’s Cut

This was for a Creative Vigilance uni class about breaking the fourth wall. This is actually the thing that eventually got me into Undertale, even though the story has nothing to do with it. But some of the people in the workshop said I should play Undertale as this story was apparently “Just like it”

There are parts of this Tumblr’s tried to turn into links, just ignore it, I don’t know what kind of drugs this damn website is on anymore.

It’s under a read more because i’m putting it here but it’s not actually snk-related, just fanfiction related

Director’s Cut

“Why do you always have to get me to carry out your little pissing contests with Jack?” The young adult folded his green, tumoured, arms over his chest. The two infected ‘zombies’ peered down over the ledge. Danny, the younger one, stood a little further back from the ledge while his companion spied through the branches of a tree just below them, which was growing up and outward from the little cliff. A slimy tongue slapped him. He rubbed the back of his head and coughed at the extra smoke the smack forced out of his boils, glaring at the other smoker.

“It’s not a pissing contest, I just can’t stand him.” The older smoker paused, leaning back against the tree branches and peering through the leaves. He grinned around his cigarette, the smoke from it mingling with his own green clouds. He hissed quietly over his shoulder. “Alright, Danny, when I say ‘now’ you lasso him.”

“You just don’t want your tongue clawed off this time.” Danny grumbled under his breath; however he still flicked his longest tongue out.

“Steady …steady-NOW!”

Fast as a whip, Danny shot his tongue down through the branches lassoing the hunter-type infected around the middle. He made sure to catch Jack’s arms.  If he was going to be dragged into this, he’d rather not have his tongue clawed short again.

Once constricted Jack let out a loud feral snarl from deep in his throat, similar to a wolf giving a warning. Although he couldn’t move much, he still squirmed and wiggled in an attempt to free himself. His claws were useless.

“Great! Now just keep holding him.” Smokes climbed down the ledge, using his own tongue to keep from slipping.

Danny rolled his single yellow eye, in the half of his face not covered with gas-filled tumours.

“Smokes! Get your fuckin’ slimy-ass tongue offa me!” Jack snarled in his Bronx, New York accent.

“Ain’t mine.”

“Quit usin’ da kid! Tech-a-nickally, he’s in my pack, ya chooch!”

“So what-”

BANG!

The tongue wrapped around Jack went limp, and an ominously large amount of green smoke was emitted from behind the tree.

Before he even hit the ground Jack started to climb up. “Kid – hey Kid! Uh, Dan, you ’ight?” At the top, Jack found Danny lying motionless by the tree. His smoke had already begun to dissipate. Though they were hidden in the shadow of his hoodie, Jack’s eyes widened as his mouth dropped. “Aw fuck, Kid...”

“Jack, what happened? You’re too quiet!” Smokes called from below.

Jack took a moment before calling back down “It’s da game. Someone’s playin’ again.” Jack’s growly voice caught a little. “I guess a playa saw Danny boy, and dey got scared…” That was all he needed to say.

Smokes didn’t respond at first, then he kicked the tree in frustration and swore under his breath.

It was then that Jack’s internal game programming started kicking in. As if a year of independent existence didn’t even count, he was just a mindless game antagonist again. He growled. “Before yours kicks in, go warn da others!” Keeping low to the ground, Jack crept on all fours in the direction his programming told him the survivors took.

Smokes could already feel it: a deep internal pull, nagging to go after the four playable survivors. He shook as he tried to pry himself away from the tree and to not simply climb it and follow Jack after the survivors.

With effort and mental strain, Smokes managed to wrench himself away from the tree. The survivors had moved far enough away.

Not waiting for the mental tug to return, Smokes turned and jogged down paths, the tap of stones and snap of cracking branches following his thudding feet as he made his way to the rest of Jack’s pack. Occasionally he stopped and wheezed, heavily regretting his life choice in becoming a ‘double’ smoker. Maybe he should at least quit the cigarettes.

Gasping for air, he powerwalked the rest of the way.

It felt like years before he finally made it to the small pool the other hunters stayed near.

The hunters were all doing different activities. Some were curled up sleeping in the grass like dogs and others were either drinking from the pool or trying to catch fish. Hank, the hunter Smokes was looking for, in his awful bright orange hoodie, was slashing at a tree, using it as a housecat uses a scratching post.

Smokes cringed. He didn’t want to have this talk. But he had to. Running a hand through his hair, Smokes approached the hunter.  “Hank, we need to talk. There’s been an … accident.”

The blond hunter turned his attention up to the taller infected. He’d been grinning, probably about to make some joke about Smokes having an accident. However, his amusement faded due to Smokes’s grim and apologetic expression.

“Whut hayappened?”

“It’s Danny. He – I was having him help me mess with Jack. It was going great at first – Ow!”

Hank had managed to snag the smoker’s tongue and had given it a tug before releasing it so the smoker could talk. “Ya’ll’re ramblin’! Spit it out, boy! Whut t’ hell hayappened ta Danny?”

“He’s dead.”

Hank fell silent before he shoved Smokes against the tree. “Whut did you dew!”

“I didn’t. Someone’s playing. Survivors returned.”

Hank’s hard stare lowered as he released Smokes. He backed away until he half sat-half fell, looking dazed at nothing in particular. “It’s beeyen so long. Ah thought they wasn’t gonna come bayack ’til Valve learnt how ta count ta three.”

Smokes hesitated. It was his grudge that did it. His rivalry with Jack had put Danny in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe he didn’t have the right to console Danny’s partner. Eventually he moved forward to pat the hunter on the shoulder.

“How long?”

“Hm?” Smokes bent down to hear the usually loud hunter’s quiet question.

“How long ago did this hayappen?” Hank’s normally cheerful southern voice sounded hollow as he turned to look up at the smoker.

“Uh.” Smokes cast his gaze to the side while he thought. “It felt like ages, but it probably wasn’t that long ago. Why?”

Hank ignored the question. “Where wuz it?”

“Before the safe house. Halfway through the level.”

“So, the servahvers might jess’ still be in this here campaign, am ah right?”

“…Yeah,” Smokes replied slowly while eyeing Hank. “What are you planning?”

Hank pushed himself up. “So there’s a chance he’s still ’round here, too, am ah right?”

Understanding washed over Smokes’s face. “Hank, no. Not the Director! You know what he’s like. He even punishes the damn players when they don’t follow his little rules! He can spawn – and de-spawn – infected whenever he feels like it!”

“It’s steel worth a shot!"

Leaping away before Smokes was able to catch him, Hank disappeared into the trees.

Hank sprinted through the level, splashing through puddles, narrowly dodging around trees and the occasional wandering infected. He ran on all fours, using his mutated elongated claws to dig into the earth to propel himself further, faster with every leap added to the sprint.

It wasn’t long until the blond hunter started tripping over bodies of fallen infected as well as survivors. “Guess they had to respawn a few times themselves,” he muttered. “Gotta be close.”

One body was familiar. It was Jack. "Aw Boss... shit...I know Tim wanted t’ leadership, but not like this..."

All too soon he began to feel that tug to attack the survivors. Though, after what they did to Danny, it was only partly because of his programming.

"I need some help here! I can’t get out of here by myself!"

“Yeah, yeah Nick. Hold yer horses. Tarnation! Ahma comin’. Jeez Louise!”

Flinging himself under a bush and out of sight, Hank surveyed the area through the leaves, trying to spot the survivors. There they were, the same four asshole personas the game always used as survivors.

The one in a cap, with a southern drawl similar to his own, swung open an outhouse door to release the grumpy one in what probably had been a once white suit. The large guy and angry, tough-looking girl were close by, surveying the area.

Hank stayed low, digging his claws into dirt to keep from springing at them.

The tug grew stronger and stronger. Hank finally shut the eye that hadn’t been clawed out, silently hoping the survivors would hurry up and walk away.

As the need to attack only continued to grow, through the foggy haze of programming, it started to dawn on Hank that he was probably watching.

Hank clenched his fangs. ‘No, no. C’mon, fight it…’ He wasn’t focusing on the survivors and just concentrated on not running after them, when before he realized it, the desire to chase them passed. The four survivors were finally sashaying their way forward.  After another moment, he finally peered around. As he did, the outhouse door shut on its own, only to reopen to full darkness.

Prying his claws from the earth, Hank cautiously snuck to the outhouse. On the way he paused a couple times to search around, making sure the survivors weren’t coming back. His head was only just starting to clear.

As Hank approached the empty blackness, he peered inside. He could see nothing but he sensed the space was huge. After a few careful steps, the door slammed shut, forcing him to tumble the rest of the way in.

Hank shook his head, disorientated from the fall, when lights filled the room blinding him. He held a hand up to shield his eye and squinted ahead.

“You’re quite the persistent one,” droned an uninterested voice, the speaker hidden in the bright light. He sounded like a bored businessman with way too much power.

Letting his vision adjust, Hank kept a hand up. “You’re The Dee-rector, right?”

“Indeed. Not many disobey the rules enough for me to call them in here.” The game’s primary program folded his arms over his chest, leaning on a desk in front of many monitors that Hank only just realized were in the room. He’d never actually met The Director in ‘person’ before.

Hank finally dropped his hand from blocking the light and puffed up his chest in an attempt to look braver than he felt now that he was here. “Wayell gud. Ah wuz lookin’ fer yew.”

The Director blinked, slowly, indifferently. “Go on, Hank. I’m listening.”

Hank took a breath first. “Um. Earlier mah, mah …freyend Danny wuz shot ‘n’ keeld. Ah wants yew ta, well yes, respawn him – but not reset him.”

“No.”

Hank stared at The Director in stunned horror, unable to move.   “No! No, yew haff ta-”

The Director put a hand up, causing Hank to interrupt himself. “I don’t have to do anything. I run a little world here and I run it how I see fit.”

Hank swallowed the lump in his throat and refused to walk away. He clenched his fists. “No. Ah’m not leavin’ until yew restore Danny’s personality. Ah, Ah mean, after ya bring ’im bayack.” He spoke firmly, though there was clearly a tremble in his voice.

The Director raised an eyebrow. “Well I’ll give you this – you certainly don’t back down from something you want. But there’s actually a reason retaining memories is dangerous. Eventually this will spread and before long every infected will want to keep their memories. Then what? Nothing would happen when the players show up as survivors. The infected would have their own lives to live rather than keeping to the program. Eventually this world will go inactive. If it goes inactive for too long,  I go inactive. If that happens, you and all the others cease to exist. That’s not a threat. That’s just how things would happen. It would be out of even my control.”

Hank’s eye widened and his mouth went dry. He couldn’t respond. All he could think was that if Danny was there ‘he’d be smart enough to think of just the right words, just the right tone. He’d know how to counter that.’

“Ah, but – what ee-if-”

The Director glided forward and began ushering Hank out. “You’ll move on. If it helps I’ll erase your memories of Danny so you won’t have to miss him.”

Hank scraped his claws along the tiled floor as the Director shoved him to the door. “Wait!” Once he was outside, Hank bent back and caught the door with his claws. He dug them in, trying to keep it from closing while looking back, upside-down, at a very unimpressed Director. “Wait. Whut-whut about a … deal?”

Rubbing his temple, the Director reached down, grabbing Hank by the hood of his hoodie. He ripped Hank loose from the door, but rather than tossing him outside, he dropped him on the floor instead. “I’m not agreeing – but I do like a good deal.”

“Ohhkay. Okay, th’ deal: yew bring Danny bayack, his mem’ries and all, but do ee-it  just fer our li’l group a guys, and only fer, like, a  week or so, ta see if it works. Like, we’d have no goldurn problem ’bout attacking them there servahvers, if ain’t none of us could die! Now then, ah see yer point, iffen we start jess keepin’ away  frum them goldurn servahvers, then, wayell, yer right, we’d haff ta go back ta th’ way eeit’s always beeyen. BUT, iffen we kin stick to yer program, and fight th’ li’l basturds frum time ta time, then maybe jess chaynge eeit ta lettin’ us keep our mem’ries?” Hank spoke loud and fast, having to catch his breath after.

The Director didn’t reply right away, rubbing his chin with a finger, eyeing Hank up and down while he thought. Without warning he grabbed Hank’s hand, tight. “Fine. You have yourself a deal. But let me add something: If it doesn’t work out, you will be the only one to live with your memories. Alone.” His lips curled upwards. “That’s our deal.”

Hank swallowed hard.

With that The Director released Hank and glided back to his desk. He tapped a few keys on the keyboard before turning back to Hank. “You better get going. You have one week to change my mind about wiping memories with each respawn.”

Hank all but flew from the room.

He soon collided with a familiar smoker, the force knocking them both down.

“Ouch… Hank?”

“DANNY!” Pushing himself up, Hank launched at the smoker, holding him close. “Are ya ok?”

Danny propped himself up on an arm. “Head kind of hurts but otherwise I’m ok. Something happen?”

Hank huffed, climbing to his feet and pulling Danny up too. “Layet’s head back. Ah’ll fill ya eein on th’ way.”

#left 4 dead #left 4 dead 2 #l4d #l4d2 #Smoker #Hunter #Director A.I. #fic