#of course his brother would get tangled up in an eternal’s machinations

[scarletspider2the2ndpower]

Chasm: Curse of Kaine (Vol. 1/2024), #3.

Writer: Steve Foxe; Penciler and Inker: Andrea Broccardo; Colorist: Brian Reber; Letterer: Joe Caramagna

[leroiloup]

Das Biest

⚜ The entirely unnecessarily long & violent story of how Klaus gave up on trying to be human.    ➥ Takes place : Fall of 1359 in present day Germany    ✥ Trigger Warnings : violence /gore

❝ –– the true problem remains my brother Niklaus ; he continues to hide his loneliness with                   cruelty. ❞                                     Elijah’s Journal ║ August 1359

                                                                       -✦-

                              Understanding   /  Forgiveness   /   Love   /   Redemption

         ❝ Such notions were thrown my way towards the latter years of my life, perhaps encouraged by the love that melted my frozen heart when my daughter was born. I wonder, though, does sixteen years account for well over a thousand ? Does the path I took mean anything so long as my destination was justified ? If you’re to ask me, I’d say no. Yes, when I died, I did so selflessly as a father ,  a brother ,  a friend ,  and a lover. But first and foremost I lived my life as only one thing :    a      m o n s t e r .

❝ I’m no mere villain in the stories you hear. I’m not the lackey who lives to serve under tyrannical rule. I’m not the bad guy thrown into the path of the hero set to challenge his ways and ultimately make him rise above and vanquish evil, thus becoming the pure symbol of good–– et cetera et cetera. No, I’m none of these things.

                                                                                         I’m much worse.

❝ I’m the nightmare that demons cower from. I’m the shadow from which evil flees. True, I softened in the final years of my life, finding a selfless focus of my power, but make no mistake. It is my name that makes the night itself tremble in fear.

❝ How did it come to this, you wonder ? How did the simple son of a wayward Viking become the ultimate terror to plague this world for over over a millennia ? There’s a plethora of examples from which I could cite, but the one that could truly drive my point home takes place in the fall 1359. Humanity was never a thing I could easily turn on and off as vampires today can, but in that time, I was truly anything but   h u  m   a    n .  ❞

                               ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The ropes bit into the flesh of his wrists, bruising them deeply. Rope, however, was nothing but a nuisance for a vampire. Klaus could have easily snapped them and freed himself in an instant - if it weren’t for the witch chanting incessantly. The words were like daggers through his very skull. The original vampire was on his knees in a wooden church, a small group of people surrounding him. They looked frightened but determined as they watched the witch subdue him. Dark red and black eyes framed by rippling veins stared back, his fangs bared as he yelled, promising unending torment the moment he was free.

It wasn’t often that a vampire was caught, and it was nearly impossible to catch an original. The people of the small town of Bedburg, Germany in the autumn of 1359 didn’t even know what vampires were. They were hunting a werewolf and ended up with Klaus in their snare. How could such a feat be possible ? How was the infamous and powerful Klaus MIkaelson overcome by the simple minded townsfolk ? A beautiful pair of brown eyes, of course.

His name was Johann and he had the unfortunate luck of coming across a vampire feeing in the woods under the cover of night. Elijah, Rebekah, Kol and Klaus had taken up residence in Cologne Germany, just fifty kilometers away from Bedburg. After a particularly nasty blow out over the morals of being a vampire, Klaus headed out into the night to clear his head. Not wanting to attract attention back home, he found the small village and hunted on the outskirts. It was just after a drank a pair of lovers out for a roll in the hay dry that Klaus heard the snap of a twig, announcing the presence of another.

Turning to the source of the sound, Klaus seemingly disappeared and reappeared right in front of the young man. He was tall and fit, clearly a labor worker like a farmer. Shoulder length brown hair was tied back at the base of his neck and his youthful face was void of a beard. He couldn’t be much older than Klaus was when he was turned. Wide brown eyes looked up at the vampire, fear mingled with something else - something that took Klaus by surprise : wonder.

❝ Aren’t thou afraid ? ❞ he asked in German, having learned the language a century earlier.

A tense moment passed and the young mortal finally broke the silence.  ❝ They- They told me t’was a beast who hunted in these woods. ❞  That immediately took Klaus off guard. As far as he knew, this was the first time a Mikaelson had set foot near Bedburg. The village was too small to even be on a map. It was a complete fluke that his rage fueled path took him there.  ❝ Something like a hound straight from the bowels of hell. Some thing like- ❞

❝ A wolf ? ❞ Klaus asked.

The mortal’s eyes widened a bit as he nodded. He looked to the two dead bodies, then back to the killer before him, blood still on his chin.  ❝ I didn’t know you’d be a man. Are you both ? ❞

Finding himself far more intrigued with the inquisitive mortal, Klaus felt his earlier anger ebb away.  ❝ I am not what you’re hunting. ❞  The fact that there was a werewolf in these parts was fascinating and Klaus filed it away for later.

❝ But you killed them, ❞ the mortal stated.

❝ Yes. ❞

❝ And you’ll kill me now ? ❞

Klaus took a couple of steps froward, wiping the blood from his chin with his thumb, bringing himself within reaching distance of the young man.  ❝ Thou art unafraid at the prospect ? ❞  Usually this would be the point of running and screaming, but the mortal seemed merely curious.

❝ Not of dying, ❞ he admitted.  ❝ I loathe this town. And the people in it. ❞  His eyes were on the dead couple when he spoke.

There was a kindred spirit in the mortal that Klaus could feel. He’d never loved anyone since Aurora had shattered his heart, and while the concept of love wasn’t at the forefront of his mind, he found himself yearning for kinship ; someone who could understand him. Taking a risk, he slowly reached out and brushed back a lock of stray brown hair from the mortal’s face.  ❝ Small minded people are never able to see the greatness within those like us. ❞

❝ Us ? ❞ he asked, not shying away in the least. On the contrary, he leaning into the touch, fascinated by the creature of fantasy.

Klaus nodded, dark blue eyes holding his gaze with a growing intensity as he leaned closer. When next he spoke, it was in a whisper as though worried that any volume would shatter the moment he’d unwittingly found himself in.  ❝ I can show you a better way to live. ❞  Drawn together by an unseen force, their lips met, and Klaus felt the first wave of peace overtake his soul in centuries.

Only when their lips parted did the mortal smile and say, ❝ I am Johann. ❞  Klaus grinned in return before kissing him again, letting his emotions take hold and guide his actions.

                                        ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The young love lasted three nights. Each night, Klaus would slip away from his siblings to meet Johann in the woods outside of Bedburg. At a time when his loneliness mingled with insatiable hunger had started to melt away the traits that made him human, it was Johann’s warm touch that coaxed a bit of his old self to the surface. It was pure bliss, reminding the vampire that there was more to life than rage, torment, and blood. There was beauty all around if only one were to open their eyes and look.

On the third night, Klaus didn’t even greet his new friend. He pounced from the darkness, shoving Johann up against a tree and kissed him with the passion he’d denied himself for so long. When the kiss ended, Klaus grinned, a playful expression in place. It was only then that he saw the fearful and saddened look in the brown eyes he’d come to crave.  ❝ What’s the matter ? ❞

❝ I am so sorry. I did not know- ❞

Confusion clouded blue eyes as Johann rambled, but before Klaus could make any sense of it, there was a searing pain that shot through his skull. Instantly the vampire was brought to his knees, hands to his head as he yelled. A witch had come into view from around a tree. Her hands were outstretched and she chanted, holding strong to the spell that was able to subdue the original. Betrayal and hurt boiled deep within his eyes as Klaus looked to Johann. A group of mortals had no descended and shackled Klaus, tying him up to bring back to town. As far as the townsfolk were concerned, their period of strife had ended : the werewolf of Bedburg had been caught. Oh, how wrong they were !

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The sun had begun to rise when Klaus was tied down on his knees, hands behind his back in the wooden church at the end of the village. A ring of salt was around him as the witch continued her ritual to kill him. He wondered if he were a regular vampire whether or not it would have worked. The small handful of people who surrounded him weren’t recognizable, though they appeared to be people of powerful positions within the little community. One man in particular stood in front of the group, looking like the mayor.

Head bowed under long tresses of tangled blonde hair, seemingly given up, Klaus calculated the many ways he would introduce pure anguish into their lives. The inexorable torment that pounded through his black and broken heart fueled the machinations through Klaus’s mind. For a brief glimmer in his life, Klaus had found happiness ; the kind of happiness that he didn’t think would be possible after Aurora. It was nothing more than an illusion, he realized - not unlike his humanity. To hell with Elijah’s morals and speeches about being better than the beast. Klaus had learned where compassion would get him, and it was a road he never wanted to travel again. He wasn’t a human any longer, and he decided that eternity would be better spent accepting that truth. He was better than them - he could rise above them. As far as he was concerned, he wasn’t human, but rather their god. Unfortunately for the town of Bedburg, he’s not a merciful god in the slightest. They needed to be punished and the monster within him reared its head, begging for blood.

Sunlight shone through the church windows, bathing Klaus in its light. One of the wives stepped back, confused. Apparently she thought demons couldn’t survive in the sunlight. It gave Klaus an idea - one that he was sure he’d regret later - but his mind was running solely on the need for revenge. Logic be damned.

Head raised slowly and inhuman vampire eyes met the group. Fighting against the searing torment of the spell, Klaus’s face set with a new determination. Apparently the blood thirsty look they were met with was enough to cause concern and the room froze. Even the witch paused, though her hands were still up. He couldn’t leave the ring of salt, so she felt safe.

That feeling was misplaced.

Hands still behind him, Klaus’s fingers found his daylight ring and pulled it off. Instantly his body was engulfed in flames, wide grin and dangerous eyes seen through the fire. The wood of the church caught instantly, going up like a tinder box.  It was an unseasonably dry year which worked in his favor. The mayor pushed his wife towards the door as another man was caught, screaming as fire lit him up. The ring of salt was gone and the people panicked as they ran for the door. Klaus moved at preternatural speed to the witch who stood in a shaded area. He sunk his teeth into her neck and she screamed as her healing blood filled his mouth and flames engulfed both of their bodies. He didn’t stop until her head was nearly severed from its neck, then Klaus dropped the body to the floor. He put his ring back on and moved with the same speed to the door and those trying to escape. The wind created by his movement was able to kill the flames still on his body. What clothing was left was singed to his melted flesh, hair gone and red eyes wild. The pain was unlike anything he’d ever felt, and yet the original was able to harness it and let it fuel him.

There were more screams as people were trapped in the flames. Those who would survive were met with sharp fangs.

Outside, the villagers were taking to the street to behold their church up in flames. The screams within died and after a few tense moments, the grotesque figure of Klaus emerged from the smoky doorway. It was immediately clear to anyone that he wasn’t human, for anyone with burns that bad wouldn’t still be walking. Blood fell from his lips as it began to heal him. His eyes scanned the ground as people started to run back to their home. He wasn’t bothered with them, though, as his eyes found Johann in the crowd.

The mortal had the sense to finally look afraid as Klaus approached. A scarred and singed hand reached up, affectionately caressing the side of Johann’s face.  ❝ I did not want to, ❞ the mortal pleaded, tears in his eyes.  ❝ You have to believe me. I never wanted this. They- ❞

Words ceased and brown eyes went side as his expression froze. When Klaus pulled back his other hand, it was dripping with blood, holding the beating heart of the man he thought to be his lover. There was nothing but a steely resolve forged by hurt and betrayal in Klaus’s eyes as he brought the heart to his lips and took a drink. Johann’s body fell limp to the ground and there was a piercing scream from one of the villagers who’d witnessed it. Klaus smirked and dropped the heart before turning his blind hatred on the people of the town.

The slaughter didn’t last long as Klaus tore through as many people as he could find. Blood painted the sides of buildings, limbs fell detached in his wake, and smoke began to could and blot out the sun. No one was safe from his ire and blood soaked fangs. The fire continued to spread, a visible metaphor to the vampire’s ever growing and all consuming rage. It wasn’t long before the entire village was on fire and not a soul was left alive.

Satisfaction wasn’t the emotion that Klaus carried in his heart as he walked away from the smoldering remains of the carnage. The tragedy of loss in his heart was gone, washed away with any semblance of happiness or peace. Instead, the only thing Klaus felt was numb. All attempts at being human were a thing of the past. The original would move forward in life only as the thing he was forged to be :  a beast.

Finding a wandering horse, Klaus approached it and - not bothering with a saddle - he mounted and guided the animal back towards Cologne. The village of Bedburg would be resettled in coming years, though to this day, there are still stories of the werewolf that once plagued the town. What there will not be stories of, is the monster far more terrifying - the one who gave in to the animalistic side and embraced his true nature in their very church.

[gooddadstan]

Fuzzy Walls and Tired Eyes chapter 3

At some point in time, Tim finds himself standing in a graveyard. Staring at the headstone in front of him, he recognizes it as the one with the bodies of Janet and Jack Drake, not from the unreadable words on the grave, or the scenery around him, but from the voice in the back of his mind that tells him it is, and he accepts it. All of his training along with every cynical bone in his body is saying he shouldn’t, that he should analyze and confirm the reality of the situation, but he doesn’t remember how he came to stand here anyway and every single point is telling him it’s a dream, so he’s just going to go along with it and see how it ends up. Nothing better than standing in front of your parent’s grave, right? Besides, he already tried waking himself up and it didn’t work, so he’s stuck here.

In front of the grave, his senses are accosted by the smell of wet grass and the feeling of humidity in the air, stuffy in the dressy suit he’d most certainly not been wearing seconds ago. The shadows are longer than he’d remembered, unwavering and intimidating in a way they hadn’t been in a long while. An all too familiar sense of failure and shame swells up in his chest, as off to the side a scene plays out of him standing over his father’s body, unable to do anything but stare at the corpse. He’d never really mourned the loss of his father, in the end, not other than what little he needed to do publicly. He’d only mourned the loss of the relationship they’d started to form. God, what kind of son is he? The hot, empty tears that sent rage to his core swelled in his eyes, and then he’s being lifted up with a batarang to his throat.

The fabric of the Robin uniform’s cape tangles between his feet as he struggles for a second before forcing himself into stillness, hands clutched around the arm holding him up. The arm of his brother. Not that this was his brother, but the likeness was enough to send shivers down his spine. Though the real version did attack him all the same, later on in their lives, this one was not him, and thus cannot be associated with the real being. Of course not. Then why do the memories flood over each other, fear undue for actions not Jason’s but Clayface’s. Why does he still have to fight down defensive movement when the Red Hood approaches him on patrol, in the way that he doesn’t have to do with any other Bat. It doesn’t matter, he tells himself, it’s not happening anyway. With his newfound awareness of the situation and its faults, he could feel the ever so faint motion of clay as his captor pulled him close, shifting and yelling as the same as he had years ago. So as Batman formed in front of him, in that same stance with a vague panic hidden behind the cowl, he didn’t bother with the pleasantries of flailing around and trying to break free of the grip on his body. The words being spoken were inconsequential, and he only needed to wait it all out.

His stillness is interrupted by falling towards the grass in a practiced dodge, Batman sending a kick above his head. His uniform, Red Robin now, showed the diagnostics of Bruce’s disappearance even as Dick traded blows with him. The words spoken, full of venom, weren’t coming from him, instead floating into the air from nothing without changing the flow of the scene. To be called an equal then kicked aside and belittled, no trust in his words and pity in his eyes as he throws another punch. The sting of it hurt far more than the physical pain of his body. Unimportant, focus on the issue at hand, every nerve in him screeched, but his mind wandered elsewhere. And as his surroundings shift uneasily, from the red and white of a hightop as screams rang from ahead, to the empty halls of Drake manor sitting clean and proper under his small footsteps sounding rhythmically as he meanders, to the cold but home-like metals of Titans Tower with the sounds of laughter and chattering in distant rooms. He stands there a moment before sinking into his regular spot on the couch, warm and home in a way it hadn’t been since Bruce disappeared.

It only took a second after he’d let himself relish the calm for him to be punched to the ground. A fleeting glimpse of red, yellow, and green, conflicting with his own in the whirlwind his eyes are providing him. He huffs a sigh, falling back into the motions as he rises and gets hit again and again by the man he calls his brother. Jason, the real him now, angry and looming in an outfit meant to bring comfort and reassurance. Shouting about replacements, and asking questions the same voice from the graveyard answers as well as it can. A punch flies into his face before he can block it, and immediately he’s staring into the dark ceilings of the cave as he falls from the stuffed Tyrannosaurus. Damian’s smug expression stands unwavering above, watching as the green of his uniform and the dinosaur grows farther from Tim’s grasp.

Before he could hit the ground again, he found himself standing in a warehouse.

It wasn’t a particularly familiar warehouse, but it sparked enough recognition in his mind to not set off a panic. He doesn’t think he’d ever really been standing in this warehouse. Almost as if to adjust for that, his body snapped into pain, his Red Robin uniform scratched and battered like how he’d expect from coming out of an encounter with one of the A-list rogues, not a routine drug bust. But while he was about 90% certain he’d broken at least an arm before he was in this warehouse, there’s no marks on his skin, the new holes in his suit leading way to the normal pale skin contrary to the sting of pain in his limbs.

The floor sits as a dull metal, flecks of red across it from a few too many work accidents before the site was shut down. Normal. The walls, however, look like they’re made out of shag carpeting, appearing soft and inviting in a way that the walls of a warehouse really shouldn’t be. But no alarms go off in his mind, and he has to guess that this was commandeered by some weird villains in the past. Maybe they were dealt with on one of the gala nights he always hated attending. Would’ve thought he’d have come across it on his cataloguing of the Gotham villains, though. Reaching out to touch the carpeting, the softness of it goes through his gloves to his fingertips, and doesn’t fall away when he yanks at it. Instead, it draws him in with snaking tendrils of shag that envelops him easily.

What Tim saw next was best described as a Wonderland-esque clusterfuck.

People bustled around, occasionally popping from one part of the room to another and repeating tasks they’d already completed, talking and smiling and shifting their outfits and faces to be one person then another. They’d get into conversations with other versions of one person, cracking jokes about how ‘well one of us needs to change’ and then shifting simultaneously to a different person. The background kept changing, from warehouses to the Batcave to a bowling alley Tim had only been in once to do some undercover work. There were flowers sprouting in thin air, and writhing forms of matter twisting to try and be a solid object only to melt into an ocean of nonsense once more.

The rapid changing and confusion let growing around him, becoming louder and more crowded as glimpses of memories showed between people, right and wrong and both at the same time. It was starting to give him a headache. He could operate crowds, usually, his mother wouldn’t tolerate it if he couldn’t hold his own at a gala, but this was beyond any of the parties he’d been to. Too much chaos, too much indiscriminate noise, too much pushing and prodding and swirling existence. None of the rhythm he’d grown accustomed to with large groups of people. He wanted out, the pain in his body mixing with the pain in his mind until he woke up with a gasp.

Immediately, he recognized that he was in the cave. The dark ceilings high above his head were unmistakable. Irritation bit at his face and limbs, dull stings pulsing with his heartbeat. His left arm is immobile, along with his right leg, and he can feel the bandages tight where they’re adhered. He moves his unbound arm to his face, ignoring the objections of the IV sending some sort of fluid into his system, hand slapping directly onto an oxygen mask that shifts uncomfortably on his skin. Shifting his head first to the left, he sees the other beds in the medbay, empty and eternally prepped for quick transfer of patients. The medical cabinets sit off to the other side, lining the wall as orderly as ever. Turning his head to the right, where the chairs are when they haven’t been scattered from the movement of the assorted Bats, he sees four chairs, all empty.

He shouldn’t have been expecting someone to be there when he woke up. The Joker had been loose and the Bats needed to be prioritizing that. But it still stung, more than he’d ever care to admit, that nobody was even in the cave when he woke up. The increased beeps of the heart rate monitor was more than enough to act as an indicator for anyone outside the medbay, and the sounds of him hitting the oxygen mask and moving his head would do the trick even if a fluctuating heartbeat had been normal for his unconsciousness. It was normal for Bruce to sit and wait after patrol, or Dick to hover and mother-hen, or Alfred to sit with a cup of tea during what break time he gets. Now there was… nothing. It hurt, somehow, knowing that they wouldn’t deviate from their patrols to be there. It hurt more than any of the physical injuries he had. That was probably the worst thing, that for all the pain his body was in, he let some stupid guilt hurt him more. It was unprofessional.

Tim stayed awake for somewhere between a minute and a half hour, his mind too tired to keep count and no clock in sight. When he finally heard some shuffling out in the cave, his heart leaped at the thought of someone finally being there, and the damned machine betrayed him by saying it. Almost immediately, Alfred was in the medbay, and the guarded fearful expression melted into a kind half-smile covering a grimace. He felt guilty.

“Master Timothy, I’m terribly sorry I was not here when you regained consciousness.” Despite his mouth still open and taking in a breath to continue, Tim only raised a hand and waved it away. It’s not like it was Alfred’s fault, after all, he had a lot of responsibilities around the house. No use in making him feel bad for things he couldn’t change.

With a small pained expression, Alfred walks over and begins adjusting the IV stand just out of Tim’s sight. He could turn his head and look if he wanted to, but he was just so tired, and exhaustion was setting into his bones more every second. Maybe he should just… go back to sleep.

As his eyes droop downwards, more sluggish than normal, Alfred could only hope that this sleep would be a painless one. Tears never did make good background noise, in the end.

[rightfulcaptxin]

Value Me - CaptainBlack

Drabble Meme | Not Currently Accepting 

Value Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character telling yours how they feel about them.

The sound of a train thundered above, wheels screechingagainst steel, piercing the still silence of the night. The old stone bridgeshuddered, but held firm. Clouds of brick dust spiralled down, cast into theair by the unforgiving vibrations as the great machine clattered by, carriageafter carriage – clu-clunk, clu-clunk, clu-clunk. The light spilling fromwindows whipped by in a blur, the people cosily concealed within oblivious tothe outside world below. They were destined for a better place, carted throughthe undesirable realm of those less fortunate from the safety of the elevatedrailway. The murk and shadows wouldn't touch them. In an hour, two, they wouldbe within their walls, safe and secure, and wouldn't spare a thought for thoseon the outside.

Hidden in the shadows cast by the arch of the bridge, Edwardpressed his companion against the cool, slick stone, and stole from him a kisslong overdue. Hands gripped broad shoulders firmly, as though to hold him inplace, as lips moved smoothly against the other man's. A skinny cat with tattyfur streaked out of the darkness beside them, pausing only to watch them withgleaming eyes, before it disappeared into the dead grass ahead. The disturbancebroke their kiss, and Edward withheld a sigh of frustration at the tense,skittish expression that now tightened Liam's features.

"Just a bloody cat." He hissed, long fingersgrasping Liam by the chin to direct his gaze back to him. "Relax. No oneknows you're here. No one bloody knows I'mhere." It was the perfect location, and he'd scouted it out for weeks tomake sure of it. Whilst there was no shortage of abandoned and empty locationsin this shithole of a city – if you could even call it that these days – it wasonly a matter of time before some gang or other claimed it for their shadydeals. This was the fifth time he'd had to seek out a new spot in the lastthree months, though he doubted anyone would come to claim this particularlysorry corner of their territory.

"If we're seen-,"

"There's no one to see us." Edward cut in, fixingLiam with a look the other man should, by now, be rather familiar with. Heunderstood Liam's concerns, of course, and he was in no way trying to dismissthem as nothing. He knew what it would cost each of them if they were caughttogether, and Liam had a younger brother to think about, too. "If you'reso concerned, take this off." He fingered the sleeve of Liam's jacket, theworn, faded navy almost black in the shadow of the bridge, the equally fadedgold sigil on the shoulder only just visible.

Although he had grown up hating that sigil and the men andwomen who bore it, he hadn't been able to bring himself to hate Liam, though hehad tried – oh, had he tried. By all accounts they should be at war, tradingblows instead of kisses, fighting to the death instead of sneaking away to theshadows just to be together. If someonehad told Ed a year ago he'd be consortingwith the enemy, he'd have probably put a knife in their gut. The Blue Coatshad taken his parents before he had the chance to know them, and so he owedthem a debt of vengeance – a debt he repaid by spilling as much Blue Coat bloodas possible.

When he'd first met Liam, that accursed jacket had beennowhere in sight.

"You know I don't believe in it." Liam's voice cutsmoothly into his trip down memory lane, and he lifted his eyes to meet thatcool, striking blue of Liam's gaze. "I had as much choice in this as youdid. You know if I had my way, I'd have no part in either side."

"So don't. Come away with me, like I asked you lasttime. Give up your foolish hope that those behind their walls will throw opentheir gates to the likes of us, and live in the real world for once, Li.They'll never let us into their perfect world. Why should they share theirwealth, their resources? To them, we're savages and thugs, the people fatechose to punish when the world came to a bloody end around us." Ed shookhis head, frustrated as always at the state of the world. "We're not likethem. We don't have walls keeping us from the freedom of the open country, wedon't have guards watching our gates, patrolling our streets. We could run,just like that, and no one would even notice we were gone. Get your brother,and we can be free of this bloody war once and for all."

"Ed, I can't… it's not that simple!"

"Bullshit it's not." As if to prove a point,Edward stepped back, and shrugged out of the black jacket with its red andsilver sigil, and tossed it down into the dirt at his feet. "See. It's assimple as that. We don't have to live like this, Liam. Wouldn't it be nice, tobe able to see each other whenever we liked, without having to look over ourshoulders every five bloody seconds? To not jump at shadows and stray cats,afraid that we'll find ourselves at gunpoint and facing the executioner?"

Shaking his head, Edward sighed, sweeping fingers throughhis tangled mess of black hair. Not for the first time he found himself wishingLiam hadn't been born to the wrong side of town, wishing that he'd been one ofthe Black Jackets instead of the Blue Coats, and that this wouldn't even be aproblem they had to face. The two sides didn't mix, and that was law – and tobreak one of the laws meant death. A cruel punishment, but one that kept thetwo sides in line without fail.

"If we run, and they find we're missing – which theywill, don't doubt that – then we'll be hunted the rest of our lives. We couldnever come back here, or anywhere near here. We'd have to travel so far beforewe could even think of being safe." Liam frowned, reaching to takeEdward's hand. "Do you really want that?"

"I want you."He shot back without hesitation, gripping Liam's hand tightly. "I don'tgive three fucks about anything else. Fuck this town, fuck this eternal war,fuck the Jackets and the Coats. Iwould paint the fucking target on my own back if it meant I could be free to love you instead of hiding in theshadows like criminals." Catching the surprise on Liam's face, he foundhis lips lifting into a smile despite his bitter frustration. "I love you, Liam. Nothing elsematters."

[masked-fox-creations]

When The Strangers Blew In, CH. 6

So this is a month late, ahahaha whoops. But I needed to do some rewriting, since I tweaked what happens later. There are a lot of things I like in this chapter, so maybe you will, too, and it’ll be worth the wait.

Summary: Stanford and Stanley Pines dream of a different life. One where they’re not just tidying their pa’s shop or helping ma take care of the baby. Where they can live freely as the men they know they are, instead of pa hounding them to marry before they become spinsters. They get a taste of that possibility when two strangers blow into town, but with them comes a heap of trouble.

Pairings: Rick/Stan (stanchez); Fiddleford/Stanford (fiddauthor)

Warnings for this chapter: Nothing, really. I mean, mild sexual innuendo and gnomes propositioning the twins, but that’s it. 

ao3 link

Chapter 6— The Sea’s Always Deeper Where It’s Blue

“Come on, doesn’t being queens sound like a great deal?” Jeff asked, nudging Stanley’s hip. “I swear we’ll treat you both better than that pair you keep bringing here.”

Stanley rolled his eyes; Stanford frowned.

When they had come to wait for Rick and Fiddleford, a few gnomes had popped out from behind the trees. Instantly Jeff had gotten down on one knee and proposed. After a single look at the pinecone rings being offered Stanley had pushed the gnome over. Undeterred, Jeff simply climbed up on one of his companion’s head and for the past ten minutes had been propositioning them to be the new gnome queens.

“I already told ya, bark breath, we ain’t women and we ain’t gonna be your queens.”

“That’s a little detail,” Jeff waved off. “As long as you can carry babies that’s what matters.”

Face scrunching up Stanford wondered, “How would a human and a gnome even conceive a child?”

Stanley shivered. “Don’t make me imagine it, Sixer.”

“Just say yes and you can find out,” Jeff replied with a wink.

“Alright, we’re done here.”

Stanley picked him up by the scruff of his neck and prepared to fling the gnome right back into the woods. He flailed wildly, begging for one last chance more piteously than Stanley could stand. With a sigh he related and lowered Jeff.

“You got two minutes. Don’t make me regret this.”

“Thank you. Now, picture this—the sun is lowering, you’re both naked in a field of wild flowers, just resting as your loyal subjects hand feed you berries. Suddenly a handsome figure, me, approaches, equally naked.”

“Alright that’s it,” Stanley interjected.

“But that wasn’t two minutes!”

“Felt like an eternity to me.”

With that Stanley threw Jeff as far into the woods as he could, the little gnome’s protests echoing after him. Then Stanley leveled the other gnomes with a warning look; they quickly scampered after their leader. As the last one tried to pass Stanley, however, he whistled at him, making the gnome pause and look up curiously.

“Shmebulock, next time he gets the idea to try and get us to be your queens, do us a favor and toss him into the lake or something.”

“Shmebulock,” the gnome promised before disappearing into the trees.

Stanley turned to his twin who was still frowning. He went over and threw an arm around Stanford’s shoulders, grinning wide.

“We’re getting too popular for our own good.”

“You’re the popular one, Stanley. I’m just the tagalong.”

“Come on, Sixer, give yourself more credit than that. Fiddlesticks seems pretty friendly towards ya,” he teased, ruffling Stanford’s hair.

Stanford opened his mouth to retort but a rustling caught their attention. The brothers snapped their heads to the side just as Rick and Fiddleford entered the clearing looking a bit worse for wear.

“Yeesh, what bull charged you two down?”

“Ah-ah-a bunch of gnomes,” Rick spat.

He took out his flask while Fiddleford explained, “That’s why we’re so late, fellas. When we took a single step into the forest we were ambushed by a gang of those critters. It was awful!”

The twins turned to each other, promptly bursting into laughter. They tried to stifle it, but one look at the disbelief on their disheveled companions’ faces sent them roaring anew. Stanley even bent over and slapped his knee.

“Are you two idiots ready to work on the motor or what?” Rick groused.

They wiped tears fro their eyes, both nodding as Stanford replied, “Yes, yes. Let’s begin. I am very excited to implement those design changes to the motor.”

The fours settled down and started tinkering with the motor. Well, Stanley mostly watched, occasionally tossing out a wisecrack or flirting with Rick. And, of course, attempting to keep Rick and Stanford from killing each other.

“Do you even know how to use a screwdriver, Stanford?”

“I refuse to be lectured by a man who’s working with delicate machinery while drunk.”

“Please, I-I’m nowhere near drunk, Stanford.”

“Ha! You reek of alcohol as though you used it to shower instead of water, Rick. Not to say when you’re sober—if you ever are—that you’re in any position to instruct me on how to use basic tools.”

Sitting between the two, Stanley quickly put his hands up as Rick appeared ready to lunge at Stanford. His brother wasn’t any more composed, teeth grit even as he smirked smugly at the other man.

“Whoa, there. Maybe not attack someone trying to help you?” Stanley suggested.

“We would be better off allowing Shmebulock to assist us,” Stanford replied. “At least the gnomes have more sense than liquor in them—unlike some.”

“Oh, th-that, that’s rich, Stanford. In the short time I’ve known you—which has been far too long—all you’ve proven is that you’re an insufferable kid.”

Now Stanford was ready to lunge. They leaned forward dangerously, fire in their eyes. Stanley pressed his hands against both their chests in an attempt to push them back.

“Children, please behave,” Fiddleford spoke up calmly.

Instead of listening the pair start to insult each other again. Fiddleford sighed and pinched either’s ear, twisting. Rick and Stanford let out twin yelps.

“Now, are you fellas going to behave or do I need to separate you?”

Stanley admired his cool tone, and how Fiddleford didn’t raise his voice in the slightest. A long time riding with Rick seemed to have really honed his skills in keeping his partner in line.

“Ow, fuck!” Rick exclaimed.

“This is really quite painful,” Stanford agreed.

“Imagine that. Now, are you two gonna act civil so we can get back to work?”

When neither answered he squeezed a little harder. Instantly the pair relented, agreeing to stop their arguing. With a pleased smile Fiddleford released them.

“There we go. That wasn’t so hard, now was it, boys?”

They rubbed their sore ears, wisely not replying.

“You’re pretty impressive for a timid lookin’ string-bean,” Stanley commented.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Full focus was returned to the portal gun, this time with far less bickering. Soon the adjustments were finished.

The motor was the heart of the portal gun, an intricate machine inside a temporary metal casing vaguely in the shape of a pistol. The current energy resource was simply some natural minerals acting as a placeholder for testing purposes. Once they knew the motor was stable—and powerful enough—the search for a better energy source would begin. Something they were hopefully about to see.

“So who’s gonna test it?” Stanley wondered.

“Why don’t you, Stanford?” Rick offered, holding out the portal gun. “You actually managed to help some.”

“Ah, thank you, but I’ll decline. It was originally your project, after all.”

“Y-you just don’t want to be in the line of fire if something goes wrong.”

“I assumed that’s why you had asked me to test it.”

Rick smirked in a way that proved Stanford correct. Holding the gun in front of Stanley he asked, “Blow for good luck?”

“My pleasure.”

He didn’t take his eyes off Rick as he leaned forward and blew on the portal gun.

Rick aimed the gun where no one was standing and braced himself. With a deep breath he pull the trigger.

Nothing happened.

Rick tried again with the same results. He quirked his eyebrow and looked it over curiously.

“Out of everything that could have happened, can’t say I was expecting that,” Stanley commented.

“It should have done something,” Fiddleford said, running a hand through his hair. “This doesn’t make a lick of sense.”

“Perhaps you’re doing something wrong. I should have it after all.”

As Stanford reached for the portal gun Rick snatched it out of his reach. Stanford tried to take it from him but Rick only slapped his hand away.

“Not a chance in hell. I shouldn’t have let you touch this in the first place.”

They began to argue again, both trying to wrestle for control of the portal gun. Stanley glanced over at Fiddleford who was too focused on his thoughts, most likely running through the changes they had made, and thus wasn’t settling them down. He rolled his eyes and went over to the squabbling pair.

“Alright, break it up.”

They ignored him. Rick was holding the portal gun as high as he could, well out of Stanford’s reach. When Stanford tried to jump for it Rick placed his other hand on Stanford’s face, pushing him back down and keeping him from jumping again.

No way they were going to listen, so Stanley elbowed his way between them. With a firm hand he forced the pair apart, curling his fingers in their shirtfronts.

“Yeesh, guys, we ain’t gonna accomplish anything if all ya do is fight.”

“W-we, we haven’t accomplished anything working together, obviously,” Rick countered, holding the portal gun out towards Stanford only to quickly whip it back when he made a grab for it.

“Well obviously the problem lies with the operator,” Stanford snapped.

“It’s a damn button, Stanford! You think I-I-I can’t push a fucking button?” Rick brought the portal gun down and furiously pressed the trigger in rapid succession. “Here I am pushing the damn thing, but look! Nothing’s fucking happening.”

Suddenly, something started happening.

The gun began to whir loudly from the motor within, and soon it was vibrating in Rick’s grasp. Then the dangerous sound of metal getting tangled up and scraping against itself overpowered everything else as the portal gun began to glow a pale green.

“Oh boy,” Stanley said. “That doesn’t seem good.”

“Nope.”

The glowing intensified. Sparks shot out, and Rick tossed it away from the group. They barely had a chance to turn and cover their ears as the portal gun exploded.

Smoke filled the air, obscuring the clearing. It took a good minute for it to dissipate, giving the quartet time to recover. As visibility returned they stared at each other in shock.

“Well that certainly wasn’t supposed to happen,” Fiddleford commented dazedly, righting his eyeglasses.

Breathing a sigh of relief Stanley said, “I’m just glad none of us were—”

“See what your carelessness caused?” Stanford interjected. Rick scowled.

“Oh, so all the blame lands on me? Th-that’s pretty convenient, huh?”

Both jumped to their feet and once again began to shout at each other. It was hard to tell what they were saying, ones insults bleeding into the others accusations and vice-versa incomprehensibly.

Stanley ran a hand down his face in exasperation. He briefly considered separating them like before, but decided it was best to let them get all this out of their systems now. Let them scream themselves hoarse so they could finally cool down whenever they ran out of breath, so long as things didn’t turn physical.

Instead Stanley was drawn to Fiddleford who was likewise ignoring the pair. The other man stood bent over the portal gun and Stanley joined him. Together they stared down at all their smoldering hard work.

“How’s it look, Fiddlesticks?”

“That’s a mighty fine question, Stanley. Unfortunately I’m not too sure.”

Fiddleford squatted down and picked a stick off the ground, poking tentatively at their project. The casing had blown open, revealing the motor. It looked like it would need quite a lot of work.

“Well, we’ll just have to rethink a few things,” Fiddleford said optimistically. “Tonight we should brainstorm a bit, then sleep on whatever we come up with. I’m sure if’n we put our heads together—”

“You’re a kid who doesn’t know a damn thing!”

“You’re an irresponsible, reprehensible slob!”

In unison Stanley and Fiddleford sighed.

“Maybe we should just reconvene tomorrow night.”

“Yeah, I don’t think much else is gonna get accomplished.”

They straightened and turned back to the other pair. Stanford and Rick were mere inches apart, both looking ready to get their fists involved any second now.

“Nice how well they get along,” Stanley joked, eliciting a snort from his companion.

“I’m sure they’ll warm up to each other. Probably.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe not.”

They shared a chuckle before going over and dragging either one back into town.