#sorry my meds just kicked in and i’ve been thinkin about my little story for days

[conspicuous-clown-car]

lemme ramble for a bit

so i have this story in my head of my self insert and the bs they go through while working at the pizzaplex for like 2 years as a night guard

and originally they were gonna die at the end of it before the events of security breach, smth about them finally getting what they wanted bc that’s one of the reasons they wanted to work there in the first place. but i thought that was way too sad, despite, yknow, it being a horror and if i was in their place id definitely be dead before then. plus there are some things worse than death in the fnaf universe. so i decided to veer away from angst for this story and go for a more thriller horror (maybe psychological) type thing yknow? makes it more fun

THEN i was like yo what if ghosts kids start haunting them to help them find their killer and there’s like 1 for each pizzaplex animatronic (excluding freddy and roxy bc they got gregory and cassie). and it could be super angsty bc 2 of the kids were inadvertently killed because of moon and one was killed by moon, and my s/i is super close with moon right? so it would be like a moral dilemma, bc they want to help the kids but they still want to be friends with moon, but they’re also horrified that he killed a kid. and my s/i would start dreaming and sleepwalking, forced by the ghost kids to relive their deaths to try and find who killed them. but then i started thinking about the timeline of that, and it would mean moon would’ve had the virus or whatever years before this story takes place, which isn’t what i wanted nor did it make sense. so after a while i was just like nahhhh, and it didn’t really mesh well with the story of security breach anyways, its more sci-fi than supernatural now, and including the ghost kids would just be too much crammed into self insert story i have. the kids designs im still gonna use tho lol

NOW after getting back into fnaf after like a few months of not really caring about the lore, i’ve been watching more theory videos and book summaries and stuff like that and it made me shift my whole view on security breach’s story

so i’ve decided that i wanna stick as close to canon lore as possible and make gregory and vanessa/vanny more present and important. i want to focus more on the issues with ai, and show the slow downfall and problems with depending solely on them. i also need to figure out why my self insert has plot armor bc anyone in their situation would’ve been fired or killed by now (i don’t have to stick that close to canon for this i guess). but im just gonna justify it as they’re a pushover who doesn’t ask any questions and just does what they’re told, which is pretty much what got the other employees fired or killed bc they did the opposite (they’re also a huge nerd about robots so they end up being good friends with all the animatronics which is a HUGE plot point in this story, friendship is the real magic love conquers all etc. etc.) don’t get me wrong, they are fully aware of how wrong things are in the pizzaplex and how some things vanessa has told them don’t add up, but they are a good little employee (they are a severe people pleaser) so they feign ignorance to it all.

my self insert being autistic and having adhd is also a big thing i wanna include, bc there’s some really specific shit about their autism that would affect how they survive and stuff. things like trauma responses, masking, unmasking, meltdowns, and shutdowns that will affect their relationships with the others and will domino affect over time and lead to them surviving. idk ive just been thinking a lot lately about social interactions and experiences i have that are negatively or positively impacted specifically because of my autism. choices choices

i also want to make sure that it’s clear how neglected all the animatronics are. not just the dca since it is intended to be a s/i x sun and moon story. but there’s a lot of issues the in game messages have talked about with the animatronics that seem to happen because no one is bothering to help them. they just put a bandaid on a situation but they don’t fix the root problem yknow. also, my s/i doesn’t think the animatronics are sentient at first, and i want that to be a big thing that gets explored several times throughout the story bc i love thinking about robot sentience.

at first i was gonna have monty sort of start to be nice to my s/i, and maybe they could be friends or even have a sibling type relationship (red hair lol) but then i was like nah, monty being an asshole is what makes his character interesting. plus his behavior is a nice contrast from the rest of the band. though i think it would be funny for some characters to think monty is my s/i’s favorite at first bc their hair is dyed red

i also want sun and moon to be as close to canon as possible. while i love love LOVE pretty much every dca x reader fic i ever read, i have a preference for canon depictions of sun and moon lol. no hate to fanon depictions of sun when i say this, but ive been lost in the sauce of fanon sun for too long, and i wanna make him passive aggressive, and sarcastic, and picky, and fussy!! but still an anxious wreck and a people pleaser perfectionist. i’ll admit im still struggling with this. it was kinda hard to get a gauge on his personality at first because until help wanted 2 we had only seen how he interacts with kids. and even though in universe that isn’t the real sun it’s the only indication we have of how he interacts with adults, so im taking it. moon is still gonna be mischievous, creepy as hell, and won’t talk much, but he’s not gonna be killin anyone (yet), he’s just gonna be kind of a stalker lol. also the dca and freddy have beef for some reason, it’s a personal head canon of mine but im adding it to this story hehe

lots of physical injuries, several concussions, a migraine so bad they loose the ability to communicate properly (smth i experience) will all happen to them, bc i am throwing them through the ringer. they will be stressed more often than not. get projected on idiot (i say that as if this isn’t my self insert and is literally me)

tbh this story would mostly be just a slice of life, shenanigan, character driven thing for most of it. but then little things brought up in the past will become important to the plot later on.

like how copyright music can’t be played in front of any of the animatronics or else they will freak out :]

that’s all lol

[dcbicki]

holding my breath for you (crowd my grave)

A Rick/Harley fix-it fic • Chapter 1/?

To say he’s surprised to see Harley Quinn standing in the doorway of his shabby, middle-of-nowhere motel, in shredded jean shorts and heart-rimmed sunglasses, would be a serious fucking understatement. And it’s not because it’s one o’clock in the morning and the sun went down hours ago.

“How the hell did you find me?”

She shrugs, picking at a long thread on her jacket, “I know people.”

Rating: T/M • Characters: Harley Quinn, Rick Flag, and mentions of others • Read on AO3 or below the cut

“I think I just walked in on someone screwin’ a goat.”

To say he’s surprised to see Harley Quinn standing in the doorway of his shabby, middle-of-nowhere motel, in shredded jean shorts and heart-rimmed sunglasses, would be a serious fucking understatement. And it’s definitely not because it’s one o’clock in the goddamn morning and the sun went down hours ago.

“How the hell did you find me?”

The blonde shrugs, picking at a long thread on her jacket. “I know people.”

“Better people than mine, apparently,” Rick rasps, and he runs a hand through damp hair. Thankfully he’d managed to trade in the towel for sweatpants before she’d started pounding on the door. “So much for flying under Waller’s radar.”

“Nah, you’re good,” Harley says, and the sunglasses slide down the bridge of her nose when she dips her head to shoot him a devilish look, single brow raising, “I promise she don’t know I’m here.” Suddenly there’s a hand in his face and she’s wiggling her right pinkie finger as if that'll prove anything.

She taps one foot against the carpeted floor then, toe of her boot crossing the threshold, and Rick has decided she reminds him of a vampire; one covered in sparkles and tattoos with a pink, fluffy duffle-bag dangling from her fingertips, but a bloodsucker all the same. “Ya gonna invite a girl in or what?”

“You plan on telling me what you’re doin’ here first?” he asks, but then he’s moving out of the way so she can duck under his arm and enter. Harley breezes past him, tossing her bag somewhere across the room, and she plops herself down into the old, worn leather seat by the television. There’s some Spanish soap opera playing to itself on the screen.

“Mi casa es su casa… and all that.” Flag grumbles, pulling the door to a close behind her—but not before shooting a quick look out over her shoulder towards the parking lot. He locks it, then turns and presses his back up against it, hands on his hips.

“You can stop looking so constipated, Flag, I told ‘ya. I’m off the grid myself these days.” She taps the side of her neck twice. “The old dragon lady ain’t coming for either of us.”

“Right.” A nod, then, “Dubois told me about that.” The deal. The squad forcing Waller to meet them halfway and offer freedom in exchange for silence.

(He hadn’t exactly been shocked to find out Dubois was still in possession of the drive. It was a smart move; not the best one, or the right one, and it was a far cry from the one Rick had fucking died trying to pull, but not everybody lived by a code of honor. He couldn’t blame the rest of the team for following suit.)

“Milton knew?! He knew where you were this whole time and didn’t tell me? That mother fucka!” She grits her teeth, nails strumming atop the television cabinet.

(He doesn’t ask about Milton. It’d probably be a long, convoluted story and he’s not exactly in the mood for one of Harley Quinn and her gift of gab. Not that he has much of a choice right now...)

“Now you wanna tell me what you’re doin’ here?”

Ignoring him, Harley takes in her surroundings, chewed-end of her plastic sunglasses between her teeth as she eyes the dingy room. It’s cramped for sure, dull magnolia paint is chipping off the walls, and there’s a queen-sized bed with crumpled up grey sheets and three flat pillows, a sign of recent use. Odd number, Harley notes. Would four kill them?

The little washroom is beside the dresser, and there’s a towel hanging from the bathroom doorknob, wet footprints still clear on the tiled floor. It’s only then that she looks up and realizes he’s shirtless. Oh.

“This place got food? I could so do with a burrito right about now.”

(A place this rundown probably doesn’t even have a cleaning crew, much less any other kind of service. Although, there was half a pack of mints beside the sink when Rick first rented the room so does that count?)

(He’s not ashamed to say he finished them off.)

“I got whiskey and half an eggroll, that do ‘ya?” Rick quips, and there’s a smirk starting on his lips.

He’s still waiting for an explanation as to why the hell she’s here, how the hell she’s here, and what the fuck she thinks she’s doing by checking up on him in the first place. He’s supposed to be laying low—supposed to be dead—and she’s supposed to be free. Or at least as free as someone like her can get, which probably isn’t very free at all.

But there’s something off about her whole demeanor, something decidedly un-Harley, and the man can’t help but feel like he’s just waiting for something. Whether it’s one of Waller’s goons bursting through the door, or Harley herself finishing the job or, hell, Harley breaking down (and God, he hopes it’s not that), he’s not sure. He’s not great with emotions. And she’s without a doubt the most expressive person he’s ever had the (dis)pleasure of knowing.

“Hi, Harley. You know, I’m doing pretty good after havin’ my heart practically ripped apart by a fuckin’ toilet seat. How ‘bout you?” She lowers her voice as if to match the bass in his own and goddamnit he finds it charming.

(He doesn’t have the heart to correct her.)

“You know, a little heads-up that you weren’t DOA might’ve been nice, Colonel.”

“Wasn’t exactly high on my priority list,” he informs her, voice dipping as he nods, slow. “Staying alive kinda won that round. You know, ‘cause of the shit jammed in my chest.”

“They said it came out the other side, ‘ya know. My guys. Wanted to see for myself.” She stands up then and walks to him until she’s about four inches away from his face, taking in the long gash above when his heart lies. “I’m thinkin’ they lied though because that don’t look too deep to me.”

“Yep. Not much to see.” He shrugs, heavy as though there’s weight on his shoulders, casting a glance down at his chest when she raises a hand. She doesn’t touch him; just lets her fingers dance in the air above the skin. “Sorry to disappoint, Doc.”

The scar runs right down the middle of his chest. From left collarbone to navel; a rushed surgery in a (probably, totally) sketchy makeshift hospital. It’s not a good look. But she’s seen worse. “It’s healin’ just fine. I’m getting plenty of fluids and I’m takin’ my meds. Think you can be on your way now you’ve done your check-up.”

“I thought you died.”

“False alarm.”

“You died,” Harley repeats, and there’s an edge to her voice Rick doesn’t recognize. She moves from one foot onto the other, swaying back and forth on her heels, eyes unmoving from off of his chest. “And I didn’t even get a goodbye out of it.”

“Was I…” he pauses, considers the look on her face for a moment. “Apologies.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“The fuck you want me to do? Go back in time and tell him to wait so you can make it about you first?”

“Just think it’s kinda rude for one of my friends to go off and die and leave me alone like that.”

“Tad dramatic, don’t you think?” Rick asks before remembering who he’s dealing with. Harley Quinn is theatrical and melodramatic and showy. Of course, she’d turn this into a whole fucking thing. “You’re a grown ass woman with a criminal record and probably a couple dozen bounties on your head, I think you can handle getting on a plane without a handler.”

She stops swaying. But the look on her face is ice cold and calculating and if he didn’t know her any better, he might be slightly terrified. So this is the infamous killer queen, huh? She wouldn’t hurt him. Maybe once upon a time, a few years back, but not now. Not after… “You’re supposed to be the leader.”

“You had Dubois.”

“But not you. And I know Milton’s a fine leader an’ all, but he’s not exactly a great conversationalist. Or much of a hugger.”

“I ain’t either.”

“But you humour me. ‘Ya put the effort in, Flag.” The blonde pokes his chest, manicured and pale fingernail against his sternum, skin hot to the touch. “And no one else is gonna do that for me, so yeah, I’m kinda mad that you went and got your heart broken into little tiny pieces and didn’t think to let me know you weren’t buried under a fuckload of concrete. Not very friendly of you.”

“And since when are we friends?”

There’s a silence then, and now he’s reconsidering not showing any signs of fear. He’s in no position to fight her. Harley is… Well, one kick and it’d be lights out for Flag.

(Since Waller forced her to take swimming lessons with a mean, ‘It’s a basic life skill, Ms. Quinn. No one else is going to have your back out there'  and he made sure he was her assigned instructor. Even brought her a cute two-tone bathing suit that wasn’t Belle Reve-approved and all. Since everyone in Gotham decided they wanted Harley Quinn six feet under and he let her crash on his couch that one time—those three times—and he made her bacon and eggs in the morning. And he didn’t even get mad when she got ketchup all over his carpet. Since she got drunk that second time and kissed him out of loneliness and he never held it against her.)

“Whatever,” she backs away from him with a huff, but her eyes are still dark; a sure sign that she’s not happy. “I’m starving.”

“There’s a place around the corner.”

“Aces,” she grins, then picks up a discarded shirt from the foot of the bed and tosses it to him.

    There’s no mention of her getting her own room. It goes unspoken: she’ll be staying here with him.

“Not sayin’ this is better than sex, but it’s definitely better than a lot of the sex I’ve had lately.”

“Good for you,” Rick retorts, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He glances around the restaurant. There’s only one other patron in there aside from them, and the chef is off somewhere in the back. He glances down at his watch, then fists the napkin in his other hand.

“Am I keeping you up?” Harley jests, curling her legs up beneath her on the stool. It squeaks under her weight, one of the metal legs unevenly balanced on the patterned tiles. “Got plans I’m disruptin’?” She clicks her tongue, a devilish grin in full swing.

“Nope. Just rest ‘n recuperation, right, Doc? That your diagnosis?”

“Prognosis,” she corrects him, then drops the rest of her tinfoil-wrapped burrito onto the little round table, a thin layer of grime coating the surface. “And yes,” Harley says with a light nod,  putting on her best matter-of-factly voice. She feigns pushing glasses up her nose, head tipping back to look down at him for a change. He’s leaning against the table with his forearms crossed, tanned skin pressing against the greasy tabletop as his sharp chin rests on a curved wrist. “Sleep and that bottle of bourbon my little eye spied hiding under ‘ya bed will do the trick just fine, Colonel,” she says cheerily.

He nods, only half-listening. “Can’t wait.”

“You could smile every once in a while, ‘ya know. I came all the way to Ti-fuckin’-juana to make sure you weren’t rotting away and letting yourself go in some ol’ shitshack. Would a little appreciation for the thought go amiss?”

“I didn’t ask you to,” the man tells her, leaning back in his chair. He clasps both hands in his lap. “Matter of fact, I’m still wondering why you did. What’s the deal, you get bored running from the feds for a change? Didn’t think you tired so easily.”

“What if I just missed you, huh? ‘Ya consider that possibility, soldier?” She pushes her hands out, her chair scraping back against the floor again. Harley picks up the rest of her food, casting him a dark look. “You’re no fun.”

“Never have been, Harley, that shouldn’t be news.” He follows after her, rushing to keep the door from swinging back in his face when she exits the restaurant in what he can only assume is anger. Or maybe she’s just messing with him; truthfully, it’s hard to tell sometimes. “You’re not exactly a ray of sunshine yourself, you know.”

“I am a delight,” she says, whipping around to face him, palm flat against her chest. The many rings on her fingers tap against her necklaces, and she stares up at him with furrowed brows. “Everybody loves me.”

“Pretty sure that’s not true, either.”

“OK, well not everybody hates me, how’s about that?” The scowl on her face turns into a smile then, teeth-baring and wicked. Her eyes are blown wide like saucers, and the crimson lipstick on her mouth suddenly becomes the only thing Rick can focus on that isn’t… Doesn’t...  Deranged, he thinks.

Harley Quinn is an absolute basket case and he must be out of his fucking mind for finding her so damn… what? Fascinating? It’s as close as he can get to thinking of a word to describe her that isn’t derogatory. She’s a character and a half, a whole clown car full of crazy jam-packed into one tatted and made-up doll of a woman, but God help him if he doesn’t kind of want to--

“That’s more like it.” She’s probably hard to love, but she’s not easy to hate.

Rick smiles back, finally, then reaches out a hand—tentatively. She’s still her and he’s never a hundred percent certain she won’t slit his throat with a Hello Kitty keyring or something—and wiggles long fingers. “Wanna get drunk and watch god awful late-night television?” He leans down; not too close, not close enough for her to grab, and adds, “Friend?”

Whatever that thing was he’d been waiting for, that unidentifiable something he’d felt looming over them since she showed up in his doorway an hour ago, looking somehow both tired and elated, finally revealed itself; in the form of tears in Harley’s eyes and a shaky hand accepting his.

She nodded and excitedly said ‘yes!’ and then he realized all she’d been after was a friend; the comfort of knowing that there was someone in the world who wasn’t out to get her, who had nothing to gain by being good to her.

And she’d almost lost that. Lost him.

(So when she hogs two of the three pillows on his bed and helps herself to one of his shirts—his favorite, actually. An old wife-beater with torn sleeves and a faded wildcat on the front—Rick doesn’t say a thing. Just lets her curl up in a ball beside him, red tips brushing against his bare shoulder, and rest.)