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uncannysam · 3 months

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PARTIES: @animotoph0bia, @uncannysam TIMING: Directly after this thread. SUMMARY: Finn helps Sam clean up Escape Your Fate after a certain banshee lets out a blissful scream thanks to a skyquake! WARNINGS: None!

The mess made by the sky quakes or the weird pale iZombie cosplayer had left Sam distressed. Here she stood with a store full of broken glass; no lights from shattered bulbs; and thousands of dollars in damage that she didn’t even know how she was going to cover. She had saved up for this place penny by penny and right now, in the moment, she felt like dropping to the floor and sobbing. It had already been a hard enough year at the loss of Zach, but this just seemed to be the cherry on top. The one thing she was grateful for in the moment was that Scout was upstairs, because losing him right now would have made everything impossible, and she couldn’t do impossible right now.

Closing her eyes and just trying to breathe and use the techniques she had learned in therapy in times of anxiety, Sam stood quietly; except for the crunch of glass underneath her every step. She had heard the noise of anyone else, while she tried to focus, but when she finally opened her eyes, she saw someone standing in the store, “Uh, we’re…we’re closed.” I mean, if it wasn’t kind of obvious.

—

Finn wasn’t a die hard customer, like he knew most comic stores prized themselves on, but he’d checked out Escape Your Fate a few times. He could appreciate a good comic book but that had always been more of his brother’s thing - movies and video games were better at keeping his attention. The collectibles were fun to check out though, even if he rarely had the money to get them nor the proper place to display any. At least it was a nice vibe, the place usually filled with excitement and intrigue and just good feelings in general.

Didn’t look like those were on the table for today, though.

“Holy shit,” Finn muttered as he took in what had just recently been display windows, wondering what in the hell could have caused damage like this. The first hit of that disappointment was gut wrenching, a full on ‘punch in the stomach’ kind of pain. It drew him closer, glass crunching under his feet even as he reminded himself that he really wasn’t the best at cheering people up, much less a stranger. Just walking away felt wrong, though… even if he really regretted the decision the second the store owner spoke up.

“Oh, yeah I… kinda figured.” Which in no way explained why he’d walked in anyway. “Are you - no, dumb question, obviously not. Uhm… so this sucks?”

—

She had seen the guy around a couple of times at the store, and he seemed nice enough. But today Sam was struggling. Today it felt like her world had ended again. In the moment of everything, she was struggling to think straight. Struggling with what to do or say. But she had to do something. She couldn’t just leave the store in shambles. So with a deep, slow and quivering breath, she set her sights on Finn, and answered him, refusing to focus on the destroyed store around her, “Yeah, it does. But if I...want to expect to keep any of my merchandise, I’ve gotta get things boarded up or locked up or something.”

Sam knew the value of most of the things in the store. The newer comics and dollar books weren’t as much of an issue as were some of the collectors items and graded stock. That’s what any smart collector would be after in a wrecked store with no sort of lock or protection from the outside world. But how was she going to fix that? “Um, do you…do you have any ideas?” It was a stretch. She didn’t know this guy, but he was currently the only person around.

—

Her loss was hard to stomach, implementing further what a bad idea this was. Worst case scenario, Finn had a minor melt down right along with her. Best case… maybe he didn’t make her feel worse than she already did. “Right. Guess some people don’t need more than a broken window to think they can walk in.” Some of this stuff was valuable, Finn knew as much. Collector’s items and shit like that. Probably good for a bit of extra cash if you knew where to sell it.

A dent in her hopelessness, then. A flicker of something, maybe not hope but not complete surrender. She was looking at him for answers, even if she seemed to know that it was probably futile. Finn could barely keep a lid on his own life, much less provide help to others. He wanted to, though. “Is there… like a back room or something? Bathroom, anywhere with a lock? Shit solution but might work temporarily. Moving all the stuff there?” Scrabbling at ideas, anything that might lessen the weight that, unbeknownst to her, was currently shared by Finn. “I could… help you move it. If you want.”

–

Sam didn’t want to think less of people and their motives, but easy money was easy money, especially if you were desperate. Or, you know, if you just liked collecting things this would be easy pickings. But her mind couldn’t go into the debate of people’s morals. Not right now anyways. It was already racing in thought enough as it was, “Unfortunately, yeah…” She sighed, still hoping he had a solution, despite knowing how unfair it was on him to come up with such a big solution.

Her eyes continued to scan the store for something that might help. It wasn’t like Escape Your Fate was a massive store, but there was a lot of smaller merchandise. It was when he spoke up that Sam’s mind was pulled back into the moment surrounding them, “Uh, yeah…yeah there’s a bathroom, a storage room, my office, and another room that I host game nights in, and they all have locks! They’re kind of small except for the game room, but I think we could fit most of this in there. You’re a genius, and if you don’t mind helping, I would be so grateful.” Sam was starting to see a glimmer of hope thanks to the man standing in front of her, and she knew she would want to repay him for his help. She’d just have to figure out a way. But looking over everything made her realize how daunting it would be for two people, “Let me make a quick phone call to my parents. They could probably come help us clean up.” Sam grabbed her cell phone from the counter and stepped towards the back to make a call that turned out to be more emotional than she had hoped, especially in front of someone she barely knew.

—

Relief flooded Finn, too, some of it his own. The despair had been a bit much and providing comfort wasn’t exactly his forte - it would have been awkward as hell to not help at all and have to leave before he eventually spiraled with her. But there was hope now and Finn felt… useful. Genius was definitely a stretch but he could accept helpful. “Sure, don’t really have anything better to do.” He’d long since given up on the idea of karma, bad shit just happened for no good reason but in his case, there had been a lot of strangers willing to help with the bad shit. Maybe he couldn’t be useful in helping someone out with the near-death bullshit he constantly found himself in but this he could do.

As she ducked away for a phone call, Finn tried to distract himself by carefully padding across the wreckage, starting to pick out salvagable items. Not listening in was hard but not emotionally listening in was impossible, his face scrunched up by the time she returned. “Not good?” he asked carefully, hands filled with different action figures.

—-

The phone call with Sam’s parents went as best as she had hoped it could granted they were in shock just as much as she was. But immediately her dad had set into motion a plan to get the store boarded up with the help of some of their neighbors and others in the community that they had known since moving to Wicked’s Rest, and even though the twenty-eight year old had broken down over the call, most of it had turned into good tears.

Walking back out, Sam looked around at everything, before laying her eyes on the kind man who was offering to help, “No, it actually went a lot better than I had hoped. They’re coming and bringing help with them.” She sniffled a little and wiped the tears from her eyes, “Um, and I’m sorry I didn’t ask earlier, but, what’s your name? I just want to be able to properly thank you later on, when, you know, all this is taken care of.” She moved closer and began to look through everything. Glass shards and dust had slipped down into the boxes of comics. It coated almost all of the merchandise, tables, shelves, and floor.

—

Her jumble of emotions was hard to decipher, the turmoil of the store and whatever else that phone call had inspired a great, big mix of something incomprehensible. Finn only had her tear streaked face to go off as she returned, assuming (he thought rather sensibly) that shit had gone sideways. Except it hadn’t and with that as a stencil, Finn found it a bit easier to sniff out her relief, how grateful she was. So she had good, supportive parents. That was a relief. Probably would have been fine even if Finn had decided not to trudge his meddling self into the store but there was no backing out now.

“Oh, right. Uh, Finn. I’m not enough of a regular to know your name, either,” he admitted, emptying his hands onto one of the counters not completely covered with glass. Finn followed her lead in starting to shovel through the rest of the stuff, being careful not to cut himself up on the glass. “And you don’t need to… properly thank me. Just giving back, in a way. This town can fuck you up and I’ve been lucky to receive help from strangers that didn’t need to help me so… yeah.”

—

“It’s nice to meet you, Finn. I’m Sam.” She was grateful Finn had come into her life. Grateful that he had wanted to give back, because in this moment, she needed his help immensely. And when the time came and the right person walked into her life, Sam would pay it forward, “You can say that again, but I’m grateful it was me you decided to take pity on, because otherwise, I’d probably be sitting in a pile of glass shards crying.” She laughed softly. The first time since all of this had happened.

Watching as he carefully sifted through stuff, Sam recalled having some gloves in the back, “Be right back.” Within minutes she had returned with a pair for both of them. It was probably going to be a long night, and while Sam didn’t know how long he could or would even want to stay, just coming through the doorway and checking on her had meant more than anything. But if he was staying, pizza and sodas would be a must for him and anybody her parents managed to bring with them.

Life had been dealing Sam some pretty tough blows lately, but if it was something her parents had taught her to count on, it was family and community. And that night, Wicked’s Rest had really showed up for her, despite the occasional doubts she held. And it wasn’t just human residents, she had even spotted some horns, wings, and tails in the mix, which had given her reassurance that just because things with her best friend had ended badly, it didn’t mean that everyone who wasn’t human was bad. A lesson she had been struggling with. And by the next morning, though Escape Your Fate had been a little worse for wear, the store was secured up tight with a group who had promised to return when it was time to put some life back into her.

#para: pay it forward #para: finn #animotoph0bia #wickedswriting

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magmahearts · 1 year

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TIMING: recent PARTIES: @animotoph0bia & @magmahearts LOCATION: worm row SUMMARY: when a late night grocery run leaves finn in a tight spot, wicked's rest's resident superhero comes to the rescue. CONTENT WARNINGS: none

One day, once he’d figured out what made his brain an antenna for other people’s feelings, which would obviously fix the rest of his life instantaneously, Finn would sign up for grocery delivery. Even without being swaddled in the stress, the hurry, the self-hatred from people in the candy aisle, grocery shopping was a nightmare. Not doing his own shopping was still a luxury he couldn’t afford.

Doing his shopping right before closing time helped, even though it meant a lot of angry vibes from bone tired cashiers that just wanted to go home to hate their jobs. At least he was quick, rarely straying from the grocery list that had been a staple for the last year. The basics, cheap stuff but good coffee. Necessities only, a shopping cart that probably looked dirt cheap considering the headphones around his neck. Aside from his precious laptop, they were the nicest thing he owned.

Mumbling his thanks to the cashier who honestly, was a bit too snippy considering it was only five minutes past closing. And he hadn’t even been the last person to check out. Letting the last of the cashier’s anger dissipate as he left the store, Finn took a deep breath, trying to let his own feelings resurface. It was only a quick, five minute walk back to the shitty apartment, once he’d realized the shortcut between the two buildings. A shortcut that was usually empty but now, as Finn passed through, filled him with rippling waves of tension. He’d just picked up the pace when a form emerged from the shadow. Spinning on his heel to go back the way he came only provided a view of a second stranger.

“Shit,” he breathed, putting down the two plastic bags. “Look, you can take my wallet, alright? I think there’s still like ten bucks on the card and I’m like… two coffees away from a free one on my punch card.” Moving slowly, he reached for his wallet, tossing it in one guy’s direction. Finn wasn’t lying - his wallet was a terrible choice for a robbery. Handing it over was a much better alternative to getting stabbed.

The strangers approached, one picking up the wallet, the other cocking his head. Finn could feel his nerves but also, annoyance. Desperation. They definitely agreed that Finn had been a shit target. “The headphones,” one of them finally spoke and he blinked. Oh. No, not the headphones…

—

This was fine. She was fine. She was out, she was doing her thing as Magma, she was normal. She wasn’t thinking about that dark pit in her chest, wasn’t thinking about how much she ached or how sad she was even when she was pretending not to be. She wasn’t thinking about the way people kept disappearing from her life no matter how much she begged them to stay, wasn’t thinking about the friends she’d made and the quiet question of how long she’d be allowed to keep them.

Instead, she was thinking about this. About the thrill of what she was doing, about how exciting it was. About how, when it was finished, she’d help someone and she’d feel better for it. Maybe it wasn’t a perfect system, throwing herself into situations like this one so she didn’t have to think about the things that were bothering her, but it worked. It helped push those intense feelings of loneliness and grief a little further down, helped her feel useful instead of inconvenient. And it helped other people, too, didn’t it? It couldn’t be bad if it helped her and the people around her.

Like this guy, for example. She’d clocked the people following him, trailed along behind far enough away that she wouldn’t be spotted just in case they were his buddies playing a mean prank on him or something. But then he was throwing his wallet and they were asking for his headphones and he looked way too despaired about the whole thing for it to be a joke. Dropping her glamour, Cass let the faint glow of her magma fill the space as she approached.

“I don’t think that’s yours,” she said lowly, voice crackling like gravel. “Give him back his stuff and leave him alone. Or else.”

—

Emotions were becoming a bit of a blur now, everything threatening to overpower Finn’s own panic at getting stabbed or worse, losing his headphones. Perhaps some of that anger was his own, at this whole situation, at this whole town for a rather shitty welcome. It didn’t seem to be done with him, however.

Finn had read all of the weird articles and stories that originated in this town. It had been the reason for coming here after all but to say he was skeptical about it all was… an understatement. A bit hypocritical for someone who could read emotions but strange creatures, vampires and magic users? It was a bit far-fetched. Or so he’d thought until he was staring down one of those strange creatures in person. “Woah… You can see that, right?” he asked the muggers but one look at their faces confirmed that yes, they were seeing the glowing magma creature too. At least Finn wasn’t delving into the realm of hallucinations. Yet.

The voice demanded authority, lending power to the ominous ‘or else.’ At least it seemed this thing, whatever it was, was rooting for Finn. It was confident, too, which was a great ease for the empath’s panic. The muggers were deliberating, looking between one another and then to Finn, who simply shrugged. “I’d listen to the magma person,” he offered, never having been able to just shut up in situations like these.

—

She hoped the would-be mugging victim wasn’t afraid of her. That was the problem with being a superhero who looked like a mass of stone and lava — most of the people you rescued took off in the other direction before you could make sure they were really safe. The man she was saving tonight seemed uneasy, disbelief dripping from his words as he spoke, but he didn’t seem terrified. Not yet, at least. That might change if Cass had to actually use the parts of herself that made her scary.

She smiled a little as he said the muggers ought to listen to her, though the expression was difficult to distinguish on her rocky form. Most things were, when she was like this; she was all stone and magma, shaped like a person but only in the vaguest outlines. Her eyes glowed, but the rest of her features were often hard to make out. The slope of her nose looked like just another bumpy stone, and her mouth, when closed, looked more like another crack on the surface.

The muggers seemed uncertain, like they couldn’t decide whether they wanted to try to continue their crusade or not. Cass held out a hand, palm flat and facing the ground, and let magma ooze out from between her fingers. It dripped onto the sidewalk, melting it away, forcing it to give way to the natural ground beneath it. The way it should be, really. Who built a sidewalk over the Earth’s natural soil? It was criminal. “That’s what I can do to concrete,” she said. “You don’t wanna know what I could do to you. Give him his stuff back.” It was an empty threat, of course. Cass didn’t want to hurt anyone; she never had. But these guys didn’t really know that, did they?

—

Finn was used to uncomfortable situations, more often than not orchestrated by his own actions, and at a certain point everything had just gotten the designation of ‘well, shit happens, I guess.’ Sure, he wasn’t overly fond of this whole mugging situation and getting stabbed wasn’t an exciting prospect but deep down, he knew the fear should have been stronger. Especially with the appearance of this living volcano, reminding him of the giant monster in Moana, joining the scenario. Maybe every instinctual feeling of fear was bogged down by everyone else’s emotions but honestly, Finn knew it was just a symptom of bad preservation skills.

From someone, the faint twinkle of amusement made its presence known and since it didn’t feel malevolent, Finn took a wild guess that it was the vigilante who was happy for some reason. Brown eyes widened as lava started to eat away at the ground, hissing and crackling and wasn’t that just a sight to see? Momentarily occupied by the way the lava grew dark again, hardening quickly, Finn missed the muggers’ decision to not anger the magma monster. His wallet hit him square in the chest before flopping to the ground. Blinking, his eyes followed the retreating forms of the muggers, one hand finding the precious headphones still in his possession.

“Pretty cool,” he finally said, crouching to pick up his wallet, still trying (and failing) to process everything. Were his hands shaking? Whatever. “I really thought they were lying when they said this town was full of strange shit.” A part of him wanted to ask whether it was rude to take a picture because honestly, Finn was worried he’d wake up tomorrow thinking this was all part of some bad trip or a mix up with his meds.

—

Her scare tactic worked. They usually did, when she employed them. Most of the time, Cass disliked being scary. People were afraid of her, and all she could see was Kuma and her reaction to seeing Cass’s volcanic true form for the first time. And it stung, it really did. It made her feel like all her work to fit in with humanity was for nothing, that what she was would trump who she was every single time. But… It did come in handy sometimes.

The would-be muggers tossed the wallet back to the man without a word, and that was good, wasn’t it? She’d solved a problem, she’d done something right, she’d helped someone. And she’d done it without any violence, without any bloodshed. It was something to be proud of, something to revel in. It did make her feel nice, even if there was a hint of something else beneath it. Rejection stung, even when you were trying for it. Brains were stupid like that sometimes, weren’t they?

But, hey, at least not everyone was afraid of her. The man whose wallet she’d rescued didn’t seem scared, and Cass couldn’t help but grin at him as he kneeled down to pick up his wallet. “Yeah, I’m, like, the town superhero,” Cass replied, a hint of bragging to the words. She was allowed to brag. She’d just saved the day. “But this town is full of all kinds of weird stuff. Is this, um… Your first time running into… something like this?” Something like me, lurked beneath it, though she didn’t know what answer she was hoping for.

—

At the very least, it was good to know that social anxiety shut its mouth when the feeling of ‘what in the fuck am I looking at’ was present. Didn’t shut down the feeling radar, of course, which was pinging with something akin to disappointment. Had this thing wanted him to get stabbed? Was it expecting some sort of payment for the rescue? Maybe it hadn’t heard him describe his abysmal financial status to the robbers. Pocketing the wallet, Finn tried to read into the unreadable expression of rocks with slits and holes that were probably eyes. Not that helpful.

The description of superhero did imply that this person wanted neither violence nor payment… right? “Lucky town,” he said, shifting on his feet, wondering if it would be rude to get going now and yep, more questions were being asked. “Hmm? No, totally used to seeing living rocks and lava talking to me.” Finn shifted a step closer, feeling the heat on his skin. “To be honest, still not completely sure I’m not just hallucinating right now,” he admitted, trying to quell the urge to reach out and touch. Damn, those idiots online talking about wanting to taste running lava were kind of right. “Wouldn’t be surprised if you vanished or I woke up face down on my couch suddenly.”

—

The guy still seemed a little apprehensive, which Cass felt was a little unfair. She’d just totally saved his ass from a bunch of muggers, and she’d barely lifted a finger! He got to keep his headphones, was stuffing his wallet back into his pocket. It was usually fifty-fifty whether people would tell her thank you or run off without saying anything at all. The fact that this guy wasn’t screaming yet, at least, meant something.

“I’m not living rocks and lava,” Cass said, a little offended without knowing why. The description wasn’t technically wrong, it was just… lacking. “And you’re not hallucinating. Do you hallucinate a lot? You should probably, like, get that checked out. I think they make doctors for that kind of thing? Where you sit on a couch and hug a pillow. I saw it on TV.” Maybe television wasn’t the most accurate depiction of a psychiatrist’s office, but, hey, it was all Cass had to go on. “Anyway, are you okay? Those guys didn’t beat you up before I showed up or anything, did they?”

—

Hearing the offense, even through the garbled and ominous voice, Finn winced slightly. Pissing off someone who could melt off his skin with a flick of their wrist definitely seemed in line to the rest of his fuck ups. “Sorry, I’m maybe freaking out a little bit. No offense.” Things were always fine when you added a ‘no offense’ as an afterthought, right? Sniffing slightly at the mention of a psychiatrist, Finn’s lips quirked in self depreciation. “Ah, the pillow hugging doctor. Yeah, I’ve been to that one plenty of times.” Even had a live in one which was just as much fun as it sounded. “But I don’t hallucinate a lot. Not sure I’d even have the imagination to come up with something like you.” At least he didn’t when he was sober.

Shrugging at the question because he felt pretty far from okay at the moment, Finn finally nodded. Physically, he was unharmed. “Nope, no beating.” Pausing for a second, thinking about the moments leading up to lava-person’s arrival, he wondered if he’d really been zoned out enough to not notice an actual glowing creature of this size just hanging around the corner. “You don’t always look like that, right? If you’re a superhero, I mean. Must have some sort of secret identity that’s a bit more… inconspicuous.” Was that rude? Asking about someone’s secret identity wasn’t something Finn had ever had to think about since up until now, superheroes weren’t real.

—

No offense? No offense? Cass was offended! She’d just totally saved his butt and he was still looking at her like she was going to throw lava in his shoes or something! How could she not be offended? She huffed, crossing her rocky arms over her chest. “The guys who were trying to rob you left, in case you didn’t notice. So you can probably stop freaking out now.” It probably wouldn’t work, but nothing ever really did. People were scared when they wanted to be scared, and most of them wanted to be scared when they saw her. Offense gave way to curiosity as he continued, though. “Really? What’s it like?” She wanted to know everything about humanity, including the weird stuff. Pillow hugging doctors were weird. “Something like me? I’m just a person, dude. Not a something. You could say someone, if you wanted.”

At least he wasn’t hurt. There was always a sense of failure when someone was hurt even after she’d stepped in to save them, like she hadn’t done her ‘job’ quite right. It was nice to know he was okay, even if his apprehension stung a little more than she’d care to admit. At least he wasn’t running away. That had to count for something, Cass thought. Glancing down at herself, she shrugged. “No,” she replied, “I don’t always look like this. But if I stopped looking like this, you’d totally know my secret identity, and you might be a supervillain or something, soooo…” She trailed off with another shrug.

—

Complete and total disapproval crawled up Finn’s spine as the nameless superhero started to chew him out and yup, there was that familiar sense of ‘talking to people is shit, I need to get out of here.’ Surprise and awe had managed to overpower it for a while but nothing good ever lasted, did it? Even as they forgot to be pissed off for a moment to ask about his psychiatry sessions with alarming curiosity, Finn was starting to fiddle. He’d fucked up this conversation to a point that felt too far to drag his ass back from and the urge to pop on his headphones and leave only grew with every passing second.

The sight of glowing lava that had been enchanting at first now felt overwhelming, the full force of what had taken place in the last ten minutes finally hitting him with the force of ice water running down his back. And the whole thing was mixed with this person’s annoyance and offense and shit, they were chewing him out again and he hadn’t even answered the weird as fuck psychiatrist question aside from a drawn out “uhm”.

“Someone, yeah, that’s…” His own voice sounded far off, just as strange and garbled as the superhero’s and Finn didn’t even get to appreciate the hilarity of being dubbed a plausible supervillain. Swallowing thickly, trying to think over the ringing in his ears, feet had already started to shuffle shakily in any direction away from this confrontation. “I should… thanks and all but…” He was jabbing his thumb in some unofficial direction, vainly trying to get the point across that he needed to leave.

—

She’d taken it too far. She could tell, could see the exact moment things shifted. She was supposed to be a superhero, supposed to be the kind of person who helped people in a way that mattered, but she’d taken things too far and now this guy probably didn’t want a thing to do with her anymore. And that shouldn’t have mattered — it shouldn’t. He was a stranger and she had friends, had more than enough of them, but the perceived rejection felt sharp and painful all the same. She’d taken it too far and he was upset now, and Cass didn’t know how not to care about that. Even from a stranger, even from someone she’d probably never see again.

She shifted, the weight of the discomfort sitting so heavily on her shoulders that she felt like she might collapse beneath it, might crumble under the ridiculousness of it all. You’re being childish, she told herself firmly, but it didn’t change anything. She still felt the way she felt. She still didn’t know how to change it.

He said thanks, and Cass clung to it. “Thank me by not walking this way alone at night anymore,” she said quietly, binding him to the word in hopes of keeping him safe, because she was sad and she felt heavy but she still wanted to be a hero. And this was what heroes did, wasn’t it? They kept people safe any way they knew how, used their superpowers to make people’s lives better even when their superpowers were — were manipulative and controlling and maybe a little bad. She uncrossed her arms and crossed them again, taking a step backwards. “Just — go home or whatever. Okay?”

—

Even as loud as her emotions currently were, they were easily drowned out and merged with Finn’s own feelings of discomfort and panic. It hadn’t been the intention of moving out here but part of him had foolishly hoped a fresh start would change something. Prevent an abundance of messes like these, where his own dumb mouth and others’ dumb feelings wouldn’t cause spiral after spiral. Thankfully, he’d grown used to wishful thinking being just that. He hadn’t expected to feel this sad about it, though. Was it even his own sadness?

Nodding, a bit frantically, at her words, Finn clung to the edges of his jacket in a vain attempt at grounding himself. Still shifting away from the rising confrontation, still being an asshole to someone who had saved his most precious possession and quite possibly more than that. They were shifting away, too, but it did little to ease the weight in his chest. Go home. That was the plan, as tempting as curling up on the concrete for a few minutes or hours sounded. A ‘sorry’ caught in his throat as he glanced once more at his savior before quickly averting his eyes.

“Okay, bye,” he muttered eloquently instead, shaky hand grabbing at the handle of the almost forgotten bag of groceries. It nearly tore apart with the force by which he tugged it off the ground, feet moving briskly to leave the alley, the discomfort and the pangs of pain that faded with every step he moved away from the self proclaimed superhero. What a fucking introduction to whatever the hell else was hidden in this town.

#animotoph0bia #finn: no lava lost #wickedswriting

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escudofracturado · 1 year

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TIMING: Current LOCATION: Vicker's Beach, Harborside PARTIES: Finn (@animotoph0bia) & Milo (@escudofracturado) SUMMARY: Two depressed stoners meet at the beach and realize they have a lot in common. CONTENT WARNINGS: Drug use, suicidal ideation, and self-harm

Vicker’s was an absolutely gorgeous beach. The fact that he worked in Harborside and got to see the ocean before and after his shifts still felt a little insane. Milo had been a city boy his entire life, and as much as he did love being out in nature, there was a specific kind of energy, of magic to the city that he couldn’t get enough of. The life, the people, the culture, the art, not to mention the food. But he couldn’t deny the beauty of Wicked’s Rest, the more relaxed energy of this small town surrounded by nature. He would even go as far to say that he liked it, if not for all the horrors that seemed to be lurking around every corner.

It’d been a long day. After losing track of time the night before, he had only gotten a few hours of sleep before having to head in for the morning shift. Not only had his manager caught someone trying to shoplift– which he always made a huge deal about– but Milo had to deal with some miserable old lady who had turned what should have been a very simple transaction into A Whole Fucking Thing that had taken about thirty minutes of his life.

So, after clocking out, he made his way to the beach, walking down to a little rocky outcropping where he took a seat on one of the flatter rocks right on the edge of the shore. He just needed to sit and stare at the ocean for a while, watch the waves come in and go out, listen to their crashing, breathe. Milo wished his job was beach. He could be Fuck-Up Ken. Cringe Fail Ken. Dammit, now that song was gonna be stuck in his head.

—

As much as Finn preferred the general concept of ‘inside’ with its ‘no people’ and consequently, less feelings, it was a stretch to say he enjoyed spending time in this new apartment. On most days, it was manageable, when he got to lose himself in work or a video game. On days like today, where his mind was reeling and not even an extra dose of anxiolytics could stop him from sensing (or imagining, it was up for debate at this point) his neighbhours’ feelings, the apartment was a cramped space from hell.

There was still plenty of town to explore but at this hour, most of the inner parts were crowded with people. Walking in a straight line away from civilisation felt as good of a plan as any, headphones on and eyes on the concrete until it turned to cobblestone and finally, rocks. Finn felt drained after passing all of those people, letting his gaze settle on the ocean and then fall out of focus as everyone else’s anxieties and stress and anger dissipated from his mind and body.

He’d always enjoyed the beach, even though trips there had been few and far between. Watching the waves was definitely nice, especially with alt-J as a background noise. Now that it was finally quiet, Finn let himself dig out a smoke and lighter. As he fumbled with the lighter, his gaze finally moved from the orange horizon to the rest of the beach, landing on - fucking hell, another person. He only had the one blunt one him but getting arrested for smoking in public after less than a month in a new town would be a big mess.

Attempting to put away the lighter obviously resulted in him dropping it because honestly, why wouldn’t it? It clattered down the rocky decline, seemingly with a will of its own and a determination to reach the damn ocean with how far it tumbled. Finn winced, slowly pulling down his headphones and risking a glance at the only other person here. Was this about to result in socialization? Fuck.

—

Between the day he’d had and the soothing sounds of water crashing against the shore, Milo was beginning to feel the exhaustion that had created a home in his body. It was always there, had been for years, slowly eroding away at his bones, digging trenches where the daily fatigues could collect like rainwater. He was convinced that it would eventually sink him. Honestly, it was weird that it hadn’t already. It should have. It was all he felt sometimes, all he felt right then. There was a quiet peacefulness to it, to the hollowness of his being, but even that felt a little distant and muffled, just like the rest of his emotions.

At least the beach was nice.

The clattering of plastic on stone startled him out of his daze, and he looked behind him to see a guy standing on the rocks above him. A moment later, he noticed what appeared to be a lighter skittering and bouncing down toward him very quickly. He tried to grab for it, but it just sailed past him, ultimately landing in the water with a plop. Milo went after it, reaching into the shallow water before the waves could drag it away. Shaking off the excess water, he carefully clambered up the rocks toward the stranger.

Now that he was closer and had a moment to look, the guy was kinda cute– shaggy hair, glasses, a few visible tattoos. “Hey. Sorry, man.” He held out the lighter for the guy to take back. It hadn’t been in the water long, but it would probably need to dry out before it would work. “I’ve got a light if you need,” Milo offered.

—

Finn watched in a bit of a stupor as his lighter was fished out from the ocean, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. Walking away now would be rude, with this stranger having gone through the trouble of rescuing the cheap lighter, but it was still so very tempting. Thankfully for his future social standing in this town, Finn stayed put, turning off the blaring music in his headphones as the guy made his way up the rocky hill.

“It’s fine,” Finn replied, mustering a smile even as he felt a faint warmth crawling up his neck and to his face. A compliment, he supposed, hair flattened by the headphones and his current shirt just barely having passed this morning’s smell check. Even so, this feeling always made him more antsy when it reared its head around someone of the same gender. Felt more invasive, somehow - what if this guy hadn’t even told anyone? And then Finn was the first person that some poor stranger inadvertently came out to, and this is how spirals start, cut it the fuck out.

Accepting the moist lighter and pocketing it, he glanced around before looking back to the friendly stranger. He really did want a smoke.

“Yeah, alright. That makes you complicit in any case,” he half-joked, pulling the smoke back out from where it had been hastily stuffed into the pocket of his jeans. Maybe he’d just been distracted upon arrival, but Finn could have sworn he’d been alone upon getting to the beach. There hadn’t been a flurry of emotions, just a sense of zoning out, which he’d assumed had been his own. Maybe not… “Sorry, I ruined your ocean watching.”

—

The guy seemed a little flustered, and it left Milo wondering if he was the anxious type. However, he breathed out a laugh at his comment. “Damn, it does, doesn’t it? Think we’ll be fine, though. I haven’t had any problems yet, at least.” Also, this was a college town– he doubted the cops really gave a shit about one blunt. Then again, he had heard that the WRPD was trash, so… Either way, it’s not like there was anyone else nearby.

He dug a lighter out of his pocket, as he brushed off the apology. “Oh, no, you’re fine, dude. I was just kinda vibing anyway.” Did it count as ocean watching if he was mostly just staring blankly ahead of him in a stupor? Sure, he was looking in the direction of the ocean, vaguely taking in the view, but he also wasn’t really looking at anything. He hadn’t even been listening to music or anything. Totally cool, normal neurotypical behavior, right?

Flicking the lighter, Milo cupped a hand around the flame to shield it from the breeze as he held it out toward the other.

—

Accepting his new partner in crime and the reassurance that no one would probably care allowed Finn to relax. A bit, it was hard to relax completely when most of your life had been a steady state of anxiety. At least this particular interaction wasn’t flooding him with emotions - he could deal with the awkwardness of a slight attraction, deal with it meaning he could forget it ever happened and try to ignore every hint of it. “Fair enough.”

With the lighter held out, Finn got a better view of tattooed forearms, the random array of art reminding him way too much of his own insane assortment and bringing a flicker of a smile to his face. Accepting this guy as a kindred spirit helped Finn not be completely weird about leaning in close to a stranger’s hands - the smoke finally getting lit also helped. “Decent place to vibe,” he breathed out, deflating with the release of all this pent up energy. “The no people thing is definitely a plus.”

Sighing contently, Finn plopped down to the ground, taking another drag before politely holding it up towards the stranger. He wasn’t really sure whether or not he wanted the guy to actually accept it, not usually the one to actively long for company. It had been a while since he’d had some actual social interaction, though… “I’m Finn, by the way.”

—

There was something about being in such a beautiful place while being acutely aware of the emptiness inside that made reality feel intangible. The salty scent of the ocean, the pale sand, the late afternoon sun, it all combined in a way that nothing about it felt real to him. His body, like an anchor, felt like the only thing keeping him tethered to the space and time Milo currently found himself. Meanwhile, his mind was somewhere above the two young men, looking down upon the scene.

Running a finger over the heated metal as he pocketed the lighter again, he shocked himself into his body somewhat. He wondered if he should leave the guy to do his thing. He seemed to wasn’t giving off the vibe of someone who really wanted to chat with a stranger– especially with the added comment about how it was nice that there weren’t people around. The last thing Milo wanted to do was annoy the dude, but he found himself a little desperate for the human interaction, for anything that might ground him, distract him from his thoughts or, god forbid, the emotions that were always lying in wait for an opportunity to dig in and drag him under.

But Finn surprised him, offering him the now lit blunt and introducing himself. So, he went along with it, taking a seat near him, and offering him a small smile. “Oh, thanks, man.” He took a hit, some of the heaviness easing up as he exhaled the smoke. “Milo,” he said, voice soft as he passed it back. “Nice to meet you. Always fun to find a new partner in crime.” It was a stupid little comment, but he grinned nonetheless.

—

It was faint. So faint and… familiar in a sense, that Finn hadn’t noticed it at first. The blankness, for lack of a better word. It was like a strange hole, or a really heavy blanket that somehow managed to not be comfortable, yet just slightly different from the one he himself indulged in when fully and completely alone. It also felt different to how his father’s had felt, that had felt a bit more like… being underwater. The second the feeling faded, Finn’s thoughts returned to the presence. And it looked like Milo had been too deep in his own hole to notice.

Now curious, and a bit empathetic, Finn found that he didn’t mind Milo accepting the offer to join him. And whatever the younger man felt wouldn’t matter in a moment, since Finn could already sense the detachment easing over him, like the smoke filling his lungs could blow away the ability to feel - both his and anyone else’s emotions. Smiling back, the gesture filled with much more ease than it would have been just a few minutes ago, he took another drag and let the shoddily rolled blunt hang from his fingers. “Yeah. Just a couple of losers smoking pot on the beach.” He paused, glancing over at Milo. “No offense.”

He let his eyes linger on the other a moment, reading into him like a normal person would, not with the advantage (or cheating) of literally reading him. Pretty normal looking, all things considered. Seemed to get a decent amount of sunlight, had a kindred knack for tattoos and- The surprised laugh came out sounding more like a snort and Finn quickly scrambled to explain the random outburst. “Oh, fuck off. That’s…” As he spoke, oh so eloquently, he pulled back his sleeve to reveal the reason for his amusement. “Here I was thinking I would be unique in this town.” On his bicep, now turned to face Milo, was a fine line box with words. The same exact words that decorated the other’s forearm. Despite everything, it’s still you.

—-

The weed seemed to be doing its thing, as Milo could feel some of the tension he had noticed upon first making his way over melt away with each exhalation of smoke. It was something he enjoyed about smoking with others, noticing them ease up, get out of their head a little. It always helped tear down his walls and filters with others, generally just helped him to relax. He was probably leaning on that a little too much these past several months, but, like, fuck, he needed something. And it was better than… other things.

He chuckled. “None taken, I’m absolutely a loser, gg, you got me pegged immediately. And, I mean, hey, the beach is a pretty nice place to get high.” Milo turned his focus back to the scenic ocean view in front of them. “This town’s, like, stupidly pretty,” he murmured. He hated the draw Wicked’s Rest had on him, even when he knew how dangerous and chaotic it was here. And, he really hated that Luci seemed determined to stay in spite of the dangers. The fuckin’ rammys of my actions. Exhaling with a sigh, he was brought out of that line of thought by the other’s laugh.

Eyebrows raised, he turned to face his new companion, a questioning look on his face and a small smile already on his face from the sound of Finn’s snort. When the other began to pull up his sleeve, Milo’s confusion only grew. That is, until he noticed the words inked onto his skin. A laugh bubbled out of him at the coincidence, and he held up his arm, gaze darting back and forth at the two nearly matching tattoos. “I mean, Undertale’s a great fuckin’ game,” he shrugged, amusement written all over his face. Shaking his head, he wasn’t quite sure what to say. He’d never met anyone with the same tattoo before. “That’s… Yeah. Two losers with the same tattoo smoking at the beach, I guess.”

—

Finn’s big mouth had an impressive reputation for getting him into trouble, everything ranging from hurting people’s feelings to his own face doing the hurting. So it was a relief that Milo seemed to vibe with the sentiment, understand the sarcasm, however much truth it was laced with. Because they were just being a couple of losers, weren’t they? Didn’t people have shit to do at this time of day? Meet up with friends or partners, go home for family dinner, anything else than trying to drown your feelings alone on the beach? Well, not entirely alone anymore. “Game recognize game, I guess,” he shot back, easy smile settled on his face, thoughts drifting in and out of focus but not in the bad kind of way.

The tattoo revelation seemed to shock and amuse Milo just as much as it had Finn, the two definitely starting to look the part of stoners as they sat there, staring at each other’s arms with stupid smiles on their faces. “Great fucking game is an understatement. I could code a game like that, easy, but the fucking story would never compare,” he sighed wistfully, letting his heavy head drag him closer down to the ground, now propped up by his elbows.

“Yeah… basically the same person, seems like.” Finn took one more drag that he definitely didn’t need before the next round of mistake left his mouth. “Complete with dissociation and depression. Quite a package deal.” It took him a moment too long to realize that he obviously wasn’t supposed to know this much. Took him even longer to realize he should care, but then he just… didn’t. If Milo got angry or freaked and walked away, that would just be getting straight to the inevitable. Even though the thought of having a buddy to smoke with, someone who had the same tattoo for fuck’s sake, was achingly appealing in his current state.

—

‘Game recognize game’ was absolutely the most dorky, loser ass response and Milo loved it. So far, Finn seemed like someone he could be friends with– good friends, maybe. And the tattoo thing really felt insane. He knew it shouldn’t and that there were likely a lot of people with the same or a very similar tattoo, but coming across one was throwing him a bit. A lot of his tattoos were just fun, random bullshit, but that was one that meant a lot to him. It was a moment in a game that he loved that had hit him hard, and the tattoo sort of served as a reminder that after everything he’d gone through growing up, he managed to survive. He had to wonder if it held that same kind of meaning to Finn, or if he was just projecting that onto the other.

He grinned at Finn’s enthusiasm for the game. “Yeah, it’s such a good story and unique game style, and the fuckin’ soundtrack’s so good. Really, such a masterpiece of a game. Toby Fox, I love you, please make more games,” he said, throwing the words out into the void. Milo could talk a lot when sober, so he jumped onto the bit of information before he could continue rambling about the game. “You code, though? That’s super fucking cool,” he replied, eyes lighting up. “Are you a game designer or something? Or is that just the dream?”

Chuckling at the comment, he nodded. They did seem to share some common interests– to the point that they shared a tattoo– and Finn seemed pretty nice and chill. Between his company and the drugs, he felt so much more relaxed than he had before. But then he continued speaking, and once again Milo turned to the man in confusion, a slight panic rising in his chest. Was he so obvious that this stranger could read him after such a short amount of time? He couldn’t just know that, right? “How–” He genuinely wasn’t sure what to say, ultimately just repeating himself, “How?” The panic pooling at his sternum made him blurt out the question on his mind. “Am I that obvious?”

—

“Just the dream,” Finn had sighed, sharing this dumb and seemingly unreachable milestone with a stranger that currently didn’t feel like a stranger. Whose sentiment at shouting wishes into the voice he definitely shared. And then he had gone and fucked it all up, predictably. Where the two had seemed to be settling into an unspoken moment of leaning back and just being, Milo broke it by shooting up straight. Not his fault, obviously, since Finn - like on so many occasions - was the fuse.

Milo was unraveling, his panic piercing through even the dull haze of the weed, and Finn forced himself to focus. Because even after only ten freaking minutes, he kinda liked the kid. “Woah, hey, just…” Finn sat up straight, pinching the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to say something that wasn’t just complete shit and would cause a further spiral. Something he was usually terrible at. “No, you’re not that obvious. You seem really chill, dude. Okay?” He sighed and under different circumstances, would have taken a second to think on his next sentence, but he didn’t currently have that privilege. “I just… feel shit, yeah? No better way to put it.”

Legs crossing, unfocused gaze made an attempt to settle on Milo. The guy who’d had the decency to save his poor lighter and offer the weirdo at the beach company. “It just slipped out because… honestly, fucking same. I didn’t even realize I was feeling your shit for a while because it just felt exactly like my shit. So like… your secret’s safe with me, or whatever.” Providing as much explanation as he could muster, Finn let himself sink back against the rocks, waves providing a sarcastically calm background for the panic he had caused. “Now’s your cue to call me a weirdo and bolt, by the way.”

—

There was such a familiar wistfulness to his sigh that Milo could almost feel the ghost of its ache in his chest. It made him even more curious about the other, if he really was capable of making such a piece of art, if there was something that held him back. What was Finn’s deal? Well, aside from reading him like a goddamn book.

Years ago, a friend had casually mentioned how even before they were friends, she had noticed he was sad, and that comment had felt like a punch to the gut. Granted, she was ridiculously smart and observant, and she had seen herself in observing him, but still. If she had been able to see him struggling just from her bored people watching during classes, then shouldn’t any of the adults in his life be able to do the same? Not that he really wanted them, or anyone for that matter, to perceive him or call attention to anything. But he was a kid, and deep down he did just want someone to notice and care and figure out how to make it better, how to fix things, fix him. Instead, he was stuck suffering through his adolescence with a brain that wanted him dead. So, there was something about being seen so clearly by a stranger that felt a little devastating to Milo.

But… I just feel shit. Finn could just feel that he was depressed and dissociating? Feel how? Like he ‘had a feeling about it,’ or did he literally mean he could feel it feel it? Because one option was significantly worse than the other.

He didn’t even really question the possibility of it, and that in itself made him feel a little insane. But how could he really question it? He was a fucking witch, from a family of witches, who was friends with a zombie, a werewolf, and an oread. Winter, who could see ghosts, kept calling him X because she had thought he was a mutant. His sister could probably turn water into wine if she really wanted to. This guy could somehow feel that Milo was an absolute dumpster fire of a human? Sure, why the fuck not? Finn could feel the chaos in his head, and hadn’t even noticed because he felt the same way. Fucked up if true, and he couldn’t see how the hell he would be able to know with such certainty if it weren’t.

There were so many questions running through his head, but he was kinda high and baffled, and he couldn’t find the right words to ask. “You feel it?” he asked, finally, quietly. His emotions, the crushing weight of them, the emptiness, could he really feel them? Did he really share in them? The idea made him feel so incredibly uncomfortable while also breaking his heart a little, however, there was also a weird sense of camaraderie and even ease at the prospect of being around someone who truly understood. Maybe he hadn’t totally been projecting with his thoughts on their tattoo after all?

He wondered how much Finn knew, if he should share his own weirdo status, if he would even believe him, especially without any sort of demonstration on his part. This guy he’d met less than thirty minutes ago already seemed to know him– the real Milo– more than most people, and he didn’t know what to do with that. So, he laid back on the rock, staring up at the partly cloudy sky. “This fucking town’s totally ruined the meaning of weird for me, honestly,” he sighed.

—

Everything felt muffled, like trying to make out words underwater, except it was feelings Finn was trying to get a read on. Not trying very hard, granted, because it still and always would make him feel icky. Like a peeping tom. A more capable person probably would have intervened, attempted to slow the roll of what was obviously a melt down in process, but Finn wasn’t even capable of slowing his own roll on a good day, much less do it for someone else. So he stayed quiet, at least giving Milo the decency of not staring at him while the inner turmoil continued. Simply holding the blunt where it could be reached, as if that was any consolation.

Milo finally spoke, and he didn’t sound as completely bewildered as he should have. Maybe people in this town believed in psychics and shit like that. “Yup,” Finn replied casually, popping the ‘p’ and then sighing as he readjusted his position on the harsh rocks. “Yours, everyone else’s, all the time. Well, most of the time. This helps,” he explained, taking another smoke from his saving grace to prove the point. “This and sometimes the meds mom prescribed because she thinks it’s probably schizophrenia.” It only felt fair to overshare, since Finn had accidentally blurted out Milo’s deepest feelings.

And he wasn’t leaving. Finn was talking about the shit that had made his school counselor and every therapist cock their head in a concerned way and scribble something down. Either Milo was just curious to see where this nutcase story was going, or he genuinely didn’t think Finn was crazy. It didn’t matter much, he was really just kinda thankful for the change in reaction.

—

When he’d read about empathy powers in, like, comics and shit, Milo had always thought it sounded pretty miserable. The same with any telepathic powers, really. Just being bombarded with people’s thoughts and emotions all the goddamn time? He could barely deal with his own emotions, thank you very much, and his heart was already too soft and large for his own good, anyway. It was hard enough being the average kind of empathetic in the world they lived in, being an actual empath seemed like way too much of a burden.

And here Finn was, telling him that he carried that exact burden, right after reading him for filth.

“Is your mom a psychiatrist?” It shouldn’t have been the next question out of his mouth, considering the current topic of conversation, but it was what his stupid high brain latched onto. It was certainly the more easily digestible fact. He was neither high enough, nor sober enough, for this one. However, the guy wasn’t trying to, like, eat his organs or spit acid at him or throw him into a body pit or something. At least, not yet. So, you know, that was a step up from the last time Wicked’s Rest decided to totally blindside him.

Milo gazed up at the sky, watching for a moment as a group of seagulls flew past, before suddenly pulling himself back upright. “Okay, but, like, deadass?” he asked, watching the other curiously. “Like, you’ve got the Jean Gray, ‘I feel other people’s emotions,’ empath thing going on?”

—

The question made Finn snort with laughter because it was fucking hilarious, wasn’t it? His mom’s profession and the irony of it throughout his whole life had never been lost on him but something about hearing this question now, the something most likely being weed, was insanely funny. “Fuck yeah, she is,” he chuckled - even now, every argument about medication or trying a new therapist just felt like the sickest, but still most enjoyable, joke. “I’m the one case she can’t crack,” he sighed, attention drifting from the conversation at the sight of a particularly fluffy cloud passing overhead.

Focus snapped back at Milo’s sudden movement, head swiveling to watch him go through his revelation. Smiling, a bit lopsided in an attempt to keep his face serious, he nodded. “Deadass. Without all the cool stuff, though. No thoughts, no context. No blowing shit up, which is probably good since I can’t even control this fucking thing.” Resting his head back, Finn kept one eye open to peer at Milo, faint smile still clinging to his face despite talking about the thing he hated most.

“You’re kinda cool, dude. For a stressed and depressed guy, at least,” he added jokingly, something akin to fondness coating the words. Considering how the day had started, Finn wasn’t hating how it had ended. Sure, he’d probably regret telling his weirdest, freakiest secret to some random guy he’d met on the beach, while high. But for now, it felt like the greatest idea he’d had in months.

—

His laugh made it hard for Milo to keep a straight face. But his response sent a pang of concern through the younger man as he processed what he said. Finn's mom didn't believe him about his abilities, then? She had him on some kinda antipsychotics, thought he was schizophrenic. Jesus. "I guess the DSM doesn’t exactly cover empathetic– empathic?– abilities..."

Okay. He couldn't read thoughts. That was good, Milo wouldn't have to give up on his life on land and jump into the ocean, never to come back. (Distantly, he wondered if mermaids existed, and was immediately grateful the other man couldn't see the full extent of his mess and dumbassery.) He supposed Finn probably wouldn't have stuck around to talk if he could see into his mind, see all the awful, rotten parts of him. But he could feel it, felt it himself, even, and that was something Milo wouldn't wish on anyone.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "It sucks, not having control." He could feel his heart beating through his chest, feel the pulse around the hollow cavern in his chest. Jaw clenched, he held his breath as he felt it reverberate through the empty pit, sending a deep ache straight through him, and through Finn, too, presumably.

"For a stressed and depressed loser, you mean?" he shot back, an easy grin on his face. "Back atcha, man." Maybe it was the weed or the exhaustion, or maybe it was the tattoo or the oversharing or the way Finn implied they were like the same person with similar emotions, but Milo didn't care enough to feel uncomfortable. He knew he probably should, seeing how Finn could literally read his emotions, but it wasn't something the other could control, right?

No, instead of discomfort, there was an odd sense of ease, of comfort, almost as if they were old friends who were becoming reacquainted. …that was def at least partially because of the weed, but still, he liked the guy. It seemed he had found yet another addition for their ever-growing band of weirdos.

#self harm tw #drug tw #drugs tw #suicidal ideation tw #writing #wickedswriting #collab #animotoph0bia #wr finn

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longislandcharm · 3 months

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@animotoph0bia continued from here. [pm] Careful, you softie. That almost sounds nice.

[pm] I swear you and your boyfriend have a joint death wish.

#Finn #Finn: 003 #dash convos #suicidal ideation tw #?

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howdy-cowpoke · 1 month

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TIMING: Current LOCATION: Prickly Pear Acres PARTIES: Dallas (farm hand NPC) & Finn (@animotoph0bia) SUMMARY: Finn is attacked by someone and Dallas hurries to save him and get him to the main road. On the way, they spot and rescue Philip the goat. CONTENT WARNINGS: mild head trauma

—

There were too many people here, too much fear and anger and panic - it was paralyzing. Finn was trying to remember where he’d gotten separated from Charlie, where a frantic crowd had quite forcibly steered them apart but it was no use. Everything was illuminated in an ominous, orange glow, smoke making the air dense and his vision blurry. The only thing preventing him from full on crawling into a fetal position and waiting for this to just end was the fact that he could still feel Charlie somewhere. It was the same disarrayed mix of emotions as everyone else but Finn knew the distinctive feel of those exact emotions, probably better than his own. It didn’t help him locate Charlie, only kept him standing as shoulders bumped into him and people screamed, some even sounding inhuman but that could have been the panic talking.

“Charlie?” His voice didn’t even sound loud enough to be heard over the cacophony of fear and distress and his throat hurt from the smoke. “Winter?” He needed to get out of here, away from the fire and the threat of getting trampled but his feet wouldn’t unstick from the grass and his eyes wouldn’t focus for long enough to actually see which way was the one towards safety. More bodies rushed past him, none of them anyone Finn knew or maybe they were and he just couldn’t register it because the smell of smoke was starting to smell of blood as well and the fear filling each of his particles was visceral. “Charlie?!”

All of the air left his lungs when Finn’s back collided with the ground, stunned and unable to draw a fresh breath for what felt like eternity. He couldn’t see who had shoved him to the ground, simply staring up at the sky, or what he could see of it through the thickening smog, as he fought to catch his breath. Once he finally managed to inhale, it burned but at least he could breathe. No longer fearing that he would never breathe again, Finn rolled his head to find who had knocked him down in the first place. The outline of a knife embedded in their skull was hard to miss but the person was still moving, or twitching rather, letting out raspy breaths and sounds Finn knew all too well from countless horror movies.

“Fuck, fuck,” Finn hissed, frantically pushing his body away from the writhing form, feeling instantly dizzy and aware of the throbbing pain in the back of his head, of the wetness there as blood dripped down the back of his collar.

—

Still shaken from having to put down his friend, Dallas moved among the thinning crowd of people, ushering them in the right direction. He was interrupted a few times by strangers, but his stature and bodyweight alone were often enough to quickly dispatch them before they could injure him or the party guests. One such interruption ended with his hunting knife embedded in the fucker’s skull, who stumbled forwarda few paces before collapsing to the grass. That’s when Dallas noticed someone else had gone down with them, and moved quickly to assess the situation. It was a party guest, someone who’s name he hadn’t gotten, and he was bleeding. “Hey, it’s okay,” the large man said in a gruff voice, reaching for Finn. Without asking, he hauled the smaller man to his feet, but felt him immediately sway under his own weight. “Okay.” Again without asking, Dallas scooped him up and glanced around them quickly before stooping to wrench the knife out of the arsonist’s head and wipe it clean (ish) on his pant leg. “Gettin’ you outta here. Don’t worry.”

—

Someone was speaking to him, voice muffled and all Finn had to go off of was the open expression on his face since he couldn’t feel this person in particular. Even if he hadn’t been there to help, there wasn’t much Finn could have done to stop him, anyway. That much was evident when Finn got effortlessly pulled to his feet, making everything spin around him. He thought maybe he’d caught a glimpse of this man before, around the ranch, which warmed his heart for a moment before it only served to remind him that said ranch - Monty’s ranch - was burning down.

Finn made no move to argue when he was literally swept off his useless feet, just grateful that he didn’t have to get himself out of here because his head was pounding and he could feel everything, including Charlie but he couldn’t see him. The knife made a wet sound as it was forcibly removed from the skull and Finn swallowed the wave of nausea. “The fuck happened?” he croaked, still craning his neck in an attempt to spot his people in the muddle of smoke and dark. No luck, but it did bring his attention to a familiar silhouette, doing some very familiar screaming. “Oh shit, Philip…”

—

“Don’t know. Another attack.” He had no idea if this guy was privy to the first one, but there was no time for hemming and hawing over semantics. Odds were not in Dallas’ favor of making it out of this alive, but he’d save as many people as he could in the meantime.

People, or goats.

With a grunt and a huff, Dallas shifted Finn in his arms to support him with just one, freeing up the other as he hurried over to Philip, who of course started to run. “Phil! Ah, ya damn bastard, get back ‘ere!” Dallas hollered, picking up the pace while trying to not jostle the person in his grip too much. Recognizing the voice, the goat slowed and turned to face them again, letting out another scream that would have been comedic in any other scenario. Dallas squatted down and snatched him up under the other arm, then started to make his way to the road. “You better get that head looked at, kid.” Odds were that someone had already called an ambulance, but if he’d come here with someone else who was already down by the road and could drive him to the hospital, that’d work just as well. Either way.

Hustling down the hill, Dallas could see their destination through the smoke when something hit him in the back. He stumbled but did not fall or drop either of the beings he was carrying, instead straightening up again and shaking it off. There wasn’t any time to see who had done what, and he had his fucking hands full right now—literally. He just kept right on chugging, finally making it past the row of guest vehicles and to the road. There were some animals down here already, and some people. Setting Finn and Philip down, Dallas glanced one way, then the other. “Keep an eye on him, will you? If you came with someone, you see ‘em, get on outta here. Pass Phil off to someone, don’t matter who. He should wanna stick around folks anyway.” Then he turned, but what Finn said next took him by surprise.

“... a what?”

—

Being manhandled by a single arm would have been deliriously funny under any other circumstances but right now, it was simply put the only thing keeping Finn from death by trampling or stabbing or fire. He’d tell Charlie all about this later, let him laugh it up when things were fine and everyone was safe because everyone would be safe. Finn couldn’t fathom any other outcome and it was starting with the rescue of Philip. Thankfully, the goat was stupid but not suicidal, finally allowing the giant farmhand to pick him up. Which was good because Finn’s brain already felt a bit rattled and his saviour running wasn’t helping.

“You betcha,” Finn replied unconvincingly, well aware that the second he could stand on his own two feet again, he was off to find Charlie. His head could wait, probably. Maybe not a great sign that he kinda felt like letting his eyes fall shut but then his and Philip’s ‘ride’ stumbled, jolting Finn back. There were cars which looked like a good sign, some of them already driving off. His feet were lead when they met the ground but luckily he had Philip to lean against. Finn listened distractedly to the rushed instructions, already working to try and spot Charlie anywhere in the crowd. The axe sticking out of his rescuer’s back did catch Finn’s attention though.

“Is that… a fucking axe?”

The hulking man seemed confused but that should have been reserved for Finn because the guy had a fucking axe in his back. Yeah, adrenaline was a hell of a drug but fucking seriously? “An axe,” Finn repeated with slight hysteria, craning his body for a glance around the man. There was no telling who might have been responsible but at least no one was heading this way, for now. “Godammit… are you okay? Should I…” Finn gestured lamely at the weapon lodged in the man’s back, already regretting the half-finished offer.

—

He couldn't see it over his own shoulder. He tried, but the fuckin’ thing was apparently dead center. “Uh, yeah—m'fine,” Dallas grunted, trying to reach blindly for the handle and only swiping at air. He squinted in frustration, gaze falling on the kid again. “... look, it's, uh… like pullin’ it outta a block of wood. Don't hurt.” Won't bleed. “Sorry. They were likely aimin’ for my head n’ missed.” That probably wasn't helping.

Dallas turned to give Finn access to the ax lodged beside his spine, kneeling down to make it easier to get leverage on. “Go on, rip it out. Quick like a band-aid.” His eyes were scanning the chaos higher up on the hill, not just searching for whoever might’ve hucked this ax at him, but his brother as well. He'd not seen nor heard a peep from Denver once they split up, and he was growing worried.

The man only winced as the weapon was finally removed, immediately getting back to his feet. The wound looked angry, but it wasn't bright red with blood as it should've been — instead it was black and barely oozing. Turning back to face Finn again, Dallas took the ax from him. “Thanks. Stay down here by the road until you can safely get outta Gatlin Fields.” He looked at Philip. “And you stick with ‘im.” The man huffed out a tired breath. “I gotta go find my brother n’ my boss.”

—

In a continued mood of mild hysterics, it took everything in Finn not to burst out laughing at the objectively hilarious sight of a man that size trying and failing so hard to look over his shoulder. When he then started making wild swings for it, Finn wondered if he should just go all in with pointing and laughing and blame it on the concussion he definitely had. The frustrated gaze turning back on the empath did wonders to quell any humor, though. Especially since he was about to pull an axe out of a man’s back, apparently.

“Block of wood, huh?” Finn parroted back, disbelief coloring his words but there was no going back now, not when this man had saved his ass and not with Philip staring him down expectantly. Dumb goat. “God, okay…” Unsteady hands wrapped around the handle and Finn’s stomach lurched because that thing was in there. So, maybe because he proved time and again to be some sort of masochist by nature, Finn gave a mostly experimental tug. He felt even more lightheaded than before. Quick like a band-aid.

“Dude, chill, I’ve never pulled a fucking axe out of someone before,” Finn hissed and annoyance felt safer than thinking too much about what he was doing, and inevitably passing out, so he continued. “Can’t even show up to a-” he braced one foot against the ground because bracing it against the man’s back felt tactless, “- goddamn barn party without something going to absolute fucking shit, losing my boyfriend and yanking a motherfucking axe…”

It came loose with a… squelch, was the only word Finn thought to describe the sound. His saviour didn’t drop dead, didn’t cry out or bleed out. In fact, it didn’t look like he was bleeding at all, just seeping something dark and… Finn jolted as the man stood, realizing he was holding the hilt of the axe with enough force to make his fingers turn white. Probably not as white as his face but close. “Er… welcome?” Finn replied meekly, grateful to be rid off the axe as he once more leaned on Philip for support, both physical and emotional. His stomach didn’t lurch again but instead dropped, the mention of a brother and a boss, presumably Monty, the realization that Charlie was still somewhere - and if Finn really focused, he was somewhere angry and horrified.

The impressive silhouette of the man grew smaller as he vanished back into the fucking horrors. A bleat from Philip, one that Finn decided to interpret as encouraging, was enough to finally snap him into action. Picking up his phone for the process of repeatedly ringing his boyfriend while panic gnawed at his insides, Finn led his goat buddy further down the street in some vague hope that Charlie would simply be waiting at the van.

#. thread ;#. with ; finnegan cooper #head trauma tw #. get the goat ;

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zombiebabysitter · 1 month

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@animotoph0bia replied to your post “[pm] Winter checked in. On you, too. She's fine...”:

[pm] Alright, talking is progress... right?[...] [d: It's not like I slept with Winter and then she threatened to eat you but] I'm not okay with it, strictly speaking but I'm gonna give you some time before I start bugging you about it. Both of you.

[pm] I just need time just like with everything else. I'm [...] falling apart at the seems, babe. I'm barely hanging on and I don't know what the fuck to do. I'm trying, I am. But I don't know what the end goal is.

#animotoph0bia #pm;animotoph0bia #pm;

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mortemoppetere · 3 days

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TIMING: recent. LOCATION: axis investigations. PARTIES: @animotoph0bia & @mortemoppetere SUMMARY: emilio enlists finn to help him with a case. CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

Things were quiet on the ‘possibly turning up as a corpse after five days missing’ front and Finn truly, honestly didn’t care why. If it was a false sense of quiet, he would have been happy to accept it at that point. If it was because one of their guys had gotten eaten by a stupid alligator hybrid creature then that was… a harder pill to swallow but Finn would deal. Whatever the reason, the constant sense of looming dread had dialed back down to his usual like, seventy percent ominous, even if Finn still avoided lurking around at night by his lonesome. And then finally, somewhat of a confirmation from Emilio, someone Finn had not been expecting to ever be the bearer of good news. Well, the way he’d phrased it, the bearer of ‘neutral but probably eventually bad news’ was more accurate but to Finn, the words ‘they don’t seem to be around anymore’ were a heavensend.

Emilio cashing in the promise of getting some computer related help was… less of a heavensend.

Finn didn’t go back on promises, even those made to strange, stab happy detectives that had a constant air of craving death around them. Mostly, he didn’t go back on promises made to those types of people because of the whole stab happy part. Even if Emilio probably wouldn’t have saved his life only to later stab him… right?

“Alright.” That was more for his own sake than Emilio’s, a mental preparation to put his pristine laptop on any surface in this office. It shouldn’t be surprising that the man worked in these conditions and Finn was definitely being hypocritical considering how that damn motel room had looked at one point but… With a resolute sigh, he put the laptop down on the desk, dragging up a chair and then looking over at Emilio. “Let’s do this,” he prompted, trying to remember the warm feeling of Lucky against his chest this morning, the simple joy of Charlie having his first cup of coffee - anything to weigh against the sinking feeling that was Emilio.

—-

There were few things Emilio liked less than loose ends. The very idea of answers left uncovered in any area of his life made a cold sweat break across his forehead, made his palms itch and his heart pound in ways he couldn’t quite explain. It was why, even years after the massacre in Mexico, he was still hunting down every vampire who might know anything at all about what happened, why he interrogated them slowly and painfully and without much remorse. It was why he often continued investigating cases he’d been fired from or wasn’t being paid for, too, why he couldn’t let things go even when the people who’d initially asked for the answers no longer wanted him to find them. And it was why he’d kept an eye out for the people looking to kill Finn, even though the guy was one of the more annoying residents of Wicked’s Rest. It was less for the benefit of the other man and more to ease his own rampant paranoia.

At least, that was what he told himself.

Maybe there was less truth to it than he’d care to admit. Maybe this town had succeeded in softening something that had already struggled to be as hard as it was meant to be, turning him into more and more of a goddamn disappointment. Maybe he kept an eye out for those people who might want Finn dead not because he was curious, but because he didn’t particularly want to see the guy suffer a slow and painful death.

But he’d never cop to that. It was the kind of thing that stayed locked up inside his head, which wasn’t the sort of place anyone with a brain would go snooping, anyway. Emilio would blame his own nosiness for keeping an eye out for Finn, and Finn would believe it because that was the easiest answer, anyway. And he’d still feel that obligation, and Emilio would still use it, because even if he was softer than he should have been, he still wasn’t someone who would pass up a chance at free shit when he needed it.

And he really needed computer help.

Normally, he relied on older methods of investigation. Stakeouts, asking questions, generally poking his nose in places it didn’t belong. He was good at that shit, after all, and he found it a lot more fun than hanging over the ancient desktop he’d fished from the trash behind the library and placed on the desk in his Worm Row apartment. He had a nicer computer at Teddy’s — one he pretended not to know had most likely been bought brand new with him in mind — but he didn’t particularly want to invite Finn there. Not only was the guy annoying, but he attracted trouble. The Jones house had enough trouble without the added help.

So, Emilio hovered behind Finn in that shitty, rundown apartment, squinting at his laptop screen uncertainly. This particular case required a bit of technical know-how. There had been blackmail involved, and the blackmailer had demanded payment in some kind of coin that existed only inside a computer. But things in computers could be traced; even Emilio knew that. “I wrote down the, uh… account name the guy gave. Don’t think it’s their real name. Nobody’s that stupid.” Plus, the account name had a few too many numbers and odd letters to belong on a birth certificate. “You think you can find them? My guy can’t afford what they’re asking for. We don’t figure out how to stop this, he’ll be on the streets in a month.”

—

It was the first time he’d seen Emilio feel this… hesitant. His general lack of knowledge when it came to computers had been pretty obvious from the get go but the fact that the man was a tiny bit, dared Finn even think it, insecure about it? It was almost funny seeing as Finn would trade his skills at this for the skill to fucking stay alive any day of the week. Anyway, for that reason only, Finn bit his tongue when Emilio said he didn’t think ‘jer_m1lfb4ngs691234’ was the guy’s real name.

“People can definitely be that stupid,” was what he settled for instead because odds were, this guy had maybe connected his account to a work email that would lead an angry Emilio straight to his door. “But let’s see. Depends on a few things but… maybe like a soft 80/20 that we find him?” Glancing over his shoulder at Emilio’s unchanging expression, he made a face and returned his attention back to the screen. This wasn’t Finn’s usual gig but throughout the years, he had been known to… crack a case or two when he was particularly desperate for cash. And with stuff like this, the iconic ‘what, like it’s hard?’ phrase kept running through his head. Better to not give Emilio false hope though - Finn would much prefer impressing the guy (if that was possible) than letting him down.

In the lovely and eerie silence of the dank apartment, the sound of Finn’s fingers moving quickly across the keyboard was excruciatingly loud, the empath’s shoulders tensing further with every second. “So, uh… guess you’re not charging him a lot. Y’know, since he doesn’t seem to have all that much,” Finn pushed hesitantly, eyes never straying from the laptop as he booted up one program after the other, code starting to run rapidly across the screen. Much like Emilio still hadn’t officially charged Finn or even demanded to be paid back for all those nights at World’s Shittiest Motel.

—-

With a snort, Emilio nodded. People could be stupid, Finn was right. Often times, Emilio was impressed by just how reckless people could be. Most of the cases he worked that had human causes rather than supernatural ones were solved because someone, somewhere made a careless mistake that Emilio took immediate advantage of. He was hoping this one would be similar, despite his lack of knowledge about the subject matter. As annoying as he found Finn, he was pretty sure the guy knew what he was talking about with computers. That was why he’d called him in the first place. (Well… that and the fact that he really didn’t have anyone else to call.)

Finn seemed confident, in any case. He gave good odds for uncovering the truth; Emilio had certainly worked with worse. Most of his cases had a slimmer margin than that on the odds of him simply surviving to the end, so he was more than happy with an 80/20 shot of victory. “All right,” he agreed, leaning forward to watch the computer screen as Finn worked. He understood exactly none of what was going on, but that probably didn’t matter much. He didn’t need to understand it; he just needed it done.

Preferably, it would have been done in silence. Emilio preferred that, when working with people he didn’t know as well. He got chatty when he was trying to piss someone off, sure, and he was willing to have casual conversation with the people he liked, but for the most part? Emilio wasn’t one for small talk. It seemed as though Finn was, though, and since he was doing Emilio a favor, the detective figured he shouldn’t tell him to fuck off. Fingers tapping absently on the desk, he shrugged. “Sometimes I charge people money,” he replied, “sometimes they pay me with something else. This guy doesn’t have much cash, so he’ll owe me a favor. Nothing bad, you know. Just might ask him to help me with a case sometime. Good to have connections like that.”

—

Whatever tension had been gathering in Finn’s shoulders since Emilio contacted him for an assist now lessened by like, at least 10%. Getting this man to agree with him on anything felt like a win and it wasn’t surprising that he agreed with ‘people are stupid.’ He definitely felt that Finn was stupid if their online interactions were anything to go off but clearly not stupid enough to ask for help. Maybe the PI’s definition of stupid varied or actually just meant ‘I don’t like you’. Either way, he wasn’t currently giving off harsh vibes of dislike and that was something Finn could work with - reluctant neutrality.

Glancing over at the man in his periphery, Finn wondered if any of what he was currently doing made sense to him. He was peering, clearly taking in the abundance of information piled on the screen but as Finn allowed himself to delve just that bit further into Emilio’s emotional state, it was very clear that the answer to ‘how much does Emilio understand’ was zero. Did that mean he trusted Finn to be doing what he said he would? Or simply trusting that Finn knew enough about the PI’s knives to not fuck around?

It took a moment of hesitation on Emilio’s part, during which the empath fully kicked himself for asking stupid questions, but surprisingly it was followed by a civil answer. “So like a quid pro quo kinda deal. Cool.” Judging from the state of this apartment, Finn thought that maybe more of Emilio’s business needed to be funded by actual cash but this whole thing did betray his little routine of hating everyone and everything except like, knives. He kept that little thought to himself however, biting at his lip instead as he typed in more information and then the two of them were collectively staring at a loading bar slowly filling up.

The silence was fucking defeaning.

“So, uh… why a detective? Is it related to the whole vampire killing thing or just, y’know, side gig?”

—

As a kid, he’d always been quick to pick up new moves and techniques in a fight. He was more of a brawler than a strategic fighter, but he could still learn the strategies. He could still watch the way Victor swept his opponent’s legs and take notes, still memorize the grip Rosa used on her knife. He fell back on those moves often, carried a piece of his siblings in quick jabs and calculated kicks that didn’t quite fit with the rest of his fighting style. He’d picked up a few from Juliana, too, memorized the way Rhett carried himself when he was fighting something small. It made Emilio’s style a hodgepodge of different kinds of fighting, a thing that didn’t always make sense to anyone watching, but it was effective. He could figure out how to mimic a person’s style just by watching them. He was good at learning new physical skills.

He was less good at learning the things that weren’t physical.

Watching a fight, it was easy to pick out every individual move and deconstruct it. But watching Finn type felt like something else entirely. Emilio couldn’t make sense of what he was doing, had no idea if any of it was effective or not. In a strange way, it put him on edge. He’d never been very good at coping with what he didn’t understand. Like a child, he grew frustrated quickly in the face of the unknown, unease disguising itself as anger with nowhere to go. He tried to push it down now. Finn was trying to help him, after all, and there was a chance he’d have to call upon the guy again soon considering how utterly useless he was with computer-related shit.

“Yeah,” he agreed, watching the loading bar on the screen. He decided it was probably a good sign. At least it meant some progress was being made, even if Emilio didn’t know the first thing about what that progress meant. He was so focused on the loading bar that it startled him, a little, when Finn spoke. It took his mind a moment to understand the question, to translate it and unravel it. Considering it for a moment, he hummed. “Nobody pays me to kill vampires,” he replied, “and they won’t give me whiskey for free.” That was the noncommittal answer, the one that didn’t give anything away. After a beat, he offered a little more. “I like figuring shit out. I like knowing shit. I’m good at it. In this town, a lot of people… lose shit without ever knowing what happened. I like being able to tell them, even if it’s not an answer they might like. Better to know, right?”

—

Finn knew that him shutting up and just doing what he’d been brought here to do would be the preferred setting if Emilio had been given that much control. It seemed to shock him each time the empath spoke, maybe because he expected the ‘nothing’ he was giving in response to Finn’s blabbering to hint at how little he wanted to chat. And yeah, it was a very good hint but Finn was less choosing, more being forced, to ignore it. For a second, he thought it might get him hit or thrown out except Emilio wasn’t angry. No more than what his resting state of ‘seething’ seemed to be, at least.

At least with something filling the silence, Finn could keep his mouth shut for a little bit. He wasn’t used to this slow, closed off way of sharing information. Granted, he lived with someone who wouldn’t shut up even under threat of death so his baseline was definitely skewed but Finn felt a pat on the back was deserved when Emilio was given a moment of silence and actually continued speaking whereas pushing further might have made the man clam up. It made sense, that no higher organization was paying for vampires getting exterminated but that also made it cooler. Very vigilante, holy mission kinda deal. Finn kept that to himself, instead listening to the slightly more in-depth explanation of why.

“Knowing shit is good,” Finn agreed after a drawn out silence, eyes never leaving the screen, afraid it would break the spell of ‘chatting’. “I mean, it can suck to holy hell, ignorance is bliss and all that, but it’s still… better.” Trying to know was the reason he’d moved to this cursed town in the first place. “Sure people appreciate what you do. Even if you just do it to buy more whiskey.” Before he could accidentally psychoanalyze the guy further - and yeah, Finn remembered the last time any talk of emotion came up, fuck forbid - his laptop chimed happily.

“Yeah, he’s a dumbass,” he could now claim confidently, looking at the email staring back at him from the screen. “He used a work email for the account. Don’t have a full name but this makes it way easier,” Finn explained, half for Emilio’s benefit, half because he also maybe talked to himself at times. It looked less insane now that Lucky was forced to listen to his train of thought broadcast live. Once again, his fingers moved quickly across the keyboard, this time to pull up the company’s website. “There. We got his initials and where he works. Unless he used his withered up braincell to steal a coworkers email, highly unlikely, but… yeah.”

—--

Finn wasn’t the first person to tell him his work here meant something. It was the kind of thing Teddy liked to spout all the time, evidenced in the newspaper clippings they’d hung up in the new Axis office in places they knew his eyes would drift to when he was lost in thought. Teddy wanted him to feel like he was doing good; Finn was repeating the sentiment in a way that made Emilio wonder, briefly, if Teddy might have paid him to plant the same seed that they’d been watering for almost a year now. But Teddy rarely saw fit to convince other people to do their dirty work, and that meant Finn was acting of his own accord. Somehow, that was all the stranger.

It was a hard thing to believe, even coming from multiple sources. Emilio wanted to help people. He wanted to make up for the people he hadn’t helped as if he could undo the shit he’d done by doing for strangers what he’d never been able to do for his own family. So far, the tightly wound coil of grief that lived in his chest hadn’t reacted to the attempts at unraveling it with good deeds. He felt as shitty now as he had a year ago, most days. But… It didn’t suck, hearing someone with no stake in it imply that maybe he was appreciated.

Emilio didn’t let any of this show on his face, of course. He kept his eyes on the computer screen, pretending to find himself engrossed in things he didn’t even almost understand, and nodded his head. “Sure,” he agreed, “maybe.” The chirping of the laptop saved him from having to say any more than that, and he leaned in expectantly.

A work email. That was definitely something, and definitely more than Emilio had had before. He grinned, watching Finn’s fingers dance across the keyboard. A person’s initials and their place of employment was more than enough for Emilio to finish the job, and he gave Finn an appreciative clap on the shoulder; something that, coming from Emilio, was fairly high praise. “Can nail him to a fucking wall with this much,” he said, sounding almost pleased. “Client’ll be glad.”

—

It had just been a stream of consciousness comment and yeah, maybe tinted with a hint of his ‘please like me’ tendencies but Finn hadn’t expected it to actually hit home. Well, hit seemed a bit too generous for whatever shift had taken place in Emilio’s emotional state - a tap of a feather seemed more fitting for this barely there feeling. Finn was entirely incapable of analyzing the shift properly, so shrouded in everything that made this hunter the gruff and violence happy man he seemed to be but… it wasn’t negative. Always a nice change of pace when Finn’s dumb mouth didn’t instantly fuck everything up.

What was easy to interpret however was Emilio’s reaction to the information he’d managed to scrounge up. Finding a work email had been a jackpot, probably saved both of them a couple of hours of digging, but looking at the grin on the other man’s face made Finn hesitant to reveal just how much ‘luck’ had played a part here. The hand on his shoulder was a surprise, momentarily jolting the empath before he realized it was a friendly gesture. So Emilio was capable of those. And this stand in for actual praise definitely didn’t stir up teenaged Finn just wanting his dad around to pat him on the back and tell him he was doing a good job.

God, his daddy issues needed to stop rearing their head around men who weren’t even ten years his senior. Although maybe Monty didn’t count since he was technically ancient. Also actually nice and not aloof and kinda scary like Emilio.

“Happy to help,” Finn said in a way that was supposed to be casual but probably betrayed that he actually was kinda happy to help, since this hadn’t been entirely awful. And so what if he was beaming just a bit because he’d been useful, that didn’t matter. Grabbing a stack of sticky notes, he wrote down the information he’d managed to gather, hesitant to close his laptop. “So uh… that’s it, yeah?”

—-

It was hard to gauge what Finn might have been thinking while looking at the back of his head and, in a lot of ways, Emilio preferred it that way. In a fight, knowing every thought that might cross your opponent’s mind was a useful thing. It could help you trip them up, give you the upper hand. He’d used it plenty of times, and had it used against him just as often. But in situations like this, when the person in front of you was… not an enemy and not quite a friend… It did nothing for you to know where their head was at. Knowing what Finn was thinking would only be inconvenient. And he didn’t care, one way or another. That was a thing he needed to remind himself of a little more often. Finn was here doing him a favor because Emilio saved his ass and he owed him. There was nothing more to it than that.

He drew his hand back, slipping it into his pocket and watching Finn transfer the information he’d gathered from the computer screen to a sticky note. He squinted at the note briefly, ensuring he could decipher the handwriting with a nod before taking it. From here, he could find the blackmailer and make big threats of police intervention to scare him into backing off. Most times, that was all it really took.

Looking back to Finn, he nodded. “That’s it,” he confirmed. “Unless you want to come with me to confront the guy, but that doesn’t seem like your thing.” Finn seemed like the kind of guy who avoided confrontation whenever possible, which was something Emilio couldn’t relate to at all. Confrontation was often a good distraction, after all. “I figure I can crack him in five minutes. Maybe less. You saved me a lot of time tracking him down. So, uh…” He trailed off, shrugging. “Guess we’re even.” It was as close to thanks as he really got.

—

The offer, which probably wasn’t an actual offer what with Finn’s presence annoying Emilio and the fact that he would probably somehow manage to almost die, shouldn’t have been one Finn actually considered for a moment. It was an apt assumption that confronting some blackmailing asshole definitely wasn’t Finn’s thing, not counting that one occasion where he’d confronted a knife wielding psychopath. That had been solely because of the winged person’s fear and anger. Not like Finn was actually brave. “Think it’s better for all parties if I stick to my role of behind the scenes tech stuff,” he finally said after much too long of a pause.

Finn wanted to ask just how literal this ‘cracking’ process would be but by some grace of god, refrained. Getting this guy’s email was very much in a gray area of being illegal but using it to send an unhinged private detective to beat someone up? Ignorance was definitely bliss. Man, Finn really hoped he’d never piss anyone off bad enough to send someone like Emilio his way. The unspoken gratitude hung in the air between them as Finn snapped his computer shut and got to his feet. Definitely didn’t want it to seem like he was hovering waiting for that thank you.

“Sure, half an hour of computer stuff is definitely comparable to saving my ass from literal death,” Finn huffed sarcastically, still feeling that the two of them were far from even. Things had definitely changed since the PI had first offered his help, where Finn didn’t have a dollar to his name and now lived in the Wicked’s Rest equivalent of freaking Beverly Hills. Yeah, he was technically still broke as hell but Charlie wasn’t.

“I could… help out again if you needed it,” he commented nonchalantly instead of offering to pay, packing up his computer and glancing in Emilio’s direction. “Feel like I owe you at least a couple of cases pro bono, y’know?” And it did feel nice using his skills for something other than websites or dumb programs, something that actually made a difference. Even if it erred on the side of illegal. “If you think you’d have any use for that, I mean,” Finn added in a rush, backpack slung over his shoulder, ready to not overstay his welcome.

—

For a moment, it seemed like Finn was actually considering the offer. Emilio wasn’t even sure if it had been genuine or not — he didn’t particularly want a tagalong to a thing like this, but it seemed awkward to admit he’d only made the offer to fill the silence. Luckily — for both of them, probably — Finn seemed to decide better of it, and Emilio nodded his head. “Suit yourself,” he shrugged, pretending not to be relieved at the fact that he could continue this case on his own.

It was good, too, that Finn didn’t ask any questions. Emilio had learned that most people didn’t quite approve of his methods, even the gentler ones. He had no intention of killing the blackmailer, or even really roughing him up unless it became necessary; an empty threat to involve the cops would do plenty to persuade the guy not to do this kind of thing again. In Emilio’s experience, people who hid behind anonymity lost any semblance of bravery they might possess the moment that anonymity was lost. Still, something told him Finn would get squirrely the moment the confrontation began, and he didn’t feel like dealing with that.

He was a little surprised the guy didn’t take the obvious out he’d offered him, but Emilio wasn’t the sort to insist someone didn’t owe him something if he could get something useful out of them. Not when the ‘someone’ in question was a practical stranger, in any case. So he shrugged, shaking his head slightly. “Suit yourself,” he replied. “But don’t think I won’t take you up on it.” It’d be nice having someone to call on for shit like this. He’d definitely abuse it beyond ‘a few pro bono cases,’ of course.

Moving towards the door, he pulled it open and turned to Finn expectantly. Emilio wasn’t one to beat around the bush; now that Finn had done what he’d come here for, there was really no reason for him to keep hanging around. “Next time I need someone to do some typing,” he said, “I’ll give you a call.”

#animotoph0bia #finn: guy in the chair #wickedswriting

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recoveringdreamer · 5 months

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TIMING: recent LOCATION: the grit pit PARTIES: @animotoph0bia & @recoveringdreamer SUMMARY: while doing some computer work for the grit pit, finn runs into felix. CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

Finn was definitely poor enough to not be picky about jobs but this place was way outside his vibe. Not that he’d seen much of it, let in through a back door and ushered straight into a cramped space doubling as an office. Maybe it was the smell that had him second guessing the mission - the stale remnants of booze, sweat and blood. Or perhaps it was the way his temporary client kept dodging questions about the job itself, leaving vital information for Finn as guesswork.

This place was definitely into some shady shit. Probably explained why they were offering such nice pay.

Being left to his own devices in the storage closet - office felt too generous - calmed Finn down some. There’d been a weird buzz about the man who had let him in, his actions feeling like a stark contrast to what Finn could feel. Not important. He just had to suffer through a few hours here, make this dubious program that definitely sounded like an unsavoury betting system, and get the fuck out of here.

After the first hour, the caffeine headache started to settle in, reminding him that he hadn’t even been told where the goddamn bathroom in this place was. Peeking out into the hall didn’t help, not a person to be seen. Driven by the need for synthetic energy, Finn crept further down the hall, keeping his eyes peeled for anything that might look like a break room. Finally, he found something other than closed doors and hallways. Wasn’t a break room, though.

“What in the fucking Fight Club is this place,” he breathed to himself, taking in the sight of what was obviously a giant fighting ring. Explained the lingering smell of blood. And why he’d been hired to code a page for encrypted transfers of money laced with odds and payouts. Shit.

—

The good thing about our new arrangement is that you can start training earlier. Your last fight was sloppy. Your punches were all over the place. You need to practice, or you’re going to get your ass kicked. Someone who didn’t know better might have said there was concern in Leo’s voice as he’d given the instruction, but Felix was long past clinging to the idea that his ex cared about him in that way. Even if they had to remind themself of it sometimes, even if there were days when they desperately wanted to believe it. Leo cared about money, and Felix gave him a boost in his paycheck. That was all.

It wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, though, starting out their day so early. Felix almost didn’t mind the Pit when it was empty, when it was just them and the heavy bag. They could lose themself in it, hitting that bag over and over and over again. Thanks to Arden’s suggestions, they even had podcasts playing in their ears to keep them busy while they worked out.

They weren’t sure how long they’d been at it when they saw movement out of the corner of their eye. Instinctively, they turned towards it, expecting to see Leo or one of the other fighters. Instead, there was a stranger there. Felix chanced a quick sniff of the air, confirming that the man didn’t smell like a shifter; they shifted their inner ear enough to listen until they heard a beating heart, so he wasn’t undead. Fae, then? Or… human?

Quickly, Felix slipped off their gloves and jogged over to where the man stood, sweat sticking their hair to their forehead. “Hey,” they greeted, headphones already slipped back into their pockets. “What’s up? Are you, uh… looking for something? Or someone?”

—

Even an idiot like Finn could tell that he probably wasn’t supposed to be here, wasn’t supposed to see any of this. If this information had been meant for him, it would have been included in the damn job briefing. The dampened thuds quieted, making Finn aware that he’d actually been hearing them, replaced by the sound of footsteps. He was just about ready to bolt, pretend he’d never left the tiny office he’d been provided, but the stranger approaching wasn’t angry. They were sweaty though, the gloves in their hands probably an explanation for the sounds earlier.

Hands wrung together, partly due to his own anxious energy but this person wasn’t making him feel more at ease. Not exactly like Finn was making them nervous, more so that they just… were. Nervous, on edge and… something? He couldn’t decipher it but there was a strange feeling lingering there, shrouded in a thick veil and right, Finn had been asked a question yet was currently just staring at the sweaty boxer.

“Coffee,” he blurted out, trying and failing to push the strange and almost phantom emotions to the back of his mind. “I mean, hi. Just looking for… coffee. Got hired for some coding stuff and they didn’t give me any caffeine which feels like a violation of some law, just saying, but there’s obviously no coffee here so.” Finn cleared his throat, forcing some semblance of a smile. Hoping that he wouldn’t get ratted out for snooping around.

—

There was a quiet sense of relief when the man explained a little further why he was there. For obvious reasons, the Grit Pit didn’t hire outside help often. They preferred to keep things in house, work with existing… employees. But for coding projects? Felix doubted any of the higher ups in the Pit were familiar enough with computers to know the bare basics of how to write code, because none of them needed to. They all found it easy enough to make their money off the backs of other people. Not a single one of them needed any real skills so long as they maintained their natural abilities to tie people into binds and make them do all the work for them. (The hint of anger that rose up at this thought was an old one.)

As for the fighters… well. The vast majority of them didn’t have the time to learn or maintain skills like that. It was hard to do much of anything outside the Pit sometimes. Felix was pretty sure it was by design. If you made sure none of the people you had working under you had time for a life outside of what you gave them, they became so much easier to control. It was always about control with the Grit Pit. That was why Felix was here, hours before the actual fights were set to start, training for something they hated doing.

So it made sense, then, that the Pit would risk hiring an outside person for coding work. It felt a lot less sinister than it had moments before, when the man had stepped through the door, and Felix relaxed accordingly. “No coffee in here,” they said apologetically. “Mostly just water. Uh, you know, for… people exercising.” They gestured to themself a little awkwardly. “I think I know where you can find some, though? But we have to be kind of sneaky about it.” There was a coffee maker in the ‘employee’ lounge… the one that was for the ‘management’ rather than the fighters. This was one of the few small acts of rebellion that Felix could manage without tugging uncomfortably on the edge of his contract, and that did feel like something they wanted to do now. It was about time for a break, anyway.

—

A rush of feelings swept Finn, almost passing too quickly for him to even comprehend them. Anger, frustration, placid acceptance. He simply blinked, soldiering through each one even as the strongest of them wanted to push him into saying something, escalate the situation like he was so talented at. Thankfully, the fighter seemed to latch onto his coffee mission, stilling the storm of emotions as Finn exhaled the breath he had apparently been holding.

“Yeah, makes sense,” he replied dumbly, fully ready to abort and, hopefully, find his way back to his workstation without any further incident. The stranger continued, offering a possible solution. As much as Finn hated sneaky, seeing as he was shit at it, the promise of caffeine was much too promising. And the person who looked like they could knock him out with one hit hadn’t attempted to yet so it was probably safe. “Oh.”

Finn mulled it over for a moment, took into consideration the pounding headache making its presence known, screaming for coffee even if it meant interacting with a stranger who worked at a legit fighting ring. The fact that they had been so nervous about Finn’s appearance soothed him in a way so finally, he nodded. “Alright. Lead the way. Heads up, though, I’m really shit at being sneaky and an awful liar so… if we get busted, that’s totally on me.” Falling into step with the other, contemplating the strange dullness of their emotions, he finally added, “I’m Finn, by the way.”

—

The coder seemed a little uneasy, and Felix couldn’t help but wonder if he had any idea who he was working for. Had he been given any details about the Pit? Had he ever ventured into the crowded stands on fight nights, watched the violence unfold? Felix doubted whoever hired him would have told him anything substantial; the Pit relied on some secrecy to draw people in, to keep the ring full of fighters even when some were carted off unmoving and traumatized at the end of the night. The Grit Pit wasn’t a business that could function in the light. It relied on the dark to keep it alive. Felix knew that.

It probably meant the programmer was clueless. He was here to do a job. He’d write his code, he’d collect his check, and he’d leave. He’d try never to think of the place again, or he’d come back with cash in his pocket and curiosity on his mind. But he’d have to finish the code first. Felix offered him a small, sheepish smile. “Oh, uh, I mean, we don’t have to! If you’re not comfortable. I mean, it’s whatever.” The last thing they wanted was to make the man uneasy. There was enough of that here, wasn’t there?

But the programmer agreed after a moment of mulling things over, and some of the strain melted away from Felix’s smile at the promise of a proverbial partner in crime to watch their back. “That’s okay,” they replied with a shrug. “If we get caught, they’ll probably blame me for it, anyway.” They’d prefer to blame the person they had the most control over, Felix knew that. Whatever punishment was doled out would be as cruel as they always were, but not damaging. The Grit Pit would never damage their merchandise without an audience cheering them on. “I’m Felix! Come on — the lounge is this way.”

—

There was no humor accompanying that sentence, yet no fear, either. More of a quiet understanding that made Finn even more uneasy - not regarding Felix, they seemed alright so far, but about this whole ordeal. It still wasn’t the weirdest place he’d shown up to do a job - begone memories of man whose data was just ‘right down here in the basement’ - but he felt off. Honestly, if the offered pay hadn’t been as decent as it was, Finn probably would have bolted at the sight of his working conditions. And lack of coffee.

“So, you’re some sort of… boxer? Sorry, they didn’t really tell me shit about who I was programming for so I’m trying to connect the dots.” Also why did the fighting ring area smell so strongly of blood? “Because my theories so far are Very obscure gym, testing facility for anabolic steroids or some Fight Club-esque shit.” Finn paused, catching up to the shit that left his mouth. “Not that you look like you’re on steroids or anything. Definitely look like you could beat me up, though. Not that you feel like you would, you seem nice.” Stop talking.

“Sorry, I ramble when I’m nervous. Or haven’t had coffee. So basically all the time and can I smoke in here? A cigarette might shut me up.”

—

“Yeah! Um, something like that, anyway.” Felix felt a little bad for not telling the programmer the full truth but… it was better this way, wasn’t it? Even if their contract didn’t prevent them from going into too much detail with this sort of thing, they recognized that the programmer was better off not knowing much about the Grit Pit. People liked to say that knowledge was power, but Felix wasn’t so sure that was true. In their experience, knowledge was danger. If you knew too much, you’d never survive knowing it. The Grit Pit would go to any length to protect itself; Felix was proof enough of that.

They forced a laugh at the programmer’s ‘guess’ on what the Grit Pit was. “Um… Gym is the best name for it, I think.” Fight Club was a little too accurate. Felix hadn’t been able to rewatch that movie since their return to society a few years ago. It just wasn’t quite as much fun as it used to be. “I wouldn’t beat you up. I don’t like to do that.” Which wasn’t the same as not doing it. Felix didn’t like what they did, but… They did it anyway. They weren’t sure how much the lack of choice they had in the matter really meant in the long run.

“You can smoke,” they confirmed. “People do, I mean. In the audience. The fighters usually don’t during, uh… business hours… but sometimes at training. I don’t smoke, though. But you still can!” Right. The programmer wasn’t the only one prone to rambling.

—

Felix didn’t seem to be too put off by the rambling, which was good. The fact that they were still leading Finn to some coffee was even better, even if their jittery nerves were making the empath really curious. “Alright, good to know,” Finn huffed a quiet laugh, glancing over at Felix once more. “Because you really, totally could.” And finally, behind a door Felix led them through, there was coffee. Finn momentarily forgot about the need for a smoke in lieu of caffeine -just as good, Felix seemed the type to let someone smoke around them whether it actually bugged them or not- rushing towards the airpot. It wouldn’t even matter if it contained the stalest coffee known to man.

“Thanks for this,” Finn breathed as the steaming liquid filled the paper cup, glancing over at Felix with a small nod. He really did like meeting people that reminded him not everyone sucked. Just as he released the pump, cup filled to the brim, something heavy slammed into the wall outside the breakroom. Very heavy, enough so that the whole room felt like it was shaking and definitely enough for Finn to startle, coffee spilling up and over his hand. “Fucking shit fuck,” he hissed, rest of the coffee spilling on to the ground as he dropped the cup. Another slam, this one making the door to the room tremble.

Wide eyes turned to Felix, hoping there was a totally normal and non-deadly explanation for all of this.

—

Felix let out a small huff of a laugh, uncertain but not quite as uncomfortable as they had been before. Finn seemed easygoing enough, which was good. He certainly didn’t seem like most of the other people the Grit Pit employed outside the ‘fighters’ circle, which was better. With any luck, Finn would finish what he’d been hired for and be out without ever learning anything that might put him in danger or get him into trouble. And that was a good thing. Despite their limited interactions thus far, Felix liked Finn. He seemed nice.

“Yeah, hey, no problem. Caffeine is important, right? I, um, I don’t drink a lot of it. It makes my heart go, like…” They waved their hands, as if providing a demonstration, then laughed awkwardly. “But I get it. So, you know, no big…” They trailed off as something slammed into the wall, causing Finn to spill his coffee. Felix winced sympathetically, even as their eyes darted to the source of the pounding and their body flinched back. Their eyes were wide as Finn turned to look at them, expression undeniably unsettled as panic, old and new, rose in their chest. “Um, that’s — Hey, we should go! Right? We should go to another room!”

—

There was no comfort to be found in Felix, neither their expression nor the panic Finn could feel perfectly matching his own. They might have looked much more fit to fight than the empath but if the source of the noise wasn’t human - which it almost definitely wasn’t because life was a bitch - then a bit of extra muscles wouldn’t do much. Aching hand clutched to his chest, Finn looked back to the door, eyes drawn back by yet another bang followed by shouting. Felix was suggesting they move which was a splendid idea. If only his feet were currently obeying his brain. Might have had something to do with the waves of fear washing over him from just behind the wall. Even though it did feel like it was slowly fading, draining away…

“Felix-” The door burst open, hanging from a single hinge now. Finn finally found the motivation to move, recoiling back a few steps. Fuck horror movies, that in no way managed to accurately portray the pure terror of standing face to face with something like this. It didn’t look like it should have been standing, much less breaking down doors, a creature whittled down to its barest components. In some places, pieces of skin still clung on for dear life, bones and decaying muscles visible through the gaps. Finn didn’t want to be staring at that thing’s face, sunken and drooping, eyes hollow yet filled with eerie purpose.

Finn didn’t need to feel whatever that thing was feeling - he had a pretty good hunch already, confirmed by the creature suddenly lurching forward.

—

This was bad. Wasn’t it? This was really bad. It was rare for the Grit Pit to lose control of one of their fighters, given the binds they put in place. But the less sentient creatures that were brought in for the more brutal fights, the ones that tended to end with death about a hundred percent of the time? Those were harder to control. You couldn’t bind something that had no concept of promises or thank yous, after all. They controlled them as best they could with electric shocks and other sources of physical pain, but nothing was ever a guarantee. This was proof of that.

Before Felix could usher Finn out of the room, the door was bursting from its hinges and something big and decaying was standing there. Felix wrinkled their nose, the stench coming off the thing strong enough to make their toes curl in their shoes. “Oh man, oh crap,” they muttered, turning to Finn and quickly pushing him backwards. “Sorry! Sorry about this! We should — We should run! Right? Running is —”

A bony hand landed on the balam’s shoulder, yanking them backwards. Felix yelped, heart pounding in their chest.

—

As soon as Felix spurred into action, Finn finally snapped out of it - even if his body was still deciding between fight or flight, at least it had decided against freeze. “What the fuck is that?” Finn demanded, half hysterical as he let himself get pushed back. Run sounded good but to where - in an instant, the steady pressure of Felix pushing him back vanished and Finn helplessly watched them get tossed away like they weighed nothing. Great. So much for being a confident, skilled (presumably) fighter. Felix was just as terrified as him… right?

It was subtle, a hoarse whisper amongst the droning noise of fear and panic, but definitely there. Anger, confidence… vengeance. Whichever it was and wherever the fuck it came from, Finn latched onto it because it was a complete improvement over hopeless dread. The creature was moving again, impossibly fast and nimble for something that should have imploded into dust by a mild gust of wind. It settled over Felix, gnarled fingers wrapping around wrists, a vice grip. Finn wanted to bolt for the exit, probably would have made it but his heart was pounding with the heat of the emotions which had no clear origin.

The chair smashed against the creature's body, breaking apart on impact and leaving only its back in Finn’s grasp. A surprised noise startled from him, incredulous that it had actually worked, the thing knocked on its side and no longer looming over Felix. Well, worked in some regard because the creature was quick to shake it off, gurgling what was probably some sort of protest before setting its sights on Finn. “Shit.”

—

“I don’t know! Something bad!” Even if they had had a more detailed explanation, and even if their contract hadn’t barred them from giving it, Felix wasn’t sure they’d have been able to provide it in the moment. Not with their heart pounding the way it was, not with the icy tendrils of fear wrapped so tightly around their throat. They weren’t even sure if they were allowed to fight this thing, if they’d get in trouble for destruction of company property if they took a swing at it outside the ring. As they were yanked back by the creature’s grip, they realized it might not matter. They didn’t want to die here, and they certainly didn’t want Finn to get hurt. If they had to fight back, they had to fight back. It might feel nice to do it without a crowd for once.

Felix was tossed to the ground, pain shooting through their body as they made contact with the floor. Their fear was palpable, but the jaguar’s fury lurked just underneath. They could feel the spirit thrashing within them, demanding a release, but… Their eyes slid over to Finn, albeit briefly among the chaos. If they let the jaguar out now, there was a good chance he wouldn’t stop when the creature attacking them was dead. There was a solid possibility that he’d go after Finn, too. And Felix didn’t want that. They wanted Finn to be okay. He seemed nice.

And… he was helping? It was a little surprising, the way Finn leaped into action with that chair. Felix hadn’t expected it. If anything, he’d figured Finn would run — and had thought it was probably for the best that he did so. After all, if Finn left, Felix could shift with a little less fear involved, could allow the jaguar to tear through the creature and hope that someone in the Grit Pit would sedate him before he tore through anything else. Waking up in a cage afterwards would be harrowing, but not as harrowing as waking up with someone else’s blood in their teeth.

But Finn didn’t run, because Finn was nice and brave and wanted to help. Finn knocked the creature off Felix, and before Felix had time to blink the stars away from their vision, the thing was moving towards Finn instead. “No, no, no,” Felix mumbled, shaking their head and trying to keep the jaguar at bay. His anger was more overwhelming now, and Felix grit their teeth against it. “Okay. Okay. We’ve gotta — We can’t do this right now,” they muttered, as if the spirit could understand them. Shaking their head, they moved towards the creature, trying to stop it before it got to Finn.

—

As soon as those sunken eyes turned to Finn, whatever shred of courage he’d grasped onto before seemed much harder to cling to. It did inspire him to throw the back of the chair he was still holding at the creature, not waiting to see if it would do any damage (he pretty much knew it wouldn’t) as he threw himself to the ground to duck underneath the table. Probably wouldn’t do much but at least it might prevent a tackle like the one Felix had gotten.

“I don’t think it’s listening to you,” Finn shouted at Felix’s muttering, pushing himself further under the table and keeping a close eye on those grotesque legs moving across the floor. “I’m open to any other ideas, though,” he added, desperation tinting his voice. Something slammed hard against the tabletop over his head, bits of splinter raining down as it creaked under the impact. “Shit,” he breathed before the table was no longer touching the ground, lifted with frightening ease and tossed in Felix’s direction, leaving Finn once again exposed. “Literally any idea.”

It shouldn’t have been possible but the gaping mouth seemed even wider, hypnotic in a way and for a moment, Finn didn’t feel anything. Not his own emotions nor anyone else’s - it was all quiet. His body was light, or maybe very, very heavy? He was tired but it was a good kind of tired, like falling asleep as a kid before the weight of the world had caught up with you and nothing lay ahead except a good night’s sleep. The wight moved closer, greedily feeding on the provided life force.

—

Finn was under a table and Felix was muttering to themself and the monster wasn’t stopping and something really needed to be done here. “What?” Finn’s voice called out to Felix from beneath the table, and it took their mind a moment to catch up to what their ears were hearing. “Oh, that’s not — Um, I wasn’t talking to — Never mind!” Finn would definitely think they were nuts after this. But… only if they both survived. Which was looking less and less likely with each passing moment.

Felix watched in stilted horror as the creature approached Finn, moving in close and opening its terrifying mouth. They didn’t understand what was happening, but they knew it was bad. They knew it needed to stop. They knew —

Crap.

“Okay,” Felix muttered, close to tears. “All right. Okay! Please don’t hurt him. Please. Okay?” They had no idea if the jaguar understood the words, or if he felt the desperation thrumming in their chest, or if he cared one way or another. They just knew that they were out of options here. Finn was going to die if Felix didn’t step in, so Felix would step in. That was all there really was to it.

The sound of bones cracking filled the room, the pain of the shift familiar as it washed over them. Hands gave way to paws, fur sprouted from skin, teeth sharpened and grew longer. Felix exited the building and the jaguar took their place. His tail swished back and forth, and he let out a low, dangerous yowl.

Normally, the jaguar preferred a slow prowl. But the creature in front of him now was dangerous and wrong and bad, and that called for a much faster resolution. The jaguar pounced, sinking its claws into flesh and knocking the creature away from the feeble human cowering under the table.

—-

Nothing really registered as it happened, even if Finn vaguely thought that maybe the sounds and sights should have elicited some sort of reaction. It didn’t really seem to matter, all of it an afterthought to the peaceful sleep that awaited. Until all of it came crashing back, the terror of the situation rearing its ugly head once more as the wight’s feeding got abruptly cut off. His head was still filled with cotton, thoughts were hard to come by but after a moment, he fully registered the jaguar in the room. Felix.

Finn was grateful that the apparently dementor-esque creature was off limits to his abilities - no way did he want to feel the pain currently being inflicted by the jaguar. It was all anger and kill and now that it was stronger, Finn realized who - or what - had inspired his burst of bravery before. Where Felix had been just as terrified as the empath, the jaguar had just felt anger and right now, it was palpable. It didn’t feel at all like Felix anymore.

As quickly as he could, which wasn’t very fast mind you, Finn shuffled his way across the floor, away from the sound of decayed skin tearing. The door was open, technically smashed to pieces, but a way out all the same. He was still summoning up the effort to actually stand up and leave when the room got eerily silent. Strange thing, to wish for the sound of teeth and claws tearing to return. With a shaky exhale, Finn turned his head, meeting a sharp eyed gaze. Was staring straight into their eyes bad? Why had their mom never allowed for a cat in the home, Finn didn’t have a fucking clue on how to portray ‘friend’ to a cat, small or giant. All he knew for sure is that this wasn’t Felix, not really.

“Thank you,” was all he came up with, throat dry and voice scratchy. Did it even understand? Was this just a full on animal he was currently trying to talk to? It couldn’t be, Finn had never felt a regular animal’s emotions this strongly.

—

As the jaguar tore into the flesh of the wight, the wight made a desperate attempt to save itself. It leeched off the jaguar just as it had the human, though the attempts were more stilted. The jaguar was driven by a protective rage unmatched by most anything else, claws tearing through the wight’s flesh so swiftly and violently that it was difficult for the creature to get a good enough hold to sap away anything substantial. It would not save itself; nothing would.

It was over relatively quickly. Felix had known it would be when they’d shifted, had known the quickest resolution was also the most violent. They had a distaste for such things, but the jaguar didn’t. The jaguar yearned for this violence, felt better when his claws ripped and his teeth tore. There was such a helplessness that came with Felix’s situation, and Felix wasn’t the only one who felt it. The jaguar did, too.

But the jaguar liked to fight back.

Too soon, the wight crumbled beneath him and the fight was over. The jaguar hungered for more violence, wanted to continue his rampage. His eyes scanned the room, stopping on the human he’d rescued. The human met his eye, and the jaguar tilted his head slightly to one side. He could tear through the human’s flesh with relative ease. He knew that. He could rip him into pieces, could sink his teeth into his flesh, could paint the walls with his blood. Humans were so delicate, so easy to kill.

But Felix didn’t want that.

The jaguar knew that Felix didn’t want that, understood that their host wanted the human to live just as they wanted everyone to live. The jaguar weighed his options, taking a step towards the human with a growl low in his throat.

Maybe just a bite.

—

His chest hurt with the intensity of his heart pounding, ramming against his ribcage, not letting him forget for a second just how human and fragile he was. For a moment, Finn hoped there was some mutual understanding here, imagined that he saw thought behind the vibrant eyes. Until it growled, rattling him from the inside out. So this was it? No yapping his way out, no running off. Just teeth and claws and blood.

Being able to feel the primal bloodlust was wrong, was the last thing Finn wanted to experience as his actual last thing to experience. He wasn’t quite sure which emotion was fighting to come out on top - fear, sadness, guilt, the tiniest sliver of relief - but anything was better than what the jaguar had to offer. So he pushed, if that was even the right word for it, against the unwelcome intrusion of someone else. Fully allowing his own emotions to the forefront and then even further, finding the urge to kill and destroy growing fainter the more he forced himself to actually feel.

And then he was still alive, still intact. Nothing sharp was tearing through his flesh as the jaguar had just… stopped. Finn scrambled to his feet, barely holding his own weight, but still no attack. He felt woozy, not just from the double threat of death. This was a different kind of exhausted, like his brain had somehow run a marathon in the middle of fucking July. As he felt whatever control he had slip, felt the lurking rage of the jaguar sneak its way back, footsteps thundered into the room and a quiet shot went off without warning.

—

The jaguar’s teeth yearned for the human’s flesh, and his tail swished back and forth as he approached. He wouldn’t kill the human, he thought; Felix would resent that, and Felix had a tendency to make things harder for the jaguar when they were upset. After stealing a mouthful of the terrifying woman’s glittering blood, the jaguar hadn’t been allowed to see the light of day for months without fighting and clawing his way to the surface. He didn’t want a repeat of that. This human would survive his wrath, he decided, but not unscathed. He needed to understand. That was all. He needed to remember to respect the food chain.

Large paws took a step forward, and then another. The jaguar licked his massive chops, his anger and his hunger surging through his chest. But then… there was a tickle of something else, just beneath the surface. It started as a seed, small and unassuming, but it sprouted quickly. It took root and grew, going down and up all at once. Terror, grief, guilt, relief… It was a jarring transition, and the jaguar froze where he stood. His head felt fuzzy and uncertain, and something that wasn’t his swirled in his chest.

It didn’t last long; in a few moments, the rage returned as hot as ever, but slower than what the jaguar was used to. He shook his head as if trying to dislodge the intruder, but it was too late. Footsteps thundered in, a shot was fired. The jaguar felt the familiar sensation of a needle in his flesh, and then a surge of exhaustion overcame him. He took a final, clumsy step towards the human before collapsing in a heap, unconsciousness pulling him beneath its icy waves as the tranquilizer took hold.

—

For whatever reason, Finn had expected the shot to hit him - hilarious, in retrospect. As if he posed any sort of threat to… well, to anyone. The jaguar on the other hand, big ass fucking threat. So why hadn’t it gone for the kill? Finn had felt the desire, seen it stalk like it was starring in a nature documentary and then… Someone was shouting and Finn startled, all at once aware of his heavy body, shallow breathing and the way this room smelled of death. “What?”

“Are you slow? Come on, get the fuck out,” one of the newcomers hissed, rough hands snatching at Finn’s jacket. His eyes stayed on the jaguar, its breathing slow and heavy, as he got manhandled out of the room.

“Wait, is he- is he going to be okay?” No one bothered to reply to his stuttered question as the shoving and dragging continued, making it hard to stay upright. “Seriously, what the fuck happened? What the hell is this place?”

Finn’s back hit the wall, knocking the wind out of him and thankfully shutting him the fuck up. “You keep your mouth shut, we’re not gonna have a problem. I find out you’re yapping about shit you know nothing about, we’ll make sure one of those friendly corpses like the one back there finds its way to your apartment. We good?”

Nodding, afraid he’d curse the guy out or honest to god, break down in fucking tears if he opened his mouth, Finn was dragged back into the process of getting thrown out. “Hey, just - ow! At least let me get my fucking laptop!”

#animotoph0bia #finn: it's all wight #wickedswriting

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eliaskahtri · 2 months

Note

[pm] Hypothetically, how bad would it be for a dog to eat a guitar pick? And how angry might an owner of this hypothetical guitar pick be?

[pm] Well, obligatory I'm not a vet. Second, I'd take them to a vet. Because, uh... sharp? I don't know.

#animotoph0bia #pm;animotoph0bia #pm;

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muertarte · 6 months

Text

TIMING: Right after this

PARTIES: @animotoph0bia @muertarte

SUMMARY: Metzli runs into an injured Finn and decides to help.

WARNINGS: None

Stupid pride. Or had it mostly been fear. For some reason, that stupid skit about never letting anyone take you to a secondary location was on repeat in his head, forcing out pained and involuntary chuckles interrupted by hissing with every other step. Finn couldn’t properly steady his limp and useless arm with the hand that felt like it was on fire, having at some point settled for somewhat leaning against the nearest wall for support.

It wasn’t really working.

Everything felt fuzzy, both his mind and his face, adrenaline starting to drain from his body and leaving only so much exhaustion and pain. Finn was sort of sure that he was heading in the direction of the hospital but honestly, maybe instinct was just leading him home - it was hard to tell. As long as he could get somewhere to lie down, far away from where he’d been in case the man with the knife decided to change his mind. Or unchange it, he supposed.

Like so many times before, Finn didn’t have cash on him and honestly, he wasn’t even sure if a taxi would stop for a guy in his state. His messed up hand was covered in someone else’s blood for fuck’s sake. He rarely put a lot of faith in humanity and tonight was not the time it would change. The sound of a car rolling to a stop had him freezing instead of filling with relief, muscles tensing and pulling at his shoulder as he turned his head, expecting to meet the sinister, blue eyed gaze once again.

Wicked’s Rest was filled with many things. Creatures, beasts, and ghosts that stalked the darkness. Being one of them, Metzli could always spot the others, but more importantly, they could find the victims of their siblings shrouded in night. This was a talent they’d had since their experience in the clan. Even without using their nose, just in sight alone, Metzli was an expert hunter, but that wasn’t the case that evening. Instead, as morality had wrapped itself around their heart the moment their sire died, the vampire offered kindness.

They chose to ignore the way their fangs ached at the smell of blood on the stranger’s hands.

“Excuse me,” Metzli swallowed, gripping their steering wheel tightly as a means to steel themself. The blood smelled so good. “What is wrong with you?” Though the question was blunt and likely to be taken badly, the vampire meant nothing by it. There was no confusion or even a judgmental tone. Just an even and dry question looking for a blatant answer. But maybe Metzli should’ve known better than to continue speaking.

“You look very bad.”

So, not the creepy guy back to finish the job. Was this person creepy? Finn wasn’t sure if his radar for it was correct at the moment, set on high alert. They didn’t feel like much but to be fair, Finn wasn’t sure he had the capacity to feel anything other than his own pain and exhaustion at the moment. Point for the ME, he noted begrudgingly. Tired eyes took in the stranger, their furrowed eyebrows, and tried to detect any hint of hostility. It wasn’t glaringly obvious but then, as this evening had made clear, he was dumb as bricks.

The question made him huff out a laugh because fucking valid, and not just because he looked like shit. “Besides the broken bones? So fucking much,” Finn answered honestly, cocking his head at the follow up statement. “And yes, I’m aware. Which is why I’m heading to the hospital. Or I think I’m heading to the hospital. Maybe home, whichever I find first.” Heaving in a breath, Finn turned from the car to continue the slow shuffle down the street, making it a total of five steps before a fresh wave of pain made his vision go black.

“Fuck,” Finn sighed, slowly but surely sliding down against the wall until he was fully sitting on the ground, cradling the useless appendage. Just a short break, then he’d get right back on track.

Clenching their jaw tightly, the vampire shut their eyes and imagined the roadmap they had memorized of the town. The direction the stranger was heading was the wrong way, and in his bloody and haggard state, Metzli wasn’t sure he was even going to make it to his home if he was wandering aimlessly. Opening their eyes, they swallowed the urge to take a greedy breath of air to calm themself, completely avoiding the scent of blood. They watched the young man’s gait turn into a hobble, his body relinquishing itself to exhaustion. There was no other choice but to help, and maintain control over their hunger while doing so.

“Boy.” They called out to the stranger, trying to get his mind to focus and stay awake as they bolted from their car. When they knelt next to him, that’s when Metzli saw just how serious the injuries were. And thanks to Regan’s many lessons on anatomy and decay, they knew how to label each one.

Lacerations, contusions, a dislocation, and…they narrowed their eyes at his hand, a bit disconcerted at the way it had swelled and appeared wrong. Someone had hurt him, the intention in such an attack plain to see by someone as experienced in fighting and injuring as Metzli was. The story could change though, couldn’t it? They could be a good person, could choose the kindness they’d always wanted to give. They didn’t have to be a monster.

They breathed deeply, “My name is Metzli and I will not hurt you.” It sounded like a promise, red eyes impossible to suppress, but genuine and kind as they softened to accompany Metzli’s statement. “Hospital is other way and I will take you, but I can,” English began to fail them, but after a short pause, Metzli managed to find their way. “Make pain less.” They gestured to the stranger’s shoulder. “Will hurt much at the beginning, but it will be less when it is in right position. Does this have sense to you?”

From somewhere, Finn found the energy to get annoyed at being called a boy, especially by someone who looked maybe a few years older than him. Annoyance was good, though - it cleared his mind just the tiniest bit. Although he was kinda hoping that the glaring red eyes were part of a pain-induced hallucination and not real. Not that it mattered, he wasn’t exactly in a state to run off.

Metzli introduced themselves and it made the blood colored irises a little less spooky. The words did imply that they could hurt him if they felt so inclined but then again, Finn felt like a kitten could end his life at this point so whatever. “Hey, Metzli. I’m Finn. You have red eyes,” he commented tiredly and yeah, maybe he was a tiny bit delirious, shut up. Assistance to the hospital did sound promising, hospitals had medication. His odds of getting there himself without perishing definitely seemed worse than letting this one armed stranger help him. “Nothing makes much sense at this point but as long as the plan isn’t chopping off my arm, go nuts,” Finn resigned, too tired to care. Not like it could hurt more than it currently did, right?

Wrong. Very wrong, and dumb - the unofficial theme of this evening. Finn wasn’t sure if what had left his mouth had even been English, some amalgamation of curses and general noises. He couldn’t even appreciate the strength of Metzli’s single arm, or the fact that they seemed to have done this before. Probably more than once. The part about it hurting a bit less hadn’t been a lie, thank fuck, but as soon as pain gave way, it only left room for more exhaustion. “Ow,” Finn groaned pitifully once black spots cleared from his vision, legs fully the consistency of jello at this point.

Finn was blunt, and it made Metzli smile, though they were sure Finn would think their face was unchanged. “You are bleeding. Blood makes my eyes turn red and fangs appear.” It was a statement they made dryly, unaware if it made the young man uncomfortable. Metzli didn’t think anything could be more uncomfortable than being covered in injuries, or microfiber, but they’ve been known to be wrong about how people feel. It came with their very unique territory.

Or so they’ve been told.

“What is wrong with having only one arm?” Furrowing their brows as they pondered, Metzli raised their half limb and waved it for a few moments. “It was torn off by someone else for punishment.” Another bland statement, but they didn’t give Finn much of an opportunity to react or respond before they moved in to adjust his shoulder. It was better that way. People didn’t flinch or lock up as badly when they were distracted, and Metzli hoped that Finn didn’t begin to leak once he was done with his outburst.

They’d never heard so many obscenities in one breath before. It was actually a bit impressive until Finn topped it off with a bland ‘ow’ and his body nearly going completely limp. “I am going to carry you now.” Metzli droned like a humanoid robot, slipping their arm around Finn and lifting him up without much struggle on their part. The problem with lifting someone nearly limp, with one arm was the lack of control either party had. But to Metzli’s surprise and relief, they managed to tumble both of them to their car, with only a few bumps into the door as they tried to open it. Thankfully, no one was around to see the struggle. Or so they hoped.

Focus.

“Can you put seatbelt on by yourself or do you need more help?”

Ah, fangs. Cool. At least this wasn’t a new kind of strange thing, just another vampire. Finn had dealt with that before, very unsuccessfully but still. And this one did really seem intent on helping. Tired eyes had managed to track the movement of Metzli’s arm - stump? Half-arm? - as they asked a question with a seemingly obvious answer. “It’s… well, then you don’t have two arms?” Finn answered dumbly, feeling like that should have explained it. He already felt physically useless most of the time with all appendages intact, there was no need to further his problems. After this evening, it almost sounded reasonable that someone had simply torn off Metzli’s arm. Witnessing what seemed like freaking organ harvesting and then a man impaling his own hand as an intimidation technique, it just sounded on par.

Metzli gave him warning but everything still spun as he was raised up from the ground. Finn did his best to be slightly more than just dead weight, although that just seemed to throw the vampire more off balance, but it was a short walk. He didn’t even mind his head knocking into the open door as he was discarded like a sack of potatoes into the back seat, breathing heavily from the exertion of doing basically nothing. “I got it, I got it,” he mumbled, feeling very childlike for a moment as he struggled to make the clasp stick. When it finally did, Finn sighed victoriously.

Even with the knowledge that a vampire, one that was clearly aware of the blood coating his hand, was driving the car, Finn did feel safe as they took off. “You didn’t have to do that,” he finally spoke, gaze settled on the blurry lights outside as they passed. “Probably shouldn’t have. Trying to help a stranger is what got me fucked up in the first place. Although you’re not a vulnerable bag of blood so maybe you got that going for you.”

“Yes, that is a factual statement.” Once again, they wiggled what was left of their arm with a curious tilt of their head. Finn was strange, and Metzli had a feeling it had nothing to do with any head injury or blood loss that he’d experienced. They couldn’t imagine what he was like on a typical day, but they were sure he wouldn’t be all that terrible to be around. Hopefully their judge of character wouldn’t suddenly steer them wrong.

Although, watching the way Finn struggled to put on his seatbelt and sighing like a tired little kid made the vampire feel more secure in their assessment.

Shrugging, Metzli circled around the car and took their seat, setting the car into drive to head toward the hospital. The smell of blood continued to entice them, but the conversation Finn attempted to start was enough of a distraction. Even with the mention of blood. Bags Metzli no longer felt comfortable stealing, but they were sure that wasn’t exactly Finn was referring to. Regardless, they shook their head and looked at the young man in their rear view mirror, a weight pulling their shoulders down. They’d done horrible things in the past, allowed people to die by acting on orders and standing idle when required. That Metzli was no more. Freedom allowed kindness to shine through, and the child of night would accept that warmth, and pass it on.

“I like being kind,” They finally said, seeing the hospital sign in the distance. In a matter of minutes, they’d arrive, and their job would be over. “I still bleed a little and it still hurts, but this does not matter to me.” Flashes of Teocaltiche and the neighboring states of Mexico made Metzli subtly wince, the pain they had once inflicted sending a spiky ball of guilt down their throat. Pain was inevitable and necessary, but tragedy set in motion was not, and they’d be damned if they ever began doing that again. Little by little, Metzli would redeem the monster they once were, giving as much of themself as they could for people that needed a little more help than others. And if Finn’s heroic behavior was an indicator, they were positive they’d see him again.

They’d offer help then, too.

“We are almost there.”

Metzli was interesting, in a good way. It helped that they didn’t seem too off-put by… well, anything, including the chaotic rambling from Finn, taking it in stride. He had a feeling he’d be hard pressed to spout anything that would insult them, accidental or not, which was nice for a change. Sure, the circumstances of this meeting preferably could have been less traumatic and bone crushing but bright side and fucking whatnot.

His line of questioning had caused an uncharacteristic lack of response, the silence turning his gaze to the back of Metzli’s head and then catching their gaze in the rearview mirror. Even in his current state, Finn could feel the empty space where there should have been a swirl of emotions, evidenced by the look in those eyes. Maybe a good thing he couldn’t feel it - this night had him feeling like a wrung out towel. The answer finally came and he smiled softly, leaning his head back. “Pretty solid answer,” he concluded. “The weirdo from the alley definitely could have used some pointers from you.”

Perking up at the update on their trip, Finn did indeed see the hospital looming in the distance, a sight he never thought he’d be happy to see. “I… I feel like I owe you. Like, it feels weird to not even pay you for the gas, not to mention there’s definitely some blood in your car now but I don’t know, maybe you don’t mind that… I don’t even have cash on me. Promise you’ll let me pay you back somehow?”

Whatever Finn was saying was drowned out. Showings of gratitude were unnecessary and futile, to say the least. With the wealth Metzli had accumulated from the criminals they’d killed and the genuine business side of their gallery, they didn’t need for much at all. If anything, they wanted to extend the kindness further, and they would. Metzli had paid hospital bills before, without batting an eye, and in Finn’s condition, they weren’t sure if his wallet had fallen out during his bloody scuffle. Not that it mattered. Having money or not, being attacked was enough trouble. Bills didn’t need to be added on top of that.

“We are here.”

They turned into the emergency room parking lot, quickly unbuckling themself and getting Finn out of the car. He could hardly walk, but his legs seemed to oblige as much as they could. As they led him to the sliding doors, which activated for a group of people shuffling indoors, Metzli swept him up and threw him over their shoulder, not considering how strange they’d appear walking in with an injured and bleeding individual. But was that really out of the ordinary for a hospital? Let alone one in Wicked’s Rest? It didn’t matter. They were at the front desk in the blink of an eye and Finn was quickly swept away on a wheelchair to be tended to, leaving Metzli to stare blankly and wave him goodbye.

Which was interrupted by a clipboard being shoved into their face for them to fill out. With a simple, “No.” The vampire slid their business card over to the nurse and uttered the word, “Bill,” before turning away and leaving.

#wickedswriting #writings #bloody ink #your uber is here #c: finn #finn and metzli

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