man on the Moon

Taken from the 2021 Netflix movie, Fear Street: 1978! Some of these have already been edited. You can change them however you see fit! There may be some light spoilers for the movie!

“You’re an impatient bastard, aren’t you?”

“Look, I can’t just run! I can’t let them die. I won’t. I love them.”

“They’re tied up in the bathroom, so they can’t leave now. We’re like totally and completely cool.”

“I’m out? They just tried to murder me!”

“I’m just gonna let it get infected and die.”

“That stuff’s been there forever, babe. You just gotta give that up.”

“Hey, careful. You don’t want to corrupt her virgin ears.”

“Drugs, baby, drugs. Just hook us up.”

(Name), hello? I’m in trouble again! Help.”

“(Name), come on. I could die any minute now.”

“People usually kill for a reason, and sometimes that reason is justified. Sometimes killing isn’t murder.”

“Once in your life, could you just not be so… so mean?”

“For once in your life, can you just stop pretending?”

“One way or another, you’re gonna die tonight.”

“The kiddos are right. That’s, like, total witchy behavior.”

“He might be dumb, but he’s kinda shagadelic.”

“Yeah, well, it was serious earlier, and you didn’t give a shit!”

“What? That doesn’t fit your carefully constructed bullshit view of the world?”

“It’s not horrible if it’s true.”

“So, the camp was built on the same place as the settlement?”

“It’s called fun, (Name). You used to have it, remember?”

“Clearly, you don’t need my assistance. All good. Go ahead.”

“You want me to murder you?”

“Am I the only one expecting, like, I dunno, a house made out of candy?”

“Hey, (Name), you got any candy down there? We’re high and hungry.”

“It just hit me. It’s fucking Tylenol. It’s nothing.”

“He can’t… He can’t get us. He can’t get us.”

“We could have done it in your bunk, but I guess this is kind of hot.”

“Well, tough shit. We’re gonna die down here.”

“Jesus, what the hell? I told you not to follow me!”

“I’ve hated her since I was a baby. Next question.”

“First of all, Stephen King is, like, super popular.”

“If you have to kill him… Could you?”

“I’m not letting you get hurt! Please, let me do my job.”

“You tell anyone about this, and you’re dead. You hear me?”

“I told myself that if I was perfect if I did everything right, I could beat it.”

“I hate to break it to you, but the fun isn’t any more real.”

“I thought that if I just put my head down, and followed the rules, everything would be fine.”

“Okay, careful. Okay? This thing is, like, a million years old.”

“I’ve waited my whole fucking life for this. And now I found it. Let me see this through.”

“Nothing can pull us apart.”

“And most days… I wish I stayed dead.”

“(Name) sacrificed herself for nothing.”

Mark is having cold feet. 

Just a few days ago, he was still a ball of excitement filling up and sending his resume for the assistant position of the Greek god of nightmares. What’s got into him to do that while he’s still completely happy with his job at LOCO Motion? Mark would blame it on his inherent workaholism. While being a dance instructor gave him the fun and the zest for life he was always searching for, the Celtic demigod felt like he still had a little too much free time to spend. He needed to be busy in order to keep himself together, so even though his former experiences have very little thing to do with the duties given in the job description, he still decided to give it a try. 

But since the unexpected phone call telling him to come for an interview with Phobetor himself, his anxiety level suddenly reached its peak. He couldn’t sleep well last night, but nervousness and the desire to do things well keep him wide awake. ‘It isn’t like you’re starving and desperately in need of a job’, Mark’s inner voice tells him in an attempt to slow down his racing heartbeats, ‘just do your best and don’t embarrass yourself, you can do it!’. 

After a couple more of such self-encouraging words, Mark has arrived at Babylon. Looking up at the mysterious building, he realizes this is going to be his first time coming back to this business in a long, long while. Before today, he’s only ventured inside a few times, the first time out of curiosity, and the few later for...personal interest, of course. But maybe, Mark believes, he just wasn’t born to be a regular of such places. Ironically, now he’s attempting to get a job that if he successfully gets, it will get his life attached to this business probably in more than one way. 

Mark looks down to give his outfit a check for the last time. Polished dress shoes, checked. A decent suit, checked. Tie, checked. Hair, well it’s clean and neat at the last time he checks, and let’s hope that there is no stray lock of hair coming out of nowhere during the interview. After taking a deep breath, with his heart still racing like crazy in his chest, Mark steps into the building. He’s then guided to Phobetor’s office, and the next thing he knows is he’s standing in front of the god, looking even more intimidating than he is in Mark’s vague memory. He has seen Phobetor at some social functions, standing in a dark corner and seeming to scrutinize the partygoers for their potential mischiefs. Mark had to admit that he was slightly scared by this mysterious god, but now when Phobetor is in his element, Mark has to fight off the urge to run. 

“Oh we went to my place last time. I remember now, cause I told you I don’t own anything colored orange, and you didn’t believe me. So I had to prove it to you.” She smiles a bit shuffling the bags more into her hands.

“Your place it is then!”

“But Ahri, we’re living in the same building, though yeah, mine is a few apartments farther from yours.” he reminded her, not without a hint of surprise at how her memory worked sometimes. Ahri only surprised him again at how just a second after that, she actually remembered their previous dinner’s rendezvous, and even helped him recall the reason why they picked her place last time. 

“Ah right! okay my place then.” He paused at the sound of the bus coming closer to the stop they were standing near to, and he gestured Ahri to hurry and get on it. In other occasions, Mark would prefer to walk, but with all the heavy bags they were carrying, taking a bus was a better choice. 

It took only seven minutes for them to get back to the Banshee apartments, and three more minutes to place the bags on Mark’s kitchen counter. They were going to make beef hotpot for evening, which was Mark’s suggestion, even though he had never tried to make it before. But they had Ahri and the recipe, so everything should be fine. 

“Okay, just stand still, I got it.”

Mark put the big shopping bag he was carrying on his one arm gently down the pavement, then crouched down and helped her re-tie the loosened shoelaces together. His shoelace-tying style was noticeably different from Ahri’s, as it was showed right there when he looked down at her shoes for the last time. But he had already stood up and picked the shopping bag back on, so he hoped Ahri could make do with it for now.

“Should we walk or take the bus?” He asked while his free hand silently came to take one bag out of Ahri’s hand and into his grip, because what kind of man would let their female friend got full-handed with two big bags while they just got one? Before they could make decision, Mark suddenly remembered something important he had to ask. 

Mark should have known better than relying on his own sense of directions and the scrawl on the note handed to him to find his destination. That restaurant should be big enough to be easily founded, that friend said to him, adding to the delusion that he could get there with his eyes closed. Now that it started to rain, his phone just died, he had got no umbrella, and the hand-drawn map was too soaked to be decipherable.  

The Celtic demigod couldn’t hide his shame when he had to ask this friendly-looking stranger for help, who turned out to also hadn’t learned much about this part of the island. Mark concluded that Lady Luck had just refused to smile on him again, but he was used to it. At least, this shop owner was so kind to offer him some help, and even some tea! 

“Oh god, sure, thank you so much!” Mark cheered, the merry lights came back to shine in his dark eyes as he turned to follow the other inside. Yet, he stopped half way, stepped right back to the front door, and gently stomped his wet sneakers on the mat, and walked back in when he was sure he wouldn’t leave wet shoe prints here in there in the shop. 

He turned around in the chair, a bit more dramatically than he intended to come across to see his precious fluffball trot in and flop next to him, asking for head pats. Arawn scratched his hellhound’s head and gave him a treat. He then focused his attention on the new person in his office. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” he started with a grin, steepling his fingers on the desk, gazing at his son. “So, do I meet your expectations or were you expecting someone more ‘death god like’?” he asked.

So, this was his father. Sitting on the chair that looked like being made just for him, in the office whose mere vibe has already spoken tones about its owner. Mark hadn’t expected or imagined much about how Arawn could be like, for there were never many clues, and because Mark had learned to keep his expectations low. But his father was smiling, grinning at him, asking him the question that he didn’t have a chance to ask himself, so Mark smiled back, a timid yet genuine one. 

“You look...decently death-god-like to me,” because he once saw the Mayan death god in his true form, and he doubted that it would ever step down from being the most horrifying death-god look for him.