#...worse is that i think i saw another one still in the powder enclosure

[ichorousisopod]

i REALLY need to wear my glasses because i may or may not have just flicked one of the pieds onto the floor of my room never to be seen again 💀

[raindrenchedstories]

Forever home pt. 11

at long last

Curled up in his newest creation, the book and blanket fort, Richter heaved a sigh. He’d had to frantically pile the books together as he’d been caught trying to read them. He didn’t want Bear to know. Not yet. He had to know what the guy was saying every nightly visit.

Just another hour or two. That was all he needed to move things forward. Fingering through one particular book he glanced up every so often to see if Bear was coming. Not that it would have mattered. This book was focused on paintings and sketches. A book of various art.

He lingered on a particular piece. One of a familiar looking man, sitting among a field of flowers. Beside him, a woman laying over his lap. They seamed happy. Checking the title and description, Richters suspicions were confirmed.

Sketched by Worm The mighty. A portrait of his pets, Powder and Puff. Done entirely by claw. “When I saw how often the two cuddled like this, I knew I just had to put it on paper. They always seam so happy during art time. So I made them the focus.” Seen in the corner is a mark Powder left herself.

He checked said mark. It wasn’t some nonsensical scratch or even a little hand-print. It was a short note. Tiny in comparison to the rest of the artwork. But blaring to Richter. ‘We’re okay.’ was scrawled over the corner, in his mothers handwriting.

His mother, and his father smiling. Tears started to pull at his eyes, as Richter curled up around the book it’s self. Quietly whispering to himself. “I’m safe mom. I’m s-” Footsteps approached him. A little faster than normal. Swiftly, Richter dried his tears on the hem of his shirt, and set the book down.

He poked his head out of the fort as soon as he was ready. Bear was leaned up against the wall with a huge grin on his face. Both elbows poking just over the sides. He lowered his hand outside the shelter snickering a bit. “Ricky~ C’mere!”

Slowly, Richter made his way out of the fort, staggering on sleeping legs. Generally being called out was a good thing. Usually it meant Bear had bought him something he thought the man would like. And he’d humour the giant, even if he didn’t care for the item.

Slowly climbing into the mans palm, Richter sat himself down smiling. He wanted to ask what was up, but worried the spell would translate him. Instead he just sat politely as the giant fished something out of his pocket. “Remember this little guy?”

Richter eyed the set of cat ears Bear held before him. Oh yes, he remembered those. He’d hated them the first time Bear stuck put them on him. Now, though... He ducked a little as they were pressed over his head. Still uncomfortable. His scalp hurt a little, but it was bearable. No worse than a light pressure on a bruise.

He’d take them off later, on his own. Right now, Bear was grinning, clearly in a good state of mind. He ‘took pictures’ of Richter quickly, then reached to remove the little cat ears. Richter opted to do it himself. It didn’t matter how gentile Bear was with him. His sensitive scalp, mixed with the sheer size of the big guy made any contact to the head terrifying.

He shook his head violently and leaned back, away from the offending hand. “Come on. I know you don’t like those things. Just let me-” Richter batted them off with his own hand. He could handle petting or other contact anywhere but THERE. He only wished Bear would catch on to that fact.

“Well that’s one way to do it.” The ears were removed from his palm while one of the fingers behind Richter rubbed soothingly against his back. A great comfort. Today was becoming overwhelming. He knew his mother and father were safe snow.

That said, he couldn’t even SEE them. Let alone speak to them. And Avery’s panic attack. Richter was starting to break down. Even with the tender moment he was currently experiencing. If Bear knew he was feeling this way, would he do anything? Taking a shuddering breath, Richter leaned into Bears thumb.

The giant gave pause, then pulled the man close. Causing an uncomfortable flail. Richter flung his arms around Bears ring finger as he was pushed flush against the big guy’s chest. Okay, so he could pick up on some things. Probably thought he was scared or something.

After a few minutes of being rocked to and fro, accompanied by quiet shushing, he was set back in the enclosure. Richter staggered on to his little hiding place among the blankets and books. Preferring it marginally to the dome.

He should have done this earlier to be honest. Dozing lightly under the tender light flitting though the blanket, Richter found himself shifting slightly. Somewhat recalling his little ‘lesson’ about sleeping during the day. He pushed himself up a little, eyeing out of the enclosure.

No Bear. Good. He could sleep as much as he wanted until the floor started shaking.

*

Something was up. Ricky was behaving differently the whole day. Perhaps Avery upset him. He could see that. He caught the little guy napping in his new construct. Bear had to admit, he liked this one better. It let him check in on the little guy.

He was half tempted to pet the tiny being. Though, he held off. For one, he didn’t want to collapse the carefully made construct. That said, he had to take more pictures. Taking in the adorable scene. Richter appeared none the wiser. Napping his day away without much of a care.

He’d get his cuddles in later. When things wound down for the day. Archibald sent him a quick messenger orb, scolding Bear for bothering Richter. ‘He’s had an eventful day, Will. Give him a bit of time to wind down alright?’ It was cute. Archibald seamed to be far more attentive now that he had Neil with him.

He was glad to be able to bounce back and forth with his friend about tiny care. Even if Archibald were more concerned about Neils health at the moment. What, with the tail end of his cold.  Bear could understand. He sent a quick ‘alright’ reply and made his way to the living room. The day was winding down. The sun was setting.

Leaning on the windowsill, Bear heaved a long sigh. Life wasn’t perfect, not yet. But little by little things got easier.  It would never be ‘better’ but it gradually became more manageable. He could recognize when his panic attacks would start.

He could turn to others for help. Even managed to do so more often. Things were getting better. Though, a chunk of him kept thinking back to Richter. His little buildings could well be him making a home of the materials given. Though, he hadn’t seen any pillow forts in the sleeping room.

Perhaps it was due to the nature of the room. It may have already been dark enough for Richter. Perhaps they were a burrowing species. He sent that thought in Archibalds direction through an orb. Then made his way to bed. Turning in early. Things were just... A little too much today.

A little too jarring. He really wished Avery hadn’t been that ‘new pet’ of Levs. He really wished he’d been more prepared to house the little guy. Most of all, he wished Richter could understand what just happened.

He knew well those men were like brothers to Avery. He knew well that his tantrum had cost them their pacifist victory. But... He pressed a hand over the spot his boys were hit. Those dwarves had been like brothers to him. He took a shaky breath. Making his way to the shower.

*

Richter hadn’t realized, but he rather enjoyed making forts. It brought him back to his childhood.  He’d made one or two small ones in the bedroom now, smiling with satisfaction. He should have been embarrassed, even a little ashamed of just giving in like this. Basically acting as a child again.

A part of his mind told him that Avery and Neil were right. He shouldn’t like this as much as he did. Another part popped up and promptly sung that yes. He should like it this much. Because it made things a lot easier to deal with. It made everything a game. And games were fun.

Heaving a sigh, Richter tapped one of the mini forts with his foot. It collapsed in a satisfying way, leaning the pillows and blankets all to one side. Absently, he wondered how Avery was getting on. Perhaps he was already picking a fight with his new keeper.

Or maybe she was super nice, and Avery could relax. That was a nice thought. Richter latched on to that as he curled up in preparation for sleep. Pulling his favourite blanket over himself. With the conditions Bear kept him in, Richter didn’t actually need the light bit of fabric. But he enjoyed it.

That said, he lay in wait. Listening. Sure enough, about an hour after, Bear arrived. The hatch opened slowly, And a hand drifted in. Richter rolled over in his ‘sleep’ and lay to face Bear fully. A large digit hooking around him.

There were times now, Richter actually slept through the visits. Given his lack of understanding. There was no point, he just needed to be there for Bear. This time, he could understand what was wrong. Though he had a sneaking suspicion Avery had let everything slip. He had to hear it for himself.

“Well, I’m back. I don’t know how you put up with me all the time.” The even petting almost lulled Richter to sleep right there. He had to remind himself to keep awake. Focusing on the mildly too loud town of Bears voice.

Even whispering, he resonated around the room. “Still thinking of the boys. I just... I feel like I let them down ya’ know? Like....That was MY armour they were running on. I should have reacted sooner. Maybe I could have saved them. Dammit it was as simple as lifting my damn arm.”

Richter wanted to say ‘you couldn't have known’ or some other form of comfort. Instead, he was silent. Silent and relatively still. He couldn’t help one or two little squirms in response to the delicate contact. Why had it taken him so long to warm up to this?

“I know I can’t change anything now. But I still...I cost us a pacifist victory.” Okay, THIS had to stop. Richter rolled again. However, this time, he caught Bears finger. The giant squeaked before heaving a sigh. “Again?”

Yes, again. He wasn’t going to speak it out loud. But Richter was determined to keep Bear from bursting into tears once more. He got it. The giant was not in a good way. Guilt probably loomed over the big guy all the time.

He held on as the titan began to move his hand away, being dragged along. Bear huffed, cupping a hand and lowering Richter deftly into place. They had gone through this over and over by now. Both men were adept at manoeuvring around one another.

Bear gave a huff. Staring at Richters room a moment. He smirked, tired. Bringing the man over to sit with him at the table. Much like Archibald had. Richter was laying on his back once more, eyes firmly on Bears left eye. The one that was out of his way to stare at.

They spent a little over an hour. Bear just talking about his experiences. His feelings on the battle Avery spoke of. The Guilt, the anger, the horror. Richter couldn’t help a shudder as Bear described the feeling of crushing an army with just his physical abilities. Because of loss, of heartbreak.

Bear spoke of every dwarf by name. Their hobbies, their interest, their families and how some of the wives blamed him for the loss. How every year, one of the kids writes him a letter, talking about how much they miss their father. How, progressively, the child stopped blaming him.

Richters hand ran along Bears thumb, he huffed sadly. Would it hurt to talk now? Maybe later. When Bear had settled down. That seamed about right. He pointed to the table with a pleading look. Tired. Bear lifted him with a sad smile, bringing the man closer.

Next thing Richter knew, he was being nuzzled softly by that shaggy, frazzled beard. It was oddly soft, despite its appearance. Carefully he was brought home, tucked in with one of his more frequently used blankets, and bid goodnight.

“Night, big guy.” He froze, it slipped out. Slowly looking upwards, he could see Bear, frozen.

*

Bear had just tucked Richter back in, feeling guilty for waking him up so late in the evening. He’d just turned to leave when... “Night, big guy.” It was a small, innocent sounding squeak. However, the resulting expression on Richters face told him the little guy either hadn’t meant to speak, or was just as shocked as Bear was that he Could.

“...Ricky? Did you just-” Richter scuttled back, instantly blurting out apologies. He still sounded small, hardly audible. The only reason Bear heard him was the open access hatch. Slowly, the giant reached in. Shushing him softly.

“I-It’s okay Ricky...Richter. It’s alright. May I pick you up?” Not today. PLEASE not when he was on the verge of breaking down again. First Avery then THIS.

Richter hesitated a moment, then crawled into Bears palm. Clearly shivering. “Okay... Okay there’s some progress.”

Richter pulled himself to the middle of Bears palm, clearing his throat. “w-well... I guess it’s out. Umm.” He hugged his arms. Bear had to strain to hear his little friend. Bringing him closer.

“So ah... How long have you been able to-”

“J-just today. Well... To understand you... and be understood. I’ve ah... I don’t know how to say this.” Bear grimaced. He could put it all together. Richter wasn’t just ‘too smart’ he was a person. A tiny person. Like an elf.

And he’d been treating this man like an animal. Really, he should have known better. His first clue was Richter insisting on his name. He heaved a long sigh, trying to calm himself. He’d messed up. Big time. But there was something he could do about it. “Rick... I’m so...I-I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

“You didn’t know! How could you have? It’s fine.” Richter shot in quickly. Patting Bears palm. He seamed just as fidgety and uncomfortable. Bears hand was shaking. He didn’t know how long he could hold Richter steady. He took a sharp breath.

“Richter. It’s not fine. But... Let’s take this to the table, or... the sofa... Or somewhere that doesn’t suspend you at a dangerous elevation.” He started for another area of the house. Legs shaking, anxiety growing in his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

Richter seamed to relax a bit, nodding quickly. “Bear, please don’t apologize. I’m not angry over all that’s happened. Hell, I’m glad for a lot of it.”

Bear set him on the table, allowing the little one to crawl off at his own pace. Richter sat on one of the little nests Bear had made for him. He inhaled and shook his head. “NO Rick. I should apologize. I’ve stripped you of your dignity, imprisoned you, and degraded you without even knowing!”

Richter winced, as Bear raised his voice, causing a jolt of guilt to ring through him. “Oh! Oh no. That was probably really loud huh?”

With a puppy dog stare, Richter nodded. Then seamed to remember himself. “Ah...yeah. But it’s okay. No harm done.”

“No harm done? Richter, has some of the stuff I’ve been feeding acted as a narcotic? I could deafen you by accident. More over, how are you so okay with this?” He tried to keep quiet, collected, and calm. He managed the first bit, not so much the last two.

Richter leaned in. Folding his hands as though he were breaking hard news to Bear. “William.” He started.

“Don’t call me that.” Bear couldn’t help the growl in his voice.

“...Bear... This is honestly a hell of a lot better than things before now.” Richter motioned to the enclosure.

“I know, the shelter was shit. But you can’t let that set your standards.” He leaned in a bit.

Richter pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s not just that. Bear, before the shelter, I was going through an apocalypse. Literally I was too afraid to sleep. For the off chance something tried to eat me!”

Bear froze up. Eyes wide. He leaned in further, cupping a hand behind Richters back without truly thinking. To his surprise, Richter still leaned into it, sighing happily. He continued. “I mean, wild life, rival troupes, hell even the damn weather. My girlfriend and her family drowned...most of them. And my parents were captured. It ended with me alone and cold for three days, unable to defend myself.”

Richter threw his hands up. “this is the most relaxed I’ve been in over ten years.” He finished. Leaning in to Bears fingers, as though nothing had changed. Bear felt as though he needed to cradle Richter close. And just... cry.

“...Ten years? Ricky, how old are you?” Richter perked up. Blinking slowly. It was clear he was starting to doze off, regardless of the circumstances.

“Twenty five.” He smiled sheepishly. Bears heart just broke. So young.

“Okay... How long to your people live?” He eyed Richters dome. Perhaps if he modified it a bit, the little guy could relax and sleep there tonight. Bear didn’t want to leave him in the enclosure again.

“Mmm... Well it used to be well into the nineties.” He yawned. Trying to fight off sleep. It was... adorable, but in the wrong way.

“Okay... last question. Do you mind sleeping elsewhere tonight? I...I feel wrong leaving you alone.” Bear huffed. Richter hummed, eyes forcibly drooping despite his apparent efforts. He nodded sleepily. Soon enough, the tiny man was scooped, and carried off.

The dome was made into a nest with a few soft cloths. Bear put some of Richters things in there as well, for comfort. The man just lazily flopped back in the giants palm, curling on his side and nodding off. Bear tucked him in, carrying Richter to his room and setting him on the nightstand he never used.

“Alright. Busy... eventful day... goodnight, Richter.” Bear rolled onto his side. He could hear the smallest response, then, it was lights out.

He had to do something about this though. Richter couldn’t live like this anymore. He needed the ability to climb out of his enclosure, if it were used at all. He needed to have more options in his life; in food, clothing, and activities. He NEEDED-

“Bear?” The call was loud enough Bear could hear it. But he didn’t respond. He felt too weak to respond. How could he have just treated Richter like some common animal. There was a slight sigh.

“I know you feel like crap for all this, but I like it here. Hell. I didn’t want to speak, because I was afraid it would all change... Any ways. Thank you.” Silence re-entered the room. And Bears mind flickered over something. Yes, it would work, but he’d need time.

But, it would work. Richters life was about to get much better.

[readbookywooks]

THERE was no return of the mutineers - not so much as another shot out of the woods. They had "got their rations for that day," as the captain put it, and we had the place to ourselves and a quiet time to overhaul the wounded and get dinner. Squire and I cooked outside in spite of the danger, and even outside we could hardly tell what we were at, for horror of the loud groans that reached us from the doctor's patients. Out of the eight men who had fallen in the action, only three still breathed - that one of the pirates who had been shot at the loophole, Hunter, and Captain Smollett; and of these, the first two were as good as dead; the mutineer indeed died under the doctor's knife, and Hunter, do what we could, never recovered consciousness in this world. He lingered all day, breathing loudly like the old buccaneer at home in his apoplectic fit, but the bones of his chest had been crushed by the blow and his skull fractured in falling, and some time in the following night, without sign or sound, he went to his Maker. As for the captain, his wounds were grievous indeed, but not dangerous. No organ was fatally injured. Anderson's ball - for it was Job that shot him first-had broken his shoulder-blade and touched the lung, not badly; the second had only torn and displaced some muscles in the calf. He was sure to recover, the doctor said, but in the meantime, and for weeks to come, he must not walk nor move his arm, nor so much as speak when he could help it. My own accidental cut across the knuckles was a fleabite. Doctor Livesey patched it up with plaster and pulled my ears for me into the bargain. After dinner the squire and the doctor sat by the captain's side awhile in consultation; and when they had talked to their hearts' content, it being then a little past noon, the doctor took up his hat and pistols, girt on a cutlass, put the chart in his pocket, and with a musket over his shoulder crossed the palisade on the north side and set off briskly through the trees. Gray and I were sitting together at the far end of the block house, to be out of earshot of our officers consulting; and Gray took his pipe out of his mouth and fairly forgot to put it back again, so thunder-struck he was at this occurrence. "Why, in the name of Davy Jones," said he, "is Dr. Livesey mad?" "Why no," says I. "He's about the last of this crew for that, I take it." "Well, shipmate," said Gray, "mad he may not be; but if HE'S not, you mark my words, I am." "I take it," replied I, "the doctor has his idea; and if I am right, he's going now to see Ben Gunn." I was right, as appeared later; but in the meantime, the house being stifling hot and the little patch of sand inside the palisade ablaze with midday sun, I began to get another thought into my head, which was not by any means so right. What I began to do was to envy the doctor walking in the cool shadow of the woods with the birds about him and the pleasant smell of the pines, while I sat grilling, with my clothes stuck to the hot resin, and so much blood about me and so many poor dead bodies lying all around that I took a disgust of the place that was almost as strong as fear. All the time I was washing out the block house, and then washing up the things from dinner, this disgust and envy kept growing stronger and stronger, till at last, being near a bread-bag, and no one then observing me, I took the first step towards my escapade and filled both pockets of my coat with biscuit. I was a fool, if you like, and certainly I was going to do a foolish, over-bold act; but I was determined to do it with all the precautions in my power. These biscuits, should anything befall me, would keep me, at least, from starving till far on in the next day. The next thing I laid hold of was a brace of pistols, and as I already had a powder-horn and bullets, I felt myself well supplied with arms. As for the scheme I had in my head, it was not a bad one in itself. I was to go down the sandy spit that divides the anchorage on the east from the open sea, find the white rock I had observed last evening, and ascertain whether it was there or not that Ben Gunn had hidden his boat, a thing quite worth doing, as I still believe. But as I was certain I should not be allowed to leave the enclosure, my only plan was to take French leave and slip out when nobody was watching, and that was so bad a way of doing it as made the thing itself wrong. But I was only a boy, and I had made my mind up. Well, as things at last fell out, I found an admirable opportunity. The squire and Gray were busy helping the captain with his bandages, the coast was clear, I made a bolt for it over the stockade and into the thickest of the trees, and before my absence was observed I was out of cry of my companions. This was my second folly, far worse than the first, as I left but two sound men to guard the house; but like the first, it was a help towards saving all of us. I took my way straight for the east coast of the island, for I was determined to go down the sea side of the spit to avoid all chance of observation from the anchorage. It was already late in the afternoon, although still warm and sunny. As I continued to thread the tall woods, I could hear from far before me not only the continuous thunder of the surf, but a certain tossing of foliage and grinding of boughs which showed me the sea breeze had set in higher than usual. Soon cool draughts of air began to reach me, and a few steps farther I came forth into the open borders of the grove, and saw the sea lying blue and sunny to the horizon and the surf tumbling and tossing its foam along the beach. I have never seen the sea quiet round Treasure Island. The sun might blaze overhead, the air be without a breath, the surface smooth and blue, but still these great rollers would be running along all the external coast, thundering and thundering by day and night; and I scarce believe there is one spot in the island where a man would be out of earshot of their noise. I walked along beside the surf with great enjoyment, till, thinking I was now got far enough to the south, I took the cover of some thick bushes and crept warily up to the ridge of the spit. Behind me was the sea, in front the anchorage. The sea breeze, as though it had the sooner blown itself out by its unusual violence, was already at an end; it had been succeeded by light, variable airs from the south and south-east, carrying great banks of fog; and the anchorage, under lee of Skeleton Island, lay still and leaden as when first we entered it. The HISPANIOLA, in that unbroken mirror, was exactly portrayed from the truck to the waterline, the Jolly Roger hanging from her peak. Alongside lay one of the gigs, Silver in the sternsheets - him I could always recognize - while a couple of men were leaning over the stern bulwarks, one of them with a red cap - the very rogue that I had seen some hours before stride-legs upon the palisade. Apparently they were talking and laughing, though at that distance - upwards of a mile - I could, of course, hear no word of what was said. All at once there began the most horrid, unearthly screaming, which at first startled me badly, though I had soon remembered the voice of Captain Flint and even thought I could make out the bird by her bright plumage as she sat perched upon her master's wrist. Soon after, the jolly-boat shoved off and pulled for shore, and the man with the red cap and his comrade went below by the cabin companion. Just about the same time, the sun had gone down behind the Spy-glass, and as the fog was collecting rapidly, it began to grow dark in earnest. I saw I must lose no time if I were to find the boat that evening. The white rock, visible enough above the brush, was still some eighth of a mile further down the spit, and it took me a goodish while to get up with it, crawling, often on all fours, among the scrub. Night had almost come when I laid my hand on its rough sides. Right below it there was an exceedingly small hollow of green turf, hidden by banks and a thick underwood about kneedeep, that grew there very plentifully; and in the centre of the dell, sure enough, a little tent of goat- skins, like what the gipsies carry about with them in England. I dropped into the hollow, lifted the side of the tent, and there was Ben Gunn's boat - home-made if ever anything was home-made; a rude, lop-sided framework of tough wood, and stretched upon that a covering of goatskin, with the hair inside. The thing was extremely small, even for me, and I can hardly imagine that it could have floated with a full-sized man. There was one thwart set as low as possible, a kind of stretcher in the bows, and a double paddle for propulsion. I had not then seen a coracle, such as the ancient Britons made, but I have seen one since, and I can give you no fairer idea of Ben Gunn's boat than by saying it was like the first and the worst coracle ever made by man. But the great advantage of the coracle it certainly possessed, for it was exceedingly light and portable. Well, now that I had found the boat, you would have thought I had had enough of truantry for once, but in the meantime I had taken another notion and become so obstinately fond of it that I would have carried it out, I believe, in the teeth of Captain Smollett himself. This was to slip out under cover of the night, cut the HISPANIOLA adrift, and let her go ashore where she fancied. I had quite made up my mind that the mutineers, after their repulse of the morning, had nothing nearer their hearts than to up anchor and away to sea; this, I thought, it would be a fine thing to prevent, and now that I had seen how they left their watchmen unprovided with a boat, I thought it might be done with little risk. Down I sat to wait for darkness, and made a hearty meal of biscuit. It was a night out of ten thousand for my purpose. The fog had now buried all heaven. As the last rays of daylight dwindled and disappeared, absolute blackness settled down on Treasure Island. And when, at last, I shouldered the coracle and groped my way stumblingly out of the hollow where I had supped, there were but two points visible on the whole anchorage. One was the great fire on shore, by which the defeated pirates lay carousing in the swamp. The other, a mere blur of light upon the darkness, indicated the position of the anchored ship. She had swung round to the ebb-her bow was now towards me - the only lights on board were in the cabin, and what I saw was merely a reflection on the fog of the strong rays that flowed from the stern window. The ebb had already run some time, and I had to wade through a long belt of swampy sand, where I sank several times above the ankle, before I came to the edge of the retreating water, and wading a little way in, with some strength and dexterity, set my coracle, keel downwards, on the surface.