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clanwarrior-tumbly · 1 year

Note

Hi Clan!

How are you?

I have a FNAC 2 oneshot request, being Withered New Candy x Nightguard! Gender Neutral! Reader.

Y/N lost the bet so they have to spend their first night at the abandonned factory, but when they realize they aren't alone, they panic. When they notice it is Candy and Co, they have a flashback to themselves when they were a child, loving to spend time in Candy's restaurant, where they lost their toy, but Candy finds it and brings it back to Y/N.

They are happy to see them again, but when Candy attacks them, not recognizing them, Y/N panics, thinking it was their time to die. But at the last moment, Candy's remaining eye remembers Y/N, remembering finding their lost toy, and hugs Y/N, as he's happy to see them again.

And it ends with Y/N meeting Cindy and the rest of the gang, happy to meet their heroes once again. :)

Do you like my request? Will you do it?

Hi! I appreciate you waiting for this one! <3

..........

"You kidding? They couldn't have bothered to turn on the lights for me?" Annoyed, you just shook your head in dismay, flickering on the cheap company-owned flashlight you owned and looking down the dark hall.

After losing a bet to your fellow coworkers, you were forced to take over the nightshift at Rowboatics Corp. Factory for an entire week.

Whoever last worked here was kind enough to leave you a note on how all the phone lines and the security camera system were still online. But the final line had you confused:

"Make sure nothing gets in or out"

Obviously, you understood that meant no unauthorized personnel were allowed inside....but as to what could possibly get out remained a mystery to you.

Then again, they were probably another coworker who was convinced this place was "haunted" at night. And you're not entirely opposed to that idea considering its history of casualties.

You recalled reading an article on two young twins who somehow snuck in here, only to get killed by the animatronic assembly machine. The nightguard at the time apparently fell asleep, unaware of what was happening until it was much too late.

Although you wondered how and why two little kids would ever go to such a creepy factory all by themselves, you knew you couldn't make that same mistake. So you made sure to stay awake the entire night by any means neccessary.

For now though, all was quiet. You just relaxed in your chair, pulling up the security feed to survey the building's layout. You weren't a fan of the fact that you were stationed in the central hall with so much space....but you had nobody to complain to except yourself.

'At least it's not a claustrophobic office space..though I'd feel slightly safer...' You thought, before shrugging it off.

As half an hour passed...nothing remarkable happened. The only things you saw on the cameras were rats scurrying out from the shadows, sneaking under shelves and crates and whatnot.

When 1AM rolled around, however---

[CONNECTION LOST]

The camera you were viewing abruptly went offline, startling you. And you wondered if somebody else was here trying to sabotage the footage.

What if there were robbers?

You weren't exactly trained to deal with that.

[RECONNECTING...]

When the system rebooted, you nearly jumped out of your skin upon seeing...Candy?

No. It was Cindy.

You recognized her by the lavender fur. She was staring right up at the camera lens, and you could see the damage to her body done by time and improper upkeep: evident by her exposed endoskeleton pieces and the fact she was missing an eye.

'How is she still active?' Bewildered, you just stared right back at her, before finally realizing this is what the note warned you about:

The animatronics. They shouldn't get out for any reason.

And there's probably a reason why the phones were left on, as they were able to easily lure Cindy to them..

In order to keep them as far away from you as possible.

...........

The second night at Rowaboatics was more or less the same, except Chester started walking around, attempting to break into one of the vents that led directly to your office space. He was trying to tear the grate off, and he almost succeeded-

Until you rang the phone to startle him out of the room, running so fast he was almost like a blur.

Eventually, he found another way to you and showed up in the central hall for the first time. You were in disbelief at his even worse condition: the material around his upper face was completely gone, leaving his endoskeleton head visible and no eyes at all.

It was creepy as shit, but luckily he didn't get any closer to your desk, as you discreetly called another phone line and he followed the sound.

Somehow you fooled him yet again.

Of course, the animatronics would always go to rooms where noise was loudest. It was coded into them, so they couldn't resist it even if they knew nobody else was here but you.

Cindy, on the other hand, was a bit of a nuisance in that she'd try to temporarily cut off power to those phones, but you've anticipated her path in the factory, so she was easy to keep at bay.

It was the third night when things started to get real.

And by that, it meant Candy himself activated and joined the fray, aimlessly wandering the facility until he became aware of your presence. He was in a similar condition as his sister, but obviously wasn't looking to spend any time with her or sing little duets.

He was trying to get to you by any means necessary.

While making you feel uneasy, seeing him and the rest of the gang walking around does bring a smile to your face, taking you back to a happier time...

A time that made you feel like you had a genuine connection with these characters, especially the mascot himself..

"Where is it?! I know it was here!!!"

There you were, little panic-striken you, running around the Candy's Burgers & Fries' dining room like a headless chicken as you searched high and low for your missing plushie.

You left it on your seat by accident, remembering it just as you got into the car. Luckily, your guardian allowed you to go back inside to search, but only for five minutes. And as those minutes ticked down, you worried that you'll never get to see it again...especially when you saw it disappeared from the seat.

But before you could get too upset, you heard familiar thumping mechanical footsteps and turned around, looking up at Candy. Your eyes shimmered with hope that he could help you out. He didn't seem like he had a show to run to, thank goodness.

"Candy!! H-Have you seen the toy I left right here? It looks like..." You trailed off, watching as he kneeled down in front of you, smiling as he moved his hand out from behind his back to reveal....

Your long lost plushie!

"That's it!! Thank you! Thank you, Candy!!" You grinned, taking it from him.

He nodded, but before he could stand back up, you hugged him around the neck. You didn't care if it was against the rules to touch the animatronics..you were just too happy right now to worry about an adult scolding you.

Candy didn't seem to mind it at all, as he hugged you back just as tightly, smiling from ear-to-ear.

"Of course, little kit! Your best pal Candy will always be here to help!"

"I'm here to help-p-p-"

"Ah!!" Jumping at the loud clanking footsteps, you were snapped out of reminiscence and stared straight ahead at the withered mascot, who somehow got into the hall.

His voice was miraculously still functioning, but you weren't smiling at all this time around.

Considering the way he looked at you with such a dead one-eyed stare...it's obvious he didn't recognize you whatsoever.

You tried calling one of the phones, yet he didn't react to the noise at all. For a moment his head did twitch, as though trying to resist his programmed response to search for it.

Unfortunately for you, he succeeded.

You were in his sights and he couldn't be fooled this time around.

He stalked closer and closer to your desk. You knew you couldn't run anywhere, as another animatronic could catch up to you easily, so you tried staying as still as possible.

'Shit..this is what I get for daydreaming on the job..' You shuddered, wondering what was going to happen next.

Was he going to attack you? Kill you?

You didn't think that would be possible for a robot that's made to protect guests and employees of a children's restaurant....

But as Candy lurched forward and slammed his hands onto the desk, growling mechanically, you realized those protocols were most likely corrupted. For all he knew, you were a dangerous criminal who was going to cause trouble in this factory.

And he was ready to eliminate the threat.

There was nothing but an old desk protecting you from him.

Yet you were too afraid to look away, fearing he'll lunge if you made any sudden movements. But while staring back at him, you noticed his remaining eye continuously focusing, his pupil size shifting. You could hear the clicking of his jaw as it opened and closed, recognizing this as the animatronic's way of scanning somebody's potential criminal database.

Then....

He spoke again, sounding less threatening and more like his old self.

"[Y/n]...? L-L-Little...kit....?"

At first, you were in total shock, before a huge smile overtook your face. "Y-Yeah..it's me, Candy." You answered nervously. "You..remember me?"

As it turns out, his memories weren't lost after all, as he stood up straight and smiled back, nodding his head. You couldn't contain your joy and relief that he recognized you, hopping out of your seat to hug him.

He was surprised, but soon hugged you right back. It was quick one in case his joint motors locked up or accidentally crushed you, though he felt happy to share a hug with one of his favorite patrons again.

"Look at you..all-l-l grown up.." He marveled as he let you go, identifying the name tag on your security jacket. "A nightguard?"

"Yep. I'm a guard now." Chuckling, you looked around the facility, frowning slightly when you gazed back at Candy's withered condition. "What happened to you guys? Did they just...forget to fix you?"

"..fix us....? No...we were too broken to them-m-m." He shook his head. "Too dangerous...too unstable..."

"Dangerous? Unstable? You? I don't buy it." You huffed, unable to believe the technicians simply gave up on repairing them. "Nothing's ever "too broken" to fix."

".....that's what I-I told them....but-t...as time went on, we lost hope..." He sighed, before he perked up, his ears twitching as his smile returned. "But now you're here, [y/n]....and...they want to see you. Come on-n-n!"

With excitement in his glitchy voice, Candy began walking away, and you hesitantly followed him. You kept the flashlight with you, unsure of where he was leading you to.

Though when you heard more animatronic noises, you stopped short, fear seizing every inch of you. "C-Candy, I don't think it's a good idea. They don't remember me like-"

"We haven't seen a h-human in a long time, but o-once they see you...they'll remember-r-r," he promised. "My friends a-and I will keep you safe."

While you were still uncertain about trusting him this quickly, you bravely entered the room behind him, immediately seeing Cindy, Chester, Blank, and Penguin all gathered there.

The latter two were in horrible condition, with the drawing animatronic's usual doodles being washed off, and the poor waiter's sweet blue eyes and beak being completely gone.

Yet true to their leader's word, they expressed no hostilities towards you unlike they did the first two nights.

In fact they acted the exact opposite, being happy that the child who used to visit them was now working at the factory--although you didn't have the heart to tell them you only took this shift because of a stupid bet.

But maybe losing that bet wasn't so bad after all.

This place wasn't haunted. It was just full of lonely, broken animatronics who hoped to see their best friend again; animatronics who needed a light in their dark, dark world...

And you brought that back to them.

#clanask #fnac x reader #five nights at candy's x reader #fnac 2 x reader #five nights at candy's 2 x reader #nightguard reader #withered new candy #platonic

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astralokamii · 4 years

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[A Old Candy Stimboard with themes of being forgotten,blue fire and soft things]

○○○○🐱○○○○

#five nights at candy's #fnac #fnac old candy #cat stimboard #dark blue stim #light blue stim #fur stim #sad stim #fire stim #★彡 𝐿𝑒𝒻𝓉𝓎'𝓈 𝒮𝓉𝒾𝓂𝓈 彡★

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six-armed-octopus · 3 years

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Part 2 of the FNAC characters’ heights compared to my height and the height of an average 6-year-old! (I am 5′6, the child is 3′6)

Animatronic heights based on comparing heights from the Thank You image, with Vinnie being the same size as The Puppet from FNAF.

I don’t know if anyone cares, but I thought I would just put this out here for a size reference! Remember: Height does not include ears, hats, fur tufts, or hair!

(Yes, I know that some of their feet don’t sit properly on the “ground”, and I know that some aren’t drawn up to their full height, but I worked with what I had, the measurement at the top of their head is the height, no matter where their feet sit or how bent over they are.)

#fnaf #fnac #fnac character height comparison

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luma-az · 4 years

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Auto-édition

« Qui veut un roman ? J’ai ici un excellent roman à vendre ! Science-fiction, relations familiales complexes, géopolitique, réflexions sur l’humanité ! Seulement 2€99 pour l’ebook !

— Rah, vous êtes chiants les auteurs, toujours en train de nous solliciter, et achetez ci, et payez pour ça… On n’a pas un budget infini !

— Alors est-ce que je peux vous proposer une série de fictions et des fanfictions publiées gratuitement ? Disponibles sur la plate-forme…

— Ah non, je déteste lire sur écran ça me donne mal aux yeux. Et puis les plates-formes amateures, j’ai essayé, mais j’ai laissé tomber. C’est fouillis, c’est mal agencé, on trouve des textes vraiment pas terribles, et je ne veux même pas parler de l’orthographe. Moi je n’y vais plus.

— Oui, mais c’est le meilleur moyen pour proposer ses textes gratuitement, qu’est-ce que je peux faire de plus…

— De toutes façons, je n’ai pas le temps. J’aime lire, hein, pas de soucis, mais entre le travail, la maison, le sport, les séries, les jeux vidéos… J’ai déjà une dizaine de bouquins qui s’entassent sur ma pile à lire, même les nouveaux tomes des séries que j’adore je ne les ai pas encore ouverts, on m’en offre, on m’en recommande, et plus je lis, plus j’ai des auteurs préférés à suivre… Donc désolé, mais ce n’est pas possible.

— Ah. Oui, j’imagine…

— Enfin… je ne voulais pas vous déprimer ! Déjà, je n’ai rien contre les auto-édités. On entend souvent dire que si aucune maison d’édition n’a voulu d’un auteur, c’est qu’il est nul. Moi je suis plus modéré, je sais que les maisons d’édition sont obligées d’être rentables, et qu’elles ne peuvent pas se permettre de porter tous les projets de niche… Je suis sûr qu’on peut trouver des choses très bien en auto-édition. C’est juste qu’il faut chercher.

— Vous avez déjà acheté un livre auto-édité ?

— Heu, non, mais je ne suis pas contre, sur le principe…

— … On va dire que c’est déjà ça. Très bien, j’imagine que je vous ai assez fait perdre de temps, vous pouvez y aller. Moi j’y retourne, à force je vais bien réussir à convaincre quelqu’un !

— Honnêtement, ce n’était pas un très bon discours d’accroche…

— Peut-être, mais justement c’était honnête. Les thèmes importants de mon roman. Je le sais, c’est moi qui l’ai écrit.

— Oui, mais… il y a des personnages, dans ce roman ?

— Ben oui.

— Ils sont sympathiques ? Charismatiques ? Perdus ? Ecorchés vifs ? Ignobles ? Un peu bâtards sur les bords mais cool quand même ?

— Ҫa… dépend lesquels ?

— Le personnage principal, au moins, comment il est ?

— Il y en a sept, qui s’appellent par des numéros, et…

— Ah ouais quand même. C’est expérimental.

— Ҫa peut paraitre étrange comme ça, mais ça a du sens dans l’histoire ! Et puis…

— Et est-ce qu’il y a de l’action ? Du suspens ? Du déchirement ?

— Oui, oui, ça j’ai !

— Et de la romance ? Des scènes de sexe ?

— Heu, non, ça j’ai pas.

— Un combat du bien contre le mal ?

— C’est plus complexe que ça. Plutôt un équilibre entre le contrôle et le chaos ?

— … Je ne sais pas comment dire ça de façon bienveillante, parce que vraiment je ne veux pas être méchant, mais vous êtes la preuve que le marketing est un métier à part entière et que les auteurs ne devraient pas être autorisés à y toucher.

— Oui, ben j’ai déjà expliqué tout ce que je voulais dire bien en détail, et ça a donné un roman de 200 000 mots ! Je ne peux pas le résumer correctement en deux phrases !

— Il est beaucoup trop long, ce roman ! Un éditeur aurait coupé ça en deux, c’est plus digeste pour les lecteurs !

— Et bien les éditeurs n’avaient qu’à le faire quand je leur ai proposé. En attendant, l’histoire est complète comme ça !

— Et vous avez beaucoup de lecteurs ?

— Quelques uns… Mais ceux qui l’ont fini l’ont beaucoup aimé !

— Et les autres ?

— Ils sont juste passé à autre chose. Ce n’est pas grave, c’est leur droit. Je suis déjà heureuse qu’ils aient essayé.

— Mais avec une présentation comme ça, il n’y a personne qui va essayer…

— Vous m’avez fait tout un speech sur le fait que les gens n’ont pas le temps ni l’envie de lire des livres inconnus de toutes façons, plus tous les préjugés sur les auto-édités. Et je sais que c’est vrai. Je vais juste rester modeste dans mes ambitions, et continuer à présenter honnêtement ce que j’ai écrit, pour attirer ceux que ça pourrait vraiment intéresser.

— Vous ne voulez pas faire une bande-annonce, avec des dessins, de la musique punchy et des phrases d’accroche ? Ҫa ça marche bien ! Et être plus présente sur les réseaux sociaux ! Vous faire connaitre et apprécier pour tenter les lecteurs !

— J’ai essayé, je suis vraiment nulle à ça… Et faire une bande-annonce, c’est largement au-dessus de mes capacités !

— Alors il faut peut-être changer de sujet ? Ecrire des livres qui auront plus de chance de trouver un éditeur, ou qui auront plus de lecteurs potentiels, comme du YA ou…

— Non.

— Quoi, non ?

— Non, c’est tout. Ecoutez, c’est gentil d’essayer de m’aider, mais le but, c’est d’avoir des lecteurs sur mes histoires. Si ce ne sont plus mes histoires mais des ersatz, ça n’a aucun intérêt de les écrire, à par être une concurrence médiocre à des écrivains qui ont déjà plein d’idées à écrire sur ces sujets.

— Mais il y a déjà beaucoup trop de monde qui écrit ! Regardez la rentrée littéraire, c’est une catastrophe ! On a quasiment plus de livres à lire que de lecteurs ! Soit vous attirez l’attention, soit vous rentrez dans le moule, il n’y a pas d’autre moyen de survivre !

— Oui, oui, je connais la chanson. C’est marrant, on parle toujours du fait qu’il y ait trop de livres, de la « surproduction », mais on passe élégamment sous silence sa conséquence logique : pour résoudre le problème, il y a des auteurs qui doivent dégager. Parce que admettre ça, c’est mettre le doigt dans le très douloureux débat du « si quelqu’un doit dégager, qui ce sera ? ». Certains mettent les pieds dans le plat, mais la plupart n’ont aucune envie d’en discuter, parce qu’ils ont tous peur que ce « qui », ce soit eux. On se sent tous illégitimes à un degré ou à un autre. Alors on essaye de se rassurer, on conchie tel ou tel groupe qui n’a aucune originalité ou une orthographe horrible ou une mentalité malsaine ou qui serait trop mercantile, en essayant de se convaincre que c’est une vraie bonne raison. Parce que tout ce qui compte, c’est que celui qui dégage, ce soit l’autre. Alors qu’en réalité, en tant que lecteur, soit on a vraiment envie de tenter, soit on passe son chemin, on n’a pas besoin de faire un procès d’intention à telle ou telle façon d’écrire. C’est entre auteurs qu’on montre les crocs, parce qu’on se sent menacés. Mais c’est un débat stérile. Qu’ils soient publiés ou non, qu’ils soient mis sur les étalages des librairies ou dans les dossiers oubliés d’un site obscurs, les auteurs continueront à écrire et à vouloir partager avec le plus de monde possible. Et si certains renoncent parce qu’on leur a rentré dans le crâne qu’ils ne seraient pas à la hauteur, pour moi c’est une tragédie.

— Donc… Tout le monde écrit ce qui lui chante et racole le lecteur comme il peut. C’est bien ça, votre philosophie ?

— C’est à peu près ça.

— Vous êtes perdante à ce jeu là, et franchement ça fait mal au cœur de voir ça. Abandonner quand ça ne marche pas, ce n’est pas une tragédie, c’est aussi se protéger !

— J’ai l’impression que vous ne savez pas ce que c’est, d’avoir des histoires plein la tête et qu’elles ne puissent jamais sortir… Ҫa tourne en rond jusqu’à virer à l’aigre, jusqu’à ce qu’on se demande si tout ce qu’on y a mis a le moindre sens, et surtout, ne jamais les partager, c’est se sentir tellement seul… C’est comme d’être muet et que les gens considèrent qu’on n’avait juste rien à dire. Et bien si. J’ai à dire, je l’ai dit et je continuerais à le dire, à tous ceux que ça intéressera.

—Pff… Au final, je vais finir par l’acheter juste parce que je me sens coupable, votre ebook.

— Si c’est pour ne pas le lire, ce n’est pas la peine.

— Hé, pas la peine d’être désagréable, non plus !

— Non, désolée, je ne voulais pas être désagréable, c’est juste ce que je pense. Je n’ai aucune envie de vendre des livres qui ne seront pas lus juste pour le plaisir de faire une vente de plus. Ce n’est pas non plus comme si je gagnais ma vie avec. J’essaye juste de trouver mes lecteurs.

— Je comprends. Je crois. Bonne chance, alors.

— Merci, et bonne journée !

— Mais sérieusement, changez de phrase d’accroche. Celle-ci est horrible.

— Je peux essayer… Roman à vendre ! Découvrez une fratrie d’enfants artificiels sur lesquels pèse le destin du monde ! Complots, trahisons et rebondissements ! Un livre sur l’entraide et la confiance ! 2€99 l’ebook, version gratuite disponible sur PC et smartphone !

— C’est… c’est déjà mieux. Je pense qu’on peut encore affiner, mais c’est mieux. C’est moins pire en tous cas.

— Je continuerais à l’améliorer au fur et à mesure. Merci pour les conseils !

— Bon courage ! »

Un dernier texte pour le défi qui n’est pas que de la fiction, puisque je suis une romancière auto-éditée. J’en ai donc profité pour mettre en scène les remarques, critiques et arguments que j’ai pu retrouver à droite et à gauche depuis que je m’intéresse au sujet. Le donneur de conseil de l’histoire n’est pas une personne en particulier, il est juste là pour présenter différents arguments pour que je puisse poser les miens.

En version moins romancée, vous pouvez trouver mon avis sur l’auto-édition et les histoires en général ici (oui il faut vraiment que j’organise mieux mes tags pour s’y retrouver sur mon tumblr, mais globalement avec #blog écriture on retrouve mes élucubrations).

Sur la façon dont je me suis lancée dans l’auto-édition et mes conseils pratiques ici (je ne sais pas si ça vaut la peine de mettre ces textes sur tumblr, est-ce que ça intéresserait quelqu’un ?).

Et vous pouvez acheter le tout à fait authentique livre que j’ai extrêmement bien vendu dans cette histoire (lol) sur Amazon, Fnac, Bookeen, ou le trouver en lecture gratuite ici.

Merci à tous !

#30jourspourécrire #jour 30 #écrire #bilan du défi #déjà fini #c'était un chouette défi #blog écriture #auto-édition #french #french writer #mes histoires

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n5869 · 3 years

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Disney Papeterie

le nom Ungar a été synonyme avec le commerce Disney Store Pyjama enfants de fnac disneyland depuis cinq générations. toujours soucieux de se différencier et personnaliser ses créations, il a créé le Crisscut. Utiliser l'or cuir pour créer un grillées barbie princesses disney avec style anguleux. Dans un endroit bien aéré, imbibez un colle de résistance lourde tel que ciment cordon intérieur fin à l'aide d'un cure-dents et insérez le cordon. Le opalescence magique de moonstones est mis en évidence par incurvées Disney Chemise Spider-Man Pour Enfants Un choix intelligent framesand d'or qui accentuent la douceur de la coupe cabochon et detailsof le réglage de la griffe de la pierre centrale. Nouvelle ligne dans les magasins Michaels - rose luster quartzite verre blanc centre et pierre 3mm rondelles. Il vous suffit de connecter les deux Disney Papeterie homards mutuellement. La semaine dernière, vous avez appris comment nouer onformément; cette semaine, nous allons apprendre comment enrouler le fil de calibre fines autour de fil de plus gros bangles pour créer ces superbes mousseux. Vous pouvez les porter comme est. ses pièces sont disponibles dans son magasin Sunset Blvd. est complété par Baguette Crisscut. Le Maison Disney Perruque Cendrillon 2017 Nouvelle Arriveé a décidé de créer une école afin de jeter une lumière sur le monde très secret de promo hotel disneyland paris et de partager son atout le plus précieux :. Harper's Bazaar rapporte que le baroque sera l'un des plus chauds Tendances bijoux. L'adorable designers qui balayent-nous sur nos pieds inclure. DIY samedi - Bijoux baroque - la tendance. à la mode vert, rose et Rubellite tourmaline sont la deuxième ligne de produits qu'ils présentent, ces pierres semi-précieuses viennent dans une large gamme de teintes et de transparences qui font ressortir la vivacité de la bijouterie fine. Le quatrième design est la disney. Le Michaels local fabuleux fourrure blanche est Soldes Disney une veste à Adrienne Rabbit-Fur Landau enduire et vient en tailles 2-16.

www.soldedisney.com/

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silverxcristal · 6 months

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FNaC Fur updated!!! We have another GIRL we WON!!

#fnac #fnac fur #tilly the cow #candy the cat #cindy the cat #arte #doodles

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dyokens · 1 month

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Cow girl 🐮

#my art #my artwork #digital art #fnac #five nights at candy's #fnac fur #candy the cat #cindy the cat #tilly the cow

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alcordraws · 7 years

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Optical Shift

I can’t believe I never posted this here. Anyways, remember back when Mark was playing fnac 3 and was talking about his nightmares? this was inspired by that

Jack’s chilling at Mark’s house, on a visit from Ireland for a rare opportunity to hang out. It's late and they're hanging on the couch, some lame (and oddly hilarious) SYFY channel horror movie playing on the tv, the screeching violins of the soundtrack and the screams of the actors filling an otherwise comfortable silence.

Mark’s curled up on one end of the couch, occasionally giggling when the cgi “cobradile” pops up and calls out who he bets is going to die next. Chica takes up the rest of the couch, paws tucked under her golden head and feathery tail wagging gently by Mark’s hip. Jack’s made himself comfortable on the smaller couch, legs stretched out to the armrest and a cold beer Mark isn't allowed to touch sits half finished on the floor by his dangling arm.

It's cozy and warm and Jack begins to feel drowsy by the time the heroine of the movie sacrifices herself by throwing herself into the monster’s mouth with dynamite strapped to her slender waist and blowing it up from the inside. It looks like the movie’s entire budget went into that last explosion and Jack chuckles along with Mark over how bad it was.

As the credits begin to roll, the temperature in the room dips, for just a second. Jack’s eyes catch on Mark, who shivers violently, figure literally flickering between gray, red, and blue before settling back to normal. Mark catches his eye and gives him a wan smile, his earlier cheerfulness fading.

“Sorry”, he says, apologetic, “ that was just Dark returning to his host body.”

Mark’s attempt at reassurance is belied by the sudden pallor in his complexion and the tightness around his eyes. Jack can't hold back his curiosity and before he can stop himself, he blurts,

“How did you meet him?”

The haunted look that enters Mark’s eyes makes Jack’s stomach clench and he immediately regrets asking. Chica, sensing the discomfort in the air, whines until Mark buries a hand on the thick fur of her neck.

“I suspect he'd been following me quite a while,” he begins, “but the first time I met him, I was fourteen.”

Mark’s eyes snap open, the images of his nightmare lingering on his eyelids, flashing at him whenever he tries to go back to sleep. There are shadows squirming on his ceiling and his need for sleep creeps away to be replaced with an acute feeling of unease. He slips out of bed and into the puddle of moonlight that emanates from his window, pads on silent, bare feet to his door and escapes into the hallway.

It's silent and dark, unsurprising for the dead of night at the Fischbach home, though it doesn't help abate his growing anxiety. Mark creeps his way to the stairs, feeling both dazed and awake as he drifts to the last step. He settles at the bottom, a notebook and pen he'd snatched from his room before he left sitting on his lap. He glances up and his eyes catch on the thick, looming shadow in the archway that obscures his view of the next room. His heart beats just a little faster, but oddly enough, he does not feel afraid.

Time slithers by, but he doesn’t feel it, frozen on the bottom step, eyes glued to the shadow in the archway, pen idly scratching on the notebook on his lap. His breathing comes in even intervals as if he were asleep, but Mark is keenly aware that he is awake and dreams are the farthest thing from his mind. Mark’s eyes droop to his notebook and the lazy scrawl of his pen and feels his heart crawl into his throat.

It’s the shadow in the archway, form vaguely humanoid, a pair of circular, white eyes boring into his own brown ones from the confines of the lined paper. Mark doesn’t remember seeing eyes on the shadow. His sleepy trance melts away and his heart begins to titter like a rabbit in his chest. He tries to scramble back upstairs, maybe sneak into his brother’s room, but he freezes just as he stands.

The world around him bleeds into blacks and grays, objects highlighted with red and blue-green like some sort of bizarre 3-D movie that Mark wants no part of. His own hands look a pale shade of silver and lack the 3-D effect that engulfs the rest of the room. He isn’t sure how much that should comfort him. Mark looks up when something darker than the shadows falls over him and finds himself eye to chest with the shadow from the archway. It’s more humanoid now, tall and looming. The shadows melt away to reveal a man, silver-skinned and radiating the red-blue of the rest of the strange world. He looks familiar, with his mother’s eyes (a dark, cool red rather than her warm brown), her sharp cheekbones, but his father’s nose and jawline, a light shade of stubble keeping his face from looking too soft. His hair is short and shiny and black, falling in a feathery coal-black curtain over one of his eyes.

He’s wearing a suit, fancy-looking and gray, like heavy storm clouds. Everything about him seems to scream refined and Mark suddenly feels very out of place in his large, old red shirt and black shorts. He tries to swallow back the lump in his throat to speak, wincing when his voice squeaks anyways.

“Who are you?”

The man regards him with disdainful eyes, as if he’d just noticed an insect squished on the the bottom of his shoe, his pale lips tightening into a sneer. Mark has too look away, unable to hold such an intense, cold stare. He feels too much like a specimen in a glass jar.

“You may call me Dark. I’ve been waiting a long to meet you”, he says and though his voice his silk soft and almost reassuring, it still reverberates through the room, like a distant roll of thunder that Mark can feel in his own chest. The man, Dark, clasps his long-fingered hands behind his back, leaving himself open, like he holds no secrets from Mark.

“What do you want?” Mark whispers, sounding even tinier in comparison to Dark’s overwhelming presence.

Dark steps closer, puts an elegant hand on Mark’s thin shoulder. He looks less dismissive now, might even look warm, if not for the seemingly perpetual ice of his deep red eyes.

“I can make the nightmares go away”, Dark murmurs, his thunder-like voice gentle. “You just have to let me in.”

Mark’s breath catches in his throat and his mind wanders to the nightmare he’d had the other night, his brother disappearing into the woods, the other horrid dreams that had plagued his nights for as long as he remembered. He can’t think clearly, there’s too much static in his head. Dark’s eyes soften, just an ounce, and Mark, scared and hopeful and naive, stupidly ( stupidly ) agrees. He reaches out and Dark takes his hand (and though at fourteen Mark isn’t exactly small, his hand is easily swallowed by Dark’s). His eyes are still soft, but his grip is anything but.

His hand is very, very cold. His smile is even colder.

Mark feels an ominous shiver crawl up his spine.

He should have known it was a lie.

Jack doesn’t know what to say when Mark finishes his story. Mark is staring at the hand buried in Chica’s fur, eyes distant, a murky shade of brown that doesn’t befit him at all.

“I’m… sorry”, Jack says quietly, though it’s not quite what he wants to say and he’s frustrated that he can’t form the words to express his sentiment.

Mark smiles, faint but more reassuring than the first one.

“It’s no big deal, not anymore at least. You get… used to it, I guess.”

Silence reigns once more, but it’s not awkward. It’s the same comfortable quietness from earlier. In their lapse of attention, the next movie had started, the scene displaying a lackluster cgi werewolf(?) munching on what could be a leg. They chuckle at it and the atmosphere lightens, the conversation slowly slipping away.

Mark’s shadows flickers, though no one sees it, before settling back into a normal solid gray.

#markiplier #darkiplier #jacksepticeye #mark fischbach #sean mcloughlin #kat writes

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marinebouquine · 4 years

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The Fourth Hand - John Irving

“Aren’t eccentricities fairly common among overachievers ?”

J’ai eu l’occasion de découvrir John Irving il y a quelques mois, à travers le roman Le monde selon Garp, que j’avais trouvé incroyable, tant dans la formulation des pensées, dans les thèmes abordés, et l’articulation de la vie de Garp. Je n’avais toutefois pas cédé à la tentation d’autres Irving de suite, préférant savourer un peu cette lecture. Mais il y a quelques semaines, à l’occasion d’une promenade en ville, j’ai trouvé The Fourth Hand dans le rayon VO d’une librairie. Le titre m’a intriguée, je savais que j’aimais l’auteur, alors je n’ai pas hésité.

Qu’est-ce que ça raconte ?

Patrick Wallingford, homme à femmes, journaliste pour une chaîne férue de scénarios catastrophes, se rend en Inde pour faire un reportage. Il conquiert l’assistante technique, est traité comme un roi : rien d’anormal jusqu’au moment où, en plein reportage, un lion lui arrache la main gauche. La vie de Patrick est évidemment bouleversée par ce regrettable accident, mais encore plus par l’expérience qu’il a eu d’un mystérieux analgésique indien : il a fait un rêve, celui d’une femme à la voix sensuelle qui lui propose de retirer leurs maillots mouillés alors qu’ils sont allongés sur le ponton d’un lac vert émeraude.

De retour aux Etats-Unis, Patrick rencontre Zajac, un chirurgien brillant qui se propose de réaliser la première greffe de main avec la collaboration de Patrick. Il reçoit finalement la main d’Otto Clansen, sa veuve demandant juste un droit de visite à la main de son mari ; une légère excentricité qui ne repousse ni le chirurgien ni le journaliste. Autre particularité de Madame Clansen : elle a la voix sensuelle du rêve de Patrick, et ça, c’est un fait qu’il ne saurait surmonter aussi facilement que son droit de visite...

John Irving a vraiment le don d’articuler le destin de personnes qui n’ont pourtant rien à voir de façon tout à fait claire et évidente. Les personnages ont tous une place et un rôle à jouer. La voix sensuelle du début prend tout son sens, le lac vert émeraude et le ponton toute leur force, au fur et à mesure que le récit avance. Le chirurgien anorexique qu’est Zajac et sa gouvernante marathonienne ont également un rôle bien défini dans le roman, et les Clansen s’insèrent aussi bien dans l’histoire, même si au départ on se demande quel intérêt a la présence de ce couple.

Dans ce roman, on suit un homme qui a un rapport très particulier aux femmes, et à la vie en général. On le voit grandir alors que le récit avance : lui qui traitait si mal les femmes finit par s’excuser auprès d’elles toutes et fait des efforts pour ne plus succomber à la tentation destructrice dont il est devenu un maître au cours des années. Lui qui charmait tout ce qui bouge autrefois tombe amoureux fou de Doris, une femme qui ne fait pourtant rien pour se mettre en valeur, sauf lorsqu’elle utilise sa voix sensuelle. Elle devient l’élément central de sa vie, de ses ambitions, de ses désirs. Elle est la mère de son enfant, ce à quoi il aspire. Sa réussite professionnelle ne lui importe plus autant, il veut juste réussir en tant que père.

J’ai eu au départ des difficultés à entrer dans cette lecture, surtout car j’avais le sentiment que tous les personnages féminins étaient définis par rapport à un protagoniste masculin (ce qui n’est pas totalement faux), mais l’arrivée de Doris, la plume d’Irving et les aventures de Patrick m’ont donné envie de m’attacher à ce roman. L’univers de l’auteur a quelque chose de très excentrique, et qui en même temps fait paradoxalement beaucoup de sens à la lecture. Tous ses personnages ont des caractéristiques un peu bizarres, qui les rendent uniques et attachants. Alors au fond, qu’est-ce que la quatrième main ? C’est une question qui trotte dans la tête du lecteur, mais elle n’est pas au cœur du récit, car ce qui compte c’est finalement l’épanouissement des personnages, leur évolution et les efforts qu’ils sont prêts à faire pour grandir. Une belle lecture, encore une fois, qui me donne envie de découvrir encore plus de l’œuvre d’Irving.

Vous voulez l’acheter ? J’ai trouvé cet exemplaire lors d’une expédition au Furet du Nord pour une douzaine d’euros, mais il est également disponible à la Fnac par exemple.

#john irving #the fourth hand #book worm #book review

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