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just-some-random-blogger · 1 year ago

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Safe Keeping | 4

Part 1 2 3 4 5

"What say you, lady? Don't you think the Hound would make a fine husband? He would protect you, yes, and you would bear him many babes." I curtsy again but this time, my voice falters when I speak, "I- I think he would," I turn to my left, "Lord Sandor would make a fine husband... a fine father."

Sandor Clegane x Reader | 8k+ | cw: fem!reader, DEATH of characters/animals/monsters, POV shifts, mentions/depictions of violence, forced marriage, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional constipation, miscommunication, The Hound being abrasive, canon typical casual misogyny/violence, themes/mentions of menstruation/pregnancy/miscarriage, baby fever, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: ❗❗please proceed this chapter with caution. i killed a bunch of characters/animals (well and monsters but i think deserve lmao)!!! ALSO POV SHIFTSS!!!! originally posted on ao3 but felt like posting it on here. also fyi i post this story on ao3 first

Tagging: @otteropera @poisonsage808 @glitterandgoldfinds @the-queen-of-sorrows @j3nn-1

The Hound found himself wrong about the thieving, wrong about the missing livestock. He was so wrong it nearly cost him lives, including his own.

He was so sure about himself when he went into the woods, so sure that he was going to find at least two men, at most five, luring sheep there. It was the men he was prepared for. Fuck the livestock, the farmers can get them back after he killed the fucks stealing them.

Ah, the farmers, barging into his wife's estate... into their house, into house Clegane.

Fuck 'em, fuck the lot of them, complaining again, complaining about their sheep and their cows. He had enough of their yapping, now was the time to act.

Fuck 'em twice for being shocked when he said he'd go into the forest to kill the fucker causing all of them trouble.

The superstitious peasants warned him. The Hound heard; he even humored them by letting a few spring chickens, boy-soldiers in the making, 'aid' him as he went to the forest.

Between the young farmer's lad, Andrew, and the man-boy, Carter, who he had been training be a soldier, it was actually the Hound who was the one most frightened by that thing that stared back at them.

It looked as though it was twice his damn size. It was darker than tar, and stinkier than shit. It made an unholy sound before attacking them.

He doesn't remember what happened after that in all honesty. His instincts kicked in and he can't recall what he had done. All he knew was, in the end, the two boys were cheering and dragging a black corpse all the way back out of the woods.

The villagers looked at him. They walked towards him and shouted. It was not an unfamiliar greeting-- being pursued by villagers, and yet, it shakes him; it takes him off-guard. They come upon him and begin to weep at his feet. They thank him. They thank them as they hug each other. The thank him as they wave at him. They thank him as they touch his armor like a devout would touch an idol.

The Hound is perturbed.

"Thank you, milord! You killed the beast!"

"You saved our sheep!"

"You saved our families!"

"You saved our lives!"

The Hound was never one to back down, but Sandor found himself taking steps back when a group of children ran up to him and began to ask him how he killed it. Their little hands and big eyes demanded answers from him. His insides rise up to his mouth.

The children begin to talk about how they can go to the woods now.

"Oi!" Carter calls to the ones in front the Sandor, "you do know there's more than one woodland monsters, aye?!"

"But now milord Cligay killed one! He'll teach us how to kill the o'vers."

"It's Clegane. Lord Clegane! And even then, you buggers can't just play in the forest. The brown bears still live here."

"I haven't seen a brown bear!" a little girl cries out. She looks to the Hound, walking up to him, grabbing his hand, "there aren't any brown bears in the woods, right, milord?"

Sandor looks at the small thing. His hand burns at her touch. Her hand was not even hot, not even big enough to grasp half his palm and yet he feels lightheaded. He feels like he's going to pass out.

The Hound finds their sentiment to be all too much at one point. He grumbles he's going home; he's got much work to do. The villagers thank him as he leaves.

When he gets home, just as he gets near the gate, he beholds Lady Clegane, the people's champion, his poor bride. She is outside, speaking to some peasants; it was all she did as of late.

A breeze blows and her dress dances with the wind. Her hair follows as well, and along goes the air from his lungs.

She is the sun. He is a mountain trying to reach her.

Sandor, who hadn't realized that he stopped in his place to gawk, is shaken out of his trance when the stable boy opened the gates for him. The small child named Polly, about as old as his wife when she fled this place, nods at him and motions, "pardon, milord," he says nervously, "I didn't know you were waiting for me to open the gates."

The Hound looks at the boy as he walks in, "I wasn't," he gruffs, eyeing him as he passed, "don't worry about it, laddie."

Lord Clegane looks away from the stable boy when he hears the shrill cry of a babe. He spots the maester walking over to his wife with a wailing child in his arms.

He thinks about the letter he had to write to the Citadel, requesting a maester come to Brown Wood.

Lady Clegane thinks her husband's initiative for it stems from his sense of duty as a Lord, but she'll never know he did it for her, for her to know if she really did have a late blood cycle, or if she lost a baby. Maester Yannick told him it was, regretfully, the latter.

The Hound waited for his lady wife to tell him about it, to ask him to hold a mourning ceremony for the unborn child. She never did.

Sandor watches Lady Clegane willingly embraces the woman who thanked her up and down, over and under, for saving her baby. She tells the weeping woman that it was not her work but maester Yannick that saved the babe. Maester Yannick says it was not his work but the gods.

Sandor tastes something putrid in his mouth when his wife coos at the child, who immediately calmed when the maester reunited the small thing to mama. His insides tingle at the sound of his lady's laugh.

He curses under his breath when she turns to him. He realizes then he had stopped in his tracks again.

The Hound begins his march.

Lady Clegane greets him, but he is not strong enough to reply with a greeting himself. He doesn't know why he stops to tell her that he killed a woodland monsters though. She looked very shocked after hearing that.

He wonders if she was disappointed. He wonders if she wanted him dead.

She touches him and questions if he was injured. Sandor flinches and steps back. She recoils her hand quickly and wipes it on her skirt-- disgusted.

The Hound says she shouldn't worry her pretty squirrel head, then walks away.

His footsteps are heavy as he heads to his office. He didn't want to go through the fucking endless piles of paperwork, but the apprentice he had couldn't grasp basic mathematics quite yet, so, there he went, to go through paperwork in a musty office.

He wonders if doing this shit made a difference to her, or if she'd always see him for what he was: a groom, forced upon her as a joke from a stupid blonde boy; a beast with ill features and temper; a Hound.

He is almost tempted to look over his shoulder at the loud sound of baby's laughter. He doesn't, cause he wouldn't see anything but a wall of he did anyway.

He wonders when she'd ask him again, when she'd ask for a child from him.

He promises he'd be gentler this time, gentler.

He doesn't mean to be so rabid with her.

She just had such an ablaze spirit, she was so fierce, and so vivid that he found himself wanting to devour her whole-- a true predator.

He wishes he could be more than that. He could be more than that to her, but it's so hard to fill in to be someone you're not. The Hound was not a proper lord, he was not that pretty boy Alistair. He can only do so much.

Sandor would do much and more for her than that scrawny, faerie pretty-boy ever could.

She might not like it, but he'll do his best to give her what she wants, to give her a family in stead of the one she lost. She will never love him, but he knows she'll love all the children he could give her, and that was more than enough, more than he could ever hope for or deserve.

I carefully walk up to the office, clutching my hands together as I prepare myself to knock on the door.

I clear my throat and retell myself what I mean to tell my husband. My palms begin to gush like geyser. I dread the fight I know will be had because of this topic.

I let out a soft gasp when someone calls me from behind.

It was the stable boy, Polly. He had run up to bow and greet me good morning. I smile at him and reach out to him. I brush his hair back, "good morrow, Polly, dear."

The boy grins and bows again, "I'll be learning how to ride a horse soon, milady!"

I link my hands together as I chuckle, "my! Will you now? How awfully courageous of you."

The boy pushes his shoulders back, "it's no'ffin, milady. Just what a man ought to do. I would go to war for you, milady, I would!"

"My boy," shake my head, "I pray you never need to do such a thing. I hope you enjoy riding though. I find that I do not."

"Do you find riding scary? I wouldn't! I'll let you ride with me once I know how, promise," the boy nods as he places a hand on his chest.

"You are very kind," I smile, "I thank you for it, Polly."

The boy puffs his chest out and bows, "I'll be goin' then, milady!"

I chuckle as I watch Polly run off as quick as a rabbit.

My soul nearly leaves me when I turn around and see the Hound looming over me.

I gasp and step back. He reaches out to me and grabs my arm. He keeps me upright and leans down, "you better stop calling the boy dear." He releases me and begins to walk off, "he's already in love with you as is."

I blink rapidly at his words. I turn to him and watch him march away before scurrying after, "he's a child."

"Aye," says Sandor, "all the children adore you."

My stomach curdles at his words; I am unsure why. I rub my hands together, not sure what to make of myself, or what to reply.

"What were you doing outside my office?" he asks.

I run up in front of him and grab his arm, "there is something I needed to discuss with you."

Sandor stops. He looks at my hand on his arm, "can't it wait?"

I pull my hand away and shake my head, "I understand that you are very busy, my lord, but I-"

"Fine," he mutters, "I'll lay with you tonight."

My eyes widen and I topple back at his words, "what?"

The Hound steps forward, keeping me upright again, "that's why you're here, aren't you?" He releases me, "your bloods have waned."

I feel my face burn. I gulp and force a smile, "I-" I chuckle nervously and straighten up, "y-yes. My bloods have waned."

Sandor watches me closely.

I rub my neck and blink rapidly, "I thank you for your thoughtfulness," I dig my thumb nail into my pointer finger. I turn from my feet then to Sandor, "but that is not what I wished to speak about."

His face falls. It's not anything noticeable but I have become quite good at it, reading his face. He purses his lips then says, "be done with it then, I've got work to do, pretty squirrel."

I feel my face burn even more at his horrible nickname.

A group of women had been complimenting my dress when the Hound passed. I knew they did not know he would react that way, but it did not help the embarrassment I felt when the women asked my husband if he thought my dress suited me and he replied 'pretty for a squirrel'.

"I wanted to tell you that I... I still very much wish to be the one to speak to the people about their concerns," I am unable to look at him when I say this, "it is not because I think you are unfit for the task, my lord, but I have seen the way you act around them."

"Like a dog?"

I knit my brows deeply and look to him, "Daisy is a dog. And I love her very much."

"That makes one of us."

We stare at each other for a long, blistering moment. My throat constricts at his words, "... Sandor."

His face contorts. He scoffs and averts his gaze, "don't say my name like that."

My heart begins to race, it twists and clenches. I step forward and reach out to him, "I see how you try to listen, how you try to help, but it scares you-"

I gasp when he rips his arm away before I can even touch him. He grabs me instead though, ripping me close as he leans down, "I'm not scared of peasants."

My eyes water. It's not even because his grip hurt, but because it was as painfully clear as it could get that this man did not like me at all, no matter what I did.

The Hound mutters softly, "do what you wish," he releases my arm, "you want to do my work so badly then? Fine. I didn't want ya to do anything you're not meant to, but have it your way."

I scratch my eyes before my tears could fall. I try to look at him as I speak, but the tears threaten to fall when I do. Instead, I fix my eyes on the floor, "I do not do this to upset you, Hound. I do this because I mean to help you. I swear it."

He is deeply disturbed by the softness in which these words are spoken. Hearing himself be called Hound was unreasonably heart piercing.

"I do not like it when you are angry," I whisper, "it would have been fine if it was only directed at me, but you spur everyone around you."

I flinch when he calls my name.

I shake my head, "if it pleases you, lord, I will do as you said the other day. I will no longer speak to you. I will not bother you. I will not stand in your way." I step back and pick at my fingernails.

Sandor holds back from stepping forward.

"Maester Yannick has been giving me herbs to help with conception, but he said that I should be in good spirits when... consummating... I do not think we should do anything tonight--" I look to him through my wet lashes, "unless you want to--"

"No, I do not," he says coldly.

I gulp. Tears begin to stream down my face. My lips quiver. I shudder. Of course he doesn't want me.

I curtsy and walk off. I break into a sprint after a few steps, as I am no longer able to hold in my sobs.

Sandor watches this. He furrows his brows, unnerved by the interaction, gutted by the fact it ended in tears yet again. He replays the conversation. Was his touch truly that hard? He looks at his hand. He curses loudly and storms off to fuck all.

Sandor wakes before the sky does. He opens his heavy lids and sighs. He turns to his right on instinct; he watches his wife stretch out her arms in the expanse of nothingness between them. He likes to think that she is reaching out to him. He likes to think that if he reaches back, it'll make everything fine between them.

But then again, it had never been fine between them in the first place.

He makes sure not to touch or move her. Last time he did, she woke up. She truly was a light sleeper.

He slowly gets up. He quickly gets dressed. The moment he gets out of the room, he heads to his office.

He's finished his work by the time he hears a dog barking. He looks to the window, the sun looks back at him. He stands, stretches, and walks over to the sill, pushing the curtains open. He sees her, Lady Clegane, cuddling the mutt she named Daisy. Fucking Daisy. Polly, the stable boy was waving a stick, but the bitch could not care less about it, too preoccupied by her master.

He watches Daisy lick her neck. He watches how she scolds the dog for it but giggles anyway. Sandor sniffles. His mind wanders to the one time he had his face pressed on her neck like that. Fucking dog.

He watches the pair go inside. The Hound heads to the dining room promptly after.

He mutters to himself, trying to decide how to start, "I don't meant to make you cry-- I keep making you cry-- Fuck-- .... I know you don't like me," he stops in his tracks before he can get to his destination. He mutters to himself some more.

Fuck it.

He hears the telltale patter of Daisy's paws. It makes his fingers tingle.

When he gets to the dining room, he furrows his brows at the emptiness.

Lucy gasps at the sight of him. She topples back then regains her composure. She puts the plate of food she was holding down on the table with a bang. She looks at him and curtsies, "your food, milord."

"Where is she?"

Lucy's glare darkens, "she is dining with the servants."

He chuckles drily. He feels disappointment. He feels hurt. He immediately plays it off, "pretty squirrel's finally had enough of me."

"WILL YOU STOP CALLING 'ER THAT!" Lucy bursts, taking the Hound off-guard.

They both stare at each other, as if equally as shocked by the outburst.

Lucy fumes. Sandor freezes. The former decides she's already spoken, so she might as well continue, "she is a lady! You took her for this," she motions vaguely. "You need her," she speaks firmly, "just as much as she needs you."

The Hound scoffs. His insides burn and curdle at the idea of the little girl needing a beast to keep her safe. He snaps, "well, go ahead and tell her I will gladly be her hound and breed her little monsters as thanks for her nice, warm castle!"

Lucy makes no attempt to hide the revulsion she feels at the sound of the hound's words.

"You know what," he snarls, "why don't I breed her right now as a thank you?"

Lucy's face drops. She runs up to the Hound when he begins to storm off. She crumples like paper when he shoves her away. He doesn't do it hard enough that she shoots off to the table, but it's enough for her to get the message: he was deadly strong.

Lucy does her best to stop him. She cries and begs and screams. She digs her heels into floor and yanks him back but it doesn't do much, it doesn't do anything.

The Hound only stops when he finally sees her.

Lady Clegane is laughing with the servants as they watch Daisy roll on her belly for food. She feeds the dog just as Lucy runs up in front of him, severely distraught and tear stained. Lucy pushes her hands on his chest and begs him to punish her instead.

The Hound is sickened when Daisy runs up to him and whines. He recoils his hand when the bitch licks it.

"Lucy?"

Sandor flinches at the sound of his wife's voice and turns the other way.

I was in the middle of playing fetch with Daisy when she caught wind of something and ran off to the gate. Usually, this meant Sandor was home. Lo and behold, this moment was not any different.

I turn away immediately when we lock gazes.

The Hound had a large cut of meat on his shoulder. He grunts as Daisy barks and runs up to him, "fuck off, bitch."

He does his best to avoid the dog, nudging her away firmly with his leg as he walks up to a wagon and plops the hind of a cow on there. He hisses at Daisy when she gets on her two back legs and rests one good leg and bad one on his hips.

"Daisy!" I call.

She ignores me.

Sandor looks over his shoulder, "your mam's calling you, dog. Go on!"

Daisy clearly doesn't understand, or doesn't care, and barks at Sandor when he shoves her away.

"Daisy!" I call and jog up to her when she follows Sandor out of the estate. I run up to the gate and watch as she is chased by the Hound. She runs as fast as her three paws will allow, clearly enjoying what she thought to be a game.

"Come here, you stupid bitch!" the Hound screams.

I turn to one of the men near me. I call Arron over and tell him to tell the Hound not to chase after her. He does just that, "milord! She will stop running if you stop chasing!"

I make a face as Lord Clegane curses and does his final attempt at catching the dog.

"Shall I bait Daisy with some meat, milady?" Arron asks.

I am about to respond but then there is a loud shriek from afar. It makes my blood go still.

The Hound immediately stops, straightens up, and looks at the distance.

I turn to Arron in a panic and tell him to get bait for Daisy. He quickly does that and calls for the dog to come back.

A bunch of peasants run and scream towards the estate; they scream milord.

Sandor goes to them.

When he reaches the panicked townspeople, he tells them all to shut the fuck up and explain what's happening. The old one clamours out that her daughter's been taken, says she was herding the cows then she was suddenly screaming, and he tried to reach her but it was too late. He says his son went to the woods to try and save her sister.

The Hound nods. He easily decides to go into the woods. The man's other son to leads the way.

In truth, the boy didn't have to go with him, he could just head to where the animals were fleeing, but he allowed it because he recognized the boy to be one of the ones in training. He has no idea what his name was though.

He was glad to hear the screams when he did, at least the ones that sounded human.

The Hound sees a lad and a lass running up to him, "RUN WHILE IT'S DISTRACTED!"

The boy by his side screams back, "the Hound is here! He's going to kill it!"

Well, Sandor was only meant to save the girl, and now that the girl was about to run past him, he didn't have to do anything, really. For some reason, he felt compelled to press on. Maybe it was the lack of his sense of self-preservation as of late, or no, don't call it that; it was his need for a distraction, his need prove something.

He sees it, the monster and its fresh kill. It must have been one of the girl's cows, or at least what was left of it. Gods, the abomination was a messy eater. He was glad, at least, it seemed to be starved and solely focused on eating.

His boots stomp into a puddle of blood when he charges at the thing and cuts its head off. That's was quick... and simple...

He's shocked when he hears a hellish scream behind him and gets knocked into a tree.

The Hound is dazed. He hears the battle cry of two voices. He watches the brothers do their best to stab at the thing that towers and claws at them. He promptly gets on his feet and charges at the disgusting fuck, managing to chop off its arm before it chops off the boy's head.

Just as he thinks he's about to get the upper hand, another vile beast pops up from the shadows. He fixes his footing and slashes his sword for his life.

One of the boys get injured. The boy's scream attract the monsters towards him, allowing the Hound to stab through one of them when it's attention is averted.

By the time one of the two vile cretins drop to the ground, the two boys are running for their lives with one monster on their tail. The Hound is forced to chase after them and curses the boys for running. He's not as quick as he was before.

He screams and grabs a rock, chucking it at the slimy tar creature. He throws and shouts some more until the monster is turned back and running towards him.

He slashes the stupid fuck with his sword when its close enough. It still picks a fight though.

He's losing his breath.

The next thing he knows, there's another monster screaming from behind him. The Hound prepares for the one behind him, but it doesn't reach him because its busy ripping something off it with a growl. It chucks something to the side. There is a separate whine that hisses with the wind.

The Hound finally kills the first monster that attacked him. It doesn't take much for him to kill the other as its belly was already gushing with viscous blood.

Once he's the only thing alive and standing, catches his breath and curses. He looks upon the fallen black creatures before him and reckons he ought to get out there before more come out.

But then he hears a rustle to his side. He immediately goes on the defensive and readies for another fight.

He follows the sound of heavy breathing.

His face drops when he hears the way the dog whines when he's spotted.

The Hound sheathes his sword and drops to his knees. He looks at Daisy, her one front paw bent, the other one not. Her hind legs were twisted unnaturally, her side was clawed. She was soaking in red, both hers and otherwise. She was panting and quickly losing blood.

Sandor reaches out to her. Her eyes were wide and teary. She leans into Sandor's touch and licks her nose in a panic.

He begins to feel a rage burn in him. He begins to feel loathe. He whisper-yells, "you stupid dog. You should have stayed home."

Daisy's breath quickens. He realizes see that she is trying not to whine. Gods, the pain she must be in.

He is about to tell her she was stupid for doing that, he is about to tell her she didn't need her help, he is about to tell her she was so fearless for no reason, but then Daisy whines. It was the most horrible thing he's ever heard.

Sandor huffs like he had been stabbed. He grips his hilt tightly, "thank you for saving me, Daisy."

Sandor screws his eyes shut and decides on what he has to do.

He draws his sword. Daisy does not flinch when he presses the sword onto her neck. He thinks about the day they'd first met.

Fearless.

He strokes her face with his hand once. He screws his eyes shut when he feels her shiver.

So afraid.

"You're a good dog."

His next stroke pulls Daisy's final breath.

The Hound stands. He looks upon his dog.

He screams.

He screams, hell-bent on summoning more monsters. He kills three more stupid fuck, particularly enjoying how he butchered killing a young one.

He takes Daisy's body after. She is rigid against his chest when he reaches the village. He barks out an order to the villagers: burn those fucking monsters he killed. They were more than happy to oblige.

He passes the family he had helped. They are about to come up to thank him but they don't when they see what was in his arms.

He is swarmed with dread with what he is faced with when he reaches the estate. It was very clearly as search party for Daisy.

"SANDOR!" I cry out when I spot him from the distance. "DID YOU SEE DAISY WHEN-" I stop myself when I realize he is covered in blood. Suddenly, I feel awful for not asking him if he was injured before anything else.

His form becomes clearer as I jog up to him and call, "ARE YOU AL-"

I stop in my tracks when I see him adjust something in his arms. I knit my brows and continue walking towards him. Was it a head of a monster? Why was it brownish and not black?

The Hound gives me a solemn look as he inches closer. I furrow my brows at his expression.

It takes a second then suddenly, it clicks.

I let out a horrified cry.

The Hound buries Daisy in the garden himself. Everyone in Brown Wood watches. I force a glance at my poor dog, even though I wanted to do nothing but turn away. Her injuries chill me to the bone. Lucy stands beside me, clutching my arm as she weeps, but does not look at Daisy once.

Maester Yannick speaks some words for her, as per my request, before Sandor covers the grave.

Once it was done, maester Yannick comes to me and says he will plant daisies at her grave come morrow. I cannot find solace, I cannot find myself to care.

"Did you have to slit her throat?!" I demand lowly, voice aching and angry. I eye the Hound with hot contempt and cynicism, "was there REALLY no saving her?!"

"My lady," the maester holds me back, "I saw her body. Lord Clegane showed her mercy."

"Did you enjoy executing your mercy?!" I wail, ripping my arms away from Lucy and Yannick. My gaze does not trail to them at all, as I am intent on getting answers from my dog's executioner.

The Hound's face is blank, it enrages me.

I snarl through tears, "gods, I hope you did! I hope you savored finally being free of your bitch!"

Lucy calls after me as when I storm away. She means to run after me but shoots a glare at the Hound before doing so. She is momentarily stunned when he sees how distraught he looks at the moment.

Sandor marches out of the estate.

I jolt awake when I hear the front door opening. I wipe my face and quickly stand from the chair in the middle of the living space. The fireplace near me had already burned out.

After the sound of locks disappear in the darkness, I take the unlit candle on the table beside me and walk up to the burning candelabra to light it.

I hear heavy footsteps draw closer.

Boots skid, "fuck."

I look up after lighting my candle. The Hound looks back at me.

"What are you doing?"

I purse my lips and turn to my feet. I clutch my candle, finding it hard to speak.

"Lucy kick you out of her bed?" he mutters then begins to walk off.

I look up and follow after him. I finally muster out, "you arrive later and later."

He scoffs.

"It's been five days. I fear you'll not return by the tenth."

I pull my head back and stop in my tracks just as the Hound turns and chuckles, "don't worry, little girl. I like the wages of a Lord. Your hound isn't running."

"I know you're not running!" I snap, "I wonder why you think so poorly of yourself!"

"I think poorly of myself?" he hisses and points to his chest.

"Yes!" I bark and push myself up on my tiptoes to prove a point, "and since you are so keen to put words in my mouth, I hope you shove all the fucking pie the unwitting peasants gave you down your blasted throat!"

The Hound is shocked by my profanity. His face slips into confusion.

I heave and pull back, intent on walking away. And I do. I should have never waited for him.

"What fucking pie?"

I snap and turn back at him, "the one you could have eaten fresh had you spared a moment this morning before leaving for a monster hunt!"

Sandor is wholeheartedly confused.

I am aggravated by his expression. I wave my hands, unintentionally putting out the flame of my candle, "they love you, Hound! They're thankful and grateful!"

Though it was darker now, I see his face pinch in to a sort of disgusted disbelief. The sight infuriates me, it squeezes my heart, it pricks me frustration. I wipe my face and repeat the words that were spoken to me, "tell Lord Clegane that without him my children would be dead. Tell Lord Clegane that he has saved me family from hunger. Tell Lord Clegane that me, and my sons, and my sheep are happy to-"

"I didn't do it for them," Sandor cuts me off with a hand raise.

I purse my lips and slowly pull my head back at his words.

He lowers his hand and eyes me for a moment. I see how his gaze drinks my figure. He clenches his jaw and looks away, "you should be asleep."

My jaw slacks.

I wait for him to look at me. I wait for him to ask if I was going to sleep with Lucy again. I wait for him to apologize for keeping me up worrying. I wait for him to bring up Daisy. I wait him to do something, but he doesn't.

My eyes water, "my lo-"

"Good night," he dismisses and turns around to walk away.

"Aren't you-" my voice cracks, "-going to ask me to go to bed with you?"

He stops in his tracks. He does not look back, "do you want me to?"

I furrow my brows deeply. I feel like I was drowning. I let out a shaky breath and wrap my arms around myself. I shake my head and turn away. I chuckle dryly, "forgive me for even asking."

Sandor turns back, jaw hanging, hands clenched. He does nothing but watch.

"Do you know what's going to happen now, little girl?"

"Yes."

"What's going to happen?"

"You're going to fuck me."

Sandor laughs lowly, placing his hands on my cheeks. He swipes his thumb on my lips, "filthy mouth."

He kisses me deeply.

"Tell me honest," he mutters through kisses, "have you ever done this before?" he speaks as his hands paw at my sides, "I would not judge you if you did."

I squeak when he touches me between my thighs.

He draws out a deep breath, "no, of course you haven't; you're a good girl."

I gasp at the sound of thunder. I jolt up from my bed-- I turn to my side, seeing a sleeping Lucy's form-- or I mean, Lucy's bed. I look for Daisy in the room as I slowly push the blankets off me. I still when I realize she wasn't here.

I huff and wipe my face. I try to push away the thoughts of Daisy out of my head. I try not to think of her so much because I end up melancholy and furious. I, instead, find myself drifting to the dream I just had-- been having.

The mind can be so treacherous. I nibble my lower lip and rub my belly.

I tried, you know. I went to the Hound the morning after we fought about his coming home late. I tried to make peace with him. I tried to persuade him. I tried to kiss him.

I gasp again when another crack of thunder echoes through the room.

He wasn't having it though. He pushed me away and told me it was wrong, that we shouldn't be doing that. He left the estate shortly after. He hasn't been home since.

I get out of bed and light a candle for myself. I walk to my bedroom and light any of the candles that went off on my way. I wrap my arms around myself and rub my skin. I open the door to room as softly as possible, though it didn't really matter in the end because it was pouring outside and the noise wouldn't be loud.

With a barely audible creak, the door opens.

And it was also empty.

I sigh at the made bed. I walk towards it and smoothen out the already smooth sheets. I decide to get dressed for the day.

I head to the office, which as empty as the bedroom. I light the candles there.

I sit down on the desk and go through the papers, the letters of requests, the list of complaints, the finances, the works. I rub my eyes, willing my sleep away. I look out my window, seeing barely any hint of sun through the dark clouds.

I don't know how exactly how much time passed between then and when Arron burst in, but it must have been a while, considering how nice it felt to stand after hearing him shout, "HE'S HOME, MILADY!"

I immediately blow out the candles as Arron tells me the Hound was in the living area. I thank him for telling me, gather my skirts, and jog out of the room.

I cannot hear the click of my heels over the sound of the persisting rain-- the persisting storm.

I stop in my tracks when I see a trail of water in the corridor that led to my bedroom.

A crack of lightning bolts through the sky when I walk in and ask "where have you been?!"

The Hound is dripping in rain water. He has his back turned to me. He is undoing his armor.

I clench my fists and storm up to him. I circle in front of him the same time he walks towards the closet. He stops there, still undoing his armor, back turned to me again.

I scowl, "Hound! I'm speaking to you!"

He looks over his shoulder, the one he was trying to undo, "what? I can't hear you over the rain."

I burn hot with anger and march up to him, "I asked where you've been!"

The Hound looks down at me. He releases the grip on his shoulder, "does it matter where I've been?"

"Yes!" I snap, "you haven't come home in 7 days."

He scoffs, "thrilling to know you've been counting," he points to the window, "well, as you can see, it's fucking storming."

"It wasn't storming the day you left," I hiss.

"Well, it was when I decided to come to my beautiful wife," he leans down and jeers.

I knit my brows at him and pull back when I smell the alcohol in his breath.

He takes my chin between his fingers, "come on give us a smile."

I pull away from him, heart racing, chin burning, even though his touch got my skin damp with rain water.

The Hound straightens up and undoes his armor again.

I step away from him, "Job said he saw you in the next town over."

"Who the fuck is Job?" he asks, not bothering to look at me.

"Polly's father."

"The stable boy?" he turns to me.

"Yes," I hiss and I feel anger build up in me.

He says nothing.

I nearly choke when I say the next words, "he said he saw you coming out of brothel."

The Hound stills. He drops his hands to the side.

Both of us just stand there for a moment. The rain seems to intensify, and so does the tension between us.

"Tell me the truth," I mutter, "do you-"

"It was the town with the fucking unavailable inn," he shifts in his spot to turn to me, "I went to the brothel instead and paid for lodging there."

I purse my lips at his words. That was not what I was going to ask him. I battle with myself, trying to find the words I want to say. I revise my words over and over again in my head. There were so many things I wanted to say, yet so little ways to make it easy to speak out.

I shake my head, "am I very hard to want?"

Sandor feels rain water drip from his fingers.

I don't know how I feel about the bewildered and perplexed expression that spreads across his face. I do know one thing at least, I feel too exhausted to cry.

I sigh and shrug, "I am no fool, Hound. I learned through the gossip of my maids and my aunts growing up that men are simply like... this. It is their nature to stray. Of course, I hoped different for myself, but we cannot have it all, can we?"

"But I didn't do anything," he snaps. He deflates, "I swear by the gods, old and new."

I press my lips into a tight smile. I slowly walk up to him. He watches me intently. I hear his breath hitch when I begin to undo his armor for him. I half expect him to make me stop. He doesn't.

Sandor steps forward. There's barely any space between us anymore. His heart is racing. His hands itch to touch. He releases a breath when his hand comes to my side.

My stomach swirls at the feel of his palm but I do nothing. Neither do I look at him when I mutter, "maybe you should."

Sandor watches me remove his armor. He furrow his brows and whispers, "what?"

I drop the steel plate to the ground with a clank. It is loud even with the sound of pouring rain.

He doesn't like it when he receives no reply. He takes my wrist. I stop my task. His hand is warm albeit the dampness, and so very gentle.

I finally look up at him.

He leans closer and speaks louder. He shakes his head and furrows his brows, "what did you say, pretty squirrel?"

I raise my brows, "maybe you should."

"Should what?"

"Do something in the brothels."

His face falls. We stare at each other for a moment. He is clearly in disbelief.

I pull my hand out of his grip. He almost doesn't let me.

"It's not a trick, I swear it."

"What are you saying?" he shakes his head faster and finds himself playing on the offensive, "you want me to be with someone else?!"

"I want a baby," I mutter.

Sandor's face falls again, but then it twists. It is unbearable to look at.

"Find a woman you desire," I turn away from him, "and give her your seed. You may keep her here if you like, and I will let her take care of the babe, but the babe will be mine."

His lips part.

"You're right. I don't want the memory of my family to be tainted by monstrosity-"

He shakes his head once more.

"-and I am the last of my line. My line lives on with House Clegane. People remember names, not blood."

He takes my hand, "I desire you."

I cannot help it. I begin to cry because of that. I break into both tears and laughter, "you needn't shield my heart, Sandor."

Sandor's stomach drops, both at the fact his own words have been used against him and with how his name was spoken.

I place a hand on his cheek.

His knees go weak.

"We've both hurt enough," I smile, "I know you think otherwise, but I'm not a little girl. I know sometimes winning means admitting defeat when the loss is great."

He grabs both my wrists when I try to pull away. I gasp when he does so. He holds me for a second then releases my wrists to capture my cheeks instead. He wipes my tears with his thumbs. He swipes my lips, "I love you."

I screw my eyes shut and cling onto his forearm. I let out another laugh, "I don't think you hurt people that you love, my lord."

The Hound is pierced through his armor.

He doesn't put up a fight when I pull his hands off me.

I continue to undo his armor. He doesn't move an inch.

"Will you sleep with me tonight?" he whispers. The sound of the rain is too loud that only him and the gods heard it.

Sandor had been out of it ever since his pretty squirrel ate his insides. He was thick faced, literally and figuratively; he's learned to take pride in it, to find solace in the fact all the years of flesh ripping torture-- figuratively and literally, had made him indifferent to what people think, made him apathetic, numb.

And yet her smile that day was worse than a sword through the spleen. Her disbelief in his words-- because she was right, you don't hurt people you love-- was heart wrenching, blood draining.

What do you say to that? How do you fix that?

You don't.

He knows you don't. You can't fix something like that.

And since this truth has dawned on him, since this truth has slit his throat, he's been a headless, mindless fucker. He was a dead man walking, and one more unwitting monster attack away from making it real.

"MILORD!" Carter cries, raising his sword to hack at the monster who managed to swipe his lately-been-aloof Lord Clegane.

The boy is fired up; his blood is pumping enough to enable him to cut the black demon's arm off and sequentially pierce it through its heart. Carter does it with a scream and regrets it a moment later; after all, they were in the middle of the woods.

They have to get out of here.

Sandor makes a pained noise. He feels heat surge down his arm and cold shiver up his spine.

"YOU'RE BLEEDING!" Carter gasps, mortified that his lord's armor was scraped off his back. The boy realizes suddenly that his Lord, the fearsome Hound, was not invincible. This newfound truth rips into his ribs the way, he thinks, the monsters would.

The boy immediately takes the Hound in his arms, though it wasn't like he could actually carry him if he wanted. Sandor steadies himself on the boy; Carter struggles even with that task.

Still, the smaller manages to support his Lord out of the woods.

The next thing Sandor knows, he's screaming and thrashing. He vaguely hears the sound of footsteps skidding away from him.

"What's happening, Maester Yannick?!"

A deep sigh, "he probably feels the pain now."

Sandor realizes he's sat down on a stool, leaned against a table, or at least he was before he started flailing his arms around. He lets out a guttural cry as he pushes himself up. He realizes he's in the ward, being attended by the maester, and his wife was present and very troubled.

"My lord!" Yannick exclaims, raising his hands in both surrender and an attempt to soothe, "it's alright. I have stitched your wounds closed. Do not tear them open "

Sandor huffs through his nostrils. He turns to his side when he hears the soft way his name was spoken. Lady Clegane walks closer, hand wanting to reach out to him. He almost reaches back but then she digs her nails into her palms.

He sinks into the stool and watches her look at him. Her eyes are glassy. Why are they always glassy?

"My lord," Yannick walks towards him, "I'm going to wrap your wounds now."

Sandor huffs in agreement, or more accurately, acknowledgement. His eyes are still fixed on her though. He watches her hover around him, evidently unsure about approaching him.

He wants to reach out to her. He wants to touch her, to soothe her so, so badly.

He's shocked when she decides to take his hand and whispers, "shall I get you milk of the poppy?"

Sandor looks up at her. Her voice was shaky and he hates how worried it sounded, how desperate. He hates how her eyes were constantly red. He knits his brows, "no."

She hisses, "are you certain? Your gashes are deep. No one in the world would fault you for wanting something to relieve the pain."

"I want to feel it," he mutters, "I want to feel."

She looks between the two of them in a panic, "but you've lost so much blood--"

"Perhaps," Yannick interrupts firmly. He starts binding his wounds, "he wants to feel precisely because he's light headed after losing blood."

Sandor straightens up slowly as he is instructed to. His attention is solely focused on the sensation on his hand though, on how the jittery squirrel was rubbing her soft fingers on his calloused skin.

She persists with this action until his chest and back is bound, she persists until Maester Yannick leaves the room, she persists until, next moment, she drops on her knees beside him. The Hound reacts in an instant.

He gets on the floor beside her, uncaring how it hurt his back, and clutches her face. He calls her name in horror.

"Are you punishing me?" she whispers as water in her eyes threaten to spill.

Sandor knits his brows deeply. He can't speak. He's too afraid to. Everything he's said up until that point has done nothing but rip them both apart. He was a hound after all.

"Are you trying to kill yourself to get back at me?" she mutters, distressed, pained, and defeated.

His face contorts even more. He hesitates but then shakes his head, "no."

"The boy said you've been acting differently as of late!" she grabs his wrists, "ever since I told you what I wanted from you."

His lips twitch. He looks away.

She tightens her grip, "please."

He is suddenly so acutely aware of his injuries. The pain throbs all the way through his heart.

"Please," she begs softly, "just tell me what you want from me-"

"Everything."

The way he responded was quick, as if it was practiced, as if it was reflex.

He avoids her gaze. He takes a deep breath. He waits for a response he somehow knows will never come.

When he turns to her, he notices how her face dropped. Gods, Sandor. Get it together.

"I want-" he starts but cannot continue because of how guilty he feels over the sight of her wobbling lip.

Sandor's hands loosen. They melt from her cheeks, down her shoulders. He grips the area, as if she was water about to slip through his fingers. He releases a breath, and with it, it seems, his thoughts escape. He mutters somethings that mean nothing. She doesn't understand anything.

She whimpers, "I have nothing left to give; you already have it all."

The Hound freezes when his cheek is touched, when his scar is touched. It's like it's being burned all over again.

"Is there something I can give you now?" she huffs uneasily.

He sighs. He feels the wounds throbbing; he feels his head pounding, "no."

"Then will you let me go now?"

No. No, no, no, no-

"Or, please, at least loosen your grip."

Immediately, Sandor releases her shoulders. She sequentially lets out a breath and rubs the area. There is an imprint on the area of her exposed skin.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck-

"Do you want me to stay?"

Yes. "Do you want to stay?"

"I had planned to finish some errands before going to bed."

Sandor averts his gaze then slowly crawls back to his stool, "then leave."

It almost hurts as much as his cuts how quickly she stands. She looks down at him, "I will leave you to your solidarity."

Please don't go.

"I will tell Maester Yannick to come back to attend to you, Hound."

Hound. It sounds like shattering glass.

Sandor listens to the click of her heels as she leaves him.

906 notes · View notes

daydream-believin · 5 months ago

Text

Like A Boiled Frog (You Don't Even Scream) [ch 1]

[Next Chapter]

notes: might proofread this before i post this to ao3 but here have the raw milk version (pasteurization is for losers amaright)

series summary: every time you think things cant get any more batshit, hurricane throws another pile of guano at you. every time you think the hole cant get any deeper, you fall further. and you’re not sure what frightens you more: the town itself, or your increasing reluctance to leave.

or: au where mike has that pizza shop for wayyy more than a week and you find yourself a horror protagonist. or at least one’s love interest.

chapter summary: get haunted bitch. now go drive to utah in a manic episode. go meet a nice walking corpse, maybe it'll fix you. or make you worse. probably that second thing lmao

word count: 7985, oh dear (thats with me cutting out some stuff lol)

warnings: uh, swearing, manic behavior, self-harmful thoughts/behavior, mention of hallucinations/hearing voices, shit this is sounding bad, i mean its canon typical violence so idk man no lifeguard on duty

You know how in Source Decay, John Darnielle says / I wish the west Texas highway was a mobius strip / I could ride it out forever / when I feel my heart break? / Well, that guy’s a bitchass snake oil salesman for romanticizing this. Fuck that guy.

Although, this is the first time you’ve ever been able to set a cruise control and actually just leave it at that. What with there being no other cars on the road out here at this hour for you to run into. You even forgot about it at one point.

Little puffs of fire danced in your peripheral vision, like fairies flitting about. It was easy to spot them out in the night air, all those pumpjacks that littered the desert. There was nothing but these small fires, with the tiny, dotted additions of the glowing red eyes of windmills to light up the way for miles.

And you tried not to think about how if you broke down, no one would be around to find you. Every now and then you would startle at the shadowy specter of a tumbleweed crossing your path, but you were acutely aware of just how alone you were out here.

On that train of thought, your gaze fell to the passenger side, to the little bear toy you had buckled into a seatbelt like it was a person.

“Can you believe this, Fredbear?” you asked the inanimate object.

Fredbear did not answer, of course. Would be insane if he did, right?

Hmm …Why did part of you expect him to.

***

The august sun was beating down hot on your back as you walked home that day. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but it was only last week.

The neighborhood was as full of life as it always was. The kids running around in a game of tag, the teens playing basketball, and the adults walking their dogs. You could hear some faint music playing in the distance, most likely from the stage setup in the square downtown, not too far away.

There were many yard sales set up, it being the thing to do on a sunny Saturday afternoon like this. Despite your very strong instincts to rummage through all the boxes in these sales like a raccoon looking for dinner in a dumpster, you were broke, with no money to spare for impulse purchases on random junk. And thus, being a mature adult, you walked right past them.

That is, until a yard full of children’s toys caught your eye. One of your cousins’ kids was turning 6 in a few weeks. Might as well buy presents now before you forget again and have to rush to the store in a panic 8 minutes after the party had already started, sweat rolling down your back as you search the toy isle for something the birthday boy would like, while your phone keeps buzzing in your pocket nonstop because both your cousin is texting and your aunt is calling to ask where you’re at because you were the one who was supposed to be picking up the pizza.

I mean, just a hypothetical scenario here.

You didn’t really find anything good as you dug through the bins of miscellaneous action figures and toy cars. As you could recall, the kid really liked Iron Man right now. And sharks. Alas, you found no Iron Mans or sharks in those bins.

The other table’s baskets were full of stuffed animals. You could maybe get lucky and find a stuffed shark in there. But stuffed animals are notorious for being hard to clean; and yard sale plushies sometimes come with more than just one new friend. You weren’t about to be the reason your cousin had to fumigate her house for bedbugs. Again. So, you decided to close this case for now and skedaddle on out of there.

You took another look back at the table as you walked away.

Well.. The toys you could see at the top of the bins did look like they were well taken care of… It couldn’t hurt to just look, right?

Yeah no. You found no sharks unfortunately. What you did find, however, was this funky little teddy bear wearing a top hat and bowtie.

A real character, that one. The bright gold fabric of its body made it stand out amongst the other toys. The smile stitched onto the bear gave it a weird, smug look. And you hadn’t seen a plushy with eyebrows before.

That being said, this thing’s aura was so... unsettling. You stared into its black eyes, that seemed to stare right back at you, with a strange feeling twisting in the pit of your stomach.

“You like that one, do ya?”

You almost jumped out of your skin when the old man running the sale spoke to you. You had Not heard him come up beside you like that. Creepy.

“Yeah, it’s…” you tried to think of a positive word, “very intriguing. Looks like it’s ready for a party.”

“My granddaughter called him Fredbear. Found him over in Utah, many years back. In a yard sale, just like this one,” he gently took the bear from you, and looked down at it wistfully, “My granddaughter.. liked how smartly dressed he was. A perfect guest for her tea parties. You were right about that…”

The old man stared at the doll for a little longer after the conversation faded. You felt extremely awkward now. Perhaps you really should have just left without unearthing this obvious sentimental piece.

“My grandchildren are no longer here with me,” you felt a little uncomfortable with how he phrased that, “so, I’ll tell you what. Promise me you’ll take care of him, and he’s yours. Free of charge.”

“Oh, I couldn’t. I’d be happy to pay for him, really,” you felt bad taking free stuff from the elderly.

“No,” he said with a tone of finality, placing the bear firmly into your hands, “the day’s almost over. I’d like to help this old friend move on. It’s time.”

Well that somehow was both sweet and foreboding at the same time.

So, you thanked the old man and started back on your walk home, Fredbear cradled in your arms. He waved goodbye to you. The grandfather, of course, not the teddy bear.

You probably aren’t going to wind up giving this one to your cousin’s son. There was something about it that told you not to. Maybe it was the way the old man talked about it. You felt compelled to take care of the plush yourself. Kind of like an honor thing. Or a pity thing.

It smelled a little funky. But that’s nothing a little TLC couldn’t handle. And some dish soap.

Maybe you were just. Feeling a bit childish lately. Too small and easily broken. Moved to tears by little things that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Disregarded and treated like your fears weren’t real.

Deeply afraid.

Yeah, you’d give Fredbear a nice soak in the sink with a fun dish soap bubble bath. And maybe after that, you’ll both feel a little better.

You were alone in your apartment that night, as your roommate was always gone these days. And when you made your tea, you brought Fredbear a mug as well. A little tea party, for old time’s sake.

Looking back, maybe that was your first mistake.

***

Static rolled from your radio. You gave up on fiddling with it hours ago, but you’ve got nothing better to occupy your mind now.

You turned the knob absentmindedly, never really expecting to get anywhere. Or any signal, that is. A muffled country song here, the broken-up voice of a DJ there, nothing strong enough to stay for more than a few seconds. However, a few seconds of a clear transmission was all you really needed when you rolled past a certain signal.

“zZz-Hurricane—“

Now that was a word that got your attention. Not that you were anywhere near the coast at the moment. You know, unless the person reading this is looking to buy some oceanside property in Arizona. In that case feel free to slide into my DMs.

“zZZ-Peach Days! -Zz celebratio— zzZ-year—peaches peach—-ZzzZ-Heritage-zZ,” you let your gaze flicker downward, towards the dimly lit red text of the frequency number display as if that would provide some more insight.

And then suddenly, the fuzz was completely gone, as if you were near the tower itself,

“So Hurry On To Hurricane City!” the spokesman encouraged cheerfully. You could practically here the giant pageant smile in his voice as he delivered his slogan. This man was your friend, obviously. Then, however, his tone shifted as he closed the ad copy, “Because you know the party can’t start without you…”

You held your breath as the silence dragged out a few agonizing seconds, until “ZZZZZZZZ!!!”, in a jolt, the transmission went completely out. Explosively. You even flinched.

You stayed on the station for a good twenty minutes after that, waiting to see if you could hear anything again. You could feel your heart pound against your ribs until the terrifying feeling faded. There was nothing else but static, of course, and for so long you almost thought you must have imagined it. If not for the way those dull words repeated in your head, over and over.

THE PARTY CAN’T START WITHOUT YOU.

You hadn’t really had a destination in mind when you took off. No goal other than to get out of there as fast as you could manage. The idea of the West had been bouncing around your brain a lot lately, hence your current trajectory, but you really hadn’t had a clue where you were supposed to be going when you left.

I mean, you still didn’t have a destination. You had no clue what that advertisement was even about. Where they were even fucking talking about. Hurricane City?

Yet, somehow, you knew those words were meant for you. Not anyone else. you. There was a party and the party was waiting for you.

Guess you’d have to look for a map or something in town. Perhaps use the library computer. Man, you would regret throwing your phone into the lake in a fit of passion as you left town, but honestly, this is the longest you’ve known peace in quite some time. Just gonna have to live a little retro for a while. Not the worst thing in the world.

You’ll get a new one later, once you’ve settled in to… wherever you’re going. Whatever new home lies over that horizon for you, you guess.

The sun was breaching the beige skyline of sandy shrub brush as you finally rolled over the state line. You needed to eat. Your stomach growled loudly at just the thought. Funny. You hadn’t even thought about eating in the last.. twenty hours. Which means you should be absolutely shaking right now. Yeah, that’s why you’re shaking. That’s it. You’ll pull into the first diner you see.

You were hoping to at least be in Roswell for breakfast, but there was no way your body was going to be able to keep running if you waited that long. Looks like it’s just going to be the first place you come across.

Hopefully they don’t put green chilis in their pancakes or something.

That sounds insane but it’s an actual thing you’ve seen before in this state, trust. There are no laws nor gods when it comes to Hatch green chilis.

***

Your sleepy brain was not ready for the bell that rang as you walked through the door. Embarrassingly enough, the tinny noise startled you. You almost tripped, to be honest. Thankfully your wobbly Bambi legs held up as you managed to catch yourself.

The hostess wasn’t in sight as you awkwardly stood in the entrance, but there was a whole heap of noise coming from the kitchen.

“Hold on just a second, Sweetpea!” a voice called out to you.

Well, guess you’re holding on a second.

Your eyes scanned the top of the walls, perusing the vast cookie jar collection that the owner had accrued over the years. They were never dusted, despite being on shelves that lined the top of every wall in the tiny shack of a diner, and thus you could easily tell that a few new additions had been made. You know, because those cookie jars were way less filthy.

That’s gotta be a heath-code violation.

After you heard a bit of garbled yelling, the hostess rushed out to take her place in front of you. Smoothing down her polka-dotted apron, she grinned at you.

“Table for two?”

You blinked. It was too early in the morning for fully intelligent speech.

“Uh. No. Just me today. Thank you.”

Her big, bedazzled cat-eyeglasses fell a little farther down her nose as she scrunched her face in confusion, “alright then. Just the one of you today...”

She grabbed a paper menu as she led your shambling body to a table near the window. Which was shut away with ancient looking vinyl blinds that you were too afraid to open, lest they crumble and the cost of replacing them be put on your on tab.

She had already disappeared back into the kitchen by the time you got yourself in a seat. You glanced around the room. You weren’t the only patron here, as a few tables held a few bodies, but you were the only one without your face buried in a newspaper. And to be expected honestly, you were the youngest person in the room at seven in the morning.

The hostess, who was also the only waitress in this tiny local business, placed two glasses in front of you. The dull sound they made hitting the table drew you out of your revelry. There before you were two cups, a steaming mug of fresh coffee and a short glass of milk. You looked up in confusion.

“Don’t worry, it’s whole milk. Builds strong bones.”

That... wasn’t your concern.

You looked back at the cup in confusion and by the time you turned back, she had already moved on to the next table, refilling mugs and having loud banter with the other customers. Her regulars, by the sound of it. You felt too apathetic to try and call her over again.

You shrugged, to no one in particular, as you did not have a breakfast partner with you, despite the waitress’s insistence otherwise. Wait, was she mocking you? Eh, maybe it’s just supposed to be for the coffee. Nevertheless, you would not be drinking the milk, so you just left it there.

Despite the prevalence of the local newspaper in the room, there wasn’t a dispenser or anything at the front of the restaurant, like there usually is. As you drummed your fingers on the tablecloth, bored out of your mind, you kinda regretted throwing your phone in the lake a bit more. Maybe not the best of moves.

But hey, at least you aren’t constantly quelling the incessant buzzing you’d be hearing if you’d kept it.

You busied yourself stirring your coffee while you looked over the menu again, just for something to read. Of course, you were ordering a waffle. Because this was a diner, and, yeah, you do like waffles. And pancakes. And French toast. Doodoodoodoo can’t wait to get a mouthful.

That voice kept echoing in your mind. The party can’t start without you.

“More coffee, Babycakes?” the waitress snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Oh! Yeah, thank you,” you moved the mug to the edge of the table, closer to her, “Say… I know this is an out-of-pocket question, but have you heard anything about Hurricane City? Maybe something about peaches?”

“Oh!” she snapped her fingers, “You mean the Peach Days. It’s a little heritage festival they put on every summer in Hurricane, you know. It’s a hoot, my family makes a trip out there every few years or so for it. Not this time of course, clearly, since I’m here talkin’ to you and not in Utah—”

“In Utah?”

Of course, it was Fucking Utah again.

“I know it’s soundin’ far, but it’s only ‘bout a day’s drive from here. Two days if y’ain’t crazy about following an itinerary like my husband,” she brushed a hand over her apron before you lost her attention to the other customers, “I swear that man would plan out a schedule for every second of the day if he could…”

After she wandered off to go top off more mugs, you lamented the fact that you still hadn’t ordered yet. That’s what you get for being nosy about peach festivals, you suppose.

Thankfully though, soon enough you had your hearty breakfast and were back in front of the wheel, on your way to the friendly neighborhood Walmart. Where hopefully no cops or employees would bother you as you crashed in the parking lot.

You took Fredbear to the backseat with you for good luck. Maybe it was the gold color, or the fancy getup he had. Maybe you just needed a cuddle buddy to not feel so alone in this parking lot swarming with people.

Much to your disdain, it was now a bit into the morning hours, and the sun was fully up.

You had tried to find as shady a spot as possible, but it’s not exactly like trees grow in this biome. At least not naturally. Windbreak tree lines were definitely a thing, but those protected buildings people cared about, and this was a Walmart. Nothing around here but concrete, rocks spray painted blue, and cigarette butts.

So after tossing and turning in the bright blinding sunshine for way longer than you should have, and making promises to higher deities was proven to be unfruitful in your attempt to find some semblance of peace, you finally just had to admit defeat. And here by rescinding any aforementioned promises to higher powers.

You laid Fredbear back down on the seat and tucked him in with the blanket when you got back up. At least one of you could be cozy and well rested. Unfortunately, it wasn’t going to be you, however.

Well, it’s far from the first all-nighter you’ve pulled without having time to take a nap during the following day. Sleep deprivation isn’t real, silly. Teachers just made that up to scare you. It’ll be fine.

***

You know you never really realize how much we structure our lives around other humans until you take a drive through the middle of nowhere. How essential it is to have enough gas to make it to the next town. From town to town, your life becomes segments. Only within the eyesight of other humans are you ever safe. Only within the bounds of the settlement can your soul be settled.

Gas stations become oases. Which is the plural of oasis, apparently. Anyway, you start seeing them like mirages. Dingey, weather-worn gas pumps become as good as a sparkling illusion of precious water in the Sahara. The empty shells of buildings you passed by, long since forgotten, became like mausoleums in these graveyard towns. Villages. Hamlets. Mostly hamlets.

“Are we there yet?” a small and very annoyed voice called out.

You had just written it off as your imagination until you heard the noise of shuffling fabric. Normally your audio hallucinations aren’t that detailed. Paralyzed, you held your breath, not daring to make any noise that would distract your ears from hearing whoever, whatever, was in the back seat. Your mind went to stories of skinwalkers and misshapen monsters and hitch-hiking serial killers.

“… Are we there yet?” the voice repeated, admittedly sounding even smaller to you now.

Yep, that’s a real person alright. Or a real thing. Your eyes were probably bloodshot from the way you haven’t blinked this entire time, just staring straight ahead on the desert highway. Taking a deep, shaky breath to steady yourself, you turned down the rear-view mirror…

Christ almighty. You had a stowaway.

Your stomach turned immediately. God, come on now, don’t puke up what little you had on your stomach. You need that.

“Hey Buddy,” you tried to sound as friendly as you could, “What’s your name?”

Clad in a little striped shirt and cargo shorts, he started kicking his feet in impatience, which would be cute if it weren’t for this situation y’all are in, and the adrenaline pumping through your veins, “We’ve been in here forever,” he whined.

If this was a skinwalker, he was a pretty darn adorable one. And definitely not a hitch-hiking serial killer. At least you hoped. But no, this was a greater form of terror: responsibility.

“Haha, yeah, we have been in here really long, haven’t we? How long do you think we’ve been driving, can you tell me?”

When did you pick up this child. When you got gas in Gallup? Albuquerque? Dear lord, if he’s been in here since Roswell, you’re about to have the world’s biggest headache on your hands, both metaphorically and physically. But there’s no way he’s been in here for fucking 10 hours, right? right??

Okay, okay. Maybe you’re just a little panicky right now and not thinking straight. Maybe teachers hadn’t been making up sleep deprivation just to scare you after all. You have been purposely not drinking anything for the lack of available restrooms. People get dehydration hallucinations, right?

The boy just stared at you, blankly. Probably fully realizing you were a stranger and not whoever he thought you were. In lieu of answering you, he started fidgeting more with the toy bear you had had in the back. You really hoped that hadn’t been what lured him into your station wagon in the first place.

Don’t be getting shy on me now, kid.

You put your blinker on, ready to merge off the road and onto an incoming rest-stop that you thanked your lucky stars for.

“Honey, can you tell me what your phone number is?”

He looked up at you, finally tearing his attention from the bear, and you could see gears turning in his head.

“…435-555-1987?”

You repeated it back to him, and he nodded. Alright, time to find that payphone.

Said rest-stop payphone was thankfully near a picnic table so you could sit him down and be able to watch him carefully the whole time you made this call. Because judging by the fact this situation was happening at all, he was a slippery one.

You got out of the car and opened the back door, but he was hesitant to get out. Which, fair, you are a stranger trying to get him to a second location.

“What’s up, Bud?” you tried your hardest to not sound like a predator but boy was that a real nebulous idea, wasn’t it?

“Fredbear wants to come too,” he mutters.

“Well, sure then, let’s bring him, we’ll have a little picnic.” With no food, but hey, whatever lie it takes to get him sitting on that bench.

It was really cute the way the kid set the bear down on the table and positioned it like they were going to have a picnic together. When you find this kid’s parents, you’ll let him keep Fredbear. Toys like it when they’re given to new children, right? Wasn’t there a movie about that or something. Wincing at the grubbiness of the payphone, you reluctantly dialed the number.

“Hello, Jeff’s Pizza on Main St, are you ready to order?”

You closed your eyes, counting the seconds as you breathed in for 4 seconds, held it for 7, and released for 8.

“Hello? Are you there?”

“Yes!” you practically shouted into the receiver. So much for calming down, “please don’t hang up,” you pleaded.

“Listen, we don’t take solicitation,”

“No, uh, sorry. I’ve found a lost child who told me this was his number. Is the owner of this restaurant by chance frantically looking for their son?”

You heard some muffled conversation happening behind the phone, “Well, no, I don’t even have any kids… and I uh, am currently understaffed. Im the only one here.”

you cursed under your breath.

“Uh, alright, well…” you could tell this was getting really awkward for him.

“Could you tell me where y’all are, I’m unfamiliar with the area code,”

“Uh, Hurricane, Utah?”

… If you weren’t on the phone, you fucking swear you’d be screeching at the top of your lungs like a chimpanzee right now.

“Thank you, you know, just in case he’s just remembering an advertisement he’s seen or something,”

“Oh, okay,” there was a pause, “well I hope you find the parents or, whoever,”

“Thank you,” you’ll put him out of his misery and hang up.

“Are you sure that’s your number, Hon?”

“Uh-huh,”

“Why don’t you tell me it again, maybe I dialed it wrong,”

“435-5--” his face scrunched up in concentration, “435-555—I don’t know…”

You tried not to look visibly stressed at this answer.

“Do you know where you live?”

He moved the bears paws along with whatever little game he was playing, before looking up at you, head tilted in confusion, “Hurricane?”

Okay. Police time. If not for him, for you. The skinwalker possibility just went back up. Because, honestly, he had to have gotten in your car as a coyote or something. No way you wouldn’t’ve noticed a whole ass child entering your car.

“How does ice cream sound, huh Buddy?”

“I want ice cream!” he said hastily as if you’d change your mind if he hesitated.

“Ice cream it is then, but only if you’re good for me and the officers, okay? And tell them everything you can remember. You’re smart, right?”

“Uh-huh,”

“Great,” you smiled over clenched teeth.

After herding him back into the car, you had to take a moment to gently rest your head into the steering wheel. And it took everything within you to not smash said head into it. Or scream in agony. No, no, we mustn’t scare the child.

Tuba City wasn’t too far away. The police station was downtown, as most are. Luckily, across the street there was a paleteria with a courtyard area. The little guy got very excited when you got pulled into the parking space, so eh, what the hell, ice cream first. Maybe after a treat and some playtime in the courtyard he won’t be as wiggly and will be able to tell the cops what he knows about just where the hell he came from.

The noise of the bell chiming made you flinch as you two walked into the paleteria. You hadn’t thought you were that tightly wound right now but apparently you were wrong. The lady behind the counter greeted you warmly, and you responded in turn, trying to play it cool.

God, imagine if she got an off-vibe from you and the kid and called over the police from across the street before you even have a chance—

Deep breath. Okay. The kid you had started referring to in your head as just “Little Boy” was leaned against the display case, his breath fogging up the glass in front of him and probably leaving little handprints for the shopkeeper to clean later.

“I’m sorry about that,”

“That’s… Okay. What can I get you?” she seemed a little confused. Strange, but you brushed past it just as quickly as she did.

“Ah, what do we want?” you asked Little Boy.

He excitedly tugged on your pantleg and pointed to the popsicle he wanted, looking up at you with puppy dog eyes. He doesn’t need to convince you, but you quickly realized you were not going to be able to say no to any else after this if he deployed the same cute begging look.

“One of those cute little Tweety Bird faces,” you pointed.

“Anything else?” she handed you the popsicle and you gingerly took it.

“Nah, that’s it” you were too nauseous to eat right now.

You paid, throwing the change into the tip jar, and turned to give Little Boy the popsicle she handed you. The words caught in your throat as you looked down to find your pantleg absent of any tugging by any Little Boy. You quickly scanned the tiny paleteria. He was nowhere to be found, anywhere in the room.

“Uh, did you see where the kid went?” you tried not to sound too panicked.

She was taken aback, also quickly looking around the room to find no one, before shaking her head, “Did you have a kid with you?”

You furiously nodded in confusion,

“I’m sorry, then I didn’t see them,” she pointed to the glass door that led to the courtyard only a few feet away from y’all, “Try outside, maybe?”

You burst outside, searching the area in a panic, but you couldn’t see him anywhere. Not hidden in the tangle of the garden, not splashing around in the fountain, not at, under, on top of, or around any of the tables.

You went to call his name, but your voice caught in your throat when you realized you didn’t have a name to call. And.

And.

Something hit your shirt. A water droplet. You looked up into the clear, blinding blue sky. Your nerves tickled as another droplet ran down your cheek. Oh, you were crying. Huh.

You took the closet seat you could find, counting the things processed by your 5 senses. It’s all you could do to not start bawling for no reason. Maybe you’ll calm down and be able to think straight soon.

Why can’t you think straight? Everything feels so fuzzy.

You should be terrified, and in a way, you were. In your heart of hearts, you knew the truth: Little Boy wasn’t real. Or at least turned back into a coyote and ran off.

As you stared vacantly into the open air, you realized you still had a dripping popsicle in your hands. Supposedly “Tweety Bird” shaped, it just looked like a yellow skull missing its mandible bone to you. How fitting.

You pulled it to your mouth. Yum. Tasted like AAAAAAAA. Or orange, according to the package.

Attempting to lick the melted yellow liquid off of your hand, you accidentally stuck the ice pop on your face. Great. Now you’re sticky all over.

God, you’ve really gone and lost your fucking marbles this time, haven’t you.

There was a bulletin kiosk a few feet down your field of vision. On that bulletin kiosk was an old poster, barely visible as it was buried under layers of other flyers. It caught your eye and seemed to burn your retinas. What little you could see was the word Freddy and part of what looked like a version of the bear you’d been toting around this whole little expedition, but that was enough.

Something clicked. You looked down at the bear hanging by your side in your other hand. The kid had shoved it into your arms so he could more easily lean on the display case, right before he disappeared the very moment you took your eyes off of him.

You know, you hadn’t really felt alone since bringing Fredbear home. And not in a good way.

Guess the name you should’ve been calling was Freddy.

You had to get rid of that bear.

***

You had been walking home like you always did, same route. But you noticed something peculiar about this time. The house that the old man had his yard sale in was now stripped of all decoration, with a For Sale sign proudly standing in the grass. No cars, and no blinds or curtains on the windows, so you could see into the den which was now devoid of any furniture.

You’ll admit it, you crept around to the other windows, searching for any signs of life at all in the empty rooms. None. No furniture, no people, no trash. The yard sale was yesterday. How did they clean this place out so thoroughly in the short amount of time between when you’d seen it last and now.

A little confuddled, you went home as usual. While strange as hell, this wasn’t a missing person’s case or anything. And it’s probably why the man was so adamant on giving you Fredbear because it was the end of the day. He had a deadline. He was skipping town.

God, you wished you could just skip town.

You frankly thought nothing of it when you unlocked the door to your apartment to see Fredbear was already seated on the couch, like he was all set to marathon whatever 30-year-old cartoon you wound up watching that night. And it’s not like your roommate hadn’t done something like this before, move a stuffed animal or action figure into a funny position for you to find later.

You hadn’t seen him much lately. Or like, at all. The only reason you knew he was still alive were the dirty dishes in the sink, dirty clothes on the floor of the bathroom, and the aforementioned moving the bear around.

Looking back now, was he moving the bear around?

If you locked the deadbolt that can’t be unlocked from the outside, you’d be guaranteed to catch him in person for once. But you weren’t willing to go through the trouble and emotional toil of doing that, however.

In the name of feeling less like a ghost haunting your own home, getting yelled at for intentionally locking your roommate out might be a wee bit counterproductive. Sure, you’d be seen and spoken to, but the harshness of his words and tone would send you into a worse episode than you were already in.

Well, at least Fredbear seemed ready to keep you company tonight...

The fact that they put unskippable advertisements on streaming services you’re paying for in the first place is criminal. Or at least regular cable tv in a trenchcoat.

You got a drink while they prattled on about luxury cars you couldn’t afford and real estate companies you weren’t going to have the privilege of patroning any time soon. Embarrassingly, as you poured the pitcher of water into a glass, you got a little distracted.

The cheap glass’s glass was only about a millimeter or two thick. You could easily just crush this cup in your hand, in one swift movement. The muscles of your arm began tensing up at the thought.

But thankfully, a loud, blaring advertisement coming from the TV snapped you out of it. And so, you promptly decided to Not Do That, because picking all of those tiny glass shards out of your flesh would be a bitch. And that was not how you wanted to spend a perfectly good Sunday night. And of course you didn’t need the questions at work tomorrow.

You returned to the couch, curiously, and you swear, that damn teddy bear followed you with its eyes. Even though they were a shiny, solid black, and the idea itself would be insane.

As you settled back down, you grabbed the remote to turn down the volume of the cheery music playing. Mysteriously, it wasn’t just a commercial with bad sound mixing, the TV itself had been turned up. Now that it had your attention, the thing that was being sold to you seemed to the state of Utah. You know, those Visit [X] ads that were commonly played between cooking shows and ghost hunting documentaries.

“Oh hey, you’re from there, right?” you poked at fredbear. And immediately felt pathetic. God, you’ve got to stop talking to inanimate objects and like get a boyfriend or something. Geez.

The imagery on the screen was just, you know, normal southwest stock footage:

A drone shot of Zion national park

Old men golfing

Owls living in holes they’ve dug into cactuses

Rock archways

A family laughing as they shared a pizza being served to them by a man in a bear suit that looked just fredbear,

“Oh, well there you are, I guess.” you once again absent-mindedly spoke to your toy friend.

Kids swimming in a fancy resort pool

A Navajo cultural event

More rock archways and red sandstone cliffs

Kids crowding around a claw machine filled with toys just like the one sitting next to you

Kids crowding around a stage as an animatronic band played

Kids crowding around a birthday cake, the light of candles bouncing off their faces as they sang along…

The fake sounding voice of the announcer rung out, “Visit Utah! You know the party can’t start without you!”

Your mouth felt dry. Good thing you now had that glass of water.

***

Of course, you did what any smart, sane person would do and feverishly ripped through the layers of old flyers to get to the advertisement for what you now knew was Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Place. A themed diner and nickel arcade that made most of their money hosting birthday parties, by the looks of it. You knew the type; you had been an American child once too.

Good thing none of the cops were hanging around outside to fine you for littering, because the amount of paper you just released into the breeze was in fact criminal.

There was a short list of locations at the bottom of the poster. They had a few scattered over Utah, or at least they used to, judging by the harsh weathering of this poster. The closest one being in Bigwater, explaining why this poster was out here in Tuba. But the word Hurricane stood out to you like it was lit up in neon. It burned like sunlight.

It appears you are in fact on your way to Hurricane, Utah. As if you didn’t know that already at this point, you being out on the canyon rim instead of your much preferred and beloved Rockies. Well, congratulations bitch. You’ve only got another three hours to go. Better get going. Have fun!

***

Oh, this place was creepy as hell. Or it’s just late at night, and you’re sleep deprived and paranoid. In the spirit of being honest to yourself, ‘sleep deprived and paranoid’ has always been your natural state of being, but right now it’s definitely ramped up to an eleven.

But even though it’s been close to 48 hours since your last brain-reset, this place still had a certain energy about it. Like New Orleans, or the woods around lynching bridges did. That spooky oh I am Not Safe here type of energy.

The gas station-man gave you a real weird look when you stormed in and asked where the Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Place was. Normally you would’ve chalked it up to you being a clear foreigner asking for directions as if it’s 1995, to a children’s arcade close to midnight nonetheless, but now you weren’t so sure.

You eyed the fridge full of wine in pint sized bottles and little juice cartons. But nah, you probably needed to have a quick reaction time to whatever was waiting for you in this Venus flytrap you’re willingly walking into. You grabbed a Monster instead and you know what, yeah, that probably wasn’t the best decision either. If you weren’t high strung before, you definitely were now. You felt like you could punch a bear. A Freddy Fazbear.

You bought a local map alongside the energy drink, feeling like you were gonna need it. Man, low-tech was actually kinda annoying after a while. You got the gas station-man to begrudgingly mark Fazbear’s down onto it for you. Apparently, it and all other locations within town had closed down some twenty years ago. Not many people are still around who remember why, he said, but it had something to do with the faulty animatronics. Teenagers told ghost stories and dared each other to spend the whole night in the dining room. But otherwise, beyond the rumors, the original Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Place was just an empty, scorched building. And the other various locations like Jr’s or Circus Baby’s had been sold off, passing so many hands who knows what businesses were in there now. But you could still kinda tell, if you paid attention, in the same way you can tell if something used to be a Pizza Hut.

What you really wanted, according to gas station-man, whose nametag read Gary, was this new location that was opening soon, simply named Freddy’s Pizzeria. It’s set to open for business in September, so you’re lucky. He marked it one your map as well.

You don’t know why Gary was so nice to you. Maybe it was the harrowed look in your eyes. Maybe it was the twitchiness. Maybe Gary is just very bored of this tourist town and was looking to fall madly in love with a random troubled soul he met at midnight in a gas station and would wind up running away with to some far-off place. If that was the case, sorry Gary. You were too busy with the metaphorical torture labyrinth to care about romance at the moment.

You couldn’t decide if the haunted Fredbear would want to see an old location or the new one. You asked, but of course the fucker didn’t answer. Just sat there with his smug grin and glassy eyes that followed your hand movements. So, you quite literally tossed a coin. A new mint, the face side had Eleanor Roosevelt on it. And she marked the fact that you were going to try the new location first, and then try the original building next. Cool.

***

Your patience was kinda at its limit here, you’ll admit. You really should get some sleep soon. Or eat. Since you were hellbent on getting here and nothing else, the only thing on your stomach besides that wretched Tweety Bird popsicle is half a monster energy. Guess you’ll go by a fucking Denny’s after this. If you survive.

If you were going to die horrifically, you’d really rather the forces that be make it snappy. This was getting ridiculous.

You pulled into the parking lot. The building clearly wasn’t new but had been freshly painted. Nothing creepy so far. As you stared down the building, sizing it up, you noticed there was one car parked in the front, and a few of the windows were lit up.

Cool, so there was someone in there. Great. That makes, well whatever this is, much harder.

The door was locked.

You could hear music playing from inside. You banged on the door as loudly as you could manage, and it still took a couple of minutes before the music stopped. And then a very disgruntled man in coveralls was in the doorway, tiredly asking just what the fuck you wanted at this time of night.

He smiled to cover up his rudeness, but the smile stretched a little too wide, inhumanly wide, and a shiver ran down your spine.

You took him in, unashamedly raking your eyes over his form. He stood awkwardly, as if ready to bolt at any moment. What you could see of his build made him out to be weirdly skinny. That unnaturally wide smile gave way to some exposed teeth on the left side of his face. His eyes were shadowed by his bangs in the backlight of the door, but you swore they almost glowed themselves. His complexion was greyish and bordered on almost purple in this lighting.

Despite all this, he was still pretty handsome. Well, you did always think some of those creepypasta guys were boyfriend material. Maybe, you wouldn’t mind getting chopped up into little pieces if this guy was the one doing it. Okay, and maybe you’ve been sleeplessly chasing ghosts too long.

Startling you, he reached his hand to grab your shoulder, a little too fast.

“Hey mate, are you okay?” He asked nervously,

It snapped you out of your stupor, realizing you had yet to say a word to him, “Uh, yes, I just wanted to…”

How do you even fucking ask this. “Hey, can I bring a stuffed bear to your dining room so maybe it’s spirit will leave me alone? Maybe conduct a séance or something?” Seriously, did you even know what you were doing here? Shit. Okay.

“I wanted to ask if I could check out your facility?” came out like a question because even you had no clue what you were saying.

“Come back tomorrow in the daylight, then,” he began closing the door, shaking his head in annoyance, “or perhaps when we’re actually open.”

“NO!” you slammed your foot into the door as he closed it, “AAGH!”

“Jesus Christ! WHY.”

Dear lord, this man now 100% thinks you’re a crackhead.

“Just, don’t close that door, okay,” his brows scrunched together as you grit your teeth to swallow down the pain, “I need you to help me.”

“I really don’t have any money to spar--”

“I’M HERE BECAUSE OF A GHOST,” you interrupted. Finally, you managed to get that out somehow, if nonsensical.

A look of recognition flickered in his glowing eyes. He lowered into your space, kind of intimidatingly. Or intimately. Yeah, no, this was hostile, don’t fool yourself.

“What kind of ghost,” he asked suspiciously.

“Uh,” shit, okay, “the weird, haunted doll kind? Uh, like the ones the McElroy brothers are always bidding on on eBay. Or maybe this is kind of a Ben Drowned kinda situation, I’m not completely sure.”

He blinked, “okay, I only understood a few of those words, but—”

“It’s a Freddy teddy bear that really wanted me to take it to Hurricane, okay?” You really were at the end of your rope at the moment, “I have literally driven here for days straight on no sleep and barely any food and I need this Unauthorized Fucking Thing to find it’s eternal peace or kill me in some horrible way so I can hurry up and get on with my goddamn life,”

“Uh, see… the thing is,” he started to retreat back again, slowly moving his hands like he was trying to calm down a spooked animal.

You realized what was about to happen, and it must have been visible in your eyes, since his huge unnatural placating smile returned,

“I actually don’t want anything to do with that, sooo…”

“PLEASE—” you reached out in blind panic, but he dodged it. (now if only you could’ve dodged the scooper like that Mikey)

The door slammed in your face.

Your breathing was ragged and fogged up the glass as he locked it again. You stared up at those glowing pinprick pupils of his as he gave you an apologetic little wave goodbye. And then he fucking made a big show of pointing at the closed sign before turning tail to disappear back into the darkness of the empty restaurant.

Okay.

Just a little setback. You’ll go to the older location first, now, and come back when this asshole is sleeping. Can’t be too hard to bust out one of those windows, and you doubt he has an alarm set up already. It’s his fault, really. If he didn’t want property damage, then he should’ve just let you in. Not like you haven’t warned him that you were desperate or anything.

Just gonna go to the other location. You’ve got your map, you’ve got a tank full of gas, and you’ve got chutzpah.

Now what you don’t have? Is a car that will start.

#michael afton x reader #mike shmidt x reader #fnaf x reader #fnaf #michael afton #michael afton x male reader #i mean its gender neutral but just so my fellow boys know it's safe here. there will be no 'sweet girl' ever. god.#fnaf fanfic #five nights at freddy's #my writing #i dont even remember how to tag these things anymore lol

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cirqosmos · 10 months ago

Text

untitled project, corpse bride (teaser)

author's note. a jungwon 7k oneshot corpse bride inspired with him as a 'psycho serial killer butchering everyone in the train' i did since a year ago, but im not satisfied with it yet but here's a teaser! i haven't written in awhile so it might be crusty rusty lol but yep it will be out this month, hopefully ♡ trying to get back into my momentum.

warning. subtle graphic description of murder, gore. / excessive tagging wouldn't be used but a tagging system of playing card symbols i've created so please read at your own discretion when the full fic is out.

Horrendous. Awful.

Not quite like the picture perfect image he had been fantasising about whenever he'd like to.

But he likes it, more than he would like to.

Awfully likes it.

He just needs to fix it a little more. Just a bit would do.

A bride on her merry way down the aisle of promised vows of happily ever after, a sweetened pursed up glossed lips and irises, couldn't she grow any more sweeter than this? Perhaps, it could. But to him, your shattered delicate state was much more sweet than he could taste, he could even sniff it into his soul—dark, dark, terribly dark soul.

Your bouquet, strip to nothingness where restorations could no longer be made was evident with madness. Or was he, the madness in itself? Perhaps, it is. What is there to deny?

Now the question is, what happened? Was it an arranged marriage on the foundation of a million bucks or perhaps even better, a mine of gold? Or was it actually true love at first sight? A runaway bride with her lover but was unfortunately shot to his death, or maybe, maybe fell to his death down the cliff? Or was it betrayal?

Which one is it?

Which one did actually happen that it has this tremendous effect in making this sweet of a delicate bride stranded somewhere in the city, boarding a train in all her fleeting gloriousness that was all for her cherished husband-to-be to relished on?

How amusing.

Where did your smile go? Your pitch black mascara smeared, tainted with pearl tears. Glossed lips now chapped and dry. The overall makeover he was sure took a horrendous amount of preparation was replaced with an image of a decomposing corpse bride.

But he likes it.

Of course it would, why wouldn't he?

He wouldn't need to go through the tremendous hassle of butchering another one when you're all here, all ready to be his next corpse bride in collection.

It just needs a little more, a little more — effort.

To make you his perfect corpse bride.

Silence.

Nothing came.

Only a deafening silence in constant rhythm of beats, accompanied by (Name)'s rampant heart as the main vocal. The train's intercom and the sound of the train tracks was what served as the instruments, side vocals by the distant screaming ahead the carriage.

All of it, the entire piece of orchestration of all led by the conductor with his baton. However, the conductor was eerily silent. Weirdly, horrifyingly silent.

"Whose bride do we got here?"

A hiccup escape from the bride's throat as soon as those words reverberated from the conductors lips.

Amused by the unusual sight you don't often see everyday especially while boarding a train, the man let's put a satisfying groan as he sat down facing the bride, comfying himself for another break session.

He's sitting down? Are you fucking serious right now?!That particular sentence echoes beneath everyone's mind in varying volumes and expressions. No one knows how long will it take. But everyone was sure as hell didn't want him to sit that long.

Get lost. Just get fucking lost!

But one should know that one single wrong step is only a foolish's mistake.

Therefore, it was a silent agreement of all;

To stay still.

Do not anger the lion.

Or perhaps, the conductor if we were being classy here.

"Since you didn't hear it, I'll repeat my question," Jungwon grins behind the cat mask, "Where's your husband?"

An orchestration of a bloodbath; scream once, your head gone. Try to run, don't bother, just crawl. But Jungwon wouldn't mind a bit letting your head stay intact a little more, he just thought you would look a lot sweeter with your delicate face and piece of dress splattered with the perfect ingredient.

#enhypen scenarios #enhypen oneshots #enha scenarios #enha oneshots #enha x reader #jungwon x reader #yang jungwon #jungwon oneshots #enha imagines #yang jungwon x reader

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bloopitynoot · 4 months ago

Text

Reading SVSSS: Chapter 6

For those who don't know, I am reading SVSSS for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag bloopitynoot reads SVSSS. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read.

Here we are on book 2!

I took a couple days off because my body was perishing (read: my uterus was being a little bitch) but I am back :D

Today's tea is an apple crumble with milk and sugar and my little reading buddy (Charlie) has returned for this chapter Extra Needy and sporting his new necktie.

Let's get into this long chapter:

And we start three years later! I was wondering if there was going to be a time jump and there is! :) p9

Why is everyone so thirsty in this world RE: Ning YingYing p10

Oh dang. I really want to know what's making people melt into skeletons p13

Shen Qingqiu is such a vibe" I know I am physically useless, but i'm also a walking encyclopedia so I bring that to the party" p14 honestly same

So many corpses in the water!! p18

Oh shit, what the heck Wu Chen's legs? p22

RE: Wu Chen I did lol at "Great Master, you call this a bit uncomfortable?!" p 22

this totally feels more like a curse than a standard plague p24

why am I laughing so hard at "fuck me, with this speed, they wouldn't lose to a runner doing the 100-metre hurdles! 'Old Lady'? Yeah right! I must be blind!"p26

oooo! Gongyi Xiao is back! p28

Baby is back too!! Luo Binghe! pp29-31

omg and now there is a height difference! Shen qinqgiu being the smol one p32

Re: on the subject of thinking it was a curse like 15 pages ago, it is not a curse. I don't know why I thought it would be literally anything other than demons LOL this is the plot of the entire fictional universe of this book p37

Luo Binghe still only has eyes for Shen Qingqiu- even after being tossed into hell p38

I truly love the inner monologue of Shen Qingqiu's thoughts vs what people just kind of assume he's feeling. SQQ: Luo Binghe has brainwashed these disciples, he is definitely coming for me, I am fucked. Everyone else: this poor man misses his student so much, he is so hurt that Luo Binghe didn't go back to him.

LOL at Luo Binghe's hatefire at seeing SQQ and Gongyi Xiao bonding together p42

I can't XD SQQ: I have a huge announcement guys, Luo Binghe is back!!!! Everyone else: who tf is that? RIP p44

no shit that demonic activity increasing in frequency is 100% indeed a bad omen. p47

I'm crying SQQ thinks Luo BInghe is about to kill him p48

not the magpie bridge reference p50

This man is just crushing his windpipe for funsies -> why do I feel like this is their dynamic? p50

SQQ is actually an idiot. This fool is continuously operating under the assumption that nothing in the story has changed and the original story is guaranteed. If he heard these words and responded appropriately he'd probably be fine RE: "Then why did you tell me not to put too much weight on race and that no one is intolerable to the heavens" p55

Goddamn is Luo Binghe just going to keep beating the shit out of SQQ?? pp57-59

He really made him drink his blood (side note: when this is all said and done, I need to read some vampire aus) What even is that blood going to do to him?? (do not actually tell me, I assume I will find out soonish) p59

I am once again here to talk about how utterly Fucked SQQ is. He still has 0 idea that Luo Binghe has absolutely claimed him p65

Oh dang. Still, even after all this, SQQ has not shaken his original fate of being hated p69

Bro should have let Qi Qingyi finish that sentence. Re: out of his mind with grief" also probably would have changed some things (even if he was embarrassed as hell) p71

omg so much happening in this scene rn AND then Shen Qingqiu's ex shows up out of no where?!?!?!?!??!!? p73

this man truly cannot catch a break p75

holy shit not even his ex- his wife??????? p75

oop, we have SQQ backstory reveal p77

But also with this reveal: it's a little weird for her though. Like her family takes in this kid from the street, makes him a servant. He continues to serve them, his "family" starts to view him a sibling, AND THEN they get betrothed (not married). Like what. This is wild poor guy- weird because sibling dynamics, also he was their servant. I think she is the weird one honestly. p77

okay, well, he did kill her brother LOL p78

the water prison does not sound good. p81

he really wants to try and last a month there??? best of luck buddy, he cant even handle riding in a carriage without a snack p85

Bonus picture with no notes!

I'm actually so excited for the water prison- it sounds vile, but I need to know how he get's out/how his relationship with Luo Binghe progresses.

#bloopitynoot reads svsss #svsss spoilers #mxtx svsss #svsss #this chapter was wild #and the crazy thing is I think the next one will be worse #I am prepared but not for the water prison

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ghcstao3 · 1 year ago

Note

I saw your tags, you have challenged me!

Scary Show AU (cw for cannibalism and murder)

Ghost is a very well-known yet still semi-anonymous Voice Actor for spooky shit. There's a huge following for him because, regardless of what role he's playing, he does a phenomenal job. He's only listed in the cast list as "S.R.Ghost"

Typically he plays the role of the creatures in this super popular show called "Cryptid Season" which follows a gang of college kids desperate for extra credit in their Biology class so they hunt cryptids as evidence/to study for their papers. He does the voice over and some of the motion capture (he's a big dude) for the monsters and such, his most famous one being "Goatman" (from the demonic Goatman's bridge in I think Texas?)

Meanwhile Soap is this animator who's starting to become really popular, and he announces a new show in the work: "Consume", where he voices one of the two lead roles. It's presented as a show about a normal, if not very lonely man, being tormented by a demonic presence in his home.

Plot twist: dude's actually a cannibalistic serial killer and ends up quickly befriending the demon. The demon helps make the man harder to track by police forces in exchange for the bones and souls of his victims.

Cast:

Soap as the killer

Ghost as the demonic entity

Gaz as a detective who's new to the case but also best friends with Soap's character

Price voices the seasoned detective who's been working this case "too damn long"

Ghost and Soap ABSOLUTELY fall in love while recording scenes together. The banter, the flirting, the sexy scenario of cutting up a corpse together; it's too much not to fall in love irl

(actually such a big brain idea but I don't know how you'd write it tbh lmao. Maybe the show itself, where the boys keep their names? Idk the original idea turned into something much greater)

took a minute to figure something out i'm ngl but i did. something (in any case i would love to see your proper takes(s) if you'd be up to it, seeing as it's your idea!! i feel like i couldn’t do it justice)

Just like any other actor, Ghost had to audition for the role.

His agent books it for him without consultation, knowing the project would be right up his alley—horror, monsters, no face required—and Ghost makes no argument in sending in his tape. He recognizes this process and takes no issue with it, and once out of his hands, he waits patiently for a congratulatory offer or a gentle rejection.

Just like any other movie, or show, or what have you. Consume is no different.

Supposedly. At first.

John "Soap" MacTavish is... many things. He's charming, according to most. Talented. A joy to be around. A man who wears more than several hats of a project, which certainly tells of someone trying to worm their way into the commercial industry.

He has the spirit and creativity, Ghost will allow him that. But he also doesn't know when to stop talking as soon as the important work is done.

Is Soap professional? Sure. Does Soap make sure all jobs are done with efficiency and done well? Yes, he does. Does it make him any less of a nuisance to Ghost? Absolutely not.

But Ghost would be damned if the project doesn’t find its way into his soft spots, despite its nature. He’d be damned if he doesn’t fall in love with Soap’s animations and the hard work and craft he puts into them.

Then he blinks, and the pilot is premiering. It does well (again, considering its content), and Consume is properly green-lit.

Which is when Soap proposes the idea of recording their lines in the same room. Together. Facing one another. Because banter, and chemistry, and whatever other reasons he insists upon.

Personally, Ghost wants to decline. He’s always felt somewhat awkward when recording as such with anyone, but professionally? He couldn’t really say no, could he?

And it is awkward, at first. There’s more takes than usual, and Ghost can sense Soap’s frustration, though the man never expresses it. He just plasters on a tight smile, calls for a break, and pulls Ghost aside.

Surely, surely this is where Ghost gets fired. This is where Ghost is told he’s going to be replaced, where he’s told to say goodbye to Gaz and Price and wish them luck, and move onto his next gig. This is where—

“Have I done something wrong?”

Soap’s face is so earnest. So painfully sincere.

Ghost clenches his jaw. Shakes his head.

“No, I—“ He sighs. “Just have to get used to the… face-to-face. Let’s—I’ll try again.”

Soap smiles wider, now, as he nods, something kind and warm and brilliant.

The second try goes much smoother. Ghost takes a deep breath and eases himself into scripted dialogue, into witty banter and subtle flirts like it’s any other project.

They continue to record lines as such, just the two of them, each episode at a time. At some point, Ghost worries, the line between script and show and reality gets blurred. At some point, he fears, that flirting becomes genuine.

And what would he know—the reviews only get better as that line becomes less and less clear. Natural, real-feeling dialogue, critics say. The relationship is authentic, claim viewers.

The love is actually heartfelt.

And fuck, if that doesn’t make Ghost realize a few things about himself.

About Soap.

Consume is no different, his ass. He might have to have a stern talk with his agent in the near future.

(Or not.)

#ask #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #ghost x soap #ghoap #soapghost #ghostsoap #writing #alternate universe

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vividachromatic · 9 months ago

Text

Meant To Stay The Worst - Pt. 6

Alastor x Reader

Tags: ongoing, marriage, manipulation and toxic relationships, death, canon typical violence and language

Warnings / Note: This is a relatively dark / sad chapter and you obviously gotta be at least 16 (best case 18+) for Hazbin Hotel in general, so most warnings are canon-typical, but just ANOTHER warning, this chapter in particular talks about mental health issues, depression, suicide and death, so if you're sensitive about these topics, don't read. This is fiction and I don't necessarily condone what I write.

((<-Pt. 5))

"Miss L/N. This is Officer Sanford and Bailey. May we come in?"

Your entire body froze when you saw two police officers at your door.

You contemplated on what to do. Should you let them in? If they were here because of Alastor's... activities that wouldn't be smart.

Should you ask them if they had a search warrant? They had no right to go into the house without one.

But asking that would make you look suspicious... why were they here in the first place?

"Ma'am?" One of the officers asked you. And for some reason, the officers' faces looked sad.

Pitiful. But maybe you were just mistaken.

"Sure, of course..." you answered eventually and stepped aside to let them in.

There was an awkward silence for a minute and you decided to end it by playing the nice housewife. "Do any of the gentlemen want a cup of coffee?" You smiled.

The two men looked at each other and one of them nodded to the other like they were communicating telepathically. Your smile wavered.

"Yes. We would like that, Mrs L/N." The taller one answered.

Nervously you lead them to the coffee table in the living room and started preparing their beverages in the kitchen.

You weren't sure what they wanted, but you obviously only offered them coffee out of politeness, so them accepting it probably meant their visit would take longer. Right?

But at least they didn't seem hostile, or like they were trying to actively search the house.

You mentally prepared yourself to lie more than you ever did in your entire life.

After 3 minutes you handed the coffee to the two men, with optional milk and sugar cubes.

They thanked you and set down on your couch.

You sat down on the chair opposite them and nervously cleared your throat.

"Mrs. Y/N L/N, your husband is Mr. Alastor L/N, right?" One of the officers asked.

"Yes, he is..." You answered with an unsure smile.

"Do you know where he is right now?" The other one asked.

"He... is on a hunting trip right now. He is a hunter." You answered. Anxiously you looked at the clock on the wall behind the two officers. It was already half an hour past the time he was usually back, but that wasn't too uncommon. Did something happen?

Wait...

"Is he hurt?" You asked the officers, suddenly alarmed. Before this, you thought they may have come because they suspected Alastor to be the New Orleans' serial killer. But now you realize, that maybe something could have happened to him.

The two officers looked hesitant until the taller one decided to speak: "Mrs L/N, we found two dead bodies in the woods right next to your house last night. We assume that one of those two people might be your husband. Would you come with us to the police station to help us identify the body?"

Your eyes widened for a second at the mere thought that Alastor might be-

But that's impossible...

"I- I can, but... haha," laughing was extremely inappropriate in this situation, but you weren’t sure how else to react.

After all, there was no actual possibility that Alastor was dead.

Right?

The policemen just nodded and helped you to get to the police car. For the whole ride, you nervously tapped on your thigh, trying to get the thought that maybe something actually happened to him out of your head.

When you arrived at the station the two policemen warned you: the way the corpse looks right now isn't easy to handle for most people. It seems to have been torn apart by dogs according to them.

Regardless you chose to identify the person.

And to your disgust and horror,

It was actually Alastor.

The policemen noticed you crumbling down in front of them before you could even answer if it was really him or not.

They tried catching you before you hit the ground but were too late.

Having to see Alastor's lifeless body was a greater burden than you ever thought you had to endure.

When you sunk down and your knees hit the ground it didn't even hurt. In fact, it felt like nothing in your life was real anymore.

Your mind was constantly shifting between wanting to cry hysterically when you realized Alastor was actually dead and feeling completely empty.

You wanted to convince yourself that this could not possibly be real.

"Mrs L/N, we know this has to be really hard for you right now: but we want to ask if you would stay with us for another hour to answer some questions." One of the officers asked.

You didn't answer, trying to catch your breath but failing and breaking down over and over again.

One of the policemen sighed. "Ma'am, we have the suspicion that your husband may be... may have been the serial killer of New Orleans-"

He probably explained exactly why he came to that conclusion, but you weren’t sure. Your mind was completely fucked up at this point.

"...You have the right to have a lawyer,"

"..."

----------

The next couple of weeks were the most difficult you ever had to endure.

Not only did you have to accept the fact that Alastor, your husband and the love of your life was dead.

Which besides the emotional burden, meant planning his funeral, when you definitely weren't ready to.

Alastor's mother was heartbroken by the news of her son's death. You tried comforting her and let her move into your house to take care of her since she suddenly fell terribly ill.

She obviously heard the rumor of her son being a serial killer. But both of you decided not to talk about it.

Not until her last day - her illness was getting worse every day and the doctors told you she only had a couple of hours left.

"My dear, can you answer me this question honestly?" She asked you with a weak voice.

"I- of course..." you answered.

She sighed with a sad look on her face. "Is it true? What they're saying about my son, that he's a-" She didn't want to say the word but you understood.

Your eyes widened, unsure what to say. And she was a smart woman, she immediately knew the answer when she looked in your eyes.

Still, she waited for your response.

"I..." your whole body tensed up. You weren't sure how to respond to her. Should you tell her the truth? Would you want to know the truth in her place?

"...Of course not, Ma'am." You eventually answered.

She nodded and turned her head to look at the ceiling. A peaceful smile formed on her lips as she closed her eyes. "Of course not..." she whispered.

Those were her last words.

And as if you didn't have to go through enough misery and death in only the last couple of months in your life:

One of the family members of one of Alastor's 'victims' sued you for being an accessory after the fact.

And besides the stress and mental anguish of this whole situation, you started feeling physically unwell too after about three months.

You were in pain and had to throw up everyday and after a while it got so bad, your brother decided to stay with you.

And you were grateful for him. The two of you never spent much time together but you knew that deep down you always cared about each other.

And that was further proven by the fact, that your brother definitely wasn't encouraged to be meeting you right now.

Your reputation drastically sank when it was now known by practically everyone that your dead husband was most likely a serial-killer.

But your brother stayed with you and took care of you, even holding your hair back when you had to throw up.

After about a week or so, he hesitantly asked you if you might be pregnant.

You told him that that was impossible.

Even when that wasn't true - it was very possible. Alastor and you tried having a child for some time now.

But the thought that it actually worked right before he died was terrifying. So you convinced yourself it was impossible.

Your brother desperately tried cheering you up, and helped you talk to several lawyers, even when you personally had no motivation to defend your case.

Every lawyer you met tried convincing you that the only way you could get away with this was to play the dumb houswife, who didn't know about her husband's dark secret.

And you knew they were right, but you hated to stab Alastor in the back like this, even after his death.

The only reason you actually decided to play along, was when you found out you were actually pregnant.

Your and Alastor's mistakes should at least not affect your future child...

And when it was actually time for the trial you answered (almost) every question at least somewhat truthfully.

But the prosecutor was brutal with his questions. He asked you more and more about your personal life, trying to get you riled up on purpose until he finally asked you crucial questions:

And eventually, the exact thing the prosecutor wanted to happen, happened.

You slipped.

You mentioned something you shouldn't have known.

And of course, the prosecutor immediately fixated on that in his cross-examination.

And maybe you could have talked yourself out of this.

Maybe you could have.

But you didn't.

Even worse, when the prosecutor called you out on that specific detail you weren't supposed to know, you just laughed.

The crowd exchanged suspicious glances with each other, which only made the moment feel more surreal making you laugh even harder.

God...

In your defense, it was extremely difficult to continue acting with all the stares you were getting from some of the victim's family members.

"So what? All of them deserved it! All of your precious, innocent family members who were 'murdered in cold blood' deserved it and they were awful people! You," You pointed at the widow of that other famous radio star Alastor killed before he got famous, "Your kind and benevolent husband, who 'even donated to orphan children' was a pedophile and you know it! And he should have killed you, too!"

The entire crowd let out audible gasps at your declaration. Which made you even angrier, "Oh, so that is the part all of you are concerned about? Not the fact, that he is a literal- you know what? I give up. All of you are disgusting hypocrites and I can't wait until the day I'll finally see all of you in hell-"

You shouted at all of them even when the judge warned you that if you don't calm down he'll call the security. And your attorney practically begged you to shut up and asked the judge to pause the questioning to talk with you again.

The judge reluctantly agreed when he actually just wanted to get this over with and find you guilty after seeing your outburst.

When you and your attorney were alone in some office again, he just sat down and let out a big, frustrated sigh. Obviously, he was extremely disappointed by your outburst.

He calmly explained to you that after your display there is barely anything he can do for you anymore. Unless some kind of miracle was about to happen the judge would find you guilty.

'Crazy women' were never found innocent. And it didn't help that their judge was even more misogynistic than the average man was. You could have easily won this if you just played nice.

He explained that the most he could still do for you was to plead not guilty by reason of insanity, but in that case, you would have to go to a mental institution.

"But... what about my baby?" You asked him fearfully.

"Your- God, I'm sure they will let you carry out the pregnancy but you won't be able to keep it." He sighed.

You gritted your teeth in frustration and tears started to well up in your eyes.

Great, great, just perfect.

It didn't even feel like life wanted to punch you in the face anymore - it was straight-up beating the shit out of you.

And so the verdict ended up being like your attorney had promised. You were declared not guilty by reason of insanity and were to stay in a hospital until your child was born. After that, you had to stay in a mental asylum for at least 5 to 10 years, depending on your behavior.

And the following months were excruciating. You spent every day crying and making awful drawings with the single notepad and pencil, that were given to you.

And when your beautiful baby daughter was born, you were only allowed to see her once before she was taken from you.

You called her 'Ana' - a short version of 'Anabelle' the name of Alastor's mother.

Thankfully, she was at least not given to an orphanage, but to your brother to raise her. He promised to take good care of her and you decided to believe him. It's not like you had any better options anyway. (Also your brother was happy because it meant he didn't have to sleep with a woman to produce an heir.)

When you had to go to the mental asylum after, you just quietly cooperated. You didn't have any energy left to fight anyway.

It was awful there, obviously. But you managed to go through one year at least before the doctors decided to sign you up for a lobotomy.

A medical procedure where they would butcher the frontal lobes of your brain to 'fix you'. The chance of this actually succeeding and not either killing or disabling you for life was very low.

So you decided that this was the last fucking straw for you. You really tried going through these 5 to 10 years, but even a single year was so excruciatingly painful. Every single day was.

And if you had to go, you at least wanted it to be on your own terms.

So you wrote one last letter to your daughter before deciding on your plan.

You befriended a younger and more inexperienced nurse and convinced her to let you go on the balcony for five minutes. Normally patients weren't allowed to go there, but you gained her sympathy by saying it was your last wish before the lobotomy and since she knew the high risk of the surgery she felt guilty and let you.

The fresh air surrounded you completely for the first time in months.

You calmly walked to the edge of the balcony, your fingers touching the cold iron railings. Your eyes wandered down, seeing the stoney path on the ground at least 60 feet below.

This wouldn't be pretty, but it's not exactly like you had many options in a high-surveillance place like this.

"Ma'am, would you please step away from the railings?" The young nurse nervously cleared her throat behind you.

You turned around to face her and calmly leaned back to sit on the railing.

The nurse looked anxious and opened her mouth to speak, but you interrupted her. "Would you do me another favor, please?" You ask her with a small smile.

"I, well... What is it?" She looked unsure.

"I have a daughter, you know? Could you please give this letter to my brother, so he can give it to her when she's old enough?" You pulled out the letter and handed it to the nurse.

She accepted the letter in confusion. "Ma'am, why are you talking like this is a goodbye?"

You smiled and leaned back, letting go of the railings. The nurse's eyes widened and she held her hand out to grab you. But it was too late.

You remember falling. And suddenly you felt scared and regretted it.

And then nothing.

----------

Taglist:

@cryptidghostgirl @adeadreader @yourdoorisunlocked @spirit-of-the-hollow @droopingdatura @reikamasama @over-the-little-blue-house @wonderlandangelsposts @mysterypotatoink

(Thanks for your support! ♡)

Note: There is no canon name for Alastor's mother, so I came up with one!

+ Sorry for the sad chapter 😭 the future ones will play in hell, so they're much more fun lmao

Sooo, Al and Reader have a daughter? 🤔 (Obv it's gonna be a girl bc we have to continue Vivzie's legacy of girls with daddy issues)

Many possibilities for the future plot bc of that, huh? You think she's gonna be in heaven one day? Or in hell? If she'd be in hell, the three could become a powerful overlord family (like Carmilla's). And if she'd be in heaven, it may be a reason for the two of them to actually want to redeem themselves?

Or not! You can comment your opinions bc like always I'm open for suggestions and criticism!

See youuu!

#alastor hazbin x reader #alastor x reader #x reader #fanfic #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor

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i-smoke-chapstick · 10 months ago

Note

can please request some Angry Gotham Oswald cobblepot, I don't really have a plot in mind yet but.... smexy angry penguin?....loved your last penguin one it was amazing ❤️❤️

‘I SEE RED,

-GOTHAM!OSWALD COBBLEPOT X READER-

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; Oswald let’s his trust issues get the better of him.

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!oswald x female reader. oswald being a jealous angry bastard who holds infidelity as the highest sin imaginable. reader doesn’t actually cheat though! he’s just the most paranoid bird on the planet. Some angst??

♫ “you dug your own grave now lie in it / gun to your head / executioner style” I See Red by Everybody Loves an Outlaw

You’ve never been afraid of him, until now.

You’re certainly stuck in a predicament. You’re on the floor in the iceberg lounge, on your knees, infront of the king of gotham. Your lover. Victor Zsasz has a gun pointed to your temple, looking at his boss for the go ahead. All you can do is stare at oswald- as if this situation is ridiculous. You see him suck his teeth. Oh, he’s pissed.

Right next to you is a waiter. You don’t even know his name, but you know that he served you just the other day. A sweet boy, far younger then Oswald. He is begging and crying out for his life, and you swallow. Ozzie’s henchmen had already roughed him up a little, bloodied nose drying into his skin. You cringe a bit.

Oswald has always been a jealous man- that much you figured since the begginning. When he lay claims to something, it’s his. In this case, it just happened to be you. You’d remember other instances like this in your relationship. A bartender you frequented or a co-worker that suddenly had gone missing. You’d never asked him about it, because you already knew. He’d deny it anyways, offering false sympathies for your loss. What a man.

But he seems to be far beyond saving this time. No, this temper tantrum isn’t just targeted towards the poor soul who made the simple crime of talking to you. It’s also targeted towards you. And in a sense, you can see why. He’s blind with rage.

His eyes bore into yours, watery. He’s breaking down right before you, an absolute wreck. Anger and sadness balled into one. He gives you a dangerous smile as you study him.

“Oz-“

“Quiet!” He bites, “Save your lies! I know what you’ve been doing.” He seethes. He circles you and the poor waiter, nose sniffling. He speaks agonizingly slow. He seems to be pacing the room, caught in a loop of his own emotions.

“You think I wouldn’t find out?” He scoffs, humorlessly. He clasps his hands together, laughing. His face morphs from smiling to absolutely rage-filled in a milisecond. “You know, my dear, I thought you were smarter than this.” He’s practically sneering at you, but his eyes hold the same sadness, that betray his vulnerability.

The waiter finally speaks up, more pleas sounding out. Oswald looks to him, and rolls his eyes dramatically. With a loud growl ripping out his chest, he grabs the nearest bottle on the liquor shelf and smashes it over the boys head.

The boy lets out a loud, defeated yelp- and you first hand see it spur Oswald on. The shard of the bottle still in hand, he stabs the boy over and over and over again. Blood covers Oz’s face, your face, and the walls. You can hear the faint quiet chuckle of Victor in your ear.

Oz is still growling like a madman, heavily breathing and panting over the boys torn apart corpse. All you can do is look on in horror and confusion.

Oz closes his eyes, as to center himself. He drops the bottle shard and the sound of his desperate breathing is the only thing filling the room.

“Oswald.” You speak again, and seemingly, murdering the boy seemed to allievate some of the tension from his body. His eyes snap open and he finally looks at you- blue-green eyes teary. A silent question lingers in the air on his behalf, How could you betray me like this? Us like this? I love you?

You let him have a few seconds to calm down, and he seems to finally let you speak.

“I don’t know what your thinking, but it’s not true.” His eyes just bore into yours, lip curling. You’re even more aware of the gun pressed to your head as the cool metal shifts against you. “You know me Oz. You love me. I love you.”

He closes his eyes as you say those three words, and you continue,

“Have I ever betrayed you?” You plead, urging him to stop this. He looks deep into your eyes, lips pursed, and with your speech he inches closer and closer to you, looking at you kneeling infront of him.

“I love you.” You decide to repeat, you know whatever you say in this moment could cost you your life.

A deafening scilence rings out in the room…and in an instant, oswald brings his hand to immeadiatley push down the gun against your head. You breathe a sigh of relief as Victor holds his hands up, immeadiatley backing off.

Oswald falls to his knees, giving you a hug. It’s full of neediness, and you feel his desperate and shakey breathing against you. You immeadiatley wrap your arms around him back, adrenaline still flooding through the both of you. He cradles you, holding you close to him, eyes closing in bliss. He presses the ghost of a kiss to your shoulder.

You don’t know if you’ll get an apology, but you don’t seem to care. You let him cling onto you like his life depends on it.

Before you know it, he’s pulling you up to stand with him, ranting off mindless orders to Victor to clean the mess of the dead boy up.

All you can do is sit and stare at the corpse.

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intertexts · 5 months ago

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OK HI. HELLO ROS <3 standing in ur doorway like this 🧍 listen i will read worm eventually i just have so much HAPPENING. ALL THE TIME RIGHT NOW. AND DONT HAVE THE TIME. and also jrwi has me in a chokehold u know how it b. ANYWAY. i need u 2 tell me as much about new haven wards as u can without like major insane spoilers for worm. little spoilers r ok. i watch/read everything with a few lil spoilers 2 look forward to anyway <3 i know nothing abt the universe of worm (<<has barely made a sizeable dent in it but god i will i prommy) but i wanna know what exactly nhw is about. how does the universe work. how do the powers work. what is the situation with the nhw how and why are they working together where did they all come from!! gimme the nhw lore!!! as much as u can!!!!! looking at u with the biggest saddest wettest eyes rn pls pls pls infodump abt nhw 2 me!!!!!!!! ros pls 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

HIII HI HI WHISKEY <333 UR INSANE FOR ASKING THIS. BTW. literally insane. grabbing u so hard by the shoulders there is a crazed look in my eye. anyway. FIRST i am tagging @stuck-in-the-ghost-zone here also!!!!!! bc it is his au as much as mine & i am NOT qualified 2 talk abt nhw mark n such. augh.

ok. ok. ok. new haven wards. putting the cut here.

so the basic movement of worm is that powers are from trauma. ridiculously simplified, but that's the base of it-- if you have superpowers, you have them because you went through traumatic events so severe to you specifically that it broke ur brain a little bit. the powers manifest in some way as a reaction to the traumatic scenario. (it is also more complicated than this. playing the spoiler card.) OR secret second option u put urself into indefinite debt to an extremely shadowy and ominous.... organization? person? shadow government branch? conspiracy? and get superpowers in a can, with like, a 10% chance they'll backfire and mutate u into some fucking terrible inhuman shit and then they'll completely memory wipe you and brand you and dump you off somewhere. not really relevant here. because the main way of getting superpowers is to be violently traumatized, cape society in worm tends to be grittier, more violent. there's more villains, the heroes are less shiny marvel or dc and more making whatever moral compromises they need to get the best outcome possible. at one point one of the main heroes in the city worm takes place in tells the sixteen-year-old protagonist "i don't care, there's a kill order out on them, just put a bullet in her brain if you see her, it's fine" and then a while later goes "yeah i'd vote for a kill order out on you guys too," directly to her face. worm is always going "hey, wouldn't it fucking suck if superheroes were real?". there are many horrifying and inhuman and violent threats. sexual and racial and physical violence aren't swept under the rug. these seventeen year olds are sent to crime scenes where flayed and gutted corpses are suspended from the ceilings because they're heroes! ^_^ but this aint about worm this is about the new haven wards!!!!! [wards are the child soldiers junior hero branch of the main syndicated/unionized hero organization, w/ placement in every major city alongside regional protectorate headquarters]

>key things for this au:

--william wisp changed his last name to bell when he moved to new haven (where his brother david lives :) and joined the wards, for another layer of anonymity ^_^ (he is. severely paranoid about his identity & privacy. <- also a Big and Heavy thing in worm/parahumans world. it's a Big Fucking Deal to unmask a cape regardless of their alignment)

-dakota never got the mechanical heart & biomedical augumentation so didn't meet mato cole at that time! he's still dakota damascus :]

-virion... idk why he's still virion & not vyncent actually. probably just because that was the name his parents gave him? we can't change it now though nhw virion & canon vyncent r two different guys to me...

-ashe is the unluckiest fucking guy in the world!!!

their powers are a little different from canon both bc of the ways powers work just being different frm how they do in pd & also because of the "they're always a reflection of the worst moment of ur life that you're just dragging around with you reminding you of it" thing. <333

wibby / whisperer is a breaker/shaker (<- power classifications meaning he has another form he shifts into, and also an area of effect] in his breaker form (crackling white-blue energy) he 1) can control how corporeal he is, or *how* corporeal he is, from "walks into the brick wall" to "doesnt notice there's a brick wall and goes straight through it", to "goes incorporeal to stick his hand in a guy's chest then resolidifies to instakill him" w/ some tradeoffs. & 2) shape/control energy manifestations in a fairly wide radius around him, where the power of the shaped energy is in proportion to the amount of recent death in the area-- if there's a ton of casualties in the area, he can do a lot more than he could in a peaceful small town in the middle of nowhere. the situation with his trigger event was him. growing up socially isolated and half convinced he was going crazy and everyone else Also thought he was fucking insane (deadwood is still haunted!! more haunted :]) for years & years + the loneliness + frustration + unsureness if he's actually the one just. losing it or if it's all really real + the constant feeling of being in danger, that the town is bad and malicious and out to Get you. anyway. he fell, take that as ambiguously as u do for that in canon, didn't die, but was severely injured & couldn't move. just laid there for maybe a day or so in the woods that wanted to kill him. anyway he triggered when he was found! the catalyst was not "the place that's been out to get me my entire life finally succeeded" but the helpless incandescent frustration of "actually nothing i ever do is going to make you understand. i've been trying for so fucking long to make you See It but you won't!!! you never will and you just think i'm crazy or stupid or making it up for attention even though it has such obvious fucking consequences and is manifestly Real!!" he was recruited to the wards by miss g herself, who was like hahahhahaa this kid could be a Really Fucking Big Problem if he doesn't have an eye on him!! ^_^ he never wanted to be a hero, and still doesn't, really, but he's terrified of accidentally hurting people & deadwood is like a weight around his neck and maybe things will be better if he just gets out of here. for a while they're not, of course. he just feels like. y'know. he's another sick thing that crawled out of deadwood, and his powers make that obvious. the way they interact with recently dead shit makes him sick!! living with david is awful-- a big, lovely, lonely high rise apartment, an older brother who barely bothers to speak to him, calls to their mom through the walls going "why is he here? why would you send him here? can he like, go anywhere else?"

virion sol / imprint is a trump (meaning his powers interact With other capes powers.) he can copy powers by touching other parahumans-- the copied power is just as strong as the original, whatever the original is, but he doesn't have an innate sense of how to use it; he can easily be overwhelmed or overstimulated by powers that involve a ton of sensory input, or accidentally loose cannon something he wasn't expecting and can't easily control. regardless, this is a fucking insane power to have. it's so cracked. like within the parahumans-- world, this is something so rare, especially being able to copy the full strength of the power. the very few examples in canon of something similar, the copied power is always inferior. his situation was similar to canon-- the greats were a team of independent heroes, & were like, extended family to virion. he grew up unpowered, but in the cape world-- so many aunts and uncles teaching him security, standard protocols, how to fight capes, how to run cape business and independent team business, how to handle guns and tasers and safely run background checks. y'know. a family's worth of professional knowledge. he never really wanted to be a cape, anyway, he was more than happy to do all the unpowered stuff at home that needed to be done. occasionally he came with them on patrol n stuff or snuck out to watch them. the greats' long term goal was prying out the lich, an extremely heavyweight warlord who had control over most of the city. virion's father struck a deal with the lich-- virion knows as little what the deal was For as he does in canon, but he double crossed the entire team. virion snuck along to the confrontation with the lich (setup) & watched his father turn & murder all of them. still not sure if he did it all himself or just watched as the lich's minions did it, but the way they knew all their weaknesses, how efficient and brutal and unexpected it was-- it was his dad feeding the information. virion stays frozen in shock and horror & hidden during all of this. can't do anything to help. is fucking useless, despite all he knows and has done. for the first time in his life, he wished he had powers, that ram and min and everyone could have taught him how to have and use their powers like they taught him everything else. he triggered watching it all happen. after this, he went on the run, terrified that someone would Know that he saw, that they'd be coming for the loose ends, that his dad would come back for him. all he has of his family is a couple piecemeal things he could grab before he ran-- ram's favorite revolvers, a holy medal of alphonz's, some of his mom's sturdy jewelry. anyway, he ran, moved to a different city, new haven. started figuring out his powers, started targeting specifically other capes who were up to bad shit-- minor to mid league villains, the occasional local hero who would Look squeaky clean, but after their sudden death dirty secrets would come out, etc. all very low-key, very subtle. none of the disappearances or deaths looked related. during this period he is SO fucked up. he is so fucked in the head. he's incredibly hypervigilant and paranoid and jumpy (good at looking unbothered and still clocking every single sound and movement and always facing doors and windows), mired in the grief and guilt and horror at. watching his entire family slaughtered and life shattered in a night. sleeps for no more than two hours or so at a time. even on top of the lich and his dad... what he's been doing puts an even bigger target on his back. doesn't have time or heart for anything but the dirty work. is dissociating through the periods of time where he's not actively hunting someone down or on the job. silhouette is the one who puts the pieces together-- of course he's on the protectorate (hero organization) radar. sure he's only been targeting bad guys, but how clean each one was? how well covered they all are? how whoever this is has allegedly killed at least almost two hands' worth of capes in cold blood by now? sets off alarms, if you're looking!!

anyway, silhouette tracks him down, says hey, i know who you are, i know what happened. you're just a kid. you join us, and you'll gain the resources and skill to be able to get revenge. aren't you tired of running? now... virion took to this fast and well when he did, but. before it all, he was just a teenager. despite the family business, he was just some guy! he helped his mom cook and got help with schoolwork at the kitchen table and his cool aunts took him out for lunch. he never wanted this or expected it. and of course he doesn't trust the heroes farther than he can spit, but... it's something. it's better than this. anything has to be better than the way he's driving himself into the ground. & also, of course. if silhouette can find him. anyone else who's looking for him can too. (i don't think he's even registered on the radar of anyone. his dad didn't actually survive the lich, obviously, & he was the only other one who really knew abt virion + nobody knew he triggered. he's just. so fucking paranoid.)

dakota damascus / failsafe is a thinker/mover. he 1) has a precognitive sense of any pain that anyone in a radius around him will feel in the next short amount of time. this is-- varyingly difficult to block. he can't just Choose not to feel it, although the intensity of the feeling, again, varies. mostly proportionally to how severe the pain actually is, or how many people are hurt, but, with time, he can dull or sharpen it + follow the threads of it to discern Who exactly is in pain, rather than just an ambient sensation. 2) is VERY fast & has matching enhanced cognitive speed. these two abilities work SO good together, both in combat situations & also just day to day patrolling. man. i love dakota. anyway, he triggered young-- he was out with his parents (maybe 7/8) and they got caught in an attack by siberian-- a genuinely indestructible, incredibly powerful villain who can just,,, run her hand through a concrete foundation like it's butter & collapse buildings, or scoop out peoples insides in a heartbeat. and also likes to eat people, like, raw and bloody after dismembering them. whatever level of ultraviolent shocking horror u are imagining. double it. anyway. they got caught in the scene of this attack, dakota got separated from his parents in the panic and stampede and rush to get out-- he's seven! it's terrifying levels of panic and claustrophobia and people shoving and trampling and he's not gonna leave without his parents!! of course not!! he triggers from the fear and the disorientation and the panic & he can't find them & he's trying to fight the crowd but he barely comes up past their knees & there's awful sounds of fighting & he's close enough to see her... things are doubly disorienting with the echo of the agony from everyone who gets Fucking Siberianed. he sees most of the fight. um. a while after she's driven away and it's finally finished he finds what's left of his parents. there's a beat in worm, during an encounter with siberian and the Big Heroes, the prime force equivalent, where they just.. give her a victim to chew on because it makes her happier and less of a nightmare to fight. which is something i think about frequently. anyway, after this things are kind of loose, similar to canon. he does the same shit. it's also quieter and you can feel less people hurting the higher up u are. yk? OH GOD. YEAH. at some point after this we still have not hammered it out. he confronts the slaughterhouse 9 (the supervillain group that attacked/siberian is part of) about it & gets his face slit open (half chelsea smile style) & makes a deal to either kill a guy in [n years] or that guy will kill him & several hundred other people!!!!!!!!!!!! dakota damascus killing a man baked into the bones of nhw!!!

anyway he & cat still fell. he underwent a second trigger event when this happened, actually-- the panic and desperation of that situation + the way it echoed his first trigger, etc. this is also super fucking rare, btw. there are very few second triggers & it is almost Never good. (u cannot trigger more than twice + a second trigger is always a refining or an improving of the intent of the original trigger) so that's where the speed etc. came from. tide found him, gave him. a better support system (low bar!!) + a real purpose in joining the wards. i have a lot of feelings abt this.

ashe / auxiliary / muse is also a shaker/breaker!!!!! his backstory i cannot talk too much about because it is Big Spoilers. but he is a fucking powerful telekinetic (around when he joins the wards, having not really used his power in years, he has an upper weight limit of a couple times his body weight & a fairly large radius of effect). he also has a breaker form that only triggers in certain situations & if he really really pushes himself to breaking w/ his powers-- when he enters it, he loses lucidity, for the most part, & starts warping and stretching and breaking space-time in strange, dreamlike ways-- the pavement melts, or everything gets bouncy, or cars and concrete chunks and things with no business moving float slowly around like balloons, or he pulls and crumples reality to move without really moving.... it gets Real fucking bad, real fast. ANYWAY. he eventually sneaks out one night, walks to a gas station to get. snacks. it-- okay, i'm fucking linking mac's post, i CANNOT summarize all of this concisely. go read that. so. that's ashe's deal!!!!!!!!!

THERE'S ALSO. MARK. ASK MAC ABOUT MARK i have typed this entire thing out on myfucking phone keyboard i literally Cannot keep going. help. and also their mark stuff is so fucking good its so. auuuhhgh. AND ALSO DAVID BELL. WHO WORKS FOR THE ORGANIZATION THAT SELLS U SUPERPOWERS IN A CAN W A CHANCE OF GETTING TURNED INTO AN UNRECOGNIZABLE MONSTER AND DOES HUMAN ABDUCTION AND EXPERIMENTATION. AND JADE AND X AND ALLEN ARE THE FREEDOM CITY WARDS AND GRAYSCALE SHAKES OUT EVEN FUCKING WORSE THAN IT DID IN CANON. YEAH.

SO. YEAHG. THATS. THATS THE MOST OF IT. um. yeah. theyre a dreadful little polycule they are. So fucking clingy they r traumabonded. like little trembling chihuahua puppies. separation anxiety and all. virion and dakota share a comfy old victorian house in a suburban neighborhood maybe a fifteen minute walk from the protectorate hq. wibby starts out living w/ david and eventually just... all his stuff moves over to their place. their clothes r all mixed up they know each others blood types they're all sleeping together on the couch. eventually their house gets blown up. they all get various flavors of nightmare & are 1 million shades of debilitatingly mentally ill but like-- it works. they r good for each other. theyre good together. do not separate them. etc. i'm not even gonna fucking START talking abt their dynamics other than that but like. i mean. if you want a repeat of THIS u can always ask!!!!!!!

#i feel like i'm missing so much... whatever. gonna bother u abt this for fucking everrrrrrr now!!!!!!!!!!!!#whiskey tag!#new haven wards!#literally i have got to stop writing this now. wouhg. whooooh. okay. ok. yeah. i have thoughts on them!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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dragonsdendoodles · 7 months ago

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Dunno if this has been mentioned, but can we talk about (in A Map of Days) Enoch teasing Horace about gaining weight when he complains about the sodium content in pizza?? 😭

So that scene is... weird. To me. Because that part specifically I don't particularly know how to feel about, but the scene itself is my favorite scene in the whole series.

Talk of whatever the fuck was going on in this bit below the cut. Trigger warnings in the tags. (This one is long. There's a TLDR at the bottom.)

This is also a pretty tricky subject, so if I say something stupid, please please please correct me.

Before anything else: a very common interpretation of this scene is that it's hinting at Horace having an eating disorder. I am not here to tell you that interpretation is invalid, because it's not. It was not my interpretation, but it makes complete sense to me. I am not the right person to talk about that interpretation because while I do experience body dysmorphia and dysphoria, I have never had an eating disorder. So I'm not gonna do that.

My personal interpretation of this scene was that Horace is a picky eater and also has body issues and/or body dysmorphia, because those are both things I can relate to. That has always been my interpretation, and after several rereads that's what makes the most sense to me personally. I could be wrong. This is entirely my own interpretation and opinion.

Completely literally, this is what the full conversation tells the reader, before it's brought around to Millard being sent out for the second half of what we want to joke about:

Claire likes pizza.

Horace does not. He picks at it, commenting on the sodium content.

Enoch jokes that Horace doesn't want to get fat and laughs at the mental image.

Horace corrects him, claiming it's more about his clothes, then insults what Enoch's wearing, comparing his clothes to flour sacks.

Enoch specifies where he got his clothes in an effort to dispute Horace's point.

Claire further specifies Enoch's clothes came from a corpse.

Enoch makes a joke about getting clothes at funeral parlors.

Horace loses his appetite at Enoch's comment.

Miss Peregrine scolds Horace for not finishing his food. Horace reluctantly complies.

Horace expresses jealousy over Millard's peculiarity, stating that he could gain as much weight as he wanted without anyone noticing.

Millard clarifies that he's actually decently skinny.

The conversation moves on to Millard's lack of clothes.

If we go over it point by point and dig a little more into it, we get a few more details, which I think are relevant for the most part, so that's what I'm gonna do.

Claire likes pizza. Not particularly important to the scene other than starting it, but a cute detail nonetheless. We love cute details about Claire.

Horace does not. He picks at it, commenting on the sodium content. Horace does not like pizza and Horace does not like olives. (Agreed on the pizza point, but I will gladly take those olives if you don't want them, Horace.) The big thing here is that "There's more sodium in this than in the whole Dead Sea" comment, which isn't a concern someone his age should be having.

Enoch jokes that Horace doesn't want to get fat and laughs at the mental image. The problem child of the scene, because that's a really mean joke to make about someone, Enoch. Thus far the sodium comment makes it debatable how affected Horace would be about it, but still, not cool, man.

Horace corrects him, claiming it's more about his clothes, then insults what Enoch's wearing, comparing his clothes to flour sacks. This is the interesting part to me, because in seemingly trying to return Enoch's rude joke, Horace somewhat confirms that Enoch hit close enough to home to get under his skin. The specific line in question is, "That I'll bloat. My clothes are tailored just so, unlike the flour sacks you wear," which brings up another thing--these books have a habit of finding ways to call Enoch fat. Occasionally it'll be through deliberately calling something about him pudgy, and more often than not it's through stereotyping (you have twelve important characters and you picked the one established fat kid to be the one constantly talking about and stealing food? Really? Olive or Horace would've worked just as well, but whatever,) but this is one of the only times it comes from another character's mouth. This isn't just a comment, this is deflection. Horace is hurt by Enoch's comment, so he takes the first opportunity he gets to turn it back on him. This is deliberate. (We'll touch on this and the last point again later.)

Enoch specifies where he got his clothes in an effort to dispute Horace's point. He's focusing on the "flour sack" comment, not the implications of it or anything else about what Horace just said. It's just Enoch being Enoch and responding to Horace taking his bait. It reminds me of the scene in MPHFPC where Horace and Enoch suggest gross things for dinner to tease Olive and Claire. (Which I can confirm was them, but that's a different post.)

Claire further specifies Enoch's clothes came from a corpse. Again not super relevant, but not uncommon, fun fact. During the French Revolution when someone died they would immediately start taking the clothes off of them because I mean they're dead, they don't need it anymore. Just something I think is cool.

Enoch makes a joke about getting clothes at funeral parlors. Back to my MPHFPC point, Enoch has been established to be willing to say things just to freak people out. Just because Horace did it with him does not make him immune to it.

Horace loses his appetite at Enoch's comment. Reasonable reaction. I don't want to hear about leaking corpses when I'm already being forced to eat something I don't particularly enjoy. Like pizza.

Miss Peregrine scolds Horace for not finishing his food. Horace reluctantly complies. Classic parent move. It does suggest that the previous conversation isn't very concerning to her, because if it was she'd have said something during it, and she isn't someone who would hear that about one of her kids and just not care if it was something bad. Personally this lowers my concern level a bit, but I also like Miss Peregrine a lot more than other people I've talked to about this, so take that with what you will.

Horace expresses jealousy over Millard's peculiarity, stating that he could gain as much weight as he wanted without anyone noticing. The other concerning comment Horace makes. It all but confirms he is struggling with body image issues of some kind, though we don't know how severe they are. It confirms that Horace's reply to Enoch wasn't just about his clothes, and that if Enoch didn't hit the nail on the head he came pretty close.

Millard clarifies that he's actually decently skinny. This is something we kind of already knew, it just clarifies Millard's body type a bit more. In MPHFPC when he faints Enoch says it's because he "ain't as fit as he pretends to be," so now we have a little bit of detail on that. Regardless, I don't think it particularly helped the situation, but that's unfortunately a theme for Millard in this book.

The conversation moves on to Millard's lack of clothes.

Essentially, the big things we learn from this conversation are that Horace is insecure about his body and that he will tolerate Enoch poking fun at him about it.

The whole conversation, at least Enoch and Horace's contributions to it, revolve around their insecurities or lack thereof. Horace all but confirms he has body issues, and Enoch could honestly go either way: he doesn't react at all to Horace's jab back at him, he only focuses on the insult about his clothes. Enoch could not care how his body looks at all, or he could have avoided responding because Horace's comment had the same effect that his had. We can't tell from that alone, but I'm leaning towards the first option, because in the same book Horace comments on Olive eating a lot and Enoch jokes about her gaining weight as well. (Olive doesn't respond, Olive doesn't care.) His comment to Olive is more lighthearted than this, which I don't think it would be if it were also an insecurity of his.

The reason my feelings are conflicted about this scene is the way Horace and Enoch talk during it. This is played as a joke, it's very obviously meant to be comedic banter between two characters who are known to take shots at each other for the sake of comedy. That's all well and good, but this scene also proves that Enoch touched a decently sensitive nerve here, and Horace doesn't respond particularly uncomfortably. Yes, he deflects, but it reads as if they can only have this conversation because of how comfortable they are with each other. Horace avoids situations that make him uncomfortable, so if he was hurt too badly by Enoch joking about his body issues he'd have shut the conversation down instead of biting back. Enoch is also established in nearly all of the books to care very deeply about his loopmates and their feelings--if he genuinely hurt Horace, he'd have stopped completely, as shown with Bronwyn about Victor in MPHFPC. They've also known each other for what is implied to be nearly if not the whole time the initial Cairnholm loop was open, after seventy years being as close as they are shown to be they would know each others' insecurities. Enoch's significantly more likely to test Horace's limits, but he's absolutely smart enough to know what buttons he can and cannot push: look at the fight he has with Jacob at the end of AMOD. He cuts pretty deep at the end there, but had he not known (or cared) about Jacob's issues with Abe, he'd have said a lot more than, "You're not Abe, so stop trying to be," and he'd have said it a lot sooner.

It's a conversation that flows somewhat naturally and is portrayed a lot lighter than most people would take it, and arguably lighter than it probably should be. The way it reads to me is similar to how my boyfriend and I would talk and joke about our own insecurities, which leads me to believe they can only do this because they know they both know the boundaries. No boundaries appear to have been crossed here from both of their reactions, and this scene is all but forgotten when it's over. If anything this solidifies to me that the narrative wants us to interpret them as very close if not best friends, because a conversation like this wouldn't have happened otherwise. Horace doesn't let random people bully him. He threatened to bite someone, remember. He threatened to hit Jacob once too.

Personally, their exchange is far from a normal conversation, but I think that's the point. Narratively speaking, Enoch and Horace's friendship is fucking weird--you tell me why the nervous yet arrogant neat freak spends most of his time with the jerkwad who probably doesn't shower unless he's forced to and frequently bullies him. Their entire dynamic revolves around lovingly picking on your best friend. The whole point of this conversation is to strengthen that idea in the reader's mind, that they're close enough to be able to take these shots at each other without worrying they're going to hurt the other. Yes, Horace is implied to have gotten hurt, but at most it's only slightly. He doesn't react too much to it other than making a couple of concerning comments about his own image, which are pretty much immediately moved on from because at the end of the day it's really not all that important.

TLDR: It's a weird conversation about a touchy subject that is promptly forgotten about afterwards, which implies neither Horace nor Enoch think it's too big of a deal. Ultimately, it doesn't matter to anything other than giving us insight into Horace's character and Enoch and Horace's weird-ass friendship. It's not a comfortable conversation for anyone except them, and I'm pretty sure that's the whole point. The whole scene overall is still my favorite in the series, because I think it sets up what AMOD's going to be pretty nicely and my juvenile sense of humor means Enoch's singular allotted dick joke was a lot funnier than it probably should've been to me. (Sorry, Millard.)

#tw: brief discussion of eating disorders #tw: body shaming (thank you horace you're very nice to your best friend)#cw: discussion of body image insecurities #mphfpc #enoch o'connor #horace somnusson

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howlingmoonrise · 20 days ago

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AO3 Wrapped 2024 (Writer's Edition)

"tagged" by @sunriseverse! more under the cut for length, you know the drill

1. How many words have you written this year?

38,937 posted, and 59,646 written overall - some of those i'll never finish, one is waiting to be published in a zine, and a couple of others i'm still working on!

2. How many works did you publish this year?

4 so far! assuming 5 once yuletide rolls around. that's way more than i expected considering my last 3-4 years of writer's block!

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

for this year probably the clonefucking threesome fic for spirealm/kaleidoscope of death 😂😂 it was also the fic that got me writing again!

4. What work of yours has the most hits?

i like it when that lightning comes (the aforementioned clonefucking jealousy threesome fic) is the winner amongst this year's fics at 1 313 hits!

5. What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

look, let's be real, we're not exactly swimming in comments here. that being said, i was pleasantly surprised at the quality of the comments i got for i'll paint you mornings of gold (labyrinth, sarah/jareth), which i wrote for battleship exchange 2024!

6. Favorite title you used?

i'll paint you mornings of gold once again because david bowie's as the world falls down is THEE love song of all time and haunts me forever, don't try to argue with me on this.

7. If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most?

i used song titles for three of the four fics i posted, but none of them were repeats. we got david bowie (song: as the world falls down), the cure (song: hot! hot! hot!), and the kinks (song: lola)

8. Pairing you wrote the most for this year?

nanqiu from the spirealm/kaleidoscope of death! blowing sunny a kiss for getting me writing again after a metric fuckton of squeeing over this ship in the dms

9. Favorite pairing you wrote for this year?

also nanqiu! though i was also very happy at completing my goal of writing at least one jareth/sarah labyrinth fic in my lifetime!

10. What work was the quickest to write?

oh gods. *war flashbacks to battleship exchange*

i wrote the entirety of it’s a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world (6.5k+, nanqiu, spirealm/kod, crossdressing exhibitionism rimming fic) in like...... 8 hours in a row i think? iirc i stayed up until like 6-7am feverishly writing the entirety of it because i KNEW i could blow the squares we needed to finish board 1 if i finished this thing in time. and i was right!! but my fingers weren't even typing straight anymore by the end of it though, the next day they were actually sore 💀

11. What work took you the longest to write?

i'm STILL writing it bestie. it's a short-term amnesia thing also for nanqiu which sits at 15k+ so far, and which i've been writing since... june? july? but in terms of posted fics, then from here one's hand could pluck the stars (mysterious lotus casebook, difang sex pollen fic) which probably wouldn't have survived the end of battleship if it weren't for @a-memory-a-distant-echo pushing me through it

12. How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year?

😬😬😬...let's be real, i have no clue which ones will survive until then. there's the ones i listed on question 15, and i always have an endless amount of prompts/plot bunnies to work with, but i very much only work on a "when the muse strikes" basis unless it's a fic exchange.

13. What’s your longest work of the year?

from among my posted works, then from here one's hand could pluck the stars sitting at 11 479 words

14. What’s your shortest work of the year?

until i post my yuletide fic, it's it’s a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world at 6584 words

15. What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

*side-eyes dozens of years-old fics in my folder* ...anyway.

hoping to bring in at least my corpse bride ot3 fic, the nanqiu short-term amnesia fic, and the frozen elsa&elsa long timeloop circular narrative thingie i was working on. i'm NOT looking even remotely in the direction of my 50k+ barbie/dracula pride and prejudice au fic. i do not see it, i don't know.

16. What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag?

...................explicit sexual content, apparently. which is WILD because i hadn't written actual smut in years, even before my writer's block hiatus.

17. Your favorite character to write this year?

lin-gege ✊😔 who is lin-gege, you ask? *puts tinfoil hat on* so you know how there's the original timeline in kaleidoscope of death and in that timeline there's the rnz-equivalent obsidian leader lin qiushi--

i fear he kinda grew into his own character in the sunnyhowl dms despite barely being mentioned in the novel rip

18. The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year?

DI FUCKING FEISHENG!!!!!!!!!! i had to go into people's dms and ask for essays on how they viewed the character and shit because i was NOT being able to get into his fucking mindset. that fic was SUCH a mcfucking pain to write i swear. once again a million thank yous to @a-memory-a-distant-echo!!!!!

19. What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

i want!!!!!!! to write!!!!!!!! my crackships!!!!!!!!!!! -> has been saying this for like a decade and written actually very few, alas

20. Which work of yours have you reread the most?

you guys are rereading your works????? couldn't be me. at most i'll give it a reread when i can't remember the fic in like 5-10 years or so and a comment points to a specific part i've forgotten

21. How many kudos in total did you get this year?

433 on words posted this year, idk how to check kudos amount per year on previously posted fics

22. Which work has the most comments?

i like it when that lightning comes with 16 comments for works posted this year

23. Did you do any collaborative works this year?

i don't usually do collaborative works so no

24. Did you write any gifts this year?

i only wrote gifts this year 😂 ...wait, no, that's a lie, there is the fic i did for a zine that remains hidden from the general interwebz

25. Did you receive any gifts this year?

ye! got three entire nanqiu fics from sunny (blowing you a kissie) and.... two and a half? gift art pieces for battleship exchange

26. What’s your most common category?

m/m because nanqiu got me in a deathgrip

27. What do you listen to while writing?

a speech-blocker white noise generator to block out the living room tv :') alternatively, if it's a fic where the setting is very important to get the readers in the world (like riddick and similar 'verses) i'll listen to the corresponding ost if applicable to get a feeling for it

28. Favorite work you wrote this year?

the clonefucking threes-- *gets shot* i mean, i like it when that lightning comes (nanqiu, spirealm/kod)

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

you're asking me to go look back on my writing? hell the fuck no, sorry. once it's posted i'm not laying my eyes on it anytime soon 😂

30. Biggest surprise while writing this year?

that i wrote at all 😂😂😂

no-pressure tagging! @a-memory-a-distant-echo @junemermaid @momosandlemonsoda @acernor @nemainofthewater and whoever else feels like doing this! ("but howl, i only wrote one fic this year!" some of you might say, to which i say "neener neener, i KNOW you have unposted fics, write about those as well!!!")

#howl rambles a lot #tag game #tag meme #writing meme

7 notes · View notes

blackjackkent · 9 months ago

Note

BG3 fix request:

Karlach (and maybe Hector?) babysit the teifling kids so Bex and Danis/Alfira and Lakrissa/whoever their responsible adults are can take a day off?

(chaos and shenanigans not mandatory but probably unavoidable)

Thank you for the prooooompt! <3 This was fun to mess with. It ended up being about 50% shenanigans and 50% Hector/Karlach fluff because reasons. :P I hope you enjoy!

-----

Sky-High

Pairing: Karlach/Tav (Hector Carlisle), Karlach & Mattis Characters: Karlach, Named Male Tav (Hector Carlisle), Mattis, Ide, Umi, Mirkon Rating: G Content Tags: Fluff, post-battle hurt/comfort, shenanigans, cute, funny, explosions Word Count: 3.0k Setting: End of Act 2, Moonrise Towers Read on AO3 other bg3 one-shots | send me fic requests! Summary: Karlach and Hector, exhausted from the battles at Moonrise Towers, keep an eye on the tiefling kids in the aftermath and make a dramatic discovery.

-----

The door at the low base of Moonrise Towers creaks open with a rusty whine. Hector leans heavily against the doorframe and surveys the dock that lines the tower's east side, and his weary expression brightens as soon as he spots Karlach.

“There you are!” With visible effort, he levers himself upright again and limps slowly down the stairs towards her. “I was looking all over for you.”

“Hey, Soldier.” Karlach shakes herself out of her thoughts and looks up, a smile automatically sliding onto her lips as well. “Come to join the party?”

She's slumped on a battered crate, her back against the precarious stack of barrels behind her. Nearby, four of the young tiefling children -- Ide, Mirkon, and Umi, with Mattis of course leading the pack -- are clambering about on a battered boat tied to the pier. It's not much of a party, especially given she feels like a herd of rothe recently ran her over and took a shit while they were doing it, but it’s certainly more cheerful than the tower's corpse-strewn innards. The shadowy air is cut with the children’s soft laughter; after the bloody events of the day, the sound feels incongruous, dreamlike.

Brave little fuckers, she thinks with quiet admiration. No way they don't know all the terrible shit that went down here tonight. But they're still hanging on.

We're all still hanging on…

“A party, hm?” Hector comes to a halt next to her, resting a hand on her shoulder. His lips twitch with amusement at the sight of her four unexpected charges. “Actually, I was hoping to come collect you so we could go to bed.”

She clicks her tongue playfully, peering up at him with half-lidded eyes. “To bed? Saer Carlisle, are you trying to seduce me?”

“Am I-- oh. Ah, no.” He blushes, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wish. Tragically, I’m being entirely literal; I’m so exhausted I could fall over right here.”