#an alligator ate his eye
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Napoleonville [Chapter 6: The House Of Salt And Scales]
Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.
Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, infidelity, Evangelical Christians, kids, parenthood, Willis Warning, (Mis)Adventures With Aegon, Targ family dysfunction, bodily injury, blood, alligators, ANGST!!!
Word Count: 7.5k.
Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.
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“Did you hear that Willis is single again?”
Ugh. “Yes, Mama. I heard. You told me already.” You linger in the doorway with a white bakery box in your hands: your mother’s favorite, grasshopper pie, straight out of the 1960s. She allegedly ate through two a week when she was pregnant with you. Cadi has already dashed inside and made herself at home; she’s probably jamming the movie she got from Blockbuster—Predator, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Amir recommended it—into the VHS player. “You told me, Willis told me, all his deputies told me, Cadi told me, my mailman told me, the checkout ladies at the Piggly Wiggly told me, literally every resident of Napoleonville has informed me in no uncertain terms that Willis is single again. And I could not possibly care less.”
Your mother sighs and presses a hand to her forehead, wounded and incredulous, like she’s just watched a 60 Minutes segments about a tsunami or a genocide. “I just don’t understand it. In my day, people married for life.”
You glance back longingly at your Chevy Celebrity. “Yeah. I know they did.”
“When your father, and God rest his soul, when he was young, he was a hellion,” your mother says, as if you don’t remember it, as if you weren’t there. “He’d get his paycheck every Friday and stay out all night with his buddies, sometimes he didn’t come home the whole weekend. I’d lay into him when he finally showed, I’d say, ‘Rene, how on earth am I supposed to put dinner on the table if I don’t have any fish in the icebox?!’ Once he punched a hole in the kitchen wall and I had to cover it up with a picture of President Eisenhower! And I never even thought about leaving. How could I have done that to you? Forcing you to grow up in a broken home? Mothers and fathers living apart, whoever heard of such a thing? It’s unnatural.”
You’re brainstorming recipes to distract yourself. Caramel pretzel cookies. Banana chiffon pie. Cheese Danish cupcakes with diced cherries and a hint of vanilla. “Everyone draws their own lines, Mama.”
“But it’s not just about you,” she implores, her eyes shimmering with sympathy she never had for other women. You remember what she said on the rare occasions you confided in her about your frustrations with Willis: Of course a man isn’t going to want you bothering him with your feelings when he’s had a hard day at work. Of course a man—after you’ve had his baby, after you almost died to do it—is going to be crossing off days on the calendar until you can have sex again. He keeps a roof over your head and he never hits you, what more could you ask for? “What about Cadi? What if she grows up thinking that her marriage vows don’t mean anything? It’s the foundation of society, marriage. If that goes, everything goes.”
It’s the foundation of a lot of coercion and unfairness and misery, that’s for sure. “I wouldn’t want Cadi to stay in a situation that makes her unhappy. Would you?”
Your mother throws her hands up, like you’ve told her you’re converting to communism and catching the next flight to the USSR. “Life isn’t just about happiness, sweetheart! It’s about commitment, it’s about responsibility! If everyone did what they wanted all the time, no one would stay married!”
“Maybe that speaks to the value of marriage as an institution.”
“And morality is already falling apart in this country,” your mother continues, ignoring you. That’s what she does when she can’t refute facts, logic, evidence. “Young people living together, women having babies with two or three different men, people doing drugs, people on Welfare, people shooting and stabbing each other, sex shops everywhere, naughty magazines at gas stations, men wanting to marry other men—”
“Okay, Mama. I really have to go now.”
“Alright, I’ll shut up. I will, I will, I swear.” She makes peace with a brisk kiss to your cheek like a stamp on an envelope. “Enjoy a nice quiet night to yourself. Do you have any plans?”
Well, Mama, I’m trying to resist the temptation to call my engaged dominant oil tycoon not-boyfriend and tell him to come over for kinky adulterous sex. “Not really. I’ll probably take a bubble bath and then watch something Cadi would think is boring, like 20/20.” You hand over the bakery box, and your mother’s face lights up.
“Grasshopper pie?!”
“Of course.”
“Thank you, sweetheart. You know it’s hard for me to make it myself anymore. This rheumatoid arthritis, it’s got me all twisted up.” She nods down to where her fingers grip the box, knobby and increasingly useless.
“When’s your next appointment?”
“I’ve got one in…oh…about three weeks, I think. I’d have to check my daybook. All the way over in New Orleans with some specialist that Dr. Cormier recommended.”
“Okay. Want me to go with you?”
“Yes, that’d be fine.” It would be more than fine; she wants you to go, though she won’t say it. You aren’t sure if she doesn’t want to impose or doesn’t want to admit how reliant she’s becoming upon you, like growing up in reverse.
“Mawmaw!” Cadi shouts from inside the house. “Hurry up! I want to watch Predator!”
“You quit your hollering, I’ll be right there!” Then your mother looks to you and offers one last piece of very unsolicited advice. “Just be kind to Willis, alright? Give him a chance. I don’t think he’ll ever find a woman he likes as much as you. That’s what everyone says.”
“Mama, he has no idea who I am.” And he’s not interested either.
“Sure he does. You’re the mother of his child, and you always will be. Maybe you’ll find your way back to each other.”
“I’ll think about it.” You definitely won’t. “Goodnight, Mama.”
“So long.” She shuffles into the house, and once she’s shut the door you hear her muffled voice: “Arcadia, come on over here and help me slice up this pie…”
You drive home with the windows down and blasting St. Elmo’s Fire. There’s still an hour or two of sunlight left; the world is painted in gold and blood orange, the soybeans, the sugarcane, the grass growing tall and wild, the Spanish moss swinging from the trees, the earth ripening as its revolution hurtles towards the apex of summer. Cadi is out of school until August. Amir will be announcing his looming departure to San Francisco. Aemond will be getting married.
The adolescent alligator that Aemond is so afraid of is in the far corner of the front yard, basking in the last of the daylight. You walk into your room, flop down on the bed, lie there staring longingly at the pink phone on your nightstand. You reach to pick it up, then stop yourself. Aemond hasn’t fucked you, hasn’t kissed you, has rarely touched you at all since you found out about Christabel. But he stops by your house and invites you to his; he stitches himself into your life like someone somewhere once sutured his face back together.
I can’t. It’s wrong. He’s engaged.
Aemond doesn’t know you’re home alone. It’s Friday, and usually Cadi would be here with you until tomorrow morning.
Maybe it’s not really cheating until he’s married. I mean, if Aemond and Christabel aren’t sleeping together, if they almost never see each other…is it even a real relationship?
Wistful thinking, yes, denial, yes; but with each passing minute your resolve not to pick up the phone weakens.
We don’t have much longer until the wedding. Our time is slipping away.
He’s a robber baron. He’s arrogant, he’s delusional.
And I want him. I still do, and I can’t stop.
The phone rings. You sit up, startled. It’s not Aemond, you tell yourself so you won’t be disappointed when it isn’t him. But it is.
“Hi,” Aemond says; he sounds out of breath. “I’m really sorry to bother you.”
“No, it’s okay, Cadi is actually having a sleepover with my mom. They’re watching Predator. My mom has no idea what it’s about, she’ll be clutching that Bible she got signed by Jerry Falwell a little extra hard tonight. What’s up?”
“This is going to sound random, but…you haven’t seen Aegon, have you? He hasn’t shown up at your house, he hasn’t called? You don’t know where he is?”
Aegon? Why would I know anything about what Aegon’s doing right now? “Um, no…?”
A long exhale, a lull that’s full of dread.
“Aemond, what’s going on?”
“He and my father got into it a few hours ago. They were screaming at each other, kicking furniture over, which isn’t all that unusual, honestly. But then Aegon ran away.”
“Wait, like, he’s gone…?”
“He stormed out the back door, went down to the lake, and then headed north into the trees. And I assumed he’d be back by now, but it’s getting dark and he’s not here. He never came home. His Porsche is still sitting in the driveway.” There is a pause. “I think he’s out there.”
“Out where?”
“In the woods,” Aemond says, shellshocked, terrified. “In the bayou.”
Your eyes dart to the window; the golden daylight is dwindling. “Aemond, he can’t be alone in the bayou. It’s dangerous. He could die. There aren’t just alligators, there are wild boars, cottonmouths, copperheads, snapping turtles, brown recluses, fire ants, I don’t think there are any black bears this far south but it’s always possible, he could drown, he could get trapped in quicksand, you cannot let Aegon spend the night out there.”
“I don’t know what to do.” You’re not used to hearing this in Aemond’s voice: the panic, the vulnerability. “No one else seems worried. They said he disappears all the time, and that’s true. They’re convinced he’s found his way to a strip club or a Waffle House or something and will drag himself home eventually. No one will listen to me. My father has forbidden me from getting anyone else involved. He doesn’t want gossip getting around town and overshadowing the new rig project or…you know. The wedding thing. My wedding. And I can go over his head, sure, I can make calls, but when investigators show up here to start searching my father is just going to tell them to leave. How is it even possible to find Aegon? At night in a fucking swamp? Is anyone going to be willing to go out there before morning? Do I need people with bloodhounds or a helicopter?”
No way, you think as soon as the idea hits you. But it’s the right thing to do. It’s the only thing to do. “I can think of someone who knows their way around the bayou.”
~~~~~~~~~~
It’s just after 7 p.m. when Willis arrives to pick you up: grinning smugly, mullet fluffed, Plymouth Gran Fury hauling his brand new 20-foot jon boat. He’s dressed for night fishing in boots, camo-colored waders, and a grey hoodie with SHERIFF printed across the front in black letters. You climb into the passenger seat wearing sneakers, denim shorts, and a blue raincoat over your Pepsi t-shirt. You haven’t been fishing since you were married to Willis, and you’ve never missed it. It’s a grisly business: hooks through lips, hooks through eyeballs, hooks swallowed and tangled up in some doomed creature’s guts.
Aemond is waiting at the mouth of the Targaryens’ driveway, just out of sight of the mansion they call The Last Desire. He gets in the back seat and sits there testily with his arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line, glaring out the window as an indistinct blur of primeval vegetation passes by outside. He has on his Marlboro jacket, light-wash jeans, and Adidas sneakers. You hope he doesn’t ruin them; although you suppose he can always buy more. He could buy a hundred more, a thousand more, and it wouldn’t make a difference. You can’t fathom what it’s like to live that way. It seems to conflict with all the laws of man and nature.
Aemond speaks grudgingly to Willis, a quick flat statement that invites no conversation. He didn’t call Willis to explain the situation, you did. You’re afraid to leave them alone with each other. You aren’t sure who would be more likely to end up a corpse decomposing in the muddy silt at the bottom of Lake Verret. “Thank you for agreeing to help with this.”
Willis chuckles warmly, either oblivious to Aemond’s prickliness or unbothered by it. “Bien sur! It’s my job, son. We’ll hunt your brother down.” Then he glances over at you, smirking, prying. “So, sugar…how’d you two make each other’s acquaintance?”
“Amir and I baked the cakes for his engagement party.”
“Engagement party, huh?” Willis looks at Aemond in the rearview mirror. “You gettin’ married?”
Aemond is still staring out the window. “Obviously.”
“So you ain’t single?”
“Legally, I am in fact single until the day the marriage license is signed.”
Willis returns his attention to you. “So he ain’t the petit ami you’ve been so secretive about.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend, Willis. I really can’t be more clear than that.”
“Oh, I know you got one. I know all your looks, sugar. Some days you come ‘round my office lookin’ lovesick, like you’re just a-floatin’ on a cloud. Other days you’re real mean, like you don’t want me takin’ none of your time, like you got somebody more important to spend it on. And then sometimes you just look…” He smiles, mischievous. “Well, how can I put it? Satisfied. The cat who ate the canary. And I recall exactly what that looks like on you. It’s been a while, sure. But I remember.”
From the back seat, Aemond sighs irritably. You say to Willis: “Can we please focus on finding Aegon?”
“Sois calme, sois calme. That’s why I’m here. We’ll be in the water in ten minutes.”
There is no more discussion; the only sound is the radio, Holding Out For A Hero by Bonnie Tyler. Willis turns onto a winding dirt road that leads to a boat launch about a mile from the Targaryens’ property. He spins his Plymouth Gran Fury around and backs it down the concrete ramp towards the rippling, slow-moving currents of Lake Verret. It’s difficult to see from the driver’s seat—most people would have someone get out to guide them—but Willis knows the way by heart. He’s been on boats since before he could walk; Willis’ daddy knew the bayou, and his daddy knew the bayou, and his daddy did too, all the way back to before the Louisiana Purchase. Your family are newer arrivals (relatively speaking), having only been in Napoleonville for about 100 years and keeping mostly to the town. You remember your 11th grade science teacher saying once that alligators have been around since before the dinosaurs went extinct. Maybe that’s what Willis is: a relic of a distant time and species, afflicted with a cunning ruggedness that won’t allow his kind to go extinct.
When the trailer is mostly underwater, Willis gets out of the car to unhook the straps that keep the boat moored to it. You go outside to help and Aemond follows, though he doesn’t know what to do. He’s never handled a boat this size and it shows; perhaps a yacht would be more his speed. He stands aside and watches, frowning, hands buried in the pockets of his Marlboro jacket. His lack of expertise riles him. He’s not used to being the incapable one. He hates not having control.
Willis already has a tow rope tied to a metal handle at the bow of the jon boat; he lifts it out and gives the free end to Aemond. “Hold onto that, will ya? Don’t let her get away.”
“Sure,” Aemond replies ungenerously. Willis returns to his Plymouth Gran Fury to finish backing the trailer into the lake until the boat floats. Standing on the shore together, you and Aemond stare at each other, unable to speak honestly, unable to decide what you’d say even if you could.
The jon boat bobs in the water, and you show Aemond how to pull it away from the trailer using the tow rope. Willis drives the trailer back onto dry land, parks his car in a flat area near the boat launch, and then joins you and Aemond by the water’s edge. He walks to where the boat is floating just to the right side of the concrete ramp and, with some difficulty, clambers inside as the boat rocks under his weight. Then he stands in the middle of it and gestures for you to approach. “Let’s get goin’, sugar.”
You take Willis’ hands when he reaches for you and let him help you into the jon boat. When you stumble over a bench seat, he steadies you with a hand on your waist, familiar but in no way erotic; not for you, at least. Still, from where he is standing on the lakeshore with the tow rope, Aemond glowers venomously.
“Your turn, son,” Willis calls to him, winking. “And I promise not to get too sweet with ya.”
But Aemond doesn’t need any assistance to board the vessel. He has long limbs, good balance, and an ironclad determination not to let Willis see him falter. Aemond sits at the bow of the boat. You claim a spot in the middle. Willis takes a seat at the stern, starts the outboard motor, and guides the boat into the treacherous swampland that lurks like a stalking animal at the edges of Lake Verret.
In the bayou, the water is sluggish, currentless, thick with vivid green salvinia and duckweed. Towering bald cypress trees grow out of the opaque depths and are adorned with greyish, anemic bundles of Spanish moss like spiderwebs. Mangrove trees with their myriad of semi-submerged roots are sanctuaries for catfish, turtles, baby alligators. Larger gators—as big as the female that lives in your yard, and some up to seven or eight feet—prowl with only their nostrils and ancient yellow eyes peeking out from under the water. Great blue herons tiptoe along the shallow shoreline and stab at fish that unknowingly flit between their long skeletal legs. Cicadas shriek in the trees so loudly they almost drown out the hum of the boat’s motor. When the last of the daylight vanishes, Willis tells Aemond to turn on the spotlight mounted to the bow, and the water becomes a soupy, greenish, primordial witch’s brew beneath its glow. Aemond lights a cigarette and puffs on it as he ponders this alien corner of the world that he’s found himself in.
Willis has a number of items stowed on the flat aluminum floor of the boat, you notice now: nets, paddles in case the motor fails, bottles of water, ropes, fishing poles, flashlights, hunting knives, a few sturdy wooden walking sticks. He’s wearing his sheriff’s pistol on a belt fastened over his waders. This makes you uneasy, though you can’t recall ever seeing him use it. It seems wrong to be able to end a life with so little effort.
“Aegon!” Aemond shouts from the bow, using a flashlight to look to the sides of the boat where the spotlight’s luminescence doesn’t shine so brightly. You grab your own flashlight to help him search. “Aegon! Where are you?!”
There’s something burning in your nose and throat as you lean over the side of the boat to peer into the shadowy wilderness. Salt, you realize, but that doesn’t make any sense. Lake Verret is a freshwater lake. You turn towards where Willis is steering the boat with the rumbling gas-powered motor. “Do you smell that?”
“Yup. Sure do.”
“But…how…?”
“One of the rigs mighta hit a salt dome while they were drillin’, I figure,” Willis says. “There’s been talk for years that we got salt domes under the lake. But that don’t stop these oil companies.” He stares meaningfully at Aemond. Aemond glances back, rather abashed. “And ya know what that means. If the water turns brackish, most of the fish’ll die. And who’s got to live with that for generations to come? Not the Targaryens or the Rockefellers, that’s for sure.”
Aemond resumes shouting for his wayward eldest brother. A dark snake, perhaps six feet long, slithers down the length of the boat through the murky water. “Aegon! Aegon!”
“What did he and Viserys argue about?” you ask.
Aemond is cagy. “It’s…kind of personal.”
“Personal like he got a stripper pregnant or personal like he murdered someone in a drunken hit-and-run?”
“Neither. But closer to the first option.” Then he roars into the darkness: “Aegon!”
“Maybe the bon a rien already found his way back home,” Willis says. “Maybe—”
And then there is an echo through the bayou, faint but vaguely human, a ghost, a phantom. “Aegon!” Aemond shouts back. “Where are you?!” Willis cuts the boat engine so you can hear the reply.
Faintly, very faintly, his disembodied voice drifts out of the trees. “Over here! Help me! Quickly! Seriously, really really quickly!!”
“Keep talking!” Aemond yells. Willis is listening intently, trying to pinpoint a direction. His thick, dark eyebrows are knit together in concentration that is rare for him.
Barely audible over the screams of the cicadas: “What the fuck am I supposed to say?! Just get over here and save me!”
“We’re trying to figure out where your voice is coming from, so don’t stop talking!”
“Help me! Come help me!! Right now!! My arms are getting tired!!”
“What? What are you doing with your arms?!”
“I got him,” Willis says. He restarts the motor and steers the boat down a narrow corridor of the swamp. The path is only about ten yards wide and bordered by mangrove trees with nests of exposed, labyrinthian roots. The water is probably relatively shallow: five feet, ten feet, just deep enough for secrets. The breeze is cool and wet, almost chilly. On the shore, you spy a snapping turtle the size of a golden retriever. Its long prehistoric claws are coated with mud and green blades of marsh grass. It ogles you as if to say: What are you doing here? You don’t belong here. This is where the dinosaurs that survived the asteroid live.
“Aegon?” Aemond calls.
“Here! Over here! I can see you, I see the lights! Oh my God, I’m not gonna die! Thank you Jesus!”
Aemond laughs in relief. “I didn’t think you two knew each other.”
“Shut up and save me, you muppet!”
And then you see Aegon—the spotlight hits him, he is illuminated in a stark white glow—and your stomach plummets, your blood goes cold. In an alcove of the bayou, right where the water meets the shore, Aegon is up in a bald cypress tree. He’s about five feet off the ground and standing on top of a branch just thick enough to hold his weight. It’s too narrow to balance comfortably on; he is hugging the trunk to ensure he doesn’t fall, and a fall would be catastrophic. Sprawled on the muck surrounding the base of the tree are a plethora of alligators, all approximately ten feet in length. That’s big enough to be lethal humans. That would be big enough to kill a bear, a horse, a shark. When the spotlight shines on them, the gators begin to squirm and hiss, glaring with soulless reptilian wrath at the boat. Willis shuts off the motor, and the boat bobs placidly.
“Oh, fuck,” Aemond says.
“Yeah, exactly!” Aegon pitches back. He’s wearing an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and tiny turquoise blue shorts. He is barefoot. “So what’s the plan?! By the way, hey, cake lady.”
“Hi, Aegon.”
Aemond says: “How the hell did you get up there?”
“I was pissed off about the dad thing and I was walking for a long time, then I realized I was probably in the wrong neighborhood for someone with two legs and no desire to get eaten. I tried to find my way back but then these pig-looking things started chasing me and I freaked out and climbed up here to hide until they left. But as the sun went down, alligators started showing up. And the more time went by, the more alligators there were. And that’s the whole story, can you get me down now?!”
Aemond asks Willis, petrified: “How do we get him down?”
Willis surveys the scene for a moment, thinking. “Alright. Here’s what I reckon. We can toss him one end of a rope and he can tie it to the branch above him, right at the base where it’s real thick. Then we’ll hold the other end of the rope, and he can kinda shimmy on down it into the boat.”
Aegon says: “But what if right before I get to the boat, when I’m like four feet above the water, an alligator jumps out and bites me?”
“They don’t usually do that,” Willis replies.
“Usually?!”
“Look, we don’t have a lot of options,” Aemond tells his brother. “We can do the rope plan now, or we can leave you here, backtrack all the way to the boat launch, get the car, get some help, and hope they magically have a better solution for you. Or you can wait up there until morning to see if the alligators leave. You pick.”
“Isn’t that the hick sheriff guy? Can’t he shoot them?”
“Gators got brains ‘bout the size of a walnut, son,” Willis says. “And if I don’t hit ‘em where it counts, I’m just gonna make them angrier. That ain’t good for any of us.”
“Okay,” Aegon concedes. “Throw me a rope.”
Willis grabs one from the bottom of the jon boat, hands an end to Aemond, and tosses the other to Aegon. It takes the eldest Targaryen boy four attempts to catch it; the rope keeps falling and smacking the hissing alligators in the face before Willis lugs it back to the boat to try again. Once he finally obtains the rope, Aegon knots it—double, triple, quadruple—around where the branch above him, just barely within reach if he stretches as far as he can, meets the massive trunk of the bald cypress tree. Willis tells Aemond: “Now ya gotta hold the rope real tight. No slack at all, or it’ll dip and he’ll end up in a gator’s lap.”
“Yeah, Aemond!” Aegon says, his voice shaky. “No slack!”
“Got it.” Aemond loops his end of the rope around his waist, makes a knot, and then grips it with both hands and tugs it until it forms a straight diagonal line from the tree to the boat.
“Ya sure you wanna do that?” Willia says softly, nodding to Aemond’s waist. “If somethin’ goes wrong and he ends up in the water, you’ll be goin’ in with him.”
“I’m sure.”
“Alrighty.” Willis grabs one of the heavy wooden walking sticks from the aluminum floor of the boat. “If a gator tries to cause a problem, I’ll whack ‘em good. Don’t let ‘em get their jaws ‘round ya, not an arm or a leg or nothin’. If they get ahold of ya, they’ll roll and rip your bones right outta the sockets.”
“Awesome,” Aegon says from the tree. “I’m so glad you told me that. Yeah. Great. Any more super helpful alligator trivia, Sasquatch?”
“Yes sir. If one chomps down on ya, poke it in the eye with your fingers. A whack to the snout or a poke to the eye is the best way outta a gator’s mouth.”
Aegon gulps and clutches the rope, steeling himself.
“What should I do?” you ask Willis. “Should I get a stick too—?”
“Nothin’. You don’t do nothin’. You just sit down right in the middle and keep the boat steady. And if your petit ami starts goin’ overboard, maybe try to snatch him. But don’t ya fall in. Ya don’t want to be in that water. If there are gators above the water, there are gators below too. I guarantee it.”
You sit in the precise middle of the boat, using your weight to reinforce the vessel’s center of gravity as Aemond and Willis stand at opposing ends. Right before Aegon begins his descent, Aemond snags your attention. He makes a motion with one hand, a slicing, a prohibition. Don’t do anything insane, he means. Don’t risk trying to drag me back into the boat if I start going over.
“Whenever ya ready, bon a rien,” Willis says. And no one else but you knows that what he’s calling Aegon is a good-for-nothing.
Aegon begins scurrying down the length of the rope, rapidly closing the distance between himself and the bobbing jon boat. He passes above the hissing gators congregating at the base of the bald cypress tree and then over the water, where there are ripples that multiply out from epicenters and flashes of movement just beneath the surface but no homicidal alligator activity. When Aegon nears the boat, Willis seizes him and helps him into it; and then Aegon ruptures into hysterical giggles.
“I almost died, can you believe that?” he asks Aemond, who is untying the rope from his waist and beaming, the first real smile you’ve seen from him tonight. “Because I ran away from Viserys?! What an idiotic way to go. I’ll never let that bastard convince me to off myself. I gotta outlive him. I gotta do Jello shots on that motherfucker’s grave someday.”
“Yeah, you do,” Aemond agrees, squeezing Aegon’s shoulder.
“Goddammit,” Willis grumbles. He’s using his walking stick to jab at the water near the rear of the boat. “We’re hooked on a mangrove root or something.”
“Do you need help?” Aemond asks, headed towards him.
“Yes sir, if you’d be so kind. I don’t…I can’t see…what the hell is it stuck to?”
“The motor…? The blades of the motor?”
“Oh, Jesus Christ, you’re right. Yup. There it is. We musta drifted into it while we were preoccupied. Okay, we gotta push the boat off the root and then we can get movin’ again. Grab a stick, let’s start pushin’.”
“Should I get a stick too?” Aegon says, joining them. “I can hit stuff with sticks. I really want to get out of here…”
There’s a bit of a commotion at the back of the boat as the men try to propel it away from the mangrove tree. Willis is complaining that the water is too deep to touch the bottom with his stick. Aemond’s stick keeps slipping off the mangrove roots when he tries to get leverage. You aren’t sure what Aegon is contributing, if anything. The boat has begun to rock.
You look to the tree where Aegon had been imprisoned. The alligators are fully awake now; they are headed into the water and disappearing there, unseen, unheard, and yet all around you.
“I think we need to go now,” you say, but no one is listening to you. They’re still wrestling with the mangrove root. You rise, taking a few steps to the left to offset the boat’s listing towards the right. “Guys, we need to—”
The boat is freed from its organic jailor and lurches sharply towards the left. As the men cheer triumphantly—completely unaware of what’s happening—you are jolted off your feet and tumble backwards over the side of the boat.
The shock of hitting the water stuns you. It is cold and impossibly dark; when you open your eyes to try to find the surface, the boat, you can’t see anything. You paddle blindly. Something brushes your leg, and you scream bubbles of mute terror. You can’t breathe, you can’t think, you are picturing those ten-foot gators slinking into the water that you’re now thrashing wildly through. You swim towards what you think is the surface and strike unyielding metal—the underbelly of the boat—hard enough to put stars in your skull like the flashes of lightning bugs. You get turned around and don’t know where you are again. Something glides past your arm, and you gasp before remembering that there’s no air. Dark water—salt and silt and decomposition—surges into your lungs, your stomach, sinking you like an anchor from within. There is a whirlpool of motion around you and muffled shouting. Then something closes around your wrist.
The eyes! you think frantically. I have to poke out its eyes!
But the vice around your flesh has no teeth. It’s not a reptilian jaw, you realize now, but a human hand. It leads you and you obey.
When you break the surface, you cough bayou water from your throat and blink it out of your eyes. Willis is leaning over the side of the boat and stabbing at gators with his stick, shrieking at them in French. One lunges at him from the water, jaws snapping. Willis whips the pistol off his belt, aims it squarely between the creature’s eyes, and fires. The boom is deafening; the bleeding gator sinks into the water. Aegon is kneeling in the boat and offering his arms to help you climb up.
You look beside you. Aemond is barely keeping his head above water. “Go!” he orders you. “Get in the boat!”
With Aegon’s help, you heave yourself over the side and collapse to the aluminum floor, lungs aching, skull pounding, heart thudding mercilessly, soaked to the skin. Then you force yourself to your hands and knees to see where Aemond is.
“Aemond?!” Aegon is yelling. “Aemond, where are you?!”
He’s gone; you don’t see him in the water. You try to scream for him too, but the water still in your throat strangles you. Your hands close around the edge of the boat, and Willis grabs your raincoat to yank you backwards. “Other side!” says, pointing. “We’re gonna capsize, we need weight on the other side, go there!”
You scramble to the opposite end of the boat, sobbing now, still hacking up muddy water. Where’s Aemond?? Where is he??
Both Willis and Aegon are grasping for something. They’re shouting and stabbing into the water with their walking sticks. And then they’re hauling him into the boat: Aemond, blood pouring down the left side of his face, a gash by his temple, another on his forehead; something bit him or clawed him. He’s wearing only his jeans and a white tank top; he ripped off his Marlboro jacket before diving in after you. You don’t see his Adidas sneakers anywhere. They must have been kicked off in the water. His glass eye has been knocked out and lost in the muck. What’s left in its place is a void, gaping, pink; it’s difficult to look at, you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t. It has the visceral, gory quality of organs never meant to be seen. His fingertips go to the socket to feel for his prosthetic. When he confirms it isn’t there, he covers his face with his hands and moans.
He saved me. He jumped in after me.
You crawl to him. “Aemond—”
“No!” He pushes you away, and you see that there’s blood and ancient silt from the bayou in his empty eye socket. It will have to be cleaned out. Willis watches, astonished, bewildered. For once, he is at a loss for words.
“Aemond, please…” You’d do anything to help him. You don’t know how to help him.
He saved me.
Aegon reaches for Aemond. “Hey, hey. It’s not that bad. Hey…” He drops to his knees, presses his forehead against Aemond’s, stains himself with his brother’s blood. And when Aemond tries to pull away, Aegon doesn’t let him; he’s got his fingers tangled in Aemond’s wet hair. “Thank you for saving me. I’m always almost getting myself killed and you’re always saving me. What would I do without you, huh? None of us would be okay without you. Thank you, Aemond. You hear me? You’re not gonna get this again anytime soon, so listen up. Thank you. Thank you.”
“I’m just so—”
“I know.”
“I hate that I’m like this.”
“It’s not a big deal. You’ll order a new one.”
“You know what he’s going to say.”
“Fuck him. Why do you care what he thinks? Because you think he’s the one who gets to decide what you’re worth? He isn’t. He’s not qualified.”
Aemond nods, but he doesn’t seem to be convinced. He still doesn’t look at you. He turns so the left side of his face—bloodied, eyeless—is angled towards the water and out of your view. Willis goes to the motor, starts it, and begins guiding the boat back towards the launch where he parked his Plymouth Gran Fury.
Aegon glances over at you. “You okay, cake lady?”
“Yeah.” But your voice shakes. The rest of you is shaking too; now that the adrenaline is wearing off, you can feel that you’re shivering in your wet clothes.
“Put it on,” Aemond says softly, and at first you don’t understand. Then you see that he’s pointing to his Marlboro jacket, left hurriedly flung on the floor of the boat. You unzip your dripping raincoat and don Aemond’s Marlboro jacket instead. It smells like him: smoke, cologne, effort, secrets.
“Thank you,” you tell him, wanting to say more. Aemond doesn’t answer. He stares into the murky water, greenish under the glare of the spotlight, and says nothing to anyone all the way back to the boat launch. Wordlessly, he helps Willis re-hitch the jon boat to the trailer. He remembers the steps. He’s a fast learner. The blood on his face is drying; his right eye won’t allow itself to look at you. The only sound on the drive to the Targaryens’ mansion is the radio of the Plymouth Gran Fury, which Willis turns up to cover the silence: In A Big Country.
At the end of the cobblestone driveway, lights are on in the vast house called The Last Desire. Everyone gets out of the car. Willis shakes a rather puzzled Aegon’s hand, then turns to Aemond, who ignores him. Willis chuckles, more curious than offended.
“So ya are the man who’s been givin’ her that satisfied look. I knew it. Yes, I knew what I saw. What’s your secret, son? Ya must really know your way around a woman if ya got her so mad about ya with a face like that. Ya look like the Rougarou got ahold of ya—”
Aemond grabs Willis by his hoodie, yanks him off his feet, jacks him up against the side of the sheriff’s vehicle. Immediately, you and Aegon are shouting and trying to break them apart.
You plead: “Aemond, don’t!”
“Aemond, he’s got a gun!” Aegon screeches.
Fortunately, Willis isn’t grappling for his pistol. He holds both palms in the air, open and empty, like he’s surrendering; but there’s still a smile on his face. Aemond doesn’t act like he’s heard anyone. He leans in close to Willis, his voice low and dark and snarling, his sole blue eye glinting. “You had so much in your filthy fucking hands and you just threw it away.” Then he slams Willis against the car one more time, tears away from him, and strides up the porch steps and into the house.
Aegon hurries after him, casting you a quick glance and a beckoning wave. It’s an invitation. You coming? Aegon mouths, and then vanishes inside.
Willis peers up at the house: stained glass windows, immense white columns. You don’t see any signs of Vhagar the Great Dane. Willis speaks calmly and without looking at you. “I think he’s in love with you, sugar.”
Improbable. Impossible. If he was, he couldn’t marry someone else. “He’s not.”
Now Willis’ eyes flick to you. “All I’m sayin’ is that I’ve been fishin’ on that lake since as long as I can remember, day, night, sun, storms, and nothin’ on earth would have gotten me to jump into that water. Not even Heather Locklear herself.”
“Just go, Willis,” you say, exhausted, heartsick. “Thank you for what you did tonight. But please go now.”
“How ya gonna get home?”
“I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about me.”
“Of that, I am incapable,” Willis drawls. Then he climbs into his Plymouth Gran Fury and is gone. You sprint up the porch steps in your soggy sneakers, searching for Aemond.
In the white-and-gold foyer, Viserys is just arriving. He struts across the marble floor until he is close enough to his two oldest sons to embrace them, to hit them, to extract their teeth with his knuckles. The others pour through the doorways—Alicent, Criston, Helaena, Daeron, Otto—but while they gape in horror and fascination, they don’t speak in anything more than murmurs amongst themselves. Viserys steals only a glimpse of Aegon, swift and disinterested, then examines Aemond: wet clothes, no shoes, grime and blood, dazed fury. When his cool, pale gaze reaches Aemond’s empty eye socket, Viserys flinches and looks away.
“So you lost another prosthetic,” is all he says. His face twists into a grimace. And you expect Aemond to do something, to jab back, but he doesn’t. He’s frozen, he’s paralyzed. His right eye is misty. He’s biting his lips so they don’t tremble. And suddenly you hate Viserys Targaryen, you hate him more than you can imagine hating anyone. You think that you could watch his entrails unspooled from his body without feeling a thing. The Targaryen family patriarch hasn’t spoken to you; you don’t register to him at all. You might as well be an oriental vase or a house plant.
“You’re the one who did it, Viserys,” Aegon says, stepping in front of Aemond seething and sharp like a blade. “You remember that part? I do. I remember. The North Sea, 1968. I remember him trotting around after you, always so desperate to prove himself, always doing anything you asked, anything you could dream up, worshipping you like you were God. And where were you when he was getting his eye socket debrided at Moorfields Hospital? In fact, where were you when he got his hands caught in a winch when he was eleven? Where were you when he fell off a pipe deck and broke six ribs because one of your idiot employees forgot to close a safety gate and he couldn’t see it? Where were you then? Where are you now?”
Viserys scowls down at him—revolted, repelled—but he doesn’t reply. He feels no instinct to defend himself. He is unable to internalize shame; it rolls off him like raindrops.
“You’d love me so much if I was dead,” Aegon says, grinning, baring his teeth like an animal. “How sick is that? You can love bones in a box, but not someone standing right in front of you. You love Aemma, a ghost. You love Baelon, and you never even knew him. You’ve got nothing for me. That’s fine, I don’t care, I’ll be alright without you.” He points to Aemond. “But you’ve got nothing for him either, and he’s everything you always wanted. You’re disgusting, you’re broken. You belong in a box too. The part of you that was human is gone. I don’t give a fuck about what’s left.”
Aegon shoves Viserys, hard, and then storms past him. As he crosses into the kitchen, Helaena grabs for his wrist. You can hear her whisper: “What the hell happened?!”
Then Aegon remembers one last thing. He whirls around and bellows at Viserys, his voice reverberating off the vaulted ceilings: “And I’m not getting my vasectomy reversed! You can’t make me! It’s bioethics! I asked the lawyer!” He stomps off and disappears, Helaena in tow.
Alicent shoots Viserys a hateful glare and then flees from the foyer, her long auburn ringlets streaming out behind her. Viserys goes in the opposite direction. Daeron and Otto share an awkward glance and then depart as well. Only you, Criston, and Aemond remain in the room, surrounded by treasures that might as well be handfuls of earth, flour, swamp water, salt.
Cautiously, Criston lays a hand on Aemond’s shoulder, on his right side where he can see it. “Aemond…”
“Don’t touch me,” Aemond says as he wrenches away. He leaves like a hurricane, like a flood, receding until there remains only wreckage and memory.
Criston sighs deeply, and then he asks you: “Do you need a ride home?”
You don’t respond. You haven’t decided how to yet. You stare at the place where Aemond stood, a void like a star that died out. Do I follow him upstairs? you think.
Do I?
#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen#aemond x you#aemond one eye#aemond x reader#aemond fanfiction#aemond
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Let Me Take Care of You- Lee Minho
Pairing: Lee Minho x fem!reader
Genre: fluffy comfort
Summary: y/n has been struggling, and minho is there to save the day.
Word Count: 1.2k
Warning: n/a
“How was your day lovely?”
The question you were dreading to hear from your boyfriend’s lips. It had been an awful day. One of the worst days you have had in a while. It’s midterms week in school, and your part time job keeps updating your schedule, throwing your routine off. You took a math exam that almost caused a migraine. Afterwards, you had a sudden shift at work, and it felt like it went on forever. Minho had been going the extra mile for you: making your lunch and dinner when he knew you wouldn’t be home until late, helping you with your skincare when you are on the brink of sleep, cleaning the house when you were gone. You were eternally grateful for everything he does for you, but you can’t help but feel like a burden.
You peel the shoes off of your feet before placing your backpack on the couch. “It was good!” you smile, fakely.
“That’s great to hear!” Minho says, chopping an onion. “You hungry?”
“Yes! I’m always ready to eat your food!” you skip into the kitchen to see what he is making: Beef stew. One of your favorite comfort meals. You saw that he cut up extra meat, just how you like it. Standing behind Minho, you wrap your arms around him. You lean into his body, but not a lot to throw his balance off. He puts the onion in the pan to saute them. The sound of sizzling fills the kitchen, something you haven’t heard in a few weeks.
A kiss on your forehead interrupts your thoughts. You didn’t realize Minho turned around, his arms around your shoulders. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
You shake your head, “Nothing really. I just.. I missed this.”
Minho softly smiled, “I missed this, too.”
“I’m going to freshen up a bit, okay?” you sigh, unwrapping your arms from Minho. You walk into your shared bedroom to change your clothes. What you didn’t notice was Minho watching your every step until you disappeared into the bedroom. He has been really worried about you. He can’t remember the last time you two ate a meal together.
Once the onions were done sauteing, the potatoes were finished boiling at the same time. Minho loves to cook, and he will never turn down the opportunity to cook for you, especially when you need him the most.
As Mihno was finishing the meal, you changed into more comfortable clothes. You sit down at your vanity, taking off the makeup that was already melting off of your face. Staring at your reflection, you almost didn’t recognize yourself. The bags underneath your eyes were deeper. Acne spots were appearing on your face due to stress. You could physically see how exhausted you were. Suddenly, tears well in your eyes, blurring your vision as if you were staring at your reflection in water. Alligator tears fall on your cheeks.
“Babe?” a soft voice calls out behind you.
You snap out of your daze and see Minho standing in the doorway. You quickly wipe away your tears, but Minho already saw them. He hurries to your side and kneels down. “I’m okay. I’m okay,” you reassure. The last thing you want Minho to do is worry more about you.
“Are you sure?” he questions. “I think those were the biggest tears I’ve ever seen.”
You softly chuckle, trying to keep your tears at bay. It wasn’t working. “I’m just tired. I’m fine.”
Minho’s hand reaches to your head, softly petting it as if you were a cat. His touch brought homeliness to you. Even the softest touch brought comfort. “It’s okay, Y/n.” he whispers, bringing his lips to your cheek. He takes the back of your head, pulling you into his shoulder. “You can relax now.”
As soon as he said that, your body and emotions tipped over. Your body shakes from the tears now falling onto his shoulder. You're crying like a little child, wailing and loud. Thankfully, the sound of your crying was covered by Minho’s sweater. You felt embarrassed.
“I’m so sorry,” you cry out.
Minho pulls you from his shoulder to cup your face. You were red and becoming puffy. “Why are you apologizing?”
“I’ve done nothing but give you trouble,” you explain. “I haven’t done anything for you while you keep being there for me without complaining. This has to be hard on you. I haven’t been able to cook you a meal or visit you at the company. I have lacked being there for you. School and work keeps piling onto me, and I don’t know how to balance it. It’s weighing on me. It’s so heavy. I'm so so sorry I have been a horrible girlfriend. And now I’m sobbing like a child”
As you were babbling, Minho was wiping away your tears. “My dear, you are being too hard on yourself,” he consoles. “You are not a horrible girlfriend. Helping you helps me too.”
“I just feel so bad. You’ve done so much for me. I appreciate it so so much, but I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
He shakes his head, “You aren’t doing that at all. I enjoy doing these things for you.”
You take his hands from your face to hold them in your lap. His thumbs rub on the back of your hand. “I love you, Minho.”
He smiles, “I love you, too.” He brings your hands to his lips, kissing every part of them. “Let me take care of you, okay? Let me keep taking care of you.”
You stare into his boba-like eyes. They were filled with admiration, something you have grown fond of. Minho never fails to help you when you need it. You never ask for help, you don’t have to. He will always be there for you. You don’t have to ask him to.
You nod your head in agreement. He smiles wide before standing. He tugs on your hands, asking you to stand up as well. You follow the silent orders and walk with him to the kitchen. The smell of the stew fills the air. Your heart feels warm.
Minho lets go of your hands to dish up both of your dinners. He takes the bowls and gestures to the couch. He asks you to put on a movie for you two to watch while eating. You pick the movie Ponyo, a light hearted movie.
As the movie begins, you throw a blanket over both of your laps. You hold your hands out for Minho to hand you your dinner, but he shakes his head. “I’m going to feed you,” he states.
You giggle at this statement, “I can feed myself.”
He puts aside his bowl to only hold yours. “I know, but I want you. Now, come here!”
You comply with his demands and sit closer to him, throwing your legs over his lap. He serves you spoonfuls of your dinner with a kind smile. Minho may tease you a lot, acting cold to hide his soft persona. However, moments like this remind you how much love is in his heart. He can tease you all he wants, but you know he has the softest spot for you. He will always be there to take care of you.
© lovestay-channie (2024) - please do not repost. all rights are reserved.
#stray kids#lovestaychannie#skz imagines#lee know#lee know imagine#lee minho#lee minho imagines#lee know x reader#lee know x y/n
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Masterpost
My Familiar's Ghost part 9
(ID in alt and under cut)
ID: 1a. Stu, Colin, and Nandor gathered around a security camera monitor, Stu sitting and the vampires leaning in around him. Stu explains, “Here’s the feed from the night your friend went missing.” Nandor jerked forward, panic crossing over his face as he shouts, “Feed?! I knew it, Rick ate poor Guillermo!” Colin replies without taking his eyes off the screen, “Camera feed, Nandor. He’s gonna show us the recording.” 1b. Film reel of the camera feed labeled “cam 2”. The first panel shows a low angle of the store distorted in black and white as Stu fast forwards, blurs of customers flitting across the screen. Stu narrates, “This is about 10pm…10:30…” Nandor coos, “Ooh, look at all the little peoples go!” The second panel goes still and in color, Nandor calling “Stop! There he is!” Sure enough, we see Guillermo walking down the aisle, black leather bag in hand, calling for Derek. In the third panel, Guillermo turns at the end of the aisle and walks past the edge of the camera’s view. Nandor asks from offscreen, “Where is he going?” 1c. Shot of the boys crowded around the monitor again, Nandor looking worried and wringing his hands together. Stu answers, “Stock room, looks like.” Colin asks, “No cameras in there?” and Stu responds “No, the focus is on loss prevention so it’s more important to cover the cash, doors, and shopping areas.” 1d. Stu continues from offscreen, “But we may be able to hear some of the audio if I…” He clicks through cameras quickly, the panel flashing on cam 3 then cam 4 before settling on cam 5, showing a different corner of the empty store closer to the stock room. We hear Guillermo’s staticky voice from nearby finish his sentence from the end of season 4: “nto a vampire.”
2a. Medium shot of the boys peering seriously at the camera monitor as the audio plays, Nandor still fiddling with his hands and looking concerned. The conversation is as follows. Derek: What? Listen, Guillermo, I appreciate this, but-. Guillermo: one-time offer, Derek! Or do you wanna keep living in a storage facility for the next hundred years? Derek: Hey, U-Store has very reasonable prices! Guillermo: Derek. Derek: Look. My life has kinda…sucked? Since I got turned? I mean, I was a loser before, but. Now I’ve got no family, no friends, shit job, a vitamin d deficiency that I can’t even take supplements for because they make me puke my guts out-. Guillermo: That’s not gonna be me. This has been my life for 13 years already. It’s all I’ve been working toward, and I deserve it. 2b. Colin and Stu both glance up at Nandor while Guillermo speaks, and Nandor looks away with a pout, embarrassed. Guillermo continues: I’ve been waiting all this time for someone to give me eternal life. It’s about time I take it for myself. And you’re gonna help me. Derek: Sigh… okay, I’m off in like, 20 minutes? If you wanna wait?
3a. After a black line break, we cut to Nandor and Colin leaving the store. Stu sees them out, leaning out the door to give them a tired wave. Colin, the back of his head and hand posed in a finger gun taking up the foreground, calls “See ya later, alligator!” Nandor turns back to say “Bye-bye, Stu!” then lifts his hand, glowing green, to try again at hypnotism, commanding “You will remember nothing if our visit.” Stu, unaffected, just says “Okay. Have a nice night.” Colin adds “Don’t forget to email me about that masterclass, we’ll talk shop!” 3b. Far shot of Colin and Nandor walking away from the gas station, both with big smiles. Colin says, “Nice guy,” and Nandor adds “Really cool guy.” /end ID
#wwdits#my familiars ghost#nandor the relentless#colin robinson#stu wwdits#what we do in the shadows fx#what we do in the shadows#my art#fanart#image described
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List of Random ROTTMNT headcanons/ rando ideas
Raph and Donnie duo! Pt.1 Because I love these two in Rottmnt and they need mire moments I-
Raph has dubbed their little duo “Jam Bros”. His thought process? Red and Purple, Cherry and Grape. Jam. Jam Bros! At first Donnie was against it, but it grew on him over time.
With Mikey wanting to be considered a big boy now, Raph has turned to calling Donnie his baby brother. Donnie would sooner die than admit he loves it.
Raph knows Donnie is very touch repulsed, and likes to be the one initiating and sort of physical contact, so he’ll orbit around Donnie and let him come to him.
Donnie, as a young turtle tot, felt safest around Raph (Raph rasied them as tots for the most part because Splinter was depresso you can pry this headcanon from my cold dead hands-) and always clung to him more than the others.
Once as turtle tots food ran out in the lair, and Splinter refused to go out for more because he had food stored away for himself. A few days in and Leo had had enough, sneaking off with Mikey to get food from the surface, leaving Raph and Donnie alone. Raph spent that time comforting a hungry delirious Donnie who was insisting Raph and the others just eat him. They did not eat him. They ate a totally not stolen pizza.
After stressful all nighters Donnie likes to sneak into Raph’s room and pancake on his bed under his stuffed animals. The calming Raph smell knocks him out. Raph knows when he enters his room and sees Donnie pancaked on his bed, the bed is no longer his. He will have to sleep on the floor. He legally can’t disturb the pancake. But occasionally he will set up his basking lamp over the bed for Don. Raph usually gets extra hugs afterwards.
Raph was once perusing the interwebs and found an alligator snapping turtle live feeding video. Out of curiosity he watched it. All was good until the owner of the turtle dropped a baby spiny softshell turtle in the tank to be eaten. Raph avoided Donnie for a week after witnessing that, until Donnie cornered him for answers. Raph broke down sobbing and saying he didn’t want to eat him. Don was confused until Raph showed him the video. Donnie rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness of the situation and told Raph to open his mouth. When he did Donnie put his neck right in there, terrifying Raph. But after a few minutes he got what Don was doing. If there was really a chance he’d eat him, then he would’ve done it right then and there. It was reassuring, and a bit unnerving.
Raph once woke up to find Donnie had pancaked on top of him. He managed to text his brothers and let them know he legally couldn’t move and sent pics.
Donnie modelled his first ever battle shell after Raph’s shell. He still has it stored away somewhere.
Donnie once woke up to find Raph cuddling him. Don was no fool, he knew his fate. He messaged his brothers to let them know his tragic fate and then went right back to sleep.
Hm idea for A Raph and Donnie centric episode! (Or fanfic in my case ;3)! The duo wake up and find that they’ve been captured by the Purple Dragons and placed in a sort of Escape room type building, separated but given a communicator to talk to each other. The goal? Escape. The catch? Raph has special cuffs on that weigh him down so much he can’t punch his way to freedom. Meanwhile Donnie has a shock collar on that activates the second he tried to think his way out. So the two must work together, Raph having to rely on his brain to save the two of them while Donnie has to rely on his physical advantages.
I see a lot of angst about Donnie’s first soft shell ouchie being Raph’s fault or indirectly Raph’s fault. But like lets be real. Splinter definitely gave Raphael a long serious talk about how delicate Donnie was. Raph treated him like he was more breakable then glass. To the point where it was overbearing and Donnie was constantly smothered with protection. One day Don had enough and climbed up the onto the highest surface, the fridge, and explained to Raph that he needed to tone down on the overprotectiveness or he wouldn’t come down. Raph agreed, and Don climbed on down only to loose his grip and fall right onto his shell. Raph took back his agreement and babied Donnie until he was ten.
Pt. 2: Here
#rottmnt donatello#rottmnt donnie#rottmnt raphael#rottmnt raph#rise donatello#rise raph#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#rise of the tmnt#rottmnt headcanons#raph and donnie#jam bros#rottmnt
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Submissions for the Non-Human Showdown! Including ones that are invalid!
Fang (x2)
“🦈🦈🦈”
“He's Fang ❤”
Cody Jr (x2)
“Cody Jr! No! Not Aunty Heather!”
Mr Coconut (x2)
“The og. Should have won every season /serious”
vince the alligator (x2)
“SWEEEEP”
“The lore… so immaculate”
the don box (x2)
“bzzz i have a stupid fucking clue for you. ah fuck the interns put me in a lame outfit again”
“what id don on about he's slaying in that shirt”
wt pineapple (x2)
“ALEPINEAPPLE FOREVER!!!”
“👅🐍🐍🐍🐍”
Irene the fish (x2)
“shes so beautiful i’d kiss her too”
“The final remaining member of Team Victory after DJs elimination, Irene went on to win the million and the hearts of many.”
the chrarry baby (x2)
“Goo goo gaa gaa”
“ive got my eye on u chris mclean”
Princess Beth Doll
“I WANT TO BUY ONE SO BAD IRL!!!!! Also, this too is yuri”
Old Jester from reboot S2ep9
“I love when Damien hugged him! That's scene is soooo cute. Also I love fluffy animal!”
Bobo :)
“SEASON 2 SPOILERS Bobo is the name of the bear that had the Raj mask in season 2 episode 12 :) idk I just think he’s silly”
DJ’s bunny
the Chris-shaped cake that Julia's group made
“I wanna eat that thang”
Dramarama Cody
“He's an alien”
Theodore (MK's stuffed unicorn)
(the arts and crafts) Shed (from season 1)
“shed sweep”
that evil little seal from wt
“sooo little and evil. who can hate him”
caleb rock
“possibly the best version of him out there”
the skull duncan carved for courtney
“you cant deny how iconic it was”
eva’s mp3 player
“the most important character in td history”
heather’s various hairstyles
“possibly the most diverse and versatile entity in td historu”
pahkitew island
“The best one”
Myself
“:^)”
ryan seacrests car
“very fast”
chef's car (total dramarama and gen 4)
“MY CAR!!!!!”
alien clone cody
“AAAAAAA*explodes into green goo*”
chris's wig
“wiggin”
heather's wig
“wiggin”
total drama yum yuk happy go time candy fish tails
“You ate it!”
trents five finger shirt
“5”
princess courtney CD
“all the greatest hits!”
owens butt
“fart”
anne maria’s hair style
“Ey im walkin here”
bridgettes surfboard
“BONK”
the fake antlers from the paintball ep
“Duncney”
manitobas fedora
“served!”
beary <3
“it’s LITERALLY beary”
ripper’s world record breaking fart
“he did it”
the portrait of cody as blue boy in wt
“funny looking”
sierra’s pizza box-cum-laptop*
“she uses the internet AND eats witj it. shes a genius”
*Mod Note: this refers to cum meaning: combined with; also used as (used to describe things with a dual nature or function).
waynes accent
“Eh we play hockey eh”
mal ventriloquist doll
“aaah im evil mal doll”
alejandro puppet
“we do a little trolling”
Chef 2.0
“He made him from a cashew”
Mt. Kīlauea
“She has the mercy to have her lava not hot enough to kill Alejandro, Ezekiel, and that random intern like... Everyone say "thank you" or somethin idk. Do you think she feels bad that Alejandro ended up in a robot suit because”
Immunity idol s4-5
“They ruined it's design in the reboot boooooooo”
MK's infernape
“Listen, she's a gamer and she's based. She would totally pick chimchar in bdsp. She probably hates people who tells her to "play platinum" because that was a game made for old people.
Try and exclude this submission, I dare you. There's nothing that says I can't submit theoretical non-humans. There's a non-zero chance that MK has an Infernape and I know it's been raised to have some awesome sneaky move. If you exclude this, I bet you'd allow "Mike's Torterra" because only a grass type fan would be a fire type and MK hater!!
Julia would keep her piplup unevolved and beat her console into tiny bits when she gets to Cynthia btw”
the drone of shame
“[picks up victim and flies away] wheeee”
that giant bowl of rice they fall into in japan
“mm giant bowl of rice”
noah’s dog
“his epic dog”
celine dion cardboard cutout
“love fucking wins #duncney”
the face huggers from Area 51
“rip tyler”
ezekiel MISSING milk carton
“Sad! He died.”
the eagle chris shot and killed
“someone arrest this man. again”
the confessional
“it’s always there for you”
geoff’s splinter
“OW”
the bread from codys pants
“man i need to rewatch island. i fucking love the pants bread”
That ice cream snowman from SMS
“LISTEN. JUST BECAUSE HE IS FROM THE EPISODE THAT SHALL NOT BE NAMED DOES NOT MEAN YOU CAN NOT GIVE HIM HIS RESPECT”
bear
“the one from raptear specifically. let's go lesbians”
that pizza chase threw the challenge for
“clearly he should be with it rather than emma. chemma? chipper? chazee? nope never fucking heard of them”
Momma's Spice
“*sprinkles it on op's head* mmmm tasty”
The Gilded Chris award
WT barf bags
“give a real f to those guys. never appeared after episode 7.”
the toxic marshmallow of loserdom
“killer of staci's hair”
The lavatory confessional
“bitch is iconic. 6/8 is a passing mark!!!”
Courtney's PDA
“why wouldnt they call it a phone idk but its so camp”
The Cassowaries
“Male cassowaries are responsible for raising the young. We love an involved father.”
Fire-breathing winged mountain goats
“You could make an Undertale reference with this (also they're really cool)”
Giant Beetle
“Dott shippers will like this one”
Mutated Maggots
“They're pretty cute!”
Six-Legged Rats
“ADORABLE EEEEEEEP!!!!”
scott bird
“what a beautiful bird”
Chef's car
“It may play a role in mkulia canon”
Gethin
that rainbow porridge in episode 8 of the reboot
“aw hell naw chris cookin up the gay porridge”
The cassowary that fell in love with Zee
“We love an iconic single mother looking for love”
The rat in the cargo hold that appears on screen for 0.5 seconds during Ezekiel's solo in "Come Fly With Us"
“That rat really carried the whole song. Iconic. Astounding. Never before seen talent. Lady Gaga is shaking in her Demonias.”
The Erymanthian Boar
“It wrecked Duncan's shit in Greece.”
The dock of shame
“So many teens walked on her, i think she deserves some recognizion”
gwen's blender necklace
Zoey's hamster (Miss Puffycheeks)
“It's cute and can punch a cat, need I say more?”
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i've been thinking about people who write hannibal fics, and how incorporating will's louisiana upbringing could be so hard if you didn't grow up there, and it just so happens that i did grow up there! so i'm making a little list of things about louisiana that people might not know. go forth and write cajun will graham!
food: first off, there's a lot of things that are very specific to poor people in louisiana. i didn't realize until relatively recently that these weren't things everyone ate. molasses and milk (poor man's chocolate milk. honey and milk also is a thing, but molasses is more common bc of all the cane fields.) actually, let me just get a whole category out of the way: put everything in milk. cornbread and milk (with honey or sugar dumped in to sweeten it, this is a whole meal, we used to eat this for dinner), oats and milk (raw oats. with sugar.), crackers and milk (saltines. i'm not joking.), literally put any carb in milk and that's a cajun dish. dinner foods you see a lot of are things like jambalaya, gumbo (pro tip, gumbo is always better on the second and third day, and you eat it with potato salad), etouffee (if you look this up, you'll see a lot of fancy shit, this is not fancy. it's the slimiest gravy pot full of meat and veggies.) everything has rice, you can't eat dinner without rice. sweet potatoes are big, a lot more common than regular ones. okra is also very very common.
environment: we all know louisiana has a lot of bayous, but a lot of people have never seen one i guess? and have no idea what that looks like. it's not like shrek swamp kind of deal. the water's not that filthy most of the time, at least not to look at. you've got a lot of foliage on top of the water mostly. cypress trees are the big thing that makes a bayou look like a bayou. cypress trees with spanish moss all over them. the line between a bayou and a lake isn't big, and a lot of them are connected. also. (about to tell you something that will blow your mind.) swamps are full of nutria rats. (but percy, what are nutria rats? (pronounced noo-tra rats)) they look like small capybaras with long thick tails, and by small i mean they gut up to 20 pounds. 3 feet. they're actually adorable though. alligators are common, they're not aggressive, you just have to keep an eye on them. there's usually saw palmettos around the edges of the water. outside of swamps, though, something you'll notice is there are sugar cane fields everywhere. there's also live oak trees, which if you've never seen, are beautiful. they do exist in other places, but they grow differently in louisiana bc of all the water. they have enormous, sweeping branches that dip down onto the ground sometimes, and they're (once again) full of spanish moss.
culture: in louisiana, some people speak cajun french. this is not the same as parisian french, and it's not always mutually intelligible. also, there's really very few people left who speak it, and it's mostly older folks. for example, my grandpa learned french before he learned english, but he didn't pass it on to his kids, and now he has very few people to speak it with. cajun music is a pretty unique thing, you've usually got an accordion, a fiddle, a bass, that kind of thing. some songs off the top of my head are jolie blonde, opelousas sostan, the boscoe stomp; there's also a lot of instrumental music, because it's all actually dancing music! cajun dancing is a whole thing that, once again, is dying out and mostly older folks know how to do it (my grandparents took me dancing all the time, so that, at least, i know). you might be able to look it up, but keep in mind, if you see something that looks more like square dancing, that's not what i'm talking about. (if you want a demo send me an ask lol, i can explain. in the meantime, i used to dance at randol's in lafayette, and the best band was donny broussard, so look those up on youtube if you want to hear cajun music.) zydeco is a whole other genre, and honestly not one i know much about, but it is an integral part of cajun culture.
that's all i can think of for now, but if i think of anything else, i'll add on. if you have any questions, my ask box is open!
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"Regardless of His Actions Last Night"
(Fictober, Day 2)
Queequeg may have been an undisciplined little puffball allergic to six different brands of dog food, an indoor voice, and the realization of the near fatal consequences of his choice to chase after an alligator, but a disagreeable traveling companion (Scully asserted) he was not.
Her mother managed him more during the last two years than she did-- not that Scully was thrilled with her own negligence, but the demands of the job kept her hopping from car to plane and coast to coast-- and had happily lugged Queequeg around with her wherever she went (empty-nester and solitary widow that she was.) As such, he was quite the seasoned traveler; and Maggie boasted about him so often that her daughter decided to bring him along on a much-needed vacation.
So, one fine morning-- wind whipping through his fur as he tried to stretch his head further above the convertible door-- Queequeg found himself cruising shotgun along the highway, alive and dangerous and as eager for trouble as Scully was to escape it.
*****
Scully could barely hear Mulder’s impish finger-wagging over the phone while Queequeg growled and barked and lunged ineffectually in his seat at a random cat lounging, unbothered, by the gas station entrance.
“Queequeg, no-- no, he hasn’t, Mulder; and he won’t. He’s a good dog. Queequeg! Stop that.”
Mulder made sure to caveat his very important statistic on vehicular decapitation with a cheeky footnote: "But I don't know if the data applies to two-foot cannibals, Scully. And if my guess is correct, it’s because those statisticians were clever enough to leave their yappers at home.���
“I think you got the height of the yappers mixed up, Mulder.” And she hit the end button, hypothesizing that Queequeg was likely just hungry. “Lunch,” she muttered, glad that there was no one else around to be bothered until she’d paid and left.
*****
Queequeg almost broke from Scully's grasp, yanking the full length of the leash in his attempts to run across the parking lot. His earlier disgruntled yaps shifted to lapdog spit-snarls; and he completely ignored her commands until one of the inconspicuous cars pulled out and away, a girl and her doll staring back blankly from their window. He calmed then, victorious; and followed Scully placidly to the door.
Where they found chaos.
While Scully attempted to sort the mayhem of injured, moaning customers and the arriving, superstitiously inclined cops, Queequeg licked the blood dripping off the hand of the most unfortunate victim a little too eagerly.
*****
At the police station, Scully split her attention in half: disproving Mulder’s assumptions of her assumptions (and deflecting his overblown proposal) while simultaneously keeping her eye on Queequeg. Contented after chowing down his premium soggy lunch and bored from satisfying all his curiosities around the office, he clicked his little nails over to a pile of coats someone left for him and plunked eagerly down for an afternoon nap. She watched longingly as the little dog relaxed, not a care in the world as he stretched and shifted.
A bath. That would hit the spot. A long one.
Hopefully Queequeg wouldn’t find something dirty and inconvenient to stick his nose into before the weekend was over.
*****
The next morning, Scully had to leave him moaning and wailing outside the crime scene with a buoyantly even-keeled police officer. By the time her and Jack Bonsaint’s theories were interrupted by Mulder’s opportune phone call, Queequeg's howls had shifted from woefully complaining to bitterly angry.
“I’m not going to feel sorry for him, Scully. He ate my Christmas hat.”
“Might I remind you,” she replied, shoving one hand up to cover her other ear, “that you left it on the floor with your running clothes after I’d warned you he likes to sniff out and chew dirty socks?”
The argument, they both knew, was unproductive: Mulder only clung to this particular grievance because the Lone Gunman still made snide remarks about him ‘tossing aside the gift of friendship’ every time they met up (especially Frohike, who had taken one look at the pin-striped monstrosity he'd called “a runner’s cap” and knew Mulder would like it. He had.)
“Yeah? What about that new silk pajama set he tore into?”
“I don’t know--” there was a short pause as Scully walked back outside and hunched down, “--ask him.”
Queequeg bellowed full force into the phone.
Mulder got the message.
*****
The rest of the investigation was a repeat of their normal cohabitation-- Scully was roped into work and Queequeg was forced to stay behind with a third party. Mulder, of course, did not lose sight of that fact on their last call, teasing her about being a woman of routine.
He stopped the ribbing, however, when she didn't respond to his other banter. “Scully? You there?”
She shook her head, trying to catch the thread of their conversation. “Yeah, yeah I heard you.”
“Is there something wrong?”
After a moment of deliberation, Scully stepped out of the squad car and closed the door behind her. “It’s just… is it fair to him, Mulder?”
“...Fair to who?”
“To Queequeg. I mean, I’ve owned him for nearly two years now, but I don’t really own him, do I? Mom cares for him while I'm out of town, and I only really see him between cases--”
“He tagged along with us that one time. And he seems to be eating up your trip.”
“--But is it fair? After Christmas….”
More silence settled-- weighty and somber-- while they both carefully readjusted to the turn of the conversation.
“After Christmas, I was going to make changes in my life. I had made them. But even after--” Scully pivoted away from that consuming memory, “-- after Emily... I never considered keeping those changes for Queequeg's sake. Was that fair of me?”
Jack Bonsaint knocked considerately on the windshield. “Agent Scully? Any leads?”
*****
Oblivious to the horror show unfolding across town, Queequeg tore away the plastic from a complimentary bar of soap and sank his teeth into the old lady smell of dime store lavender. He then decorated his triumph all over the floor.
*****
“Well-behaved” had turned into “good as new” had turned into “we’ll handle it”; and Scully’s weekend closed amicably, both professionally and financially. At least Jack and the force were pitching in to cop the damages.
She’d buy him a poster, she decided, securing her rascally co-pilot into place before striding to the driver’s side door.
And she’d at least gotten her bath.
But she’d never tell Mulder about what happened to her new tourist shirt.
*****
Dedicated to @welsharcher's curiosity about Mulder's strange... hat (here) in "Christmas Carol" and @agent-troi's generously donated prompt ("Queequeg tags along on cases and gets into mischief") that @perpetually-weirdening seconded.
Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2023 and @fictober-event
**Note**: If the Tales of Queequeg becomes a series, I will call them The Remains of the Remains of the Day. That is all.
Thank you for reading~
Enjoy!
#txf#fic#Fictober#2023#Day 2#“Regardless of His Actions Last Night”#Chinga#AU#Scully takes her little monster on vacay#and he has a whale of a time#mine#x-files#xfiles#the x files#xf fanfic#Queequeg#Scully#Mulder#Jack Bonsaint
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punderful sentence starters! *ba dum tss*
How can you spot a nosy pepper? It gets Jalapeño business!
I’m addicted to brake fluid, but it’s OK because I can stop at any time.
What did the prescriptivist owl say? Whom whom.
What do you call an alligator in a vest? An investigator.
Did you know deer can jump higher than the average house? It’s because of their strong hind legs and the fact that the average house can’t jump.
What did one eye say to the other? Just between you and me, something smells.
What do you say to a Llama that loves picnicking? Alpaca lunch.
I can’t stand Russian dolls. They’re so full of themselves.
Did you hear about the glass blower who accidentally inhaled? He got stomach pane.
What do you call a snail that isn’t moving? An escar-stay.
Did you hear about the new corduroy pillowcases? They’re really making headlines.
If you see an Apple Store get robbed, does that make you an iWitness?
Why couldn’t the pony sing in the choir? He was a little horse.
Did you hear about the woman who loved making archery supplies? Every day she went to work, she quivered with joy!
The past, the present and the future all walk into a bar. It was tense.
What’s the body temperature of a Tauntaun? Luke Warm.
Why did the hipster burn his mouth on pizza? Because he ate it before it was cool.
Rumors of a food shortage at this year’s spoonerism conference turned out to be a complete lack of pies.
Don’t ever believe an atom, they make up everything.
I’m glad I know sign language, it’s pretty handy.
Did you hear that Cray computing is working on a new supercomputing cluster designed specifically to simulate mental illness? They’re calling it the Cray Cray.
Why does Waldo (from Where’s Waldo) always wear a striped shirt? He doesn’t want to be spotted.
I dropped my toothpaste, I’m crestfallen.
Girl walks into a bar and asks the bartender for a double entendre. So he gives it to her.
I went to a zoo the other day, but there was only one dog there. It was a Shitzu.
Why did the scarecrow get an award? He was outstanding in his field.
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Class of Villainy: Villainous Quotes
(As usually, @msweebyness and @imsparky2002 )
Alya: Pull the lever, Nora!
*Nora looks at both levers for a moment before pulling one, opening a trap door beneath Alya’s feet*
Alya: WRONG LEVEEEEEEEERRR!!
*A moment later, Alya returns with an alligator biting her ankle*
Alya: Why do we even have that lever?
—
Nathaniel: OFF WITH HIS-!
Marc: Oh, consider, my little Wild Card. Shouldn’t he have a trial first?
Nathaniel: TRIAL?!
Marc: Just a little trial? Hmm?
Nathaniel: … Very well, then. *Kisses Marc’s cheek* … LET THE TRIAL BEGIN!
—
Nora: *After Devil appears on her shoulder* Uh… Where’s the other girl?
*Angel appears on her shoulder while under a hair dryer*
Nora: … Yo!
Angel: Oh, sorry! *Gets from under the dryer and pulls out her curlers* Sorry I’m late. So, what did I miss?
Nora: Well, Alya just tossed me this knife and asked me to… You know.
Alya: *Points to Nora like, ‘What the fuck?’*
Lila/Felix/XY: *Shrug*
Nora: Take them out. And then this guy popped up, and we waited for you, and quite honestly-
Alya: Nora!
—
Lila: *Wearing a ton of jewelry and hitting a drum* Wow! A shiny glittery cave! And just like me, it is covered in sparkly treasure. Sparkle. Sparkle. Sparkle.
XY: You’re not selling it!
Lila: This is stupid! I’ll just walk up and get it!
Felix: If you walk on him, he will kill you. Just stick to the plan. Oh, and when he shows up, just… Keep him distracted. Make him talk about himself.
XY: Yeah, he loves bragging about how great he is.
Lila: Heh. I bet he and Kim get along swell.
XY: Yeah… Probably… Kim did rip off his leg, while he was in crab form, though.
Lila: … HE WHAT?? *The mound of treasure rumbles and lifts up off the ground. She would’ve have fallen if not for a giant claw catching her just in time and bringing her face to face with Jean in his crab form*
Jean: Well, what do we have here? It’s a sparkly, shiny… Wait, no. Just a human. What are you doing down here in the realm? *Notices her staring back and forth at his eyes* J-just pick one to stare at. I can’t concentrate with you trying to- O-okay.
—
Kim: *Skimming through Lila’s book* How can you possibly read this thing? There are no pictures!
—
Nathaniel: Now, where did you come from, and where are you going?
XY: I’m trying to find my way home-
Nathaniel: YOUR WAY?! ALL WAYS HERE ARE MY WAYS!
—
Mireille: How sentimental. You know, I haven’t been this choked up since I got a hunk of moussaka caught in my throat! Huh?… Is this an audience or a mosaic?
—
Juleka: Well… Quite a glittering assemblage, your highness. Royalty, nobility, the gentry, and… *Giggles when she sees the fairies* How quaint. Even the rabble.
—
Myléne: You’ll have your looks! You’re pretty face! And don’t underestimate the importance of body language! Ha!
—
Card Guard: Cheating, tormenting, and otherwise, annoying our beloved King-
Nathaniel: Oh, Nevermind all that! Get to the part where I lose my temper!
—
Adrien: … Ecstatic. I’m afraid Prince Aboohoo-
Prince: Ababwa.
Adrien: Whatever.
—
Mireille: Guys! Get your titanic rears in gear and kick some Olympian butt! *Pegasus blows out her flame-hair* Whoa, is my hair out?
—
Alya: Then I bet you weren’t expecting this! *Lifts up the hem of her dress*
XY: *Screams*
Felix: Noooo! Please no!
Alya: *Reveals a dagger strapped to her leg* Aha!
Felix: Oh, thank God.
—
They’ve got friends on the other side.
Denise: That’s just an echo, sugars. Just a little thing we have here in Paris, a little parlor trick. Don’t worry.
—
Ismael: I’m surrounded by idiots.
—
Jean: I ate my grandma!
—
Ismael: Oh, Sass, do lighten up. *Throws a bone at Sass* Sing something with a little… Bounce in it.
Sass: *Smirks* It’s a small world after all-
Ismael: NO! Anything but that!
—
Aurore: I find delight in the gruesome and grim!
Duusu: Oh, that’s terrible.
Aurore: Thank you, my dear!
—
Chris/Manon/Kiran: Kidnap Mr. Sandy Claws?
Chris: I wanna do it!
Kiran: *Holds up three vials. Two are poison* Let’s draw straws!
Manon: Felix said we should work together.
Chris: Three of a kind!
Kiran: Birds of a feather!
Chris/Kiran/Manon: Now and forever!
—
Aurore: Want to fight?! Want to have a wizard’s duel?!
—
Jean: You can’t run from me! *Lila runs away* Oh. You can.
—
Jean: Hey! HEY!… Did you like my song?
—
Lacey: The world is dark, and selfish, and cruel. If it finds even the slightest ray of sunshine… It destroys it
—
Marc: *Looks in the box* The heart of a pig?!… I’ve been tricked!
—
Nathaniel: WELL-!
Card Guards: Shh.
Nathaniel: *Whispers* What have you to say about this?
Doormouse: *Murmuring nonsense*
Nathaniel: *Whispering* That’s the most important piece of evidence we’ve heard yet… WRITE THAT DOWN!
—
Felix: How did you get back here before us?!
Alya: Well, I… Uh… How did we, Nora?
Nora: Well, you’ve got me. *Pulls down a map with colorful dotted lines with one leading to the school and the other into the forest* By all accounts, it doesn’t make sense.
—
Marc: I’ll go myself to the dwarves’ cottage in a disguise so complete, no one will ever suspect. *Skims through his spellbook* Now, a formula to transform my beauty into ugliness, change my kingly raiment into a peddler’s cloak
#miraculous ladybug#miraculous#class of villainy#incorrect quotes#Disney villains#villains#Disney#mlb incorrect quotes
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42 [bug] involving Varoll :>
Varoll watched from behind a tree as a monster dragonfly hovered over the skeleton of a three-feet long lizard. Despite typically being found in huge swarms around fresh water, they tended to avoid her little habitat due to constantly being accosted by the alligators. She never actually ate one before because they were so hard to kill, though she did get her finger broken by one before when she was little. Dantli caught one and crushed it in his hands once, and it was the coolest thing she ever saw.
So imagine how proud he would be if she managed to fell one by herself with just her arrows and her knife.
She removed an arrow from her quiver and pulled back the bow, aiming carefully. She thought it all out. She'd shoot it in the back near the base of one of its wings so it'd be crippled, then finish the job with her pocketknife in her sylladex. She was a damn good shot for her age, so she was confident she could take it down. Varoll waited until it was still and resting to mulch and consume a rib bone before taking the shot.
Her aim was true and she nailed it in the base of one wing. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough to inhibit its flying, and within seconds she was forced to run from the massive bug out to get revenge for having its meal disturbed. First the geese at the park, and now this. Running away from animals she could kill (in theory) was getting really old.
She picked up a sizeable rock and chucked it at her pursuer, but the massive dragonfly easily dodged and struck at her with its tail, very nearly pinching a chunk off her shoulder. In a desperate move, she reached out to grab the deadly pincer at the end of its muscular tail. Her first attempt was a miss that almost cost her thumb. With a panicked shriek, she pulled out another arrow and started swinging and jabbing at it.
With what little luck she had, one of the jabs managed to puncture one of its bulbous eyes and caused it to falter. She then grabbed it by the tail, dropping her arrow to use both hands, and slammed it against the trunk of a tree in an attempt to finally kill it. However, between its thick muscular body, hardy exoskeleton, and still-functioning wings, it was a futile endeavor.
She couldn't stab it again without letting it go, so her teeth would have to do. The rapid loud buzzing of its wings as it attempted to fly away aggressively filled her ears as she pulled it close and started biting into the tough flesh. The pincer tore a hole in the front of her shirt and came dangerously close to finding purchase in her throat. In a desperate move, she wrenched her head to take the base of its pincer in her jaws, and the natural strength of her bite augmented by her strength as a highblood proved to be enough to bite the pincer... not entirely off, but it tore about halfway and dangled uselessly. Brown blood dripped and sprayed all over the ground as well as Varoll herself, but the bug was finally losing its vigor.
She released one hand to tear out the arrow she lodged in its eye and repeatedly stab it until it fell limply in her grasp. She put the bloody arrow back in her quiver as well as the arrow lodged in one of its wings.
She did it.
She did it!!!
"Yaaaaaaaaaahaaahaaaahhhh!!!!"
Varoll jumped and pumped her fists in the air and shouted in joyous victory. She may have come close to dying herself, but she didn't, and that's what was most important. She killed it all by herself.
Now she just needed to keep any of the alligators from eating it before she could show it to Dantli the next time he visited.
#things to read#Varoll Kaydur#windy trickster#tw animal death#I mean it's just a really big bug but it has a pretty ugly death
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Alligator Valley
Summary: there’s a not so new agent in town, and Bonnie is helping out on her first case with him. A cannibal case in Florida.
Characters: Bonnie McBride (OC), Aaron Hotchner, David Rossi, Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau, Penelope Garcia
AU: Criminal Minds
Episode: Lucky (S3, Ep 8)
AN: follows canon but I tweak it to fit my story lol
TW: Possible mentions for gore and death, drugs use, abuse (all aspects).
Please reblog and like!! It really helps me out <3
———————————
A couple of days had gone by since Bonnie physically saw her mother, nor heard much from her at all. She was always away, and it had taken a bit of a toll of her mood. Second guessing whether or not her mother really wanted her anymore. No text messages to let her know she’s alright, just things about microwave dinners and pop tarts. Ever since Bonnie could, she had worked. From age 14 earning $5 an hour. She helped pay the bills and whatever was left was for school work and clothes. Now that she had this assistants job she had felt a little lighter. Not having to worry too much about what she would have left over, but that didn’t stop her mother from disappearing for days. The longest was two weeks then one day she walked in, drunk out of her mind Bonnie was amazed she could stand, and walked straight past her and into bed. The next morning ate cereal from the same table without lifting her head, continuously scratching her arm full of needle piercings.
The woman she looked at was not the same in old photographs when she was a baby or toddler. Her brown hair was thin and greying at only forty. Her skin so tight that Bonnie could see her mothers cheekbones and ribs as clearly as she could see her eyes. It made her wonder, if she was watching her mother wither away.
Bonnie had became quite agitated. Everything said to her must have been against her. If she were asked to do her job she’d take it as being bossed around, but would comply quietly, seething under her breath. Or if she had been given constructive criticism she would convince herself it was because someone didn’t think she could handle her own.
David Rossi was quite the character. She had read one of his books before. Detailing his journey from the army, to the FBI. It was really quite interesting. She never thought she’d be standing in the same room with the man who caught Ryland Posey. The man who set off five bombs, almost six, if David Rossi hadn’t gotten to him in time. The man was made of stone. Every time Bonnie were in his presence she found that she was too intimated to talk. His legacy was bigger than her whole life.
He spoke sternly and low, creeping her out a little bit. Also adding to her quiet teeth gritting as she didn’t like how much of a know-it-all he could be. Speaking to the team as if he owned them.
It was an hour after starting her shift, 11am, when her phone beeped, and the team were getting ready to leave for Florida.
Before Bonnie could get to the jet first like always, Penelope had appeared, popping out of nowhere, and grabbed her arms with haste. “Guess what!” Her cheeks were rosy pink and the smile on her face was just ready to burst and spew confetti.
“What?!” She jumped up and down with Penelope, the woman’s excitement rushing through her hands and intertwined hers.
“I met a guy!”
Bonnie gasped dramatically. “Shut up! Who!” Stopping jumping to get to the serious parts.
“Well, his name is James and I met him at a coffee shop!” Penelope squealed with delight.
“That’s so cute! That’s literally the ideal place right? Going in for a cute little coffee and just bumping into someone!”
“I know!” Penelope strained her voice in attempt to remain a little composed in the office.
“Well you’ll have to tell me everything and more when I get back!”
“I will! I’m very excited for our sleepover young lady!”
Bonnie felt her heart melt and ache at the same time.
There was no hiding anything from Penelope Garcia. She was infamous for it. Literally smelling mood changes. It didn’t take long for the woman to question Bonnie on why she had been acting off. And it was easy to talk to Penelope. She actually listened to her. She was just like an open diary all ready to be written all over
So then the door of Penelope’s apartment was open to her 24/7. She had insisted at first that it was too generous to offer her a place to stay until her mother returned, because it would be too often and might be longer than Penelope had expected. So Bonnie had negotiated that she’d go for a night or two, for snacks and movies, just like having a best friend. Something Bonnie never had the time to have, skipping grades and going to college at 16 being surrounded by people much older than she was.
“Don’t take too long!” Penelope waved Bonnie off as she sped towards the jet.
“So, this guy is a complete and utter psychopath!” David Rossi ranted at the screen which showed an assortment of body parts. No faces. Just legs and arms. Fingers and toes.
“Someone very mentally ill Rossi.” Derek said from across the table.
“Obviously.” The older man sassed and Derek rolled his eyes, clenching his jaw like he always did if someone pissed him off.
“Guys. Listen up please.” Hotch scolded the two like a pair of kids, before clearing his throat and putting his attention back onto the computer. “This is Abby, nineteen, she left for college and never returned home. A pair of joggers found her body in a nearby park three days later. Everything below her waist had been eaten. All ten fingers gone, and her throat slit.”
This girl was only a year older than she was. Bonnie couldn’t help but feel attacked herself. Why must it always be women?
“What did that to her?” Derek asked, pointing to what would have been the girls bottom half.
“Bridgewater's off of i-75, Which is often referred to as alligator alley For reasons that are now apparent.” Hotch answered and Emily grimaced.
“I suddenly don’t feel so bad about my alligator purse.”
“Ah, the circle of life.” Rossi commented casually.
“An alligator couldn’t have carved an inverted pentagram on her torso though right? Or slit her throat? Unless he’s really skilled.” Derek conspired.
“The locals believe that a satanic cult is at fault.” Hotch replied, and Spencer quickly intervened.
“S-Satanic cults have been debunked as a myth actually.”
“What?” Jennifer looked unconvinced.
“Yeah, it was Rossi who debunked it.” All heads turned to the older man.
“Thanks kid.” Rossi gave Spencer a nod and Bonnie almost laughed at how his face radiated.
“Cult or not, this is ritualised.” Said Hotch and Emily sighed.
“So… satanic cults don’t exist, but satanic killers do?” She asked and Bonnie also rolled the question over her head.
“Lasciate ogni speranza ch'entrate.”
The team looked at Rossi with clueless eyes.
“Oh. Thanks for clearin' that up.” Derek tutted.
“Uh, it's from dante's inferno. Abandon hope, all ye who enter here." Spencer answered proudly.
“So… yes?” Emily asked and Rossi nodded.
“Precisely.”
But the boy genius wasn’t quite done yet. “There are two types of satanic killers actually. One is the rebellious teenager. Looking for a way out of reality. Mix this with some drugs and alcohol and it could turn violent. In some cases deadly.”
Rossi looked up at Spencer who smiled. “That’s from my book.”
“Trust me, we know.” Jennifer laughed and Spencer’s happiness faltered slightly.
“And the other?” Hotch asked.
Spencer continued, a little quieter and less enthusiastically this time however. Looking down towards the computer. “The adaptive. The worse one of the two I believe. I-it’s when a serial killer begins to blame his doings on fantasies. They will adapt satanic beliefs to fit their cause.”
“He doesn’t kill because he believes in satan. He believes in satan because he kills then. Is that it?” Rossi nodded at Derek who rubbed his head. “I don’t believe in all this crap!”
Spencer never missed a beat as his mouth ran faster than his thoughts. “Maybe that’s because you never really let god into your life?”
Derek whipped around, his thick brows crossed. “No offence kid, but you don’t know what I believe in.” And Spencer gulped, sinking into his chair.
“Alright well… we’re almost there. So when we land Bonnie you’re with me and Rossi, the rest of you visit the police department.”
Bonnie didn’t have that many notes yet. All she had picked out from the group was that they were looking for someone who believes that satan is real because they have committed such a heinous act. It wasn’t much to go on, there were probably lots of people who believed that.
Following Agent Hotchner and Rossi, they were led down to an examination room where Abby’s body- what was left of it- was being autopsied.
“Sir, I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner with the FBI.” Agent Hotchner shook the doctors hand after the man removed his glove.
“David Rossi.” Another shake.
“Bonnie.” She smiled and kept her hands on her notebook.
“Thank you for coming. I’ve been needing to speak with you.” The man said shaking every so slightly. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
Agent Hotchner lifted his head with interest.
“Fingers. Ten of them found in Abby’s stomach. They’re away for testing right as we speak.”
“He made her eat them?” Bonnie asked and the man nodded.
“Yes.”
“Are they hers?” Agent Hotchner asked.
But the man shook his head. “No… these belong to other people I’m sure of it. Three are index fingers.”
“More victims.” Rossi said aloud.
“He fed her other peoples fingers… why?” She asked the other two agents with her pen in hand ready to write.
“To send a message he’s killed more. And that…” agent Hotchner sighed and looked away from Bonnie. “He’s possibly eating them.”
The man from the autopsy stopped dead. “Serious?”
“Yes.” Agent Hotchner stated in his classic monotone voice.
“Well if it’s satanism, I think we should talk to the local priest don’t you think?” Rossi suggested and Agent Hotchner nodded.
“Yeah good thinking.” And she followed the two out of the room.
Rossi and Derek decided to go to the church, while Bonnie and Agent Hotchner returned to the police station to share their findings. Jennifer and Emily had just returned from visiting Abby’s father.
“He fed her fingers? That’s messed up.” Jennifer scrunched her nose like being hit with a bad smell.
“You ever wonder what human meat tastes like?” Emily pondered to herself and Agent Hotchner ignored her, while Bonnie shook her head.
“Never thought about it, never want to.”
Before Emily could go on further about eating people, an officer barged into the office and all heads turned.
“Sir, we’ve just got a call about a woman being abducted at a rest stop near the state park. We’d like you to check it out. We think it’s your guy.”
“Alright. Emily come, JJ and Reid stay and wait for Rossi and Morgan.” The boss had ordered and Bonnie could easily see how restless Spencer was getting being stuck in this small room from the minute they arrived.
At the rest stop, the team were brought into a bathroom, a smelly one. In one stall, a red inverted pentagram had been drawn on the door, marking which one the act had been committed, possibly to tell satan it was here. The toilet lid was down and a stack of books perched on top.
“Books?” Emily questioned.
“Satanic ones. And they’re nice and neat. This unsub may have been institutionalised, seeing as we’ve profiled he’s mentally ill. The only form of control he had was being tidy, almost military. Everything else was stripped away.”
Then he paused, his thumb running over the rest of his fingers. “Host a search party. Five o’clock today.” That was in two hours.
“You think she’s still here?” Emily asked as the three strolled back to the SUV.
“Maybe. There’s only one way to find out. Plus, the woman at the store said no cars have driven in…”
“Maybe she just didn’t see it or something? On break?” Bonnie suggested but Agent Hotchner shook his head.
“I don’t know. But… hopefully this search will help us.”
Two hours rolled on very quickly, and the whole team arrived to see a whole town at the park. Flyers being handed out, snacks and water, even hot food.
Father Marks had volunteered as well, he was the priest that Rossi and Derek spoke to. Bonnie wasn’t very sure of the man, she’d never met him, only that the team are assuming the unsub has some sort of connection to worship… and could tell that neither was Derek.
“What the fuck is that guy doing here?” The man mumbled next to Agent Hotchner who rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“He’s helping with the search.”
“Hotch you know that unsubs will sometimes insert themselves into the investigations right? This dude knows about this satanic stuff!”
“Morgan, chill out. Rossi said he was very cooperative right? He knows his stuff, you interviewed him… i don’t think your dislike for this man has anything to do with this case.” Bonnie feared that Derek may land a punch on Agent Hotchners face the way the man stepped back and clenched his fist. “Let’s just focus on finding Tracy Lambert alright?” Derek huffed, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and shoved on his dark sunglasses and walked alone into the forest.
Meanwhile Bonnie landed herself beside Spencer. “They’ve got chilli over there. Who eats chilli on a search party?” Bonnie chuckled, pointing out the stand to Spencer who hummed.
“Apparently Emily.” He said as they watched Emily take a bowl and scoop some into her mouth. “I hate public food. Don’t know where it’s been.”
Bonnie didn’t mind it. Sometimes it was better than buying ingredients from the shop which costed more than a simple takeaway. She couldn’t really afford to care about who handled her food. As long as she wasn’t hungry and it tasted good.
She signed the searchers sheet and herself and Spencer stuck close together. The memory of going off alone in the woods during the Sandy Parker case crept up on her like a stalker and choked her from behind. She started combing her hair with her fingers, protecting it.
Her breathing became heavier as her eyes frantically scanned her surrounding, instinctively looking for short red hair.
“Hey.” Spencer’s voice didn’t exactly make her stop, but she now had something to focus on. “Everything’s gonna be alright. I’m here with you. And I’m allowed to use a gun now!”
That made her feel a little lighter, but with each step further into the woods she felt the trees closing in on her.
“I hope so… just the last time I did this I almost died… on my first case as well.”
“You ever hear about my first case?” Spencer asked, trying his hardest to comfort the younger girl.
“No?”
He laughed at the reminiscence. “I was twenty one. I’d never been in a fight or-or anything like that my entire life. I had just been granted permission to be allowed in the field. Hotch took the lead like always, and-and told me to go round back with Morgan. I was basically a look out.” He was smiling. “So we went around the back of this big house, and he told me to stay put while he checked the inside was clear. I couldn’t shoot by then, I was awful.” She managed to laugh a little, still keeping close to Spencer, grazing his arm as she walked through the woods.
“The unsub jumped me from behind. And I wasn’t stocky or strong like Hotch or Morgan, hell I’m still not! He took me down and whacked me hard on the head and I couldn’t see from how dizzy I was. I genuinely thought I was gonna die. That was until morgan shot him. The first time I’ve even been close to a bullet. When I sat up, I threw up all over myself. Like literally everywhere.” He began to really laugh now. So hard he could barely finish his sentence. “And then- and then, Morgan took of his top and had to physically change me. Mind you we’re in this person back garden with a dead man behind us and he’s stripping me! My shoes at that point were covered in vomit and y’know the first thing I said was?”
“What?” She asked laughing along, despite how scary it must have been.
“I asked for my mom. My mother! At my grown age being an FBI agent I asked for my mom. Morgan had to take my shoes off and carried me bridal style to the SUV. I’ll never forget that. Or Gideon… while I was in the hospital getting stitches he stayed by my side the entire time. Reading from his bird books… he knew I hated hospitals…” Bonnies smile slowly faded to a frown.
“I know you miss him… he was a great guy. From my little time with him I learned a lot! Like that time he called that man’s mum a whore? Who does that?!” She hadn’t been present from the amount of guns pulled, but agent Hotchner told her everything once they were back safely in the jet. How Gideon confronted this man named Frank and simply insulted his mother, before the man and a victim jumped in front of a train.
That insult must have really hurt.
“Only Gideon.” Spencer laughed again, but distantly. Sadly almost.
“I’m sorry he left Spencer. If I could bring him back for you I would. I know what it’s like to-“ she stopped and cleared her throat. There were some things in the world that aren’t meant to be said. Like how it was actually quite obvious Spencer lacked a parental figure. Seeing how much he admired… and actually loved Agent Gideon as if he were his own flesh and blood.
“It’s that obvious?” Spencer turned to her with a smirk. “Shit I thought I was doing well with hiding the fact I don’t have a dad.”
Bonnie snorted. “I understand. My dad passed when I was little. Just been me and my mum ever since.” Thought now it seemed like it was just her alone. Eighteen and all by herself in this big big world.
“I’m… I’m sorry to hear that. This team… it’s a family. I’ve gained a father, lost him, but I also gained brothers and sisters, and whatever Hotch is… I can’t put my finger on it…“ perhaps Agent Hotchner just had that dad vibe. Considering he had a little boy at home.
Or maybe it was his age actually…
The Tobias Hankel case file flashed quickly in her mind, and she remembered Spencer’s name very clearly, and wondered if she could risk asking about it. If there was something wrong, she’d like to know. It could help her understand the team better, seeing as this went down before she had joined them.
“Spencer…” she started anxiously. Sandy Parker no longer in her thoughts.
He hummed back.
“When I was sorting the case files, I saw one with your name in it.” The man shifted and cleared his throat.
“Oh really?”
“Yeah… Tobias Hankel?” You couldn’t have missed the flinch even if you weren’t looking. And with that she regretted every opening her mouth. “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“No…” he scratched his arm. “No it’s ok. We’re a family now.” She wondered if he knew how much that had meant to her. “He was a sick man. Mentally unwell. He kidnapped me, drugged me. I dug my own grave.” He scoffed sourly. “But the team found me just in time… sometimes I wish they hadn’t.” He whispered the last part, but having it be so quiet around this forest Bonnie heard, and tentatively reached for Spencer’s hand which he flinched at.
“Sorry… I forgot you don’t like to be touched.”
His face of fear turned soft, and he gave a small smile, and took her hand in his. “Only with family.”
A surge of warmth coated her body as she really smiled.
Unfortunately, after a couple hours no girl had turned up. So both Bonnie and Spencer reluctantly left the forest, despite how much they wanted to keep looking, and were met with a serious faced Agent Hotchner, and they let go of each other.
“It’s getting too dark, we have to go back to the station, JJ has an idea.” And the two younger ones shared a worried look before getting into the SUV, driven by Agent Hotchner.
Back at the station, Jennifer began reading over the search list and volunteers from the church, hoping the theory of the unsub being part of the church was right, but so far had nothing.
“Garcia’s I’D the fingers. No two are the same. That’s ten victims.” Spencer began drawing on the map. “Hey look at this.”
Jennifer, Agent Hotchner, and Bonnie stood closer.
“The hunting ground is in the middle of it all. The last time any of the woman were last seen.” Agent Hotchner thought aloud.
“He likes to stay close to home then. Gives him familiarity.” Jennifer said and Spencer nodded.
“It was prostitution that helped Garcia with the ID. I think they were easy to catch.”
The thought of her mother out all alone with strange men was too much for Bonnie, so she slipped outside and pulled a cigarette from her blazer pocket, walking around the side of the police building for a bit of privacy. Hoping none of the team would discover her disgusting habit.
It was a simple little thing that filled her with relief. A break. She started when she was 14 after getting her first job in a small take away shop that was always busy. Nipping out the back for five minutes was a blessing. The nicotine high would relax her tense body and she’d go back in after drowning herself in perfume, and feel as if she had rested well and could continue.
Quitting was very hard and sometimes she regretted ever picking up a cigarette. But on the most stressful times such as thinking about her mother, it was the only escape. The only thing to take her mind elsewhere.
It was later that night when Derek left the station, only to come running back in with the news of a body which was already on the way to the hospital, and father mark was brought in for questioning.
Agent Hotchner began. “She’s Hispanic for one. She’s not either of the women we’ve been looking for.” As amidst the searching for Tracey, another woman had been abducted. Every single member of the team had felt absolutely hopeless. How could they host a search only for another woman to go missing?
“Her names Maria Lopez, 31, 2 kids. Numerous arrests for solicitation and prostitution. But she was reported missing nine months ago.” Jennifer furrowed her brows in confusion.
“How does that work? He’s holding them?” Emily asked Agent Hotchner who was double checking the search sheets while Rossi and Derek spoke to Father Mark.
“Get Dr Fulton on the phone.” Agent Hotchner demanded and Jennifer began to dial.
Once the man answered, Agent Hotchner started immediately. “Has Maria Lopez’s cells burst?”
“Why?” The doctor asked and Agent Hotchner groaned.
“Because we think she was killed, frozen, kept, and eaten.”
The line went silent. A couple of seconds passed and the doctor replied. “Yes, her cells were burst.”
“Thanks.” And the man ended the call.
“Well that explains why we haven’t found any other victims.”
Bonnie took a shaky breath. “Garcia’s checking mental institutes still, there’s two but we’re gonna have to narrow this down.” Agent Hotchner sat down and failed Penelope’s phone.
“Now call Garcia.”
“A please would be nice.” Jennifer held her phone in her hand waiting.
“Please.”
And she then dialed.
“I’m your fairy godmother Garcia, you may grant me one wish!”
“Have you found anything in the institutions yet?” Agent Hotchner asked.
“So I can't find any patients in florida Who have the charmheg of being both a satanist and a cannibal. However, hazelwood mental institution is the place to go When looking for florida's most dangerous kinds of wackos, And they had a fire in 1998 that destroyed all their records.”
Agent Hotchner listened intently, not moving a single muscle.
“Let’s give hazelwood a visit, JJ call them and tell them we’re coming. Reid, Bonnie let’s go.” As tired as she was, Bonnie went, lunging her first steps and cracking her neck that Emily gagged at.
“What are you expecting we find?” Spencer asked from the front seat.
“A man who would have been young at the time, very mentally ill, and hopefully someone who will know of our description.”
“That’s really vage.” Bonnie piped up from the back and agent Hotchner nodded.
“But this man would also be prone to biting, like during fights or something. Hopefully someone will have a file.”
So when they pulled up to Hazelwood, that’s exactly what they did.
They were brought into a doctors office, not much decorating the area besides a couple diplomas and such.
“As I told agent Jareau on the phone, We have no existing record of that patient you described.” The doctor said feeling helpless. His hands out in front of him on the table, as if trying to grab any sort of memory that would help.
“We know. We were hoping you might actually remember a patient. He would have been an adolescent when admitted.”
“Dr Lorenz was in charge of adolescents.” The doctor replied as grief covered his sunken face.
“Is he here?” Agent Hotchner asked and the man shook his head.
“He died in the fire. He was leaving when he heard the alarm and ran back in.”
“Why?” Spencer asked.
“He was a very dedicated man.”
“Like he had something to protect? Something to risk his life over?” Bonnie then asked.
The doctors wrinkled forehead creased, and he stood up from his chair. “There was one thing…” moving towards a desk and sliding one of the drawers open, pulling out a worn out notebook.
“This boy… he wrote about taking a bite out of his nine year old sister… cannibalism’s what you’re looking for isn’t it?” Agent Hotchner took the book from the doctors hands and flipped to the front.
“Floyd Feylinn Ferell.”
The sirens were on, speeding down streets and running red lights, Bonnie gripped onto her door handle in fear of her life. She’d never been in a police car like this before.
Rossi and Morgan were closer than they were, having been at the church with Father Mark.
By the time they arrived, the suspect was in Derek’s hands, shirtless, being pushed into the back of a police car.
“That’s him?” She asked peeking to look out of the front window with wide eyes.
“Yep.” Agent Hotchner answered, and began following the car down to the station.
The team were all together again, and their anxieties had dropped slightly, all hoping this truly was the man the town was looking for. To bring justice to those dead.
The entire team stood outside of the double sided glass window of the interrogation room, all very eager that this was the one.
Father Mark was waiting with the rest of the team.
“Kobe girl steak.” The man began. “That’s where you prepare the meat isn’t it?” The man was unresponsive. “You’ve got a lot of unusual recipes in here Floyd.” Derek held up a better looking journal than the one found at the institute. “Must have tried some of ‘em?”
“Hm.” Floyd hummed down to himself.
“Talk to me.” The agents eyes digging holes into the smaller, much weaker man. “Which ones?”
Floyd slightly lifted his head in the direction of Derek. “Some have smiley faces. Some have sad.” It was the first time any of them had heard him speak. It was soft, calm, unnerving.
Despite how sick Derek just have felt, he carried on. “You ever hear voices Floyd?”
“I’m not smart. But I have a smart friend who tells me things.” Floyd responded.
“What’s your friends name?”
Floyd ignored him. “He wants me to tell you something.” And Derek waited. “Your watch has stopped working.”
“He’s trying to spook him.” Agent Hotchner commented from the other side of the glass
“Yeah uh… I’ve been meaning to change the batteries for a month.”
Bonnie hoped Floyds plan wouldn’t work on Derek, because she was certainly taken back.
Derek then proceeded to suggest that Floyd took fit women due to the fact they would have more ‘meat’ on their bones for his recipes. To which Floyd answered he thought that skinny people who took drugs didn’t taste very nice.
“Where’s Tracy Lambert?” Derek drilled, and Floyd smiled.
“I can only tell Father Mark.”
Derek excused himself and even though Agent Hotchner was against it, the man was able to take Father Mark into the room. “I do all the talking. Alright?” And the priest nodded.
Floyd immediately looked up when he saw Father Mark. “Thank you for coming father.”
“Anything I can do for-“ Derek paused the priest with a finger in the air.
“I had to pull a lot of strings to get him in here Floyd. My bosses really didn’t like to idea of him sending him in at all. So he’s gonna sit here nice and quiet, and you’re only gonna talk to me, alright?”
“Ok.” Floyd answered. “I’ve done bad things.”
“We’ve all done bad things we’re not proud of Floyd. The only thing that helps is to tell others.”
“Not everything” Floyd shook his head.
From beyond the glass, Bonnie’s head had tilted in interest looking at Floyds demeanour. He had completely opened when Father Marks had came in, and could not stop taking glances every couple of seconds to the priest. He looked, like he was planning something.
“This isn’t right.” Agent hotchner’s brows were furrowed as he too stared at Floyd. “When Floyd was at the search he signed the sign in sheet, but not the searchers.”
Inside, Derek pressed. “Come on Floyd. I got him in here because you wanted him, now it’s your turn. Where is Tracy Lambert?”
Bonnies eyes faltered around the room in thought. She could see some stalls. Snacks and drinks, then she looked up to the people. Those handing them out. “Something wrong…” but she hadn’t made it out yet.
“I feel so alone father. That god had abandoned me.” Father Mark looked at Derek for permission to speak, and the man nodded.
“You are not alone, my son. God is in all of us.”
“We have to stop the interview.” Agent Hotchner panicked.
The man, Floyd, began to grin sinisterly, twisted his head upwards, and laughed.
“So is Tracy Lambert.”
Then it all made sense.
She could see him so clearly now. Standing behind the stand where chilli was being served. She had watched him give a bowl to Emily.
Bonnie spun around to watch the said woman run out of the room covering her mouth with her hand.
“You son of a bitch- you son of a-“ Father Mark flung his body of the table and lunged for Floyds throat, Derek catching him by his waist and yelled for back up. All while Floyd watched with a grin on his face.
A face Bonnie would not forget.
Back on the jet, after Emily was done throwing up every piece of food in her body, everyone was silent.
Derek was not present, but no one paid much mind.
Bonnie brought out her small flip phone and texted Penelope. She first had to collect her things that she left at the BAU, then find a way to get to Penelope’s apartment. Maybe Agent Hotchner would give her a lift. Or Jennifer. Not Emily… Emily would want some alone time. Probably to make herself throw up some more.
Well at least she knew was human meat tasted like now…
Bonnie screwed her face up at the sudden thought.
‘Hey Penelope, we’re on the jet now, I won’t be long!’ She texted and sent, before passing out on the plan ride home.
——————————
“Bonnie! Bonnie wake up!” A strong hand was shaking her from her slumber and she jumped out of her chair in a panic.
Agent Hotchner grabbed her shoulder and hurried her out of the jet, her still being in a sleepy state.
“What? What’s wrong?!” She breathed heavily as she tried to keep up with the man’s long strides.
“I…” his grip on her tightened. “Penelope’s been shot.”
#criminal minds#spencer reid#derek morgan#aaron hotchner#emily prentiss#jennifer jareau#david rossi#moreid#jemily#penelope garcia#thesiriusmoon bonnie cm#cm fandom#cm fanfic#cm fanfiction#criminal minds fanfiction#dad!hotch#father figure hotch#thesiriusmoon writes cm
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On The Eighth Day of Christmas
Day 7 | Day 9
Masterlist
Pairing: Elvis (Or Austin!Elvis) x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Swearing, Spelling and Grammatical Errors Most Likely
Word Count: 655
With all of the animals out of the way, you were getting back to reality. The eighth day was the first of many humans conducting ways tasks. The first one happened to be eight maids of milking. Now of course you had many many thoughts about this one. Yet, you came to the conclusion of one.
You had gotten eight cheap dolls that were dressed as maids. You then got one cow stuffed animal. You then got a little toy that was a milk jug. In reality, it was a piece of wood with a sticker slapped on saying it was milk.
You woke up around your normal time. Did your usual routine and headed to the kitchen to make some breakfast. While you were making dinner you were setting up the eighth day. You decided it would be best to set them up in the dining room. You two hardly ate out there if you were being honest. You just ate in the kitchen, so for the time being… the dining table will be your twelve days of Christmas table.
“Mm, hey darlin’, ya swans are frozen,” Elvis said as he yawned and walked down the stairs into the kitchen. You let out a light giggle and shook your head.
You flipped the pancake in the pan, “doesn’t surprise me. There is snow littered everywhere outside. I can’t believe people still wait out by the gates.” You said as you felt him come up behind you. His arms slanted around your waist and his lips found the top of your head.
“They’re the real ones.” He muttered and pulled away, “‘m gonna get the newspaper.” You nodded in response and felt his warmth being pulled away. You kept your giggles down on the quiet as he walked into the dining room.
“Uh… ‘m not even gonna ask,” he shook his head. You let out a laugh and platted the two plates with pancakes and toppings.
You heard the front door open and close, indicating that Elvis went down to the gates to get the newspaper from the security guard. You placed the plates down and sat down and started to munch on your food.
On every other day, you would’ve waited for him, but you were overly hungry and could no longer wait for your dark-haired husband. The door quickly opened and slammed shut indicating that your husband was back.
“Son of a goddamn bitch, it’s colder than goddamn Antarctica out there,” Elvis announced as he shuffled his way into the kitchen. You let out a giggle and looked at him. He had fresh snow littered in his hair and you could see the goosebumps on his arms.
“You should’ve put on a coat,” you claimed as you popped a piece of pancake in your mouth.
“Eatin’ without me?”
“Mhm, sorry I was really hungry.” You frowned at him. He nodded and went to the coffee pot to start himself some coffee.
“Are you okay?” He then asked after there was some silence. You looked at him confused. Why wouldn’t you be okay? Sure there were some questionable things you’ve done… the turtle doves…
“Yeah?” You said in a questioning tone, urging him to explain his reasoning for questioning.
“Ya just been eating more, and I can hear you throwing up in the morning. I just want to make sure you aren’ sick.” Elvis explained as he came to stand by you. He looked into your eyes to make sure you weren’t going to lie to him.
“‘M not sick. I promise,” you said as you looked straight into his eyes.
“Okay,” he nodded and kissed the top of your head. “Now, what the hell is happening in the dining room?”
“Maids of milking,” you smiled. Elvis shook his head and went to fill his cup with freshly brewed coffee.
“I regreat asking.” You let out a laugh and continued to eat your food.
Want to join my taglist? // Let me know If I spelt any wrong! I have updated my form for my taglist. You will be tagged under everything now in that selected fandom/person. Just makes my life easier.
Taglist: @babyhoneypresley, @emmymaehereeeeee, @mirandastuckinthe80s, @mommy-maia, @yagirlalexx, @alligator-person, @diorxmimi, @anangelwhodidntfall, @pumkiinpasties, @djconde58, @21bruhs, @girlblogger2002, @dollfaceyourfear, @homebodybirkin2003, @dark-as-love, @pandora-journey, @hsstylesrings, @4everrmore, @bewitched-tales, @butlersluvbot, @curatedbyemily, @gyomei-tiddies, @wandawiccan60, @re3kin, @passengerjett, @neepo, @vane28282, @emilykolchivans, @gothantoinette, @gruffle1, @annamarie16, @misacc08, @marchingicenotes7, @callthedarknessdown, @domaniquessidehoe, @gay-af-satan, @skinnypantsmcgee, @sassyblazecloud, @lordandmistress, @nuo0n, @coldonexx, @adoreyouusugar, @aliciaelle47, @danitheedanimal, @raefoxiegirl, @cobra-kaii, @rylee-durhxm, @crabat-the-queen, @austinbutlersgirlfriend, @hopefulinlove, @aradevil, @laperceval, @xcallmetaniax, @londonalozzy, @mslizziesblog, @gloomynigvts, @randompointlessbeauty, @nora-nexus-34, @jazmin2211, @kittenlittle24, @moonbird1507, @bobthefishiesworld, @cevans-winchester, @luckyevansstan, @noorreads, @normatural, @hauntedarchivesx, @thatcrazyfangirl22, @amiets2, @myguiltypleasures21, @poppet05, @xcallmetaniax, @fullmetal-falcon, @kaitaesupremacy, @rainydayz101, @asd-n-adhd-fox, @eliseinmemphis, @adaydreamaway08, @stitchattacks @vintagegirl50s60s70s80s, @dkayfixates, @fa1ryprincess222, @austinstyles
#asshlyyyy writes#austin butler elvis#elvis x reader#elvis imagine#elvis#elvis fic#elvis fanfiction#elvis presley x reader#elvis presley#elvis presley imagine#austin butler#austin butler x reader#austin!elvis x reader#austin butler fanfic#austin!elvis#austin!elvis imagine
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Feeding Alligators 30 - Auntie Knows Best
You have intrusive thoughts! An old lady offers to help!
On AO3.
People stare as you emerge. Bird Lady approaches, but you can only stand there as she jabbers. Finally, a voice calls out from inside, and Bird Lady hustles in without another word.
You wander off into the cave. Find a ladder to a wooden platform, and climb up it. Then you sit a bit.
Exhaustion pulls every part of you towards the ground. Pulls your thoughts down, too. Down, down, into crushing oblivion. Easier, that way. Just don’t think about it (you used to pray so hard in moments like this).
But thoughts do start to trickle back in. Stubborn bastards. The smell of it. Blood and fear sweat and stink; it coats the inside of your nose. The screaming; not any in particular (Kahga’s tiny gasp as you let go), but the sheer noise of it all. The assault to the senses.
You’ve…you’ve hurt people before. Not that bad (never that you knew of). But enough to know your capacity. To know the relief—thank god it wasn’t you this time.
You ain’t never brought that part up in any therapy session. Not even with therapists you liked. They probably suspected it. You’ve read enough to know people say that’s a common reaction.
While Kahga’s face flashes over and over in your mind—it’s the eyes, her fucking wet eyes—there’s part of you that’s…glad. It wasn’t any of your group. Just that woman and her supporters. She could have done with a good ass whooping much sooner, sounds like. Now an obstacle has been removed. The tieflings and their children are safe, your life is a bit easier, and she’s dead.
And you. There’s something wrong with you. Or different, maybe, if you’re feeling charitable. In stories, if somebody sees that aspect in themself they’re horrified. “I could never do such a thing!” they’d cry.
But you can. You have. And though that fucking face is busy worming itself deep into your long-term memory (hello, future nightmare fuel), while something thorny twists tighter around your ribcage, this is part of you. Has been for some time. Ratting someone else out for impure behavior means attention pulls away from you, this time. There’s a vicious sort of triumph in hurting someone who hurt you; even though, from the outside, nobody should have been hurting at all and y’all were rats stuck in a cage and goaded into biting each other.
Running from this knowledge of yourself seems pointless (and leaves you lying on the floor for hours or days, but never weeks, because bills and rent).
You don’t go into your mental cellar to feed the monsters there. You butchered them and ate them back.
A noise. Movement below. You got no idea how long you been up there, but word must’ve gotten out. Tieflings emerge from a stone doorway set into the far wall. And at their front, standing tall but wary, is Wyll, rapier in his hand.
Something rustles behind you. You jump so bad you kick a little ceramic pot off the ledge. It crashes below as you spot white hair and the amused tilt to his goddamn fucking eyebrows—
“Astarion, fuck damnit!” He leans against the wall, wiping his daggers down with a rag. “How long you been standing there?!”
He doesn’t respond because he doesn’t speak English. You settle for breathing deep, and leaning over to make sure the kicked pot didn’t hit somebody. Only to find an old lady peering curiously up at you. Ceramic shards lie exploded at her feet.
“Oh fuck jesus,” you say. You scoot over to the ladder and start down.
The old lady watches you, cool as a cucumber. You apologize, probably profusely. She says something back, waits for a response she’s not going to get, and her gaze goes all shrewd. She motions you to wait. Comes back after rummaging through a wicker chest with a bottle. Which she uncorks and holds out.
You recognize the dirt and herb stink. You feel your face light up.
“Dirt potion!” you say. Look at her, pull out the five gold pieces you have to your name. But she waves you off. Thrusts the bottle at you again.
You’re pretty sure your White ancestors are eyeing that bottle suspiciously, but it’s been days since you could communicate, you just launched and executed a successful coup, and if this lady can brew this potion, she might know a good place to find the ingredients.
So, logically, you slam it back. Cough the burning out of your throat as Astarion’s murmur catches your ear. “That seems rather unwise, even to me.”
You turn. Look at him. Say, “Why the fuck are you lurking around like a damn creeper?”
To which he responds, “Lurking? I trail after our victorious leader to make sure she doesn’t do something stupid in a fit of conscience, and you call that lurking?”
In through the nose (cough). Out through the mouth (cough again).
“Yeah, I kinda do,” you say. To the old lady, “I am so sorry for the pot thing. I got startled and kicked it; are you okay?”
“Oh, I’m right as rain, Petal,” the woman says. “It sounds like you might be in a tighter spot than me. You don’t look well, dearie. I sell all manner of potions and remedies. What’s ailing you? I’ve got more than a fair chance of having something to help.”
“Oh, no, I’m good,” you say. Sleeping a week might fix the tired. Unlimited garlic cheese fries might fix your soul. You’re not sure anything can fix your brain, at this point.
“Come now, don’t be shy. You can tell old Auntie Ethel.”
And old Auntie Ethel launches into the most bullshit story about a man and a vat of hot oil. As she wraps it up—your eyebrows practically crawling all the way up past your hairline—Astarion leans in and says, “She sounds positively demented! You should tell her everything.”
You think about it. Or don’t, to be more accurate—your decision-making capabilities are a molten heap of slag at the moment.
Fuck it.
So you do just that. And Auntie Ethel doesn’t flip out or tell you to drink poison like the druid. She only focuses, nods thoughtfully, and then says yeah, she can totally help with that. But all her stuff is back at her teahouse and she not only hands you a fucking map, but marks her house on it.
“That’s enchanted, you know,” Astarion says. Gives her a look.
“And so are my skills,” Auntie Ethel shoots back. “You can repay me for all of it once I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain, Petal. Until then, call it an incentive.”
Sounds shady. You don’t have much capacity to care right now, though. “Thank you. Do you maybe have more of that potion? I can pay.”
She waves dismissively. “I’ve got plenty of the stuff to make it back home. You find your way to my teahouse, and we can get that all worked out. Now, if you’ll excuse my, my dear, I don’t want to get caught up in all this business and if I’m not mistaken, that nice young man seems to want to have a word with you.”
That nice young man is Will, rapier sheathed, hovering a few paces away.
“Thank you, Auntie,” you say. She only nods and resumes packing up her things to boot scoot out of here.
“You speak our language, now?” Wyll says.
“Potion,” you say. “I’m learning, though.”
He nods. “A wise decision. I find it best not to rely too heavily on the talents of others, all of your company excluded. That’s a very interesting accent. Where are you from, if I may ask?”
You consider your options. You’re pretty sure he agreed to come with y’all, and things just worked out with old Auntie. In for a penny, in for a pound.
You tell him everything. And by the end, his eyebrows have crawled up into his hairline.
“A different plane?” he says. Gives you a once over. But rather than suspicion, he seems almost…impressed? “I’ve heard tales of such things, but to meet someone myself? It’s an honor. I don’t believe I was able to properly introduce myself earlier. I’m Wyll Ravengard, known as the Blade of Frontiers.”
He gives a dorky, but charming, little arm lift you think is some kind of bow.
“Eleanor Ripley,” you way. And automatically extend a hand to shake. Then remember that this isn’t Earth, and start to pull away.
But his smile is relaxed as he reaches forward to clasp your forearm. “Eleanor. It’s a pleasure to meet you. How are you finding Faerun?”
You open your mouth to answer. Someone starts screaming.
***
It’s Lae’zel. She’s gone off on her own and cornered some kid (in his early twenties, maybe). When y’all jog up, it’s to find her standing over him, sword drawn and touching his gut.
“You will answer my question,” she hisses. “Or I will gut you where you kneel.”
Because he is on his knees, trembling like a chihuahua without a sweater, and probably five seconds from pissing his drawers (you would be too, in his boots).
“Lae’zel, what the fuck?” you say.
She ignores you. “You saw others of my kind. Where, istik?”
“I…I—please!” the kid says. His gaze darts to you, and that seems to piss her off.
“Perhaps I will start with the extremities, then,” she says. Draws her arm back, and she’s going to cut his goddamn arm off. You can almost see it in the way she moves.
“And here I thought the rest of this day was going to be boring,” Astarion says.
You don’t bother shooting him a glare. Too busy shoving yourself between Lae’zel and the kid.
“Stop,” you say.
She pauses; good sign. “You dare come between a gith and her prey?”
“Stand down, Lae’zel. You can’t get answers out of him if he’s dead.”
Well… Gale could. But you’re not reminding her.
“I do not intend to kill him. Only remove a limb or two to loosen his tongue.”
“Because people fucking remember worth a shit when they’re screaming and in shock? Back. Down. Let the man speak, for fuck’s sake.”
She stares. You cannot look away. You cannot blink. You’ve accidentally started some kind of dominance stare down, and if you break first, you know on a cellular level this guy will absolutely get cut to pieces and Lae’zel will proceed to walk right over you for the rest of time.
Everything slows and speeds up. Cold sweat gathers in your armpits and between your shoulder blades. This was stupid. You’re putting yourself in the firing range for some guy just after you killed someone (again), and you luck is gonna run out. She’ll never—
Lae’zel blinks. Hisses. Her lips pull into a sneer. But she takes a step back and actually sheathes her sword.
“Ch’k! Your kill of the druid was effective given your lack of skills. I will accept your judgment in this,” Lae’zel says. “But you would do well never to challenge me again. If you wish to lead this interrogation, do so. But should your techniques fail, mine will not.”
Torture, she means. No pressure.
You don’t respond. Merely turn (not all the way, because the thought of giving her your back right now sends a mental primate screech through your ears). It’s enough you can grab a fistful of the kid’s tunic and haul him to his feet. Astarion, still at your side, clucks his tongue in what you can only assume is disappointment. Fucking hobgoblin.
“You okay?” you say.
“Y-yeah,” he says. “F-filthy monster.”
Lae’zel’s grip tightens on her sword handle.
“~Super not the time,~” you sing-song. “What was she asking about?”
He tells you: a patrol, the githyanki they found, what they did to his friends. Lae’zel’s face never changes. No shock or denial. Just the flat stare of someone who would have cut that guy’s arm off just to prove a point.
When he’s done, you send him off. Lae’zel watches him go. Looks to you and her eyes narrow.
“Perhaps not so useless,” she says. You don’t know if she’s talking about your “torture bad” approach or like, in general. But before you can shift your mental gears, “The creche must be in this mountain pass. We will head there immediately.”
***
Next chapter: The Bachelorette.
#bg3#baldur's gate 3#baldur's gate iii#astarion#fanfic#astarion x tav#it's a goddamn isekai#feeding alligators fic#astarion fanfic#plus size tav#demisexual tav#slow burn
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HUMANS ARE SPACE ORCS AU
Naofumi woke up in a cage confused as his head spins from dizziness. He tries to remember what he was going before blacking out when he saw creatures of different sizes look at him frighten. He observed them to guess that they were talking but he couldn't understand what the language was, it sounded like english but in reverse mixed with pig latin.
A growl sound could be heard as he looked embarrassed since he was starving as fruits were sitting out. Grabbing the fruits, he took a bite as the taste of pineapples and watermelons as he made a happy noise trying not to devour the fruit.
//A wip for now cuz I got overwhelmed by my brain
After finishing the fruit, he looked up and saw two tall humanoids. The first looked to be female but he wasn't sure as large antler like horns were on her head, long blue hair on top of white scale like skin that had a layer of what seems to be retractable fur with a broken long tail but he couldn't figure out what its true from was. She seems to be made from gems with scared bumps bruises and cuts along her body and her hands were scared with claws for fingers. Her sharp sea green eyes held fear, curiosity and caution as her plump soft purple lips were spread thin.
Look away from her, he notices a peacock like male with dragon wings and a parrot tail. He seems to be very multicolored with red head that was connected to a human like face, golden eyes with slit pupils, kissable red lips and elf like ears. His body seemed to have fur like a wolf.
Hearing footsteps, a group of tall coaches with with alligator tails and croc snots holding trays of fruit and sloppy joe like poop with water bottles into the cell as the female grabs some fruits while the male ate some of the of the slop
// @demonfurry thanks for one of the guard types I'll try to draw them all once I translate brain the paper with some time//
#Humans are space orcs#rotsh#i keep forgetting to tag lmao#sumthin will happen#idk what#gtlive references
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“Charlie! I feel like I haven’t seen you in three months and eighteen days!”
“You saw me twelve hours ago.”
“Too long,” Ingrid said, then taking stock of the room, crates of old, broken things. “Why are you eating lunch in a utility closet?”
“So that people won't try to talk to me. How did you find me?”
“My mom said you ate up here. Not much of a hiding place, huh?”
She sat down next to him, she wanted to scoot him over and share the old pillow he sat on, but he wouldn’t have liked that, so she didn’t and instead just sat on the cold tile floor. She was close enough to him now to smell a faint whiff of motor oil and something burnt. She wanted to bury her nose in him. She grinned.
“Are you high?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Totally. You want?”
“I’m working,” he said.
“So?”
He laughed.
“Last night of the summer fair, tonight, be there or be square.”
Charlie shrugged lazily. “But if I be square, I can have pizza and MacGyver.”
“Charlie, you hurt my heart.” She was only partly kidding. She made a pouty face at him. “Pinky promise me?”
He looked at her pinky. “I don’t give out pinky promises that easy.”
“Playing hard to get?”
“Harder than you know.”
Ingrid smirked at him, thinking about hard things. “You said ‘hard’.”
They stared each other down. There were mysteries in his eyes and she wanted to decipher them. She wondered if she would like what she found.
He moved finally, crumpled up his empty bag of chips and started to get up.
“Your choice,” she said. “But it’s gonna be rad.”
“How rad?”
“Elephant ears.”
“Hmmm…” He pondered this. She pondered him pondering this.
“Hot and sweet,” she said. “So, so good.”
“It’s hard to turn down elephant ears.”
“Then don’t. Come on. You know you want to.”
“We’ll see,” he said. “I have to go back to work now.”
“See ‘ya later, alligator,” she said.
“In a while, crocodile,” he said.
— from “in between days, part 3.5”
(flashback to July 2085, 3 years ago story time)
Next ->
#ts3#sims 3#simblr#sims story#old stories coming back around again#ingrid#charlie#PFSN: a rebel yell
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Bonnie and his quest to find out what happened to his goldfish. His key suspects are Chica and Monty and he is absolutely convinced they ate his goldfish. Plot twist: It was Freddy the whole time.
Pff-
Bonnie stared at the fish tank he kept in the bar in attempt to figure out what was missing. He had made several attempts count the fish contained within but no avail, they moved too fast for even his eyes to catch all of the various fish hidden about. With a heavy sigh, Bonnie turned away to from the tank only to finally notice what was missing, the goldfish with a black spotted tail fin.
His mind instantly reeled and turned back to the fish tank, his eyes in a frantic search for the goldfish but he couldn't find it. Quite irritated, Bonnie left the bar in a hurry to chase down Monty. The stupid alligator had the habit of stealing his fish and he was going to pay this time.
Bonnie checked Gator Golf for Monty to find the alligator wasn't 8n his attraction. He moved on to Rockstar Row and barged into the alligator's green room to find Monty missing from there too. Bonnie snorted in frustration before his ears picked up the boisterous laughter of his oldest friend, Freddy.
Bonnie's ears twitched to find Freddy was in his room on Rockstar Row and with a heavy sigh walked the couple doors down to knock on the door. He heard Freddy shuffle around the room frantically before the door opened, a strained lopsided grin on the bear's face.
"Bon! Surprised to see you away from your bowling alley. Is everything alright?" Freddy's voice had a hint of worry to it.
Bonnie eyed the bear for a second before he replied in an even tone. "No, one of my favorite goldfish went missing. Monty probably took it."
"Do you want to come in to talk about it?"
"No, I've got to find Monty. If you see him, let me know." Bonnie snorted as he turned away from Freddy's door.
"Wait Bon." There was an underlying panic to Freddy's voice that confused Bonnie.
"Yeah?"
"Would come inside for a moment, please?"
Bonnie sighed and followed the bear into his room. Freddy fidgeted as he sat down on the couch, Bonnie sitting down beside the bear.
"Monty-"
"What about the damn alligator?" Bonnie grimaced as Freddy flinched from his angry tone and language.
"He didn't take your fish."
"Then who? Chica or Rox?"
"Neither." Freddy's ears twitched as the bear looked away from Bonnie.
"Foxy?"
"No, Bon." Freddy sighed as he stood up from the couch and walked to the back of his room to the storage closet behind a hidden door.
Bonnie watched as the bear carefully opened the door with a claw. Inside the storage closet was a small fish tank with the missing black and orange goldfish. Bonnie jumped up from the couch to move to Freddy's side.
"You stole it?" Bonnie was surprised more than angry with the bear.
"Y-yeah I did. I apologize Bon, I just-"
"He's going to need at least one more to keep him company." Bonnie interjected Freddy with a soft smile.
Freddy looked at Bonnie in shock. "You're not mad at me? But I-"
"If it had been Monty, I would be pissed. But for you, my old teddybear, I could never be angry with you." Bonnie chuckled watching the bear perk up. "Do you really miss me that much?"
"Well, ever since you retired from the band, it's been harder to see you and-"
Bonnie cut Freddy off with a kiss. "If you want to spend more time with me, how about we go pick out another for Fred JR. to keep company? Don't want him to miss someone too."
"I would love to, with you." Freddy smiled warmly at Bonnie, grabbing the rabbit's hand.
"Let's get going then, my superstar." Bonnie gave Freddy another quick kiss before leading the way back to his bar.
#theodore923#fnaf#fnaf security breach#glamrock freddy#glamrock bonnie#fronnie#freddy x bonnie#but this is adorable#fluffy fluff
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