#human tiffany

[neonclownvia]

I actually felt like rendering

[marvelmaniac715]

Remember that essay that I wrote on here about Chucky? Well, it occurred to me that Nica studied psychology, so maybe I could write a fic where Chucky’s trying to annoy her and she just does a full on psychological analysis 😂. I’ll give it a sappy ending because that’s my favourite type to write, and it’s set during Season 2 of the tv series where Chucky/Nica, Kyle and Glenda are hiding out together because I thought it would be fun. Enjoy it :).

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Today, Chucky thought he’d try and play ‘psychologist’. His logic for this is that he spent some time in a mental institution, so he was basically an expert. Nica just rolled her eyes and ignored him as he tried to piece together her (in his words) ‘messed up’ childhood. But then he tried talking about her dad, and that hit a nerve.

“Okay Charles, let’s talk about you.”

This stopped the doll in his tracks.

“…Excuse me?”

Nica smiled sweetly knowing full well he could see her and politely responded:

“You’re excused.”

Chucky seemed flustered now.

“W-what do you know about me?”

Nica scoffed.

“You talk too much. When I get bored of your blabbering I look through your memories to see how you got like this. After months of careful examination, I’m confident I have a full psychological profile that can explain why you are the way you are.”

Now Chucky seemed really nervous.

“I’m like this because I wanna be, there isn’t some touchy feely crap that-‘

“Wanna talk about your mom, Charlie?”

If Chucky could’ve killed her, he would’ve.

“Nobody calls me that.”

Nica smirked knowingly.

“Two important women in your life have.”

Trying to regain control, Chucky retorted:

“Yeah well, I hate to break it to ya, but you ain’t an important woman in my life.”

Nica choked out a bitter laugh.

“I disagree, but I’m going to move on. Shall we begin?”

“I don’t want to.”

“Great, let’s get started! Okay, this is just my best guess, alright- I’m spitballing here. But… little boy kills his mom in a panic and realises that he made a huge mistake. Big strong man that reminds him of his newly dead dad teaches him a valuable lesson and spares his life so the idolising of violence begins… you move to a Boy’s Home and the only person who truly understands you calls you by the nickname your mom called you in moments of extreme fondness and rewarded you with I’m guessing physical affection like hugs and head pats when you committed a destructive act. She treated you like the little boy you still were inside despite having to grow up quickly in the foster system. Oh yeah, and I’m pretty sure she groomed you.”

Chucky seemed outraged by this point.

“Okay, two things. One, how the hell did you know all that? And two, I wasn’t groomed, isn’t that only to do with-‘

“It counts for other things, the thing you’re referring to is just the most common one. In your case I believe she was grooming you to be a killer in order to live out her own twisted fantasies- maybe more, she creeped me out so I didn’t look at those memories too much. But you grew up, and she still treated you like a kid when you were convinced you were an adult. So, craving independence, you distanced yourself from her and began hunting at night clubs, right? That’s where you met Tiffany and began a super toxic, borderline abusive relationship that spanned several decades. But she wasn’t enough, was she?”

After a quiet moment of reflection, Chucky admitted:

“She was just… too much.”

Nica nodded sagely.

“Exactly, and you wanted to be loved, didn’t you? At that point in your life you didn’t want someone who could match or maybe even surpass your level of crazy, you wanted a family, with someone who was (in your eyes at least) innocent and untainted. And what could be more innocent than a pregnant woman who already has a fully potty trained kid ready to go? But she didn’t love you, and my sister didn’t warm to you the way you’d hoped-‘

“I tried everything to get that stubborn brat to like me. She refused to call me Daddy so I settled for Uncle, but that wasn’t enough, oh no. I brought home every toy I could find, I even untied her mother for a few hours a day once I’d locked the door because it made her sad. Hell, I let her keep going to daycare! Why didn’t she like me if you’re so wise in the ways of psychology, Nica?”

“Well, you killed our dad. That doesn’t usually make for a great start. Also, I’ve seen those memories and… you looked sorta creepy. Would a haircut have killed you? You looked like Tommy Wiseau in that really bad movie ‘The Room’. I kept expecting you to ask some one called Lisa ‘Why’ and respond to a man called Mark’s trauma with ‘What a story, Mark’. To a little kid, you probably looked like the boogeyman.”

Chucky’s only response was a quiet and disbelieving:

“My hair wasn’t that long-‘

Nica cut him off with a mocking:

“Maybe he was born with it? Maybe it was L’Oréal?’

She punctuated her last sentence with a dramatic head toss, letting her hair sway from side to side.

‘L’Oréal: Because you’re worth it.”

“We’re getting sidetracked here.”

“Yeah, maybe. Anyway, where was I? Psychopathic tendencies…’

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

‘Classic textbook narcissism…’

“I’m not a narcissist.”

‘It shows in the way you attempted to raise your kids-‘

“Don’t you fucking talk about them. And I’m not a narcissist.”

‘So you don’t believe you’re God- sorry, Damballa’s gift to this world?”

“Well… I am pretty great…”

“I literally want to slap you right now. Anyway, moving on. We’re just gonna skip past most of the doll years, the height perspective makes me dizzy. But I would like to discuss the twins, thanks for bringing them up, by the way. I thought you’d forgotten that they existed-‘

“Why would I forget my own kids’ existences?”

‘-Well you aren’t a great dad, you tried to kill your own six year old-‘

“He started it.”

“That’s very childish logic, but I digress. You traumatised that poor kid because you expected too much. You wanted them to be like you. You made Glen kill when they weren’t ready and Glenda made their first appearance because the kid was so stressed out that their twin probably felt the need to protect them! You were a horrible parent and you still are!-‘

“I’m an amazing parent actually.”

Nica raised an eyebrow.

“Oh really? What were their first words as dolls?”

Chucky thought for a second, then he said:

“Not sure about Glenda, but for Glen it was probably ‘violence is bad’, they said that a lot.”

Nica shook her head.

“Nope. Not even close, and even I don’t know. How about first words as humans?”

“Tiff was raising them, so probably something like ‘Mama’?”

“And you wish it was ‘Dada’, don’t you?”

Chucky didn’t answer, so Nica tried again.

“It’s okay to admit you love your kids and regret not being there-‘

“I don’t regret anything.”

“Okay, strong words for the guy who willingly transferred his soul into a doll.”

“Every move I make is meticulously calculated.”

“Stop changing the subject Charles, we’re talking about your kids here, your flesh and blood. How you failed them.”

“I didn’t fail my children.”

“Glen told me that they don’t feel whole, neither of them do, they were born in one body and they were meant to be together, but you went along with your wife’s batshit surrogacy idea and literally fractured their souls. Don’t you feel guilty about that?”

“…Maybe.”

“Do you tell your children you love them?”

“Hey, I called Glenda beautiful-‘

“You did, but in the same conversation you called them ‘Shitface’ despite knowing about their trauma. And we both know that was just to get them on side so they’d free you. Now answer the question, do you love them?”

Chucky didn’t say anything, so Nica kept talking.

“Your kids- or Glenda is at least- are terrified of you. The poor kid has to constantly be at your beck and call otherwise you scream at them. You haven’t tried to get to know them, you haven’t talked about their interests- your twins like art, did you know that? The twins waited their whole lives to meet their dad and now they’re learning that he’s a tyrannical monster who doesn’t give a crap about them. I mean, what’s your plan in the long run? Have the twins stay by your side to rub your tiny doll feet or some shit as your army rises to the top? Kill them and stuff their souls into any old doll so you have more soldiers for your little army? You aren’t parenting them, Chucky, you’re torturing them.”

Chucky finally spoke, but he wasn’t as defensive as before. He was quiet now, as if he didn’t want to admit this.

“I don’t want them to be scared of me. They’re actually the only people I don’t wanna scare. But… I don’t actually know how to love someone. I failed every time I tried. I couldn’t make it work with anyone, platonically or romantically. Do you know how much it hurt when I had to fight my own kid? I was so proud of them when they used that axe… I think I’m starting to realise that violence is the only way I can properly express myself. Maybe in a way me fighting Glen was like if I was teaching them to ride a bike or something, I don’t know, I’m not a psychologist. I’m getting off topic, but what I meant to say is that I do love my kids deep down, but I don’t know how to show it.”

Nica was taken aback. She hadn’t expected this sort of breakthrough, not when Chucky always seemed so convinced that he did nothing wrong and had zero flaws. Maybe her comments had actually been getting to him? There was no way to know for sure; this could be some sort of act after all, but if it wasn’t, she wanted to try and repair Chucky’s relationship with his children. If only to cheer up the heartbroken twins (after speaking with them a few times, Nica actually really liked them, they were sweet and almost nothing like their dad). With this in mind, she suggested in a soft voice that was barely above a whisper:

“I don’t think you have to do anything… overt, exactly, just tell them the truth, that you love them and feel bad about how you treated them. Do you want me to give you control of the body for an hour so you can tell Glenda?”

Chucky was confused.

“You hate it when I take over, why would you do that?”

There was quiet, then a tired sigh.

“I’ve been in the twins’ shoes. I would do anything to hear my dad say he loves me, even once. And you’re still alive, so you have no excuse not to do it.”

With that, an agreement was made and Nica voluntarily fell asleep so that Chucky could control her body. It was quite late, so Kyle wouldn’t be up. But would Glenda be? Chucky had no idea. Even when he had control of Nica’s body it took him about fifteen minutes to work up the courage to wheel into the small bedroom that his youngest had claimed as their own. He chuckled when he noticed that Glenda slept sprawled out like a starfish - just like he had when he was first human. 

It occurred to him that he had no actual plan from this point onwards. He refused to launch into some sappy speech, he just wouldn’t do it. But he wanted to do this, and Glenda was asleep so there would be no shame or embarrassment on his part unless he woke the kid up (which he wouldn’t, he had experience sneaking around at night). Clearing his throat, Chucky began to whisper:

“Hey kid, you up? No?… Good, because this would be awkward for us both if you were awake. I don’t have much time till Nica wakes up again and bugs me, so here goes… I love you. This isn’t some sort of manipulation tactic or something stupid like that, I actually do. And I’m sorry for pretty much everything. You and Glen didn’t deserve to be dragged into this mess, so my bad.”

It didn’t feel like enough, despite the fact that Chucky’s heart was pounding in his chest with fear and panic with the knowledge that he’d been brave enough to do all that. Extremely unsure, Chucky extended a metal hand (it was so weird to have no sensation in either arm or hand, he’d experimented with his new limbs several times and was still confused) and cupped the side of Glenda’s face.

In their sleep, Glenda smiled and contentedly nuzzled into the cold metal hand. Chucky denied all of this when both Nica and Glenda asked him about it the next morning. 

[fanficwriter284]

A fic from my What if AU cuz I enjoy it.

Chucky was growing used to the feeling of have shorter hair on his head. The feeling of the wind breezing on the back of his neck irritated him at first but he eventually got used to it. Tiffany loved him in any hairstyle he bore. So she didn’t mind the change. She did however feel awful whenever Chucky had to resort to his cane whenever he had trouble walking. He always reassured her he was fine and would process on with his day with his new accessory. The cane itself was very nice and hand carven. However he was prone to severe ankle twist. The worst one he experienced was him going down the stairs and his leg giving out and landing on his ankle. Tiffany didn’t leave his side for weeks.

“No TIFF, honestly I’m fine. I swear”

“Chucky you fell down the damn stairs you are not fine!”

She would rest his leg on a pillow keeping it elevated and iced.

[chuck-leska]

Family photo.

Request by someone on Instagram.

[asktherays]

I would be interested in 1B for Tiffany for the new expression meme. Thank you 💋

[supernaturallypossesedpotato]

A little doodle of human Chucky and Tiffany!

[marvelmaniac715]

This is the AU I was talking about where Chucky is Death and Tiffany falls in love with him. It’s darker than my usual fanfictions, it involves child death and (for the first time) descriptions of death; suicide and murder, but I felt compelled to write it. Trigger warnings if any of those topics affect you, I totally understand if this fic isn’t for you. But if you do read it, I hope you enjoy it, because despite the dark subject matter, I really loved writing it.

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Tiffany was twenty years old when her mother died. She was in the room when it happened, standing by her frail, sick mother’s bedside, clutching her paper-white, shaking hand in her’s, listening to the rasping, slowed breathing emanating from the older woman’s struggling chest and lungs. She was the only other person in the room, but then, she saw him. 

He was slender, and immensely pale, with the most striking thing about him being his bright blue eyes. Inky black tendrils of curly hair reached down to his shoulders, framing his thin face. He was dressed all in black, with a black silk shirt and a black trench coat that billowed around his waist as he crept with catlike movements across the room. He didn’t acknowledge Tiffany, who was gazing at him in shock and awe. Instead, he went to Tiffany’s mother, Victoria, and gently took her other hand, shaking her awake just as Tiffany felt the life leave her with her last breath. The man softly called out:

“Victoria, you have to come with me now, it’s time.”

At that moment, Victoria Valentine’s spirit lifted from her body, pure and shining with indescribable joy and relief. She took the man’s hands as he politely nodded at her, then the two drifted into the distance, leaving Tiffany in stunned contemplation.

It had been such a short interaction, barely an interaction at all, but the very moment she set eyes on him, Tiffany Valentine fell in love, and was desperate to see him again. But she didn’t want to die, and it would be inconvenient to wait a long time at a hospital or a retirement home for somebody to naturally die, so that left only one solution to this problem…

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Tiffany’s first murder was desperate and mildly sloppy. The victim was her boyfriend at the time, who she had decided to dump in the most brutal way possible in favour of the man she didn’t even know the name of. All she knew was that he had to be Death himself, so murder was the only plausible way to see him again.

The smell of a rotting corpse was an acquired taste, and Tiffany loathed the sensation of hot, sticky blood under her nails, but it was all worth it when he slowly and gracefully entered the room, examine the corpse with morbid fascination. He didn’t look at Tiffany though - something she would have to fix for next time - but it was all worth it just to see him again, to briefly breathe the same air (if he even breathed at all).  She should have felt horrified about taking an innocent human life, but strangely, Tiffany couldn’t bring herself to care.

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The next four murders were all about trial and error, trying to discover the best and most efficient methods to kill, and any ways that might make Death notice her as well as the murdered victims. Whilst committing her sixth murder, the brilliant idea struck her to hug the corpse against her own body, arms wrapped around it, forcing Death to touch and acknowledge her as he claimed yet another soul.

When he came, he examined the corpse with the same morbid fascination as he had the other five murders, and then, to Tiffany’s immense delight, he locked eyes with her for the very first time. Death cocked his head to the side, incredibly amused as he teasingly asked:

“Trying to get my attention, are you?”

Tiffany had no words, she simply nodded, breathless, as she felt blood rushing to her cheeks and her heart beating faster. Death’s teasing attitude faded as he softly said:

“Well, you’ve certainly gained my attention, not to mention my approval. Just to clarify, you did this all by yourself?”

Again, Tiffany nodded, causing Death to grin and step closer to her.

“Well done, I can’t say that anybody has killed so many people in order to gain my attention in quite some time - I’m impressed by your dedication, but I still have to wonder… why did you wish for me to notice you in the first place, Tiffany?”

Tiffany gulped nervously and decided to just come out with it immediately:

“I-I think I might love you.”

Death’s face went slack as he stumbled backwards into a wall, shaking his head  as he insisted:

“No- nobody has ever loved me. From the moment of my creation I have been feared, hated even. Children cry if they see me come near, children, young ones who have not yet developed prejudice. If the innocent, untainted minds of young children can find me horrifying to behold, how is it that anybody can truly love me?”

Tiffany’s eyes became steely with resolve as she repeated with much more confidence:

“I love you.”

Death shook his head again, sadly mouthed the word ‘no’ then turned his attention to the dead victim. He didn’t acknowledge her again that day, but Tiffany knew that something was beginning - something strange yet wonderful.

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Tiffany killed again and again, and each time she grew more bold, daring to lay out a romantic candlelit dinner for two to share with Death every once in a while. Every time he saw her, Death would politely nod his head, occasionally making awkward small talk, unused to interacting with humans. But this wasn’t enough for Tiffany, she would beg him to stay, beg him to tell her about himself, with her efforts ultimately being in vain nine times out of ten.

But occasionally, if he was in an exceptionally good mood, like today, Tiffany could gently coax some information out of him. As Death politely sipped at a glass of wine, Tiffany asked:

“What is your name?”

The man blinked in genuine surprise, swallowing his mouthful before quietly admitting:

“I was never given one. All I am is Death, so that is what I have become.”

Tiffany suddenly felt extremely indignant on his behalf as she stubbornly insisted:

“Well, everybody needs a name! It’s not right for you to just- just not have one! I can fix this, I can-‘

Death cut her off by raising a hand and staring at her intently, asking:

“How do you intend to ‘fix it’, Tiffany?”

Tiffany frowned for a moment in concentration, before meeting Death’s gaze.

“I’m sure I can think of a name for you, would you like a proper name?”

The man nodded, so Tiffany wracked her brain in order to come up with the right name. Then it hit her. She had been reading David Copperfield earlier that day, a book written by…

“How about ‘Charles’?”

Death smiled at this and nodded.

“Charles? Alright, I like it.”

Emboldened by her success with naming Death, Tiffany slowly leant towards Death - no, Charles now, she had to remember that - and tried to kiss him, only for him to back away and shake his head.

“No, as I’ve already said, nobody loves me. I’m not… entirely indifferent to you, but I can never stay for long, it wouldn’t work. So I beg you, for your own sake, please forget me and live your life, start a family, just stop trying to summon me.”

————————————————————-

Tiffany tried a few more times to summon Charles, to talk to him, but he wouldn’t even look at her, focusing solely on gently guiding the recently deceased souls to the afterlife. So, entirely heartbroken, Tiffany decided to take his advice to heart. She stopped killing, giving up on gaining his attention again, and she found a husband - Henry - a kind man who was… sweet… but nothing like Charles. She ached to see him again, and to her surprise, her prayers were answered on her wedding day.

At Tiffany’s wedding reception, an elderly guest had an unexpected heart attack - they didn’t survive. When Charles arrived, he was mildly disheartened to find that he was at Tiffany’s wedding, as he had secretly hoped that she would not take his advice to this extent. But still, he went to find her, in the beautiful, lantern-lit gazebo just outside the reception hall, and he remained civil. He told her:

“You look beautiful.”

Tiffany blushed and said:

“Thank you, Mister Death.”

The man grinned and shook his head, saying:

“No, it’s Charles, remember?”

Tiffany grinned as well, giggling softly. The two stood in silence for a moment, then, in the distance, the wedding band began to play, probably in a desperate attempt to distract from the heart attack. It was a slow dance, and, given that there was nobody else around, Charles shrugged, offered his hand to Tiffany and politely enquired:

“May I have this dance?”

And so, that is what they did - Charles and Tiffany shared their first dance in a small gazebo whilst a crowd of people panicked over an elderly man’s heart attack a few miles away. The dance solidified in Tiffany’s mind the fact that she did not truly love Henry, not as much as she loved Charles, and if she disregarded her ‘husband’, this day could have been her wedding to Charles instead.

For years afterwards, she remembered this day, this one moment of happiness, in her heart, and she dwelled upon it whenever she felt upset. She stuck to his advice and killed nobody else, so she couldn’t see him, but these memories were the next best thing.

————————————————————-

A few years after her wedding, Tiffany had two five year old twins. They were the light of her life, and she loved them more than anything. She was a single mother, because poor, unlucky Henry suffered a fatal accident at work (an incident that, surprisingly, did not involve Tiffany). 

Glen and Glenda were wonderful children, and Tiffany was very happy, but with Henry gone, there was nobody to even pretend to fill the hole left in her heart that Charles had left behind. She had resigned herself to never seeing him again, but one day, Glen let out a rattling cough, and Glenda began complaining of dizziness. That night, as she tucked her children into bed, she saw Charles poke his head through the door. Despite her joy at seeing him, a chill ran down her spine.

The next day, the twins were even sicker, and Charles wasn’t even trying to hide his presence, hovering over the twins’ beds, a concerned expression on his face (he always mourned when he had to escort little ones to the afterlife). Tiffany had to go to work, but she didn’t feel comfortable going when Charles - Death himself - was watching over her children and touching them, stroking their hair and giving Tiffany sad, meaningful glances.

But she couldn’t afford to not go, so she told her children:

“I love you both, always remember that.”

The twins were too weak to respond, but Charles whispered:

“They love you too, and they always will.”

Seeing her fear, Charles continued sympathetically:

“They won’t suffer, I always try to numb any pain that children and the very sick experience when it comes time for them to cross over. And I’ll watch over them, I always watch over the little ones who cross over into my realm. They’ll surely miss you, but they will be alright.”

Somehow, this cheered Tiffany up a little, and she went to work in slightly higher spirits. A few hours after she left, Glen and Glenda were able to see Charles, and he crouched down in front of them, taking one of each twin’s hands in his and giving them a reassuring squeeze as he asked them gently:

“Would you like to meet your grandmother? She’s sad that you’re coming so soon, but she’s been looking forward to seeing you.”

Then he stepped back and reached his arms out for a hug. Glen and Glenda looked at each other and nodded, suddenly feeling a lot better, with their coughs and fevers no longer troubling them. They also felt quite weightless, and without a moment’s hesitation, they willingly entered Death’s chilling embrace, feeling content in the knowledge that they would be in no more pain.

————————————————————-

Tiffany, despite being reassured by Charles that they would not suffer, took the death of her children quite hard. She had no friends and no real interests outside of caring for her children or… well, death. She didn’t want to keep going, and she wanted to see him again, even it was only one more time for a few brief moments. So she came up with a plan.

She chose one of her favourite movies to watch as she stepped into her bathtub, taking one last swig of wine to give her courage. Then, he appeared, in his black shirt and trench coat, looking at her with a great deal of regret.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Tiffany nodded, which seemed to solidify the decision in both of their minds. Charles stepped forwards and kneeled down next to the tub, taking her hands in his.

“Then… I’ll stay with you until it happens.”

Tiffany took a deep breath and began to raise her arms towards the television perched on the edge of her tub, hands still clasped in Charles’ icy grip. With his hands on top of her’s, gently guiding her, Tiffany pushed the television into her tub. There was a light shock, and then… weightlessness. Tiffany sort of floated out of the tub, and stood there, in her bathrobe, staring at Charles in disbelief, not quite understanding how she had done it.

Then, there was a tugging on the hem of her robe. Tiffany looked down to see the faces of her children - entirely healthy - beaming up at her. Charles had kept his promise, her babies were happy and healthy. She took a moment to hug the twins and run her hands through their curls, then she kissed them both on the tops of their heads and turned to Charles, who smiled warmly at her.

Tiffany practically ran into his embrace, not caring in the slightest about the chill, and then, for the very first time, he kissed her. It was strange - Tiffany had always heard that the kiss of Death was a horrific thing, but at that moment, it was the most wonderful thing she had ever experienced.

[marvelmaniac715]

Chucky and Tiffany from my Human AU discussing plans for the twins’ upcoming birthday party:

Chucky: But Tiff, what’s more illegal? Briefly inconveniencing the actress Tara Strong, or making our children cry?

Tiffany: Kidnapping Tara Strong, Chucky!