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#and what shes feeling. lest she recognizes that he still knows her and *sees* her even after all this time. and she cant have it. she wont

ghouljams · 3 months

Text

Courting (Letters from Lt. Riley)

tags: regency au, Ghost x f!reader/OC, courting, letters, Ghost flirting and also being so weird with it, courting gifts

summary: You told Ghost he could write you. He does.

The maids drop off the letter while you're in the study. The wax seal on the front is unbroken, which you find strange. Aren't parents normally supposed inspect courting letters? You suppose you should be thankful your mother isn't a noble by birth, she doesn't have the same care for propriety you know others do. She's always maintained that love is for the people involved and no one else. Though, love is a far stretch for your feelings as far as you're concerned.

Ghost seems to go out of his way to aggravate and annoy you. You will say... you've never enjoyed conversations quite so much as you enjoy them with him, and you've never had a man entertain your debating so well, and you suppose his eyes are rather warm and honeyed enough to catch attention. You like that you can see the curve of his lips under his mask when he smiles, and that the lines beside his eyes crease when he looks at you. And you like his hands, you suppose, if you had to pick something.

You break the seal of the letter and unfold the thick paper. There's a thin sheet of silver paper covering the actual writing and you scoff at the precaution. Surely the man isn't saying anything so scandalous as to need more protection from prying eyes. Still, you're careful removing the tissue-y layer.

Your breath catches in your throat, fingers hovering to trace carefully over the lines of charcoal covering the page. It dirties your glove and you're quick to avoid touching the paper directly, lest you sully the careful work of portraiture. It's you, your profile staring determined off into the distance, a slight frown on your lovingly shaped lips and a gentle crease to your brow. You wonder what your charcoal double must be thinking to have such an expression. You recognize the necklace he's haphazardly rendered, a gift from your mother you wore at the first party of the season.

How long has he been thinking of you?

There's tight cursive at the bottom of the page, "I have nothing to say, except that you're the most beautiful creature I've ever had the misfortune of knowing. -Lt. Riley"

Your heart flutters so hard, batters so aggressively against your rib cage, that you don't even notice the heat in your cheeks. You call rush to find pen and paper to write back.

You're having breakfast with your parents when the maid brings you a letter. You recognize the red wax seal immediately and slide your fingers under the paper's fold to break it quickly. The crack of wax fills the silent room, and you look up from your work to see your parents watching you. You father rests his chin on his laced fingers, and your mother quietly sips her tea. The letter is carefully placed to the side and your mother smiles, setting down her cup to draw one of your father's hands into her own grip.

"Don't let us keep you," You father rumbles, you can't tell if he's upset or pleased. His voice carefully neutral.

"It can wait until after breakfast," You tell him peaceably, picking up your fork again.

"Give it a read now dear, you'll upset your stomach rushing through meals." Your mother, ever the doctor, encourages. You tamp down your smile and unfold the letter, your fingers feeling for another sheet of silver paper. You're almost disappointed not to find one. You suppose you can't expect a gift of that quality every time. Once again the actual letter is short and neatly penned,

"Arguing with me won't make me march down there princess. Not that the idea hasn't crossed my mind, but I'd be gone as soon as I saw you, lost as soon as you opened your mouth. You make me lose all rational thought, and yet you consume my every waking moment. There is no distance I could travel that I would not still be haunted by the memory of you. If I'd never been assigned to your escort I would have been a saner man, miserable for never having known you. Argue with that.

Did you miss every one of your penmanship lessons?

Lt. Riley"

You smile to yourself, your thumb rubbing against the paper. He's pressed little flowers into the folds, their colors bleeding into the page and their petals falling into your lap. You pluck them carefully from your skirt, dutifully avoiding thoughts of your suitor, and place them back in the folds of Ghost's letter. You'll have to write him later, you know he's egging you on, but really he should know better than to criticize a lady's calligraphy.

You look up from your work and meet your parent's stares. Your mother's thumb rubs against the back of your father's hand, you've always hoped for a match like theirs.

"Something nice?" Your mother asks, and you smile at her.

"Never," You tell her, "Lieutenant Riley is as rude in his letters as he was as an escort."

Your father hums, but you think you see the edge of a smile under his beard.

There's very little awkwardness in the letters between you and Ghost. He writes better than he speaks, but the bluntness is still there, the charm that made you first agree to this courtship. He makes your stomach clench, makes your heart flutter. He's rude and argumentative, and you find yourself hoping for every letter he sends you.

He's sweet.

He's terrible.

You hide his letters under your pillows, the ones that talk about kissing you, "Everywhere but your mouth," he writes, "so that I can still hear you." You sit on the chaise and chew your thumb reading the letters that promise you devotion, "you'd never worry where I was, I never wish to stray from your side." You hear your friends discussing suitor gifts, the scandalous things that pass through their aunt's inspection first, that their fathers shake their head at.

You think of the modesty panel laced into your stays, the carefully inked words along the edge of the gift, "if my lips were here they'd never leave."

You pluck Ghost's letter from the tray before your maid can even offer it. Your fingers quick to break the wax seal before you even find a place to sit. He never writes as much as you do, but he's purposeful with his words in a way that makes your heart sing.

"If it's the Scot I think it is your friend is fine. We can discuss when I pick you up this afternoon. Wear walking shoes. Love, Lt. Riley"

You snort, quite a way with words your lover. You nearly trip on your way up the stairs staring at his signature. "Love" be still your heart.

#x reader #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #x oc #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod x oc #ghost mw2 #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost cod #oc: goose #regency au #return of ghost being an artist which is my personal favorite thing

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angstcorp · 2 years

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HOW THEY FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU

Summary: Oh no, they're falling for you. How did it start, and how do they react?

Author's note: Fluff two days in a row? What am I doing. This is AngstCorp not FluffCorp.

Characters: Ayaka, Ayato, Diluc, Kaeya, Zhongli

Warnings: Gender neutral reader, Ayato being slightly manipulative, mention of Zhongli feeling possessive.

It is a very natural and progressive process with AYAKA. You start by being friends and it all evolves from there. She feels at ease when you spend time together, and she'll try to see you more and more. At first, she struggles with being herself when it's just the two of you, feeling like she needs to keep up the appearances but it's so hard to resist you.

She wants you to meet her, the real her, she wants to bare her heart and soul so you can embrace her as she truly is. And as long as you respond positively to that, she'll let herself fall in love. It's slow, but kind and beautiful, and you'll make many tender memories together before the start of your relationship that you'll fondly recall when you're snuggling on the couch many years later.

Things are a lot more complicated with AYATO. Yes, you catch his eyes and his interest, but he has his position and clan to think about, so he'll have to do a background check on you and maybe observe you to know your true intentions. He tends to take his distance with his feelings and tries to rationalize them. Everything is calculated at first, from where you meet, how he follows the proper courtship steps, how he acts with you, etc. It's not fake per say, but it lacks spontaneity and some sincerity? He'll stop the more he sees you having more genuine and open interactions with other people.

He'll feel a pang of jealousy in his heart, so he'll try to be less calculating the next time he sees you. After that though; the very moment he gets in tune with his emotions, there's no coming back. Ayato will get addicted to this feeling in less than five seconds. He will be desperate to get more and more of you, more of your smile, more of your laugh, more of your gentle touch. The man will have to learn how to control himself all over again when you're in the same room, lest he starts looking at you with loving eyes and the softest smile in front of important people.

DILUC absolutely denies everything and completely ignores his feelings. You're a dear friend and he is simply worried about you, like a good friend should be, and that is why he spends so much time with you, to watch over you and make sure everything is alright. Yes he carries your bags, yes he buys you gifts when he thinks you would like them, yes he makes sure to walk you home when you're alone and it's already late, but it's all friendship. Luckily, Kaeya is here.

There might be tension between them both now, but he still knows his adoptive brother well and it's very obvious to him what's happening exactly. He sees it as his job to give Diluc the push he needs to make him face his feelings. He has quite a few cards up his sleeve, like flirting with you, or having someone else flirt with you, or encouraging you to take a few weeks of vacation for travelling, whatever it takes. When Diluc has no choice than to recognize that yes, he is hopelessly in love with you, he is just unable to pretend anymore. He loves you, he needs you, he wants you. His courtship will be very stiff and quite awkward at first, but give him some time and he'll be the softest partner you could hope for.

KAEYA on the other hand, knows very well what's happening from the very beginning. He knows. He sees all the signs, and he recognizes them for what they are. How his heart skips a beat when he sees you, the butterfly in his stomach when you smile, how he can't stop smiling for hours after seeing you. However, he will be very hesitant to let it grow any further than that. Kaeya has secrets, and they cost him his brother already, he doesn't want to lose you to them too. So for some time, it's going to be weird. Kaeya will switch between being kind and soft with you, and being colder and putting some distance between you.

You can confront him or not about his behaviour, but the moment he realizes he is just hurting you acting like that and being so damn indecisive, he'll stop his nonsense. Who is he even kidding? If he didn't manage to stay away from you before, it's not going to change now. Expect an apology, and a genuine proposition to start over and to please give him a chance to make amends? He'll see himself as a fool for ever thinking he could resist you.

ZHONGLI had a lot of lovers in his long life. It was always people he cared about truly, but there was never a romantic attachment to them. No one he would consider his mate. So he recognizes all the signs when he gets interested in you, and after some consideration, he decides that he would very much like sharing that special bond with you too. Besides, it's the first time he'll have a lover while he lives amongst mortals so he is quite excited to discover that with you. He truly thinks it'll be the same as it has ever been with everyone else.

He is, however, completely and utterly WRONG. It starts simply enough, getting to know each other better, spending time together, slowly building a strong bond, something solid to start your relationship on. He is totally unprepared when all his instincts awaken and it feels all his being is caught on fire. The trigger could be anything, like you getting hurt, seeing someone flirting with you, or simply seeing you wearing one of his gifts on you, but suddenly his soul is a dragon and he is holding you close to his chest, growling possessively. When he manages to calm down and after much confusion from both you and him, that's when he knows he is fucked and this is nothing like before, and it's way too late to go back now.

#genshin impact #ayaka x reader #ayato x reader #diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #zhongli x reader #Fluff #headcanons

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feyhunter78 · 1 year

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Trials of a Tribute pt. 5

Description: You have a chat with the Dowager Queen, and Aemond fears you regret marrying a monster such as him, unknowing that you are still unaware the two of you have been married.

Previous part here, Next part here

You sat across from the Dowager Queen Alicent, clutching your teacup for dear life as she inspected you. Her brown eyes filled with sorrow swept over you, as she sipped her own tea.

“I do feel for you, dear girl. Being traded like an object is a cruel fate that we as women often find ourselves suffering.” She said, giving you a sympathetic smile.

You nodded, unsure of what to truly say, Aemond hadn’t been cruel to you, nor had he forced himself upon you. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but it could’ve been far, far worse.

“Drink up, lest you fall pregnant within your first moon here.” The Dowager Queen urged; her lips pressed into a tight line.

Your eyes widened as you realized exactly what kind of tea this was. “Your Grace, King Aemond has not bedded me.”

Her entire body relaxed. “Thank the Seven, he is still my son.”

You assumed she feared Aemond had taken on the traits of his father and brother now that he had become king, and couldn’t blame her for it. You yourself still feared he would one day soon act upon the Targaryen need for depravity.

“His Majesty, has been very respectful, a true gentleman.” You don’t tell her of how you woke up today with your body half atop Aemond’s, his fingers splayed on your lower back possessively, the smell of parchment and eucalyptus surrounding you.

Dowager Queen Alicent nodded, a small smile on her face. “My Aemond has always been a man of honor.” Then her eyes go to your hand and her eyebrows furrow. “Did you injure yourself?”

You had worn a gown with extra long sleeves, more of a winter dress than was appropriate for the season, with the intention to hide your injury, but obviously your efforts have failed.

You held your hand close to your chest. “No, Your Grace, it’s from the Valyrian ritual.” At her look of confusion, you continued. “With the septon, and the dagger? King Aemond and I mixed our blood together. He said it was common ritual in House Targaryen.”

The dowager queen was silent for a moment, then she nodded, plastering a smile on her face. “Ah, yes, there are so many rituals, I forget them from time to time.” She glanced at Sir Criston who avoided her frantic eyes. "Sir Cole, escort Lady y/n back to her chambers, then fetch Aemond and tell him I wish to speak to him.”

You stood and took Sir Criston’s arm. “A pleasure to speak with you, Queen Alicent.”

“You as well, dear.” She called as Sir Criston all but strong-armed you from the room.

“Sir Criston, did I do something to upset the dowager queen?” You asked, as he led you down an unfamiliar hallway.

“Why do you ask that?”

“She ended our tea so abruptly, and she simply seemed to be troubled by something.”

He stopped you in front of a door you didn’t recognize. “The queen mother has many things on her mind, but I can assure you her anger sits not with you.”

You followed him into a barren room. “These are your quarters; I’d advise you to stay out of sight. We had many noblemen attempting to bring their daughters as tribute, and they are quite angry at being turned away.”

Dowager Queen Alicent had pulled you away from Aemond, leaving him to accept tributes alone, as she kindly but thoroughly interrogated you on every aspect of your life.

You bid the night a farewell and looked around the room. It wasn’t much to look at, but it had a lovely view of the gardens.

Pushing open the window, you carefully sat on the windowsill, breathing in the fresh air. You gazed down at the meticulously planted flowers, imagining how happy your sisters would be to see such a sight.

You didn’t know how long you sat there before the door slammed open, and you jumped, scooting backward, further into the room, suddenly afraid of the distance between you and the ground.

Two strong arms pulled you from the windowsill, caging you against a hard chest, the silver hair that brushed your shoulders made you relax.

“Aemond? Is everything alright?” You asked, turning your head to look at him.

His shoulders were tense, his eye filled with a frantic fear and rage. “What in the Seven Hells do you think you’re doing?”

“What?” You said, letting out a small noise of surprise when he threw you onto the nearby bed and quickly hovered over you. Caging you in with his arms, his hair falling forward and shielding your faces.

“You were going to jump, because you couldn’t stand to be married to such a monster, but your life is mine, prūmia. No one, not even the Stranger himself, will take you from me. I care not if you call him yourself, or another attempts to, no one will separate us.” He seethed, his eye burning into yours, his voice was low and rolled across your skin like a storm, the hairs on your skin standing upright in response.

“I wasn’t trying to take my own life; I was merely admiring the gardens.” You explained, before your mind fully processed his words. “Wait, married?”

“I’m aware that my mother informed you of the true nature of what occurred last night.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “No, she said nothing. Aemond, are we married? You shouldn’t have—” You were cut off by Aemond’s warm lips brushing down your neck, stopping at your pulse point when you let out a small whimper.

His acknowledging hum vibrated against the sensitive skin. “You’re mine, I told you that. As of last night it was made true, the septon bore witness to our union, so did Sir Criston.”

“But I didn’t know, I wouldn’t have done it if I knew.” You protested lightly, still afraid to upset Aemond.

“Because you don’t wish to be married to a monster, I know.” He snapped, pulling back to glare at you.

You shook your head. “It’s not that at all, I don’t think you’re a monster, nor do I have any personal qualms about marrying you but, it’s not truly up to me.”

“You’re correct, it’s not up to you, it’s up to me, and I wished to marry you.” He spoke his words into your skin before he attached his lips to your sensitive spot, nipping and sucking until a red mark bloomed, its sting soothed by his tongue.

“But you shouldn’t have, I’m from a small house, there are much better options and oh…” Your voice dissolved into nothing as Aemond continued his ministrations, his fingers running through your hair, his lips latched onto every bit of exposed skin they can find.

“I’m king of the Seven Realms, I will marry who I wish.” He said firmly, his eye flickering up to yours as his lips made their way to the swell of your breasts.

Your face burned once more, and you attempted to push him away. “Aemond, please, this is not proper.”

He stopped and sat up, a distant look on his face. “You’re right.”

You sat up as well, smoothing down your hair. “Thank you, now we really must get this marriage business straightened out.”

He frowned. “Do you not wish to be queen?”

You swallowed hard. “I don’t think I have the education to be a good queen.”

This series masterlist here!!!

Tag list: @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda, @haydee5010, @partypoison00, @serrhaewin, @issshhhaa, @pax-2735, @malfoytargaryen, @sahanna, @dellalyra, @mxrgodsstuff, @jkhomes, @unusual-raccoon

Strikethrough means I couldn't tag you for some reason!

#aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #king!aemond #dark!aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #meg's writing #tot series #not a lot of aemond in this one tbh #innocent!reader #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #hotd #hotd fanfics #aemond one eye #whoever snitched on me and got part 2 of this flagged your mom's a hoe

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aurumacadicus · 1 year

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Winteriron wereanimals au?

This gives me too much power. Anyway I've squandered it <3

Bucky was a wolf, once upon a time, he thinks. Brown, with yellow eyes. Normal, his mind supplies when he thinks about it too long. Then Hydra had... done something to him. Made him feral. He couldn't recognize himself in reflections. Had stopped looking. White fur. Blue eyes--unnatural for a wolf. Somehow, they'd made the metal arm shift with him, and it stood, ugly and violating, finishing the picture of Wrong and Bad. Disgusting. He doesn't shift, even though the rest of the Avengers insist that it's fine. He doesn't feel safe. Doesn't want to be looked at. He's damaged. He doesn't want to be vulnerable in front of them. He has the ability not to be vulnerable in front of him, unlike he had when he was with Hydra. The only one with a problem about it is Steve, and to be fair, Bucky only knows that because he found him stoically telling his therapist that just because he understood it didn't mean it didn't hurt him that the Bucky he knew was well and truly gone. Bucky had heard the therapist say, "Well, put yourself in your friend's shoes," and had walked over and gently closed the laptop, because Steve had the right to be hurt and he never wanted anyone to be in his shoes.

For all that Bucky avoids it, Tony is a total slut for being in his bobcat form. He especially likes finding a lap to sprawl out in, as if he was a house cat. One time, he'd been asleep on top of the fridge in the kitchen, Bucky and Steve had sat down in the living room to watch a Mets game, and the only warning they had Tony was coming was the THUMP of fourteen pounds hitting the ground. Then Tony, without any of the typical feline finesse, thundered into the living room to see his choice of laps. He'd taken one look at the TV, made a noise that Bucky could only describe as a feline version of disdain, and then hopped up onto Bucky's lap, turned in a delicate circle, and promptly flopped over and passed out. Bucky still contends that Steve should have warned him that instead of just getting off like a normal person when the people he was sleeping on stood up to cheer a home run, Tony dug his claws in to attach himself to people's pants. The noise he had let out in response had made Tony bush up to twice his size and do an arched side-step. Then Tony had looked betrayed as he skittered back to the kitchen. Bucky still feels like he kicked a kitten, and all he did was make a noise of pain.

The rest of the Avengers shift for convenience. Steve, a grizzly, feels even larger and more cumbersome than in his serumed body, so he avoids it as much as possible. Clint, a hawk, mostly shifts when he wants to be annoying and dive-bombs everyone. Bruce avoids shifting, mostly because as a moose, his antlers get caught on things; he'll shift when his antlers shed, though, and certain Avengers (Tony and Clint) enjoy sitting between his ears and being tall. Natasha doesn't shift often, mostly because she likes to keep her shift a secret. Most people assume she's a fox. Only the people she really trusts know that she's a swan. Thor, well. He doesn't have a shifted form, although he assures them that he could probably use magic to shift if he ever had to. "Loki turned himself into a horse once," he'd said, and then made a face, and then didn't say anything else about it. Tony howls about how NO ONE SHIFTS AROUND HIM. He is LONELY. He wants to CUDDLE. "I thought bobcats were solitary," Clint says, like an idiot. "I'm NOT a bobcat," Tony howls. "I am a HUMAN who TURNS INTO ONE. Everyone except Clint is BIGGER THAN ME and I DESERVE TO USE YOU AS A BED." "Tony what the fuck," Steve says as Bucky, Natasha, Bruce, and Thor try to smother their laughter, lest they encourage him. "You're so dramatic, shut up." "Does that mean I get to use you as a bed?" Clint asks, and Tony immediately shouts, "OBVIOUSLY, CLINT," in response.

Bucky didn't know that Colonel Rhodes was a wolf, too. He finds out when he goes into the common room and Jim growls, like it's coming from low in his chest. Bucky drops before he even really registers what he's hearing, showing off his belly and whining anxiously. He doesn't notice he's shifted, either, until Jim looms, green-eyed and dark-furred, hackles up and teeth bared. Bucky flashes the hair on his belly, whining, surrendering, terrified. Then Tony lands between them with a heavy thud, arching his back and hissing and spitting at Jim. He dances back and forth on his paws, lunging in and then back out. He swats Jim on the muzzle with his paw. It connects with an almost comical thud. He and Jim stare at each other, both of them looking half astounded, half offended, as if they couldn't believe they'd gotten into an altercation. Then Tony lets out a yowl and starts beating the shit out of Jim (without claws, if the baff-baff-baff of his heavily furred toes hitting flesh is any indication) and Jim snarls and barks and whacks him with his own paws. Bucky shifts back into a human and rolls so his back is facing them, hands clapped over his mouth to try and muffle his laughter. It reminded him of the last time he'd witnessed an argument between them, as humans, where they'd gotten into a slap fight that eventually ended with Jim sitting on top of Tony and shouting about the advantages of nuclear fission while Tony bit on his leg. He hopes he can get JARVIS to send the video to everyone else before either of them realized he would.

"Listen, Barnes," Jim says. "I'm really sorry for what happened yesterday. I get territorial after being away from Tony for extended periods, but that's no excuse. One of us should have warned you, or--I should have better control of myself. Tony told me you don't like to shift, so. I'm sorry I forced it." "That's weird," Bucky says, instead of 'thank you' or even 'it's okay.' "Tony's weird," Jim replies, and Bucky shrugs, conceding. "Also fuck you for sending the video of our fight to everyone." "I deserved it," Bucky answers immediately, because he still shivers anxiously when he remembered Jim over him, teeth bared. "Yeah, okay," Jim sighs, and then opens his mouth to say something else. Then suddenly Tony is between them, bushy and arched again. Bucky stares at him, stunned. "Where did you come from?" "He was on the couch sulking because I wasn't a wolf so I could talk to you," Jim says, and then looks down at Tony, unimpressed. "Just say you want to fuck him, Tony." Tony lets out a yowl and starts beating the absolute shit out of Jim's left leg. "...Should I just," Bucky asks, sort of reaching down toward him. "Please," Jim sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Bucky picks Tony up, and Tony immediately falls limp, purring. "Oh, you weren't just being an asshole." "Yeah, he's had the biggest crush on you," Jim huffs, amused. "Why do you think he's trying to get everyone to shift more? So he can make you jealous and get you to take him on your lap more." Bucky opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Suddenly it explains why Tony ignores everyone else's laps when he sees Bucky in the living room, even when other people actively want him on their lap. "...You could have just said something," he finally manages. "Tony is a cat. He just expects you to know," Jim deadpans, and Bucky sighs, because yeah. That sounds just like a cat.

#aurumacadicus answers #ask meme #5 headcanons meme #winteriron

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doctorstethoscope · 1 year

Text

Fluffy February Day 6 || Coffee Order

pairing: hotch x reader

wordcount: 593

contains: food consumption

Hotch wouldn’t call himself an unemotional man. His team would disagree, and he knows this. They see him as closed-off, as intimidating, ambitious, and unrepentant in the search of justice. They don’t see him as an emotional man, as the “feelings” type.

He feels things very deeply, in all reality. He tries not to feel them too deeply, lest he become beholden to his emotions as his father once had been. He feels from the tips of his fingers to the soles of his feet the love he has for his son. He feels a deep longing for meaning in the suffering that he sees as a part of his job. He feels affection for the team members who are convinced he feels nothing at all.

He feels silly things, too. Joy when he sees kids, younger than Jack, even, playing in the snow in the wintertime. Nostalgia when the music from the ice cream truck cuts through the humid D.C. air in the summer. And, strangely enough, he feels something he can’t quite put a name to for the woman who often arrives at his normal coffee shop at the same time that he does.

He doesn’t even know her name, but he’d recognize her face anywhere. She’d come in with a briefcase, order a dry cappuccino, occasionally accompanied by a danish, and set up shop at one of the velvet winged chairs at the corner of the cafe.

It’s exactly what she’s preparing to do on this particular morning, when Hotch notices that she’s taking longer to order than usual.

“I’m sorry,” she says to the barista. “I forgot my wallet at home, I’ll go and come back—”

“You don’t have to go,” the barista replies. “The manager is strict about my drawer, but you’re here all the time. If you still want to get some work done, you’re welcome here,” she insists.

She gives the barista a grateful look. “I so appreciate it,” she says, and Aaron surprises both of them and even himself when he cuts in.

“I’d be happy to buy your coffee,” he says.

“Oh, that’s so kind, but you don’t have to–” she starts

“I insist,” he says. “I’ll have a large black coffee with one sugar, a medium cappuccino, dry, and a raspberry danish, please.” Aaron says before he can stop himself, sliding his card into the machine.

“Coming right up, Mr. Hotchner,” the barista says, leaving the two of them as she goes to prepare the drinks.

“Wow, they know you by name around here,” she replies dryly, but not unkindly.

“I require more caffeine than most,” he admits.

“You really, really didn’t have to do that, Mr. Hotchner, but I appreciate it.”

“Aaron,” he corrects her. “I’ve told them a million times that they can call me Aaron.”

“Aaron,” she repeats before introducing herself. “Would you like to come sit while we wait?”

“Absolutely,” he says, following her to her usual table and sitting across from her.

“You knew my coffee order, Aaron. I hadn’t even said it out loud yet,” she points out.

“I.. notice things. For a living, actually,” he admits, a little bit sheepish.

“And you’ve noticed me? Before today,” she asks.

“Yes. Many times. Is that alright?” He asks, the ghost of a smirk playing across his face.

She smiles back. “It’s perfectly fine.”

Aaron still doesn’t know exactly what he’d call the feeling, but he suspects it’s a little something like locking eyes with the prettiest girl in the room at a high school theatre club rehearsal.

tagging: @spacecowboyhotch @honeybrowne @angelfxllcm @rousethemouse @infinite-tides @gspenc @anlin2058 @zetasaturno99 @realdirectionx @witheldclouds @sbeno22 @el-vs94 @hausofwhores

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #criminal minds #hotch x y/n #aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds fic

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the-lark-ascending69 · 13 hours

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I need more android robin whump!! Is robin ever gonna come across one of her previous owners who mistreated her (maybe billy) and have to face them again ??

What would Nancy do if she ended up getting hurt ?

I love this au a lot it's so interesting

!!! Hi anon! I have a few thoughts on this... mostly about the time she finds out Nancy's brother is friends with Billy's younger sister, Max.

Now, she and Max had a complicated relationship. Max never had much interaction with her other than to give her orders (which whe did very rarely, mostly just to tell her to leave her alone). Max didn't know Robin was sentient and she didn't see a point in talking to something that was basically a laptop on esteroids. She didn't care about being nice to her, but she could never really bring herself to be too cruel. It felt like punching a teddy bear - it can't feel anything, but why would you do that? It's just mean.

She always hated how Billy treated her. Neil supposedly got her after his psychiatrist recommended it to treat his violent impulses, plus he thought Billy might be gay, and he liked the idea of having a "hot girl robot" to "change his mind". He really didn't care much about Billy's mental health, and he didn't want to waste the money, but he was being pressured by Billy's school's authorities, by the social worker in their case and by his own wife, Max's mother, who was secretly relieved, because she thought Billy would stop taking his anger out on Max if he had a different target, one who couldn't feel anything. Now, Max knew Billy was a horrible human being, and hearing Robin's cries and begging when Billy beat her was unbearable. Soon, you could never see Max without her headphones. When she found Robin curled up inside a closet, her arm bent in a strange way, looking small and terrified and crying... well, Max wasn't stupid. Brutalizing an unfeeling android was one thing, but illegally implanting tear ducts in her because she didn't look hurt enough... Billy was just cruel, sick and sadistic and she hoped he died.

But she was really more concerned with Billy's evil than with how Robin got hurt. In fact, she was relieved, because Billy mostly left her alone now. She wasn't proud of that, but whenever she heard Robin's desperate cries of "please, don't!" and "wait! It hurts!", all she could think about was... that could be her instead. So she never intervened and never tried to stop it, lest Billy turned his attention back to her.

Robin never expected anything else from her. She didn't blame her. She knew what it looked like, and part of her was relieved, too. At least Max didn't get hurt.

In fact, protecting Max like this was the main reason it took her so long to run away, but when she overheard Billy talking to the technician at the illegal repair shop, and learned that he wanted to basically turn her into an adult toy, she couldn't take it anymore. She left that very same night with only the clothes on her back.

So when Christmas comes around and the whole gang gathers to celebrate at Steve's, she sees a familiar face, and they both freeze. For a moment Max thinks this girl just looks very similar to the old android - or maybe she'd happen to be the inspiration for her design? Was she a model? She certainly couldn't be that odd robot that called herself "Robin", because she had her arm linked with Nancy's and she was smiling and telling jokes and she looked so alive - but then again, the old robot looked alive, too.

But then Robin recognizes her, and she debates between greeting Max or running away. Nancy feels her freeze by her side - and before she can ask what's wrong, Robin makes a decision to say hi. She introduces herself to Max - oh god, it really was the android - and she asks if she remembers her. She asks how Max is doing, and she doesn't dare ask about Billy but she desperately wants to know if he's still around.

Max then looks at Nancy, about to ask why the hell did she bring an android as her date, but it's like Nancy read her mind, and her death glare was enough to shut her up. Everyone else is there, including Hopper and Joyce, who are old and wouldn't understand, and even then, the idea of a sentient android is so outlandish that so far, only Steve and tona lesser degree Dustin and Suzie buy it. Convincing everyone else she's not crazy won't be easy and she does not want to ruin Robin's first Christmas. So Max bites her tongue and goes along with it. It actually makes Robin so happy - she thinks Max finally recognizes her as sentient.

She talks to Nancy in private, later, while Robin is playing some kind of videogames with Mike and his friends on the console - she tells her that was her brother's old android. She callously tells her everything in detail - the alterations, the beatings, the screaming... Nancy does her best to keep a calm exterior, but her heart breaks with every word. Max just wants to know what was she thinking bringing her to a Christmas party. And it takes some convincing - pretty much all night, and Max does not want to believe it, because that just means she let a helpless girl endure terrible abuse alone when they could have protected each other. But Nancy is so confident and so insistent and so sure of Robin's self-awareness, that Max can't help but accept it. She cries in Nancy's arms, apologizing over and over again. She didn't know. She didn't want to leave her alone. She didn't want to feel relieved when Billy went after Robin and not her. Nancy just holds her, and tells her she was just a child. She can talk to Robin some time. She's sure she'll appreciate it.

Max and Robin eventually become good friends, actually. Almost sisters. Robin learns that Max hasn't heard of Billy in a long time, and that's very reassuring - he's far from them, now. And Max has Lucas and Robin has Nancy and they have each other now, and they're building a new life away from the horrors.

So when she hears a rough knock on the apartament's door at 3 AM, and hears his voice... she thinks she's hallucinating. It happens sometimes, when her circuits are not working well, but it's rare and she's never so awake when it happens. She runs to Nancy's room and shakes her away. Her whole body is trembling as she says "I think there's someone outside."

Might be getting ahead of myself with the Nancy lore, but she still has a gun from her teenage years, when she and Jonathan had to protect themselves. She hasn't forgotten how to use it.

She doesn't recognize the man when she goes out into the hallway, she only knows he smells like beer and piss, but she can guess who he is from the way he calls for a "robot wh*re", and if she's right, then she hates that she has to meet him in the hallway, where everyone would hear if she put a bullet between his eyes (she's killed people before. It wouldn't be hard).

She's not sure how much he understands - he's leering at her when she comes out - but then she presses the barrel of her gun up against his throat, and tells him to never, ever come near Robin or Max again, or it would be the last thing he does.

He calls her a bitch, but he leaves. Nancy has the feeling it won't be the last time they'll have to deal with him.

Robin is nowhere to be seen when Nancy goes back in - her heart is in her throat, pulse picking up - "Robin? Robin, are you okay?" she calls with a trembling voice. She looks for her everywhere - bedrooms, bathroom, under the bed... she finds her curled up inside a closet, knees against her chest, face hidden in her arms, tears trailing down her cheeks. Nancy realizes she's still holding her gun and places it on the nightstand so she can gather this girl into her arms. She brings her to her bed, tucks her in and holds her tight. She could swear her body doesn't stop trembling until sunrise. All Nancy can do is to hug her tight, stroke her hair, rock her back and forth. Tell her she won't let him touch her again. Promising she'll protect her. She's safe now. Nancy promises.

Indeed, that's not the last time they see Billy, but that's something for another dayyyy

Oh and Robin meets Brenner again at one point, but she doesn't remember him 🤭🤭🤫

#ronance #android!Robin AU #my posts #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #to more directly answer your question: i think Nancy would kill Billy right there and then if he hurt Robin #no matter the witnesses or the possible harm that could come to her if she did it #her anger and her love would be stronger #im so happy you like this au anon!! 🥰🥰

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light-lanterne · 8 months

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Angel you're a real one for bringing up the Nancy issue in your post. For the longest I really couldn't stand how the writers just gave up on the Wheeler sibs while making the Byers, Sinclairs, Steve and Dustin, even Willel have better chemistry than Nancy and Mike.

Maybe it's cuz I have a really awesome older sister so comparing her to Nancy, Nancy falls entirely short. I want her to have an Over the Garden Wall moment (a cool cartoon I watch every autumn season) where another character points out how un-older sibling like she's being to Mike so she can do better cuz maybe she's truly unaware that this is an issue.

Cuz I don't think Nancy’s going to get it unless someone else on the outside openly talks to her about how she's just not there for Mike in the way she thinks she is. We've never seen Nancy be observant to Mike like how the Byers notice something's off about Will so I'll give her the benefit of the doubt that she can't see what's in front of her cuz the Wheelers only cared when danger was right at their doorstep (Ted and Karen when the government showed up, at the town meeting when Jason started the manhunt)

Nancy's following the theme of being her parents in recognizing something is wrong too late like in s1 when she worried about Mike and never even thought that he could be in danger when his literal best friend Will is missing, along with Barb.

So I dunno, I see Nancy reflecting her parents in that way of never knowing that Mike is also in the pathway of danger nearly constantly AKA a target of the same entity/mysterious bad guy that took Will twice (physically and possession wise)

Anyways sorry for the long ask but I just hate how they write Nancy and Mike's dynamic with no progression in 4 whole seasons. She has survivors guilt from losing Barb and protects everyone else but she leaves Mike in the dust

hi lex ~! please never apologise for long asks, i love to analyse characters (even if i don't do it often).

yes to all you said !! i don't know if the writers chose to completely ignore the wheeler siblings on purpose so there can be a cool storyline with them in s5 (or if they simply don't think their connection is important in the slightest -_- ), but i think it's factual at this point that nancy needs someone or something to knock some sense into her. it's been four seasons without her altering her behaviour in the slightest, so someone (potentially jonathan, seeing as he constantly blames himself for not being there for will) has to reach her lest something terrible happens to mike and she can't avoid caring any longer.

more than that, though, i think the crux of the problem is nancy's need for revenge. ever since s1 it's been well established that she feels entirely responsible for what happened to barb and, being unable to bring her back, has chosen to focus her energy into harming those she feels are also at fault.

so in s1 this translated to ditching the kids to go kill the demogorgon, later pretending that it was to help joyce and hopper in the upside down when it was clearly just an attempt to avenge barb. in s2, she missed out on most of what happened because she was off with jonathan and murray trying to figure out a way to make the lab pay. in s3, she's the first to get the gun ready to attack biIly and, in s4, she's the one who concocts a plan to try to kill vecna.

and while all these plans are ultimately cemented in her desire to keep the party safe, she constantly overlooks obvious flaws to her approach because a) she's only a human girl and there's not much else she can really do against their supernatural foes, and b) even if it's on a subconscious level, she has a strong bias towards violence because she's still trying to punish those who took barb from her (in lieu of punishing herself further because, as previously mentioned, she's the one she blames the most).

so, until she rids herself of this need for vengeance and starts thinking more logically, she will continue to ignore basic problems to her plans and, more importantly, the emotional needs of those around her. particularly mike, who she's grown up ignoring because that's the example her parents have set for her and who, in her mind, doesn't need to be cared for emotionally because what's there for him to be sad or traumatised about ? he got will back (twice), el back (also twice, if we consider the break-up), and he's had the least amount of near-death-experiences out of all the kids (as far as she knows).

in nancy's mind, since mike didn't lose his loved ones, there's no way he could possibly be struggling and so, anything she might actually notice, any signs she might see that defy this idea, she pushes down to keep up this self-imposed illusion. and, when she recognises her brother's behaviour in others, or sees that someone else is in danger, she chooses to hyperfocus on them so that she can continue to ignore mike's pain (or the fact that he's in danger).

,,,anyway,,, there's another half-baked analysis x.x thanks again for the ask lex !! hopefully my rambling is somewhat coherent u.u

#💕#🍬#📝#💡#🧸#nancy wheeler #mike wheeler #nancy wheeler analysis #mike wheeler analysis #wheeler family

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walviemort · 3 months

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hidden blessing (13/?)

Summary: Killian thought the only thing he was left with after Milah’s death was a broken heart and a thirst for vengeance. It’s not until he gets to Storybrooke, after so many years spent in stasis, that he discovers something else: he’s carrying her child. How does this new, tiny blessing change his path? (Canon-divergent from 2x12.) rated T | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | part 12 | AO3 | 3.9k a/n: And we're back! I still have the next few chapters done, and the rest of 3B plotted. Thanks for not giving up on this!

Killian was surprised at how much relief he felt when the Storybrooke harbor came into sight. Being safely out of Neverland was certainly part of it, but seeing that quaint little town that was apparently working its way into his heart was its own kind of soothing.

If he had to guess, the gentle but persistent kicking he was feeling from his baby echoed his own joy.

That said—he did have to bite back a pang of loneliness at watching the reception his allies were given upon disembarking the ship; even Regina was hailed as a hero by the townsfolk that, he had thought, were generally distrustful of her. He stood on the gangplank watching the reunions and feeling very much like an outsider again.

It wasn’t that he wanted attention or gratitude; he had just apparently come to enjoy the feeling of being included.

(He was at least assuaged by the fact that Emma looked equally uncomfortable with all eyes on her and her family; the somewhat panicked look she shot his way once he eventually disembarked was met with a knowing nod.)

After confirming that the waters of Neverland were working on David for the moment, everyone began to dissipate and move back toward the center of town. He hung back, though, citing a need to fully secure the ship—and, frankly, he needed a moment alone to continue to convince himself that the babe was all he needed; that they were family enough (and more than he’d had in decades).

(He did, however, miss the longing glance Emma gave him as she was ushered back into town by her parents and son. But as long as he wasn’t going anywhere, she’d have time to talk to him later. And maybe more.)

—---------------------

Later that day, after wrapping up on the ship and running another errand, he found himself with the rest of the crowd in Granny’s. As soon as he’d walked in the door, every single craving he’d had on the island came back to him at full force; he didn’t even know what to order. Granny chuckled when he explained the situation and told him she’d take care of it. He honestly didn’t recognize half the foods she gave him—some kind of fish, and perhaps some bacon?—but it was divine. (He couldn’t blame the sudden snugness of his vest on the babe alone.)

He was sipping on some ginger tea afterwards (lest that amazing meal come back up) when he cast a glance across the diner—and noticed Emma sitting there, with Henry. Much as he longed to join them, it was a stark reminder, as had been everything since they landed: his focus needed to be on his child, and nothing else, much as hers was likely on getting Henry settled back into his life here.

A presence was suddenly in his space, and Neal was sliding onto the stool next to him.

“Didn’t know you drank anything but rum,” he teased, nodding at the mug and then taking a sip of his own ale.

“As I understand, that wouldn’t be ideal for a fetus,” he replied. “And don't worry, I'm not here to pursue the Lady Swan.”

“Yeah, you're just here to enjoy Granny’s excellent cooking.”

“I am, actually. And I've made a decision when it comes to Emma: I'm gonna back off.

“Back off?” Neal sounded surprised.

“I have enough to focus on with impending parenthood; I don’t need to actively be throwing romance into that equation. Which I suppose lets you have a fair shot at her, without a devilishly handsome pirate standing in the way,” he winked, then finished his tea.

“You're serious?” He seemed genuinely touched.

“Yeah. I am devilishly handsome.”

Neal at least chuckled at that, and offered his glass in cheers. Killian obliged, but didn’t add on what he was really thinking: even if he wasn’t actively going to seek Emma out, he had no plans on going anywhere or leaving her presence. His priorities might lay elsewhere, but he was in this for the long haul; given the previous demise of Emma and Bae’s relationship, he wasn’t optimistic about a reunion.

But that was for the future. At present, he looked up to check the time on the clock—and cursed. “Damn; I’ve got to get to an appointment.”

“What, like a doctor appointment?”

“Yeah; is that odd?” He’d gone to Doc’s office earlier to enquire if he had any availability to see Killian and was told to come back later—not long from now.

“You just don’t strike me as the type to seek out professionals.”

“No, not usually, but it’s not for me—it’s for this one,” he said, nodding at his belly. “Can’t be too careful when Neverland is involved.”

Neal winced. “Yeah, good plan. Hope it goes well, then,” he said, surprisingly sincere.

“Thanks,” Killian replied as he hopped off the stool and threw some gold on the counter. “Until later.”

He’d hardly gotten outside Granny’s front gate and down the sidewalk when a familiar voice was calling for him.

“Hook!” Emma shouted, then jogged to keep up when he paused. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere exciting,” he answered. “Just the obstetrician.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Oh, okay, then; just wanted to make sure you weren’t skipping town or anything.”

“What, afraid I’d leave without saying goodbye?” He felt slightly guilty for flirting after the conversation he’d just had with Bae, but he couldn’t help it if Emma was the one seeking him out. “Don’t worry—I would never.”

“You better not,” she said, and held his gaze. She wasn’t saying it verbally, but he understood the subtext clearly: she wanted him to stay—here, near her. And that meant more than he could express.

Her eyes darted to his lips, despite there being several feet between them; gods how he wanted to follow that train of thought, but perhaps making out in front of the diner where her ex (and the rest of her family) still sat wasn’t the greatest idea, especially since he still had somewhere to be.

“Right, well, I don’t want to be late,” he finally said to break the silence and took a step in the direction of the doctor’s office, if only to break the tension between them.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said quickly, shaking her head as if to clear it. “Uh, wait—do you want some company? At your appointment?”

He blinked; now he was truly surprised. “Why would you want to go to that?” he blurted out.

“I mean, most people usually have someone with them at those—their partner, y’know, or a friend.”

Unable to resist the setup, he asked, “And which do you consider yourself, Swan?”

The subsequent eye roll was expected, but her sincerity wasn’t. “Look, I had to go through all of that with Henry on my own, and I always wished I had someone there with me. So, if you want someone, I’ll gladly go with you.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but he simply didn’t have one. But the way he was suddenly holding back tears probably said enough. “I, uh,” he stammered. “I’d like that, if—if you’re sure.”

She gave him a small smile, then walked forward. “Well, come on; we don’t wanna be late.”

He watched her walk past him, still in awe, but finally came back to his senses when she yelled at him to hurry up.

The entire concept of the “waiting room” at the doctor’s office was foreign to him, and frankly seemed unnecessary; it just gave him more time to worry about what the doctor might find. It was all he could do not to bounce his leg nervously as he sat in an uncomfortable chair next to Emma, who seemed to be reading a periodical.

But when he glanced over at her, her eyes were anything but focused on the pages. “Not a fan of the physician, eh?” he said, trying to refocus his nervous energy elsewhere.

She blinked and looked up at him, then chuckled half-heartedly. “No, it’s not that—although, yes,” she conceded. “I’m just worried about Henry.”

That, he understood. “He’s been through something traumatic; it likely takes some time to settle after that.”

She huffed a bit. “That’s what everyone keeps saying, but it’s not that. There’s something else…off, I guess.” Then she shrugged. “Or maybe I’m just imagining it.”

“Or maybe you’re not,” he countered. “Your instincts tend to be fairly solid, Swan; don’t ignore them if you think something is truly wrong.”

“Thanks,” she answered, giving him a small smile in return. “I just don’t know what it could be.”

“Perhaps—” he started, trying to help her brainstorm, but then his name was called out to go back to the exam room. Alas; they’d have to continue that train of thought later.

Having someone with him in the exam room was a completely different experience than his last couple of visits, and definitely for the better. If Doc was surprised by the change, he didn’t comment on it, and even though Emma politely averted her gaze during certain parts of the checkup, she was able to help answer some questions—like just how long they’d been in Neverland.

“Just shy of three weeks,” she was answered confidently. “And you were at 16 when we left, right?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, astonished she remembered. “But I think Pan may have accelerated it a bit, at one point.”

“You didn’t tell me that!” she hissed, but still sat next to him during the sonogram; she’d already seen his belly at the lagoon, so he didn’t mind that exposure, but he wondered if she might get weirded out seeing the image of his insides.

But then Doc said “huh” while he was scanning, and Killians heart stuttered.

“What?”

“I can’t—find—“ Doc said while continuing to move the probe around.

Killians breath hitched as he stared at the screen, waiting for something to appear. The babe couldn’t be gone—he could feel them still—no, please, no—

Then he jumped a mile when something touched his hand; he turned his head to see Emma slipping her hand around his and giving an encouraging smile. He couldn’t return it, but he took hold of hers and squeezed.

“There they are!” His eyes darted back to the screen and he sighed; there it was—his babe. “They were hiding on us!” Doc said, chuckling, “but everything is looking good.”

What Pan said he’d done was accurate—he was around 18 weeks now—but they were there and they were healthy and that was all that mattered.

He felt somewhat drained as he and Emma left the office, but ultimately relieved. “Thank you for coming, Emma; I’m...I can’t say how much it means that you were there,” he told her outside the office.

“Like I said—no one should have to do that alone,” she said. “And honestly, it’s the least I can do. I’m glad I was there, too.”

“Would, uh,” he started, not sure how to ask the question he wanted to ask. “Do you want to…” How on earth did one ask the object of their affections to join them at the rest of their appointments to track the growth of the child they were having as a product of his relationship with said love interest’s would-be-mother-in-law?

“I will gladly go to the rest of them, if you want me there,” she said, smiling.

Thank gods she figured it out. “Yeah, I would. Please.”

She just laughed at him and started to lead the way back into town. They were silent, but it was a comfortable quiet—although he did keep stealing glances her way, something she was apparently doing as well because they broke into a fit of juvenile giggles when they caught the other’s eye.

The turnoff came to head to the marina, and sleep was calling his name again. “I’m afraid this is where we part,” he said. “Seriously—thank you.”

She waved it off. “It was my pleasure. But now that I’ve seen that kid, I’m gonna be making sure you’re taking care of them.”

“With my life.”

“That’s what worries me,” she teased, albeit with a serious edge. “Especially after Dark Hollow. Take care of yourself, too.”

“You have my word.” (She could have whatever of his words she wanted, if he was being honest.)

“Well, I’d like to make sure you are. Like, tomorrow, around lunch time, at Granny’s.”

“Why, Swan, are you asking me on a date?”

“No. I’m making sure you get decent food. Especially now that I know you’ve been craving grilled cheese.”

She had him there. “Alright, I will see you then. And maybe we can continue the earlier conversation, about Henry?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “See you then,” she farewelled with a grin.

He started to walk away, but a crazy idea came over him. “Wait, Emma,” he called out, then jogged over to her as he fished out the envelope Doc had given him from his jacket. “Do, ah, do you want one?” he offered, holding it out to her.

Now was her turn to be speechless; she blinked and stared at it in awe for a second. “An ultrasound picture? You’re asking if I want one?”

“Aye.”

She stared in shock for another moment, until a smile that was usually reserved for Henry took over. “Sure.”

He let her pick which of the few she wanted; she chose one with the baby’s fist extended. “Looks like they want to party,” she giggled.

“Well, they’re all pirate,” he agreed, grinning.

They parted for real then, with a promise to meet the next day. Apologies to Neal, but he couldn’t deny Emma anything.

(He didn’t see it, but when Emma got in her Bug, she smiled at the sonogram, even giving it a little fist bump. “You’re gonna have a great daddy, kiddo,” she told it, “and I hope I’m a part of your life, too.”)

—-------------------------------------------

The next day, right around the time Emma had requested his presence, he slipped in the back door at Granny’s to meet her in the diner. But before he got that far, he ran into someone else—almost literally. “Oof—sorry; my apologies, Lady Bell,” he said, steadying her with his hand and hook.

The fairy didn’t seem too bothered, though. “I’m alright; are you?”

“I’m fine, love,” he assured her. “Just need to pay more attention to what’s in front of me, apparently.”

“Daydreaming, huh?” she assessed, crossing her arms and smirking. “About the little one…or about Emma?”

How was she always able to read him so well? Was that a fairy thing? “Bit of both, I suppose,” he acknowledged, and told her about the appointment yesterday—both Emma’s presence at it, and the reassuring news he received.

“That’s fantastic!” Tink gushed. “So do you think you’ll stay on the ship, or try to find some place to stay in town?”

The vision of Emma’s family’s flat swam into his mind; the Jolly Roger had long been his home, but he had to admit it wasn’t always the safest (or warmest) place. Perhaps he did need to find a more permanent mooring? (Maybe even in proximity to Emma’s home?) “I suppose I should start looking—”

He was interrupted by a most blood-curdling scream coming from outside. Bloody hell—they’d hardly been back a day; were crises this common here? “Then again, maybe not,” he quipped, and they quickly ran outside to see what was happening.

Emma and her father were getting out of the prince’s truck (who, he had heard, was successfully cured of the dreamshade; Gold had held to his word, incredibly) as he and Tink emerged from the diner.

“The hell was that?” she exclaimed as she walked over; he didn’t miss her glance between them, a curious look on her face, but hopefully she noticed the subtle shake of his head.

“I have the same question,” he did add, though.

The screaming occurred again, only louder.

“There,” David shouted, pointing in the direction of the sound, and took off running; the rest of them immediately followed (even though Killian had a feeling that exertion on an empty stomach was not going to be great for his nausea).

The sight that followed certainly didn’t help: near the steps of the convent, the mother superior was making a mad dash to get away from Pan’s Shadow. She nearly got inside, but the Shadow got there first—and wasted no time in tearing away her own shadow.

Immediately, the nun collapsed on the sidewalk. David knelt down, looking for a pulse, but— “She's gone,” he said, aghast. (Killian began searching for the nearest bush to retch into; Doc said the nausea should be ending soon, but apparently not yet.)

“Why would the Shadow kill her?” Tink wondered aloud for all of them.

“No idea, love,” he answered. “But I do know the Shadow only takes orders from one person.” That fact was also causing the twist in his gut.

Emma found his eyes; her own were wide in shock. “Pan,” she said, confidently and horrified.

While he was busy losing what little remained of his breakfast in the shrubbery, the rest of their little band arrived, no doubt also noticing the ruckus. Regina was understandably confused as to how the shadow could have broken free; Henry looked downright terrified. Neal was at least being pragmatic.

“Look, let's go back to the ship and get the candle. If it strikes again, we need to be able to capture it,” he said authoritatively, then turned to Killian. “Where’d you stash it?”

“I’ll show you,” he said, and threw an apologetic look at Emma as he left; he didn’t dare mention their abandoned date in front of Neal.

Tink tagged along as well. “Didn’t we just do all this?” she complained.

“From what I’ve gathered, Storybrooke is just…like this,” he supplied.

“Sounds exhausting. Are you sure about staying, then?”

“Do you know of anywhere better?” he quipped back.

“You’re staying?” Neal asked as they approached the marina.

“Aye; is that so surprising?”

If he wasn’t mistaken, Neal was pouting. “I just figured it’d be back to the high seas.”

“With an infant on the way?” Tink interjected. “Are you daft?”

“I mean, houseboats are a thing,” he said quietly, but it was clear he wasn’t enthused by that news. Ah well—that was his issue to deal with, not Killian’s. Just because he wasn’t going to actively pursue Emma didn’t mean he was going to stop talking to her altogether. (And it really wasn’t his fault if that fact alone was threatening to Neal.)

It was both a comfort and a worry that the previously dark sail was back to its normal crisp white. All the more reason to track the shadow down again.

“I know where the coconut is below deck; cover for me?” Tink asked. They obviously obliged.

Both paced the deck, keeping an awkwardly safe distance between them. Killian took a moment to stop at the dockside railing, scanning both the sky and the skyline.

As much as she’d been teasing, Tink’s comment was lingering. Did he truly want to settle down and raise a child in a place that seemed to attract danger?

Or did he want to fight to make it a safe place not just for his babe, but for everyone else here?

“When’d you do this?” Neal’s voice pulled him from his meditation; he stood on the quarterdeck, running his fingers along the wood behind the helm.

Killian moved closer, ascending the steps. Neal was tracing the well-worn indentation behind the wheel—particularly, the lines he’d angrily dashed through the port and starboard symbols he drew for Bae all those years ago.

“Right after the Lost Boys took you,” he said solemnly.

“Trying to erase what you did?” There was an edge of venom in his voice.

“Trying to erase my own hope,” he confessed. “Nothing excuses what I did—you suffered the most from my brash action—but I had been sincere in my desire to keep you here. I was angry at myself for destroying it; thus…” He waved his hook over the carvings.

“I know,” Neal said, tracing the P. “I probably would have calmed down eventually, you know; I was an irrational teenager,” he chuckled. “But you were the adult.”

“Aye; right on all counts.”

“At least you get a second chance now. Don’t mess it up.”

“I don’t intend to.”

A look of understanding passed between them, despite the tension just a bit ago, and they nodded at each other.

A moment later, Tink emerged with the coconut, just as Neal’s talking device went off. (Perhaps Killian needed to get his hands on one of those? They seemed to be rather useful.)

“Okay; we’ll be right there,” Neal said, then pocketed the object. “Everyone’s meeting at Regina’s vault. We good to go?”

“I certainly am,” Tink said, raising the coconut.

“Aye; let’s get this over with once and for all,” Killian agreed, and they set back off across town. (He’d read that continued activity was good for the baby; with the number of times he’d traversed the town, they were sure to be in good health.)

His blood nearly froze in his veins, though—despite the exertion—once they reached the cemetery. He expected to see the usual band of heroes, and the Crocodile, but—what the bloody hell was Pan doing there?

And, even worse—why was Neal running towards him?

Killian’s hand instinctively drifted to his sword, convinced they were running headlong into a trap.

“Is it really you?” he heard Neal say from afar.

“Dad,” Pan said—though, it evidently was not the demon child. Killian looked towards Emma, hoping she could read the look of confusion that was surely on his face. Her mouth was a thin line but she nodded; they were good enough at nonverbal communication at this point that he could tell: somehow, Pan and Henry had switched bodies.

(He could wait until later to congratulate her on knowing something was off; but first, they had to get through this.)

David asked if they’d found the Shadow; they showed him the empty coconut in response. The fact that it was still on the loose—paired with the realization that Regina’s vault was magically locked, with both her and Pan-as-Henry inside—was more than his uneasy stomach could take, and he had to step aside to retch again, though little came up.

As he was hunched over behind a random headstone, he felt a caress on his back; Emma gave him a consolatory rub, before seeking her own solitude further away (though her parents were quick to follow).

Everyone’s nerves were palpable as they waited for the Dark One to gain entrance to the vault—then even more on edge once he got through and headed in, with Emma and her parents in tow. He tried to give her an encouraging nod when she looked back over her shoulder at him before descending, but doubted it was convincing.

He paced; Tink perched on a stone; and Neal looked after Henry-as-Pan while they waited for news.

Finally, the others returned, Regina in tow, with the worst news possible:

Pan had escaped—and he’d taken the Dark Curse with him.

Fear like he hadn’t known yet immediately ran through Killian’s body, and his hand rushed to cover the spot where he could feel his babe’s equally nervous wiggles. For the first time, he was genuinely frightened they might fail. Gods above, what was happening?

—------------------------------------

thanks for reading! tagging @cocohook38 @wyntereyez @jennjenn615 @superadam54 @ashley-knightingale @justsomewhump @teamhook (let me know if you want a tag!)

#cs ff #killian mpreg #hidden blessing #killian jones ff #my ff

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babylonia-after-hours · 2 years

Text

Winner Takes All, Part 1 [Yandere Regrator x thief darling x Yandere Yelan]

Disclaimer I have no idea how long this will be, but I had a crazy idea involving Pantalone and Yelan and a little thief for a darling.

(I am so sorry my readers have so much lore lmao)

@ddarker-dreams, @yandere-romanticaa, I hope you don't mind my tagging you two

The night’s smoke still burned your lungs as you were thrown to the floor of a new room. Wooden, nice quality by the feel of it, even as it collided violently with the side of your face. The edge of a carpet pressed into your cheek. Your arms and legs had been bound and you were blindfolded, though you were sure that you wouldn’t recognize your surroundings if you’d been able to see. As such, your oh so gracious guards had dragged you to whoever’s office and thrown you to the floor with as much grace as could have been expected.

“You’re not nearly as fun to watch when you’re tied up like that,” a voice mused, smooth and even. “Leave me with them.”

“Milord,” one of your guards tried.

“You think someone like that would let you throw them around like that?” he the voice purred. “I have faith in your ability to do something as simple as restrain a thief to the point where I can safely interact with them. Unless I shouldn’t?”

“No, no Milord,” the other guard stuttered. “The thief has been restrained as you requested.”

“Good. Now, you two must be curious as to why I wanted to speak to our dear guest, yes?”

“W-well-,” the first guard began, breaking off with a yelp.

“It’s not our place to ask,” his partner broke in, “but even I must admit to curiosity.”

“You two studied under our dearly departed Rosalyne, didn’t you? It shows.” The boss gave a low chuckle. “Well, I’ll tell you anyhow. They put on quite the show last night, didn’t they? Such a graceful sword style on a lowly thief, surely there must be something more there. I can hardly bear to think such a lovely art has fallen to the petty criminals.”

The guards didn’t respond, and you could only imagine the mute nodding and nervous glances they must have been exchanging.

“Leave us now,” the voice told them. “I wish to speak with our dear guest alone.”

The guards hesitated, but left with a reluctant “Yes sir.”

Without waiting for permission, you sat up, tucking your legs beneath you to sit seiza. “Shall I take off that blindfold?” he mused, coming standing up with a sigh of shifting fabric. “I must admit I was struck by the way your eyes glow.”

“What does it matter?” you ask, debating whether or not you could spit on his shoes blind.

“I suppose it doesn’t, does it? Now, what does matter is how you managed to find that particular shipment.”

At this, your mouth twists into a sneer. “We thieves have our ways. You know that.”

“I haven’t the faintest clue what you’re alluding to, dear, now please be cooperative lest I lose my patience.”

And all you could do was laugh. “To answer your question, the local Treasure Hoarders were getting agitated, so something good must have been on the way. I will tell you, I had a really shady contact. Never worked with the buyer before. Sold the lot of ‘em to her for half again market price. But the Fatui ought to know better than to smuggle precious stones and metals in Liyue.”

“Seems careless to me, that you wouldn’t at least confirm your contact’s reliability.”

You laughed again. “You assume I’m some normal criminal, stealing for the money. I’m a bit of an adrenaline junkie. The money’s nice, and I got paid handsomely, but mostly I just like causing trouble.” Just thinking about it, you could feel your blood heating up. Had he been any less important than he seemed to be, you might have attacked him just to see what he’d do. “So, I don’t particularly care. The threat of getting caught is part of the fun.”

“You’re a foolish creature,” he mused, mulling over your words. “A foolish, lovely thing. I should like to keep you.” He snapped his fingers, an idea striking him. “I know. We’ll have you make another bargain with that buyer of yours.”

You shook your head a little. “She’s not the kind of person someone in our line of work deals with twice unless we want to get caught.”

“Do you not?”

“You think I want to rot in a cell? You’re not very good at this, are you?”

“It’s been a long time since I was your run-of-the-mill pickpocket, yes. I’ve moved on to grander things.” Suddenly he was in your face, you could feel how close he was. You wrinkled your nose at the cologne he was wearing. He took your face in one hand, fingers digging mercilessly into your cheeks. With his other hand, he removed your blindfold. “What?” he asked as his teeth came into focus. “Don’t like it?”

He was pretty, as men sometimes are, and you immediately hated it. Clean well-dressed, and yet he didn’t even deny coming from the same place as you, beginning an illustrious career as a pickpocket. Well, not exactly the same place.

But he didn’t know he wasn’t like you. “Hate it,” you replied easily. “I didn’t grow up caring about being rich.”

“Interesting. So you didn’t grow up a street wench, I assume?”

“Probably not,” you allowed, only growing angrier when his mouth pulled up into a pretty, smug little smirk, grip easing enough to no longer be painful.

“You amuse me, really. It’d be a shame to let you go or kill you.”

You leaned back a little, hoping to put some space between you. “I’d almost rather you killed me,” you muttered, not particularly caring if he heard you.

He probably picked up on this, and leaned forward into your personal space, at the same time, pulling your face closer. You barely suppressed a flinch that he undoubtedly noticed as he placed his forefinger and thumb over your left eye socket, admiring it like a fresh-cut jewel. “You do have such pretty eyes,” he purred, pressing his fingers into the soft flesh, a silent threat. “Maybe I’ll keep one in a jar if I don’t get to keep all of you.”

“Just the person I was hoping to see.”

You scowled. You knew that girl was trouble the moment you laid eyes on her. The fur coat, the jade bracelet that missed its pair, she was openly far too wealthy to be some girl, and yet no one knew her name. “What do you need?” you asked, putting on your work face.

“Now, now, let’s be friendly here. I know who you are, and I’m looking to make a deal with you.”

You click your tongue, turning to face her, leaning back on the bar. This had Tianshu fingerprints all over it. “What kind of deal?” you asked.

The woman sat down beside you, unconcerned, and ordered drinks for the two of you. “What will it be for you tonight?” she asked. “On me, as a gesture of goodwill.”

“A classic mijiu will do,” you replied, unsurprised and unimpressed when she called a top-shelf brand.

“I work with the Ministry of Civil Affairs,” she said, daintily swirling her cocktail, feigning indifference.

“I figured as much,” you told her. “What does the Ministry want with me?” You were sure they were trying to arrest you but you weren’t going to bring it up until they did.

“Because you’re talented,” she said with a knowing little half-smile.

“I’m not the only stray in Liyue that knows how to use a sword,” you reply. “Surely there’s better qualified people than-,” you wave your hand in a gesture to yourself, “this.”

“That’s precisely why I wanted to speak with you. After your father was convicted, we know your siblings moved to Sumeru, where your family’s savings continue to support them, but you disappeared besides a few chance sightings.”

You frowned into your tea. “I’m sure you can imagine why I out of all my siblings want to stay out of the public eye.”

“Naturally,” she agreed, all sympathy. “Though I suspect this is the best offer you're going to get, considering how you've chosen to make your living.”

You clicked your tongue, irritated. “I’ll be the judge of that. Let’s hear this offer before we make assertions.”

At this, she laughed. “I like you. Well here it is. We’ll sponge your record if you become our eyes and ears in the underworld.”

You frowned at her. “I hope you don’t expect me to start a gang.”

She laughed again. “Of course not. We just want someone that can move freely with the less-than-savories, you understand?”

“Hmph.” You couldn’t exactly refuse. She knew who you were, and what you do. Probably had a tail on you if you tried to slip out. “Fine,” you said with a sigh. “What’s the catch?”

She swirled her drink in her glass. “There isn’t one, really. You just report to the Tianshu.”

“I knew it,” you muttered. “Let me guess, you’re the next Tianshu?”

At this, she seemed to be caught off-guard. “Now what makes you think that?”

You shrugged, sipping lightly off your drink. “The public doesn’t know a lot about the Tianshu. I was born into an old martial clan. You work for the Ministry, and yet no one recognizes you. It’s not difficult to put together.”

The woman had gathered herself by now, and was smiling again. “I knew I made the right call. Your decision?”

You scowled. “It’s hardly a decision if I don’t really have a choice. Bring me a written contract.”

She smiled. “That’s what I like to hear. My name is Yelan, the next Tianshu of the Liyue Qixing.”

You waved at her, almost dismissive. “Just tell me where to meet you.”

“How does Xinyue Kiosk sound?” she asked, immediately relaxing into a friendly sort of chat.

You gaped at her. “Even before my father was arrested, do you think I have something to wear to Xinyue?” you asked, incredulous.

“Fair enough, I didn’t really think of that,” she said in a way that seemed to you that she certainly had. “How about Third-Round Knockout? Or Wanmin?”

“Third-Round Knockout is fine,” you sighed, feeling rather like you were getting into much more trouble than a clean record was worth.

“I’m sorry to give you such a risky assignment on your first day, but I heard a little rumor that there was a large shipment of precious stones and metals getting smuggled by the Fatui.”

You nearly choked on your drink. “It’s bad enough you want to make a career criminal of me,” you coughed, scowling at Yelan. “I’m not getting involved with the Fatui.”

“I only need you to confirm it. Feel free to cause them some trouble if you’d like. The Ministry will pay you half again market price if you can retrieve the goods, but prioritize your safety.”

You liked to think you weren’t a money grubber, but half again market price for a shipment of valuables… Well, you were Liyuen. Gold ran in your veins as much as it did anyone else’s. “We’ll see,” you allowed. “When and where?”

Yelan laughed. “So direct. I like that about you.”

You glared at her again. “What do I have to defend?”

She waved off the question. “Lingju Pass. In a fortnight, according to my intel.”

So, she was testing you. Fine.

“Not like I really have a choice,” you muttered.

She beamed at you. “That’s what I like to hear.”

#yandere genshin impact #yandere x reader #yandere pantalone x reader #yandere yelan x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #Winner Takes All #yandere pantalone #yandere regrator #yandere yelan

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nirikeehan · 9 months

Note

hiiiiiiii I'm READY for blackwall/thalia to make me feel things, how about kingdom come au-full "An open secret" from the evocative prompt list? <3

Hi Rowan!! I dithered a lot on whether what I was writing was actually answering the prompt, but I think I got there in the end. I will probably add this to the next chapter of Kingdom Come. Enjoy!

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 1065

---

He kisses her on the temple and eases her out the door. He would take the day off, but he’s expected at company headquarters; there’s always one minor crisis or another the subordinates aren’t equipped to handle. Thom urges her to explore Markham, get a feel for the place proper. In a few days he’ll have the time to show her around himself.

Thalia stands on the front stoop, belly full of the breakfast he made her, feeling untethered. The rain has evaporated, replaced by brilliant azure sky and the crisp warmth of early autumn. The cobblestones and stucco walls practically glow in the sun. Exposed, her face warms like a blush. She starts down the street, boots clicking underfoot.

She admits roaming the city for the day is a good idea. She needs to put space between them, lest his magnetism cloud her thinking. She still feels off-kilter from the rapid turn of events, wonders what exactly she agreed to in the bath this morning. Can she really stay here, as his — what’s the term? Mistress? Mortification seizes her. Paramour? Barely better. Lover?

She cringes, narrowly sidestepping a noble in grey velvet who heads toward a golden-domed, marble columned building — the magistrate court. She heard the bells ringing at breakfast, signifying the start of autumn session. Thom told her, full of pride, how close his townhouse is to the beating heart of Markham’s legislature.

The nobleman gives her a dirty look, and Thalia hides behind her hair, a thing one can do when it’s short and loose. He doesn’t recognize her, though there are plenty who might. She’s not the Inquisitor anymore, but her movements are still commented upon in the broadsheets; Leliana and Josephine both send her snippets from Orlais and Antiva when the gossip is especially salacious and outrageously wrong. They stopped when Cullen died, for which she is grateful. She has no desire to know what the rabble thought of that. Or what they’ll think, when they find out she’s sought out, for comfort, the war criminal she helped slip the noose.

No one has to know, she reminds herself. Thom’s voice, in her head, assuring her.

Markham is a city of stone and plaster, of buildings built on top of streets and streets on top of buildings. Unlike Ostwick, which stands upon the sea and teems with gardens and canals, the Markham flora is far more deliberate. She spots a tree planted here on a walkway, another there, encircled by fences and dropping their scarlet leaves in lazy intervals. The wynds twist, turn, grow narrow and widen again on a whim. Thalia recalls the street that took her to the inn; the boulevard runs into the university, which was a place Thom suggested she visit while sopping up egg yolk with a piece of bread. His other hand strayed to hers, his thumb massaging a pale knuckle. It’s got a spectacular library, he said, almost sly. He knows books hook her like a fish.

She recalls the book he was reading in bed last night, before they made love. In her haste she forgot to see what it was, and when she woke in his bed with reams of sunlight across her bare back, it had vanished. She has no idea what he might like to read. It troubles her. How can he seem so mysterious to her still, after all these years?

She crosses the street, keeps walking past the university entrance. Some things she can resist.

---

Thom strolls into company headquarters — a stout fortress built into Markham’s outer walls, once a part of the city watch before it fell into disrepair and he bought the place cheap. He hears the lieutenants drilling recruits in the courtyard, the reassuring sound of shuffling feet and the clash of practice swords. This place is his pride and glory, the new life that he’s built upon the ashes of the old, and surveying it in the morning sun, he feels a swell of lightness deep in his chest.

His office stands in the corner of the second floor. He breezes through reception, greets the boy on duty, steps into the courtyard to observe those training. After offering words of encouragement, he heads down the corridor to the main stairway. Payne stands by the base of the stairs. He is a nervous young man of some thirty-five years, skinny where Thom is broad, with hair the color and texture of a weasel. When Thom found him, Payne was serving a sentence for poaching, not because he’d been caught, but because his guilt had been so great he’d turned himself in. He’s a good second in command — not too ambitious, eager to please.

Payne stares at him. “Are you all right, ser?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just— you were whistling, ser.”

He snorts. “Didn’t think I was capable?”

“Er, no, it’s not that. You just— seem in good spirits, is all.” Payne breaks into a sweat, as if accusing him of lightening the till. “More so than usual, I mean.”

Thom blinks, lets out a hearty laugh. “Think it will damage my frightful reputation?” He’s known as the man in black to the company, possessing the gravitas of someone in perpetual mourning. He claps Payne on the shoulder and ascends the stairs before his startled subordinate can respond.

He enters his office, flanked by his own amusement. He’s sitting at his desk, sorting a mountain of correspondence, when Sera breezes in. Her nose is scrunched as if she’s caught whiff of some rubbish. “All right, spew.”

“I beg your pardon.” He does not lift his eyes from the parchment in front of him. A far flung prince would like to hire the company to protect him on his pleasure barge in the Waking Sea for a month. He tosses it in the discard pile.

“Everyone’s talking about it.” Sera paces back and forth, agitated.

“About what?”

“You!” She points a disgusted finger at him. “They’re saying that you’re… happy.”

Thom sighs. “Sera. It’s a beautiful day. Our coffers are full, my men are flourishing. Why wouldn’t I be happy?”

Sera stares him in the face. She holds his gaze and refuses to blink. “You fucked her already, didn’t you?”

The facial hair can only hide so much. A mischievous smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Sera’s eyes widen.

“Beardyyyyyy,” she wails.

#thalia trevelyan #thom rainier #sera #blackwall x trevelyan #fics #dragon age drunk writing circle #kingdom come au

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merlwybs-wife · 7 months

Text

(i wasn't originally going to post this) (but i never post my writing, so have something quickly done that i did this morning to attempt to sate my brain worms) (i know this won't make too much sense without context but you can probably put the pieces together)

It had been with an exhale did Josephine make her quiet self back into the Moineau estate. She hadn't even been dressed-- just in a sleeping gown and a heavy house coat-- whispering outside with a maid, who soon went on her way. No sooner did she shut the door, soft as she might, did her father's voice ring out a calm: "tea?" He was standing at the ready, it seemed, with one cup pulling to his lips to hide a glint of a smile, proffering the other out to Josephine. It has her gasping, and immediately standing up tall. "Calm now, dear. Be fortunate it was I who spotted you, and that your mother is still asleep, hm?" He chuckles, hoisting the tea a little closer. "Chamomile, honey, and lemon. For the nerves, dear."

With a huff, Josie accepts the tea, but merely opts to hold it in her grasp. She looks between the steaming brew and her father, worrying her lower lip. "It's obvious, then?"

"Without a doubt, Josie. Did you even sleep? Poor girl. Let's sit, hm? I have a feeling much is on your mind, and since your dearest Louis is away for another few days…" He takes his free hand and places it upon her shoulder, giving it a squeeze, before curling it about her arm. Thusly escorting a sighing Josie to the nearest fireplace. He doesn't even release her to take a seat, a silent demand for her to take up the space beside him on the couch. "Now, are you going to tell me why you're sending letters at this hour?"

This earns a bit of a guilty look, as her head droops; long, untamely hair sliding from behind her shoulders. "Last night, too late for it to be any proper, Ser Courcelle had a letter delivered. I hardly mind, truly-- well, not the fact that it was sent, at least."

"Oh?" He quirks a brow, sipping from his tea.

"I'm… worried, Papa…" She pauses. "Do you remember the time I threw hot tea at that one… pallid looking Lord? The one who wore that nasty shade of green?"

Here, he snorts. "Oh, yes."

"Well, Ser Courcelle's handwriting-- it had a certain… crudeness that was very similar to the letter that Lord had sent me thereafter."

"You suspect he was angry, then?" He questions in response.

"I do. I haven't any honest idea as to why, but, our plans for today were altered," she pauses, motioning as though to drink from her cup, but lowers her arms once more. "Furthermore, he mentioned a dinner he had with his family… I can't help but to think it's all related."

"Mm… well, it's always possible. You know how your sweet mother can often anger you, after all." He chuckles. "But, why does this concern you? So what if it did? Tell me plain, what are your fears?"

"Papa… I did not lie to you when I explained our evening, but…" she frowns.

"But…?"

Again, she sighs. A sort of indignant gruntish-poutish sound escapes her.

"Were you alone with him?" When Josie looks to him now, wide-eyed, he, too, sighs. "I had suspected, given your lack of insistence that you weren't." Here, he settles down his cup. "I can see why that could prove for a stressful dinner conversation, but… do you suppose anyone recognized you, dear?"

"That's the thing-- I hardly know. Surely if everyone was content to believe I was no one of worth, there would be no issue. How can such specific scandal be reported otherwise?" She wilts. "But… we got quite a few stares at the infirmary. I cannot rule out that one of the pairs of eyes that saw us recognized me, and the fact we arrived by ourselves."

"Oh, Josie, that doesn't seem like the sort of thing to trouble you," he looses a little laugh of disbelief, however short.

"I'm serious, Papa! Such a thing could cast a hideous shade on him-- his family!" She insists, her voice raising sharply.

"Shh! Shh, lest you have to explain to the whole house," he quickly soothes her, placing a hand upon her knee. Here, he leans in. "I do have to repeat myself, though, you realize… that doesn't seem like the sort of thing to trouble you."

Finally, her tea is drawn to her lips-- taking a long gulp, surely meant to busy herself from replying right away. Even when the cup returns to settling in her lap, holding it still for its warmth, she is silent.

"Josephine Moineau! Do you like this man?" His tone is playful, narrowing the distance between them all the more.

"I-I…" she can feel the slightest heat in her face. Thankfully, perhaps, her cheeks were already reddened from the cold. "He is… tolerable." She decides.

"Josie…"

"Acceptable," she begrudgingly adds.

"Oh, my heart be still--" he seems unable to help but to tease.

"Papa!" She bursts.

"Shh! Shh!" He shushes her, a bit of laughter still in his voice. "So then. Even if you suspect this to have been the case at yesterday's dinner… the man didn't rescind his invitation, did he?"

"Well… no, I suppose not…" she murmurs.

"Then…?" he raises his brows, looking at her expectantly. "What are you afraid of?"

"Perhaps I don't rightly know," she droops again, yet another exhale parting her lips.

"Relax, girl," he chuckles, patting her knee. "It's… all right to feel as though you've messed up something you wish you hadn't, Josie. But, you haven't been so erroneous to apparently warrant cutting off. That must mean something, don't you think?"

At this, she scoffs. "As to what I cannot claim to know, nor understand."

"Perhaps you ought to ask your mother," he smiles, "she seems to have an idea or two." At this, Josie merely sticks out her lower lip once more. "Or, you can simply wait and find out on your own, I suppose." Once again patting her knee, he relinquishes his spot upon the couch and comes to a stand. "Drink your tea, all will be well, hm?"

Just as he nears the exit of the room, however, he looks over his shoulder to add a: "maybe wear a dress today."

"Oh, certainly not!" she laughs.

"There's my darling girl."

#josephine #dauvaunt #birds of a feather #my writing

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canofspooks · 1 year

Text

DannyMay Day 8 (Electric Core AU)

Summary: Danny’s never done well with thunder storms. It gets worse after he has powers.

Words: 967

The gentle patter of water against the windows and occasional distant thunder was a calming background to Jazz's studying - as calming as cramming for a comprehensive psychology exam could be, which wasn't saying a lot. Her options were to either pass this exam with flying colors, or her GPA would drop, and she'd lose her chance at being valedictorian, and then she'd never get into a prestigious university, and -

Thud.

Her worrying was cut short by a muffled thump from the next room over. Danny's room. Jazz recognized the dull buzz of electricity, even through the walls. It rang like TV static in her ears, thankfully too high-pitched for either of her parents to catch, what with the amount of explosions that had ruined their hearing.

Jazz set her pencil down and went out into the hallway. She knocked on Danny's door.

"Can I come in?"

A disgruntled groan answered her, so she cracked open the door. Danny was sitting on the floor, hugging his knees close to his chest. She could see static sparking along his skin anywhere he shifted, even slightly. Jazz slipped into the room and closed the door behind her.

"Is it the storm?" she asked. She sat down next to Danny, close enough to feel the electricity make her hair stand on end.

Danny buried his face in his knees, gripping his legs tighter as a flash of thunder coincided with another series of sparks along his skin. "... Yeah."

"Maybe going into your ghost form would help." Jazz didn't understand a single thing about the world her parents - and now brother - dealt with, but if she could learn to tell the difference between the cerebrum and the cerebellum, she should figure out how ghost powers worked. She had to, for Danny's sake.

In a blue flash, Danny changed into his ghostly form. The electricity no longer danced on the surface of his skin, instead it played with the edges of his form. He looked blurry, out-of-focus almost. Like something made of TV static.

"Slightly better." Danny's grip on his knees loosened, and he turned to look at her with tired eyes. It was then that she remembered it was one in the morning, and the storm had been going for several hours.

She reached out towards Danny. After the initial electricity that jolted through her, his arm felt weird. Still, as long as she kept her hand on him, it didn't shock her further. Jazz was thankful for that.

"I don't know how applicable this is... but maybe tensing your muscles is worsening the pain? Like cramps."

Danny groaned. "If I move, I'm going to die."

"I know it feels like that, but give it a shot. Try to roll your shoulders."

He grimaced, but slowly began to sit up. He stretched, grumbling under his breath the entire time. Jazz stretched with him, opting for the kinds of awkward stretches that usually distracted her from the overwhelming pain of cramps, as ridiculous as it always looked to her brother. She found it amusing that he seemed desperate enough to try it out.

Once he'd twisted himself into a position that looked a bit like a squashed bug, she was surprised to find him laughing. "I hate that this is kinda working," he admitted. "This feels so stupid."

"That's why it's working. It is stupid."

With another clap of thunder, Danny tensed. and the sparks returned. She frowned. Well, there had to be something psychological behind that. She got up and dipped into her room to grab a container of earplugs, setting it by Danny.

"What's this for?"

"Plug your ears. For science." She didn't want to elaborate on her hypothesis, lest his teenage stubbornness alter the results of her experiment.

Danny obliged her, surprisingly. The next time she heard the distant thunder, she looked over at Danny and found that his body didn't have nearly the same strong reaction.

"Hm. Good to know."

Danny pulled out one of the earplugs. "What?"

"Put it back in. I think hearing the thunder is causing a reaction."

"Since when did you become a ghost expert?" Despite his teasing, Danny plugged his ears again.

She didn't bother to respond to her brother, instead getting up and wandering around the room. She turned his desk lamp on, closed the curtains, and retrieved his music player from his backpack.

"I think, as long as you block out the sound with something, you should be able to get some sleep," she said, holding out the music player. Danny exchanged the earplugs for earbuds, and in the quiet room she could hear him start to listen to music.

"What about my ghost form? If Mom and Dad walk in on Phantom sleeping in my bed, I'm dead. Dead for real."

"You do know you have a lock on your door, right?"

"If I don't answer in thirty seconds, you know Dad's breaking down the door - lock or not."

"Fair enough." Jazz conceded that much. Privacy in the Fenton household was a moot point when their father was a well-meaning meathead with enough pure muscle mass to use his own body as a siege weapon. "I don't think I'll be getting much sleep anyway. I'll keep an ear out for them, and try to wake you if they try to go in your room."

"Thanks, Jazz. I owe you one. Don't tell anyone about this, though. I... really don't want Tucker and Sam to worry."

Jazz nodded, and pulled Danny into a hug. The static shock wasn't as intense as before, and she recovered much quicker. "I promise this is just between you and me. As long as you don't tell anyone I'm cheating on my exam, I'll keep your secret."

"You're what?!"

"I didn't say anything. Must've been your music."

#dannymay2023 #spooks reign of terror

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angelofrainfrogs · 8 months

Text

Spend the Night: Ch. 22

~Coauthored by @zeitghest~

Fandom(s): Five Nights At Freddy’s: Security Breach

Description: The familiar melody of Grandfather’s Clock chimes through the echoing halls of the Pizzaplex…

Charlie wakes up in her Puppet’s vessel yet again with one goal in mind: to stop William Afton’s reign of terror for good. She enlists the help of Glamrock Freddy, the emphatic leader of the newest iteration of the Fazbear Band. But there seems to be more to this bear than meets the eye—and the same goes for the mysteriously familiar kid the duo find tinkering with animatronics down in Parts & Service.

With some help from friends new and old, Charlie’s journey into the bowels of the Pizzaplex will unravel mysteries none of them ever expected.

Rating: T

Read on Ao3

Aren't we having lots of fun Whoa oh oh Live the nightmare again Aren't we having lots of fun Whoa oh oh We will sleep when we're dead Aren't we having lots of fun

~Lots of Fun by Tryhardninja~

The bear kept a steadfast watch while the others slept, and they got a solid few hours of rest before the commotion outside began. Originally, it seemed like the dayshift staff was slow to arrive—in reality, they were simply looking elsewhere in the Pizzaplex as it was immediately clear that Chica and Roxy weren't in their rooms. Freddy peered out the window just in time to see Sophie's familiar face marching towards his door.

“Everyone, wake up!” Freddy exclaimed in a whisper, rushing over to lightly nudge the group awake. “Dayshift staff is coming to check on me—hide in the back until they are gone!”

The day guard didn’t seem as easygoing as she was yesterday. This was bad. Really bad. Half their robots were missing. Someone had swiped the refurbished Foxy animatronic before they had a chance to announce his grand revival—a fact few staff even knew about. Roxy Raceway was smoldering when Sophie arrived at the Pizzaplex.

Mr. Emily couldn't come into work and see this. Despite his kind heart, Sophie had a feeling the high-strung man wouldn't hesitate to fire all of them for such a fiasco.

“Freddy!” She knocked, unaware of the issue that the team was having waking up Gregory.

The kid was out cold. It hadn't taken Charlie or Michael much time to get up, but because of how sleepy Gregory had been, he was waving them off and rolling over to ignore their pleas to wake. The kid mumbled something about feeling too sick for school before Charlie went to pull the blankets off of him—

Then, the door unlocked with a master key and security guard Sophie let herself in past the threshold, only to blink at the oddball group.

Right. That was another thing: the Fazbear Entertainment heirs had stopped by for a check-in.

“Uh... Pardon me. Mr. Afton, Ms. Emily—” she acknowledged, rightfully assuming their identities based on rumors she’d heard about special visitors.

Don't ask the snooty rich people why they were sleeping in Freddy's room, Sophie thought, slowly making her way inside. That’ll just be awkward...

“—Freddy! What the heck happened last night?!” Sophie interrogated, mindful of the sleepy child in the room by directing her anger into a rough whisper-shout.

“Ah, I... do not know, Officer Sophie; I am afraid my memory banks are still on the fritz,” Freddy said, stalling for a moment as he processed that the others were not about to be taken into custody.

It seemed Vanessa had regained consciousness in time to inform dayshift that the Afton and Emily heirs were currently visiting for an extended period. Staff were instructed to be as cordial as possible and listen to any request they had, lest they feel the wrath of the CEO bearing down upon them with swift consequences.

Michael had frozen along with Charlie as the door was wrenched open, staring wide-eyed at the intruding woman. He recognized her from yesterday, though she sounded in a much fouler mood than before—rightly so, he had to concede, for the stress of losing three of the main animatronics in a giant Megamall would certainly make anyone a little snippy. Upon realizing their ruse from last night still held up, Michael allowed the tension in his shoulders to relax, shifting his face into the more serious imitation of his father. He acknowledged Sophie with a light nod, then went back to trying to gently wake up Gregory, though not nearly in as much of a panic.

Gregory gently batted Mike's hand as it nudged him. He was determined to sleep, and hugged his Freddy plushie accordingly.

“Freddy... Are you lying to me? I know you’d been escorting our uh... friends around.” Sophie said, with lack of a better way to describe the surprise guests. The two other people in the room were dressed like they’d grabbed stuff off the racks in a dark room, all things she recognized as merch from their stores. Though referring mentioning such a thing with or without provocation would certainly end in Sophie’s termination.

Charlie finally managed to get Gregory to wake up by sliding his plushie from under his arms and earning a frustrated simmer of words.

“Why is everyone being annoying?!” Gregory moaned, stopping Sophie in her accusations while she watched the tiny, presumed Afton complain.

“Shush, Gregory,” Michael said tartly, though he made sure to run a hand over the boy's hair to show his tone was just for show. “We've got a visitor.”

“I am not programmed to lie,” Freddy responded to Sophie, his face a mask of innocent confusion. “As you said, I have been escorting the Afton and Emily heirs around all night... I did not notice anything amiss.”

The bear glanced towards the trio questioningly, head tilted in detached deference. He was a machine with selective memory loss at this moment, and that's all that he was.

“I didn't, either,” Michael said with a shake of his head. His eyes narrowed at the guard, his tone ice-cold. “Why? Is there a problem...?”

Oh fuck, Sophie was in trouble now. When she looked to Michael her face burned, a flustered red stripe glowed over her nose and onto the apples of her cheeks. Obviously he would rat her out to his father—wherever the hell he’d been all this time—about the current and ongoing issue.

Though if Mr. Afton was here, along with Mr. Emily's daughter, then surely they were here as employees? Despite the man's cold, blue stare, perhaps he was here to help...

“...Yes. Every day I've been coming in to do my security rounds, animatronics have gone missing. They've all been experiencing a personality glitch, too. We can't even find where the robots are going on the security feeds, because they stopped recording weeks ago,” Sophie admitted. After all, she wasn't the one supposed to be watching them at night!

Sophie managed to stand tall, hoping not to appear meek or inexperienced. She watched as Gregory quickly assumed a position behind Michael, gazing at her with judging, suspicious eyes. “It just doesn't make sense, sir.”

Charlie feigned a wide-eyed glance, as if surprised at this discovery. “Did you speak with the night guard?”

“Hardly. She told me the issue, that her wrist had gotten worse, that you three were visiting. Then, poof; she probably clocked out...,” Sophie explained further, acting as if she were talking before administration. Though one of the people who outranked her here was 12 years old.

Michael’s face relaxed slightly as the poor day guard tried her best to explain the issue. He felt bad for stressing her out, but he needed to play the cool, commanding roll of authority. While he took ironic inspiration from his father, it didn’t mean he had to be exactly like William—especially in terms of compassion.

“…I see,” Mike said after a moment, his tone less sharply angry and more just annoyed. He let out a small sigh, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he looked at Sophie, who was clearly trying not to directly meet his intimidating stare.

“Well, this is certainly a major issue… but it seems like blame for lack of surveillance falls under jurisdiction of the night guard, doesn’t it?” He rolled his eyes with a click of his tongue. “Honestly, it’s insane that they only have one person to patrol this entire building after hours…”

“I am sorry I cannot be of more help,” Freddy said, looking as genuinely apologetic as a robot could. “As I have explained to you all separately, my connection to our internal network has been severed since the other night, so I have been unable to contact the other animatronics.”

“You’re not the security guard, Freddy,” Michael pointed out dryly. “It’s not your job to keep tabs on everyone…” He gave another sigh, then looked to Sophie again. “We can at least confirm that Freddy's functioning properly in Safe Mode, as he gave us a tour last night and didn’t show any issues.”

Sophie let out a breath she hadn't realized that she was holding. Michael may have intimidated her at first, though at his reassurance she allowed herself to stop fretting over whether or not she’d be blamed for the current state of the Mega Pizzaplex.

“Best case scenario, they're broken down without power, which is why they aren’t responding to the manual call-back buttons inside their rooms,” Sophie explained, looking to Freddy with an exhausted smile. “At least you're still kicking it, right, superstar? Heh…”

The bear seemed to be in better shape than the state she found him in last night anyway. Sophie’s attention was pulled back to Michael, the most adept liar of the group for answers. “And you guys didn't notice anything out of place last night then, I take it.”

“Not at all,” Mike replied easily, shifting his weight so he leaned against the couch with arms still crossed. “Well, we noticed the other animatronics weren't in their rooms—although they've always tended to wander.”

A faint, strained smile crossed his lips for just a second as his eyes flitted to Freddy. There was a slight, awkward lull in the conversation, before Michael decided to ask: “Do you need Freddy for anything today?”

Hopefully she'd say no and he could remain by their side. Although, even if the techs did want to check him out just to be safe, at least Michael was no longer afraid of being discovered and having police called on them for trespassing.

“I need Freddy to stay in his room,” Sophie replied much to the dismay of Gregory, who desperately required a proper breakfast in his stomach asap. Sophie seemed set on this, hands on her hips as she made it clear: “While dayshift’s out looking for the rest of the band, no other animatronics are to leave their rooms. Obviously we’re on temporary shut-down from customers while we find the Glamrocks. Not to mention how messy all the attractions have gotten...” She sighed, shifting into a more demure stance. “You’ve probably heard all this from the big boss already, though.”

Charlie wanted to protest Freddy’s jail time, though any excuse she had lined up wouldn't have made sense with their current situation. There technically wasn’t a need for Freddy to be outside of his room, since there was no one to entertain today. The Mall would stand empty this weekend—a rarity for the money-making pit. Luckily, Gregory spoke up in their bear friend’s defense.

“But—” he interjected, peeking from behind Michael. “—he's my friend. Mike said he gets to play with me as much as I want!”

“There's other great animatronics, too,” Sophie reminded gently, firm in her conviction on this point. “There's the Sun character from the Daycare, the DJ...”

While it wasn’t an outward no, she’d essentially told Gregory to go kick rocks.

“It is alright, Gregory,” Freddy reassured, smiling brightly. He knew it would be even stranger if the others stayed in his room all day, and he could tell that Gregory was getting hungry. Still, he hated the thought of just being stuck in his room while the other three wandered the Pizzaplex...

Although, he reasoned that they wouldn't be alone, as the entire stock of dayshift staff were around—and Freddy also hadn't forgotten about that animatronic presumably still lurking in the vents. Despite Michael's obvious hatred of the thing, Ennard had saved him and Gregory, so Freddy presumed they'd offer the same protection if circumstances became dire.

Michael had a similar thought process to Charlie—he could probably get them to let Freddy wander around by throwing the Afton name around a little harder, but it would only cause unnecessary questions. It was all well and good for a 12 year old to be attached to the bear, but his two adult caretakers should agree with the other adult in this circumstance... At least for right now.

“Hey, we can still visit Freddy anytime we want—plus, it'll be easier to find him now that we know he's staying in one spot!” Michael pointed out, looking down at Gregory and pleading with his eyes not to fight the issue. His plan was to go along with Sophie's wishes for a little bit, and then swing back and pick up Freddy after they got Gregory some food. If they were questioned about the bear, they could deal with it then.

There it was, rearing its ugly head again: Gregory was beginning to develop separation anxiety. Though clearly it would be easier to go along with their wishes, Gregory could only cross his arms and pout. There was no way to protest this without feeling like he was jeopardizing the mission. So, silently, he glared at Sophie who took this in stride.

Charlie ruffled his hair in response, doting on him while excusing his behavior. “Sorry, Ms...?”

“—Walten,” Sophie filled her in, introducing herself fully to them. “Sophie Walten.”

Charlie smiled kindly at her, holding Gregory's shoulders as she felt the boy seethe with silent anger. “You'll have to excuse him; the kid didn't sleep enough.”

“And he gets grumpy when he's hungry,” Michael added, flashing Gregory a grin much closer to his normal demeanor. Settling his face back into cool detachment, Mike looked back to Sophie. “Do you happen to know if there's any dining location in this place that sells breakfast food? We’re not quite familiar with everything yet.”

Michael hoped it would cheer Gregory up from having to part with Freddy if he could get something other than pizza, since he still seemed a little queasy from inhaling an entire one last night. Besides, who knew when the last time the kid had a proper breakfast was...

As Mike posed his question, Freddy moved closer to Gregory so the boy could stay by his side a little longer. He even patted his back gently, as that wasn't out of the realm of what Freddy might do to comfort a random, upset child. Hoisting Gregory into his arms would probably cause some questions though, so the bear avoided that for now.

Sophie softened more when Michael relented to smiling at the child. Maybe he wasn't the hard-ass she presumed him to be.

“El Chip technically sells lunches. But I get their 'Not breakfast' Burritos when I get here early enough,” Sophie offered as their solution. It was one of her favorites, the pork burrito drawing a fine line between breakfast and lunch but remaining mild enough to eat first thing in the morning.

“That sounds tasty—right?” Charlie asked, nudging Gregory some until she saw a faint smile on his face.

“Can I have two burritos?” Gregory asked, feeling his stomach quietly rumble at the mention of food.

“I suppose that’s fine,” Michael said with another faint smile. He patted Gregory's shoulder as he addressed Sophie, telling her: “Well, we need to get this one some breakfast. We appreciate the update on the situation, though—please let us know if anything else comes up.”

His tone indicated this wasn't a request, but a command. Mike wanted to be the first one to hear any news—they never knew what might help their situation down the line. Besides, to his knowledge there still hadn't been any update regarding Monty's missing half—a fact that Michael easily forgot about over the course of the stressful night, but was concerning nonetheless. There were only two things that could've happened: either Monty crawled away on his own, or someone took him... and Michael wasn't sure which was worse.

“Uh right—I can give you both updates, sir,” Sophie assured, nerves making her play with the hem of her shirt sleeve. “In fact, if you happen to swing by any of the security offices, you can grab some walkie-talkies stored in the desks. That way you both can stay in the know a little easier.”

She made sure to smile at both of them. Her job was on the line at this point, and as Sophie began to egress, she waved.

“I should check on the others. Stay safe, you two.” Sophie tried to sound optimistic despite the dire circumstances. Upon her departure, Charlie nudged Michael in the shoulder.

“Dude, you were going to make her pee herself.” She was barely holding back a snicker at the way Michael's acting had the security guard wracked with nerves.

“Ugh, in a way I wish I wasn't so good...,” Mike replied with a dramatic shiver, then nudged Charlie in the arm. “But look at you, playing the sweet, innocent one; you almost had me fooled for a moment there!”

Michael tried to play this comment off with a straight face, but that only lasted about three seconds before he burst out laughing at his own lame joke. Now that the coast was clear, Freddy crouched in front of Gregory and began fixing up his sleep-mussed hair, wanting him to appear as presentable as possible for the dozens of staff who'd inevitably see him. The less questions they had about the random appearance of the founders' grandchildren, the better.

It seemed Charlie could only remained straight-faced as long as Mike did. Once his dam of giggles burst, Charlie was barely holding back her own laughter. Was it lame? Yes; it was still funny to her regardless.

Gregory may have done well with a comb, though the naturally wavy hair hid how under-groomed he was. This kid probably needed a shower more than anything, still hiding the sweat and blood by simply changing his clothes whenever possible. Gregory closed his eyes as Freddy swept a claw along his bangs, trying his best to clear the boy's face of his messy hair. The cut on his cheek had faded into a thin, pink line. Bruises that were already yellow when they first saw him had disappeared into obscurity on his face.

“I'll see you soon, Dad,” Gregory said, making sure his Fazwatch was turned on with its sound on the louder side. It wouldn't hurt him to make sure they could reach Freddy whenever possible.

“Yeah, don't worry—we'll get Gregory some food and head right back to bust you out of here, alright?” Michael added, filling the others in on his plan. He stood straight-backed and, in the poshest British accent he could manage, proclaimed: “Let's see what they'll do if Michael Afton Jr. insists on keeping the robot around, hmm?”

Freddy chuckled at this display, glad to see Mike in good spirits. Still crouched, Freddy pulled Gregory into a quick hug before letting the boy go to join his siblings. “I will see you shortly, superstar; enjoy your breakfast!”

“Eugh, dude—the voice,” Charlie griped dramatically. She pantomimed a look of nausea as Gregory gently slapped her arm while laughing at Michael's over-pronunciation.

To strangers, Mike came off as aloof and threatening with this impression. To Gregory, he sounded like Mary Poppins. It was all an act anyway, and sure, it was fun to pretend to be someone else for a while. After Gregory gave his dad a farewell hug, he parted to run between Michael and Charlie.

“If anyone asks, Gregory, who are you again?” Charlie drilled quickly, holding his hand as she quizzed him to see if he remembered what they told Vanessa yesterday.

“I'm Michael's cousin!” he replied quickly, hoping the distance in relation would excuse his lack of emotion. Surely no one would be so interested in them or their family lineage to ask such invasive questions, though it was good to have a little background.

“Perfect.” Charlie gave his hand a squeeze for luck. Soon, they were freely roaming Rockstar Row, no worries now that the sun had risen.

It was strange to see the Pizzaplex bustling with life. Though Michael and Charlie's souls had technically been around since its inception, they'd only woken up once the terrible threat of William Afton reared his ugly rabbit head yet again. Even though no guests roamed the floors, the flurry of staff running to and fro gave a hint as to what life might be like when things were normal around here.

Mike felt a pang of wistfulness as he watched a group of younger staff members chatting and laughing together. He'd given the dayshift a shot during his early years, but he had a nasty habit of getting attached to people that inevitably met an unfortunate end, so he tried to stay friendly but aloof enough that it was easy to cut ties when the time came. Despite the terror of his nightshift duties, he appreciated its solitude for similar reasons. Even so... sometimes he wondered what it would've been like if things had been different.

But he didn't need to dwell on those thoughts now—he had a family that would stick by his side through thick and thin now, and for once he dared to feel a little bit happy.

The walk to El Chips was surprisingly short, since the trio were distracted by all the bright colors of the Pizzaplex in the daylight. They also got some stares as well, but no one dared come up and speak to them. Sophie's warning that it would be in everyone's best interest not to bother them, especially the Afton boys, certainly did the trick.

The group of young adults had seen the trio coming, and after one elbowed and sharply whispered to the others, they grabbed for the nearest task to look busy. One swept over a clearly clean spot with a broom, another began wiping down a help desk, while the third pretended to answer a call.

Watching them made Charlie wistful, too. It may have seemed that she and Mike were judging the workers, but really their glares were only filled with envy. Charlie had never gotten a chance to form solidarity in a group like that when she was alive. Thankfully, she’d been given a second chance to try it with her new family.

Inside the restaurant the S.T.A.F.F. bots were busy cleaning, though one rolled behind the counter once recognizing customers coming in.

“Two burritos, please!” Gregory shouted, running up to the counter;

“That will be eight dollars and twenty six cents,” the bot replied in a scripted form.

Gregory narrowed his eyes, on his toes to be able to send a dangerous glare over the counter. “I don't have any stinking money! Just put it on Mr. Afton's tab or something!”

When the robot repeated the question, Gregory felt his bottom lip wobble. He was exhausted and hungry, and this might just be the final straw to send him over the edge. Why did all the robots around here want him to starve?

“No worries—I've got this. Gregory, keep a lookout,” Michael instructed, taking a furtive look around before hopping over the counter. When assured no human staff were wandering by, he opened a back panel in the S.T.A.F.F. bot that gave the techs quick access to its computer system. Being such a rudimentary design compared to the likes of the Glamrocks, it took Mike less than a minute to finagle some base coding around to turn off the bot's insistence on monetary compensation.

Michael closed up the back panel and returned to the correct side of the counter, waiting intently to see if his little trick worked. The robot was still for a moment as it reset, before suddenly perking up and responding:

“Thank you for your patronage. You are order number...” It paused, accessing data from the last time someone had bought food. “...87. Please listen for your number at the window. Have a Faz-tastic day.”

“Yesss!” Michael cheered quietly, pumping a subdued fist at his side when the robot wandered off to the kitchen to start preparing the food. He then glanced down at Gregory, trying to be serious despite the grin twitching up the corners of his mouth. “It's not good to tamper with company property like that, okay? If you're with anyone but us, you could get in biiiig trouble.”

Gregory felt his own smile grow as he witnessed the blatant vandalism of the robots. With both him and Charlie watching for any signs of human intervention, Gregory was excited to finally hear the order number after one grueling minute.

“Of course, Mr. Afton.” Gregory snickered, happily confident that they had the whole facility tricked into thinking they were allowed to be here.

“With Michael hacking the server bots and that fake coin of yours, we could have a fun day today,” Charlie pointed out. It would be good for them to try and unwind before what was sure to be another night of insanity.

“Oh, yeah!” Mike perked up at the mention of Gregory's handy coin on a string. He glanced to their right, where if they listened closely the faint sounds of beeping and electronic music could be heard. “You know, we're right next to the arcade... One of them, at least. If you want, we could play a few games before picking up Freddy?”

He glanced down at Gregory, wondering if the boy's desire to be a kid or his newly-formed separation anxiety from his animatronic dad would win out.

Gregory took a moment to toss the idea around in his head. It seemed as though every time they strayed from Freddy for too long, something got in the way. There was always some mishap or disaster that required immediate action. Charlie bent at the waist, shaking Gregory by the shoulders to encourage the boy’s more explorative side.

“Gregory—think of the prizes we could get,” she teased. Charlie wanted him to forget his worries for a little while, and video games were the perfect distraction.

“Alright—after I get my burritos, we should hit up the Arcade!” Gregory finally relented, conceding to the impromptu plan of relaxing with some video games. Anything to remove the lingering fear this place still held over him. Then, they would return right back to Freddy. No harm, no foul.

“Order number 87—your food is ready at the window.”

As if on cue, the S.T.A.F.F. bot's voice called to them from a little window off to the side. A bright orange tray with Freddy's face on it was set down, though the image was mostly obscured by the plate on top of it that contained two piping hot burritos. Michael grabbed the food before Gregory could crawl up on the counter and attack it in a frenzy, walking the group over to one of the little tables in the back. He set the tray down and slipped into a seat on the opposite side, patting the spot next to him for Charlie to join.

Gregory had thrown himself into the tan plastic chair. Surrounded by orange, green, and bright glowing cacti he practically vibrated under the neon lights for the burritos he’d been promised. He wasted no time as Charlie squeezed in besides Michael, mindful not to sit on his hand before looking at the food Gregory opened with envy. Sugar was one thing, but she wasn't exactly sure if they were made to withstand eating normal meals.

“How're the burritos?” Charlie asked, watching as Gregory took a bite and swallowed a portion, yet didn't seem fully satisfied until he reached for a bottle of Tabasco. He quickly poured a good fraction of sauce into the burrito before taking another critical munch.

“Tangy,” Gregory replied, trying not to spit his food everywhere as he spoke with a full mouth.

“What a rousing review,” Michael snickered.

Tentatively, more afraid of Gregory trying to bite his hand off than the consequences of what he was about to do, Mike reached for a small piece of extra pork left on the plate next to the untouched burrito. He held it up to the light, suspicious as always of Fazbear Entertainment food. Then with a shrug he put the pork into his mouth, chewing experimentally before swallowing it down with shining eyes.

“Okay, we'll see what this does to my systems in a few hours, but I sure hope we can actually eat—I missed horrible, cheap food like this,” Michael admitted, watching as Gregory inhaled the rest of his first burrito and moved onto the next one. Whereas the sugar had been sweet, the pork was even better than Mike remembered. Maybe his pure desire to taste food again was clouding his taste buds, but he didn't really care.

“Are you kidding me?” Charlie asked, wide-eyed as if the Fazbear food hadn't been everything when they were younger. Being raised on a steady diet of processed, cheesy pizza, made it Charlie's comfort food. Or, perhaps the idea of it was. “The sawdust they probably packed that burrito with is flavor country.”

As the pair spoke, Gregory was currently trying to beat the world record for most El Chip meals eaten in 30 seconds or less. That didn't even count the time he took to inject a heavy dose of Tabasco into this tortilla as well. He couldn't make for conversation, as he was busy devouring his breakfast like it was his last meal.

Mike relented with a laugh, raising his palms up in a gesture of peace. The food might be horrible in an objective sense, but he had to admit he couldn't get enough of it, either. He turned to check on Gregory, eyes widening as he saw the plate completely empty and the boy licking his fingers clean.

“Wow... I suppose we're done with breakfast then!” Michael pushed a stack of napkins towards Gregory. In his frenzy, the boy had gotten Tabasco all over his face, and Mike watched Charlie out of the corner of his eye to see if her sisterly instincts kicked in enough to try and wipe off his face again like at the diner.

No, it wasn't Charlie licking her thumb this time. She thought smarter and licked a napkin first as she leaned over the table. As Gregory attempted to escape her reach, Charlie's reflexes were superior to his. The back of his head was held in place as she dabbed the orange vinegar and spice solution from around his mouth and cheeks.

“Bluh! Pfftt—” Gregory raspberried the air, trying to get Charlie to cease her sisterly actions. This had only spurred her on out of spite.

“Oh stop! There's no one even here; are you embarrassed because I love you?” she remarked, feigning offense to his refusal in allowing her to clean him.

“No! It's because you put cooties on that napkin!” Gregory griped, entirely serious, which only made Charlie laugh harder.

“No, wait, Charlie—he's right!” Michael exclaimed, eyes wide and serious. His words caused her to pause and stare at him with a raised eyebrow. “You do have cooties...”

He shook his head with a dramatic sigh, then flashed a wicked grin. “But I don't—c’mere!”

Faster than lightening, Michael had licked his own napkin and took over Charlie's attempt to wipe the remaining half of the stubborn orange stain from Gregory's face. His shrieks of protest only made Mike laugh and work harder until, finally, Gregory was sufficiently clean enough to let go. Mike sat back in his chair with a satisfied nod, discarding the crumpled napkin on the table and smiling brightly. “See—that was much better, wasn't it?”

Oh how badly Gregory wanted to frown. As he flopped his backside back into the plastic seat Gregory tried so hard to pout. Yet a smile twitched back in at the last second.

Charlie nodded in agreement. “Much better, we can see your cute face without all that grease.”

Gregory's was red with embarrassment as he wiped away the synthetic spit. Though everything had been carefully removed by Michael, he still felt as if it was there just clinging to him.

“I'm not cute!” he protested further, then felt the need to get up and throw away his trash to escape the attention. The kid’s reaction had only made Charlie excited for the future.

How could they collectively embarrass Gregory with their familial affection in public spaces?

It reminded her of when she’d tried to be more independent, but her parents refused to let her feel like anything except their baby. Gregory may have acted mad, but Charlie could spot the hidden smile from miles away.

Surreptitiously, Mike held out a hand underneath the table for Charlie to high-five, murmuring too quietly for Gregory to hear from across the room. “Good one, sis.”

And it was true—he and Charlie were best friends to the end, but sometimes it was hard to tell where that line of friendship ended and family began. Besides, thinking logically as Freddy would, if Charlie and Michael were both Gregory’s siblings, then it stood to reason they were each other’s as well.

Charlie would try to sneak him a high-five, finding herself smiling at Michael’s little nickname for her.

“Careful,” she reminded him “That hand’s covered in cooties.”

“Who wants to get their asses kicked at Faz-Fighters?” Gregory asked upon regaining his composure. He already knew the answer though. His siblings were practically begging for one after rubbing spit all over him. Charlie stood up to let Mike have space to leave, shooting Gregory a mock glare as she rose from the chair.

“Those are strong words for someone within noogie distance,” Charlie warned him fair and square, causing Gregory to laugh and hide away by Michael’s side. The kid seemed to be in better spirits with some more food in his stomach.

“Oh, you’re on, Gregory,” Michael said, eagerly leading the way to the arcade with Gregory tagging along close to his side. “Little did you know that I was the master at arcade games back when I was your age!”

Michael’s chest puffed up a bit. He hadn’t been able to gloat like that in forever! Sure, he might be competing with a twelve year old, but he had a feeling this kid had more skills than Mike’s other siblings and the Emily’s combined. With the confidence of someone who thinks they’re unbeatable, Michael grinned down at Gregory with a raised eyebrow. “Want to make it a real competition and add a bet to this thing? I’ll even let you set the conditions.”

Charlie knew if they had any of the older games like Fruity Maze or Midnight Motorist, Gregory would be toast. However, the kid seemed to have an overabundance of confidence when it came to arcade cabinets.

“Bet? I thought we didn’t have any money!” Gregory replied with a smirk. Though that wasn’t him dismissing the idea outright. In fact, Gregory looked curious. “Alright—if I win, you gotta carry me on your shoulders and introduce me as Champion of the World.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. For a tiny kid, Gregory had a big ego. Luckily, Michael could relate at times.

“High stakes,” Charlie replied with a laugh. Gregory seemed as if he knew what he was doing. Hell, the kid risked his life to play video games, so he must love them.

Michael didn’t seem perturbed in the slightest, merely sticking out a hand for Gregory to shake on and still wearing that overconfident smirk. “Deal.”

He didn’t bother setting victory conditions for himself. The chance to take a mental and physical break from the horrors his life had become was enough of a prize. Besides, though he was loathe to admit it, watching Gregory attach himself to the Faz-Fighters game console like it was molded to his hands did give Michael pause—

But only for a second. He was the reigning champion of high scores back in the original diner, after all. Surely this would be a piece of cake.

***

It was a piece of cake… just not for Michael. In a shockingly short span of time, the kid had wiped the floor with him, leaving Mike to stare open-mouthed at the flashing screen proclaiming Gregory the victor.

“No way…,” he muttered as the disbelief stared to wear off. In a slightly whining tone not unlike when he lost as a kid, Michael corrected: “I mean, no fair! This competition was rigged from the start! I demand a rematch.”

“Someone's a sore loser,” Gregory mentioned, perhaps trying to irk him intentionally as little brothers were want to do. He wore an impish grin, and pointed over to Charlie who’d been racking up tickets from one of her own games. Surely that was cheating; of course she'd be able to play the Puppet's Gift Giver like nobody’s business.

“We could play again,” Gregory said, swinging the drilled coin in his hand. “You're still gonna lose though.” He leaned against the machine, realistically thinking Michael may just be severely under practiced, hence his good luck this round. “I'll even be balloon boy this time! You'll totally win...”

The kid was a hustler and a con artist, that much was evident. As Charlie played her rather relaxed game of giving presents, she’d been laughing at the boys for the past five and a half minutes.

“No, I’m not falling for that—we’re playing Fruity Maze this time,” Michael said, crossing his arms resolutely so there was no room for argument. Gregory had picked one of his games, so now it was Michael’s turn. He shot Charlie a glare for her continuous snickering, though it was playful enough not to actually seem threatening—and Michael’s grumpiness only seemed to make her laugh harder. With bright eyes ready for revenge, Mike led Gregory over to one of the Fruity Maze consoles and gestured for him to slip his handy-dandy coin in the slot.

“You can go first,” he said with a wolfish grin. Surely the kid didn’t stand a chance on one of Michael’s old favorites.

Fruity Maze? Gregory scoffed and went towards the isometric, table shaped game. After quickly examining the controls, Gregory replied with a scoff. “Too easy. Just a maze...”

The clueless boy let his coin fall into the slot before pulling it out swiftly. As the game activated, Gregory realized that it was a timed challenge, every round started with so many seconds and although he did manage to earn some, the maze was nearly impossible being mostly dead-ends.

Who makes a game like that? Just to torture people?

The anxiety of wasting time on the clock eventually caught up with Gregory. On the third round, he met his fate in yet another dead end and let out a groan. “This game cheats; it's busted— there’s too many corners to get trapped in!”

“—Games are supposed to be fun, boys,” Charlie remarked with another laugh, her current pile of tickets stacking up heavily. What she was saving up for was unknown.

“Let me show you how a pro does it,” Michael said, stepping up to the console as Gregory faked the machine out with his coin again. He’d spent hours and hours of his life learning how to avoid every dead end and get all the power-ups he possibly could. His concentration narrowed into the small square window of the display, and soon he'd well-surpassed Gregory’s score. He could’ve played for much longer, but decided not to torture the kid too much and allowed his character to lose all his lives shortly thereafter.

“I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve,” Mike commented, trying to sound nonchalant despite the twinkling of mirth in his eyes.

A prompt was even displayed, telling Michael that he could input his initials to be immortalized in the High Score Roster. The roster itself wasn't very full, people not willing to go through the learning curve of a 40 year old game. Hell, Gregory would bet the machine itself was a salvage and wondered idly whose initials of SUZ still stood the top of the chart. It’d nearly been knocked off by Michael's score, just thirty points away.

“That's amazing!” Gregory replied with a hearty laugh. “There's only like six people on this chart and you got second place!”

Gregory would have to come back and learn the machine, just to get first place and rub it in Michael's face later.

“Thanks, kid,” Michael replied, taking his compliment as genuine and not realizing Gregory’s secret plans to dethrone him on the leaderboard. He typed in his initials and turned back to Gregory with a smile no longer wicked with fierce competitiveness.

“Even though we’re tied, you technically won the original game we made the bet on… so I’ll give you the win this time.” Michael held out his hand to shake on again, but as Gregory took it his grip tightened and he playfully threatened. “But next time, you’re going down!”

Gregory opened his mouth to disagree, his hand grip strength trying to match his brother, but when an alarm blared from Charlie's game in the corner his vision snapped to her. A robotic voice sounded from the speaker system, over the synth music they played on repeat inside the arcade.

“NEW HIGHSCORE!” it shouted, highlighting whenever someone topped the leader boards for any of the games. Tickets flew from its metal-box dispenser. Charlie knelt on the ground and just barely able to fit the roll she was collecting in her arms.

“I lived inside of an Arcade for like 30 years! I had a lot of time to get good at this game!” Charlie said, humbly averting her gaze before gathering her winnings together. She used to be sort of a newbie when it came to games and remembered having either Sammy or Michael beating levels for her that she just couldn't figure out. Now, she could operate one with her eyes closed.

Michael slowly shifted his gaze from Charlie to Gregory, murmuring to the boy: “Alright, good to know: never challenge Charlie to a high-score competition…”

After laughing at his jibe, Gregory rushed over to Charlie’s side and helped her pick up a ream of tickets that fluttered to the floor before his eyes. “What exactly are you gonna use those for, anyway?”

Charlie looked like she’d been waiting for someone to ask. Pointing back to the prize counter, Charlie diverted the boy's attention to the top shelf. On it was a 'deluxe' Fazbear vintage backpack. She spied it the last time they'd come to the Arcade. It came with a sticker sheet, a themed notebook, plus a Fazbear crayon pack. The backpack was familiar, and reminded her of the one a certain dead-beat Uncle had gifted to her long ago. She wanted it for the nostalgia factor mostly, but it wouldn't hurt to have a backpack to carry about things for both themselves and Gregory.

“Feast your eyes,” Charlie remarked, pointing to the saturated canvas bag. It appeared to be based off of Freddy's color scheme, the red's, tans and browns allowing a singular blue lightning bolt on the front to pop. “Two thousand more tickets, and it'll be mine.”

Michael let out a low whistle. “Wow, I didn’t notice that before…”

Likely because the last time he’d been here, he was still stuck in Freddy’s head. Plus, they’d either been running from Roxy or trying to find where Gregory wandered off to on the way to the security office. Speaking of which—

“Hey, Gregory—what was that game you found the other day? Princess-something?” Michael asked, eyebrows furrowing inquisitively. He hadn’t gotten a good look at the machine for obvious reasons, but the brief flash of images he’d seen intrigued him. He glanced to Charlie again, gesturing to her ticket pile. “You won, right? Maybe we can check it out again and help Charlie get some tickets!”

Never mind the fact that they didn’t need tickets to get whatever merchandise they wanted. They were already wearing half the gift shop’s supply of clothes, but because of their Afton and Emily status, no one would dare question them even if they took the most expensive prizes in the whole mall. Still, though Michael’s instinct was to simply snatch the backpack off the shelf, he could appreciate Charlie’s want to do things the right way.

It was an endearing trait that Michael had really only seen in one other person—a good, good... friend and coworker from before he’d been scooped. The guy once recounted a story of how he racked up tickets for months to get a silly little prize he could’ve easily encouraged the mangers to gift him for overtime compensation… Michael rolled his eyes at the good memories, refusing to think of the bad ones that came afterwards.

“What do you think?” he prompted, nudging Gregory’s shoulder with his elbow and using the physical touch to ground himself. “Want to help your sis kick ass at video games?”

“Princess Quest?” Gregory asked, though really he knew which one his brother was talking about. The ticket payout was decent if you beat the game after unlocking everything. He could probably beat it again, faster now that he knew the paths and secrets.

“Yeah! It's in the corner; be back with a butt-ton of tickets!” he reassured, happy to show off in front of his siblings.

“Oooh! Thank you so much, Gregory!” Charlie made sure to tell him. After all, they could pool whatever was left over and get Gregory and Michael a prize, too. They could hone their skills for a bit and collect their tickets to get any number of things—or, if that didn’t work by the end of the day, go with Michael's plan to steal anything they wanted.

Charging towards the back, Gregory retraced his steps from two nights ago, his memory leading him correctly now to the dusty old game. Charlie did her best to roll up the absurd amount of tickets and fit them into her pockets.

“Here, let me take some,” Michael offered, holding out a hand when he saw Charlie struggle. When she hesitated, he rolled his eyes with a laugh. “I promise I won’t steal them… this time.”

He flashed her a grin, all teeth and unconvincing innocence, though he got Charlie to relent and hand over a small stack of tickets that Michael folded up and shoved into his pockets. While it wasn't entirely Michael's fault for having such an untrustworthy face, that devilish and toothy grin did not do well to convince her.

“I will destroy you if you use them to buy those cheap sunglasses again,” Charlie warned. She would never forget that time she'd gone to use the bathroom, coming back to find Michael with the brand new Fazbear aviators on his face. He wore them inside the whole day while Charlie struggled to earn back the ticket loss.

They followed Gregory’s path to the Princess Quest console. Michael frowned as he examined the area and the machine itself, both of which looked like they hadn’t been touched in a long time.

“Weird,” he murmured, running a fingertip over the console and coming away with a fine coating of dust. “It’s like no one’s played this for months…”

“It must have a reputation. I know when I played it, the game was glitchy as hell,” Gregory admitted, lining up with coin with the slot hole again before pressing start.

“No wonder no one wants to touch it,” Michael commented, watching the screen light up. He frowned, staring at the little yellow player character as she ran around per Gregory’s direction.

Something about this game was… not right. Michael couldn’t place why, though. It just left him with a queasy feeling in his stomach the more he watched the princess fend off the glitching purple creatures. Although, maybe the queasiness was just from the meat he’d stupidly consumed earlier.

“Looks like it’s part of a series,” Michael pointed out, speaking more to Charlie since Gregory was clearly in the zone. He gestured to the logo at the top of the console, which had a big Roman numeral “one” next to the Princess Quest name.

“Huh...” Gregory paused, hesitating on pressing on. If there were more, he would rather find a newer version to play. “Let's find the sequel! Maybe they fixed some of the glitches...”

There was something awful about those bunny creatures. They just reminded Gregory a little too much of William. Then again, the likelihood of him having some part in this games creation was high. After all, the other games had at least one of the co-owners names as credits for the IP.

“Isn’t there another arcade?” Michael asked, trying to recall his mental map of the Pizzaplex. They were in the East Arcade, so it stood to reason there was a West as well. “Maybe if we can’t find part two in here, it’ll be in the other one!” He paused with a slight tilt of his head. “…We should probably pick up Freddy first, though. And maybe get a walkie from the security office nearby.”

“Oh good idea! I can go grab the walkie-talkie,” Charlie offered, unafraid to go alone with all the employees freely meandering about.

As Gregory finished the level, this game left him with an odd headache. It was very easy to get distracted by the hypnotic sounds and atmosphere of it all. For it being a simple 8 bit game, its magnetism almost had Gregory asking Charlie what she said before he was able to pull his attention back.

“Oh yeah! We'll see you in a minute,” Gregory replied, figuring it best to pull away and try to contact his dad. Both to let him know where they were, and that they’d be swinging by, Gregory raised the themed watch to his face and began to phone him. “Freddy? Come in, Papa Bear...”

“HELLO, SUPERSTAR!” Freddy’s voice blasted out of the tiny speaker. Michael flinched back as Gregory frantically readjusted the volume while Freddy continued with his parental questioning. “How are you feeling? Did you have breakfast yet? If so, did you get enough to eat? Have you had water as well? It is very important to keep hydrated, you know! Are you having fun with Michael and Charlie?”

“Give the kid a chance to answer you, Freddy!” Michael chimed in with a laugh, leaning over so his voice could be caught by the Fazwatch microphone.

Gregory had sputtered a moment before the bear finished his barrage of questions. Gosh, he must be bored without them!

“We had breakfast burritos! I can pick some water up before we come back to get you,” Gregory assured, beginning to head out of the Arcade to wait for Charlie in the hall. “We're having a lot of fun! Right now we're trying to play the rest of Princess Quest so we can win Charlie this backpack she wants.”

“That sounds wonderful!” Freddy replied, the smile obvious in his voice. He was glad to hear that no strange instances had occurred during his absence, and that the trio seemed to be getting along just fine.

“Like Gregory said, we're coming to get you in a few minutes,” Michael added, following Gregory out into the hallway and parking them both against the wall just outside the arcade entrance. He took stock of the various staff members wandering around, though as before no one actually tried to talk to them.

“Alright; I will see you all soon!” Freddy responded, unable to hide his eagerness to get out of his room and spend some quality time with his family.

It seemed a number of staff were gathering near a large vent in the wall, shinning lights inside. As Charlie came back with one large walkie-talkie clipped to her belt buckle, she craned her head in curiosity at the spectacle.

“Something wrong, fellas?” she asked, standing behind the group. They must not have noticed her at first, the gaggle of young adults nearly jumping from their skin.

“Ms. Emily! Sorry—Uh... We... Think there might be a... A small rat problem?” a nervous boy forced out. Charlie raised an eyebrow, silently waiting for him to elaborate further “We... Uhm... We keep hearing scratching? And uh... Honking. That might just be Music Man though. He loves the vents...”

Charlie's first thought trailed to Ennard, and she instantly averted to soothing mode. “Oh! Don't you guys worry about rats. I'll tell management to schedule an exterminator on Monday.”

The staff thanked her as she headed back to her group with a wave, seemingly relieved not to go back to their investigation in the central airway vents.

“We should get back; Ennard is freaking the staff out...” Charlie jabbed a thumb over her shoulder, pointing out the pack of scared college graduates.

“Oh, for fu—” For the sake of Gregory and the sanity of the staff who flinched when Michael’s face twisted into an expression of what they presumed to be rage at their incompetence, Mike managed to reign in his curse. Pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut, he heaved a sigh. Once composed, he offered the group a dead-eyed Afton stare, though it was really focused on the vent cover beyond them.

“Yes, it’s nothing to concern yourselves with,” he said to the huddled staff members. Michael clenched his teeth in a sharp smile. “I’ll see to this problem personally.”

With that proclamation, Michael turned on his heel and started the trek back to Freddy’s room, making sure to grab Gregory’s hand along the way. He wished there was a chemical he could just spray in the vents to flush Ennard out, but in reality Mike just needed to have a little chat. He’d almost gotten used to the fact that Ennard was following him around, but he couldn’t have the thing freaking out staff—the last thing they needed was for someone to come across the amalgamation on accident and get traumatized.

If Ennard didn't scare them, Michael's stern attitude sure had. Gregory made sure to hold onto to Mike's hand as his brisk pace was simply too fast for the boy. He made no complaints, despite the distance they crossed in such a short amount of time. It seemed the staff were more aware of them, either making sure to stay clear, or attempting to schmooze with the group by wishing them a 'good morning' in passing.

“Are you mad, Michael?” Gregory asked, hoping the mood Ennard put him in would pass.

“Hmm?” Mike glanced down at Gregory, having been lost in thought. When he saw the boy's face, his expression immediately softened into a much more easy-going smile. “No, I'm not mad—just annoyed. I don't want Ennard to get spotted; the last thing we need on top of everything else is people questioning what the hell they are.”

Which was true... although he really wanted the thing to just go away and never come back. However, Michael had a sinking feeling that Ennard had already grown a fondness for Gregory, too—certainly not to the extent they obsessed over Michael, but Ennard had saved both of them. He doubted they were going to leave them alone anytime soon.

Charlie tapped Michael's shoulder, garnering his attention. “They seem to not want anyone to find them, at least. Maybe we should tell everyone not to snoop around the vents?” She unclipped the walkie-talkie from her belt loop with one fluid motion and held it up.

“Oooh! Good thinking, Charlie!” Gregory said. Everyone listened to them as if they were from Administration regardless. Emboldened, Charlie pressed the speaker button and relayed the message.

“Hey, Staff, this is Ms. Emily—” She spoke professionally into the receiver, finding it weird to refer to herself in such a manner as she talked. “— Any and all maintenance on the air ducts are postponed until further notice. If you have any concerns, find myself or Mr. Afton.”

“Thanks—that should help a lot,” Michael agreed, flashing Charlie a grateful smile. After a short pause, they rounded around to Rockstar Row, hearing the various staff copy her well-put message.

Nearing Freddy's room, they could see that he'd opened the curtain for the first time since the other night. It allowed the glowing, fluorescent lighting of Rockstar Row to filter into the room, which was noticeably cleaner than when they'd left. Apparently, this is how Freddy had been entertaining himself in their absence. When he caught sight of them, Freddy waved enthusiastically and moved to open his door.

“Hello, you three!” he greeted with a smile, ushering them inside. “Gregory says you have been enjoying your time together!”

“Yeah, he's a great kid,” Michael said, a bit absently. He was looking around Freddy's room, clearly searching for something, and upon Freddy's question of what that might be the android responded: “I'm looking for a vent big enough to fit a certain someone...”

“Ah, check the back storage room,” Freddy replied, inclining his head to the door. With a thankful nod, Michael followed his instructions and went into the back room, soon locating a large vent near the top of a shelving unit.

“Hey!” Michael hissed, looking into the darkness. “I know you're in there—come here for a second, will you?”

And oh, how Ennard wasted no time rushing to Michael's beck and call. The way Ennard moved sounded like a rain-stick made of aluminum. When their form finally passed half the threshold of the air duct, Ennard let out a frighteningly loud, “MIKEY!” in greeting.

“WE HAVE MISSED YOU... HOW IS CHILD-MICHAEL?” Ennard asked, apparently not quite catching Gregory's name, but associating him with Mike nevertheless. They tilted their head, sporadic and unpredictable with their movements. It seemed almost painful to move in such a way as they fitted their parts in the right place, slowly morphing their shape back into that of a crude person.

“Ugh...” Michael grimaced, hating how Ennard moved on principle. “Gregory is fine; you don't need to pay him any mind.”

As little contact as those two had, the better in Michael's eyes.

“I'm not sure how much you heard over all your scuttling, but you're freaking people out,” Michael informed the amalgamation, crossing his arms over his chest. He was less wary of Ennard than he'd been before, although despite what Ennard might want they'd certainly never be best friends—or friends at all, if Mike had any real say in the matter. “We've told staff to leave the vents alone for now, but can you... tone it down at all? The scraping can be chalked up to something else, but the honking is suspicious as hell.”

Michael gave up the idea of telling Ennard to be silent long ago. Without a plush suit to cushion the wires scraping the metal vents, they'd make noise no matter where they went. Even with Charlie's instructions people were still going to notice strange sounds, so hopefully Michael's request to not give the impression of a clown in the ventilation system would help ease the staff's nerves in the long run.

Ennard looked away in a bashful motion, their eye's twitching in place, seemingly thinking over Michael's words.

“WE SEE YOU... HAVING FUN. IT MAKES US HAPPY. WE WISH WE COULD...” Ennard trailed off, avoiding the topic of their own happiness before trying to listen to the request. It would be hard, keeping track of the group and also staying silent while moving. The excited honking happened when they felt secondhand joy while watching the three siblings play together.

“THE GIRL... CASSIDY... WANTS TO MAKE SURE... FAMILY IS SAFE.” Ennard explained further why their presence was so intrusive. It may be true, though even as Ennard's tendrils slithered around Michael's legs it was hardly convincing.

“...Ah.” That added a little more explanation as to why Ennard wanted to stick around so often. It was hard for Michael to think of them as anything but the creature that destroyed his life, but Ennard was just a collection of robotic parts and their AIs who wanted to be free and apparently make some friends.

That was the whole point of taking over Michael's body, after all—a twisted attempt to escape from the place they were literally being tortured, and Mike had seemed like the perfect candidate. Disguising as a human was a good way to talk to other people, but... obviously that didn't quite work out as expected. Feeling the cold wires against his legs, Michael quickly dislodged himself, though he resisted the urge to stomp on them as he did before.

Okay, he stomped once, but he missed the mark by such a wide margin it was questionable whether he actually meant to cause damage.

“Alright, well... you can tell Cassidy that we appreciate the lookout—we're okay for now,” he said eventually, trying not to dwell on Ennard's earlier comment. He shoved his hands in his pockets, huffing a sigh. “Just stay out of sight like you have been, alright? That's all I want.”

Ennard seemed to visibly deflate at his disconnection. They shuffled in place a bit, wringing their hands a little as they hunched their shoulders. They would have to find some way to make themselves quiet.

Ennard looked down at their body. Were they really that frightening to the others? They were made of such beloved characters! With the charm of Funtime Foxy, Funtime Freddy’s friendly attitude, Bon-Bon's optimism, and Ballora’s beauty and grace… Who could ask for a more well-rounded friend?

Sadly, all of their personalities conflicted. That was why they came off as unstable—because by nature, they were. Even if the things they had done made sense in their head, it was like four people trying to brush their hair at once with the same comb. Everyone had the right idea, yet the execution would always be impossible.

“WE WILL FIX OURSELVES…,” Ennard offered slowly. Hoping maybe changing despite the pain it put them through would help alleviate the issue. “ENNARD WILL BECOME QUIETER. THANK YOU… MIKE…”

Michael watched them go with a frown, wondering exactly what “fixing themselves” entailed. Then, he realized that he didn't care enough to know, so he turned on his heel and headed back to the warm comfort of Freddy's room. Gregory was sitting on the couch, in the middle of regaling Freddy with the tale of how he'd been viciously attacked by his siblings at the breakfast table. The bear sat next to Gregory and listened with rapt interest, a smile brightening up his face as Charlie laughed at Gregory's version of events from her spot on the floor.

“Have you gotten to the part where Charlie has a horrible case of cooties yet?” Michael asked, perching on the couch. As he waited for an answer, he proceeded to slide the boy over with his hip and a few gentle shoves to make room, thus essentially sandwiching Gregory between himself and Freddy. This made Gregory gasp in realization.

“RIGHT—that wasn’t even the worst part! You need to medical scan me, Freddy!” Gregory said with a concerning whine. Before Freddy could actually have time to react, Gregory added as if embarrassed to admit: “Charlie gave me cooties… I think I might’ve given them to Michael—”

Charlie had to intervene. She leaned over the back of the couch and turned that little face towards her, gaining the boy’s full attention.

“Gregory… Cooties aren’t real. You know that, right?” she asked, hoping that Gregory had been joking. Was that the real reason he’d been afraid of Cassidy? Because of a made up girl-disease? Gregory didn’t answer, just waved Charlie off.

“She’s gonna do it again!” he shouted, falling over to escape Charlie’s touch and subsequently falling with his back impacting Michael’s lap.

“Charlie is correct,” Freddy felt the need to add, also unsure if Gregory truly believed in the made up virus. He focused on Gregory, conducting a quick health scan anyway for good measure. With a smile, Freddy assured: “And even if it was, real, my sensors do not indicate the presence of any virus within your body.” His gaze shifted to Mike and he performed the same scan. “…Nor on Michael; you are both safe.”

“Thanks for the reassurance,” Michael replied with a snicker, unable to stop himself. Maybe he shouldn’t be encouraging his little brother’s fear of harmless fake diseases, but he had to admit Gregory’s faces were priceless.

“You lied to me…” Gregory hissed, feigning hurt and betrayal as he glared up at Michael. Charlie laughed at the boys, the doofuses they were, and leaned on Freddy’s shoulder. She'd also seemed to miss the bear and decided to give him a hug.

“Gregory, despite his grotesque cootie infection, volunteered to help me win some tickets!” she explained with an excited outlook, then looked sweetly to the bear. “Want to come with us to the Arcade?”

“I simply encouraged your delusion, Gregory,” Michael responded matter-of-factly. He ruffled the boy’s hair, completely unfazed by his glare as he looked to Freddy with a raised eyebrow. “So? Want to get out of here and have some fun for a bit?”

“I would love that,” Freddy said, gently letting his head fall against Charlie’s as she hugged him around the neck. “But I was told to stay in my room all day… you do not think my absence would cause problems?”

“Not with us by your side it won’t.” Michael chuckled, the force of it slightly bouncing Gregory who still laid in his lap. “Most of the staff is afraid to even look at me—I doubt anyone’s going to ask me why I’ve decided to take an animatronic out for a stroll with the family.”

Gregory’s frown slowly faded when he remembered how much more frightened of Michael’s potential wrath than that of the mysterious noises in the vents. He would silently snicker to himself. During the daytime, they owned this whole place. It’s a shame it all changed at night. They’d be kids in a candy shop to have this while place unsupervised. That was the goal when Gregory snuck inside… How was he to know what to expect next?

“Yeah! If we run into Sophie, we’ll tell her we’re running uh… Routine customer interactivity tests. And Gregory’s our test subject!” Charlie assured.

“Well, I certainly cannot argue with that plan,” Freddy said with laughter in his eyes. It was strange how his physical features hadn’t changed over the past few days, yet Freddy seemed so much more expressive now. He gave Charlie’s head a light pat and she released her hug, after which Freddy stood. “Which arcade are we going to? There are multiple locations throughout the Pizzaplex.”

“We want to visit the West Arcade; we haven’t been there yet,” Michael replied as he gripped Gregory under the shoulders and hoisted the boy off his lap, letting his legs dangle in the air for a moment before setting him down on the floor with a grin.

Freddy perked up at Michael’s words, his face brightening even more than before. Now that they were in the relative safety of daytime, perhaps they could meet an animatronic that wasn’t immediately hell-bent on killing them on sight. “Oh, you all will love the West Arcade! We can visit DJ Music Man while we are there!”

Michael frowned at this, recalling the nervous staff’s comment from earlier. “Yeah, we heard he likes to go in the vents…?”

“Ah, that is Music Man—related, but not quite the same.” Freddy chuckled, making his way for the door. “The DJ is different—and such a nice fellow!”

Charlie perked up at the promise of a DJ. She’d always been a music lover, and the chance to kick back with some familiar tunes they grew up with would just make her day. Well, other than acquiring the highly sought after Deluxe Fazbag. Rounding around the couch to Charlie’s side, Gregory found and matched her energy.

“Alright, bet!” he replied. The idea of meeting another friendlier animatronic wouldn’t hurt the day. Besides, Freddy was in desperate need of seeing one (even temporarily) non-infected friend, too.

“Well? What are we waiting for! Let’s go get us some tickets and watch the DJ play!” Charlie urged.

Today felt dreamier. Everything so vividly sweet and going their way. Charlie wouldn’t dare jinx it by dwelling on her happiness in the moment. So she’d keep her mouth shut and head for the door, giddy with anticipation.

***

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Looking for more? Check out the Chapter Masterlist on Tumblr!

Or check out the entire Wires that Bind Us Series on ao3!

#fnaf #five nights at freddy's #fnaf sb #fnaf security breach #fnaf au #charlie emily #marionette fnaf #puppet fnaf #michael afton #glamrock freddy #gregory #ennard #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #angelofrainfrogs #zeitghest #spend the night #the wires that bind us au

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outoutdamnspark · 2 years

Text

Ursa Major; Ursa Minor - Chapter 1: Dread

Originally written for @bellafragolina‘s Heatstroke AU (master post here).

Genre: Found Family, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Platonic A/B/O

Rated: G, SFW

Characters: Warden Ingo, Akari

Ao3 Tags: Dad Ingo, Accidental Adoption, Platonic Relationships ONLY, Puberty Sucks, No Romance, No Smut

Chapters: 1 out of ? (incomplete)

next chapter ->

Read on Ao3

Chapter Warnings: child in distress, themes of anxiety

===

There’s the scent of something sour on the wind.

It’s like fear - sweat and rancid sugar - along with something else that Ingo can’t quite place, something almost like faint rot, sickness in the hot summer sun. He takes a step further outside his humble home and nearly gags.

Slapping a hand over his mouth and nose, Ingo feels the hairs at the base of his neck standing on end. He recognizes it now: an omega’s heat, botched and reeking with anxiety, a pheromonal cry of distress, one meant to summon help and frighten off ill-minded pursuers. It’s a specific kind of scent, too, one that has his skin prickling with dread.

‘Young,’ something in him whispers. ‘Too young. Adolescent.’

‘Protect. Protect. PROTECT.’

He isn’t sure how he knows all of this exactly, as he’s never had the misfortune to smell it in person as far as he’s aware, but instincts are powerful things and it doesn’t escape him that his reaction is exactly what the smell is meant to elicit. He’s a warden, an alpha, and the Highlands are his patch of territory to defend.

He’s already running before he fully realizes he’s started.

Ingo follows the scent to its origin, paying only enough attention to his surroundings to keep from injuring himself as he sprints towards whatever poor soul is now within his territory’s bounds - and thus, under his protection. He blocks out any sense of time, leading to him blinking in surprise, panting for breath, as a tiny sound reaches him through his frazzled daze and halts him in his tracks, sun now hanging lower in the sky than when he’d begun. Hunching low, he sweeps his eyes across every blade of grass around him, searching for the source of the scent and the sound. It comes again, and there, tucked away in a small outcropping of rock, he finds what he’s looking for.

“Oh Sinnoh…”

He recognizes the form curled up in the dirt. She’s shaking violently, smelling of tear-salt and terror, face buried in the familiar red scarf of the uniform that only serves to confirm her identity beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Ingo takes a step closer, making his normally-quiet footfalls deliberately audible; sneaking up on her while she’s already so vulnerable will do nothing but harm right now.

Akari’s head shoots up at the sound of his approach, wide, terrified eyes staring at him without blinking. Ingo almost tries to bite back the soft sound of worry that bubbles up instinctively, but thinks better of it at the last second. He whines low in the back of his throat, a noise born of concern and a plea to let him help - one that a parent might make at their pup.

He sinks lower to the ground, keeping his aching spine as straight as he can and his shoulders back to keep his torso in view. He brings his hands up placatingly and lowers his gaze slightly to the side, focusing on her shoulder rather than er face. “It’s alright,” he says quietly. “I’m not here to harm you.” He makes the sound again; from the corner of his eye he can see her uncurl slightly from her tight ball to get a better look at him. Well. It’s progress.

“You are in pain,” he states - and even if she isn’t in physical pain, the instinctual, psychological suffering must be absolutely unbearable. He chances a look at her face, (too young, too young, far too young to be in such distress!) taking care to avoid eye contact, lest it be mistaken for aggression. To his momentary relief, he sees that she’s still watching him.

“Please,” he whispers, desperate to crawl forward and offer whatever comfort he can. “Allow me to assist?”

He phrases it as a question, asking permission, and is rewarded when Akari whimpers and nods, one of her hands unwrapping from around her middle and reaching back at him ever so slightly. Ingo doesn’t hesitate, he slowly fixes his center of gravity - advertising his movements plainly - and shifts just enough to be able to creep forward and closer to his goal.

He sinks back to his knees once beside her, and hunches down so as not to loom over her prone form. “Shhh,” he hushes as she whimpers again. Scarred, calloused fingers reach out and alight on the poor girl’s hair, carding through it gently, wrist petting against the crown of her head to leave behind a new scent marker. A familial mark, one meant to calm and comfort, one meant to add a layer of protection, a message to others that the bearer is protected and loved. It seems to work somewhat as Akari - sweet, kind, ever-cheerful Akari - gives a tearful, exhausted sigh and nuzzles into Ingo’s hand.

(He swallows down the primal urge to tear out someone’s throat.)

Thus is the consequence of a familial mark, he knows; it signifies the bearer as protected, but doubles as a reminder to the bestower that any harm to their charge is their responsibility to repay. He can’t know for certain, not until Akari is safe and the two of them can speak properly, but if anyone has hurt this child then Ingo fully intends to pay them back in full.

With a steadying breath and a quick shake of his head, Ingo focuses his instincts towards the girl now reaching up with trembling hands to grasp at his arm, pulling herself close enough to bury her face against the side of his knee.

“War… Ing…o…?” she croaks, and the broken pieces of his name hit the warden like a punch to the gut.

“I’m here,” he whispers, reaching down to scoop her into his arms and tuck her close to his chest where his warmth and scent are stronger. She clings to his tunic, still shivering almost to the point of convulsion; Ingo cannot yet feel the seep of tears through his tunic, but he can see the shine of them on Akari’s cheeks. He tightens his arms around her. “I’m here, pup, I’ve got you.”

Maneuvering as best he can with a precious weight against his chest, Ingo shrugs first one arm and then the other out of his coat sleeves. He pulls it around in front of himself and drapes it across Akari’s shaking body. He tucks it in around her like a shield of fabric, a wall of his (hopefully comforting) scent, and allows whatever parental instincts he has in this moment to guide him. A soft swell of worried pride tugs faintly at his alpha senses at the sight of his pup, (his pup, his marker claims her as family) wrapped up in his coat, face nuzzled against his tunic. ‘Protect,’ his instincts growl; ‘protect and then avenge.’

(Lady Irida’s sorrowful orders not to help Akari be damned, no jury on earth would convict an alpha for defending their wounded cub. If Ingo so much as smells whatever has left his pup in such a state, then not even Almighty Sinnoh itself will stop him putting the culprit in its place. Until then, he has something much more pressing to worry about.)

He cradles his pup protectively to him, letting her muffle her quiet sobbing in the soft fabric of his shirt. His yurt would likely be the most ideal place to house her, he thinks; sadly, he knows he isn’t the best prepared to host a guest for what will likely be the better part of a week, if not longer - especially one going through a mangled heat.

Another option would be Lady Sneasler’s den. He knows his lady would help in an instant, as she herself is quite fond of the girl, and with Ingo’s familial marker now adorning her hair, his noble would likely react in much the same way as him - a mother guarding her kit. Additionally, as a mother, she’d be better equipped to help Akari with nesting, as Ingo, being an alpha with no memories and parental instincts currently running amok, runs the risk of making an utter mess of it. Nesting just isn’t his forte.

Another plus to this option is that it would give Ingo time to gather supplies - blankets, food, water - without leaving his pup alone. He’ll have to take stock of what he has in his yurt, then plan out the most efficient routes to obtain the rest. (He just hopes his instincts will help guide him to what his pup might need. He… may need to ask Melli for a list, as awkward as that would likely be.)

The very notion of letting his pup out of his sight is distressing enough; the thought of leaving her unattended makes his stomach absolutely turn. He tries to stamp it down as soon as it comes but isn’t quick enough to stop the tang of anxiety that momentarily bleeds into his scent.

Akari stiffens in his hold, whining softly in frightened question, and he hurries to pet his wrist against her hair once more, strengthening the marker as he rumbles softly, deep in his chest. “It’s alright,” he murmurs. “You’re safe, it’s okay.”

Akari whimpers, unsure, but untenses slightly anyway and hides her face in his tunic.

Mind made up, Ingo reaches awkwardly into the pocket of his coat, taking care not to accidentally dislodge it from his pup, and pulls out his flute. It takes some maneuvering, but he gets it to his lips and manages to play his lady’s familiar tune.

There is a distant yowl in response, further up the mountain, and Ingo allows himself a moment to relax at the sound. He shifts until he, too, is tucked under the rocky outcrop, and puts his back against the stone. Eyes and ears alert for danger, the highland warden settles down to wait with his precious passenger held securely in his arms.

By the time Lady Sneasler finds them, Ingo has managed to rock his pup into an anxious, shallow sleep.

#spark writes #submas #warden ingo #sfw #a/b/o #ursa major ursa minor #pla akari #pokemon akari

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masterofrecords · 6 months

Text

Angstober day 22: Grasp

In the Palm of the Hand

Kris takes the shift out of schedule, giving Lila a day off, for no other reason than having a vague feeling it was the right night for it. He does his best not to yawn as he pours ale and wine, and keeps an eye on new customers.

He is right. He’s always right these days – whether it’s intuition or the same mysterious force that brings others like him to the bar, but he knows to trust it. And when a guy stumbles in, a haunted look in his eyes, desperate to drink and forget, Kris knows his decision was the right one.

He probes carefully – with words and with magic, a dance so familiar there is no room for mistake.

Words can only do so much, but the knowledge that he’s not alone, having tangible proof of the things he’s experienced are priceless, and as the young man’s face clears before the small lights dancing just above the counter, Kris knows he has the guy hooked.

“Give me a moment,” he says pleasantly. “I think I have a thing that might be of help to you.”

He doesn’t actually need to look for it, but he does wait an appropriate amount of time before returning and sliding the small book across the counter.

For most of these people, it’s pointless to have a serious conversation when they’re in such a state. There is too much shock, mixed with wonder and fear, for them to understand anything about the dangers and the precautions.

Kris thinks he’s come up with a rather ingenious solution.

They don’t have long, the bell above the door announcing a new visitor, but Kris doesn’t need long. Still, he looks up to see that he knows this latest guest very well.

Kris closes the notebook with a smile, lest the regular recognizes a copy of the same diary he’d given her five years prior, and nods for the poor lad to go pick a table. “Next one’s on me,” Kris says pleasantly. “Take your time.”

He then turns the same smile towards the new customer, “I suppose that means you’re back in town. I hope your travels have been pleasant.”

They have an understanding. They’ll tell him something of faraway lands or perhaps of how business is going – she never offers too much, but it’s usually enough that he can follow up through his own channels. They’re a good customer to have, knowledgeable and well-connected, but would also be a dangerous enemy.

Luckily, Kris makes a point not to be anyone’s enemy.

Her friends’ business is blooming, the latest gallery show has been a success and the city is quiet; so Kris assumes the visit is a regular one and not an emergency. She looks freshened up, clearly not just from the road, so Kris should probably ask a few polite questions about the wife. If he’s lucky, he might get some insight into the recent crimes – having a regular married to the top pathologist in the city sure has its perks.

She has a web of people behind her, and while Kris doesn’t rely on any single person to run his business, it’s nice to have her in particular back in town – more convenient, if nothing else. They make what sounds like small talk, but in Kris’s mind, the cogs are turning.

Who does he have with connections to the Metronome Industries? Could Jill from the rail ticket office have heard of this?

Kris’s hands brew tea, but his mind is combing through the vast web of people in the city. Wasn’t there that lady asking about the clockworks a few months ago? Too vague to tell the detective, but might be worth checking out in case it’s something.

She looks at him, a little knowing smile he returns. He knows she’s doing the same with the information he gives her, though her intentions are no doubt purer than his.

She wants the city to be safe.

Kris wants all these strings to connect in the palm of his hand.

#angstober2023 #masterofrecords angsts #masterofreocrds writes #day 22

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