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iphoenixrising · 3 years

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DickTim Week 2021: Day 5 Winged!Talon Tim au

So. another dual prompt and I really regret nothing about this one tbh. I took tomorrow’s Talon and today’s Wings and made a Winged!Talon!Tim fic. Of course, I talked to the wonderful babes on Capes & Coffee about a what if combination and this just, whew. Careful, it might break your heart a little, but damn if it isn’t an interesting idea.

Not beta read, so don't be a hater :D

Previous Talon!Tim universe posts: The initial idea, Babe and I talking it out, Talon Training Ask, Ra’s vs the Court, Talon and Ra’s, Talon and Ra’s take 2, Talon and Shiva short.

Watching B take on the new and improved Talon is really the entertainment of the year.

Once upon a time it had taken all of them plus more to take down as much of the Court of Owls as humanly possible. Of course, like rats, the Bats knew there would be no way to get the entire Court or all the Talons, not when the upper echelons of Gotham had spent the better part of 200 years creating, storing, training, and obtaining more.

Politicians were investigated, corrupt cops removed, and criminals burrowed underground once word of what the capes did to save the day got passed around.

For the first time in years, crime in Gotham was at an all time low.

But, as the coin flip dictates, nothing good lasts forever. Trouble is always brewing below the surface to eventually rise to the top and try to take over.

Case in point:

The Bats of Gotham have come up against a new threat wearing the signature Talon armor, and the call goes out to all available capes for help taking on the undead mercenary before another crime family ends up in the Obituaries rather than Blackgate.

The fact the Court is still up and running after the Batfamily took them down in a fiery blaze that ended with all their Talons gone, Sensei exposed, and most the ruling families imprisoned or poisoned by Lincoln March, is like a kick to the abdomen after they closed that particular book. Worse, with a new Talon soldier is sighted running around Gotham, another circus kid has been kidnapped and turned into the right hand of the Court of Owls. Dick, with his absolute survivors guilt, is the one to make going after the Talon and whoever is still behind the scenes a top priority.

Which is how they find themselves in the middle of Knight’s Stadium facing down a Talon that is too short to be March. Red Hood, Nightwing, Robin, Batgirl, and Black Bat pretty much got their asses handed to them in the first twelve minutes. Pretty hard to understand until you take into account the new and improved Talon facing them now is terrifying in a completely different way than most undead assassins are.

He knows them.

He knows them in ways that lets him fight fast and furious with vicious accuracy, striking at weaknesses few of the vigilantes of Gotham realized they even had.

He isn't as big as Lincoln or even Cobb, not nearly as old. He hasn't been kept in cryostasis waiting for the next generation to need his skills. He doesn't have creaks in his joints from being put on deep freeze too many times.

This one is silent and efficient, obviously trained in multiple types of martial arts, is highly proficient with or without the standard Talon knives, is a master tactician, counters the majority of their moves with alarming consistency–

and the fucking Talon has wings.

Honest-to-God wings.

Everyone had assumed the metal monstrosities on his back were weapons of some kind, but the glint of steel in the streetlight flash a warning before the lumps moved in an arch, extending far out past his shoulder blades, slicing into Red Hood’s body suit with a razor-sharp edge, shredding the armor like paper.

It’s not enough he’s got weapons obviously made specifically for his skill set, it’s not enough he’s an assassin and doesn’t hold to the same standards of non-lethal combat, it’s not enough that he can use his wings to fly or to fight like he’s using another limb to kick the shit out of them, and it’s not enough that he effortlessly counters so many of their attacks that he has to have some kind of inside information on all of them and their fighting styles.

The knives are definitely a thing when the Talon can throw them hard enough to penetrate parts of their suits in between armored plating, which further drives the theory that this is a person they’ve dealt with before. Intimately. Few people in the world know how their suits are made. Even more, few people know particulars enough when their suits are constantly reconstructed.

The only thing on their side that tipped the scales in their favor–

–the Batman.

The wings threw him off his game, obviously, but not enough to stop B from holding his own with swift and merciless force.

It's like watching a dance of fast and furious fists, blades in Talon's hands glinting deadly in the night, finding B's suit over and over and over until he's made it to blood and bone. He takes every hit the Batman can dish out, head snapping back, left, and right with the volley of jaw-breaking blows and bone-shattering kicks.

None of it gives the Talon pause. When a move makes him drop a blade, another is already in hand, cutting into their body suits, wings flipping out to defend or distract, sweeping moves and well coordinated attacks.

The unnatural appendages are like another arm, another leg, an extension working on the same central nervous system, regardless as to how the Court managed to make it happen.

A jump kick off a trash can is a lucky shot as a wing catches B in the ribs hard enough to knock him into the wall of Mike's Famous Hotdogs. The only thing saving the Dark Knight from a concussion or permanent brain damage is the plating in his cowl.

It gives the Talon enough time to make a final bid for a battered Nightwing, Red Hood, and Robin struggling to their feet again, eyes for their fallen mentor.

Before he can lunge forward to start the attack yet again, the Talon just stops, pauses like he’s stuck or something, and in the span of a breath, both wings extend fully, flap powerfully once to propel him up into the Gotham night.

O tries her best to track his flight through the city, but no one’s arms are working well enough to toss a tracker on him.

She loses him over Cape Carmine, slams her palms against her system in frustration, makes sure she gets as much footage from the confrontation as possible.

After some sleep and a whole lot of bandages and ice packs, the Bat family meets in the Cave to watch the footage, breakdown the Talon’s fighting style, his weaponry, and make theories on his identity.

O helps out with readings she has of electronic pulses she managed to capture coming from the armor over his wings. She thinks she might be able to use it to track him if they can get close enough for her equipment to ping the signal again.

B makes a trip to Arkham since Freeze apparently hasn’t stopped producing the formula used to put Talons in cryostasis.

It’s not until Gotham’s power grid has a massive surge that O and the Bats can pinpoint a possible location, all of them invested in one hell of a fight to get the last rats still scurrying in the underground.

The plan of attack comes together smoothly once they’ve scoped out the location, seen the shady activity, and together, they make one hell of a plan.

And because, you know, Gotham, it is completely normal for the Court of Owl's headquarters to have a skylight.

Natch.

For this one, they've got Batgirl and Black Bat, Red Hood and Robin, Nightwing and B, a real family affair.

O's quiet voice over comms leading them through the maze of traps and empty rooms, abandoned libraries and spooky ball rooms. The laboratory isn't the most horrific they've all ever seen (because the Joker's summer place is literally the stuff of nightmares), but a few of them do gag on the smell alone.

The plan, however, goes horribly awry when the clear sounds of tormented screaming echoes from right under their reinforced bootheels.

Black Bat's fists clench hard, her breathing wheezes out when the tone, the utter agony goes right through her.

A shudder slides up Robin's spine as all of them turn toward the noise.

Without a flicker or a word, the Batman moves, strafing in the shadows toward the sound. He can't assume it's an innocent civilian with something the Court wants, but he's betting on the fact that scream will lead them to whoever is running the show.

The medieval room has bars and reinforced locks, implements hanging on the wall. The cement brick is stained rust colored with old blood, the vestiges of training, and the awful realization they've found another hidden niche in the city that always existed right under their noses is punctuated with the abrupt drop in temperature, with the sudden charge in the air, with the zzzzcrack snapping beyond the door, replaced with a muted buzzing Robin can feel in his back teeth.

B is already on his way to the roof, Batgirl down through the floor vent while Nightwing picks the locks with fast precision, knocking the tumblers around.

Robin and Red Hood stay close to the reinforced door, balancing on the balls of their feet, katana and .45s at the ready.

Black Bat takes the high road, ceiling tiles giving way under her Bat-a-rang. She gives a sharp nod before she's up and gone.

"All right. Ready?" Nightwing stands, cracks his neck, flips his escrimas in both hands, works his shoulders to prepare for the strain of each blow he plans to give.

"Ya betcha ass," Hood murmurs low, a cut figure with both guns at his sides, gloved fingers on the trigger guard.

"Don't disappoint," Robin snarls, "either of you."

"Nice pep talk, squirt," Nightwing snickers.

"Tt, back up your mouth with action."

"Better shuddap, Demon. Golden Boy ain't fuckin' 'round. Neither is the Bat. We get one more chance a' this asshole. We ain't gonna blow it again, ya feel me?"

"Finally, something we agree on, Hood."

"Other than N's shitty mullet?"

Nightwing swiftly glares at them both over his shoulder, unconsciously putting himself front and center of the trio, ready to be the first in once they get the signal.

– which is the sound of the glass raining down from the heavens.

Three booted feet kick the door hard enough to take it off the hinges, lying against the faded stains like a fallen body.

First step in the room is the complete opposite to what they'd all been expecting.

The two Owl masks aren't the usual, but a perversion of the originals, crudely drawn yawning mouths complete with fangs dripping blood.

But.

The boy on his knees, arms in a binder holding the appendages hostage at a painful angle, is dripping the real thing. Rivulets down his chest and where his back is partially visible. Some from the base of the wings going into the back of his shoulder blades where the skin is torn and raw.

The bar gag shoved in his mouth doesn't take away from the splatters on his chin, the bruising on his face, the swollen eye. But it's his wings that makes the Bats falter from the initial rushing attack.

His wings are without the armor, are bound straight up above his restrained body with hooks grotesquely puncturing through the downy softness, desecrating the beauty with blood and gore. The angle makes the pull to his back where the wings are part of him just another agony on top of atrocity.

"Fuck," from the first Owl mask, and a swift move frees the Talon's bound arms, the appendages flopping uselessly to the floor, only his trapped, tortured wings keeping him up on his knees.

The second Owl shoves the first back, "let him take care of them. Let's get out of here!"

The first Owl snarls out something low and foreign, the phrases rolling off his tongue.

The words lock into place, and the Talon's head snaps up, snarling around the gag in his mouth.

When his face is finally, finally visible, the protectors of Gotham are frozen in their tracks.

Familiar violet-blue eyes, too-long blue-black hair, cut jawline and pointed nose. Tiny scar on his right cheek from the time he caught Ra's al Ghul's ring across the face.

"Jesus Fucking Christ," is barely heard through the Red Hood's synths and in no way fully expresses his utter horror at what these dirty motherfuckers have done.

Robin wretches, bile burning the back of his throat once those eyes swing up to the masked parody of the Owls and his bare upper body is visible through the blood and sweat on his chest, when the scars peeking through on his collar bones form a half-visible Y-incision, when the coloring of the bared wings now makes sense (robin's wings, Damian Wayne thinks with his heart beating pitter patter fast, and his stomach in knots, they put robin's wings on him...).

And the hurt, agonized noise coming out of Nightwing's chest is the only noise he can make when those dimmed, dazed eyes swing from the Owls back to the vigilantes frozen in their spots, when there's no spark of joy or fondness or stubbornness he's so used to seeing staring him down.

The errant thought, the first instinct, is the only humane way to deal with this new Talon is to put him down for good wars with the man behind the mask that only wants to reach out, wants to pull the Talon into his body and curve over, to scream at the injustice of it all, to rail at himself for not even suspecting.

Another switch flipped and the hooks release his wings, blood splattering on top the old stains.

"Get them! Don't fuck it up this time or you won't get another chance," the second Owl shoves the Talon's injured shoulder in the direction of the horrified vigilantes.

They don't even bother to take the gag out of his mouth before setting him on his target.

A flap of wings, and the Talon is on his feet again, swaying only slightly. He's in the boots and pants from earlier, the rest of his uniform tossed carelessly behind him by his tormentors. A sweep of his feet and the knives glint in bare palms, a whisper of a sound.

The curved, clawed blade glints in the overhead light when the Talon raises it and cuts the strap of the bar gag in his bloody mouth, turns his head to spit it out without looking away from the vigilantes.

The Batman, grim and stoic in the face of this surprising turn of events, gives the barest nod. From her hiding spot behind the complex machinery, Black Bat takes off after the running Owl members, leaving the rest of the family to deal with their former third Robin.

The wings flinchingly flare out and their former bird hunches over, ready for the attack.

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait,” the Red Hood removes the helmet, leaves the domino underneath. He keeps one hand out in peace, slowly dipping down to put his helmet on the ground. “Is us, Tim. Timmy. Baby Bird. Is us. Yer family. Gotta lookit us, yeah?”

For the first time, the Talon speaks, “who’s Tim?”

And then he lunges.

The fight happens very differently this time.

The former power behind the punches is obviously dulled with the Talon’s identity reveal. He doesn’t hold back, is utterly ruthless with his attacks. He takes out B’s right knee, puts Hood down on the stained floor, knocks Robin into the wall with crushing force, and slams Batgirl’s head off the operating table.

He stands over Nightwing, wicked blade in hand and robin’s wings spread wide. He takes a knee, the sharp edge right above N’s adam’s apple, staring down impassively into the whiteouts.

“Timmy,” N spits blood, grunting when one knee pins his arm down. “Timmy, please. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I love you and I’m sorry they did this to you.”

Those eyes don’t change in the slightest. “You should not have tried to oppose the Owls.”

“We beat them once,” Nightwing gasps, “and you helped us, Baby Bird. You were with us then, don’t you remember.”

“I was nothing before the Court perfected me,” the Talon replies emotionlessly.

“You were perfect before they ever touched you.”

“No,” and the Talon leans down, puts them a breath away. “The only thing you and those others do is put the criminals back in prison, back in Arkham for them to escape again, for them to kill and destroy over and over again. Like this, I can stop them permanently.”

“Oh Timmy,” and behind the whiteouts, Nightwing’s eyes spill over, his vision wavery. “Timmy–”

“Don’t call me that. Stop calling me that.”

“You know me, you know us. You have to remember–”

“Lies. All of it lies!”

Nightwing’s chest stutters, his fist clenching, “it’s not. None of it is. Not even this–”

And he’s fast enough to grab the back of the Talon’s neck, to lean up enough against the blade pressed against his throat, can bring their mouths together, can kiss him like he’s dying and the Talon is the only thing that can save him.

It’s sloppy and awkward because the Talon doesn’t know what’s happening, gasps against the vigilante’s mouth. The tongue sliding over his, the muffled moan in his mouth sparks something in the back of his brain where the Court of Owls could never touch.

When Nightwing pulls back, stares up at wide violet-blue eyes, when the blade falls away to clatter against the block, when the Talon’s mouth trembles and tears fill his eyes, when his wings flutter and falter, fold in on them both, when his voice goes hoarse with, “D-Dick?” Nightwing throws both arms around his waist and holds on.

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 3 years

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HASO, “Abort?”

Happy Tuesday guys, I hope you are all enjoying your week. Forgive me any mistakes I make here as I only have a few hours to write before work, and I am usually in a rush.

“Both of you get your suits back on.”

“What the hell is going on!” Richards demanded

Adam took a deep breath, “Captain Richards that was not an opening for a discussion, that was an order. Now put the damn suit on, or I swear I will knock you out and do it myself. The three of them were floating in the module staring at each other, hands resting against what must have been no more than a few millimeters of aluminum.

He stared at them, and they stared back.

Adam did not break eye contact willing the two willing them to do as they were told. Chavez was the first to move, hurrying over to her space suit and struggling to pull it on in a near panic as bright lights flashed from outside. Inside his heart was pounding but he tried to remain calm for the two standing before him.

He hurried over to help Chavez pull on her gear, finally sealing the helmet in place as Richards finally moved to do the same.

Adam helped pull the hard torso over the man’s head and link it to the waist before helping him pull on his gloves and, eventually the helmet. Before he let go, he kept hold of Richards by either side of the helmet staring at him through the glass, “I promise, if you listen to me, I will keep you safe.”

He kept eye contact with the other man until Richards finally nodded, and Adam let him go to float over and put on his own suit. His hands were steady, for now, but he knew as soon as the crisis was over he'd be shaking like a leaf.

If he survived.

He gritted his teeth, cursing himself for thinking like that. He was Admiral VIr for crying out loud. He had survived far too much to go and die now. He returned to the helm of the command module as he looked out the thick window at the lights flashing on either side of them. Despite the war that was raging around them, everything seemed so strangely quiet. There was no sound no rumbling, not even a vibration as one of the jets flew past.

Despite being at the controls of the vehicle, there was nothing he could do. They only had a certain amount of fuel to get them to the lunar surface, and if he wasted any of it at all, they would be either caught in orbit, or miss the moon entirely.

He had to keep his cool.

Another bright burst of light lit the window to his right. This one was closer this time.

His heart leaped up into his throat.

Richards and Chaves joined him buckling into their seats.

“What is going on.” Richards demanded again, his mike distant and tinny with the sound of very old technology.

“I believe anti alliance forces are attempting to assassinate me. They have been trying for months now, and I think they are being encouraged by very powerful members of the government.”

They watched as another set of ships zoomed past.

He saw a flash of a silhouette, just enough to know that one of them was a thunderhawk and the other was a silver Rundi drone.

It confirmed his worst fears. The Chairwoman had been behind this the whole time.

***

Red nearly collided with the rocket. The Thunderhawk had pulled up the last minute, but he had almost been too late. He jerked the stick to the side, throwing up his wing ust in time to avoid hitting the rocket as it made it’s slow way through space. He dove down on the other side forced to break off pursuit and cut in front of another thunderhawk coming in from above. He made to look like he was going to ram them, playing a dangerous game of chicken which he won at the last second as the other pilot panicked and cut to the left.

There were too many of them. Only five out of the original twenty had been destroyed, and he and the rest of their pilots were busy just keeping the thunderhawks away from the rocket, much less to have any time of firing at them.He had sent one of his people down to earth and one of them off towards the moon for backup. The moon was still hours away yet, so the hope that some help would be sent from them was unlikely, and even the man he had sent down to earth’s surface was cutting it close.

He didn’t have much hopes that they would be able to hold out that long.

Inside the cockpit his warning lights began to blink and blair as one of the other jets got a lock on hi. He rolled right to avoid them and dove down, cutting off the lock but still being pursued by those behind him. Up ahead he saw one of the silver balls erupt into flames as it was targeted by an expert hit from one of the thunderhawk pilots.

He rolled right.

Someone else rolled left. He cut up just in time to avoid being hit and raced forward to cut off another bird that was heading directly towards the rocket.

***

Eris hurried down the hallway, her knees screaming as she did her very best to sprint, but despite her human anatomy, she was a little too much like a starborn. With a cry of frustration she reached up and tore off her hoodie, throwing it to the ground and engaging her anti gravity belt. The ribbons on her back billowed out behind her.

Light spilled in from the windows on either side of the catwalk she was now on, filling her with a buzzing energy that she could feel radiating through the ribbons like electricity. She knew from her study of starborn that they could travel at thousands of miles an hour in the vacuum of space, especially when under the power of a star. She didn’t think she needed to go THAT fast, but anything would be better than what she was doing now.

As if in response to her will, she suddenly began to glide forward, picking up speed as she swooped towards the end of the hall, wind catching her in the face and roaring along her cheeks. WIth her starborn skin, she barely felt a thing as she raced around the corner and out of the waiting door. Two men dressed in military ACUs dived to the side as she blew past them crying out in alarm and confusion as the “Alien” floated by.

Somewhere distantly, she could sense Conn racing in the opposite direction towards the base.

Sunny and captain kelly had Admiral Massie in their custody and were dragging him out into the hallway.

She blew across the open ground her ribbons snapping and billowing behind her as she did. She didn’t even have time to imagine what she looked like as she roared over the open field and towards the waiting news vans which were just beginning to pack up their things. They were close to leaving, but she set out a sharp hard telepathic pulse ordering them to stop.

Compelling them to stop.

They froze in their tracks and looked up to see her coming.

Someone scrambled to turn on their camera, not sure what was going on but sure it had to be something good.

She tried not to think about what they would see as the camera flared to life following her approach.

“Make us live.” She ordered

The news people glanced between each other in confusion, “But no, we aren;t”

“What are-”

She came to a sudden jolting stop before them, her billowing black hair fanning out behind her like a curling halo.

“I said, put us on air.”

This time the telepathic pulse was too strong to resist. Mostly that pair with the fact that none of them were sure they wanted to resist. She was too interesting to pass up. They hurried to do what they were doing, and Eris was given just enough time to feel nervous before the camera was turned to her.

They were live.

She read it in the minds of those behind camera who she cut off as she began to speak, “Citizens of Earth, there has been a horrible conspiracy against you. The UN president has ordered the assasination of Admiral Adam Vir and has continually attempted to sabotage the mission. Just now General massie was taken into custody after ordering the deployment of twenty thunderhawks to harass the rocket and make its destruction look like some sort of collision with space debris.”

The group gawked at her as she raised her hand with the small silver device and began playing the recording. She knew something like this would never be admissible in court. She was pretty sure it would be considered entrapment of some kind, which is why it must be heard now, before everyone, so that the actions of the president could be judged by a jury of the world where it could not be hidden by political machinations.

“Communications have been lost with Apollo 11. And it is….. Well…. It is likely that he is already dead…..” Her voice broke, “No matter what happens, I need you, and this nation to understand what is happening before it gets swept under the rug. I saw it with my own eyes, heard it with my own ears and experienced their meeting in the thoughts of a man who is both xenophobic and hateful to his own humankind.”

She kept talking trying to give them all the information she could, spilling thoughts she had heard in the head of the UN president. Every meeting, every liaison, every name until her voice was beginning to crack.

***

The UN president was just standing to enter her vehicle when a slow muttering began in the crowd behind her. SHe turned as the ground before her went silent. She watched as a wave ran through the people. A wave of nudging and whispering and showing off news feeds they had pulled up on their wrist implants. It wasn’t long before the entire crowd was either staring down at their arms or clustered around someone else for viewing.

“What is going on.” She wondered turning to one of her men who was staring down at her own wrist.

“Madame president?” He said with a look of confusion.

She could hear it now.

“Her and general massie have ordered members of the UNSC to adjust funds in order to hide the twenty thunderhawks they were squirting away for just such an event.” She hurried forward grabbing the secret serviceman by the arm staring at it as she watched the streaming newsfeed and the freaky white alien with the large dark eyes and flowing black hair.

“She is afraid of aliens, she wishes to isolate and eventually use humanity’s superior forces to overtake trade in the galaxy-”

The muttering behind her had turned into an angry grumbling, and she turned to see the eyes of hundreds hat turned towards her.

“Get me out of here.” She hissed

The Secret Serviceman took a step back with a look of confusion and indecision on his face.

“It’s your job.” he snarled

He just stared at her.

She hurriedly ran over to her car as the crowd began to filter in around them pressing close. A few of the secret service men pulled guns but a large majority of them were frozen with indecision and were taken over by the crowd. She scrambled into the back seat of her vehicle and slammed the door shut screaming at the driver to get moving.

The crowd was surrounding them now pounding at the glass.

She could hear their angry voices raised for her to be heard behind bullet proof glass.

Outside, she watched a lone figure step onto the platform where the lectern was and stare at her with it’s beady black eyes. The Chairwoman of the GA stood over the crowd like it’s filthy alien lord.

And even though Rundi could not smile, she could swear it was smiling.

***

Baby K hit a rough patch of turbulence coming down from the atmosphere. She struggled with the controls as she was thrown left and right inside the cockpit of her rickety shuttle. Donovan red had ordered her down here to grab the UNSC, but she was so scared and full of adrenaline that she had dropped it at too steep an angle. The ride was much bumpier than it was supposed to be, and her teeth were rattling inside her head.

“Unidentified vessel, you have crossed into UNSC airspace, identify yourself or be destroyed.”

She scrambled for her communications, but her fingers felt as stiff as wood as she scrambled for the button.

“I repeat, unidentified vessel, you have entered UNSC airspace, you are ordered to identify yourself or be destroyed.”

She slammed her first into the comms button nearly panicking, “UNSC.” Her voice was rattling, “This is B-baby K, and I….. The Apollo 11 is under attack!” she was breathless as she forced the words out.

There was silence over the coombs, “Say again.”

“Apollo 11 is under attack!”

More silence, “Roger that.”

Two jets pulled up to the side of her, those she recognized as two F-90 Darkfires.

One of them adjusted its angle and cut engines before switching to the fusion engine that rocketed it up and out of site.

The other stayed for a moment, “Unidentified vessel, please land on UNSC base airstrip one.” Before turning and following it’s comrade.

***

Conn raced towards the airstrip feeling the wind in the ribbons at his back. He couldn’t go nearly as fast as he wanted too with air resistance . Wythe hell did Adam always have to get into so much trouble, why did he always have to be the center of attention.

Everyone either hated him or loved him, but the problem was people who hated him also wanted to kill him.

Why did he have to be so controversial?

Why did he have to be hated for something that was such a big deal. Why couldn't he be hated for having controversial political opinions . Conn paused.

On second thought, controversial political opinions were kind of what had gotten them here in the first place, so he guessed that was kind of a useless comparison. How about being the kind of guy who liked to talk too much about fishing. That was a great way to make people hate you for being boring, but it didn’t usually mean that people wanted to kill you.

Maybe they could get the man a hobby doing something that wasn’t so controversial.

Kicking small Animals or.

Cannibalism.

He came roaring to the stop at the edge of the airfield ust in time to watch an entire platoon of pilots racing towards jets. He could hear their minds and looked up to see a rather dinky shuttle descending from the sky. He floated forward towards one of the jets as a pilot leaped inside.

He was going to need a ride.

The pilot turned to look at him but Conn just shook his head.

The pilot decided to ignore him in the confusion and Conn Grabbed on tight.

Starborn he had come to learn were a very interesting species in comparison to others. Vertically as from the top down he was very fragile and likely to break his neck or collapse his spine if there was any undue pressure, but with horizontal forces, he was practically indestructible. Below him the ship roared to life and soon they were gathering speed along the runway.

His grip was tight, and he used the extra energy from his ribbons to sped himself up along with the jet to reduce the pull on his arms.

His brip wasn’t that strong.

They went vertical almost immediately, and he made sure to orient his body in the correct direction as they went hurtling into the sky.

***

Red’s right wing had been hit. If there had been atmosphere around him he would have been a goner, but there was no air resistance here, so once he regained control of his roll, he pulled back into position and fired one last shot as the opportunity arose. The sixth thunderhawk was destroyed in an eruption of debris, which he dodged only with difficulty limping without the aid of the maneuvering jet on the end of his one wing. Things were only speeding up now, the Runid were almost gone and the pressure was being laid thick on his people. They were hard to hit but the pursuit made it almost impossible for them to do any real maneuvering of their own. He was almost hit again as another darkfire sped underneath him. They rolled this way and that rocking from one side to the other. Flying through debris and over strips of silver metal.

Below them the earth hung as a clowning orb.

Red cut in a wide circle coming in with the sun at his back using it to blind one of the enemy darkfires as he came in. he watched the group of them form up suddenly as a ring around the slow moving rocket intending quite certainly to rush it all at once. He screamed into the comm trying to order his men around, but it was going to be too late, he could already see it coming.

The jets rushed forward, and he did too screaming inside his helmet as they went to broadside Apollo 11.

And then with all the silence of space, sixteen F-90 Dark Fires came spitting overhead all at once raining down a line of ordinance that cut through the group of unsuspecting thunderhawks. Space around them was filled with a silent explosion as each and every one of them was ripped to shreds.

All except one.

He saw it at the last moment.

It had been hit in the tail and had gone wildly off course.

It turned sideways, but had just enough force….. For its wing to tear straight through the aluminum siding of the rocket.

Chavez and Richards had been ordered to strap into their seats. Adam had taken it upon himself to lock down the rest of the main cabin. Outside the flashing lights were like a fireworks display without sound. He grabbed onto one of the rails, forcing equipment back into the palace so that if anything happened it wouldn’t fly out.

His legs were kicked up behind him as he floated forward reaching for some of the controls as a sudden bright wash of light filtered in through the windows. He heard a scream over his com, and then the air around him was rent with a horrific tearing noise, which suddenly went silent. There was a rush, and he jerked forward as he was sucked back….. And out of the ship entirely.

His hands and legs kicked and flailed as he tried to right himself, hearing his own breathing as the only sound as he watched the rocket begin to spin debris erupting around him as air, and whatever wasn’t strapped down was sucked through the small opening.

The rocket was spinning wildly, he was spinning wildly in a silent abyss. Grunting against the force of his spin, he reached down for the controls to the CO2 canister built into the pack of his spacesuit.

He groaned not sure which way was up or down or back. He tried to right himself against the spin by firing in the opposite direction to slow his spin.he could see the rocket now spinning in the opposite direction with the sudden loss of oxygen. He hoped the other astronauts were ok. He saw the silhouette of a jet fly past in the distance making its way towards the spinning rocket.

At least there was someone here to help.

Maybe the others would survive-

And then he stopped, coming to a confusing halt in the middle of space.

That shouldn’t have been right. He should have kept going forever. He tried turning his head, but he felt like the pillsbury doughboy in this two thousand year old suit.

What was happening

“Did you miss me.”

Well shit, now he sort of wished he could keep spinning.

There was a tugging on the outside of his suit, and Conn floated into view in front of his helmet.

“Hey sweetheart.”

“You are probably the last person I wanted to see.” he said though he didn’t entirely mean it, and unfortunately Conn knew that too the mindreading asshole that he was.

I could hardly let the father of my child go spinning off into space without taking accountability for his family.”

“Shove it up your ass Conn.”

“No really, not even the vacuum of space is going to save you from your responsibilities. Now, about custody, I was thinking you could have every other weekend and a couple of major holidays”

He gave a ruful sort of smile as Conn grabbed him by the life support pack and started floating them towards the rocket, which the F-90s had somehow managed to slow the spin of the rocket, and pull it back on course with grappling magnets.

All around them space was filled with debris. No more darkfires were present and those that were were quickly being grappled. One sleek racing jet slowly cruises past them. One of its wings was damaged, but whoever was inside waved with one hand as he rolled past.

Adam lifted a hand as Conn brought him the last few hundred feet to the torn opening in the side of the ship, allowing him to step through.

Conn patted him on the side of the helmet, “make sure to be home by dinnertime sweetie.” Before blowing him a kiss and vanishing back out the hole.

Adam floated there a bit nonplussed for a moment before turning back to the front of the ship where Chaves and Richards were still strapped into their seats. He floated over to strap himself in.

“Admiral! You’re ok.”

“Yes, it seems that I am, thanks to a….. Friend of mine.”

Just then Conn appeared again just before their right side window, and like the classy gentlemen that he was began rubbing his butt up against the glass.

He sighed, “Friend is kind of stretching it.”

“Apollo 11 this is Houston, do you copy!”

The man on the other end of the line sounded close to tears, and Adam hurried to respond, “Houston this is Apollo 11.”

On the other side he thought he heard the sound of voices cheering in relief.

“What is your status, over.”

“We are a bit beat up Houston, we have a tear in our hull, but our suits are ok, and we have help.”

“Prepare to abort mission.”

Adam frowned, “Now wait a second there Houston, I didn’t get sucked out the side of my own rocket to just quit now. Tell the boys to come up here and patch us up and we can finish the mission. All systems are still functioning, and we are back on course.” he glanced over at the others, “That is, if the crew wants to continue.”

There was a pause and then Chavez timidly piped in, “I’d be ok with that.”

Richards sighed, “Roger Houston, patch us up.”

Granted it may have been cheating. Apollo 11 hadn’t had support with special tools that cold just patch a space ship within ten minutes, but then again the original Apollo 11 hadn’t been in the middle of a firefight while on their journey to the moon. So it was with some trepidation that Houston allowed it, and before long they had air back inside the cabin back up to pressure, but they also had a sixteen man rotating escort for the rest of the way.

The group of them were even shocked to see Rundi drones join the formation only to learn that it had been the UN president who had allegedly called the hit on him. It was hard to believe, but they were only getting snippets here and then from over radio and from Conn, who floated around occasionally to rub another part of his anatomy against the window and give them teasing updates

The moon was growing slowly in their vision.

“I can see my house from here.” Adam remarked as they prepared to detach the lunar module from the rest of the ship.

They landed without incident observed by mobile camera crews and news reporters as he made his own footprint on the never changing dust of the moon’s surface. He gave them a thumbs up to let them know he was fine and hesitated only once before setting up the UN flag in the dirt. He refused to let his enthusiasm be dampened by the day’s events and hopped around dancing and leaping for joy as another one of his childhood dreams was fulfilled. That was before he plowed face first into the moon’s surface and required help from Richards to stand back up again.

They left soon after taking another three days of escort back to earth before strapping themselves in for final entry.

Conn left them just as they were entering orbit with a middle finger for all three of them.

“Your friend is super delightful isn’t it.’

“Try having a child with him.” Adam muttered refusing to elaborate even as they stared at him in confusion.

They fell from the sky and landed somewhere in the Pacific ocean, picked up by the waiting navy vessel who was within nine miles of their landing site. They were fished from the water and returned safe and sound to the ship to cheers and cameras. Adam’s legs felt a little like jelly after days of not using them, and he was finally able to relax lying on the deck of the ship under the sun as people ran around them on either side.

His hands shook slowly building up after the stress of the last week. He took long deep breaths and closed his eyes.

The next few days were going to be a real shit show.

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tanyawritesstories · 3 years

Text

She Bites | Max Phillips x Siren!Reader

I came up with the strange idea of: what if Max was bitten by another creature? And siren was the natural answer for the reader's creature. I imagined their water form as basically the mermaids (sirens) from Pirates of the Caribbean. Enjoy my weirdness!

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: vampirism (duh), plenty of sexual innuendos, flirting, Max is a bit of a douche, insinuations of murder, blood, biting, fluff, Max and reader are unaware of each other's supernatural identities

•••

Your day at the office started slow but now it was picking up. You had just locked in your fourth sale, and began printing the finalization papers. You signed off on them and stood to walk them to your boss's office. On your way, you passed Andrew, looking the part of a hungover, underpaid college student, like he always did.

"Hey Y/N, you sure you don't want to come out tonight with us?" He asked.

"Um, no thank you, Andrew. I have something planned already," you responded politely.

"Aw, c'mon," he looked you up and down sleazily, "I can make it worth your while."

"Andrew, can't you tell the lady has important plans," the spritely voice from behind you made you tense and turn around. Your boss was standing there with a smug look on his handsome face. "She's been telling me how much she is looking forward to her date tonight."

You looked at the floor sheepishly and you could see Andrew shift awkwardly in place. "You're doing great on that presentation, buddy," Max assured the other man, "Now run along."

Andrew scurried back to his desk and Max leaned against the wall beside you, his arms crossed over his chest. "Are we still on for seven tonight?" He asked with a smirk.

You looked up at him and smiled, nodding. "Absolutely. You're picking me up at my place right?"

He nodded back. "Of course, sweet cheeks. Especially if there's a chance I can come inside after dinner."

You smirked back at him, your tone as flirty as his. "Play your cards right and maybe I'll let you."

He chuckled darkly. "Oh trust me, baby. I've never lost a game."

You took a step closer to him, booping his nose gently with your finger. "Then you should have nothing to worry about." At that, you tucked the papers for him into his crossed arms and walked back to your desk.

Of course you knew what kind of reputation Max Phillips carried. Who didn't. He was the type of person your sisters would call a man-slut. Arrogant, attractive, and brainless. Also the type you thought would make easy food.

Your clan had moved to the city only a few months ago, having come to the conclusion that there wasn't enough food in the ocean. You and several of your mer-sisters had taken to the land, tasked with feeding your family. It was getting increasingly more difficult for sirens to survive, especially out at sea. People didn't travel out on the ocean as much as they did a hundred years ago. Plus, now their boats were made of metal and a lot bigger. Even with super strength and the combined forces of the clan, they were hard to take down. Attacks usually ended with more than a few injuries and only a small reward.

Blending in with the humans was easy. Your tail turned to legs when on land and your slit eyes, fangs, and claws only came out when you attacked.

You had figured out a plan to be able to support the clan for hopefully a long time. If you were able to take control of this company, you could employ the rest of your clan to run the business and any new hires would be dinner. It was easy. Or so you thought. You hadn't exactly anticipated the charming and quick-witted sales manager standing in your way.

You had taken out a few minor employees already, none of them were missed and nothing was suspected. You had used your siren charm to hypnotize them into submitting resignation forms the day before you took them.

You were confused when Mike went missing before you could get him. You thought maybe one of your sisters had gotten to him first, but perhaps he just quit. It was frustrating to think you missed such a good potential meal, but alas you had work to do.

You knew you had to ultimately take down Ted, but Ted was wound around Max's finger. So your current target was Max. You played along with his douchey behavior, falling into the role of the shy, naive new girl that was easy to woo. It had worked thus far, getting you a date with your target victim. You planned on insinuating that you would sleep with him, get him back to your place, and then kill him. It would be easy.

You had managed to conjure up a final sale before you left for the day. You gave Max a wave and flirty wink as you walked by his office. You mouthed the words 'don't be late' before the elevator doors closed.

~~~~

Back at your apartment you had completed putting the finishing touches on your makeup. Minimal, since beauty came naturally to sirens. No matter how they looked, they were always beautiful and always praised for it.

You slipped on the sleek black dress. It was satin with thin straps and a slight V plunge in the middle, exposing a teasing amount of cleavage. You looked good enough to eat. You knew Max would think the same. You grabbed a light jacket and donned it to cover your top half. You heard the doorbell ring and looked at the clock on the wall. Five minutes early, typical punctuality. You grabbed a pair of black heels, quickly throwing them on and grabbing your purse.

You found Max with a surprisingly sincere smile on his face when you opened the door.

"Good evening, doll," he greeted, "Ready for our date?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," you replied cheerfully.

He was wearing a nice suit as usual, but he had foregone the tie and waistcoat. Instead having the first few buttons of his shirt undone. It was a very relaxed look for him, and, shockingly, you didn’t dislike it.

You walked to his car, once again surprised when he opened the door for you. You slid in and thanked him. The drive to the restaurant didn't take as long as you thought it would.

Max offered you his arm as you walked in together. You had made the reservation, not trusting him to do it. You let him pull out your chair for you as you removed your jacket. Max only noticed once he was sitting in his own chair across from you. You snatched the wine list and glanced over it. From the corner of your eye you could see him staring unashamedly at your chest where the dip exposed the tops of your breasts.

“Do you have a preference?” You asked. “Anything red is fine with me,” Max answered, his eyes didn’t leave your body even when he knew you were watching him. You scanned back over the list, picking out something simple. “You look stunning tonight.”

You looked up to find Max with a smirk on his face. Willing a blush to come to your cheeks, you looked down at your plate. “That’s kind of you, Max. But I’m afraid you’re a bit of a liar.” He pouted adorably, leaning his elbows on the table. “Nonsense. You’re the most beautiful woman in the office,” he complimented. He reached over and took your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand.

You knew that was rubbish. Everyone had a crush on either Amanda or Zabeth. If someone had a crush on you it was because of your siren charm, otherwise they hated you because you did your job and got praised for it.

You ordered your food and found it easy to make conversation with Max. He kept up the perfect attitude with snarky and flirty thrown in. You weren’t learning much about him but you were learning his traits. You didn’t expect him to be such a good listener. He hung onto every word you said and asked questions here and there. You almost felt bad for spinning him the entire fake backstory you had made up for yourself. You tried asking him questions but he only answered a few before turning the conversation back to you.

By the time dessert came you had almost run out of fake information and stories to tell him. This was getting tiring, you hadn’t expected him to act like this. Most men couldn’t shut up about themselves, but you hadn’t gotten hardly anything out of him. It was strange, for sure. Max offered to pay and you let him think he was doing you a favor. He stood first and grabbed your coat, helping slide it over your arms and back. His hands stayed on your shoulders and he whispered into your ear.

“So did I play well?” You smirked turning to face him, putting your hands on his chest. “You’ll see, later.”

He placed his hand on the small of your back and led you back out to his car. He drove with one hand, the other was draped over the center console. You figured it was time to answer his question now. You took his hand and rested it on your knee, keeping your eyes out the window. You could hear him turn his head briefly to look at you. You waited until his eyes were back on the road before sliding his hand up your leg a little bit, you let go and allowed him to decide what he wanted to do next.

He took the hint and slid his hand further up your leg, pushing your dress up in the process. He stopped on your inner thigh, slowly rubbing your warm skin. You knew what he was doing, he was teasing you, trying to make you beg. This time you weren’t going to pretend, he would wait until you got home and was inside your room. If you let him live that long.

You made it back home and invited Max in. “Make yourself comfortable, you want anything more to drink?”

You strolled to your drink cabinet, kicking your heels off on the way there, and pulled out scotch for yourself. “I’ll have what you’re having, sweet cheeks,” he said sitting down on your sofa.

You turned, grabbing two glasses from the cabinet. You jumped when you felt his chest press into your back, his nose nuzzling into your neck. How did he get behind you so fast? You probably just didn’t hear him. It was unlikely with your acute senses but who knows.

“Can we skip the drinks?” He whispered huskily into your ear. You reached back and ran your fingers into his hair. “You’re eager, aren’t you?” You replied making sure your tone was as smooth as his.

"I'm hungry," he said, "and I wanna know what you taste like." He ended his sentence with a squeeze to your ass that actually made you gasp. He was good at dirty talk, you were almost starting to feel bad about having to kill such a fine specimen.

You turned around in his grasp and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling his lips to yours in a passionate kiss. You expected him to try and heat it up right away, yet he surprised you once again. He took the kiss as slow and deep as you, keeping one hand on your ass, massaging it to his liking.

You broke away from his lips after a while of having them locked together, instead trailing kisses over his jaw. He took the break to place kisses and licks up and down your neck. You nuzzled your nose into the flesh of his neck, seeing the perfect moment open up.

You didn't hesitate.

Your pupils became slits, with your fingernails extending into sharp points and anchoring themselves into his suit coat. Your fangs descended into their proper places, now poised for harvesting. You barely registered the feeling of his teeth scraping along your skin before you bit down.

Your fangs pierced his skin with more resistance than you were expecting. However, that wasn’t the strangest thing to occur at that moment. You felt a sharp burning pain in your own neck, right where Max had been licking. Did he...he had just bitten you!

You retracted your fangs and shoved Max away, his teeth having unlodged from your skin. You glanced at your neck where two puncture holes were now steadily exuding blood.

"You fucking bit me!" You shouted.

Max recovered from your shove, his eyes tinged yellow, a smear of blood on his upper lip…and his own fangs.

"Why the hell do you taste like fish!" He yelled back.

You were beyond confused. "What? Doesn't matter, who the hell are you!" You grabbed a towel and quickly placed it over your bite wound.

"Me? Who are you!" He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, "Ugh, and why in fucks name does your blood taste salty."

"Usually when I bite people, they die, not complain about how my blood tastes," you grimaced.

"That's what happens when you bite a vampire, sugar tits," he deadpanned.

Your mouth dropped open. Well that explains a lot, but in addition, it made you angry. How were you supposed to take over the company now?

"I didn't know I had a fellow vamp working in my building," he smiled, "Though, that doesn't explain the fishy taste."

You rolled your eyes, heading towards your bedroom to find a bandage. "I'm not a vampire, I'm a siren. Did you honestly think vampires were the only supernatural beings walking this planet?"

Max followed not far behind you, intrigued by your revelation. "A siren, like a mermaid? Where's your tail?"

"I don't have a tail while I'm on land, and no, sirens are much deadlier than mermaids," you informed gruffly. Max appeared to be thinking over your words while he watched you tend to the two holes in your neck. He was unaffected by your bite, his skin having already healed itself.

"Why were you trying to kill me?" He suddenly inquired. You looked over to see him lying back on your bed. He had removed his suit coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, comfortable as could be.

"Because my sister's and I need to eat and I don't like killing just anyone on the street," you answered.

"Are the rest of your sisters as hot as you?" He sat up as you crossed the room, watching your every move. You sneered at him, "I figured killing you was an easy way to take over the company, therefore providing my family with a steady food source, and ridding the world of one less asshole."

Max nodded along to your words. "Great idea, sugar plum, but half the office has already been turned. Tough luck," he mocked.

You swore under your breath, "Then there's no point in working for the company anymore. You can leave now."

No wonder it had been so easy to lure him in, he was playing you too. You both fell right into each other's traps.

Max rose from your bed. He walked to you and gave you a teasing smile, pinching your cheek like an affectionate grandparent. "Don't worry, fish lips. Maybe we can work something out," he winked at you.

You pulled away from him and glared as he swung his jacket over his shoulder. "See you at the office tomorrow!"

~~~~

Max hadn't noticed you came into his office as you entered the same time as Evan was leaving. The loud thud of papers landing harshly on his desk made him look up.

"My resignation form," you said, "since my purpose has been...worn out."

Max looked taken aback despite the fact that you told him you would be quitting last night. "Why is that a reason to leave?" He asked, leaning back in his chair.

"I literally just told you, and you know about me when my existence is supposed to be a secret so…" you trailed off.

Max looked to be thinking again, never a good sign. He took your papers off his desk and promptly threw them in the trash bin. "No."

You raised your eyebrows, "No?" He nodded, "No. You happen to be doing the best work here so I can't let you go."

You put your hands on your hips. The audacity of this man! "Huh, right ok. Then I'll just walk out and never come back and there's nothing you can do to stop me," you said firmly. You turned heading towards the door.

"I could tell."

You looked back at Max, who was now standing, hands in his pockets. "Excuse me?"

"I could tell. I could walk out and announce to everyone that you're part fish and all I'd have to do to prove it, is throw some salt water on you," he threatened. You realized as he talked that he was dead serious, and it scared you. "Yeah, I did my research on sirens, believe it or not. I know how you operate," his smile evil and teasing at the same time as he moved to the front of the desk and sat on the edge. "If you stay, your secret is safe with me."

"That's blackmail," you stated obviously.

"Pfft," Max rolled his eyes, "And? Does it look like I'm giving you much choice here, sweet cheeks? You stay with the company and I'll help you, it's a lot easier for me to obtain blood, and I can do it without killing them. I can help you."

You sighed in frustration. What choice did you have? You hated him for not giving you an alternative, but the company wasn't all bad and pay was decent.

"Fine." Was all you said before walking out and resuming your work.

~~~~

Max had stayed true to his word, you had been listening, and he hadn't even hinted that you might be a dangerous supernatural creature to anyone. Maybe he was due more credit than you gave him

You were currently sitting on your sofa, wearing comfortable leggings and a t-shirt, drinking a beer while watching a movie. You were interrupted by a knock on your door. When you answered it you didn't expect to see Max standing on the other side with a cooler in one hand. He was wearing a button up with a black leather jacket and jeans, it was the most casual you'd ever seen him and he still looked so good.

"I brought dinner," he said simply. He unzipped the cooler bag and showed you its contents; four large plastic bags filled halfway up with blood.

"Max!" You whisper yelled. You ignored his smile and pulled him inside by his arm, quickly closing the door. "You can't just show me that, wait till you're inside," you sighed, "Now what do you want?"

"These are for you," he said, "and your family of fishes." He set the cooler down on the counter and proceeded to take the bags of blood and arrange them nicely in your fridge.

"You got that for me?" You asked, skeptical of his sudden kindness. "Yes, I said I would help you, so I am." He grabbed a beer out of the fridge while he was in there and took your place on the sofa.

This man was making a habit out of shocking you. He noticed as you stood shell-shocked in the middle of the room. "Did you really think I wouldn't keep my word?"

You wanted to be mad at him, you desperately wanted to be mad.

"No, I didn't think you would. I thought you were joking," you admitted. You took a seat next to him and took another sip of your beer.

"You wound me, fish lips," he sassed. You sighed, trying to maintain your current mindset of not being mad at him. “Only one thing,” you looked at him, “Can I see your tail?”

Your eyes practically rolled on their own. “Aw, c’mon,” he pouted, “I brought dinner for your whole family and saved your job, it’s the least you could do.”

“You do know that when I’m in the water the tail is the only thing I’m wearing,” you said. You watched as Max’s lips slowly turned upwards into a smug smirk. “You dickhead, that’s exactly what you want!” You took a pillow from the sofa and chucked it at his head, heading towards your room to shut yourself in.

He burst into laughter and got up to follow you. You attempted to close the door in his face but he caught it. Even with all your strength thrown against it he was able to hold it open like it was nothing.

“No, I’m genuinely curious, sweetheart,” he said once he was able to stop laughing. You stopped fighting him once you heard him. He’d never called you sweetheart before, it was normally irritating nicknames.

“I’ll think about it,” you relented. He smiled. “I did bring some of that blood just for us. You want to have dinner with me again?”

For once you found yourself smiling along with Max Philips.

#pedro pascal #max phillips #max phillips x reader #Bloodsucking Bastards #vampires #sirens

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aintguiltyy · 4 years

Note

Consider: Eddie seeing comedian Richie Tozier on TV during the 27 years and immediately being gripped by a visceral need to see his dick ~ Cristina

I wrote this on the way to and from a supermarket in under 20 minutes. pls don’t judge me or i will eat all three chocolate bars and a bag of nachos I bought in one go

—————————

Eddie usually doesn’t watch TV, only briefly glancing at the screen every now and then when Myra is watching some kind of reality show she’s been talking about non-stop every time they have dinner. He just doesn’t, sees little to no point in it really, besides he can spend his free time much more efficiently, like reading the news or working out at his top-class gym.

That’s exactly where Eddie sees him for the first time.

He’s just finished his usual work out routine and decides to run a few miles on a treadmill before going home, but because Eddie is really tired after his work out, he decides to save some time and watch the news instead of looking through it at home.

Turning the treadmill on, Eddie plugs his headphones in and stretches before stepping on the track and turning it on while simultaneously flipping through channels. The previous user must have watched the installed TV too, because the first channel that shows up is NBC, and Eddie intends on switching to CNN or something, but a second later someone’s throaty laughter hits him with the full sound from his headphones and he almost falls face down on the already running treadmill.

In the back of his mind he vaguely remembers that SNL, the comedy show some of his coworkers practically worship, airs on this channel, but all of Eddie’s attention zones in on the man that appears on the screen a second later with the same boisterous laugh that almost made him trip.

He’s sitting behind a table, his highlighted hair slicked and hands on his face, trying to hide his laughter while the other man next to him, dressed in a suit with a red tie, smiles at him, saying “Stefon, please calm down.”

Eddie doesn’t laugh once, even though the audience seems to have a hysterical breakdown every time the man in the green shirt breaks his character, too busy staring at the screen and forgetting all about his intention to run at least three miles.

It’s not until someone behind him clears their throat that Eddie realizes he just spend five minutes standing on a treadmill watching the TV without actually exercising. So, he hurriedly unplugs his headphones and smiles apologetically at the man who seems to have been waiting for Eddie to step off the track, heading to the locker room after taking the water bottle he left in the cup holder in his shaking hands. When and why the hell did they start shaking?

He’s so sweaty and out of breath, and his face is definitely a deep shade of red, if not maroon, judging by the way a few people in the gym glance in his direction when Eddie makes a beeline for the changing room, but it’s for sure because of the work out and not because of what he’s just seen on TV.

Hurriedly getting his gym clothes off and taking his shower bag, Eddie gets in the farthest stall and intends to turn the shower on, but his gaze accidentally falls down on his cock before he can reach for the faucet and Eddie notices that he’s hard.

His mouth is desert dry, too, despite the fact that he’s just gulped down a whole bottle of water. Eddie has no idea what the fuck is going on, but then an image of that man hiding his face in his large hands, his broad shoulders - who the hell needs shoulders that broad - shaking with barely suppressed laughter, flashes before his eyes, and his dick twitches so violently Eddie almost yelps, and oh. Oh.

He turns the water on as cold as it goes and tries not to think about what the hell is happening, but it only helps a little because every time Eddie closes his eyes, he sees the same man he doesn’t recognize, but can’t shake off this feeling of frustrating familiarity, that he has no reasonable explanation for.

Myra is asleep by the time Eddie gets home, just like she usually is after 10 p.m., so he takes off his clothes and goes to his bed (yes, he and his wife sleep in separate beds, and what about it? Lots of couples are the same, it’s absolutely normal), but the iPad on the bedside table is far too tempting to let him go to sleep.

That’s how Eddie ends up watching four more SNL episodes with the same man, whose name he quickly finds out is Richie Tozier, and that familiar feeling is back, scratching in the back of his mind, but Eddie is far too exhausted and confused to look into it. That’s why he puts his iPad aside and goes to sleep, ignoring the hardness in his shorts that seems to have come back to life the moment he saw Richie on the screen again and deciding that he’s not going to waste another second on this nonsense.

Unfortunately for Eddie, his brain works in strange ways and no matter how hard he tries to suppress the urge to see this Richie Tozier again, he still ends up typing his name into Youtube’s search bar a week later.

The moment that annoying, handsome face appears on the screen, Eddie remembers why he almost tripped on a treadmill and was seconds away from jerking off in a gym’s shower. It’s ridiculous, the way his body reacts to this man and his irritating, loud voice and shitty jokes that have no business being this funny, but his cock grows harder and his mouth becomes drier the more Eddie looks at his long fingers, the sharp line of his jaw and these fucking shoulders.

It’s so unfair and hot at the same time, and Eddie’s never felt the need to touch his cock more than he feels now while watching a Netflix special despite the fact that he has never, ever watched a comedy special in his life. For fuck’s sake, he almost drools on the screen every time Richie throws his head back and laughs at his own joke, and Eddie wants to lick his throat so badly he almost comes at the mere thought.

It takes all of his willpower not to sneak his hand into his boxers, but Eddie’s will finally breaks when he googles Richie for the umpteenth time and suddenly comes across a pic of him at some trashy party. It’s dated five years ago, and he’s only wearing dark red boxers that are soaked, probably from the pool in the background, and Eddie almost drops his phone when his gaze falls from the man’s broad chest that’s covered in dark hair which shouldn’t make Eddie feel as flustered as it does, and he notices the clear outline of the man’s cock under the wet fabric.

That night, the second he frantically gets in the shower, brushing Myra off when she asks is he’s feeling alright, alarmed at the flush on Eddie’s face and his heavy, uneven breathing, Eddie gives up and takes a hold of his hard, pulsing cock, closing his eyes and remembering the picture, imagining it’s Richie’s large hand on him, or maybe Richie watching him get himself off while lazily stroking his own cock that Eddie now knows - although he never really doubted it - is thick and long. Seriously, why does everything about this asshole have to be so fucking big?

Mere minutes later Eddie comes harder that he has in years and makes a promise to himself that that’s where it stops, but finds himself sneaking under the covers with lube and headphones just two nights later, convincing himself that it’s the last time.

That’s what Eddie tells himself for almost two years. It comes to the point that he almost automatically gets hard every time he sees Richie on screen or even hears his voice. Eddie learns to live with it, though, falling into a routine of going on Youtube and getting himself off to simultaneously the most hideous and hot man he’s ever seen in his life almost every night which is ridiculous because he’s almost forty, where the hell are this teenage horniness and libido coming from?

That’s before he crashes his car because of the call from a childhood friend Mike he completely forgot about and shows up at the chinese restaurant in Derry the next day only to find out that the man Eddie’s been imagining railing him into oblivion every time he jerked off for the past two years is his childhood best friend, crush and teenage wet dream, and prays that no one, especially Richie himself, notices Eddie getting hard the second his gaze falls on Richie.

He’s so fucking screwed.

#thank you my homegirl for the ask!!😌❤️❤️❤️❤️#my writing #reddie #my homegirl #minors dni #it #it chapter 1 #it chapter 2 #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #the losers club #richie x eddie

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chayacat · 3 years

Text

Devil’s Sweet Star (6)

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Ghostface x Female Reader

Rated M for Violence, Language and Smut

***

Ah this exchange... Despite the fact that you knew his name, you kept a cold-bloodedness that amused him. and your face when you faced him through the window...

“...ed...”

Your eyes so big that he could read your fear, the firm grip of your hand on the phone, those lips so thin and this skin so soft that he would love to …

“Jed! Hey Jed are you there? Hellooooo ? Jeddyyy ...”

Melina's voice brought Danny out of his thoughts, making him blink several times while looking at her. it must be said that he did not stop that night coming home late enough and having slept just enough not to be tired. He stretched and put himself back in his seat, putting his glasses back in place.

“Sorry. What did you say?” He said rubbing his eyes.

“I said that we should find something about Hoggin’s computer in his office. Or in his desk. But it won't be easy to go into his office without attracting the attention of his gorillas. He paid the best in terms of bodyguards. You're really going to have to be careful not to get caught.” responds Melina by checking her notebook.

“Yeah yeah...Sure.”

“You look completely in the clouds since this morning. Are you sure everything's okay? Did you at least sleep?” ask Mattew worried.

“Of course. Otherwise, I would be a real zombie with dark circles at the size of a balloon.” replied Jed with a little laugh.

“I'd say our little nerd is spending his night dreaming about someone. I don't know... A certain girl who runs the Nebula?” said Melina with a corner smile.

“What? Come on... Don't start with that. I have already told you that I consider her as a good friend and a good neighbour. And it stops there. I'm too busy with the job to think about that.”

“Yes, well maybe you should think about your personal life more than your professional life. otherwise, you'll be a poor 50-year-old guy who lives with five cats. Look at Mattew he almost ended up like this if I hadn't convinced him to throw his feelings at Chris. How's he doing by the way?”

“Hey! One, we already have 3 cats with Chris and maybe we'll have another and two ... He's fine. He's a little stressed out because of his mother's surgery. Although I try to reassure him that everything is going to be all right, he can't help but think of the worst. And we can't say his job makes things right for him. He's dealing with clients who are real assholes on the phone sometimes.” answers Mattew.

“Poor guy. I hope everything will be fine.” said Jed.

“Anyway, it's not halfway through your life that you're going to have to think about your love situation, Jed. So put the work-obsessed nerd aside a little bit and take care of yourself. You're far away, VERY far to be ugly.”

Danny rolls his eyes before refocusing on his work. But at the same time Mike landed both furious and worried before locking himself in his office. No one knew why he was in this state, but Danny might have an idea. Whispers were heard and Mike's colleagues Karen and Thomas chatted in their corner, a little out of sight. When they saw Melina's insistent gaze, telling them to come, they looked at each other, exchanged two three words, and then resigned themselves to getting closer to the trio.

“What happens to Mike? You threw his four truths in his face or what?” ask Melina.

“No... It’s just...You know Mike. He can be really upset for nothing sometimes. Answer shyly Karen.

“Frankly, even I don't believe what you're saying here! Mike's been like this since last night. He received a threatening letter.” replied Thomas.

“Wow...how surprised I am! I'm surprised it happens to him when everyone here dreams of one thing: blowing his mouth.” said Melina ironically.

“it's not a letter from someone in the office... It's a letter from Ghostface.”

Jed doesn't react, but Danny made his most devilish smile. Once again, he was right and once again, he gloats inwardly imagining the face of that dear Mike as he read the letter. It must be said that what Danny had written... wasn't really very tender.

But it had done him a great deal of good to let go of his anger and frustration in this letter, something he could and cannot do by being Jed. And the game doesn't end there. Oh no... Danny intends to make him suffer...until his last breath. But first, he has to kill McKellan. The hours went by and when the lunch break arrived, our trio went out to settle down at a small dinner in the area.

“Dude sometimes I wonder how you eat so much. You're not human, I'm telling you! Did you see the size of your burger? I'm sure if they did it in size XXL you would eat it without an eyebrow!” said Melina eating a French fry before noticing Jed lost in his though again. “Don’t worry, you’ll see her today. it's been a while since I want to go to the Nebula ... with everything I hear on it, I want to check for myself if her coffee and cakes are really better than old Joe's. I'm surprised that you offered her to come with us to the Hoggins reception. I wonder why...”

That's a question neither Jed nor Danny could answer. Why did he ask you to come? Certainly, to get to know you better, to get closer to you, like the spider approaching its prey ready to taste it starting with the bowels. But wasn't there another reason? A reason deeper, more obscure than either dared to admit. a reason more... Personal? Danny immediately chased this idea out of his mind, he did it for the only purpose of deciding if he would let you live, or not.

They left dinner after an hour, Mattew dragging his feet a little, completely full, his belly ready to explode. Melina made fun of him while Danny felt stuck by his colleague's remark. A little stalk tonight will clear his mind.

As they entered the Nebula, they noticed that the room was practically full and that you were running around. But curiously we had no delays or any unscathed customers. As if having a little challenge or difficulty amused you even more than if everything was simple.

“Welcome to the Nebula! Where our pastries come from Outerspace!” you said before noticing Jed’s face. “Hey Jed! How are you? Are these two people with you?”

“A little tired but I’ll be fine. Yeah, this is Melina and Mattew, they want to check if what they say about your coffee is true. And yet I kept saying it.”

“Oh, you’re Jed’s colleagues and friends?? It's a real pleasure to finally meet you! Jed keeps telling me that his job would be boring if you weren't there. Settle in! I'll take care of you right away!” you replied with a bright smile.

“Oh, yeah? I keep it very deep in my memory.” said Melina with smirk.

The trio sat at a free table at the bottom of the café against the glass. Mattew let go a sigh of relief, finally happy to be able to land and lay like a toad in his seat. Melina was seated next to him sneering at her colleague's position. Danny sighed as he shook his head. Not one to catch up with the other.

You head to them with the notebook and pen in hand to take their order: A March cake and a Latte for Melina, a Neptune's pie and a Cappuccino for Mattew, and finally a Chocolate Jupiter's Thunder and a long coffee with sugar and cream for Jed. It only took you a few minutes to prepare their orders and bring them all to their tables. While smiling at them you leave at the counter you take care of two other customers.

“Young, your age I'd say maybe two years younger, pretty but not the kind to let herself walk on either. I think I'm beginning to understand why you invited him to accompany us to the reception.” laughs Melina before receiving a shot in the knee from Jed. “ouch! Okay that’s fair. Oh, shit I just realized that I'm going to need a proper outfit... I'll be surprised if they let us in with jeans and sneakers.”

“I don’t like the suits I feel like a penguin. But Chris must have one... we're doing the same size.” Respond Mattew.

“I have one too. I needed to wear one when I was working as a journalist in Missouri.” Replied Jed.

“By the way, what do you think of the Ghostface threat letter? I think it's crazy anyway. I wonder if Mike did anything to him in particular to get his attention.”

“He's an asshole, narcissistic, self-absorbed, violent, willing to do anything to get what he wants... Do you want me to keep going or is that enough for you?” Replied Melina.

“Anyway, if he provoked Ghostface it's too bad for him. He will have looked for it. Sooner or later, you always reap what you sow.” continues Jed without empathy.

“Ghostface?” You said making them turn to you slightly surprised. “He attacked someone again?”

“He wrote a letter to one of our colleagues. and obviously it's not very pretty. Why, you're in trouble with him, too?” ask Mattew

“Well, he...He calls me last night. We talk a little and... he said to me that if I’m talking to the police, I’ll be his next victim. But for the moment he’ll spare me.” you answer slightly trembling.

“Why Didn't you come to see me? or call me? Things could have been different if I had been there.” Replied Jed worried while Danny held back a devilish smile.

“I wanted to hang up but if I had done it, he would have killed you ... Sorry. I didn't want to bother you with that.”

“Oh... I see. I'm the one who's sorry you did what you thought was right. But if it ever starts again... call me or come to my house. We can always talk about it.”

You smiled at him and after a few minutes the trio paid the bill and left your coffee. the rest of the day went quietly, Mike being locked in his office all day, no one had seen him even his colleagues. Danny went home doing two or three little things before leaving discreetly at night to do his second "work". He knew Mike's address by heart, having "politely" copied it from his notebook while searching Mike's office one day when Mike was not working.

He couldn't help but smile as he thought of you slightly trembling when talking about your little conversation with Ghostface. that's the kind of feeling, emotions Danny likes to see about his prey. This feeling of insecurity that he gives you without knowing that he is the author... Perfect. Maybe in the end he won't kill you. He will frighten you, remind you of his existence... but won't kill you. Just enough for you to trust only one person. Him.

He parked in a rather secluded place, not far from Mike's house, his bag in hand to change into Ghostface and got out of the car. From there he entered the house. He was planning to leave a... little gift to Mike. A gift he doesn't intend to forget anytime soon.

He placed the small package on the counter and took a bucket. a bucket filled with blood that he had hidden well. He stayed for a few minutes and once his masterpiece was completed, he took several pictures and returned to the car. He then saw him come out of his room and down the stairs. It's time to turn up the arterial tension of this dear Mike. With a disposable phone he dialled the number and while waiting for, a mean smile to appear on his face.

“Hello?” said Mike

“Hello Mikey... Did you like my letter?” respond Danny.

“You son of b***! Do you know where you can put your threats?? Do you think you're scaring me??”

“I conclude that you did not like my letter... I suspected it a little. I would have been more... Sincere. I have a little present for you. On the counter.”

“Go f*** yourself. If I caught you...”

“You're not nice. I give you a present and you don't even bother to open it? I'm disappointed in you.”

He then saw Mike walk to the counter and open the small package and back off both frightened and enraged.

“you... How did you get those pictures??? You... You broke into my house, you bastard!!!!” He replied

"and more than once. If these images arrived at your boss’s office ... That would be the end of your career. Though... You could still make a career in prison. You're good at lying. Oh, and I'm sorry about your walls. I put some blood on it.” respond Danny.

Mike turned and saw the bloody inscriptions: Pedophile. Drug addict.

“You only get what you deserve Mikey. And believe me... It's nothing compared to what awaits you. I intend to make you regret every moment of your life until your last breath. Did you want to be the star? Know that the only star in this city Mike... It’s ME. See you soon Mike... have a beautiful dream.” laughs Danny before hangs up the phone.

His laughter got louder, more diabolical when he saw from his car, Mike throwing everything away. Seeing him explode with rage made Danny even more ecstatic. Killing him will be a real bloody pleasure because not only will he take revenge for all the blows he has taken, but he will also rid the country of a disguised plague of society.

He restarted the car with a demonic smile on his lips, ideas just as twisted as each other. He'd stalk you a little bit tonight, but he had another victim to watch tonight.

And his name was Horace McKellan. Death is getting closer Horace...

And soon you’ll embrace her in such a painful agony...

But also, desirable.

***

(Done! I’ll hope you’ll enjoy it as always! And remember! If you got some questions just ask! See ya! )

#dbd fanfic #dbd #dead by daylight #ghostface #danny johnson #jed olsen

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beeblackburn · 3 years

Note

Ghosts for the fandom ask as well! 👀

The first character I ever fell in love with: Thomas Thorne. “Ah, she’s gone” remains one hell of a delightful line delivery. And his following melodrama was just amazing to sit through. I love dramatic™ bitches.

A character that I used to love/like, but now do not: I... honestly don’t know? Like, I generally like every character in this series and that’s not particularly a small feat. I suppose if I had to choose... the Captain or Mike, and only because I’ve come to realize their later more self-centered/forcible moments were there from the get-go, from the Captain’s complaining about Fanny’s screaming and Mike taking out a loan without talking about it with Alison while she was in a coma, not necessarily because I dislike them.

A ship that I used to love/like, but now do not: Ummm, none! I generally agree with the ships in this series.

My ultimate favorite character™: Thomas Thorne, he usually guarantees a laugh with any line reading, he looks good, he usually holds back before his crush on Alison gets too creepy, The Thomas Thorne Affair and Free Pass helps explain his more romantic tendencies and the former genuinely floored me with some of its twists and that last revelation broke my damn heart. Poor Isabelle and Thomas. They lost so much because the first Lord Button was a selfish arse. And I adore that Thomas was the first one who sung along In the Bleak Midwinter with Alison. I hope all the best for him.

Prettiest character: Kitty or Thomas. Kitty’s more my type, and I love her dress, but Thomas has those floofy locks to die for.

My most hated character: FUCK LORD BUTTON THE FIRST WITH A MUSKET BALL. That being said, I don’t come out of the Christmas Special respecting Mike’s sisters. And, depending on how Kitty’s backstory goes, her sister’s set to replace Lord Button the First. Honestly, I feel like I come out of this series hating cousins and sisters.

My OTP: Mike/Alison. Aside from some hiccups, Mike’s genuinely supportive and follows Alison’s lead and Alison grounds Mike’s eccentrics or flights of fear. They’re not friction-less, but they feel lived-in, have little jokes with each other, and are a couple who love each other and work through their problems.

My NOTP: Yeah, still none.

Favorite episode: Man, there’s a spoil of riches in Season 2 alone, but I keep revisiting Happy Death Day, Getting Out, About Last Night, Redding Weddy, The Thomas Thorne Affair, and Bump in the Night. If I had to narrow it down... The Thomas Thorne Affair, Bump in the Night or The Ghost of Christmas all vie for favorite.

The Thomas Thorne Affair is the best flashback episode Ghosts got, given it’s got a ton of narrative room to breathe around the death in question (I love Redding Weddy, but I wanted more scenes between the Captain and Lieutenant Havers), allowing for multiple perspectives to see the death, and I love how many holes get plugged up by POVs like Kitty’s or get misdirected off-track like Robin’s or get made into a more interesting imaginary scenario like the Captain’s (real talk, his take never fails to make me laugh, bless you, Captain). It’s all hilarious (that bird getting shot by Thomas’ gun as he falls is my second-guiltiest laugh of the series) but it also speaks to a very real idea of our memories: that we edit, we revise, we look back with nostalgia or clean up the messier bits. Add in the twists and the Mike subplot and it all adds up to a tragic tale whose theme is about how another man’s utter selfishness is capable of destroying a relationship between two lovers through violence, either directly or by proxy. It’s delightfully hilarious, but it hits so hard and Thomas’ words about the truth making it all worse twists my heart.

I feel Bump in the Night is the funniest episode Ghosts’ got. It’s not particularly serious, there are no real stakes, given one of the burglars is terrible at theft, it’s just a bunch of total morons fumbling through a breaking-and-entering and it’s amazing. Fanny complaining that the burglars are terrible at theft, the Ghosts calling for 999, only to not think through how to communicate, them trying to communicate with Mike via a creepy doll’s eyelids, Alison immediately realizing Mike’s in the wardrobe, Julian writing “2 of them” instead of 2 like a non-dumbass, MIKE IN THE SUIT OF ARMOR, it’s all amazingly funny, but at the same time, it’s all underlined by the emotional truth that Alison, Mike, and the Ghosts have come far enough that the Ghosts are willing to help them out because they like them, instead of scaring them off or causing problems like in Season 1. Alison verbalizes it, but the more touching scene is how she thanks Robin, the Ghost that first scared her because he had nothing better to do, for getting Barclay to help them and he just nods humbly back. This episode is full of idiots, but it’s got a decent amount of heart in it that gives it weight beyond the laughs.

The Ghost of Christmas probably has one of my favorite theses on why we endure the holidays with our families, despite it never being as magical as can be. There’s stuff to nitpick like how I don’t like how Mike’s sisters delight in Mike throwing a fit, going so far to film it, and some of Julian’s scenes with the baby run a bit long for my taste, but I really do like Julian’s summation of Christmas: that it’s perfect because it’s not perfect and that we should be grateful of any time we spend with family, because it will all go away someday, as the ghosts can testify. We take the good with the bad. There are some delightful humor bits like the Ghosts needling the Captain and Thomas to join in on Twister, Fanny looking up at the tall tree from the seeds they planted, Mike’s dad having a chainsaw, and Julian waving off his daughter being a MP of the Green Party (screw you, Julian, she rules because of that), but there’s also the theme of family in the emotional scene. When Mike’s dad tells him they’re overbearing because someday they won’t get to do things for him, there’s a heartwarming irony that, even past death, the Ghosts are there for Alison, their newest family member. This episode made me realize just how... barren Alison’s biological family connections are from the first episode’s mentioning that there were no other direct relatives. And In the Bleak Midwinter is a gorgeous song that cuts as a certain truth: just because others can’t see your family doesn’t make them any less real to you.

Saddest death: Thomas dying all alone at the tree, no one living by his side, feeling the sting of being rejected one final time at the end because his cousin was a selfish arse who capitalized on a woman he didn’t love for her estate? God, this bears repeating, but fuck Lord Button the First.

Favorite season: Oh, definitely Season 2. I love Season 1, but I’m not a huge fan of second-hand embarrassment and seeing Alison get embarrassed by her reacting to ghosts that others can’t see made me wince quite a few times. I much prefer Season 2′s handling of Alison and the Ghosts and how they work.

Least favorite season: Season 1. I don’t take to the more second-hand embarrassment humor of that season, but I do love every episode except Free Pass. It’s still a great season with episodes like Happy Death Day, Moonah Ston, and Getting Out. Special mention to Happy Death Day, which was the first time I realized Ghosts could balance the comedy and the darkness with sincere emotion without them undercutting each other at the wrong time.

Character that everyone else in the fandom loves, but i hate: Now? Not really. In the first season though, I sometimes found Kitty a little too grating, possessive, and intrusive. Not that I don’t get where she’s coming from, her childhood sounds lonely and painful in ways she doesn’t fully comprehend and ghosthood hasn’t exactly made her any less lonely in some ways, most times I understand, but sometimes, like at the start of Getting Out where I feel she really should pump the brakes.

That being said, her backstory’s gonna break me. I just know it.

My ‘you’re piece of trash, but you’re still a fave’ fave: Fanny or the Captain. They really can be abrasive or domineering in that first season, the Captain steamrolling over Pat from time to time and Lady Fanny’s nitpicking and homophobia, but I do get why they are that way and they do get better.

My ‘beautiful cinnamon roll who deserves better than this’ fave: Kitty, who deserves all the blankets for that childhood. Mary, who likely has a mental illness and got burnt because of that. Humphrey, who doesn’t deserve being ignored by the Ghosts.

My ‘this ship is wrong, nasty, and makes me want to cleanse my soul, but i still love it’ ship: Thomas/Alison. Thomas, sometimes, your behavior can get a little too much regarding Alison. That first (thankfully only) peep at her in the shower, I know you’ve been frustrated for years as a Ghost, but noooooooo. That being said, when Thomas respects her boundaries and is a supportive friend (have I mentioned how touching In the Bleak Midwinter is?), I dig them.

My ‘they’re kind of cute, and i lowkey ship them, but i’m not too invested’ ship: Pat/Cap. Not that I don’t get it, and it promises heartwarming feels and heartbreak (Pat moving on after they hook up and Captain having to watch another leave him again, but this time, Captain got to admit his feelings before the leaving) and they are rather adorable together, but I’m more waiting for the narrative to acknowledge the possibility before launching myself into the ship full-time.

#bbc ghosts

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friendship-ended-with-pokespe · 4 years

Text

Kirby and the Dangerous Gourmet Mansion!? Chapter 8

Mrs. ParfaitLike was in the deepest part of the cave. Both of her hands and legs are tied with a rope, and its tip is tied to a thick post. Nevertheless, Mrs. ParfaitLike seemed full of energy. “Please untie this rope! Please free me! You'll have a bad time if you were to disobey me!”

She was jumping about and shouting, but settled down when seeing a group coming near her. Her pudgy face suddenly sparkled. “My, Lord Meta Knight! You came to rescue me, right!? As expected from Lord Meta Knight! I surely believed that you'll come to save me!” In her eyes, only Meta Knight seemed to enter. The madam suddenly went limp, and pleaded in a tearful voice. “I was in an awfully frightening situation......I can't stop shivering. Please untie this rope quickly......” “......You've been all energetic just now.” Whispered Kirby. At last, she noticed everyone besides Meta Knight. Her eyes filled with tears just now suddenly twitched up. “My! What are you people! Are you friends with the kidnapper? Could it be, that Lord Meta Knight......y-you people were part of the bad guys as well!? Is that it, huh!? To make me lower my guard, and abduct me......I won't forgive this! I'll throw all of you into a planet of prison!!!” “Please settle down, Mrs. ParfaitLike.” Said Meta Knight. Even with his expression concealed by the mask, sense of tedium seeped out from his voice. “We came to rescue you. Before that however, there is something we want to hear.” “About what!?” “It's about the chefs at your mansion.” As soon as he said so, her countenance changed. “I-I wonder what it's about?” Her voice too, is shrill. “There are several chefs in your mansion, yes?” “Y-Yes......certainly. Since I'm a huge gourmet!” “But there were only 3 chefs that made the cuisine at today's party......what happened to the others?” “I don't know......” “The heck you mean you don't know!” Sir Kibble jumped up and shouted. “We can see right though you! You locked up all the chefs that you don't like in a hidden room! Give back Chef Kawasaki!” “S-Stop making strange accusations! Chef Kawasaki is a third-rate chef! I have no idea what happened to him!” “What did you just say!?” Sir Kibble, Wheelie, and Walky were all about to rush at Mrs. ParfaitLike. However, Meta Knight stopped them. “Mrs. ParfaitLike, there's no use in feigning ignorance. If you don't admit it, we’ll just examine your mansion thoroughly. If we happen to come across any chefs from the hidden rooms, everything will become clear.” “......!” She grimaced in frustration and shouted. “So what about it then!? I didn't do anything bad!” “You......are you still trying to play dumb!?” “It's not something any of you would understand. The importance of foods!” Suddenly, Mrs. ParfaitLike puffed out her chest as if fighting back. “Meal is the most important thing in one's life. Having your fill of what's delicious is the happiest thing imaginable!” “You’re right!” Kirby suddenly agreed, where Meta Knight then warned him in a low voice. “Shut it, Kirby.” However, Kirby didn't hear it. Kirby said while bouncing up and down. “I think so too! I'm the happiest whenever I eat!” “......Oh my, I’m surprised that you speak the same language.” She seemed to see Kirby in a more positive light. “I'm always thankful for the chefs who make delicious cuisines for me!” “Yeah! Me too!” “Me three!” Even King Dedede joined in. “Sleeping is fun too, but eating is more fun!” “I know, right!? I love eating!” “I'm the happiest whenever I eat fatty meat! Without meat, this world is a pitch-black darkness!” “I like meat, fish, vegetables, and even fruits! I also love cake!” “......You people are down to earth.” Facing Kirby and King Dedede, she smiled. “Truly, it's as you say. delicious meals are the greatest treasure in your life.” “Uh-huh!” “For this reason, I can't stand a chef who serves dishes that doesn't suit my taste!” Her tone suddenly became stern. Kirby and King Dedede zipped their mouth, both surprised by that threatening attitude of hers. “Eating something that isn't delicious is the worst pain! It has no use in life!” “......Erm......well......” “A chef that feeds me dishes like that is no different than a criminal! It's reasonable for me to chastise them!” And then, Mrs. ParfaitLike looked at Kirby with blazing eyes. “You think so too, right?”

Kirby was troubled. Both Kirby and Mrs. ParfaitLike love delicious foods. But what the madam said feels sort of wrong...... “That's why I punish chefs that feed me those dishes. I’m not wrong, am I!?” “U......Umm......but......” Kirby's tongue was tied. It does feel a bit wrong......but, he understands the feeling of wanting to eat delicious foods...... “I have no doubts on Chef Kawasaki's skill. I don't think that guy would have made a terrible dish......” Said King Dedede. “But he did! He fed me an unbelievably terrible dish!” “What did he make?” “Steak!” Kirby and his friends exchanged looks. Steak should be Chef Kawasaki’s master dish...... “At first, I thought it was delicious. For that reason, I ordered him to make only that for three meals every day. Then that Kawasaki said, “Eating nothing but steaks isn't nutritionally balanced!” He talked back to me!” “......Can you really say that's talking back......?” “I say it is! So I threatened him, and he did cook me steak every day. Then, in 5 days, that guy cooked a steak without any taste!” “Eh!?” “I complained, and he talked back to me again! He said, “The seasoning is always the same. It must be because Madam caught a cold that you can't taste anything!”” “......A cold......?” “Right. I certainly did have a cold on that day. Still, that can't be the reason, right!? If he's a first-class chef, he should be able to research a special seasoning for me to recognize the taste even if I catch a cold!” “That's absurd......” “It's not just Chef Kawasaki. Even the other chefs are all terrible. One chef said that pizza is his specialty, so he made one for me. It was so delicious, that I ended up eating thirty whole pizzas in one go!” “Thirty whole......!?” “Lucky...... !” Kirby and King Dedede’s face were on the verge of drooling. “Then, I said afterward, “I would like a baked flan for dessert.” It's my favorite! But I was so full and couldn't take one more bite! I was fuming, so I locked him in the room! I’m not wrong, am I!?” “......This makes no sense.” Meta Knight shook his head. “Mrs. ParfaitLike, you are way too selfish. I ask to free the chefs immediately.” “No! I'm not at fault!” “In that case, we’ll search every nook and cranny of your mansion.” “......Guh! I won't forgive you!” Mrs. ParfaitLike ran amok while tied up. Kirby became somewhat sad. If they were to search her mansion, they can rescue the chefs......but, If the person in question isn't remorseful at all, she’ll undoubtedly repeat the same thing somewhere else. (At heart, I don't think even Mrs. ParfaitLike is a bad person. After all, she threw such a wonderful party, and allowed us to take part in the feast......) Is there any way to make her realize her faults? (But whatever I tell her, it doesn't seem like she’ll listen......) Something suddenly came to his mind at that moment. Deeply absorbed in his thoughts, Kirby shouts. “I got it! There’s something that could reach one's heart more than just words!” “What happened, Kirby?” Asked Meta Knight. “I thought of a way to move Mrs. ParfaitLike’s heart!” “Move her heart......you say? How?” “By singing!” Happy with his idea, Kirby did a somersault. “I read a book before. It's a story where a Princess who closed her heart is comforted by a beautiful song. The princess wouldn't lend her ears to anything they said, but was moved after hearing a beautiful song! So singing is a better way to convey your feelings than talking!” Meta Knight was puzzled. “I certainly think a beautiful music has the power to move one's heart......” “Right!? That's why I believe even she'll change her feelings once she hears a lovely song!” “There's just one problem.” “What?” “How are you going to prepare a lovely song? There's neither a singer nor a music player here.” “-I see! Is it my turn on the stage at last!?” King Dedede puffed out his chest and butted in. “Ah-, ah-, ahhh......ahem, good. My throat is in great condition! I'll sing!” Kirby shook his head. “No, you can't. Your singing will destroy everything. Leave this to me!” Looking down at Kirby, King Dedede ridiculed him. “You're gonna sing? Oh please, you're tone-deaf.” “I’m not! I’m good at sing! I got it, Walky, work with me for a while!” “Eh? Me......?” “Uh-huh!” Bending his chest backwards, Kirby turned towards Walky. Walky winced. “W-Wait a minute, Kirby......” “It's alright! I'm just gonna copy your ‘Mike’ ability!” “T-That’s not alright!” “One, two~!” With all his strength, Kirby took a deep breath. “Stop~! Ahhh~!” Walky was inhaled by Kirby. Once again, Kirby transforms. With a headphone on his head, he is holding a mike. With this, Kirby is now able to make his voice resound louder than anyone! “Now, I'll sing!” Kirby turned around to face Mrs. ParfaitLike. Not knowing what's about to start, Mrs. ParfaitLike is looking at Kirby in curiosity. Kirby was about to sing at once-but suddenly became stumped. (E-Erm......which one should I sing?) There are hardly any songs that Kirby knows. (‘A Song of Breakfast’......isn't very moving. ‘A Second Helping Ondo’ isn't quite right either......is ‘Love Song of Hungriness’ also no good......?) He couldn't think of a suitable song to move her heart. “What's the matter, Kirby? I take it that you can't sing?” King Dedede looked at Kirby with an unpleasant smile. “I-I’m not! I can sing!” “Ha, don't overdo it. Let me sing!” “No!” Kirby resolved himself. (I can't think of any song to move her heart. So there's no other way but to create a song right now on my own!) Kirby composed himself and closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath, one by one he turns any words he can think of into melodies......

Thirty whole pizzas~ Ooh, thirty whole pizzas~ I’m so jealous, lalala~ I want some too~!

Meta Knight flinched and covered his ears. “W-What is that nonsensical song!? Stop, Kirby......” However, Kirby was too carried away by his song to hear Meta Knight's words. (Meta Knight is all trembling! He's being moved by it!) Kirby became more and more eager. He uses the ‘Mike’ ability copied from Walky at full throttle! His voice reverberated throughout the narrow cave, and echoed several times louder.

For pizza, tomato sauce is the clear winner, yeah~ (Yeah~, yeah~) Uhh, after that, cheese important too, huh~! (Huh~, huh~)

Such an intense singing voice......rather, this is now a sound weapon. The cave walls began to crack. “You’ve got to stop, Kirby! The cave is getting destroyed!” Yelled Meta Knight. “More than the cave, m-my ears are getting destroyed!” Screamed Mrs. ParfaitLike, writhing in pain. Unfortunately, she couldn't even cover her ears as both of her hands were tied up. Closing his eyes, Kirby was completely lost in his singing.

Chef Kawasaki's steak is the best~! (The best, the best, the best~) Let's all try it, beef steak~! Without forgetting the dessert, lalala~! Ice cream is my favorite~! (My favorite, my favorite, my favorite~)

From the cave’s ceiling, soils began to fall in pieces. One of the pieces hit Kirby. “......Huh? What happened?” At last, Kirby stopped singing. “Oh no, the cave is collapsing!” “Run!” The whole crew fled the cave in panic. Mrs. ParfaitLike too, was carried outside by Meta Knight. Just as when everyone rushed out of the cave, it crumbled with a loud sound. Sir Kibble muttered with his face frozen. “Y......You......Kirby, you are......the strongest in Dream Land......” “Eh? The best? You mean my singing? Was it that moving?”

Here, “strongest” and “best” sounds similar in Japanese. Strongest is “Sai-Kyou,” (最強) and best is “Sai-Kou.” (最高)

“You moron! Look, because of you, the cave is now in a complete ruin!” King Dedede was about to berate Kirby, but Meta Knight stopped him. “Stop. On the contrary, it might've been a good thing that the cave collapsed. If Kirby continued to sing like that......” “S-Stop! Don’t say any further. I don't even want to imagine it!” Even King Dedede trembled. Sir Kibble and Wheelie also nodded with a serious face. Realizing that the song which he put all his heart into was somehow notorious to everyone, Kirby was downhearted. “Hey, what did you think of my singing......?” He tries asking Mrs. ParfaitLike. “Eeeek! Stop! I was to blame! I'll apologize, so don't sing anymore!” She bowed her head with teary eyes. “Eh? You mean that you feel remorse?” “Right, I feel remorse from my heart! I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I'll free the chefs, so please forgive me!” Kirby stared in amazement. He didn't really get it, but......for her to cry like this while self-reflecting must mean......

“I knew it was all thanks to my singing......the power of songs is wonderful......” Kirby did a somersault in satisfaction. The headphone on his head came off, turning back to Walky. “W-Wha? What happened......?” “Tsk! You were so lucky, Walky!” Said Sir Kibble to Walky, who was in a complete daze. “Huh? What do you mean?” “We can talk later. Let's return to Mrs. ParfaitLike’s mansion. We need to rescue the chefs.” Said Meta Knight. “Hey, what do we do with ParfaitLike? Is it alright to not teach her a lesson?” Sir Kibble said in dissatisfaction. “She’s already received plenty of punishment, no? Unable to cover her ears, she was directly hit by Kirby's song.” Answered Meta Knight. “......Y-You're right. If I think of it that way, I do feel bad for her......” “I have an idea. You guys come as well.” Meta Knight turned his cape.

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#kirby novels #kirby of the stars #light novel #translation #kirby #king dedede #meta knight

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lotusss-flowerbomb · 4 years

Text

But I Hate You (3)

PART 3

Florian Munteanu x reader

Warnings: Reader is a meany pants.

Word Count: 2,594

********

Almost a month had passed since Florian's parents left and it was finally time for him to deliver on the Bahamas trip he'd promised.

The two of you hadn't seen much of each other since he was busy with a few different modeling gigs and you were busy with your own career. You both still made it a point to at least say good morning and goodnight.

You couldn't believe how you went from not being able to stand being in the same room with him to wondering what he was doing on a daily basis. Although you thought about it often, you still hadn't crossed the line with him. Conversation was kept light and neutral on your end every night. It didn't stop him from constantly flirting and throwing out hints.

You were packing your luggage when you heard your phone ringing. You looked at the screen and saw Kay's name and photo.

"Hey, hun, what's up?" You greeted her lightly.

"I thought you said that this trip was just for us?" She asked.

"It is, Flo is bringing everything over tonight. He's already taken care of everything."

"Then why is my boyfriend packing his bag saying that both he and Flo are coming?"

"What? No! This is supposed to be for us. He's not invited and neither are you Michael Bakari Jordan!"

"You can't tell me that I'm not invited. You didn't pay for it." He yelled through to you.

Just then your doorbell buzzed.

"Oh, he's here. Let me get to the bottom of this. I'll call you back later." You said and ended the call as you buzzed Florian in.

"Hi, beautiful," he said as he walked through the door.

"Don't you 'hi beautiful' me, Munteanu." You placed your hands on your hips.

"Hi, lil ugly?" He looked confused.

"Very funny," you pinched.

"Ouch! Woman, that hurts stop pinching me!" He rubbed his arm. "I don't even know what I did to deserve it this time."

"You planning on going on this trip?"

"Oh..."

"Mmm hmm," you lifted a brow.

"Well, I wasn't gonna let you go alone and then I told Mike about it and suggested that he bring Kay."

"You knew I was planning to take Kay the entire time. You had this whole thing figured out from the beginning didn't you?" You squinted.

"What?!" He asked. His pitch was so high that you couldn't help but smile. Whatever lie he was going to tell was completely ruined by that.

"You guys could have at least told us. I feel bamboozled. How is she supposed to be my wing woman with her boyfriend breathing down her back?"

"You don't need a wing anything, because I'll be there and I'll knock out anyone trying to get with you."

"Our one week relationship was fake, so I don't need you coming to purposely cock block."

He moved in closer to you and put his hand on the small of your back and pulled you into him. You froze. He tucked his face in the crook of your neck and your eyes closed thinking he was about to kiss you, but he didn't. He pulled back and smiled at you.

He gave you everything you needed for the flight and left without saying another word.

"Shit," you muttered to yourself. He was absolutely aware of the effect that he now had on your body.

********

You'd slept most of the flight. Instead of going to bed the night before, you worked and by the time you decided to lie down, the alarm started going off.

You stretched as you exited the plane and fell in line with your friends. Excited to get away from life for a while, you and Kay happily skipped to the awaiting car.

"I can't wait to go to the beach and lay out in the sun," you sang.

"Which bathing suit are you gonna wear?" Kay asked.

"I'm thinking about the black one piece. What do you think?"

"Yes, me too," she agreed.

"How many did you bring?" Florian asked.

"Two... For each day and they match," Mike rolled his eyes.

"Why?"

"We need options and they aren't all exactly the same." You said.

"You both sound a little jealous if you ask me," Kay chimed in.

The four of you bickered back and forth the entire ride about it being unnecessary for women to always match each other. Michael felt so bad for the driver for having to listen to it that he gave him a nice tip upon arrival to the resort.

The couple split and headed to their cute little hut. Florian was carrying some of your bags, so you thought nothing of it when he followed you to yours.

"I really don't understand why you have so much stuff. We're only going to be here for a few days." He grumbled.

"Stop your whining, it's only three bags," you opened the door. You told him where to sit your things and wandered around the hut. He came and flopped down on the bed. "What are you doing?"

"Taking a nap," he said with his eyes closed.

"Go to your own hut to take a nap."

He opened one eye and looked at you.

"No, absolutely not! We are not sharing this room," you tried to push him off the bed. He didn't budge one bit. "There's only one bed."

"This bed can fit three of me. There's plenty of space for both of us."

You glared at him. If looks could kill, he'd be a pile of ash. He was completely unbothered. He knew exactly what he was doing and he knew the more he frustrated you the easier you'd be to get.

********

By the time he woke up, you were already gone. He could see you and Kay laid out on the beach from the window. Your hair was pulled tight up on your head and you moved your hands in an animated way while talking. He decided to get changed and join you.

"Well, well, well, sleeping beauty has risen," you joked as he walked up.

"Bro still asleep?"

"He's at the bar," Kay nodded.

"You want anything?" He asked. You both declined and he made his way over to his friend. You both looked in the direction he was headed as two of the women Michael was talking to noticed him and flocked to his side.

"I really don't understand how you deal with it," you said.

"It comes with the territory," she shrugged.

"Yeah, but how do you get over it? I don't think I ever could."

"I was bothered at first and so worried all the time that I could barely sleep at night, but I know he would never do anything to hurt me. I had to learn to trust him."

"Hmm." You trailed off lost in your thoughts.

After a few minutes, both Florian and Michael were headed back your way. You could hear them saying bye to the fans the closer they got.

"Do either of you plan on getting in the water or are you just going to sit here and look cute?" Florian asked.

"Sit here and look cute," you quickly answered. When you finally looked up at him he had that stupid sneaky grin on his face. You moved to get up, so you could get away from him. "Flo, no."

He stood with you. You tried to run, but he quickly caught up, scooped you up and threw you over his shoulder.

"You put me down right now!" You struggled against him. He walked into the water until it was at his waist.

"Okay," he tried to throw you in, but you wrapped your body around him. You climbed until you were on his neck. "Damn, girl, how you do that?"

"Don't dunk me in the water. This is not a suit that's supposed to get wet."

"Then you should've worn a different one," he said just before he fell back submerging you both in the water.

Kay laughed as she watched you splash around to grab onto him again.

"I don't know why you laughing," Michael said just before grabbing her and running into the water to throw her in.

"Y'all play entirely too much," you splashed Florian as you stood.

Kay could be heard telling Michael that she was going to kill him not too far from you. You noticed some people taking photos and turned away.

"Oh God, they're gonna post this stuff on the internet and people are going to think we're dating."

"Why do you say it like it's the worst thing that could ever happen to you?" He asked.

"Because it is," you replied.

"Mmm," with that he turned to leave. You couldn't really see his face, but it almost looked like he was... hurt by what you said. You brushed it off and just followed him out of the water. He kept going back to the hut and you sat back in your spot in the sand.

********

Florian never came back from the hut and you didn't go back until it was time to change for dinner. You'd all decided to go out together on the plane since you knew your time with Kay was limited since her boyfriend had insisted on coming.

Florian didn't talk much when you got back. He kind of stayed out of your way until it was time to leave. He seemed to open up a little through dinner, but when everyone was finished eating, he stood and went over to the bar.

"What's his deal?" Kay asked. They were both staring at you.

"What? I don't know," you said confused.

"What you do to my bro?" Michael questioned.

"Nothing," you said. When you looked back over at him, he had his face in some chick's neck and whispering in her ear. "He looks just fine to me." You said.

After sitting around talking for a while you were all ready to go. Exhaustion had definitely caught up with you. You went to the bar to get Florian, pushing through the few thirsting women in his face.

"We're heading back," you said to him.

"Okay?" He looked at you.

"Are you not coming?"

"Nah, I'll stay here. See you later." He went back to talking to a groupie completely dismissing you.

Your heart rate kicked into high gear. Only this time you didn't like the feeling. You walked away and went to the car where your friends were waiting.

"He said he's staying," you announced as you got in.

"What? Seriously, what did you do to him?" Michael asked you again.

********

When you awoke the next day Florian wasn't in the bed or anywhere for that matter. You figured he'd gotten up early to get a workout in, so you went ahead and got dressed for the day. Just as you were sliding on your shoes there was a knock at the door. You peeked out and saw Kay.

"Hey," you opened the door and stepped aside for her to come in. She stomped past you.

"I cannot believe you," she put her hands on her hips.

"What?"

"You told Flo that he would be the worst thing that ever happened to you?"

"What?!" You exclaimed, "actually yeah, I did." You remembered.

"Why would you do that? It really hurt his feelings. He slept on our couch."

"It hurt his feelings? It's kind of like our thing. You know, I say something shitty to him. He says something shitty to me. I didn't think he'd take it seriously."

"Girl, that man is head over heels for you of course it hurt his feelings!" She said.

"He wasn't that hurt with the way he was all over those women at the bar." You couldn't help the jealousy that laced your words. She just looked at you. "Fine, I'll apologize." You huffed.

"Good, Mike and I are going for a couple's massage," she headed towards the door.

Your mouth dropped open. "It's only the second day and you're ditching me already?"

"Yes, here," she handed you her room key, "I want him out, so my man can break my back later." You pretended to gag at her words. "Yeah, whatever, go say sorry," she said over her shoulder.

Before going to apologize to Florian you made a little pit stop. You stopped back in your room to grab in swim trunks, but when you stepped in he was on the couch watching TV. He looked up at you briefly, but didn't say anything. You sat next to him and he kept his eyes on the TV.

"Hey," you bumped him arm with your body.

Silence.

"Come on, Flo, I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"It's not a big deal," he shrugged.

"Yes, it is. Since I've gotten to know you I think you're great. You're nice, sweet, still a meat head, but all the other things are true." You smiled. His response was just a grunt. "Go change, I have a surprise."

He hesitated a little, but you batted your eyelashes sweetly. He got up to change.

After you arrived at your destination you got out of the car and happily bounced over to the docks. Florian on the other hand looked worried.

"What have you gotten into?" He finally asked.

"We're gonna swim with the sharks."

"Hell no," he stopped in his tracks.

"Come on, it'll be fun!!"

"Nope!" He turned.

"Floooo, please?" You uselessly tried to drag him with you.

He exhaled and walked with you back towards the docks. He couldn't believe how soft he was. He should still be mad at you.

You put on your life jackets per the trainers instructions and got in the boat to go out a little further. You were having the time of your life as they swarmed around you. Florian never moved, just watched.

"Come on," you waved him over. "They don't bite."

"Do they have teeth?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"Then they bite," he cut you off.

"Will you stop being such a big baby and get over here?"

He finally got down into the water. He was still scared at first, but finally relaxed after a while. Of course he had to take a video for his Instagram story.

"Make sure you mention how scared you were at first," you said into the camera.

"I don't know what she's talking about," he said when he turned it back to himself.

Once your time was up you headed back for lunch. Neither of your friends answered their phones, so you changed and went on without them. The two of you were talking when yet another fan walked over. You did your best to keep your expression neutral, but the jealousy just kept eating away at you.

You took pictures of them and smiled through it all. A few of them invited him to parties happening throughout the week. One or two said hello to you and the rest just handed over their phones and took them back as if you were there specifically for taking photos. He finally shut them down and told them that he was trying to have lunch with his friend.

"Let me see that," you reached over and grabbed the flyer for the party happening tonight. "Are you going?" You asked as you looked it over.

"Maybe; would you like to come?"

"No, thanks, I wasn't invited." You sarcastically reminded him.

He looked at you, but didn't say anything else about it. He switched the topic and you continued your lunch.

#florian munteanu x reader #florian x reader #florian munteanu #florian big nasty munteanu #big nasty #Lotusss Writes

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overheardatthecontinental · 3 years

Link

John Wick had a problem.

Helen would tell him he had many problems.

But for now, he was concentrating on one. What had started as weekly tradition of breaking into his therapist’s home had quickly increased to every day he was in New York. Then he was making excuses to run into the city so that he could watch her sleep. And now… it had been more than a week since John spent a night in his own bed.

In the early hours of the morning, John would either make his way to the Continental or home, where he would shower and sleep, confident in the knowledge that Helen was at her office. He would work, or find something to occupy his waking hours, until the clock struck eleven. And then he would, inevitably, find his way back to her.

His obsession with his therapist was getting out of hand.

But he couldn’t resist. He craved the very sight of her. It was like his body hummed with frustration and anxiety whenever she was out of his sight, only to be eased by the image of her in bed, the smell of her lotion, the soft sighs that escaped her as she shifted in her sleep.

It was a problem.

But he couldn’t bear to stop.

And unlike his other problems, he couldn’t just talk to Helen. The idea was laughable.

He can picture it now, as he sits in the parking lot outside her office:

“What would you like to talk about today, John?”

“Well, I can no longer go twenty-four hours without being in your presence, except, we only meet once a week, so the other six days, I break into your house and watch you sleep.”

Yeah. That’s not happening.

He stares at the clock on the dashboard, watching the minutes slowly dance by until he can see her. At 3:50, he watches her previous client leave the building and the remaining five minutes creep by. By 3:54, he’s had enough. He turns off his idling car and heads into the building, no longer caring about how it looks to arrive so early to a session.

Her door is open, as usual, and she is standing over her desk, leaning over so she can type on her laptop. Her seldom-seen glasses are perched on her nose as she does, and John has to stop the barrage of thoughts that come from seeing her in such a position.

Her sweater dress could so easily be pushed up her thighs and…

No. Entertaining these thoughts is doing nothing to help him and every day, he feels himself slip more and more into his obsession.

“Come in, John.” She says, only then glancing up from the screen. “How was your day?”

“Alright.” He says, and Helen closes the laptop and takes off her glasses. A pity, he thinks. She really is so pretty in those glasses.

She grabs a Keurig pod from the basket over her desk before checking, “Planning for a late night?”

Always, now, he thinks. John nods and Helen slips it into the coffee maker and quickly turns it on.

“Oh! Before we start, can I ask a favor? I need to use your body.” He nearly chokes at her phrasing but immediately relaxes as she points to the air conditioner in her window. “I tried to take it out earlier and I saw my life flash before my eyes.”

John glances at her outfit. “In heels?”

She sends him a half-hearted glare. “Honestly, I didn’t even think about it before I came in today. But I heard on the radio that we’re supposed to get a frost this weekend. Usually I’d ask Mike, the building super, but he’s not answering his phone.”

“No problem.” John says, slipping out of his suit jacket and laying it on the chair. “Where does it go?”

“The floor is fine; I just want it out.”

He gives her a look and repeats himself, something he would never do for anyone else in the world, “Where does it go?”

Helen rolls her eyes good-naturedly, “There’s a storage closet down the hall.”

It’s already unplugged so John tucks away the wire and lifts the window off the machine. “Hold the door.” John tells her as he tugs the unit free of the window. It occurs to him how easily an air conditioner, if properly timed, could be used to make a murder look like an accident. A push at the right moment and a crushing death for whoever awaited below…

He follows Helen into the hall and down to where the closet. She quickly unlocks the door and points to the metal shelves where it goes.

He sets it down gently on the shelf, “Good to go.” He says, straightening his vest.

“You’re the best.” Helen tells him.

“Next time,” John says, “Just call me. I’m usually in New York. No near-death experiences with air conditioners. It might be… difficult” impossible “to find a new therapist.”

Helen smacks him on the arm as they walk back to the office, “You’re ridiculous.”

He inclines his head as they slip back in. Helen finds a cover for the coffee, which has finished brewing, and hands it off to John.

“What have you been up to this week?”

Killing, stalking, and watching you sleep.

“Nothing new.” He answers, taking a sip of the coffee as he finds his seat.

“Did you have many cases this week?”

I took extra so that I would be in New York, just so I had an excuse to check on you.

“A few. Nothing too extreme.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask for your definition of extreme.”

His lips twitch.

“Have you given much thought to what we discussed last week?”

“Which part?”

“Your identity. The age-old question that we all must ask of ourselves: who am I?”

Of course, he has. He is now fluent in Erikson’s model, killing the daylight hours with reading things she referenced. Taking delight in the fact that, after his mention of Godwin, he had found the anarchist’s texts on her bedside table.

A silent exchange.

Neither of them will address it but he knows that it has happened. That she cares, in whatever way she does. And he loves her for it.

“A bit.”

“And what did you think about?”

John sinks back into his chair, “My house.”

Helen inclines her head, “Oh?”

“It’s, uh… it’s a nice house, a nice property but it’s just a house.”

“It’s not a home?” She asks, trying to clarify his meaning.

And John nods. “If you were to walk through it,” ah, what a thought, “you probably wouldn’t be able to tell it was mine. I still have the furnishings and the art that came with it. And I don’t have a lot of… stuff. Aside from my clothes, and my books, there’s nothing really there that’s mine.”

“Possessions don’t always reflect personality.”

He thinks about her home. The throw cushion on her couch that says choose happy and the fleece blanket she wraps up in while watching television that’s covered in daisies. The potted plants that advertise the presence of a nurturer, the pictures taken with her friends. There is framed artwork on her walls that seem to highlight her softness.

He thinks of Aurelio’s place, littered with spare car parts. John had once gone to sit on Aurelio’s couch only to land on a steering wheel. There were pictures of his family. A neon sign that Aurelio claimed to have stolen from a pub in Queens. Old magazines on his kitchen table, beer bottles piled next to an overflowing recycling.

Even Winston, who John regarded as a fairly private person, displayed a collection of old chess sets. He proudly put a collection of knives under a glass that he claimed belonged to the third Elder. While there were no pictures of friends or family, he had a taste of the extremes. Large leather couches and glass tables. A collection of top-shelf liquors sat next to an antique globe.

“That’s true,” He says, “But I see other people’s homes and spaces, and they almost seem to belong to them. And mine is as empty as a hotel room.” John pauses in thought, “I’m well aware that my personality is… bland but—”

Helen cuts him off, “Bland?” She repeats, amusement etched onto her pretty face.

John shrugs, “I was recently compared to a block of wood.”

“By who?” Now, there is disbelief in her voice.

“Santino. One of my,” he cannot think of a better word, “colleagues.”

She rolls her eyes, “Well, I expect that you tend to close off around your,” she uses quotations, “’colleagues’.”

John opens a hand in well, what are you gonna do kind of way. “It’s hard to trust trained killers. The less they know about me, the better off I am.”

“We’re going to circle around to that.” Helen tells him, “But I do want to try to understand your thoughts surrounding your home.”

He isn’t quite sure what to say, “I don’t know. I suppose I have a tendency towards utilitarianism.”

Helen is nodding, thoughtfully. “Yet, you’re far past the time in your life when you weren’t able to afford the things you want. Which makes me think that it’s a choice you’ve made, to leave your own space barren.”

“I’ve considered as much.”

“And?”

John shrugs, “I’ve come to several conclusions but no real answers.”

“Tell me.”

“The first, is the most obvious. I grew up without having anything that was mine. I shared blankets, when we had them. Food. Clothing. I learned to live without superfluous things.”

She considers that, “A possibility, and certainly a contributor, but many people who grew up in poverty who, for lack of a better term, rise above their circumstances do the opposite. They buy everything they were never able to have as children.”

“If there’s something that I want, I’d get it. There’s just nothing that I want.” Except for what I can’t have, he thinks.

“When was the last time you bought yourself a little luxury? Nothing related to clothes or food or hygiene. Nothing for work. Just something for you?”

He bought himself several books on and by Erikson, the psychologist she had referenced the week before, but he doesn’t want to tell her that. And, now that he thinks of it, his last several purchases were books she had either mentioned, or he had seen on her bedside table and picked up for himself. Just in case it ever came up in conversation.

“Just books.” He tells her. “A few months ago, I bought a new coffee machine. Does that count?”

She smirks, “I would consider coffee a necessity.”

He grins back, “I’m sure you would.”

“So, nihilism aside…” John snorts at that assessment, but Helen continues, “You said you had other theories?”

John nods, “I also have to consider my Romani heritage. Even the orphanage moved around a lot. Nothing was permanent, until I got to New York. And then, I ran away. And then I was in the military, where we weren’t exactly able to bring things with us. Maybe I just can’t put stock into the idea of permanence.”

Helen seems to sigh, quietly. Empathy burns in her eyes and John can feel it, in turn, burning into him. He’s not quite sure how to deal with it.

Helen offers him a smile and it’s weighted in emotion as she teases, “Keep making connections like that and I’ll start to think you don’t need me anymore.”

“I’ll always need you.” It slips from him before he has a moment to think better of it.

A moment passes, his words lingering in the air and John hopes against hope that she can’t see just how enamored with her he is.

He desperately tries to think of something to say to fill the silence, to take back his words without taking away the meaning behind them.

“Good.” Helen says softly and, just like that, it’s over. “Now, going off of that idea of permanence, I wonder how much of it is habit, like you were saying, and how much of it might be a reflection of the loss you’ve gone through?”

“My experiences have conditioned me for loss?” He interprets.

And Helen shrugs, “Haven’t they?”

John thinks back. The Romani had kept him alive as a child, but they had shipped him off without so much as a goodbye. And while New York had been an improvement, there was still nothing that was his save a stolen Bible. He had left it behind when he ran away to Mexico.

In Mexico, he had shelter. He was a child, but he still had his own tiny place carved out in the world. His own blanket, his own clothes. A worn copy of 1984 that he had stolen from a passenger on the train. It had all been burnt when his village had been razed, leaving him only with the clothes on his back.

The years that followed weren’t much better. He was forced back into the Underworld and while it was far from perfect, he preferred the freedom of it rather than being forced into social services. Being forced to make up some kind of lie to protect his Romani brethren. No, the Underworld was not perfect, but it was all he knew.

He was paid terribly because they could pay him terribly. He was given shit jobs but he took them so he could eat. And once he started growing, he needed new clothes. Over the course of two years, he grew a foot.

When he finally escaped that world again, he took only what he could carry with him. A small duffle full of clothes, a spare pair of shoes, and two knives that didn’t fit on his person.

When he joined the army, he didn’t take anything with him aside from a single book.

And it wasn’t until years later, when he decided enough was enough, and rejoined the fold that he had the ability to settle down.

“I can understand why that may be a part of it.” John admits, “But I think, mostly, it comes down to the fact that I just don’t care about most things.”

“Once again, nihilism makes an entrance.”

John shrugs, “I have more money than I ever dreamed of. And permanence doesn’t matter when I could afford to buy things a thousand times over. The only priceless possessions I have, I keep in my car. Just in case.”

She seems to brighten at that, leaning forward with interest, “And what does John Wick consider to be priceless?”

Not much, he thinks.

Her business card, which she had given him that first day in the café, with her cell phone number etched on the back. He keeps it tucked away in an envelope and locked in his glovebox.

A revolver gifted to him by Marcus. The only present he had ever been given without an expectation of reciprocation.

The copy of Walden he had taken from the little library at the military base where he trained. His only constant companion through three tours of duty.

He decides not to mention the first. “A gun given to me by an old friend. And a copy of Walden.”

“Thoreau.”

John nods.

Helen sits back, “I don’t associate you much with a love for nature. Is it the isolation aspect that attracts you, the civil disobedience piece, or that idea of self-reliance?”

“I would say all of it, although the self-reliance was what first pulled me in. It…” He hesitates, unsure of why he feels the need to share such a little thing with her, “It was the only possession I brought with me everywhere when I was in the army. And when I returned home.”

“It really stayed with you.”

John nods, “I suppose, it helped me learn to think a bit more critically. To challenge the automatic assumptions that came with growing up in the Underworld.”

“I imagine there was a sort of irony about reading such a text while in the military.”

He can’t stop the smile that crosses his lips. He doesn’t have to explain his bizarre humor or reasoning to Helen. She just gets it. “I’ll admit, that was part of the charm. Imposing those shades of grey into my life that were absent in the Underworld and, again, missing from the marines.”

She smiles back, “You pursue that duality in life. Toeing the line of arbitrary rules and ethics, while simultaneously embracing the meaninglessness.”

“Nihilism and Walden have been my constant companions.”

“Let’s add absurdism there for good measure.” She jokes and John finds himself laughing. Something he only does in her presence.

He loves her. He loves her. He loves her.

He knows it, he feels it so deeply within him, but he can’t act on it. He won’t.

He knows she deserves so much better than him.

“Alright, back on topic.” Helen says with a small smile, “You said something last week that I’ve been considering in relation to this discussion.”

Grateful for the segue, John asks, “Oh?”

She nods, “You were talking about the idea of a normal life. A life away from the Underworld that you wanted, or at least considered, but identified as being out of reach.”

John nods back.

“I wonder, and please feel free to tell me if I’m off the mark, if those desires intersect with your decision to keep your house bare?”

He blinks, taking in her meaning.

His house is empty, in more ways than one. Just him and he doesn’t need anything. And the things he wants, well, he can’t have them. So why bother to fill his house with things that don’t matter? Why fill his house with trinkets when they’ll only serve to remind him of himself? Of the life he lives alone.

And John swears, “Fuck.”

Helen waits, in silence, as she always does while John works through his thoughts.

She’s right, to a degree, but it’s deeper than that.

He wonders if she realizes how much more it is. If she was truly asking him a question or manipulating him into figuring out for herself what she already suspected.

She was good at that. At breaking him down in ways that thousands of assassins never could figure out. He’d survived hundreds of attempts on his life but one question from Helen and he was ready to fall to his knees.

Fuck.

Minutes pass before Helen asks, “John?”

He swallows heavily, “I hate it when you’re right sometimes.”

“Epiphany?”

“Epiphany.” He echoes, “I think…” He hesitates.

She was right. Both today and last week, she had pinpointed the cause.

“I think you give me too much credit.” He had said softly.

“I don’t. But then, we’ve discussed your issues with self-esteem before.”

John rolled his eyes, “I don’t have poor self-esteem.”

“Oh, I agree. You have no self-esteem.”

Self-esteem just didn’t seem like an important thing. His reflective thoughts about himself didn’t affect his ability to work or to kill or to function.

And so, he had written them off as unimportant. Whereas Helen had been telling him, for weeks it seemed, that his sense of self mattered.

He tries not to look at her. He doesn’t need to look to know that she is staring at him kindly, non-judgmentally. Ready to listen and offer comfort.

“It’s okay, John.” She says softly, “You know you can say anything here.”

Anything, he thinks, except the words he swallows back every night.

He lets out a breath, “You’re right. About the self-esteem thing.”

She nods once, waiting for him to continue.

“I… don’t understand it, fully. I don’t get why it matters how I see myself but, I guess it does. At the end of the day, I don’t deserve a normal life. And I don’t deserve the things that come with it. Even if the things are just small tokens of normalcy.”

A moment passes that feels like an eternity to John.

“I want you to know, I’m unbelievably proud of you right now.”

He doesn’t want to look at her after that confession, but her words force him to raise his head in stunned disbelief. She can’t be serious…

But she’s staring at him in earnest, smiling softly, looking at him with kindness and gentleness and yes, with pride. She’s looking at him with pride in her eyes and he can’t quite figure out why.

And, as if she can sense his confusion, she adds, “You’ve been coming here for seven months and, for most of that time, you’ve been fairly resistant to actually being vulnerable.”

“I’ve told you things I’ve never told anyone.” John argues.

“I know. And I appreciate your trust in me. But there’s a difference between trusting me with legalities and learning to trust yourself enough to admit to these feelings. You’ve been sitting on these emotions for the better part of your life, John. Keeping them hidden or ignoring them. We joke about your nihilism when I think we both know that it’s easier to pretend nothing matters when we start to feel things too heavily.”

He sits with that.

God, is that what he’s been doing?

Ignoring his own self-hatred by ignoring anything that has to do with himself?

Filling his free time with work to keep him busy or reading, filling his mind with rationality and bullshit intellectualism rather than dealing with the emotions that linger below the surface?

But what else was he supposed to do?

Emotions were ignored most of his childhood, when fighting for survival was the precedent. And he just never learned.

Fuck.

Helen assesses him carefully, “What are you thinking, John?”

He’s not even entirely sure what he’s thinking but he settles on, “Life seemed simpler when my only focus was survival.”

She nods, thoughtfully, “I’m sure it did. Thought some people might argue that emotions offer a lot of evolutionary benefits.”

“Like what?”

“Well, anxiety warns us when we might be in danger. Anger helps us to protect ourselves. Sadness can help us to process complex events. Happiness and joy help us bond and create social alliances.”

She lets him mull that over before adding, “Your emotions are as much of a tool as your eyes and ears looking and listening for potential enemies.”

He considers that, too.

He gets her point. He really does, but his eyes and ears have never fucked with him the way his emotions did.

“I think it comes down to control.” He says thoughtfully.

“Oh?”

“I can close my eyes. I can choose not to listen. But my emotions…”

“You can’t shut them off. And ignoring only works for so long.”

“Yeah.”

Helen nods, “Our emotions are, arguably, one of the most complicated things to understand. And you’re right, they are one of the hardest things to control and while there are ways to change our thinking and challenge our automatic thoughts, we often can’t help what we feel.”

John knew that well.

He couldn’t help the hopelessness and the loneliness he experienced as a child.

He couldn’t help the intense anger at watching his first real home be burned to the ground.

He couldn’t help the contempt he felt for himself whenever he looked to deep inside himself.

And he certainly couldn’t help the intense obsession and other unnamable emotions that arose in him whenever he thought about Helen.

It wasn’t like he had tried to change any of it, though.

“Sometimes,” he admits softly, “I think that I force myself to feel the bad emotions. To force myself to suffer.”

Again, she nods, “Earlier you used the term deserve.”

“I don’t deserve anything.”

Fuck, did he really just say that? Out loud? To her?

He probably sounded like a whiny teenager. But Helen doesn’t look at him with annoyance or contempt.

She just inclines her head, “You know, I have a lot of clients who come in here and use the same language. I deserve this. I don’t deserve that.”

“I doubt most of your other client have killed people.”

In fact, he knows they haven’t. He had a background check run for every single person on her caseload to make sure she was safe in the hour she spent with them each week.

Helen, however, ignores him. “For most, it’s based on the Just World Theory. A sort of westernized karma that subscribes to the idea that the world is a fair place. And I know that you know, more than most, that this world is not a fair place.”

“No.” He agrees. “It’s not.”

Helen shakes her head, “We often bestow judgement. Upon ourselves, the people around us. Total strangers, even. And I’m as guilty as it as anyone,” he doubts that but she continues, “But you know what?”

“What?”

She shrugs a shoulder, “Doesn’t do a damn thing, offering judgement. It doesn’t change our past, our future. It doesn’t help us.” Her tone softens, “I know it’s not my place to offer an opinion…”

John shakes his head, “You know I value your thoughts.”

“I don’t know if God exists or if there’s a higher power. But I do know that we don’t get to decide who deserves what. We get dealt our hand and we do the best we can with it. And the more we fight that, the more we tell ourselves that we deserve better or worse, the more miserable we make ourselves.”

He hears her.

And he gets her point, he really does.

It’s not his position to make judgements. He doesn’t have a say in the twists and turns of luck that have amassed him a great wealth.

But it must be wrong because his most glaring example is looking into his eyes. He’s certain that he and Helen are not the same.

Helen is good, and kind, and gentle.

And John is harsh, and dark, and bad.

He’s not sure he can accept a world that views them on an equal playing field.

“You don’t have to believe me.” She tells him, her voice soft and understanding. He wonders, not for the first time, if she can read his mind. “But just consider it, okay?”

…..

He considers it. He spends the rest of the day considering it.

At the Continental, eating dinner, John found himself trying to challenge his automatic assumptions about the people around him.

Assassins, killers.

But did he really know anything else about them? Beyond rumors and hushed whispers? The same kind that followed him, that had turned John Wick into the Boogeyman.

He ponders her words: the more we tell ourselves that we deserve better or worse, the more miserable we make ourselves.

He was an expert at misery.

At best, he was a master of apathy. Hiding his misery under layers of not-caring. Like she said, it was easier to pretend that nothing mattered. It was easier to accept the self-hatred, or at the very least self-contempt, when he could just shrug it off.

Idly, he wonders what would happen if he just continues to ignore it.

Even as he thinks it, however, he knows it’s ridiculous. Helen could sit there and berate him for an hour each week and he’d still sit there happily.

With that thought in mind, he paid for his dinner and left the Continental. Tomorrow, he’ll come back in the early morning. Nap for a bit, then take a contract or two.

He wonders if it’s his obsession with Helen that will keep him in New York or his aversion to returning to his empty home after having that conversation. Neither seems to be a particularly healthy choice but he accepts it nonetheless.

He drives to her house and tries not to think of it as home.

He knows that something is wrong the moment he sees the house.

Helen is energy conscious. She rarely leaves a room without turning out the light. And right now, it is past her bedtime and the kitchen light is on.

He stops the car for a moment, just outside of her house, wondering if he’ll see a shadow move. Maybe he’s being paranoid. Maybe she just got up for water.

But nothing moves.

John throws the car in park. Normally, he’d hide the car a few blocks down and walk back to her house, but he doesn’t care. Quickly, he unlatches the glovebox to pull out his gun. He doesn’t even check it as he hurries out of his car.

The door is shut but the lock has been picked open. And not by him. No, whoever had done this didn’t have the skill to leave no marks in the metal. It was a rough, haggard job. And it was left unlocked.

Fuck.

He opens the door, gun-raised.

His head seems to be screaming a chorus of no, no, no, no, no, no as he clears the kitchen. He should clear the entire first floor, but his fear is outweighing his senses.

Emotional mind Helen would call it.

Her bed is empty but slept in. It wasn’t made and it looked as though she had thrashed about.

Someone had taken her from her bed.

He was shaking.

John was unsure if it was rage or fear that was pounding through him right now, but someone was going to pay.

A phone rings and it takes John a moment to recognize it as his own.

The screen has her name. Her work cell.

John accepts the call and puts the phone to his ear.

“Hello, John.” The voice is male. He doesn’t recognize it but there is a slight accent that he can’t quite place.

“Where is she?” He asks trying not to sound as desperate as he feels.

“Safe. For now.”

“Put her on the phone.”

“I’m afraid Miss Kingston has been sedated for the time being.”

“If you’ve hurt her…”

“I believe that now is not the time for you to be making threats.” His unknown opponent interrupts.

John tries to control himself. He can’t act until he knows more. The disgust pours from his voice as he forces himself to ask, “What do you want?”

“Very good.”

John closes his eyes and tries to focus on what it will feel like when he guts this man alive.

“Lorenzo D’Antonio will be in New York from tomorrow night through Monday.”

John can already tell where this is going. Lorenzo D’Antonio was the Camorra’s current leader. He held a seat at the High Table which made him virtually untouchable. No contract could be taken out against him or the Continental, and the High Table, would respond with force. To be caught even conspiring was to be dead.

“And you want him killed.” John finished.

“Not just Lorenzo. His heirs, as well.”

John let out a noise of disbelief. With Lorenzo dead, followed by his children, the Camorra would collapse.

Christ.

John had never given a flying fuck about Continental politics. He followed their rules to gain their services but this…

“And you’ll let her go?”

“Right into your waiting arms.” The man taunted.

John felt his nails digging into his palm as he struggled to maintain what little control he had left. “I want proof that she’s all right.”

“Fine.”

The line drops.

#this is a niche piece #but it is so fucking fun to write #john wick #helen wick #pre-john wick chapter one #pre- john wick #helen x john wick #john x helen wick #baba yaga #the boogeyman #john wick fanfics #john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #otp: daisy. of course #otp: daisy #otp: your best friend

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the-walk-of-weary-souls · 4 years

Text

Hello as of recently while watching game theory I've begun to create my own hypothesis in reguards to some of the details and blank spaces from their theories. In particular I began noticing stuff that seemed to fit together in their 'This changes everything' theory and the last part of the 'Not what we thought' theory so PLEASE GO WATCH THOSE FIRST IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY, this won't make sense otherwise.

First of all I believe Michael Afton is in fact the big brother's real name aswell as the name that the little brother (crying kid) is known as in the games. I say this because I think that the little brother has taken up the big brother's identity (I will from this point on refer to The older brother as Michael and crying kid as Mike as to avoid confusion). I came to this conclusion after Matpat theorized that the immortal and the restless where the immortal always starts the show off with 'The baby isn't mine' is refrencing the relationship Between William and Mike which made me start wondering if it was not referencing their relationship but Williams relationship with his other son Michael the elder brother instead in which case he would have a bad relationship with him but have a good relationship with the younger who he thinks is his son.

This would lead the elder to possibly getting Jealous enough to start bullying his younger brother only worsening the relationship Between William and himself and ultimately completely destroying it when he by accidentally killed Mike. At this point William promises to put Mike back together again and manages to do it but there's one small tiny problem, a dead kid can't suddenly come back to life again so he needs to get Mike a new identity. Luckily there is an easy solution to his problem in which he can get his youngest son back into the family and get rid of a son that he never thought was his own and probably hates for killing his youngest son. To put it simply I think he murdered his eldest son Michael Afton and gave his identity to his recently revived and amnesiac younger son.

This is why I personally think that Mike is using his brothers name instead of his own which we know he does not remember thanks to golden Freddy. Talking about golden Freddy and Mike, when Matpat theorized that there was in fact two souls possessing Golden Freddy; A female spirit named Cassidy and the vengeful spirit from UCN, a male possibly called Kelsey, a lot of pieces began fitting in place for me. For example remember how in UCN the voice lines kept referring to ' the one you should not have killed' golden Freddy as a he when we were sure that the spirit was a she up until the latest reveal where it makes sense again because it is referring to the male spirit in golden Freddy not Cassidy the female spirit.

I think that Mike had a close relationship with Kelsey both when he was still alive and after he dies and posses golden Freddy. I say this first of all because of how golden Freddy writes to Mike in the survival logbook as if trying desperately to jog his memory by referencing memories from his childhood (E.g. 'Was your favourite toy a purple telephone?' and 'Does he still talk to you?' And even at one point tries to be more direct by saying that 'the party was for you', you are the younger brother not Michael the elder brother)and directly asking him if he remembers anything including asking if he remembers his name. I also believe that phsycic friend fredbear was not the mind switching robots(which I actually think inspired by phsycic friend fredbear after William saw his sons interactions with the fredbear plush and realizing an actual soul inhabited it) Matpat theorized it was in a previous video but Kelsey extending his control outwards from golden Freddy onto the plush that his friend carries everywhere so that he can monitor his friend despite being stuck in the fredbear suit in the back room where we see a tuft of his hair coming out of the suit. It's also important to note that the only place that phsycic friend fredbear doesn't appear is inside the restaurant but is clearly still there because of his voice speaking to Mike which would make sense if he doesn't need the plush to see Mike there because it's where his body is stored anyway.

I think this is entirely possible as Kelsey is clearly able to appear outside of the golden Freddy suit in a completely different form to the actual golden Freddy as seen in 1:35 am's 'The New Kid' where he takes on the form of a kid and lures several children from nearby schools into old Freddy places where he then kills them with the golden Freddy suit so it is entirely possible he could be the plush Mike carried everywhere. His relationship with Mike could also explain his motivation for killing all of those kids by luring them to the golden Freddy suit, he was probably extremely angry when he lost his best friend despite his best efforts to keep him safe in the bite of 83 and thus takes it out on kids like the bullies in Fnaf 4. He does this by basically testing the kids to see if they'll try to put him into a springlock suit like the bullies did to Mike and if they do he kills them and moves on to the next victim.

To summarise it up Kelsey was probably Mike's best friend who at some point got killed by William and stuffed into a suit but due to pure determination his spirit stayed so that he could stay by his best friends side(unlike the other animatronics who stay because of Agony as confirmed in Game theories 'Your pain fuels us'which may explain his many extra abilities as they would be necessary to be by his friends side), this determination then turned to anger when he was unable to save his friends life or put his soul into something else like he was probably planning to do when William cut his dialogue off in the final cutscene of Fnaf 4 with 'I will put you back together' in a slightly different shade of yellow. So he starts killing kids like the bullies to try and get Vengance just like the other animatronics kill nightgaurds to try and get their Vengance. Eventually he realises that somehow miraculously Mike is alive and he figures out why which leads to him possessing the survival logbook to try and communicate with him and bring back his memories which he successfully does to at least a small extent. He probably sees this as a second chance for Mike at life but can only watch as instead Mike throws his life away in pursuit of his father and then completely gives up his life in the blaze that stops his father and frees the other spirits. Once again frustrated and beyond angry that he had to watch as his friend died again he blames his friends father William this time and so makes sure that he suffers for it by becoming his personal tormentor in hell instead of moving on like everyone else did.

This would explain several odd details such as why golden Freddy's phrase is it's me as he was probably trying to tell Mike that it's me Kelsey as well as why Golden Freddy will still attack you after entering your office instead of attacking as the spirit who is in control of (or has the most control of) Golden Freddy at that moment is Cassidy who wants to kill the nightgaurd and not Kelsey no wants to protect Mike. It also explains why Kelsey would go after kids instead of nightgaurds and why Golden Freddy is so interlinked with Mike.I also believe that like Matpat suggested Mike knew some of the other missing kids and by association so did Kelsey, but he may have had a more distant relationship with them only really hanging out with them because his best friend Mike or the crying kid as he is also known did.

Thanks for reading this, it is not really a theory as is lacks evidence but as a writer who has to clarify things I write in a logical way, this is how I filled in the gaps for Matpat's theories in a similar way to how I do when writing stories. I may come back to this later with a more fresh mind but it's really late now so goodnight.

#matpat #game theory #fnaf #michael afton #golden freddy

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alloftheimagines · 4 years

Text

billy hargrove | heaven-sent | part thirteen

series | part twelve

words: 1.6k

warnings: swearing, smoking, mentions of death and drinking, spoilers

i’m really a clown. this was supposed to be a small fic and here i am writing whole action scenes and planning sequels. i hope ya’ll aren’t getting bored because i feel like it’s taking away from the cuteness pls let me know! also i haven’t rewatched s2 in a while so some details might be off pls don’t hate meeeeee

summary: she’s an angel. he may as well be the devil. one would not exist without the other.

The sun is setting behind the trees as Frances digs through the soil frantically. Billy hovers behind her, his eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment as he flicks his lighter in his hand.

"Fran, let me do it," he says for the fifth time.

Frances shakes her head, smearing dirt on her cheek as she brushes her hair from her face. "No. I've got this. You should go."

Billy lets out a harsh chuckle. "Yeah, right. Just give me the damn spade." He snatches it from her hands forcefully, continuing Frances's job. The stench of rotting makes Frances want to gag as he unearths dead worms and corroding vines. "Remind me again what we're lookin' for?"

"My dad," she whispers, her voice cracking as she begins to pace nervously.

"Right, your dad," he nods, chucking soil behind him aggressively and barely missing Frances in the process. His denim jacket has been abandoned on the ground, and his back muscles ripple beneath his white shirt. "He bury himself alive a lot? Is there some kind a’ Hopper family ritual I should know about?"

Before Frances can reply, the spade hits something hard, causing Billy to stop. She crouches over the hole, her stomach twisting, Grey, mangled vines cover the ground, pulsating as though they're alive.

"What the fuck?" Billy mutters as he crouches beside Frances.

"You need to go home," Frances orders steadily, her voice no longer dismissive, but final. "Now."

"No. You need to tell me what the hell’s going on."

She straightens, snatching the spade from him, and he stands to tower over her with a frown. "I mean it, Billy. Go home."

"Give me one good reason why."

"Because I'm going down there, and you're not." She sighs in frustration, digging her spade into the vines with as much force as she can muster and watching with wide eyes as they separate, leaving an opening.

"You're bat-shit fuckin' crazy," he scoffs, shaking his head as he sticks a cigarette in his mouth, "Y'know that?"

"I'm not playing around!" she shouts, pulling the cigarette from his mouth before he can light it and picking up his jacket. She shoves it into his chest and he grabs it, his mouth agape in surprise. "Go!"

His expression turns to stone. "No. I don't know what the fuck's going on—"

"That's right, you don't!" she yells. "All you need to know is that if you go down there with me, if you even stick around up here waiting for me to come out, nothing will ever be the same for you. There's shit that happens here that you don't need to know about—that you shouldn't have to know about—and once you do you can’t forget about it. It's better you get in your fucking car and drive away now. This isn't a game, Billy. My dad is down there, and I don't have time to argue with you—"

"Then stop arguing," he growls, throwing down his jacket violently. "If you're going down there, angel, I'm going with you. Nothin’ you say will change my mind."

From the corner of her eye, Frances notices a car pulling into the field next to Hopper's—Joyce's car. Her headlights illuminate Frances and Billy in silver, casting shadows against the pine trees.

"Go," she pleads, pushing against his chest. This time, he's ready for her force, and he catches her wrist, stumbling back only slightly. "Go home, please!"

"No!" he shouts as Joyce gets out of the car. Bob is with her, she sees, and behind them, a pale-looking Will and Mike. No Jonathan, though.

She sighs, looking him dead in the eye. A stray curl falls over his eyes, and his face is splattered with dirt like hers. His eyes glisten with the same, hard stubbornness she feels in herself. "Then it's your fucking funeral."

She squeezes her eyes closed, turning away from him to find Joyce running towards her.

"Frances," Joyce's eyes are wide as she takes the two of them in, "How did you know he was here?"

Frances frowns at the question. "I found his car. How did you know?"

"It's a long story."

Behind her, Bob is breathless and looking just as clueless as Billy. Frances eyes Will, who is deathly pale in the darkness, his eyes brown saucers that are filled both with fear and something worse that Frances tries not to see.

She snaps her attention back to Joyce, and then to the ditch they have just dug. "I'm gonna go and find him. You should stay here, take care of the kids."

"Fran—" she starts, but Frances glares, tired of arguing. Something must flash in her eyes, or maybe they change colour, because it is all Joyce needs to take a step backwards.

"I'm finding my dad," she says finally. "No more arguments."

Joyce nods, her gaze shifting to Billy. "If you're not back in ten minutes, we're heading right in after you, okay, sweetie?"

Frances swallows, brushing her hair back and tying it up with the scrunchie that had been tied on her wrist beneath her sweater. She towers over the hole again, glad when Joyce throws her a flashlight. Billy takes the other from Bob wordlessly.

"I mean it, Billy," she says in one last attempt to change his mind. His expression is as determined as ever, though, his jaw clenching as he peers down into the tunnel. "There's no going back."

"There never was, angel," he replies, meeting her gaze once more. "Lead the way."

* * *

Frances is grateful for the flashlight as she treads carefully through the tunnels, covering her mouth with her scarf. Behind her, Billy's eyes are flitting around in a panic as he holds his collar to his mouth.

"You never told me you were Indiana Jones," he jokes, though she can hear the fear he’s suppressing.

"You don't know the half of it. You're stupid for coming down here."

"I never claimed to be smart."

She shakes her head, narrowly avoiding an uprooted vine and trying not to think about the fact that the things slithering in the shadows around her are the same things that killed Barb and took Will. Now, they have her father, and she doesn't know how she will find him in the blackness, if she can at all—until she finds his cigar lying on the ground. She picks it up, shining her torch in every direction, but she can't see him.

Her shoulders begin to burn and she curses as spots dance in front of her vision. Her palms are clammy, and she can hear it again: the sound of her heart thumping against her ribs, and Billy's, too. This time, though, there's a third: Her father's.

She stumbles against the vines, clutching onto one to steady herself. She feels as though she can't breathe, and she pulls the scarf from her face to inhale desperately.

"Fran?" Billy asks, voice thick with concern as he holds her up with one hand. He uses the other to shine the torch on her, almost blinding her.

"It's happening again." She squints at him, and she knows from his startled reaction that her eyes have changed.

Above the sound of heartbeats, now, is something else, a pulse that reminds her of speakers erupting at a party. She can feel it vibrate as her hands flatten against the walls. The tunnels are alive, and they want her to know it.

She swallows, knowing if she falls apart now, they'll never find her father. "We can't stop," she whispers, adrenaline driving her legs forward.

Just when they feel as though they might collapse on her altogether, her flashlight finds a figure. She recognises Hopper immediately, even when engulfed by the vines, and a sharp breath slips from her mouth as she runs to him.

"Dad," she breathes, trying desperately to rip him from the vines. Billy produces a pen-knife from his pocket and begins to saw at the thick, rope-like tendrils frantically. "Dad, can you hear me?"

Her question earns a muffled mumble that comes from his chest. His face appears through the sliced vines, and tears sting her eyes as she thanks God. His eyes are closed, but his chest is rising and falling steadily.

She rips the last of the vines away, pulling him away from the tunnel walls as best she can. He leans against her, so limp that she would collapse if it wasn't for Billy wrapping his arm around the other side of him and propping him up. A fit of coughs erupts from him. She can feel it, too, caking her throat like thick dust.

"You think the chief'll let me off if I get caught drinking again?" Billy asks, voice strained under Hopper's weight. "Saving his life’s gotta count for something."

A breathless laugh gets stuck in Frances's throat as the tunnels fill with silhouettes wearing protective, orange suits and glass helmets. They fall from the opening, scattering with equipment in their hands, some of them rushing past Frances without acknowledgement.

"Get out!" One of them shouts at them, motioning past them urgently.

They speed up without question, hauling Hopper along until two of the suit-clad scientists take the weight off their hands. Someone is waiting in the opening, pulling Hopper up before Frances can even understand what's happening. She is pulled next, collapsing into the soil and into Joyce's arms as she finds her. Billy emerges a second later, his face pale in the moonlight.

"What the hell is going on?" Frances asks her voice trembling as she stands and Billy's hands hover on the small of her back. They are ushering her father into a white van and she knows immediately it belongs to the lab. An oxygen mask covers his face, but already she sees he's regaining colour in his cheeks.

Joyce shakes her head, at a loss for words. A roaring fills Frances's ears suddenly, and then, a moment later, the sound of screams pierce through the night.

It is Will, writhing on the ground metres away from them. She tries to run to him, to follow Joyce as she rushes towards him, but her legs no longer work, and she collapses into the rotting soil.

Billy's arms wrap around her tightly—the only things keeping her from sinking completely.

#billy hargrove x oc #billy x oc #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove #billy hargrove angst #billy hargove x reader #billy hargove imagine #billy hargrove fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagines #dacre montgomery fic #dacre montgomery x reader #dacre montgomery #fanfiction

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tinylilemrys · 5 years

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Save the Last Dance - a Reddie fic

Read it on AO3

Rating: T

Word count: 3,980

Tags: fluff and angst, getting together, mentions of PTSD, internalised homophobia, first dance, prom

Summary:

Eddie invites a girl to prom and almost instantly regrets it – even more so when he realises that the reason Richie has been so mad since he asked her and the reason he’s been watching the two of them is probably because Richie has a crush on her.

He’s never been happier to be proven wrong.

Prom was such a fucking waste of time, Eddie decided, watching Chloe Parker dance her fourth dance with Steve Himble, the president of the AV club (who had cleaned up surprisingly well). It wasn’t that he was jealous – he really wasn’t. He’d only asked her to prom a few days ago because she was his lab partner and he’d overheard her complaining to her friend that no one had asked her yet. Before that, he’d been planning to go stag with what was left of the Loser’s club after Mike, Ben and Bev had moved away, a fact which Richie had been only too happy to point out.

“Well that’s just fucking great, isn’t it, Eds?” He’d said, throwing up his arms in frustration. “Stan’s already decided not to fucking go and now you’re flaking out on us too? To go with Chloe fucking Parker of all people? Do you know what happens when two out of four stags stop going stag, Eds? Everyone assumes the last two stags are each other’s little deer boyfriends. Is that what you want to happen to Bill and me?”

Eddie hadn’t had the energy for Richie’s bullshit that day.

“If you’re so worried about looking gay, Richie, I suggest you and Bill grow some balls and actually fucking ask some girls.”

And then he had stormed off, trying very hard not to think about why Richie being scared of going to prom with another guy made him so angry. They hadn’t spoken since then and all the while Eddie hoped and prayed Richie wouldn’t find a date. He didn’t think he would survive it. Thankfully, he was relieved when Richie did, in fact, only show up with Bill.

Best to ignore all those emotions too.

From his table, he watched Richie and Bill leaning against the opposite wall of the gym, talking and drinking cups of the punch that Eddie was sure, in addition to breaking about fifty health code violations, had also been spiked by now (maybe even by Richie himself – he wouldn’t put it past him). Though he hadn’t had a chance to see him up close yet, from this distance Eddie had to admit that Richie looked damn good in a suit. Not that he’d ever tell him. He’d rather down the entire bowl of punch than admit that out loud.

Eddie’s stomach jolted when he realised that Richie was looking back at him, probably wondering why he was staring. He quickly dropped his gaze to his shoes and tried in vain to stop his cheeks flooding with colour.

This was dumb. Why was he sitting here alone waiting for Chloe to come sit down when it was clear that she was having a much better time with Steve anyway? Sighing, he got up from the table and made his way over to his friends.

“Hey, Eddie,” said Bill, clapping a hand to his shoulder. “Sorry it didn’t work out with Chloe.”

Eddie was about to shrug and say it was no big deal when Richie interjected.

“Yeah what’s up with that? Did she feel how tiny your dick is while you were dancing and get scared? I thought she was looking kinda sick.”

“Actually, Trashmouth, she told me it’s because she kept seeing this gangly grotesque creature in bottle cap lenses staring at us. It put her off.” It wasn’t entirely untrue. While it certainly wasn’t true that Richie was grotesque (again, never admitting that out loud), Chloe had pointed out about midway through their first and only dance that Richie was watching them. The knowledge made Eddie so self-conscious that decided he couldn’t bring himself to dance again, hence Steve swooping in to the rescue.

To his surprise, Richie’s eyebrows shot up into the tangle of hair he seemed to only barely have styled and though it was difficult to tell in the colourful lights, Eddie thought Richie might be blushing. He suddenly felt more nauseous than he did when Chloe had offered him a glass of punch earlier. Vaguely he realised that Richie was snapping out of it and hurling some witty retort back at him, but Eddie couldn’t make it out over the blood pounding in his ears at the sudden realisation that the reason Richie had been so mad at him for asking Chloe to prom, the reason he’d been staring at them while they were dancing, was that he liked her.

Suddenly everything made sense and he couldn’t be there anymore, not with the lights and the colours and the people and the Richie of it all. Without thinking twice, he ran as fast as he could outside to the nearest patch of grass and once there, was violently sick.

Most of the time he could deal with his unfortunate crush on his best friend by pretending it didn’t exist. If it was anything, it was just his wild teenage hormones sending him confusing signals. But that didn’t explain why every time Richie got him a thoughtful gift, or their banter was particularly on point, or it was just the two of them in Richie’s car singing along to whatever god-awful song was playing non-stop on the radio at the time, Eddie knew that there was no one else in the world who could make him feel as happy. But as Richie made no secret of his issues with the whole gay thing, it was far safer to just try to convince himself that he wasn’t feeling anything but really strong platonic love for his best friend.

The blood rushing in his ears calmed down enough for Eddie to hear the sound of footsteps running towards him. Worried it might be the Bowers gang, he whipped around in time to be tackled by a pair of long arms and a faceful of curly hair a moment later.

“Eddie, what the fuck man?” says Richie, holding onto him. “Are you okay? You scared the shit out of us.”

“I’m fine, Rich, I was just… I was just a bit overwhelmed in there and panicked,” he replied. Richie didn’t seem to be letting go so he took the opportunity to wrap his arms around him in return. He could feel Richie’s heart racing against his chest and his own seemed to be trying its damndest to catch up with it.

“W-we thought it might be it again,” Bill explained, his voice small and scared, and Eddie realised what he’d accidentally done. It had been almost six years since they beat that fucking clown down in those sewers, but every single one of them still had nightmares about it. Suddenly running away with no explanation was the worst thing he could have done to them.

“God, guys, I’m so sorry,” he said, squeezing his arms tighter around Richie who was shaking. “I just needed air. I wasn’t even thinking that… just, Jesus fuck, I’m sorry.”

“You’d better fucking be,” said Richie, letting go of Eddie and straightening his suit. “I didn’t survive that whole fucking ordeal just to die from a dumbass-induced heart attack at eighteen.”

“If you’re that upset about Chloe, we don’t have to stay, you know,” said Bill, changing the subject. “I think I saw enough of prom to say that I went. How about you, Rich?”

“Yeah, we can go if you want.” Richie turned to Eddie as he replied. His voice was tight and his eyebrows pinched and though Eddie knew that Bill was just trying to steer the conversation away from talk of Pennywise, he wishes he’d chosen any other topic of conversation. He didn’t need the reminder that Richie was mad at him for taking his crush to the prom. “I’ll give you a lift home if you need one, Eds.”

“Please,” Eddie replied with a small smile which, much to his delight, Richie returned

Richie’s car, much like the rest of the man, was a mess. The floor was littered with junk food wrappers and there was a suspicious stain on the backseat that Eddie was convinced was because one of the previous owners had used it to transport a body. It was the reason Eddie always insisted on riding shotgun.

As the car choked hesitantly to a start, he stole a glance at Richie’s profile, silhouetted against the lights outside.

Well, one of the reasons anyway.

“You can just drop me at S-Stan’s,” said Bill from the backseat and Eddie stomach dropped. Bill had been doing so well with his stuttering lately. It still took him a little longer to get through a sentence sometimes, but Eddie hadn’t heard him properly stutter for months. He’d caught on two words tonight already and somehow Eddie knew it was because of him – because he’d scared Bill. “I p-promised I’d come over after.”

“Sure thing,” said Richie, turning right instead of left like he would have done if he was taking Bill home. Eddie’s stomach sank further. He lived a lot closer to Stan than he did to Bill which meant that in dropping Bill off first, the trip was going to be a lot shorter.

“You know they sell cars with turn signals that work, right?” said Eddie to mask his disappointment.

“Where’s the fun in that?” said Richie, smiling for the second time that night. “I like to think I provide my fellow road users with a sense of adventure.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing my mom won’t let me get my licence.”

“Still not?” asked Bill.

“Yeah, Eds, she should know by now that it’s way more dangerous for you to be driving with me.” Richie was frowning the way he always did when Eddie’s mom was brought up outside of the context of sex jokes.

“Yeah, like I’d be dumb enough to tell my mom I let you drive me around.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “She’d find a way to ban you from driving too.”

“She would never,” replied Richie in a mock-scandalised voice. “I’d stop doing that thing she likes in bed.”

Eddie rolled his eyes again and Richie laughed, gently bumping Eddie’s knee with his fist in that way that Eddie pretended to hate but treasured for ages afterwards each time.

What he loved about Richie was that things could be super weird between them one moment and in the next, he would still go back to making Eddie feel like the most important person in the world to him. It should have caused whiplash, but he was so used to it at this point that it was just further evidence that neither of them was very good at staying mad at each other.

All too soon, Bill was climbing out of the car at Stan’s place and Eddie felt his mood, which hadn’t been the greatest all evening, plummet to new depths. As they watched to make sure that Bill made it safely into the house (a habit that, post-Pennywise, they’d all adopted) he began trailing his thumb along the cut on his left hand like he always did when he was nervous.

“Hey are you okay?” asked Richie who was now watching him with concern,

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Richie raised an eyebrow above the frame of his glasses. “Okay, fine, I’m lying. I don’t want to go home right now. You know my mom.”

“Biblically,” Richie smirks and Eddie thumps him in the shoulder.

“Fuck off, Rich, I’m serious. She’s going to want to know why I’m home so early and I can’t tell her the truth. I wouldn’t put it past her to track Chloe down and demand to know why she stood me up and I can’t put Chloe through that. But I also just don’t have the energy to make up a bullshit story either. I’m just… can we just drive around for a while? Just until it would be a normal time for me to come home?”

“I mean sure, but it would probably be a fuck-ton easier for you to just crash at my place tonight,”

“Oh my god, please,” Eddie replied, so relieved he could cry. “That would be an actual lifesaver. Your parents won’t mind?”

“If this is the night they start giving a shit about who I invite over and when I’m going to be so fucking pissed.”

Eddie laughed. He couldn’t help it. The idea of not going home and on top of it spending the rest of the night with Richie had him lightheaded and giddy. In response, Richie gave Eddie what to him felt like a fond smile, before starting the car and racing towards his house as quickly as he could.

Upon arriving at Richie’s house, his parents gave them both a short and friendly ‘hello’, barely looking away from whatever they were watching on TV, and a moment later they were upstairs, sitting on Richie’s bed. For the first time that night, Eddie felt himself relax completely.

“I can’t believe your parents just said ‘hi’ and left it at that,” said Eddie. “If that was my mom, I’d be there for another hour.”

“It’s just because you’re here,” Richie replied. “Trust me – if I came home alone they would have pounced.”

Eddie got the sense that Richie was just saying that to make him feel better, but he didn’t mind. They were alone for the first time in weeks and he felt like he could breathe again. He was always his most real around Richie.

“So that was senior prom,” said Richie, leaning back on his elbows. Eddie followed suit.

“That was senior prom. Did it live up to the hype?”

“Not even a little.” Richie shakes his head. “I spent ten minutes getting ready for tonight, you know that? Ten fucking minutes. That’s seven more minutes than usual. Think of all the shit I could have accomplished in that time.”

“It was worth it,” Eddie replied, hoping his blush wasn’t too obvious. He was still not completely over the sight of Richie in a suit. Richie shrugged.

“I guess.”

A silence fell between them then, full of things Eddie wanted to say but had no idea how to start. He wanted to tell Richie how much this meant to him, how sorry he was that he had accidentally brought back memories of Pennywise, how much he wanted to kiss him right now, how lonely he’d been these past few days without them talking, how sad he was that he liked Chloe, how much he wanted to kiss him right now…

“Sorry, I… I mean, sorry about not going stag with you and Bill. I know you were looking forward to it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Richie replied. “Chloe’s great. I totally get it.”

God, he was already regretting bringing Chloe up. But this was good, he told himself. If Richie did like Chloe, he was sure it would help him get over his stupid crush on him.

“Look, Rich, I’m sorry. If I had known how you felt, I never would have asked her.”

Richie scrambled to sit upright and stared at Eddie as if he had just worked out his deepest, darkest secret. Eddie slowly sat upright too, feeling the anxiety build in the pit of his stomach. He’d started this, wanting to know for sure whether or not his assumptions were right, but now that he was about to find out, he didn’t want to.

“If you had known how I felt?” asked Richie, looking embarrassed and terrified.

“Yeah, about Chloe,” said Eddie. “I know how you feel about her. It wasn’t hard to figure out with how much you were watching her while we danced.”

Richie’s shoulders relaxed at this and Eddie wondered how long he’d had these feelings if being able to confess them was this much of a relief. Eddie watched as he sat there for a moment or two, staring through the Nirvana poster on the opposite wall before scrubbing a hand down his face, shaking his head (his curls bouncing in that way that Eddie always found adorable) and making his way over to the CD player on his desk. A few seconds later the intro to a cheesy rock ballad that Eddie vaguely recognised from how often it had played on the radio a few years back started and Richie was walking towards him with his hand open.

“Dance with me?” he asked. “Your date kind of got stolen and I feel bad that you only got that one. And, I mean, we might as well while we’re still here in our suits looking pretty.”

Part of Eddie’s brain screamed at him not to. It was a bad idea, Richie would know exactly how he felt about him and then where would they be? He’d made it clear over and over again how much of an issue he had with anything gay. But there was another, far more insistent part of his brain reminding him that Richie had been the one to ask him to dance and that if he didn’t dance with Richie Tozier now, there was no guarantee that he would ever get the chance again.

Trying very hard not to think about the state that their friendship would be in after this, he took Richie’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled into his arms. He realised a second too late that it would have been far safer and less obvious to put his hands gently on Richie’s waist than to wind his arms around his neck as he did, but the damage was done and Richie, thankfully, didn’t seem to mind.

Dancing with Richie was so different from dancing with Chloe. For one, since Chloe was shorter than Eddie, he’d been the one with the arms wrapped around her waist and she’d had her arms around his neck. They’d been dancing just as close, but it had been nothing more than swaying to the music. This was different. This was Eddie reeling from the scent of the aftershave Richie had put on for the occasion, the jolt every time their feet brushed, staring up into Richie’s brown eyes, magnified by his glasses, and trying to fight off the overwhelming sadness at how in just a few minutes this was all just going to be a memory.

They swayed together through most of the first verse before Richie spoke.

“So I suppose this is where I tell you that I don’t have feelings for Chloe,” he said. “Like, where the fuck did you even get that idea?”

“You were mad at me when I told you I was taking her to prom,” Eddie explained. “And then at the dance, you were watching her while we danced. I just, y’know, put the pieces together.”

“Yeah, congratulations, dipshit, you put them together wrong.” Richie rolled his eyes. “I was watching you. And yeah, I may have yelled, but I wasn’t mad. I was hurt and disappointed because going stag with you and Bill would have been as close as I could safely get to taking you as my date to prom.”

“Wait. You wanted to be my prom date?” Eddie stopped swaying, his head spinning with this new information. Richie had wanted to take him to prom and probably would have if society wasn’t such a bitch. “Fuck, Rich, I thought you had issues with the whole gay thing?”

“Deflection.” Richie didn’t look proud of it, pulling his gaze away from Eddie to stare at a patch of floor. “Fuck, Eds, I’ve been in love with you since we were twelve. And there’ve been so many times where I’ve wanted to tell you, but I’ve just been scared shitless to. I had no idea how you would react, if you would flip out and stop talking to me and I just couldn’t lose you. I still can’t.”

He swallowed and took a deep breath.

“You looked so upset when you thought I might have a crush on Chloe and it just… I guess it felt like for the first time you might feel the same way.” He looked up at him then and there was a jolt in Eddie’s stomach as he fully realised what was happening. Richie pulled him closer ever so slightly, and Eddie didn’t resist it. His body had turned to jello.

“Am I wrong?”

He couldn’t speak, his heart was pounding in his throat, but he somehow managed to control the muscles in his head enough to shake it.

And then before he could say anything else, Richie’s lips were on his, soft and still vaguely fruity from the punch, though he desperately tried to push that horrifying thought from his mind. Instead, Eddie focused on the little surprised hum Richie made when he parted his lips and how Richie’s arms were tightening around him, pulling them so close together that there was no space between them. With daring he didn’t know he had, he slowly slid his hands up to tangle in Richie’s curls and was met with another hum (or perhaps moan) of approval. He’d never felt anything like it. He never thought he could feel anything like it. Yesterday he would have thought this moment completely impossible, but here he was in Richie Tozier’s messy bedroom being kissed by him.

They eventually pulled apart and as Eddie rested his forehead on Richie’s shoulder, he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Fuck, was it that bad?”

“No, you dick, I’m laughing because I’ve been in love with you since I was twelve too. We’ve missed out on six years of this shit.”

“Jesus, Kaspbrak, are you fucking kidding me?” Richie pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and Eddie felt it spread through his whole body. “Why are we like this?”

“I wish I knew,” Eddie replied.

They danced the rest of the song, now so close that it was impossible to do much more than shuffle their feet, but Eddie wasn’t complaining. This was easily the best moment of his entire life.

As the song started drawing to a close, Eddie laughed again.

“Jesus, what now?” asked Richie, but there was no venom to it.

“Of all the songs in the world you could have chosen to be our first dance, you chose a Bryan Adams song.”

“Alright, al-fucking-right,” Richie replied. “Next time how about you plan out the sweeping romantic gesture and I’ll be the shithead giggling at everything?”

Eddie just laughed and kissed him again.

Later that night, after calling his mom to tell her that he would be sleeping over at Richie’s and assuring her that, no, it wasn’t because he’d been drinking, or that Richie had been drinking, that he just wanted to hang out with him, the two of them climbed into Richie’s tiny single bed. Richie was yawning already and Eddie had no idea how he could be tired at a time like this, not when a whole new world of possibilities had just opened to them.

“You want to know why I chose that song?” Richie asked, taking the hand that Eddie had not-so-subtly left on the pillow between them hoping he would do that.

“Yeah, please enlighten me.”

“I mean, it doesn’t make me sound like any less of a fucking dork, but it’s from that Robin Hood movie, Prince of Thieves. You remember? It was the first movie we saw together without the rest of the Loser’s Club and, I don’t know, now the song always reminds me of you.”

Eddie leaned over to kiss Richie again, wondering how any of this could possibly be real.

“Thank you, Rich,” he said. “For everything.”

“You’re welcome,” said Richie through a yawn, pulling Eddie closer to him and falling asleep within what felt like seconds. It took Eddie far longer, and when he eventually gave in and closed his eyes, the Robin Hood in his dream had curly dark hair and a rather anachronistic pair of glasses.

#reddie #reddie fanfic #reddie fic #richie x eddie #eddie x richie #it 2017 #i'm supposed to be writing other things #but this popped into my head and i had to write it #enjoy x #long post

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reddogf13 · 4 years

Text

Rapture

summery: after defeating IT Beverly is forced to face a bigger issue, her fathers murder. sentenced as guilty in the court she is sent on her way to prison on a transport bus. breaking down suddenly in the middle of nowhere and staff killed. she is confronted by IT for the strangest of reasons. (one shot)

status: complete

rated: T - light gore

next chap: END

_____________________________________

~ch:1 Rapture~

The sky was filled with stars by the time the losers emerged from those damned sewers. Exhausted and beat down after defeating IT. That horrific monstrosity from another plain disguised as Pennywise the dancing clown. After being it down and showing no fear it fled down the drains. They were sure enough IT would starve after fighting it back from taking more children. Saving Beverly after its last attempt to feed, survive, before the inevitable hibernation.

Too tired to speak with one another they just gave each a look of relief. 'We did it and made it out alive.'

However, consequences were waiting back home for each of them.

Bill's parents told him off for being out so late. giving no mind to how dirty or the vast injuries over him before grounding him to his room. Richie and Stanley's parents are doing similar. Eddie got it twice as bad. Being lucky to ever be able to step from the front yard again. Mike was grounded to stay home and work off all the bolts he “lost while playing around with the gun.” Ben managed to sneak in with little complications as his parents were out late on a business meeting.

Then there was Beverly's consequence. Cars awaiting her to return home covering the place in blight flashing reds and blues. She walked up, expecting to tell her side of the story, to be asked why her father was dead with a cracked skull.

That didn't happen.

They grabbed her and threw her into a police cruiser. Everyone knew Beverly Marsh the trouble maker and her lovely father who worked hard to provide. To the police it was a shut case on who was in trouble here. The trouble maker who killed her own father in cold blood. Taking her away to the department. There, she cried and pleaded with them to listen to her side. That her father was a cruel man who did things to her behind closed doors. They told her to shut up and refused to listen as they went through the booking process. Shoving her into a cell with a planned court date. She couldn't even be bailed out. She had no one accept the guys who couldn't possibly have enough for bail money.

Her one phone call was spent on informing Ben. Wanting someone to know and get some comfort that she wasn't alone in this. In the end there was nothing he or the others could do. Their parents didn't approve of her and believed she did commit the murder out of hatred. The only one who was able to sneak into the court was Bill as his parents didn't keep the best track of him. Watching the process go through up to the sentencing.

Guilty of murder. Shall pay in prison for her crimes for the next 25 years. No chance of parole.

It was a soul shattering announcement to Beverly and bill. They could do nothing meanwhile the town cheered for this psychotic child's imprisonment. Even if she did go free an innocent the town would be her prison from then on. Nobody liked her, but the guys and also the only ones to believe her father had attacked her that day.

Escorted by guards she was taken away to the back of the court house. Flashes from news cameras snapping her for the TV stations to report on later. A murder in small ole Derry never got so much attention. Why? After so many children went missing that a curfew had been put into effect. Was it because IT was gone and no longer blinding adults to the deaths? These questions didn't matter enough for her to question them. Her life was over and by the time she would be free again she would be 41 years old. Living her younger years in a cell and orange suit. Already gotten used to it as they brought her in shackles to a transport bus. Already on the road off to her new prison home.

She was quiet on the bus a few rows back sitting alone. Only the driver and guard up front behind a cage were with her on this ride. The jail was far off alone in the Derry country. Gazing out on the empty fields colored by the last sun set she would see from a window. The last bit of sun disappearing just as the bus suddenly chugged at the engine. The headlights flickering along with the lights lining the inside. The bus dying completely in a plume of smoke blasting from under the hood. That, forcing the driver to park on the side of this dirt road in the middle of nowhere.

“ah shit.” the driver grumbled. “this thing definitely ain't moving. Gonna have to call another bus.”

the guard shooting him a questioning look. “another bus? Hah! Derry doesn't have one.” already sounding frustrated. “call a squad car, that's the only way she's reaching the prison now.” he huffed.

The driver nodded and picked up the radio. Speaking into it then waiting for a response. Nothing came, so he tried a second and third time to reach someone. Fiddling unsuccessfully with the rodeo to get something other than annoying static. “I can't get nothing on this danged thing!” the driver huffed and gave up trying to call.

The guard attempted to use his own radio. “let me try.” his calls going unanswered as well. “the hell? Maybe it's the bus?” he looked at the driver. The doors opening for the officer to step off. Trying his radio a few more times.

It only took a moment as the driver and Beverly took her eyes off the officer. His scream shooting there gazes back over. Seeing him gone and nothing but a dust cloud drifting from where he once stood. Beverly looked further from her window to see what could have happened. Noticing a red smear on the glass with more strips lining the side of the bus. Something big had grabbed him with no evidence suggesting it to be humans doing this.

The driver nervously worked to close the door. No matter how hard he pulled the latch, it refused to budge for him. Stepping forward to physically grab the door was his last mistake. Something large in all black like a void grabbed him with long fingered hands. Clawing into him to yank him out into the darkness outside. A single scream was the last thing Beverly heard from the driver before it was shortly cut by what ever had grabbed him.

Beverly was now entirely on her own on the dark bus. Shackles tied to the floor prevented her from being able to do anything. Even if she managed to slip free she would then have to get past the locked cage door at the buses front. She sat there in accepting her fate, however it could be at this point. Would she be stuck on this bus all safe until maybe someone happened upon it? The jail would surely notice the bus going quiet and late to its arrival time. Or would whatever is out there try to reach her inside?

Getting one of her questions answered as it stepped onto the bus. Causing the whole thing to lean suddenly under its weight. This black monstrosity shifting its multiple dark hands onto the cage door. Pushing it down to crush the blockage as if it were made of tinfoil. She sat there watching it as still as she could preparing for her death.

As the monster stepped closer she looked over the details she could see more clearly. Spiders like legs climbing over the seats to come closer over to her. Long slender arms with sharp slender fingers. A large pair of jaws looming over her with a mouth full of rowed teeth. Head stretching from its neck circled by sharp large scales. Down to a bulky body going along the whole length of the bus with many legs like a centipedes. Not even the whole form was able to step onto the bus before the creature reached her.

Its looming face gave her a strange sense of deja vu that she was confused by. Realizing why after barely making out the dark red markings lining its lips. curving off its ends to shift forward in looking like a pair of fake eyes on is pail, eyeless, face.

She knew what this thing was now. “IT.” she thought. Her body was hit by a wave of exhaustion in dealing with the clown. What did he want with her now? To torture her on the bus?

“hiya Beverly!” it greeted in that high pitched voice that shortly warped into something deeper and guttural. Needing to shift its jaw around as if fighting to keep its voice understandable rather than twisting more into animistic growls.

She took in a tired breath going along with whatever he was doing. “hi.” her voice coming out softer then she meant.

IT let out a growling hiss before its voice clicked back into something more human. “ HHhhhaaaa-ving trouble?”

“sure.”

ITs voice grumbled in its throat for a second. “Grrrrr – rrrahh – hate it here?” IT asked. She could hear mixed clicks to gurgles coming from his throat. Another thing he was doing to keep his voice? She wasn't sure nor did she really care.

Wanting to get to the bottom of this over strange small talk. “what do you want?” flatly asking.

Hissing again for the start of its forming sentence. “hhhhrrr- you.” it answered before continuing. “ hhhgrrr – suffocating? Don't like it here?” his questions grabbing her attention a little more now.

“suffocating?”

“grrahhhh- hrrr- air. Too heavy? Everything suffocating you like a falling weight?” he managed to speak out a sentence aside from strange small noises.

She swallowed down nervously. It had been feeling like she was suffocating or being crushed under a blanket of snow. She passed it off as stress, but it had been constant since that time down in the sewers. After being awoken from the deadlights. Seeing what he truly was it was both nerve wracking and yet … peaceful.

The feeling started out as a horrible burn, like throwing your face into an oven. She struggled, but against what she wasn't sure. There was no physical force to push against. It was all around her and no exit was in sight to aim for. Then those three glowing orbs came to her floating around her as if watching. They didn't speak in any language known on earth, but she somehow understood. “you can't escape.” IT wasn't happy to see her struggling so much. Hidden teeth ripping into her soul that she had no chance to fight against. She was being tortured in the hellscape in an attempt to make her fear for her life.

Instead of panicking like IT wanted, she let go. Accepting her pain that would bring death upon her soon. The pain all washed away in a wave of numbness. The swirling lights burning bright in angry confusion. Looking around her in examination on what to do. The lights paused over her then dimmed at realizing there was nothing they could do. She wasn't scared enough to bring forth a force of pain. The lights slowly fading away to leave her back in the strange darkness.

Then there was a slow shift as if being weightless. an eerie comfort of her body working stress free. Her soul floating on some hidden cloud holding onto her gently. No more heartbeat thudding in her chest, air going in and out without much force needed. It felt like her body was running so easily in the strange void. Body easing back to rest in this void she looked around in. noticing things from the corner of her eye she could not see when looking right at it. A glowing orange brightness like a fire. Something massive circulating around with many legs. Twisted around her was a black tar like webbing sticking to her. Part of her mind refusing the comfort being provided. She was being used for some ill purpose. A prisoner in a spider's web with false security to keep her from fighting.

The quietness of the space broken by many voices flooding in. asking who she was and each talking about themselves. Almost all of them sounded like children. It was extremely overwhelming at first until they slowly filtered. Despite all the talking at once she managed to catch a lot of what they said. The longer she stuck around the more comfortable it felt. Being welcomed into some large cluster of bright friendly souls. Feeling at peace she forgot all her problems waiting for her.

Her father, all those bully's calling her a slut, the world eater that trapped her here in the first place. It was the first time she had no worries and could actually be free. All of that dropping like a ton of bricks when she was kissed by Ben. Her floating soul was now being crushed back into her body. Remembering what happened to her she was at first thrilled to be back. Be free from that clown who stole her away to desperately try devouring her. How the guys all came to save her despite ITs aggressive threat of them not to come help.

Working with the guys to beat this evil being to its death. To free Derry of this curse or at least that's what they believed. After all, IT was still here in front of her. Since then it was like she never felt the same. Her lungs could never pull in enough air. Her heart ached to beat as if it never did and was now forced to. Gravity itself feels twice as heavy with her body reacting to it as if a foreign thing.

Thinking through her responses before finally answering ITs question. “why do you care if I feel it?”

its throat hissed and crackled in stretching to be closer. Its jaws full of teeth almost touching her face at that point. Its voice speaking in that strange language that resonated through her core in a hidden connection. “you weren't supposed to leave. You joined us.”

she swallowed heavily again. “us?”

her understanding what IT said causing IT to perk up. Continuing to go on its language. “us, the lights. We are all one and live as one. You left before your body could be separated. You weren't supposed to leave, it hurts us.”

“all of us children. That you ate.” she snapped. How dare it act like those other souls joined it happily. She wouldn't have even joined if he hadn't dragged her down there. “that separation of death. Right?”

“no one who dies in Derry, ever really dies.” it spoke in a thousand voices.

“what happens to those who stay? There not really in charge are they?” confronting him further. “you're using them to stay alive. Eating them until what? They dissolve in that void you make to fake comfort. You want me to go back and die in that prison?”

“to fade away is life. All must cycle back into the cosmos. You will eventually go anyway, right? Back to the earth and roots.” bring up the point of her mortality. “Come back to us. Free-er than the prison you are heading toward.”

she looked away in thought. Gaze glancing at the shekels on her. He would be right about dying eventually along with being in the deadlights would feel far better then a lonely cold jail cell. Still, there was one detail she didn't like.

“did you really come for me? Or because I am an easy meal that could stop you from starving?”

“you, I wont die without you. We keep each other alive, but weak during sleep. It hurts to be separate. You feel the weight. The gravity of earth. The suffocation you are no longer meant to handle. You weren't meant to leave us.” sounding confident in what it answered. “Do you want to come back?” it strangely ended up asking.

Why wasn't it just doing it? It wasn't hard for it the last time. “why don't you just suck me in?”

“acceptance.” it answered. “fighting will break you. You accepted and joined us.” it answered.

Beverly remembered back to when first entering that void. Lots of pain until she gave up to let death take its course. She thought “must be the closest to accepting as you can get. Every other soul was based on if it fought or not. The deadlights were all the ones that accepted IT. The rest were devoured both soul and flesh.

“do you accept?” IT asked.

Beverly contemplated what her choices were. Join ITs deadlights and have possibly saved IT from starvation to go on and devour more children. To be free of going to prison along with this crushing sickness that could follow her for the rest of her life. Or reject and go on to the prison, possibly facing more charges with the dead guard and driver on top of a destroyed cage gate. Her being the only “violent” prisoner on the entire bus. Unable to give an excuse to why they're missing or what happened while she was still shackled down.

“...yes.” she answered in foreign tongue. Watching as ITs large jaws slowly opened. The rising lights coming forth to fill her vision.

The joining this time wasn't nearly as long or harsh. A light wave of warmth brushing her face as she joined back to that relaxing void. The cluster of voices happily greeting her back as she adjusted. The voices clearing for her to understand each of them. The suffocation completely gone with the crushing feeling sickening her body. She took her first easy breath to relax back. Letting her worry's fade away as her last connection to earth was severed by ITs jaws. Crushing the useless vessel for a small meal before heading back down below for its long rest.

#It (2017)#pennywise #beverly marsh

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truthisgoldenau · 4 years

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Happy Ending AU

So let's start the expanded lore alternate AU posts with admittedly the most mundane one but also the best guilty pleasure one.

I called it a branch AU on the short post and that's because I go by the theory that there are certain points within the AU where if a single thing went differently it would have entirely different outcomes. One such moment is in regards to the argument that caused the downfall of the 80s Freddy's.

In the Happy Ending AU, the conversation between Pierce and Fred in August of 1987 goes a bit differently than the argument that happens in the main timeline.

Everything's still the same. Pierce was out sick with the flu (let's be real, with his constant lack of sleep/overworking habits and a general disregard for his own health his immune system was just like 'okay you're about to have a real tough time with this'), Fred was still on leave because his twins were just born, and the health/safety inspector that came around was still a no-nonsense woman who had never been sent before. Foxy's still declared dangerous.

In the main AU, Fred comes in specifically to tell Pierce about Foxy with his own ideas of what the plan is and due to exhaustion from recently becoming a father and knowing Pierce is going to take the news badly, he's on guard the whole time and both of them end up saying things that escalate the situation.

In the Happy Ending AU, Fred's still exhausted and on guard but instead of getting frustrated when Pierce suggests he can have revamped Foxy plans prepared in advance so that the time Foxy is decommissioned is shorter, Fred doesn't immediately tell him to basically shut up and do as he says and only worry about Spring Bonnie.

Instead he asks how long it'd take to come up with some workable replacements for the too sharp teeth and hook on Foxy and Pierce tells him he could have a rough idea in a month or two because he's gotta test out what could still be construed as too dangerous himself. Remember these are moving machines Fred, all the motion sensors and gadgets in the world won't do shit if they fall or something.

Fred tells him to work on the plans but to not let it take up all his time since he's still got Spring Bonnie to work on. Then he asks how long it'll take to get Spring Bonnie up and running because it's been a long while and Pierce has been working on it like crazy.

"Maybe by the end of the year, but that's if I keep up with all the rest of the animatronics enough to give me time to work on Spring. If they break in a complicated way or if we have issues with programming it'll cut into that time the way it's been doing. How's the search for another mechanic coming?"

"I can't find anyone. I'm doing my best."

"Yeah. Figured. This might be a longshot but the guy who runs the repair shop I take my bike to has a nephew who's apparently got an eye for electronics. Name's Fritz Smith I think. He was telling me about him last time I was there, I think trying to see if he could get the name out there."

"... I'll look into that."

So yeah, the talk ends amicably and with an actual plan, not just spiteful resentment and stress the way it does in the main story. Fritz Smith, at the time barely out of high school, gets an interview at Freddy's based on the offhand mention of his uncle and gets hired in a trial basis and ends up working part time while still in college. It works out well because remember, the reason Fritz was stressed in the main AU is because Fred was constantly on his case about the failing animatronics and having no assistance to figure out the upgrades left by a mechanic he couldn't contact.

Pierce still is the only one working on Spring Bonnie but once Fritz gets the hang of the different daily maintenance checks and small fixes here and there, Pierce has more time to figure out the last remaining issues with Spring Bonnie and by the middle of January 1988, the diner duo is back in action at Freddy's. The only difference being that they never got the actual gold suit bit fixed because Pierce got the idea that it could be implemented as a story element (he's back, he was hurt for a long time, but he's here now and both old and new characters love him). Fred loved the idea and let him go with it, and with Fritz's help the programming of the diner duo return show was executed flawlessly.

Foxy, who was taken offstage after Finn's sixth birthday party (which went perfectly and no one got hurt), returns in early February of '88 after Fred and Pierce are able to show off Foxy with non-dangerous teeth and hook and prove that unless there were an act of God Foxy couldn't hurt a fly.

In late 1989 for the five year anniversary of this location, the First Mate Finn animatronic used as Foxy's sidekick for the special April Fools' Day show beginning in '87 is made an official part of the lineup.

In '91 an extra security guard (Mike Schmidt) is hired on due to the popularity of Freddy's increasing; talks about finding a larger location are serious.

By the twins 6th birthday in '93, Freddy's has moved to a larger building with more variance in shows. Despite now being 11/12, Finn and Marian are still some of the most well known regulars at Freddy's. Finn has also developed an interest in the animatronics and how they work and both Freddy's mechanics know this well.

There's still tragedy. Maddie Fazbear still is diagnosed with cancer in 1996.

In 1997, Pierce's dad Henry still passes suddenly from a previously unknown heart condition, and with Pierce still around to convince, his mom Jamie tells him he needs to keep up with that kind of check since he lost his dad and grandpa that way. Pierce gets lucky and manages to avoid a problem with this advice. (so how'd he survive in the main au if he wasn't keeping up with this stuff well that's something to be explained later 😎)

Maddie Fazbear still passes away in 1998, even with everything that medicine at the time can do. The family is heartbroken of course- not just immediate family but so many of the people who even just knew of her.

Every year following on her birthday the diner duo play her favorite show song from the original Fredbear's, and every year Fred's still surprised it can hurt that much.

Finn's mom still shows the signs of early onset Alzheimer's beginning in the mid 90s. However, since Finn was never bitten by Foxy, his dad isn't stressed to a point of unawareness due to having both a son who can't remember and a wife beginning to lose her memory and avoids the car crash that would have killed both Patrick and Katherine O'Malley. Finn gets to stay with both his parents which is good, because by 1998 him and Marian (at the time 17/going on 17) have started dating.

By the early 2000s, Finn has started apprenticing at Freddy's to learn how to fix the animatronics because that's his dream. Finn picks it up surprisingly fast, and Fritz, who's been looking for a way to duck out without causing issues, takes this time to respectfully leave Freddy's. He wants to go do his own thing, really, and well, him and longtime boyfriend Mike Schmidt really want to know what the world outside of Spring Valley can bring.

In the mid 2000s, Freddy Jr, now in high school, keeps trying to get a band together. The only kid who shows interest is this kid who Frankie knows from his math class that's called Bonnie. Freddy's skeptical, but Bonnie absolutely kills a guitar solo, and frankly, Freddy's heart is stolen from that moment on, even if he won't say it.

On July 23rd 2005, Fred Fazbear Sr is safe at home with his boys for a monster movie night and doesn't wind up in the accident that takes his life in the main storyline.

Marian and Finn get married in 2007 after dating for over a decade. Everyone's mood is "it's about goddamn time". It's one of the happiest fucking weddings that Spring Valley has ever seen though, that's for sure.

And after that, it's just the rest of the happily ever afters.

Somehow, over all those years, the employees at Freddy's wonder how Pierce was ever the intolerable jackass he's known for being when by the 2010s he's just known as the company grouch.

And Fred never misses a beat with being the best he can be. If anything, he throws more into making Freddy's perfect for families after he loses Maddie since all she ever did was encourage it. She may not have been a constant in the building, but without her love and support, well, what would Freddy's be but a hollow attempt and plea for attention?

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onewhoturns · 5 years

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fictober.16.: silence and sound

#Fictober19 Prompt: 16. Listen. No, really listen. Fandom: Oxenfree Pairing: Alex/Jonas [post-Island, stepcest] Rating: T (no warnings apply) Tags: Insomnia, literal sleeping together Word Count: 3390

The first night was hell. She couldn’t say anything about it. Sleep was elusive at best, but more like impossible. Tossing and turning all night, every few minutes imagining a hum or a click or the steady static of dead tape. Alex tried listening to music and that worked for a bit, helped clear her mind, but actual sleep wasn’t so easy. Being alone in silence tended to welcome thoughts - sights, sounds, memories - that didn’t exist. Or at least, not here. Not anymore. Or maybe never… Time feels off.

Living half-zombified is passable on a Sunday, but she’s nearing 61 hours without sleep. 61 hours to everyone else, anyway, maybe longer. She’s never entirely sure how long they were on the island. Or if they’ve left at all. A day of zoning out on the couch, eyes glazed over and breath shallow, didn’t go unnoticed. Her mother felt her forehead concernedly, prepared to keep her out of school come Monday, and Alex couldn’t do more than shrug an excuse. Her lack of sleep was blamed on some kind of illness picked up at the ‘sleepover’ she’d attended Friday night.

Illness. That was one way of putting it.

Alex had caught Jonas’s eyes while her mother worried, and he had that guarded look about him that he’d had on the island. That forcibly calm exterior, with whatever panic might be happening pushed down deep. The heavy smudges under his eyes are just as informative as his distant hollow gaze to tell her that he’s been struggling, too. They haven’t talked about it. Alex isn’t sure she wants to, either.

She kept herself upright through dinner, but by the time 8 o’clock has come and passed and she can reasonably call it a night, Alex drags herself up to her bedroom.

She tries. She really tries.

Her room is dark, her pjs are comfortable, but she just can’t sleep. A moment of drifting and then she jerks awake again, imagining noises that don’t exist. Radio chimes, empty recordings, the click and whirr of tape— none of it ever leaves. Any silence and it comes back to haunt her.

She isn’t— Alex doesn’t cry because she’s sad (though God, she probably should be). She’s not sure she’s really feeling much of anything, just unadulterated frustration. Helplessness and hopelessness that she just can’t do it, and she needs to - she’s exhausted, she feels her whole body trembling, the pulse of blood in her eyelids - she has to sleep, please god let her sleep—

Her eyes sting and burn, like all her tears have been sucked up to power the ever-running engine that is Alex and whatever’s welling up in them has been painstakingly wrung out of whatever’s left of her. Her mouth is dry but her nose is stuffy and she just can’t breathe, it’s utterly miserable, and let it end please let it end, she just needs rest for once in her life.

Alex rolls over onto her side, but that doesn’t help. She still has to pant through her mouth to get any air. Sitting up helps, but she doesn’t have the energy for it, and as soon as she props herself against the headboard and lets her eyes drift shut she’s hearing sounds again, choking on a frustrated noise that’s hardly human.

Too much. It’s all too much, and there’s not enough of her left.

…Fuck it, she can’t exactly try anything else. If there’s a chance of it working, she’ll try it. And she’d rather start with him than with her mother. At least he knows.

Alex is wrapped in a light blanket, carrying a pillow in one hand, stepping as quietly as possible as she heads up to the attic.

Michael’s door is closed, but there’s light coming from underneath. Makes sense. No teen in their right mind would be asleep before 10pm let alone 9. Then again, were either of them in their right mind at the moment? Probably not.

She doesn’t knock. She probably should. Instead, she just enters, closes the door behind her, and goes immediately to the foot of the bed, setting down her pillow and curling up on the floor.

“…Alex?” It’s the first time he’s really addressed her since they got off the ferry. Neither of them have been particularly chatty. A smattering of affirmative or negative responses for questions from their parents, rarely full words. She thinks she heard Jonas mumble something to his dad earlier in the day, but she might have just imagined it.

Alex doesn’t respond. This is how she used to fight off whatever was keeping her from sleep. Crash in Michael’s room, listen to him doing whatever it was he did before bed. His mouse clicking at his computer, or a pencil scratching away at homework. Noises of steady, reassuring life. Any unexplained sounds were given context with someone else in the room.

She lets out a breath, and her eyes are still burning, thankful to be closed once more.

There’s a pause, and then a soft creak in the mattress as Jonas lays back down. He doesn’t ask again. There’s just the gentle noises of shifting fabric, pages flipping, soft breath.

Light filters through her eyelids and it’s red like the light pouring from his mouth when they spoke through him.

Alex doesn’t have the energy to fear it, just buries her head in folded arms and focuses on the sound. He’s okay. They’re all okay. No hum of radio frequencies, no click, no whirr, no static. Sounds of life, not ghosts.

For the first time in 62 hours, Alex sleeps.

Jonas nudges her awake nearly nine hours later.

She doesn’t have the energy to groan, just rolls onto her back and looks up at him from heavily lidded eyes.

“Your mom’s prob’ly gonna check on you in a sec.” His voice sounds out of practice; hoarse and rocky and too deep. Still half-asleep.

Alex just stares for a second, eyelids gradually falling closed as her brain slowly processes his words. He nudges her again with his foot, and she wonders why she should care about what he’s saying.

Oh right.

They just met.

Probably weird to be sleeping on his floor like she would with Michael.

She cracks an eye open as she rubs at the other, sniffing, scrubbing at her face.

Jonas just watches her for a second, shifts into an absentminded stretch until some joint makes a little cracking noise, and then shrugs. “Whatever,” he mumbles, heading for his dresser; “Suit yourself.”

Alex stumbles down to her room while he’s getting ready for school. She lays awake with her eyes closed until her mom comes to check.

They both end up staying home from class. Alex isn’t sure what the official reason is - her mom seems to think they both have mono or something. She blames the supposed sleepover, and Alex thinks she might have called Ren’s parents to warn them, but Alex doesn’t have the energy to worry over their story falling through. Either way, since no one’s been throwing up, they’re left to take care of each other while she and Jonas’s dad have work.

Alex still feels exhausted. She tries to sleep, and kind of does. Except then she’s not sure, because things start to sound weird and distorted and-

“Alex.”

Her eyes drag open, but her sight is blurry, blinking haze away until she recognizes Jonas sitting on the edge of her bed, a hand on her arm. That registers a solid second before the rest of him, and her gaze drifts downward, perplexed. “…Why…” Facts click together as her eyes finally reach the material wrapped around his hips. Towel. Okay. That explains the whole toplessness part. Her brow is furrowed as she looks back to his face again, to hair rumpled from a haphazard drying.

“You were, uh…” Jonas blinks for a second, and Alex watches with a distant detached interest as his skin starts to go pink as he lets go of her arm. “I was in the— getting out of the shower- you, uh— There were noises,” he finally manages.

Her eyes slide closed again, letting out a throaty hum of confirmation. Sounds right. Noises. She rolls over under her covers, curling until her knees bump against him. He’s comfortingly solid and warm through the sheets, and she bundles up even more until she’s curled in a C-shape around him. Her breathing starts to even out, slowing down, until-

“Um.”

“…Hm?”

A hand pushes at her shoulder and she rolls back, looking up at him again through one half-open eye. He watches her for a second, brow furrowed, before his lips twitch a bit. “I kinda need to get dressed.”

“Hmmmmm.” The groan is disappointed, and a little irritated, almost a pout as she curls toward him again.

There’s a pause while he lets her settle around him. He sounds mildly amused under the weariness. “I’d carry you upstairs, but I’d probably drop you.”

“Hm?” All of her speech is inarticulate humming.

A hand combs through her hair, scratching at her scalp idly like he’s petting a dog. Alex might feel annoyed about that if it didn’t feel nice. “I mean, I’m assuming you wanna nap. And that you’d be better off in-” there’s a fraction of a second of hesitation, “-my room.” He was gonna say Mike. She knows he was, but she doesn’t have the energy to think about it.

“Mm.” He has a point. Still, she doesn’t move. The whole petting thing actually feels pretty good. Relaxing.

“Alex.” He stops her from falling asleep again. Her eyes pull open slowly only to shoot an irritated look at him. Jonas’s lips twitch into a crooked smile. “Look, this is a limited time offer, I’m the one selflessly offering my bed right now.”

Alex shrugs. “You could stay here,” she mumbles, turning to nuzzle her head into the mattress, shifting against his hand like some kind of cat on a scratching post.

“I’m literally in a towel,” he observes, drily.

“So?” Her eyes are well and truly closed again, maneuvering to get his hand in just the right spot as she lets out a little sigh before her breath settles to a slow, even pace once more.

Jonas’s hand stills. There’s a second of silence, then he pulls away, standing up.

“Jonas,” Alex whines, reaching out for him sleepily, eyes still closed, “C’mon, come back.”

With a soft huff of laughter, she hears the floor of the hall creak slightly. His voice is raised, jarringly awake. “I’m gonna change. Bed’s free for like ten minutes, then you’re on your own.”

She hears him pad back toward the bathroom, then the recognizable sound of the door closing, the vent inside still humming, clearing out steam from his shower earlier. Nice. Nice steamy shower, nice hot water, not too scalding, just-

Alex’s eyes open as she frowns.

Yeah, maybe don’t think about the new stepbrother showering. Maybe not that.

At least it’s enough to push her out of bed with a low groan. Grudgingly, she has to admit that he’s right. She’ll sleep better in Mike’s room, she always has. There were a few months after his death that she slept there every night. She’d considered just moving into that room, but… it felt wrong. So she’d stayed in hers, and then a year passed, and then Jonas was moving in. Still feels a little weird.

When she heads up to the attic again, she doesn’t bother bringing her blanket and pillow. He’d offered the bed, so she’s gonna take it. Alex slips between the sheets, instantly overwhelmed by the smell of boy. Whatever deodorant he uses he uses too much of it, but it’s not bad. Better than the alternative, she supposes. It’s kinda nice, actually, something strong enough to distract her from whatever her sleep-deprived senses want to throw at her.

She’s finally relaxed into the bed again, toes peeking out the edge of the covers, when Jonas wanders back upstairs once more. Alex takes in a breath that’s swimming with whatever dude-smell scents are packed into that aerosol spray, lets out a short sigh and murmurs, “Hasn’t been ten minutes.”

Jonas snorts lightly. “Well, you weren’t in your room, so.” There’s the soft shp sound of fabric thrown onto fabric. “Also; don’t complain.” A finger flicks at her exposed foot and Alex whines and curls up safe under the covers. “Just go to sleep.”

He settles down at the desk, and Alex listens to the fan whirring to life in his computer, his long breath out as the laptop boots up.

She falls asleep to clicks and sighs and the steady thump of his heel swinging against the chair leg.

It becomes habit. At least for a few days.

Around 9pm or a little later Alex climbs up to the attic and settles herself on the floor and listens to Jonas do whatever he’s up to until she falls asleep. One night, he’s working at his desk and she steals the bed. She’s not entirely sure where he slept that night, ‘cause he’s always the one to wake her.

Whatever they’re doing, they must know it’s Wrong in some way, because it’s always a secret. She goes to him once their parents have stopped checking in on them at night, he gets her up and back to her room before they come to check in the morning. So they must know something’s off about it.

The weekend comes, and there’s an unspoken agreement that neither of them really wants to leave the house. They’re still… recovering might be the right word. The only people Alex might feel comfortable hanging out with are Ren, maybe Nona… and maybe Clarissa. Maybe. Anyone else and she’s not sure she could take faking it.

Friday night, it’s been one week since they got on the ferry.

They don’t talk about it. Instead they sprawl over the sectional in the living room, staring at the TV and watching reality show marathons, idly snacking on popcorn and m&ms, time ticking away. At some point Alex falls asleep, the murmur of television chatter in the background.

She jerks awake however many hours later, heart pounding. The room is dark and silent, but she feels watched. Jonas must have already gone up to bed, because she’s alone. Logically she knows the red lights blinking in the darkness are just idle power on the TV, the cable box, the stereo - but they still raise goosebumps on her skin. Alex fumbles for her phone, flicking on the flashlight long enough to get a lamp on.

The light helps. At least, it helps with the whole imagining ghosts part. But the quiet is too quiet, and she can sense the click and whirr and static creeping in, can imagine the hum and steady thinning of the pitch as the radio frequency shifts. She rolls her shoulders back, shaking out her limbs, tuts her tongue against her teeth to break the silence as she walks back up to her room.

She tries to settle into bed. Really tries. Hums a little to herself, but it’s no good. The dark, the quiet; it’s too full of things that don’t exist.

So up she goes to the attic.

For the first time, his light is off. It’s past 3am. Alex hesitates for a moment, then knocks softly.

No answer. (Which makes sense.)

After a brief moment of consideration, a second waiting on the landing, Alex feels that creeping dread echoing up the stairs and makes the executive decision to just go in. Even then, she pauses in the doorway. “…Jonas?”

Again, no answer. But this time she’s paranoid. She flicks her phone to flashlight once more, just to make sure he’s there. He is. And shifting a little, a low groan as he turns away from the light.

“Jonas,” she repeats, softly.

He stretches out for a second, waves a hand weakly. “‘s all good,” he mumbles. Which feels like the okay for her to crash. Which— well, she probably would have done it anyway, but it’s better to get the go-ahead.

She closes the door behind her, then makes her way to her usual spot and curls up on the floor. Tries to fall asleep.

…It’s too quiet.

Without his usual nighttime activity, it’s dead silent. He doesn’t snore like Michael did. (A weird thing to miss, but it was comforting in its way.)

She thinks she can see red lights in the dark. The distant sound - little blips - that may or may not exist, reaches her ears. Static creeps at the edges of her imagination, and Alex once more turns on her light, setting it to shine onto the ceiling. Her breath is heavy, heart racing.

“…Go to sleep,” is murmured from the bed.

“Can’t,” Alex whispers.

Jonas sighs. There’s a moment of quiet, then a shifting on the mattress. When he speaks again, it’s a little clearer. “Why not.” It’s a question, but his tone is flat. Not exactly annoyed, but close.

“Hearing things.”

Another pause. “Like what.” Again, a flat question, but this time there’s an edge of wariness to it.

“Stupid shit,” she shakes her head, staring at the ceiling. “Island stuff. Tapes and radios.”

He sighs a little, but it’s not like he’s angry. More like resigned. “…So that’s why… the sleep thing?”

“Mmhmm.”

The pauses are less empty now, knowing he’s awake. “So why isn’t it working now?” She can tell he’s being patient with her, the way his words have slipped back to questions, tone softer, almost coaxing.

“Too quiet,” Alex breathes. “I think— the sounds, I think. Helped.”

She’s not quite speaking in full sentences. It’s closer, though, so that’s… probably good. Better than freezing up and only getting a word or two out.

“I’m not gonna get up just to make noise for you.” There’s a wryly humorous edge to his voice, even with that touch of apology.

“I know.” She lets out a breath. It’s fine. She’ll be fine.

He sighs, goes quiet.

Too quiet. “Jonas.”

He groans. “Christ Alex, just come here.”

What? “…What?”

“C’mere.” When she makes no move, he sighs again. Half of the covers are folded back and he sleepily slaps at the mattress. “Bed.”

She’s a little awkward as she rises, fumbling with her phone.

“If you shine that fucking light in my eyes, I swear to god-” he mumbles, tiredly.

Alex lets out a weak laugh at that, and as soon as she’s untangled from her own blanket and at his bedside she turns the thing off, setting it on his nightstand before sliding into bed. He flings an arm back to put the covers back over her, letting his arm stay draped across her, hand resting but not curled around the side of her waist.

She hasn’t actually shared a bed with a guy before. Well, she’s been sleeping bag to sleeping bag with Ren, but not actually in the same bed. Not that she can remember. Not when it counted. Definitely not with a shirtless guy who’s naked shoulder was inches from her face.

Yeah. Okay, yes, this is why this is Wrong. This is why they keep this a secret.

Jonas breathes out. When Alex fidgets, his hand fumbles until he gets a loose hold on her forearm, and pulls it around him. “Listen.”

Alex hesitates. His bare skin is putting off heat like a furnace.

There’s a second, and then he sighs. He tugs her closer, pointedly arching his back toward her, until her cheek brushes against his spine. “No, really listen.” His deep breath in is exaggerated, and the long exhale.

Oh. Oh.

It helps that he’s not looking at her. And that she’s really fucking tired. It takes a moment, but finally Alex tightens her arm around him, turning to press her ear to his back.

It’s a little odd, not gonna lie. But his breath is even, and the steady thud of his heartbeat is… nice. She’s not sure if he’s trying to pace his breathing, but she finds herself matching his and it definitely serves to calm her down.

It works, weirdly enough, listening to him, instead of the silence.

No static, no whine of the radio tuning: just pulse, and breath.

[source for AO3]

#fictober19 #jonalex #alex/jonas #oxenfree #oxenfree fic #my writing #prompt fill #this... got out of hand

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