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saokpe · 4 years ago

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HDLW Sibling Week 2020 - Day 2: Pillow Fort

More siblings! I’ve always wanted to write a political drama, glad I was able to fit it in. Enjoy!

@hdlwsiblingweek2020

Comfortable Negotiations

The synchronized steps, bouncing across the overwhelmingly muffled walls of the McDuck Manor, follow the figures of an arrogantly joyful Louie Duck and a stoically serious Huey Duck. Their trenches lead them to one of the few areas of the house yet to fall victim to the rampant colonialism these shrewd visionaries spear head, a solitary wooden desk, two equally simple chairs stationed on both sides. They take their seats.

“Hubert Duck, President of Pillowvile.” The hoodie wearing triplet acknowledges.

“Llewellyn Duck, holder of the title of Current and Forever After Ruler of Cushion Island.” Huey responds. “How have you and your partner’s endeavours fared following your sudden departure from Pillowvile? A severing I did very little to oppose, might I add.”

“Yes, very little.” Louie’s previous smile turns into an almost sarcastic imitation of thoughtfulness. “Well it seems that my business partner’s ingenuity and my business savviness has brought us quite a bit of success, as clear when you compare our charts here.” The confidence oozing duck raises both his arms to reveal two staunchly different pieces of cardboard. Both demonstrated crudely drawn line charts, one with an elegant example of calligraphy spelling out Cushion Island while the other, spelling Pillowvile, could be described as anything but. The former diagram demonstrated a staunch uptick following a point labelled “When we got smarter and left Pillowvile.” The former followed a similar pattern, the line taking a steep dive after a period called “Our smarter halves leave Pillowvile.”

“Uhm…” The self-appointed president of Pillowvile attempts to assess the borderline illegible data. “Very… interesting. But, you can’t run a country like a business dear sibling of mine, way more goes into it.”

“Yet you’ve called ME to discuss negotiations.”

Huey bites his lip, the concise retort robbing him of his high ground. “Well, I wanted to talk to both of Cushion Island’s political powers, yet I see only one.”

“You seem one partner short as well.” Louie correctly assesses.

“Dewford had other businesses to attend to.”

“I’m sure he does.” A grin carves itself forcefully onto a self-assured Louie. “So what did you want to discuss?”

“Well I thought-”

“Pfft- Sorry I just can’t keep it a secret!” The previously reserved negotiator bursts, his body slamming and rolling as his lung expands into a chuckle, “We caught Dewey sneaking through our blueprints, Webby’s currently trying to get a confession from him. I was supposed to lead you on for a cooler reveal but it’s just TOO funny!” He continues between his glee infused snorts.

“Oh…” Huey attempts to speak, left paralyzed in his brothers all consuming laughter.

“You better start talking unless you want to go on another trip into Mr. Cuddles’s play place!” A high pitched demand pierces.

Dewey hung from a collection of patched together blankets, one end tied tightly on his ankle and the other on the insurmountably tall ceiling of this pillow comprised room. Poorly lit and suffocatingly warm and dry, the restrained friend cackles and hacks, coughing wildly as the rope pulled tighter on his body. His feathers filled with lint and tangled plushies, all courtesy of the deep and dark alleyways of the play place. A pool of dolls and toys which hide their bloodlust in their disarmingly soft fur.

“NO! NO! PLEASE, I DON’T WANT TO TALK TO MR. CUDDLES ANYMORE!” The prisoner whines wildly.

“Are you sure? Cause he sure wants to talk to you!” Webby, her expression contorted with malice, drops her prey closer to the pit.

“I’LL TALK, I’LL TALK, PLEASE JUST DON’T DROP ME ANY CLOSER!”

For a second the tensed and thick air is complemented with horrid silence. But slowly and surely the rope is reeled back higher.

“Man I’m good at this job.” Webby congratulates herself.

In between his terrified gasps for air, Dewey is able to speak, “I don’t remember exactly what I came here to do, but if you give me my phone I can read off what Huey wanted me to do.”

“Hmm…” The prison guard contemplates the statement a bit longer. “Yeah that seems believable. Here you go.” The girl chipperly walks to the hanging duck, allowing him to clutch the device before retreating.

“Thanks.” Still hanging upside down, Dewford lets the bright light of his electronic’s screen envelop him, slamming his finger across it until opening the previous chat log he had shared with Huey. He scans through it, reading the last message. “Did u find the weak point? Waiting for your signal” Dewey sighs as the options placed before him thin out. Without thinking, the cornered duck types as fast and haphazardly as someone could, sending the following message: “THE STRINGS BEEN TIED, DO IT, DO IT!” Just as his thumb forces send, his body clutches, his eyes slamming shut waiting for the sudden impacts and his inevitable fall into the pit. Instead, the shime of a new message received echoes.

“What was that?” Webby notices, a particular doll turning in her hand, causing the tied duck to flinch.

Panic stabs through the already hindered operative, his eyes darting to the message which oh so terribly inconvenienced him. “You’re still inside, the plan was for you to escape.”

“It looks like you DO want to spend more time with Mr. Cuddles!” The threat curses with the power of a million witches.

“DO IT NOW, JUST DO IT NOW!” The message sends in the moment of panic, his finger pushing over the final button just as it’s stolen from his hand by a ravenous Webbigail.

A moment of anticipation follows as the messages are read back to Webby’s unknowing eyes. Them widening in horror as the realization washes her.

“You deal with him Mr. Cuddles! I have to go!” She hardly finishes her sentences as her feet trail off.

“NO! DON’T LEAVE ME ALONE WITH HIM!”

A notification rings across Huey’s phone, his body still stunned from the sudden reveal his youngest triplet cast over him.

“I mean, I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to replicate Cushion Island, it’s perhaps the most perfect pillow fort ever created.” Another, of the plentiful, boasts Louie has thrown in the last couple minutes. “I mean look at it.” He directs attention behind him, walls upon walls of multi-colored furniture and cushions hoard the view. The wooden walls that previously housed now rest infected by the stuffing of these misused decorations.

During the monologue, Huey lends a peek at the message Dewey had left for him. Dread befalls the brother, all of his soul used to avoid any sorrow. “You’re the bravest man I know, Dewford.” He whispers.

“What was that?”

Hubert readies his left arm, an arm which had yet to be seen by anyone since arrival. He sighs. “You say that Cushion Island is perfect?”

“As perfect as they come… why?” The creeping suspicion the question arises prevents any hubris.

“I ask because you and Webby actually left your blueprints back in Pillowville, and I wouldn’t really call it perfect.”

The snarky response Louie had planned catches itself at his throat, a worried gulp tossing it back under.

“There was a little design flaw I doubt you knew about in your infrastructure. Poor Webby had a tall order building the whole pillow fort by herself. Especially when you left such a glaring issue in the foundation. All of Cushion Island is being supported by a single sofa cushion.” Huey raises his right hand, revealing a beautifully drawn blueprint, a red circle signalling the sad truth that, yes, one cushion balanced the whole country wide fort. “You’re a shrewd businessman, sure, but when it comes to ruling a country…” Huey finally raises the elusive left hand, clutched between his fingers was the end of an elongated piece of string. “-you need a little bit more.”

A combination of shock and hatred form in the previously egocentric Llewellyn, that manic gaze following the string which, as he feared, led directly into his beautiful Cushion Island. Additionally, as he stares bitterly to the entrance of his magnum opus, the distant figure of his business partner runs frantically towards him. Her arms flail as she attempts to catch the attention of Louie, who already knew it was too late.

“FOR PILLOWVILLE!” Huey screeches as he pulls the string, the movement creating an orchestra of falling pillows and walls. Destruction as far as the eye could see, pain resonating in the echoing screams of those that lived in its warm housing. A domino effect of crumbling dreams and desires. As the final blanket floats over, Louie crumbles to his knees.

Pity does enter the victor’s heart, his body moving in satisfied strides towards his grovelling competitor. Huey lays his hand over his fallen brethren. “May this be a warning to all others who dare defy the power of Pillowville.”

Louie stares back towards him before solemnly returning his view to the ground that used to house his home. “I spent my whole allowance building that.”

“In war we all lose.”

Huey’s illustrious Pilloville was soon discredited and destroyed as punishment for its president’s multiple breaches of the Geneva Conventions.

His second in command, Dewey Duck, was eventually found retreating in the remains of Cushion Island, hiding in the rubble. When asked on the matter, the former ruler informed our reporter that he was fleeing from one “Mr. Cuddles.” This figure has yet to be found.

When asked about the demolition of what he had previously called “the love of his life,” Louie inquired “The what?”

Webbigail, the labeled business partner of Llewellyn Duck, has since been spotted waterboarding various stuffed animals. Some theorize she is training for something bigger.

#HDLW #ducktales #Huey Duck #Dewey Duck #Louie Duck #Webby Vanderquack #hdlw sibling week 2020

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hughiecampbelle · 5 years ago

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Dirt Nap (Arthur Shelby Oneshot)

Character/s: Arthur

Word Count: 1, 198

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt

A/N: Day one at home hasn't been going well already, and ya gurl really needed to write :) I've had this idea/set up all week, but the words just never came. They never felt right, and they still don't, but ya gotta write even if it's bad. Regardless of how I feel abt it, I thought I'd share it. I haven't written in a while and just think keeping it because I think it's bad would be unfair. I hope you're all healthy and safe and taking time for yourselves in these crazy times! Feedback is always appreciated 💜

~ FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO. ~

A man bent, bowing, praying on broken knees, spitting, cursing the man on the cross. His prayers weren't sweet, nor were they thankful. He took everything from him, stripped him of love, of joy, of any sort of happiness at all. Ripped his future to shreds before his eyes. Made him pay for his sins, his debts, in blood rather than money. Stripped a man of everything he had, everything, until he was nothing but exposed bone, naked muscle, a memory of himself. A shadow. Still, he found himself between the pews, his fists sewn together, knit in busted knuckles and bloody fingernails, his head risen, his eyes resting on the cross, the stained glass, the sunlight peaking through, wondering what the fuck he was doing here in the first place. Then he was reminded, your hand on his shoulder. A light, gentle touch, the push he needed. Chin to chest, finish the prayers, straighten the hat on his head. Places like these took prisoners, people who couldn't find their way back on their feet, but he wasn't one of them. There were things he could be forgiven for, and things he could not.

That was that.

He would not beg for forgiveness, not when he wasn't sorry in the first place.

Instead he walked the streets, followed the path home. One familiar, inviting, a route that came with a sense of relief. The door, old and creaky, just a little too big for its frame, one he'd always promised he'd get around to fixing. Cobblestone steps that always caught your toe. The cracked window looking in, daunting, unforgiving, letting out what little heat slept inside. A long list of chores. A home of demands and work, but inside, a love too easy, too effortless. Cursing the fucking door, the fucking window, that step, but inside the anger melted.

He'd always had too much emotion for one man. A swelling in his chest, an unbelievable ache, the only thing that kept his heart beating. Blind. Blackout. Emotions and reactions separate. Anger that left him sobbing, shaking, crawling out of his skin. Sadness of stone, of ruthlessness, leaving him yearning to pull the trigger. No one ever knew if he'd implode or explode. No one, but you. You were his diffuser, his constant, one of the few who could reign in these terrible, overwhelming feelings. Your voice, your skin, your very presence. That home was all the things it was, because you lived in it. You were there with him, in the bed, the plates, the cushions. You were in everything, and that's what made him feel like it was a proper home.

At the bar, bleary eyed, slurring his words, he could lean on you, celebrate with you. Laughing, smoking, kissing your entire face. Infatuation. Swinging you around the room to the tune of a song, holding you close, vowing to never let go. Now he swayed, your head on his shoulder, your arms around him tight, reminding him you were there. You always would be. Bumping into tables, chairs, drunks dozing off just as the place was about to close. Stumbling home in one another's arms, finding yourselves all the way to your bedroom. He'd take off his shirt, struggling with the buttons, dropping it wherever it may rest. Climb beside you beneath the covers, grateful for you, for these moments. He'd thank you, and life, and his lucky stars before he'd ever thank that God of his. Maybe that was his first mistake. Maybe it'd be his last.

A life like this came with strings, with fear and deals with the devil himself. It came with danger. An impending end, a luck that would run out eventually. Arthur knew his temper would get him into trouble, he'd been warned by anyone with a single breath in their lungs. That blind rage of his would get him killed. And he was ready. A gun between the eyes, quick, painless, without a second thought. He could only hope for a storybook ending like that. A final bow before the curtains dropped. The very last act. A written will, one prepared just before the war. He'd seen the face of death, looked into her eyes, but it never came for him, not even during the war. It mocked his every move, his every step, even down the aisle. He never thought he'd find a ring around his finger, and yet it was there now, bright, shiny, a light. A reminder of what there was to fight for, what he had to lose. You. It would always be you. You at the altar, in those photos, taking his last name, vowing to be there in sickness and in health, til death would you part.

But you stuck around after.

A ghost, a figure only he could see, feel. Alone in the church, coming back to an empty home, drunkenly clutching at the air. He slept in the bed alone these days, your side cold, firm, screaming. He'd been the one to find you. Stained the cracked window in red, the front door left wide open. Glass broken in the kitchen, furniture sliced open, stuffing overflowing, bleeding. A mess leading all the way to your bedroom, the one you shared since the night you married. Just how he imagined for himself. Quick. Painless. But the bullet hadn't blown through his skull, and the pain was incredible. Not for one second had he ever thought he'd be the one picking up the pieces. He'd prepared you for a life without him. Shared the bills, the guns, anything you'd need to get on without him, face this fucked up thing called life without him. You never liked when he spoke like that, gushing his words, urging him to go back to sleep, to move on, not to instigate a lady named Death. But they knew that. They knew the only rightful torture was not to hurt him, but the one he loved. To do something that would be irreversible no matter how hard or how much a godless man got on his knees and prayed.

He prayed for your soul to be at rest, for a heavenly afterlife, for you to keep the joys that had been ripped from him. If you were happy, that's all that mattered. He prayed that you would not watch him for what he was about to do. Tender, soft, honeyed in your presence. Without you, he could be so cruel, so severe, so grim he would have been unrecognizable. They had to pay. Kill one, or one hundred. He wouldn't stop until they felt the same way he has every single day since. At the funeral, quiet, still, his arms beneath his suit torn, shards of front window embedded in them. His spine crushed, crumbled beneath the weight of a world without you. The sheets ripped, the bedside table destroyed, the wallpaper clawed at. He used to love that room. Now he couldn't think about it without bursting. He needed them to burst, to detonate, to shatter the same way did when he was reminded you slept beneath the earth and not in your bed beside him.

#writing #arthur shelby #arthur shelby drabble #arthur shelby oneshot #peaky blinders #peaky blinders drabble #peaky blinders oneshot #arthur shelby x reader #arthur x reader #x reader #drabble #oneshot #gender neutral #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader

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charlemange1 · 4 years ago

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Ask of the Lesser (Frankenstein/Lovecraft Works) 9: The Importance of Being Ernest

The creatures’ furious howling accompanied by shattering glass echoed ahead of us as Victor and I ascended the dark stairway. Victor had slowed so I could keep up, but even with the pole doubling as a cane for support, I still found myself falling behind him as we followed the sounds to Curwen’s lab. Inside the room of scorched stone, the creatures were ransacking everything they could reach, from scoring their claws across cryptic inscriptions to hooves smashing large bowls and scattering salt from broken vases. Victor growled and reached for Curwen’s tattered copy of the Necronomicon, but I yanked his paw back. He blinked at me in surprise.

“They will demolish Curwen’s lab permanently, Victor, but that means little if the man himself walks free,” I explained.

Victor bared his teeth with a determined nod, and we hurried down the stone hallway. Human voices came from an adjoining corridor up ahead. My initial joy at hearing the approach of my fellow species faltered as I recognized the concentrated rage within their cries. Shouts of my prison escape and finding my horse near the same university where Victor had done his wicked work filled the hall. Victor backed behind me with a whine, but they had already turned into view. The roars of vengeance fell silent.

“Guten Tag,” I greeted them with a little wave. Victor covered his face and turned away with a whimper. “I understand how this may appear, but Curwen—”

“Monster,” Button Boy croaked. The groups hardened stares melted like wax to reveal the most primal form of human fear beneath.

“You are wrong,” I stammered, trying to turn Victor around to face them. “He is no enemy, but Curwen is—”

“Monster!” Button Boy wailed, pointing a trembling finger. The gravity of my situation deprived me of enjoying my adversary’s despair.

I began to explain, but rationalization failed as raw instinct sent the entire caravan scrambling back from where they had come, wailing warnings of hellspawn and demons.

“They will return, we must hurry!” I breathed. Victor remained silent, his paws still clutching that half-formed crater of a face. How the tables had turned for him! I touched his shoulder.

“Do not listen to them, they call me a monster too.”

He whimpered a little.

“Victor, we must hurry. We need to find Curwen before he does this to anyone else.”

A familiar scream echoed further down the hall.

“You will never get anything from me!”

I coughed in disbelief. Walton?

Victor’s head perked up as the captain shouted an onslaught of sailor curses. Flexing his paws, Victor started forward with newfound determination. The brief rest rejuvenated me as well and we followed the screams to another door. We crouched out of sight, and Victor’s claw pushed it open. I saw Curwen feverishly pacing across an old lecture room, now crowded with twisting instruments of varying sizes and shapes I recognized as medieval torture devices.

Suspended in the center of it all was Walton with his hands tied above his head shaking enough to make the entire rope tremble. I stifled my happy cry, he was alive! My joy wilted as Curwen yanked Walton’s chin up to his wild eyes.

“Failure bars me at every turn. Victor must have shared more than what you published—tell me!”

“Not a word,” Walton spat. “He took it to the grave—where you should have left him!”

“Your bravery may have served you well on the ice, but here in my world, it is a liability.” Curwen said in his hollow tone. He twirled a knife dangerously close to the captain’s throat. “I will get answers from you. What that takes is entirely in your hands, which, if you have not noticed, are tied at present.”

“You leave him alone!” I shouted, jumping into view.

Curwen turned to where I stood in the doorway. I could see the raw cut I had left above his right eye, it would leave a nasty scar.

“You? You are dead!”

“I came back. Runs in the family.”

“Ernest, you must flee,” Walton shouted. “Tell the townsfolk, get help! If Curwen’s work is not thwarted, we will all perish!”

The smell of smoke from the hall graced me, thick and smoldering. The town is way ahead of you, Walton.

“Curwen’s work is at an end. His lab and underground stock are destroyed,” I smiled as Curwen’s eye’s widened. “Your creations are not so enthusiastic regarding your plans.”

Curwen remained poised, though I could see the tightness in his jaw.

“Do not take that tone with me, boy! Never mind the lab, I can rebuild. Victor was the closest I have come to raising the dead yet! My legacy has only just begun, but dearest Ernest, I can promise that you shall never leave these walls.” He pressed the knife to Walton’s neck. “Now call off those fiends.”

Glass shattered above us as a flaming torch broke through the window and clattered against a table crowded with Curwen’s chemicals. The furniture went up in a glorious ball of fire.

“You are in no place to make to make demands, Curwen,” I said steadily, though the smoke tightened my lungs. Curwen saw my weakness.

“But a feeble invalid is?”

“That depends on you. I am not the one with any use for this.” I walked toward the flaming table and held out the journal, letting the pole fall against my side. Curwen’s ever-proper frame stiffened.

“Victor’s journal?”

“This old thing?” I chuckled, lowering the book dangerously close to the flames. “These diagrams are far too advanced for a feeble invalid such as myself. It would make fine kindling, though!”

“Fool!” Curwen’s voice boomed around the room with monstrous ferocity. “You know not what you do. Burn those notes, and mankind will lose the ability to cure death forever!” His face loosened into a kind smile as the knife left Walton’s throat. “Maybe my ideals do not align with yours, but consider the benefits if this research were delivered into worthier hands? Would you damn humanity based on one bad egg?” His neck snapped to the side with a wicked sneer. “Do you admit your brother’s research was immoral? That he set out to create monsters as they claimed at the tavern? On the docks?”

My fingers tightened around the book as I fought for breath. “He would have LOVED his creature, had you not mixed his notions of life with such unbridled evil!”

“Oh, so you are buddies now?” Curwen cackled. “Have me take all the blame and forgive him for his bad parenting!”

“I cannot forgive him, but I understand his reasoning. I could never hate my own brother. Do you agree, Victor?”

Slippery shuffling came behind me as Victor crawled into view. I watched his shadow overlap mine as he stood on his hind legs. Walton screamed and struggled with newfound terror. Curwen’s face turned the color of clean bone.

“Ask of the Lesser, lest the Greater shall not wish to Answer, and shall command more than you,” I quoted, and Curwen stepped back. “You thought I was easy prey, but you made a mistake picking on a nothing like me.”

Curwen wiped sweat from his brow. “You misinterpreted the entire point of that warning—as though the grand scale I work on would encompass the likes of you!”

“Interpretation is a funny thing,” I said. Curwen’s taunts would shackle me no longer.

Curwen did not respond. His eyes were all for my brother.

“Do not do this, Victor,” he croaked. “I can return you in full yet. Consider the possibilities! We can still—”

Victor leaped over my head toward Curwen with a howling scream. Curwen grabbed a nearby vase and smashed it on the floor. Salt scattered around as greenish-black smoke hid him from view. I spotted Curwen edging toward the backdoor and shouted as much to Victor. Curwen pointed to the salt and began speaking in an unfamiliar language as the salt trembled around me.

“Y’AI ’NG’NGAH,

YOG-SOTHOTH,

H’EE—L’GEB-”

Several vibrating grains combined beside my shoe and popped like a kernel of corn into a glazed eyeball. Similar piles of merging salt began morphing into various bits of flesh that in turn lumped together to form larger pieces.

“Victor, he means to summon up creatures against us!” I cried.

Victor burst through the smoke and slashed at Curwen. Curwen’s incantation ended in a splutter of pain as claws scored across his arm. The half-built body of Curwen’s abomination slumped lifelessly on the floor. At the edge of my vision, flat tentacles slipped away.

Curwen pulled a vial from his satchel and smashed it against Victor’s head. Victor howled and pawed violently at his eyes as Curwen rushed to the backdoor. I started forward, but he was too far ahead. Curwen paused at the threshold to laugh.

“Mistakes were made here, but failure breeds success. You think yourself so great? I command a darkness your puny mind could never comprehend! My work is far from over, and so is yours. Those fiends you have released even I cannot control! When they are done wrecking the place of their birth, they will charge into the city and spill the precious lifeblood of every man, woman and child in sight!”

The blood I had been transporting was food for the creatures? My last shipment had been confiscated, they had to be starving! Curwen smiled as he shut the door.

“They are your responsibility now, Ernest.”

Victor stopped pawing at his head. He glanced at the door, then me.

The townsfolk cheered somewhere nearby. Smoke drifted in from the hallway to merge with the spiraling cloud from the blazing table. Curwen’s brainless creatures surely had the sense to flee fire! I bit my lip, if the two groups met, it would be a massacre.

“Victor, in your journal you wrote of attempting to disperse your creation, correct?” I flipped to the corresponding page and the quote Victor’s shaky hand had scribbled down. “If I read this, would it turn them back to salt?”

Victor nodded and reached for the journal.

“No, it has to be me. You cannot speak, remember?”

The paw lowered. Victor released a little whimper and tapped my shoulder in concern.

“I can do it. You must stop Curwen!”

Victor stared back.

“When we were children, you always told me I could be great if I only applied myself,” I said quietly. “You saw something in me when everyone else only noticed weakness. Let me prove you right, Victor. Let me disperse them!”

“With all due respect, Ernest, I am burning here!” Walton pleaded, still suspended central to an encroaching wall of flame.

Victor dashed over and snapped the rope between his paw while the other gently lowered Walton to the ground. Walton trembled at the towering creature, though to his credit he did not turn away. The flames were growing around us, it would not be long before both Curwen’s exit and the hall were inaccessible. Victor glanced to me, and I smiled. His head dipped, and he rushed over to pry the backdoor off its hinges before following Curwen.

“You must explain all of this to me later, Ernest,” Walton huffed, rubbing his rope burned wrists.

“Walton, you need to get the townsfolk away from here,” I urged. “They will listen to an upstanding citizen such as yourself. If I fail to disperse those creatures, they will devour everyone!”

“You sound like a general,” Walton laughed, and I wondered how much more of this madness the withered captain could take. “Despite your slouching, I can see that same determination Victor had when I met him on the ice. It is a power than makes universal law crumble. I shall assist you however I can, Ernest.”

“You are a good man,” I said, and I meant it. “I apologize for lashing out at you before.”

“Ernest, you must not—”

“All I ask, Walton, is for you to write my biography more tastefully than Victors. Just get to the point instead of throwing in such pretentious Romantic prose.”

Walton shook my single hand. “If that is your request, you must stay alive to make me.”

“I will try.”

Walton nodded and we rushed into the hall. As he followed the cheering, I went the opposite direction, toward Curwen’s lab and his creatures. Each step I took was purposeful. Victor would stop Curwen, Walton would evacuate the townsfolk, and I would disperse the monsters. None of us were greater than the other, we were each equal in necessity. If I played my part, all would be well.

I found all ten creatures mindlessly pummeling the steel and concrete remains of Curwen’s instruments, to fixated on smashing dust to notice my approach. I opened the journal with my trembling hand, watching the fiends’ destruction.

“OGTHROD AI’F,

GEB’L—EE’H.”

I dared to glance up and saw the creatures had paused. They could have overpowered me easily, but instead, something like peace settled in their eyes as I continued.

“YOG-SOTHOTH,

‘NGAH’NG.”

A transformation began before my eyes, so terrible I focused solely on repeating the final words.

“AI’Y,

ZHRO!”

Silence greeted the closing lines. I glanced upwards, but nothing remained of Curwen’s creations, except a thin coating of fine bluish-grey dust scattered on the floor.

#My writing peaked with that title #ernest frankenstein #frankenstein #frankenstein fanfiction #gothic literature #gothic fanfiction #classic literature #ask of the lesser #The Case of Charles Dexter Ward #lovecraft fanfiction #lovecraft

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juju-on-that-yeet · 5 years ago

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Unravel, Chapter 3/20

Work Summary: Antisepticeye has a plan to destroy Darkiplier, steal his power, and take over everything - and he might just succeed. What starts with Yandereplier going missing evolves into a messy web of betrayal and grief, of blood and tears, of old wounds and new faces. However this ends, Ego Inc. will never be the same again. Chapter Summary: Dark and Wilford confront Anti, but it doesn’t go as they expect. Warnings: Mild body horror (so mild I almost didn't add this warning, so take that as you will)

Read on AO3

Enjoy!

Dark and Wilford appear in Anti’s hideout in an instant, startling Anti, who’s sitting at an old desk, feet kicked up, filing his nails with a knife.

Not that he needs to: His nails are more like claws already, sharp and black, extending from green-tinged hands on green-tinged arms. His hair is darker green and messy, but not as messy as the eternal bloody slice across his neck. It squelches quietly as Anti turns in his seat.

“What the hell!?” he yells, then calms as his eyes, one blue and one green, settle on Dark and Wilford. “Oh, it’s you two.” He grins. “You should’ve told me you were coming, I might’ve cleaned the place up a little.”

Not that it would’ve helped much: Anti’s hideout is inside a condemned warehouse, filled with some old furniture, a wall of collected knives, dozens of computer towers and monitors leeching wifi from the surrounding area, and several purposefully-built prison cells for Anti to store any puppets he might have in his possession. It’s a metallic kind of cold here, and the air is always filled with static and a scent like burning wires.

Today, Dark and Wilford have no patience for Anti’s banter, and in the next instant, they’re standing right in front of him, looking down on him with rage.

“No funny business, glitch,” Wilford growls, “Where is he?”

“Who?” Anti asks, unimpressed. He continues filing his nails, blowing away the shavings.

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” Dark snaps, aura rumbling around him. “Yandereplier just went missing during a power outage at Ego Inc.”

“Huh.” Anti pauses his filing and purses his lips, thinking for a moment. “Alright, I guess I can see why you suspect me. But I didn’t take him.” He laughs. “What would I possibly want with Yandere, anyway?”

“You tell us,” Wilford snarls, taking a threatening step closer.

“Hey! Look,” Anti yells, “I didn’t kidnap Yandere. I’m not an idiot. The only thing that would accomplish is making you two angry. He’s not here.”

“Then certainly you wouldn’t mind us taking a look around, would you?” Dark asks with an angry grin.

Anti looks between Dark with his cracking, flashing aura, and Wilford with his blazing pink eyes and hands twitching for a gun at his sides. He seems to realize he doesn’t have a choice.

“Fine,” he sighs, “Knock yourself out. Try not to make too much of a mess.”

Dark and Wilford don’t listen to Anti’s request. They tear the building apart looking for Yandere. Wilford pries open every prison cell and looks in every corner, Dark’s aura tosses aside every computer tower to look for hidden passages or compartments. They search under every table, in every closet, every dead-end corner and cranny, every passage they manage to uncover. They search for Yandere, search for a scrap of his clothing, a lock of his hair, anything at all that might signal that he’s here or that he used to be here. Anti moves from the desk to lean against the wall with his arms crossed, an annoyed expression on his face. It only seems to make Dark and Wilford angrier; Wilford splinters wood with his grip on tables and chairs, Dark smashes more than one monitor as he tosses them around. They look everywhere, then they look everywhere again, and again.

But it’s no use. There’s no sign of Yandere anywhere in the building, not so much as a single strand of hair. They look at Anti, still glowering, and Anti stares evenly back.

“You done trashing the place now?” Anti asks, deadpan. “Can you go away so I can clean this up?”

“No!” Wilford roars, “There’s no way Yan isn’t here!!” He lunges at Anti and grabs him by the shirt color. “Where the hell are you hiding him!?” Anti’s expression twists into rage, and a knife appears in his hand as he starts to glitch in place.

“Calm down,” Dark orders, “We’ll get nowhere by antagonizing Anti. Besides…” Dark cracks his neck as his aura waves around him. “…There’s still one more thing I can try.”

Anti rolls his eyes, and Wilford lets him go with a huff. He seems to understand what Dark means, and jabs a finger at Anti.

“Don’t try anything, glitch,” he growls.

“Who, me?” Anti replies with a cheeky grin, glitching the knife away. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Dark sighs, then straightens his posture and closes his eyes.

His aura begins to reach out, flowing out and away from him. It goes farther than normal, a curtain of ink spreading out past Wilford and Anti and throughout the warehouse. Tendrils of aura poke in every corner, sweep through every room. Dark, eyes closed in the center of the cloud, sees only what his aura sees. The only bright things are Wilford and Anti, as the aura can pick out figments with ease. That’s how Dark plans to find Yandere, by using his aura to seek him out, perhaps even lead him back.

Come out, my love, come out.

Anti watches the aura swim through the room, as does Wilford. They both notice the aura creeping through the cracks in the wall, out of Anti’s warehouse and into the street beyond. It ever-so-slightly begins to thin out, lightening from pitch black to deep gray as it flows. The ringing emanating from it picks up, just enough to be noticed.

Dark looks through everything his aura sees as it whispers along the sidewalk, brushing past trees and fire hydrants and the occasional human trudging down the street. The aura fans out in a circle around the warehouse, pulsing into nearby dumpsters and cars and even other buildings, searching them as thoroughly as it did Anti’s hideout.

Yandere, where are you?

What little Wilford and Anti can see of Dark’s aura gets thinner, lighter. It goes from charcoal to stone, lighter and lighter, little by little. Wilford frowns. Anti begins to take interest. The ringing gets higher, louder.

The aura continues outward, past street signs and into stores, past traffic lights and crossing crowds, deeper into Brighton. It passes every person by; they are nothing but more distractions to filter through, nothing but clutter to Dark’s vision. There is still no sign of a figment, no sign of Yandere. He can feel his aura stretching thin, but he continues to push it outward.

Please, darling, I cannot do this much longer! Where have you gone??

The aura still listing through the warehouse is pale, only as dark as the smoke cloud from a cigarette. The ringing is deafening, overpowering the room's static. Anti’s eyes are wide, his lips are split in a sick grin as he watches the aura waver and shiver. Wilford’s furrowed brows shoot up with alarm as the space around Dark begins to crack, splinter, fall apart without the aura there to hold it in place. Figures scream and contort in the shadow, Dark can only barely be seen.

“Dark,” Wilford gasps.

Dark doesn’t hear him, or if he does, he makes no indication. His aura pours out from him like a running faucet, trying to blanket the city around him, desperately searching for Yandere. Even through the din, the ringing and the howling shadows, Wilford and Anti can see Dark changing. His skin pales from gray to white, the bags under his eyes spread their purple to his eyelids. His hair hangs limp, his fingers shake, his suit seems looser. His cheeks sink into themselves, becoming gaunt, his fingers shrink against the bone. Anti looks fit to burst into laughter. What pale remnants of shadows that remain begin to peel away, sliding from Dark as they scream. The ringing reaches a fever pitch. Just before the moment of no return, Wilford lurches out of his stupor.

“DARK!!”

This time, Dark hears him.

All at once, the aura retracts, contracting away from its radius, flowing like a river rapid back the way it came, past the people and street signs, out of the buildings and cars, back through the cracks in the walls of the hideout, rushing back into Dark with an almighty whoosh like the birth of a tornado in reverse. The aura crashes, washing over Dark like an ocean wave as the ringing cracks. A force like wind pushes Wilford and Anti back against the wall.

When the smoke clears, Dark stands as he did before, though slouched. His suit is wrinkled, his eyes are hollow and fluttering. Wilford appears by his side with a pop to put an arm around his shoulders and keep him standing. Dark leans against him with a sigh, exhausted to his bones.

“Dark, you idiot,” Wilford whispers, in too much shock to raise his voice.

“I couldn’t find him,” Dark gasps, voice like a breath in the air. “He’s nowhere. He’s gone.”

Silence reigns over the room for several long moments. Wilford’s expression breaks.

“How far did you look?” he asks, wavering.

“Over a mile out,” Dark answers, slow and weak, “There was no sign of him.”

“I told you he wasn’t here,” Anti pipes up, bored now that the action is over. “Can you leave me alone now?”

“I don’t believe this!” Wilford shouts, suddenly enraged, snapping his head up to glare at Anti. “Yandere went missing during a blackout! There was static in his room!! The camera stopped working right before he disappeared and you expect us to believe it wasn’t you!?”

“Enough, Wilford,” Dark says.

“But–”

“He’s nowhere in a mile radius.” Dark closes his eyes. “Wherever Yandere is, it’s not here. We need to go home and figure out our next steps.”

“Dark…”

Wilford looks from Dark’s tired frown to Anti’s smug grin. He still doesn’t trust this, he still doesn’t trust Anti, but…if Dark’s aura couldn’t find Yandere here, then what could?

“Take us home, Wil,” Dark sighs, not annoyed, but exhausted.

“Buh-bye!” Anti chirps with a mocking wave.

“This isn’t over, glitch,” Wilford mutters.

But he follows Dark’s command, and teleports them out of Anti’s hideout and back to Ego Inc.

#darkiplier #wilford warfstache #antisepticeye #darkyan #markiplier fanfiction #markiplier #fanfic #my writing #kristin says stuff #unravel

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sirius-whoisleft · 5 years ago

Text

shacking up // remus & sirius

Sirius had every confidence that he could walk the many—dilapidated, but many—rooms of the Shrieking Shack blindfolded.

Still, no matter how well he knew the walls and their gashes, the floorboards and their creaks, he looked at everything this afternoon with a fresh set of eyes.

Light filtered in through the windows, none cracked despite activities within that would have left them shattered without wards, and traced rainbows across tables, lit pieces of dust up from behind and made them shimmer like fae. The building was not as old as it looked. But, like Remus, it had been aged prematurely – partly for show, but mainly because of the toll each new moon month took on the bones and colors and spirit.

Everything was covered in a fine dusting of grey but, although the curtains gave off the donated scent of mothballs and the pieces of furniture couldn’t seem to agree to any common theme, the place did have a feeling of being loved. Like Sirius. Maybe not loved well, maybe a little too haunted to appreciate, but it was a building with a story to tell and, after the Marauders had their hooks in a place for long enough, it was almost impossible not to catch a whiff of affection rolling off the place, even on the stormiest days.

It went without saying that this was not the house Sirius would have chosen for Remus Lupin to spend his time in – especially his most vulnerable times. He could no longer think of transformation nights without thinking about Remus, stripped down to naked skin and transparent fears, on his knees in the dripping chill of the Lupins’ basement, waiting for his inner demons to burst free from his chest. This place was not much nicer, even with the grand, half-broken furniture. Sirius would have liked blankets, velvets, walls with brighter colors. Not to mask the pain of what went on here, but to make the house feel more like an ally than a prison before Remus went under.

Sirius would have liked books. But of course, that wasn’t possible. The pages would be torn out, the covers destroyed, the comforting words sliced into nonsense and lost to the ages. The wolf took that possibility away from Remus. The wolf took and took and took.

“Oi, Lupin,” called Sirius up the stairs, his shoes creaking under his weight. The acoustics in the house were not much to speak of—all the better for discouraging howls to carry—but he heard evidence of his own voice floating up to the second story, where he knew Remus was waiting for him.

Sirius had been rummaging around in the useless kitchen. There was no food, no wine to speak of; but there was a deck of cards that a keen James Potter had stashed away once, and Sirius had gotten in his head about tracking them down today. They fit easily into his pants pocket, and their weight was a present comfort as he moved deeper into the belly of the house.

The boys had not gotten any alone time since the attack at Hogsmeade – not that Sirius was surprised by that in the slightest. Their tight-knit group, including the girls, had become inseparable. Eyes were on Lily all the time, brows knit about Lily, eggshells walked on around James, who seemed insistent on flagellating himself for an attack he’d played no part in. Which, of course, was why he was kicking himself now – not jumping in to be the hero that saved the day, even when it was an impossibility. Sirius understood the reasons for the Gryffindors closing rank, and cherished it ninety-nine percent of the time.

But for every night he was glad to fall asleep with the steady laughs of Peter Marlene McKinnon punctuating James’s snores, there was a morning when Sirius woke up, erection pressed flush to the small of Remus’s arched back, and had to stew in the knowledge that there was nothing he could do about it. Not nothing, but close enough. Sirius, in all his voyeristic glory, would actually have loved nothing more than to pull the bedcurtains around himself and Remus, cast a half-hearted silencing charm and see what they could get away with in the midst of so many present, unaware others. But even he understood things like the right time and the right place.

Besides, it wasn’t just the sex Sirius missed.

He was getting claustrophobic. He wanted to have a conversation with Remus without factoring in every other pair of ears in the room. He wanted their alone time, the breathing room that was special because Sirius just breathed differently when it was he and Remus alone. As a couple, as partners. Like they would be in the flat in a few months. He didn’t love his friends any less for it, but by the gods did he like the idea of having somewhere to retreat to.

And Remus was riled up. There was no denying that, not that Sirius would ever try to. The moon was fast approaching, a blurry twenty-four hours away, and Sirius could see the wolf peering through Remus’s eyes sometimes when Peter was crunching crisps with his proud, wide mouth wide open, or when the girls threw back the curtains and insisted on filling the room with sunlight before Remus had been able to slip off into his fitfully needed fifteen minutes of sleep. The close-quarters weren’t good for him either, especially as his sensory processing swung in and out of order. He needed time, and space. Sirius desperately wanted to give him that, with the caveat that they ignore the real premise of aloneness and spend the time together.

The Shrieking Shack had been a last resort. The Prefects bathroom, the kitchens full of elves, even the Quidditch Pitch seemed like they could have been better options at first – Sirius knew the connotations these walls held for Remus, the bad memories they conjured. But as time stretched on and privacy became more of a commodity—as the moon became more full-figured and increased its attraction of Remus Lupin’s golden eyes—it had become their only option.

Sirius had done his best to make it a good day, but it had been a day spent in relative silence. They were happy, of course they were happy, but they were carrying different burdens.

Remus was sore; Remus was snappish; Remus was wound tighter than the Shack’s ancient grandfather clock, which Sirius had religiously watched during the second transformation he bore witness to, so that he wouldn’t have to put an image to the sound of Remus crying out as his skin split open. He gave the weathered wood a fond stroke as he passed it, turning into the bedroom and fixing Remus with a slow, fond smile. It was clear, from the moment he entered, that Remus was a million miles away. Sirius was good for nothing, if not trying to coax him back to safe ground.

“Found them,” he announced, fishing out the deck and holding them up as proof. “Fancy a round of strip poke?” Sirius was joking. Mostly. “You’ve a better poker face than I do, though. I want a handicap. Take your shit off; it’s only fair.”

@remus-whoisleft

#chat: remus all #chat: remus92

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p-artsypants · 5 years ago

Text

Longest Night (6)

The day started out sucky to begin with. Her crush ousted to the class and Adrien. Lila taking pride in exacting her revenge.

But by the time patrol was over, a young man was dead, and Ladybug’s identity was at risk. Lila was the least of her concerns.

Good thing Adrien was taking it all like a champ.

Ao3 | FF.net

Warning: This chapter contains public humiliation. I will continue to mark the chapters that contain torture if you wish to skip them. Adrien gets his arm dislocated, but that’s the worst of the violence. I would recommend reading this one for plot at least.

—

Ladybug woke up, thankfully still transformed, in a dark room. Her hands were bound behind her back and a gag was in her mouth. Her vision was blurry in the low light, and she couldn’t quite parse two thoughts together. Did she have a concussion? She had hit her head, right? That’s why it hurt so bad?

She tried to make some noise, but it just came out as a muffled moan.

A similar sound came from behind her, and she felt something move against her hand. Chat Noir, she supposed. She hoped. She was with him last…probably. At least, last she remembered.

A harsh light flicked on in her eyes, and she winced against it.

“Well well well, looks like you two finally decided to wake up. Good thing too, or you would have missed all the fun.” It was a woman speaking, an Akuma? But they had just been fighting one! A huge, wrecking ball Akuma. Did Hawkmoth change tactics mid fight? Why couldn’t she remember what happened?

“Don’t worry, you take all the time you need to catch up. After all, GHB tends to wipe some memories.”

GHB? Wasn’t that a date rape drug? Had they been ambushed?

Another voice spoke. “We’re all set ma’am.”

“Wonderful, everyone in positions.”

Ladybug’s chair was turned around to face her partner. He looked just like her, bound and gagged. Confusion clouded his eyes, along with concern.

“Good evening Paris.” The woman was speaking, her back to them. “Please excuse me for interrupting whatever pointless drivel you were consumed with. My name is Salo. I’m not an akuma, but you’ll soon wish I was. I have succeeded where all the others have failed.” She stepped back to show Ladybug and Chat Noir, bound and gagged.

Now Ladybug could get a good look at her. Red hair tied up in a bun, black leather suit, and reflective sunglasses. She looked physically fit, but there was no notable expression on her face. Slight wrinkles around her lips, so she was older. Maybe in her forties?

There was a hand gun at her hip.

“I have captured the so called heroes of Paris. In ten minutes, I will be revealing their identities on ‘make ladybug suffer dot com.’ Be sure to tune in, you won’t want to miss it.”

“Transmission ended.” Called the man’s voice again.

The light dimmed, and Ladybug could see a little better. The room was small and bare, save for several cameras, screens, lights and wires. The only furniture were the chairs they were currently occupying, a table behind the mysterious woman, and a table in the corner with computer monitors. There were no windows, and the only door was heavy iron. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all cement. In short, no escape.

“Starting to remember things yet?” This ‘Salo’ woman asked.

Ladybug just stared her down, anger in her eyes.

Salo and another man ripped off the duct tape over their mouths, and pulled out the gags.

“Who are you?” Was Ladybug’s curt reply.

Salo smiled and prepared to answer, but she was interrupted by Chat’s shout of, “Catacly—!” But the woman stuck her fingers down his throat, gagging him mid-word. He heaved, coughing up some fluid.

“Oh shush kitty kitty, we can’t have you leaving now, can we? Now that we have so much planned.” She nodded her head to the man standing nearby.

He was huge, just about the same size as the Gorilla, and he took hold of Chat’s arm. With a yank and a sickening crack, Chat cried out in pain as his was arm was ripped out of socket.

“Chat!”

Salo smiled, “to answer your question, my name is not important, but you can call me Salo.”

“What do you want?”

The woman grabbed her face, squeezing her cheeks hard. “What do I want? I want to destroy you, Ladybug.” She said her name with venom. “You’ve had it too good for too long. You’re the hero of Paris, the idol! You can do no wrong! But you’ve gotten cocky. Started working outside your job. Superheroes take down super villains. You should have stuck to those silly akumas.” She let her face go, smiling with untapped anger. “But you didn’t.”

“Our job is to keep Paris safe, whether it’s from akumas or petty thieves.”

Salo slapped her cheek, right over her bullet wound, making white flash under her eyelids, and her ears ring.

“You’re cute, Ladybug. Real cute. I thought you were fun. A Parisian idol, our very own Mickey Mouse. So did my Ed. You were bright and flashy, a wonderful distraction for the media. But you crossed a line, little insect. And now all of Paris, all of France, is going to watch you pay.”

Ladybug swallowed, obviously nervous. There had to be a way out, but in the dark room and Chat’s Cataclysm out of commission, things were beginning to look bleak.

“What did I do?”

The corner of Salo’s mouth twitched. “Let me jog your memory.”

The screen behind her lit up, and Nadja Chamack appeared with a news ticker underneath. “Don’t be bemused, it’s just the News. Ladybug and Chat Noir have done it again, with the capture of an elusive criminal. Top of the ‘Most Wanted’ lists in six countries, a Monsieur Edward Savauge. Ladybug and Chat Noir had an altercation with Savauge at the docks last night around 12am, resulting in the death of a young man identified as 25 year old Charles Exavier. Police arrived at the scene to find Savauge bound in Ladybug’s yo-yo, several bodyguards unconscious, surrounded by illegal firearms, and the body of Exavier on the ground. Savauge was taken and charged with murder and illegal firearm possession. He has also been wanted for drug trafficking, illegal gambling, human trafficking, and 19 counts of murder. Edward Savauge was the boss of a Camorra crime syndicate. Ladybug and Chat Noir were unavailable for comment.” The recording ended there, and the woman shut off the TV.

“He was my lover. A wonderfully powerful man...but because of you, he’s in hot water. If he goes to prison, I’ll never see him again...so you will never see your family, friends, or your beloved fans again.”

Ladybug’s eyes were blown wide, horrified. This was why she hadn’t wanted anyone to find out their identities, in case someone went out for revenge.

“500,000 users are streaming the site, including three users at the TVi News Station.” Another man stated from a computer in the corner.

“Excellent.” Salo smiled. “Time?”

“T minus one minute.”

“You hear that? One minute until I reveal your name to the whole world. I’ll let you have that minute to escape. Go ahead, go.”

Frantic, Ladybug wriggled against her bindings. Come on! She was supposed to be stronger in the suit. But pull as she did, she was only making her wrists hurt, and the ropes to tighten.

She glanced over to Chat to see what he was doing. His shoulder looked lumpy and unnatural. He was biting back tears as he tried to wriggle too, though one arm was not moving. She realized it was the arm with his ring.

“Time’s up! Aw, you two do want to have fun! You stayed!”

Furious, Ladybug spit at the woman. “You won’t get away with this!”

“Oh, but I already have.” Salo tapped her on the nose. “You see, the Ladyblog really is an amazing resource! Every video of you two ever shot was on there. Theories and facts, all the information we needed was on there. I studied it carefully. All you had to do was show up for an akuma, and we took care of the rest. Though, I should probably thank that hulk, since he did the hard part for us. Seems like you’re not so lucky after all.”

Ladybug’s lip trembled.

“We have over a million users online,” spoke the man from the computer again.

“Then let’s begin.” Her voice was cold and merciless. “Let’s start with Mr. Noir, shall we? Your ring, sir!” She reached for it.

“Cataclysm!” He shouted, finally activating his power. He couldn’t move his arm, but it would give him a few minutes of protection.

“Oh you think you’re so smug.” Salo smirked. “But you see, there’s more than one way to skin a cat.” She snapped her fingers, and the large man standing by touched Chat’s hand with a metal pole. The metal rusted and turned to dust. Chat’s hand was useless once again.

She took hold of the ring between her fingers.

“Please,” whispered Chat. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Of course I don’t, pussy cat. But it’s my great joy that I get too.” Slowly, deliberately, she pulled his ring off his finger, watching as his transformation fell away in a flurry of green light.

Ladybug looked in horror as her long time crush and good friend Adrien Agreste sat in front of her, still bound and in immense pain without his suit.

Salo leaned on his bad shoulder, making him cry out in pain. “Well well well. A famous model and a superhero! How intriguing! Adrien Agreste…I bet your father would pay a pretty penny to have you home safe and sound, don’t you think?” She dragged her fingers over his cheek.

Adrien was in tears. Not outright sobbing, but a few drops rolling off his chin. Whether it was the pain from his shoulder, or facing the reality that his freedom had just literally been stripped away, he wasn’t sure himself.

Salo scoffed. “What a baby.” She smacked his face just hard enough to sting. Then she stood and walked over to Ladybug. “Your turn, missy.”

Ladybug struggled, not willing to go without a fight. She thrashed in her chair, kicked her legs, and frantically shook her head, so Salo had put her into a choke hold. She fought for breath and cried out with a choking gasp.

The earrings were plucked from her ears and sad little Marinette Dupain-Cheng remained. Adrien stared at her, a gasp bursting from his lips.

She didn’t dare look at him.

“And who the heck are you?” Salo snorted. “We lucked out with Mr. Whiskers, but who knew Ladybug was just a nobody?” She leaned in closer. “Oh wait, I recognize you…yeah, you’re a friend of the Ladyblogger, in some of her videos. Mmmm….Marinette, right? Yeah. How sad! You’d think the person most dedicated to finding out Ladybug’s identity would have seen her sitting in front of her! You must either be too pathetic in your real life, or totally unimportant to the Ladyblogger.”

Marinette sat still and quiet, not willing to let the words of this vile woman get to her. She just stared at Adrien, apologizing with her eyes, and begging him not to hate her. He stared back with fear and desperation.

Marinette pushed her fear aside, and summoned Ladybug’s courage. “Alright, you’ve taken our Miraculous, and now everyone knows who we are. Can we go now?”

Salo slapped her cheek and sent her sprawling on the floor, the chair pressing awkwardly on her arm. “Didn’t you hear me? You’re never getting out of here. You’ll never see daylight again. I intend to keep you here and torture you over and over. One day, you won’t even know your own name anymore, but you’ll beg me for death!”

This couldn’t be happening. There was just no way.

She was roughly yanked off the ground, the chair settling back on the floor.

“Let’s see, first thing first is to get you into uniform.”

Uniform? Thought Marinette, with fear.

Her bindings were cut, and she was forced to her feet. She rubbed her wrists carefully. There were several men standing around, watching, plus Salo had a gun. She didn’t know if it was loaded, but she wouldn’t take that chance.

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.” Said Salo. “Now strip.”

Marinette was keenly aware of the camera pointed at her, and the spot light on her, forbidding any hiding. With trembling hands, she took off her jacket, purse, and shoes.

Salo crouched and picked up her purse. “Let’s see, just as I thought.” She took out her phone, looking at the screen. “18 missed calls? My my someone is worried about their baby.” Then she dropped the phone and smashed it under her heel. “Not to worry. We’ll let mommy know how much fun your having.”

She then went over to Adrien and frisked him, finding his phone. “2 missed calls. Hmm, I wonder who’s more loved?” She smashed his phone as well. The remnants of both were collected and tossed in a bucket of water, just to make sure all the circuitry was fried.

Salo gestured Marinette onward.

She then took off her shirt and pants, standing alone, trembling in her underwear.

“Well?” Said Salo. “The rest of it too.”

So Marinette unhooked her bra and shimmied out of her panties, standing completely naked in front of all of Paris. And her crush.

Adrien wasn’t looking at her, keeping his eyes politely on her toes.

“Oh what a gentleman!” Salo laughed, noticing. She grabbed his chin and forced him to look up. “But I know where you really want to look. You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

Adrien couldn’t help it, he glanced her up and down, and then met her eyes. “…I’m sorry.”

“Did I say you could talk, pussy cat?”

He shook his head, immediately snapping to obedience.

“Aw, he already knows how to behave so well. This will be so fun!”

Marinette continued to stand there, trying in vain to cross her legs or wrap her arms around her chest. It was doing little good.

Salo gestured to someone in the room, and without warning, a bucket of cold water dropped over her head, soaking her through. “Ugh!” She yelped, in shock.

Next, Adrien was forced to his feet too, and also freed of his bindings, but his arm just hung limply at his side.

“He might need some help, Ladybug. So why don’t you help him.” Salo shoved her forward, as she tripped into his chest.

Any other day, she’d be blushing madly and apologizing. But right now, she just wanted to hug him and hide in his embrace.

“Tick tock, you two.”

It became apparent that any movement caused Adrien pain, as she helped ease his arm out of his over shirt. His t-shirt followed, but with a lot more fumbling and wincing.

She had to undo his belt and unbutton his jeans, which was painfully awkward and uncomfortable for both of them. Especially with the snickers and wolf whistles from the shadows.

Then they were both naked, in front of Paris.

“Wow, the suit really holds everything in, doesn’t it, Adrien?” Salo laughed, looking between his legs.

He was in too much pain to be embarrassed.

But just like with Marinette, a bucket of cold water drenched him. He tensed up, wincing all the while.

“Here,” Salo spoke, dropping a folded cloth into Marinette’s hands. “Your uniform.”

Holding it up, she found it was just a hospital gown. And a short one at that.

She quickly put it on, tying it as tightly as she could in the back. As long as she didn’t have to raise her hands, she would be covered.

“Now Mr. Whiskers.” Salo gave her another gown, to help Adrien into.

She bunched up the sleeve to make it easier, and eased his hand into the sleeve, his other going in just fine. She pulled it up to drape over his shoulders and then stepped to go behind him.

“Uh uh uh…” Salo stopped her, “you can tie him from in front.”

Marinette obeyed, reaching her arms around him and tying the strings tightly. She pressed against his chest, though she tried not too.

“My lady,” he whispered oh so quietly. “It’ll be alright.”

She felt awful. She should be the one reassuring him. Wordlessly, she cupped his cheek and wiped his tears away.

The gown was short on him too, just barely keeping him covered.

Salo grabbed Marinette’s arm and yanked her back. “Alright, that’s enough. I’ve got some new jewelry for you, since I took your old ones.”

Marinette’s eyes widened. “Where did you put our miraculous? What did you do with them?”

Salo smiled, “Oh, you didn’t notice? Why, they’re right here.”

There was a small safe on a table behind her. The lid was open, and Salo held it up to show the ring and earrings sitting dormant inside. Then she closed the lid and flipped the combination. “I don’t worry showing you this. Because there’s no way you’ll be able get them. But I’d love to see you try.”

Marinette clenched her fist, looking at the safe, the door, and the gun.

She had never felt so absolutely hopeless.

Salo picked something up from the table next to the safe, and came towards Marinette. “Alright bug, I’d stay still unless you want to get pinched.”

She clamped on two wrist restraints, and then one to her neck, all connected with chains.

Then she did the same with Adrien, even clamping his bad arm.

“Now aren’t you two just precious? All gussied up for your first day of camp! Smile for the camera! Let your parents know how much fun you’re having!”

The camera swung in close to them, capturing their expressions of absolute humiliation and horror.

“I said, smile!” She pinched the underside of their arms, causing them both to wince, which they both tried to turn into a smile.

“Alright, now let’s take you to your bunks. We have a really nice set up for our new campers. You’ll just love it!”

They were both led from the room, chains rattling with each step.

Marinette paid attention to the direction of the hallways. Although, the walls were bare and grimy. It was unbelievably dark too.

Finally, they came to their ‘cabin’. A room without a door, but two large metal ducts. The kind used in buildings for Air Conditioning, but they looked old and rusty. Crude doors had been sawed out of them, and chains welded to them.

“Take your pick.” Salo giggled. “There’s just enough room in there to sit.”

Marinette took the one on the right, but Adrien just stood at the door.

“Well, go on.” Salo pushed him forward.

Marinette watched with growing concern as each step he took was slow and shaky. He looked absolutely terrified. Finally, he took his place on the left, and turned to face the door.

The doors closed, but little slots opened in the middle, big enough to fit their wrists through.

“Arms up.” Salo demanded.

Through the slot, their chains were removed, though the shackles remained. Then, the slot closed and several padlocks clicked into place outside.

“Get some sleep you two. Tomorrow we have a day chocked full of activities.”

Several footsteps led away and then, silence.

Marinette grit her teeth. “Tikki can you—“

Tikki wasn’t there. For the first time in three years, Tikki wasn’t there. She was all alone.

Well, almost.

“Kitty?” She asked softly.

“I’m here.” He answered, his voice broken.

“I...I’m going to figure a way out of this. I promise.”

He didn’t respond.

“Chat?”

“I’m...I’m sorry...” He was crying, and hyperventilating. “I…I don’t like being locked up.”

“Oh Kitty…”

“If only I had cataclysmed the wrecking ball, or—or arrived at the docks earlier—“

“Chat.”

“I could have—Maybe we—“

“Adrien.” She rested a hand on the cold metal of the cage. “This isn’t your fault.”

“But...I promised to protect you. And I failed.”

“Don’t do this to yourself. I need you right now, okay?”

He was quiet, and then finally agreed. “Okay.”

“How’s your arm?”

“I’m...getting used to it.”

“Can you pop it back in?”

“I don’t know how. I’ve never dislocated anything before.”

“Me neither.” She sighed. Slowly, and ever so carefully she sat on the ground, leaning against the metal walls. It was pitch black, she couldn’t even see her own hand in front of her face. She reached forward, finding the door to the cage. The metal felt pretty thin, and if she was lucky, it would have some give. The door was several inches from the floor, leaving a gap large enough to reach her arm out. She grabbed hold of the edge, and trying to force it out, but she wasn’t prepared for the sharp edge and cut herself.

She hissed in pain.

“Marinette?”

It was at that moment that she was struck with the realization that this was Adrien talking to her, and that he was Chat Noir, and that he knew who she was. Perhaps it was shock or adrenaline, but it didn’t click until just this moment.

“Are you okay?” He asked, still sniffling.

“I just…yeah…be careful with the edges of the door, it’s sharp.”

“Yeah, I cut myself just sitting down. There’s an edge along the wall.”

“Oh…” She settled down then, not really knowing what to do.

Ladybug was out of ideas.

“My lady?”

“Y-Yeah?”

“Would...would you still think I was super cool even if I said I was scared?”

She managed a single laugh. “I’m…I’m terrified.” She admitted. “Chat, we…we failed. Everyone knows who we are.”

“Yeah…”

“My family…your dad…Alya and Nino…they all know. And they’re all in danger…and th-there’s nothing—“ She choked out a sob. “There’s nothing we can do.”

Adrien didn’t respond but she could hear him sniffling.

“I don’t know…what are we going to do?” The last part was barely a whisper.

“Salo said she thought my dad might pay a hefty price to get me out. Money hasn’t ever been an object to my father, so...I’m sure he’d pay your ransom too.” There was a piece of doubt deep in his soul that wondered if he would. Gabriel Agreste was a good man. Sometimes.

“No.” Marinette shook her head. “I can’t allow that to happen. These people are dangerous. If your father gives them money, how many more people will die? What other crimes will they commit? We can’t…no matter how scary it is…we can’t let them win…”

It was a beat before Adrien agreed. “…yeah. I guess all our hard work goes away then.”

She leaned her head back, the metal groaning as she did so.

“You know…” He spoke, taking a massive sigh. “We’ve spent the last three years saving Paris. I think…I think Paris can protect our loved ones for us.” She could hear him moving, the metal groaning as he pushed against it. “Can you reach under the door, towards me?”

She scooted down too, laying on the ground on her side, and as she reached under the door, she found a warm hand, with strong fingers that quickly wrapped around her own.

“My lady….my beautiful lady…”

“Kitty cat…”

“We’ll find a way out. Together.”

“Partners?”

“Partners.”

#miraculous ladybug #ml #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #adrienette #ladynoir #fanfiction #longest night

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tinkerli1 · 6 years ago

Text

Bitter Beauty: Prologue

Morning light flickered in the curtains, causing streams to dance on the sleeping couple. An arm flew up to block the glare and groan escaped pitifully, causing a chuckle from another.

"Morning, Love," Hermione whispered dreamily against his chest.

Ron curled into his wife, back facing the light. "Morning, Beautiful."

The two curled into each other, enjoying the quiet of the morning. Hermione was thankful to have him home after a week long mission tracking down their latest sightings of Fenrir's followers. Their two-year-old daughter, Rose, was currently staying at the Burrow to allow her parents some privacy. Hermione was all too happy for the opportunity. Merlin knew, two months from now there would be a second bundle of joy to dote on.

"When does Mum expect me?" he asked.

"Around 10, I suspect. I have to be at work in an hour, so you have the whole day to spoil her like a princess," she responded.

He snuggled in, "Like you'd have it any other way," he quipped.

"How about dinner tonight and extra dessert?" Hermione whispered against his chest.

"Sounds delicious, Mione," he said, as his fingers stoked her shoulders and protruding belly.

Her kissed his chest and shoulders before asking, "My maternity leave begins in about six weeks. No more missions until after the baby is here, right?"

"Harry has assured me that he and the team can handle them. I'm restricted to paperwork and court dates until our son is two months old. Perks of being a war hero, eh?" he chuckled into her hair.

"Speaking of your son, he needs a name, ya know." she sighed.

"I still want Hugo," Ron replied, laughing.

She groaned, "Fine. Hugo. But Hugo what?"

"I let you decide the middle name. I'll take a win when I can, Love," he relented.

She made to swat him, but gripped her belly instead, gasping loudly. Ron kissed her forehead, while massaging her hip.

"Bloody hell, I detest these false labor pains," she groaned. She sighed heavily before leaving the warmth of their bed and waddled to the bathroom.

"Merlin, that's a rather fanciable sight. Mione, I do believe I hit the jackpot," he flirted, eyes glued to her naked form.

She disappeared into the bathroom, but not before flipping her curls flirtatiously, winking, and beckoning him to join her in the shower. The ginger flipped out of the bed, chasing his wife. Echoes of giggles and moans filled the hall and bedroom.

Later that morning

A little girl ran from the fireplace, her doll at her side. Flaming red, wild curls bounced around her beautiful face, as her blue eyes sparkled.

"Daddy, Granddaddy gave me this really cool toy that flew across the room if I pulled this stick. He told me it was holo...holocepper," she prattled.

Ron followed her inside, smiling at the toddler as he sealed the floo. "Helicopter, sweetheart," he corrected.

He took a step, and instantly bristled at the atmosphere. Something was off...deeply wrong.

"Rosie," he called. He tried to keep his voice level, hoping to keep his daughter calm. He knew it was imperative to get her out as soon as possible. He quickly sent a distress patronus to Harry and the rest of team, hoping they would be there momentarily.

Rose stood frozen at the kitchen door, eyes wide with horror, unshed tears gleaming in them, and scream threatening to pierce the air.

"Rosie, baby, come to Daddy," he urged.

Her lip quivered, and she gasped as a shadow emerged from the corner. She ran to her father, hiding behind his legs. Ron stood face to face with the very demon he had spent his adult life hunting.

"Heard you were looking for me, Weasel. Delicious smelling spawn. I'm sure she'll make an excellent snack later," a cruel voice rasped, before cackling.

"Fenrir, you filthy bastard!" Ron seethed.

The werewolf sneered and licked his lips, as he inhaled deeply. Ron's fingers grasped his wand tightly, ready to protect Rose, no matter the cost.

"Boys, take the young lass for a play date. I'm sure she'll behave until I return," Fenrir growled.

Four pack members stood behind the auror, crouched and prepared to pounce. An illusion charm sparkled in the air, giving their position away. One boldly approached the child, and Ron silently blasted him against the wall. The man collapsed against the wall, neck broken and limp.

"Touch her and you will suffer the same fate," her father snarled. He flicked a shield around her and she was instantly surrounded by an impenetrable bubble that would last until he cast the key spell or it would dissolve in the event of his death.

"So you want to play, do ya? Bad choice, boy!" Fenrir roared.

Hexes began flying, destroying the Granger-Weasley home. Rosie's bubble evaded the jets of light, as she watched her father battle against the four invaders. Ron swiftly takes out two of them, resorting to brute force to snap the neck of one. He was now up against Fenrir and his last lackey. His chest was heaving and blood and sweat blurred his vision from the various slicing curses that struck him. Fenrir launched himself at the exhausted wizard, toppling over the overturned furniture. Ron tried to blast him away, but he was struck with a cruciatus curse from the other wolf.

Rose shut her eyes and covered her ears, as her father's agonizing wails bounced along the walls.

"Daddy!" she screams, hot tears raked across her little face.

The auror writhes on the floor, until he is able to gather his strength to fight the boiling torture in his veins. His raw magic bursts from him, ending his pain as Greyback and his lackey are flung across the room.

The demon crouches once more, the lunges once more. Ron dodges his attack, but is blind to the other behind him. Greyback's follower transfigures four broken table legs into steel stakes and crucio's his prey once more.

Ron collapses to his knees, convulsing from the electricity frying his body. He tries to fight off the seering pain, but the blinding agony coursed through his soul, ripping him apart. Darkness threatened to overtake him, but he forced himself to stay aware of the situation at hand. His daughter was at stake. A sickening blow was delivered to his skull, knocking him unconscious.

Fenrir laughs cruelly as the toddler cowers behind her shield, wailing distraughtly for her Daddy to wake up.

"Harper, drag him over there and prop him up nice and straight. I want that little pup of his to see him perish," he ordered.

The wolf obeyed his alpha's command, propping the auror against the far wall. Fenrir prodded the protection shield, eliciting a series of electric surges.

"Must admit, the bitch of his had a hand in this. Our toy is very protected by this," he said, enjoying the terrified expression of the child before him.

Ron stirred groggily, blood rushing over his ears and face, soaking his shirt and jeans. He instantly remembered his predicament and reach for his wand, only to find it missing.

"Na ah ah..." Fenrir tutted. "We're going to have little chat, you and me."

"Like hell we are!" Ron gritted.

Fenrir smirked, then swiftly kicked his prisoner in the abdomen.

"Respect, surely your mother taught you better." He began pacing the room, relishing in the pained breaths and whimpers of his prisoners.

"Now, you are going to tell me how you and your team somehow got so close to your goal of arresting me. I have been uprooted from my home and hunting grounds for the last ten years, thank to you and bloody fucking team. I am aware that you pitiful excuses are clever, but never that clever. You had locations of acquaintances of mine and my moles were suddenly being snuffed out. Now you will tell me your sources, and maybe I leave only infecting you daughter with my gene, understood?" he threatened.

"Over my dead body," Ron growled darkly.

A sneer ran across the werewolf's face, "Harper..." he said simply.

The wolf took on of the steel stakes and drove it in Ron's left thigh, nailing it to the floor. Ron roared from the pain, as dark red stained seeped into the carpets below. Rosie clung to her doll, wailing uncontrollably.

"I'll ask, again. The name of your source...who is it? I do not like to be kept waiting, Weasel!" he roared.

Ron gagged, but he only glared at the alpha. He refused to reveal their mole and inside man. A decade of trust rode on this and he would not betray them. Fenrir grew impatient at his silence, and nodded to Harper once more. Harper drove a second stake in his left thigh, essentially rooting the auror to the floor. Agonizing roars bounced off the walls, as Ron vomited from the blinding pain. His chest ached dangerously as he gasped through the waves.

"Close your eyes, Rosie," he rasped. "Daddy is going to be fine," he called, "Just close your eyes, baby girl."

"Awww...how utterly weak," Greyback taunted, before nodding his head once more to Harper.

Fire lit inside his veins once more. He seized against the walls, legs rattling against the stakes, and arms curling inward instinctively. He eyes rolled back as the electric current threatened to take his sanity. He tried not to scream, but lost the battle, as a fresh wave of torture overtook him. His chest pain became unbearable and he though his heart might burst from the abuse. His body began to flail uncontrollably, until the last waves ran their course. He instantly spewed vile down his shirt and coughed blood up before spitting on the floor.

His eyesight was blurry, but he still remained determined to keep his oath and protect his daughter. He was no fool. No matter the outcome, Fenrir would kill him the moment he received the intel. Ron knew his daughter's only chance at survival was his survival and he could not crack.

"The name, blood-traitor!" Fenrir roared.

"Go fuck yourself, dog!" Ron spluttered.

Fenrir clawed Ron's chest open to drive his claws into his slashed skin. Ripped flesh hung, as battered, torn muscle was exposed and destroyed. Ron's raw magic threatened to burst once more, but Fenrir delivered a harsh, bone crushing blow to rib cage, piercing a lung. Ron began to gasp for air, fighting off the darkness that loomed over him.

"Clo-ose...eyes...Rose. I lo-ove you, ba-" he gasped.

"Daddy! Noo...leave my Daddy alone, monster-man! NOOOOOOO!" Rose screamed hysterically.

A green flash erupted from Ron's stolen wand, leaving the slumped form of the father behind. The shield faltered and disappeared, betraying the small child.

"Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Now to enjoy the reapings!" Fenrir whispered.

A screech of horror escaped Rose as she clambered away from the demons in front of her. She couldn't understand why her daddy was no longer moving, talking, or why his eyes no longer blinked. She screams for her mother, hoping for her safe embrace.

"Come here, ya little brat!" he commands.

"No! Daddy wake up!" wailed the girl.

Fenrir grew tired of the game and nodded to Harper to restrain the girl. The wolf gripped the child harshly, causing her to panic. Wild, raw magic burst from her as she screeched in distraught room instantly erupted in a blaze that engulfed the entire house. Broken glass and charred flesh filled her nostrils. She searched for her father, but the smoke and flames made it difficult to see or breathe.

Faintly, she could hear someone calling her name. She tried to crawl closer, but her arms shook to much, and her legs seemed frozen in terror.

Sharp claws dug into and a bloody hand smothered her scream. She felt herself ripped from her home, twisting into the air, and taken captive by the very monster that left her father slumped against the wall.

"Rosie! Ron! Rosie, sweetheart! Unc-" Harry called, before stumbling over debris.

His eyes focused once more to find the lifeless form of his best friend, beaten, tortured, covered in blood and deep purple bruises. Aurors were storming the remains of the home, wiping the memories of the neighbors and extinguishing the flames.

"No! No no no no NO! Ron wake up! Fuck! Hermione is going to fucking lose it!" he cried, his chest constricting painfully with grief.

"Potter! We found this," said the investigator.

Harry took the ragged item from him, flipping it in his grasp. He wiped the soot from the surface to find a familiar doll in his hands. He instantly scanned the room for the remains of a small child. He found relief and grief to discover Ron's daughter absent.

"Find Rosie! She's two years old with bright red curls that resemble her mother's. Find her!" Harry ordered.

"Sir, the other bodies are confirmed to be members of Fenrir Greyback's pack. Should we expect the worst?" asked an auror.

"Fenrir?" Harry croaked.

"Missing, Potter." they answered.

Harry became all too aware of the reality of this nightmare: Ron was dead, Rosie was missing and possibly abducted by the most dangerous and notorious werewolf, and he must be the one to tell Hermione. His heart sunk his chest as he nodded his understanding and collapsed to the floor, holding the tattered doll to his chest.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12302830/1/Bitter-Beauty

https://archiveofourown.org/works/9160762

#abduction #fanfic #TinkerLi #FFN #Ao3 #fremione #romione

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portraitavengers · 6 years ago

Text

Portrait

Chapter 10 - Is this what I wanted?

Three weeks later

'Just get through the day, like yesterday’ Lila mentally told herself, each and every new morning that presented itself. She knew exactly what lay ahead in the coming hours. Her handler had made sure of that, made sure that she didn’t stick out from the crowd, that she got up went to work before coming home once more. This was her daily cycle, whilst being watched at every turn, no matter where she went.

This was it, a humdrum existence that she had wanted but yet at the same time, it felt bland and empty. As if it lacked something, that she could simply not name. Lila knew that something was missing in new existence that had to accept was her own. This sense of peace that she had strived for so long was incomplete.

Lila could not help but miss the days that passed, those coffee mornings that filled a void in her day. Then it hit her, even though now she knew that moments had been staged, she no longer cared. She had forgiven Agent Cade for the deceit as for once again, she hadn’t been truly alone in this world.

Her shoulders dropped very so slightly, as the weight of realization set in. This was her bed and now she must lie in it. It was going to be lonely world for her but this was her price was anonymity in truly connected universe.

The scale had shifted against her, she had been toppled into a world spinning out of her control. She had to just take one more step out of her homely styled prison cell, out into the sunlight with her fractured mask displayed for all to see but they would never see what was concealed beneath.

Her eye flicked up to take in the time from across the room, to see how much time she had left. The edge of her lips briefly curled as she realised that she was running rather early. There was nothing special about the day, it was just another dull day. One that she would breeze through, just like all the others.

Pulling her gaze away from the clock, she returned her former task as she closed the threshold into the hall, letting the door swing shut behind her. Each step had felt heavy, as if chains had been wrapped her ankles weighing her down as she made her way down the hallway, passing each apartment door as she went. Lila knew that Agent Carter would be up and moving about, handling her laundry. Her routine was stiff and structured, everything decision was heavily thought out then actioned with her guard held high.

Lila had come to see how high those wall went, too high to be simply climbed over or torn down without a fight. She was woman protecting herself, like Lila was. They were just at different ends of the road. Lila Wright was at end staring back at a woman whom she may one day become. Once she had been the centre of someone else’s world, but that had been a lifetime ago. Her heart had soared, burning brightly for all to see. For Alexander, that sneaky thief of man had stolen and claimed it for his own, storing comfortably it next his. Trying to keep it and her feeling safe and loved. Oh and he had.

She hadn’t truly felt complete, Alexander had been her safe place. His love had illuminated her world but not completely lit it up with all the colors of the rainbow bursting like fireworks in the night sky . She had confessed her strangeness, all of it to him and he had taken it to heart, taken it in his stride. He had been a most perplexing man to behold. He had tried when others would have stepped aside. He had not completely understood the depths of her emotions but he wanted her to be happy. He had wanted to simply be a part of her life, one way or another. Lila had let him in, under her defences and into her heart.

She had felt better, lighter and starting down a road to discover who she was with him by her side. Then her whole world had been consumed, he had been swallowed by the outbreak of war. He had been taken from her, sent to the front lines and walked straight to his death.

Lila’s feet led her down the hallway, as she mused over the past, over the last man she had truly let in. This was a familiar path, one that she walked daily back and forth. She knew where she was going, her eyes remain fixed to the floor knowing that hardly any of her fellow tenants would be leaving their homes anytime soon. The last two weeks walking these halls at this hour of the morning, she could count on one hand the number of encounters she had with other people.

Three times she had found herself face to face with another person in one of the deserted hallway of her floor. Most of the time they had been coming into the building as she was leaving it. Each encounter had been civil but brief, lasting only a moment or two with only a hello being exchanged between them. It had always left her feeling empty, more lonely than before. As if no-one truly cared.

She had been too lost in her own thoughts to notice the sound of approaching footsteps. Lila just continued on her way, each step drawing her closer to collision. Life had halted in every way that Lila could think was possible. Being as closely monitored as she was, didn’t leave much room for a blossoming personal relationships. Friends were almost out of the question, as she could no longer tell who was an Agent and who was a true innocent civilian who just wanted to connect.

To connect like she had with Agent Cade, it would be a start at the very least. Something that she could work with, something that could be deepen if time was on her side. Then again time was all she had these days. Lila could not help but scoff, remembering where she had been. She had been hiding from the world, wanting nothing more than fade into the background and exist through the next few years. Now here she was, wrapped up in cotton wool, just part of the furniture, part of the scenery.

She was anonymous

Once now that she had found herself in a place that she had almost wishing for on a daily basis, did she see the truth of her reality. This was what she was not wanted. Far from it, her need to hide was simply blanketing something far greater, that had been pulling at her heartstrings silently in the background. Loneliness. Agent Cade had reopened a wound that she had long since healed over, before tossing it into the depths of her mind. Into a small, cold cage that could be easily forgettable, buried with the pain of the memories that were intertwined with that particular emotion.

Protection from the agony of losing another friend, another lover. Lila had simply been safeguarding her own heart, her own self from having to go through those distressing, soul destroying motions again. She had told herself this often, how could she not? Alexander’s death had torn her heart into a million million tiny shards. It had taken a decade to even begin to glue those fragile pieces back together, to try and form that broken heart of hers again.

The first week had been a breeze, as she came to terms with the new routine that she had been given. Get up, go to work, come home, spend the evening at her leisure, go to sleep then rinse, latter and repeat the next morning. However by the second week, cracks had started to form in the monotonous way that her life had become. Doubts had started to emerge when she lay in bed, thinking over her day. Nothing major changed from day to day. It was always remarkable similar to the one that came before.

When week three had come around, then Lila had seen the light. No-one knocked at her door, there were no friendly neighbours who wanted a chat, to borrow this or that. They were singular individuals who wanted to live life without interference, without interruption that came with social interactions with those they shared a floor with. This very notion that caused the doubts to spring open, crack her thoughts, desire and notion forcing to take a hard glance at her life. Seeing what had always been there, to see what she had hidden away.

Lila, too deep in thought to notice as she collided with the solid frame of someone else. It was not hard enough to knock her off her feet but she did not faze her. She did not notice the bare skin of her wrist and palm connecting with another. As she began to walk away, Lila couldn’t help notice the way that the vision in her left eye began to blur. It was as if she wandered haphazardly into a wall of fog drifting upwards to cloud her way. However it dissipated as quickly as it had appeared. Lila’s feet ground to halt, as she tried to process what just had occurred. The penny quickly dropped, she had made direct skin to skin contact with another. She didn’t dare to look over her shoulder, instead she chose to keep her eyes fixed upon the path ahead and continue on her way. Choosing to block out that little voice in the back of her mind, telling her to stop and do what she born to do. Heal those cry out, be the one to take the agony and bare with smile.

‘You were born to heal Lila’ Elise had told her time and time again but once more she pushed back, locking away that thought train, knowing exactly where it would lead. She shook her head, pulling herself back into reality. “I need to get a move on, I don’t want to miss my train for the second time this week” She muttered softly to herself, knowing that there was enough distance between herself and stranger to finally speak.

If Lila had dared to glance back then she would have noticed him looking perplexed at her disappearing form as she walked out of sight, as the cogs in his mind turned, trying to process what had occurred in this narrow hallway.

Her path had taken another corner, one step closer to a head on collision with a fate that she been running from since day one. Since secrets had been traded over a steaming hot cup of tea long ago. Elise’s influence still lingered, barely holding onto Lila’s coat tails. As she tried to steer her dear friend closer to the end goal, a true sense of happiness which had leaked out through the cracks of a damaged heart. Much like a tap that hadn’t completely been shut off, dripping quietly in the background.

Happiness had been draining away from Lila’s life, each new death had caused a the tap to burst into life. A stream of raw emotion had drained away in quick rush of water down the drain of life. The world around Lila had turned a washed out shade of what was. Colour had all but vanished, more so with each passing year. The portrait of the world had faded quicker that art that hung silently for years in galleries across the world. Not that Lila noticed much change in her surroundings. Too many years had passed with this new normal for her to see any difference in the colour of sky, of the grass or even her own eyes. She had all but forgotten the true colour of once vibrant gaze.

There hadn’t been a second thought of such things, there was simply no need. This was her world, her dank ashen, lacklustre world. One that would last as she long as she did.

#portrait #polyamory #poly avengers #portrait the fanfiction #steve rogers x oc x tony stark #steve rogers x oc #tony stark x oc #slowburn #Oc x character #ocappreciation #update

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swellwriting · 7 years ago

Text

After the War

Fandom: Harry Potter Marauders Era

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST

Request: Could u do a after war imagines where you're the sister of Peter and they don't trust you but you're like guys I'm not my brother and you used to date Sirius? And you still love him and he feels the same?

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: I wrote this last week while waiting at a walk in clinic for over an hour just for a prescription renewal, I shouldn’t complain though because some of you actually have to pay for birth control and shit and that’s much worse than waiting a lil. ANYWAYS ALL THE ANGST I’m posting this and going to get drunk instead of doing my assignments RIP

After the war was a dark time, you spent a long time alone.

You always thought choosing your friends would include choosing Peter, they were his friends first after all and he was your brother. You always loved the good yet mischievous side they brought out in him but there was more to him. Behind his troublesome but quiet side he let people see there was fear, fear of the war that you knew would control him one day. You never thought like this though.

When you heard the news that your brother was dead, and that your boyfriend Sirius had killed him along with James and Lily you almost fainted.

Was this a cruel joke? This couldn’t be real. You were away on an order mission when you were told, you couldn’t even grieve or go visit Remus to see how he was holding up. You had to finish your mission, which you did just barely without getting yourself killed.

You didn’t know who to believe, the last time you saw your brother you knew he didn’t look well, he was fidgety and secretive but you assumed that was because he was holding the burden of war and was scared for his friends and himself.

The last time you saw Sirius was when you kissed him on his forehead as he slept, you left a goodbye note saying little details about your mission but that you would return soon. He smiled when you kissed him, a genuine smile you rarely saw at times like this. Sirius was the secret keeper protecting the location of James and Lily, a heavy burden as well, and one you knew he didn’t take lightly.

When you got back home Sirius was already sent to Azkaban, you missed your brother’s funeral as well as James and Lily’s. To make matters worse your only friend left, Remus, wouldn’t answer your calls. You felt alone, betrayed and lost.

You didn’t know how to make the story make sense, and the most sensible person you knew wouldn’t answer your calls so you went to his home and didn’t even knock before entering.

There were bottles laying around and destroyed furniture. You saw Remus laying on the couch asleep, he had bloody knuckles like he had taken out his anger on something, like he had done in the past but you hoped it wasn’t on himself. You felt a little peace when you noticed the marks on the wall, which was better than against his own skin.

You walked in and sat down beside him gently placing your hand on his shoulder waking him up.

“Remus, wake up its me, it’s Y/N” you whispered gently.

He awoke abruptly, probably the fear of him being next to die evident in his mind and when he saw you he felt no comfort.

“You!” He yelled standing up pointing his wand in your face.

“Me? What do you mean Remus? It’s Y/n I’m not here to hurt you!” You yelled back, hurt by the way he looked at you with such hatred.

“Are you here to finish his dirty work?” Hints of sadness entered his tone.

“Who’s dirty work? Remus I’m here because I wanted to see you, this is hard on me too!” The tears started collecting in your eyes, this was the first time you had gotten to speak about your loss, until now you just pushed it away.

“Hard on you? You lived with him! You loved him! You had to have known what he was planning! And your own brother!” He yelled angrily still holding his wand in your face, wrist shaking.

“Remus I don’t know what the truth is, I don’t know anything I feel just as lost as you do! All I know is that my brother is dead. My friends are dead and the man I loved is in prison for it, the only person I have left is you and your pushing me away!” You burst into tears dropping your wand on the floor, if Remus was to attack you, you really wouldn’t care at this point.

“How can I know that you weren’t involved!”

“You don’t! But how do we know that any of this is the truth , do you really believe Sirius was capable of this?” You asked

“Well it runs in his family doesn’t it.” He asked, not as angry as before.

“Don’t say that, you know he was nothing like them, he would have died for the order, for his friends! He wouldn’t do this to us.”

“Who are you suggesting is behind it? James and Lily? Or was it Peter who turned to the dark lord on us?” He asked angry at the idea of it

“I don’t know and that’s what scares me! Peter was acting weird the last time I saw him.” You said, upset at the idea of your own brother turning against you.

“That’s what war does to people! How can you even suggest he had a part in this, he’s dead!” Remus yelled.

“Don’t you think I know that! He was my brother! I loved him.”

“But not as much as you loved Sirius right?” He questioned.

“Stop trying to blame me for something I had nothing to do with!” You yelled

“How do I know that!” He yelled throwing his wand onto the couch in anger and sitting down placing his hands over his face.

“I don’t have a way to prove it to you Remus, you just have to trust me, that I believe in the order and that I would never defy my friends like that! Please Remus.”

“You mean trust you like James and Lily trusted Sirius? I’m sorry y/n but I can’t, please leave and don’t come back.” He said as a tear slipped down his face

“Remus don’t do this! Don’t push me away when I’m all you have left! We have been through so much, you need someone! You need me. What about the full moons what are you-“

“Maybe it’s best that I be by myself! I’m better off alone! We were friends because you loved my friend and were related to the other! That’s it! You are nothing to me. Now leave.”

“You don’t mean that, that’s grief talking I know that.”

“Leave!” He almost growled as he got up right in your face. You felt hot tears spill from your eyes as you ran, you ran and didn’t look back.

After you got questioned by the ministry and cleared you still ran, you left the order, you left Remus like he asked and you left what you believed in, because no one trusted you or believed you and running was the only option right now.

After a heated argument with Dumbledore he promised you there would be a place for you at Hogwarts when you were ready, he believed you were good, that you would be a good teacher and when he was headmaster, you could teach at Hogwarts. But for now that place was filled with memories too fresh and too haunting. So for now you hid away from the world until you were ready to face it again.

Remus had told you to never come back, and you planned to listen to him but when Dumbledore brought that offer back up, to teach at Hogwarts, just as an assistant Herbology professor you couldn’t resist. You were so excited to teach and go back to the place you had been happiest you didn’t think about who else could be there.

When you walked in on your first day, which was a few weeks into the school year since they originally didn’t think they would need an assistant Herbology Professor. When you made your way through the hallways with Dumbledore showing you to your quarters you didn’t plan on running into Remus and a student.

“Hello professor Lupin.” Dumbledore said, clearly unaware of your current status with the man.

“Y/n? What is she doing here!” Remus stayed calm but demanded an answer.

“Why she is our new assistant Herbology Professor! In fact, she will be taking over the class that I believe Potter here to be in.“ Dumbledore had no idea what he was getting himself into.

Your heart dropped at the last name and you frowned, Remus took note of that.

“Oh lovely she will be teaching Harry, that’s appropriate.”

You stared at the young boy in front of you, he was the perfect mixture of James and Lily you reached out to shake his hand.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Potter.” You said smiling

He smiled back but raised an eyebrow. “Harry I will catch up with you later, please get back to your friends.” Remus said as Harry walked away Remus turned back to you.

“Funny how you have made a return at the same time Sirius has broken out of Azkaban. A coincidence maybe?”

“Remus I haven’t seen him since before. Since before that night.” You said sadly. “I thought after all these years you would maybe be able to understand that I had nothing to do with it but I see nothing’s changed.”

“I still don’t trust you. I have no reason to. But I guess we are colleagues now so see you around the school.” He swiftly turned away and left.

“Don’t worry y/n, I feel everything will sort itself out soon enough.” Dumbledore said , and your only option was to trust that his judgment was right.

Harry was stood talking with Sirius after everything that had taken place in the shrieking shack.

“But you are innocent.” Harry stated, like it was so simple.

“And you know it, and for now that will do. I suppose you’re tired of hearing this but.”

“He looks just like his father.” You interrupted him.

Sirius heard the voice behind him and he froze, Harry saw the man pale and assumed he was scared, of you though? How could that be, Harry gave you a perplexed look and you just smiled back at him.

“Harry knows your innocent, important yes but aren’t there a few other people who deserve to know too?”

Sirius was shocked as he turned around.

“Y/n? I, uh “ He was lost for words, what could he say, he assumed you hated him all these years, for killing your brother and your friends and leaving you and Remus alone.

“No need to explain, Rem explained his theories to me when we saw my brother on the map. But I feel like I’ve known a lot longer than that, I knew you were innocent.”

Sirius closed the space between you, grabbing you in a tight embrace. You felt like a comfort far better than home or happiness you were your own feeling of everything he ever needed.

“I suppose your significant other wouldn’t want me, so desperately hugging you?” He asked and you swear you heard Harry chuckle, the only person he’d ever seen you with was Remus, and the two of your argued half the time.

“Why would you have an issue with that?” You asked a bright smile on your face, the gears in Harry’s head turned putting the pieces together.

It took a moment for Sirius to process, not only did you believe in him all these years, but you waited for him, you still loved him. “I suppose I wouldn’t.” He finally said picking you up of the ground, holding you so close felt so unreal, like he would never enjoy the warmth of your love and the scent of your perfume again.

When he put you down you noticed tears slipping out of his eyes and quickly wiped them away kissing his cheeks.

“I’m going to let you guys catch up.�� Harry said walking away but you quickly stopped him.

“No, I didn’t mean to ruin your guys’ moment. Let’s all catch up, together.”

“I mean technically Y/n is your god mother.” Sirius said looking at you.

“Mhm, not technically until we are married, the ministry made that very clear. When they denied Remus guardianship, for his condition, they denied me too. I fought them over it for years, they eventually just started ignoring me.”

“I could have lived a life with you two instead of the dreaded Dursleys.” Harry said in awe of the idea. “That would have been so much better.”

“We are an okay team, James and Lily were always best though.” You said intertwining your fingers with Sirius’ as his other hand rested on Harry’s shoulder.

You all had suffered for so long, but finally you had them back. You had a piece of James and Lily in Harry, you had Sirius and you had Remus back, and you would kill or die before they got taken away again.

#Sirius Black #young sirius black #sirius black fan fiction #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #Marauders #marauders era #the marauders #Remus Lupin #peter pettigrew #James Potter #harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfic #writting #x reader #angst #reader insert

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tiny-tinkerer · 7 years ago

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Clickspring’s Log: Meeting Celio

I haven’t decided the exact order in which JunkTown events occur for Clickspring, but as the pieces fall together I’ve been writing little excerpts to capture the scenes. I do love first encounters, so the following scene is a bit indulgent. Enjoy the read!

Coming back around from the aching grog of my forced slumber, I sit up slowly and press warm palms onto my throbbing forehead. I keep my eyes pinched shut, not yet prepared to greet the light again. Even with eyes closed it is immediately apparent that my surroundings are very different. I am quite used to the coarseness of fabrics woven for humans. It isn't exactly easy to find something with a high enough thread count to feel soft when you're less than 5 inches tall. The fabric laying across my lap is an entirely new level of coarse, however. Strong woven and thick like an airship sail, with threads nearly as big around as my thumb.

"What in the hell-"

I halt the words in my throat and finally pop my eyes open as I feel vibrations in the ground. My instincts scream danger, but the quaking ceases, and then recedes into the far distance again. Definitely not at home in the Inn, that's for certain. It is also immediately clear that running away is out of the question.

This new, foreign place seems to stretch on for tens of meters. It'd take me half an hour to situate myself in the nearest cover. Not to mention that everything around soars leagues over my head in height. I can't even see the end of the massive mattress I'm essentially trapped on. But the dresser in my field of vision is far above me. A bed just plopped down on the floor? Seems like a borrower sort of choice; you end up taking a few shortcuts when you have to make your own furniture. I feel my waist to find my utility belt and all my tools missing. The chance of escape is nill without at least thread and a fishhook to grapple, so the only logical choice is to let the situation play out.

I remember bits and pieces of the events that brought me here as I stew over the situation. I recall a group of scavengers, being squeezed tight in a human's hand, having my gear ripped away, and then forcefully being shoved into a padded metal jar. There were harassing voices above poking fun at my position, and then suddenly the whole world was draped in shadow.

I'd never seen a junk giant up so close, not outside the safety of my repair room where I was under constant protection and surveillance. I was vulnerable, and from what I could see with my restricted viewing, this one’s shadowy figure loomed far above the head of my captor. A voice rang out too loud to comprehend, but there was anger to it’s tone. I forced myself into the bottom of the surrounding padding and held my head tight in my arms, fearing that if the behemoth continued to speak, my eardrums might actually burst. There was a crash, and the jar went flying. The ground came hard and fast as I was painfully rattled about and flung from my unsealed prison. I recall feeling the dirt grind away the skin on my cheek and arm as I slid across the ground. The back of my head met with something hard, and the world went black.

Legends say a junk giant can swallow you whole without even knowing they've done it. A borrower is a bug they could smash to pulp with one finger. Bugs they enjoy toying with and slowly killing for some sick, fetish-like pleasure. Gods I hope that isn't true.I pinch my eyes shut. My blood runs fast and my heart pounds in my throat as the rhythmic quaking makes its return. My whole body quivers.

Metal slides against metal as the great door across the room is slowly freed from it's latch. I brace my arm against my side and hang onto the sail cloth below me for dear life as the world shakes out of control. I'm too terrified to open my eyes. The quaking halts for a moment, I can hear the sounds of air being drawn in and out of cavernous lungs, and the tension of massive cables of muscle straining to hold up the behemoth as it leans over and sets something down on the end of the bed. A brief moment of silence, and then comes the greatest shaking I've ever felt as the monster lowers it's whole massive weight to the floor. In the chaotic movement I'm flung back on my side, and I curl into a tight fetal position to protect my head.

"Oh! Sorry!"

The whisper, deep and still horrifically thunderous, hits my chest like a punch. I open my eyes wide with fear and unfurl my body. Turning over to gaze up equally in fear and confusion.

"S-sorry?" My voice blurts out, dumbfounded.

Above me looms the giant from before. Wide as a truck bed, probably as tall as a warehouse. He seems less terrifying now. His face is youthful and rounded, framed by a mop of brunette hair in disheveled bangs, a rhomboidal red birthmark splashed across his nose, from which hangs a bull ring I could probably sit on. He lifts a hand and waves awkwardly, in a way that would be halfway cute if his fingers weren't wider than my torso.

"What did you say, little buddy? I-uh," he swallows anxiously and scratches at the back of his head. A few flakes of dandruff as big as my hand flutter down to the mattress. "I-can't really hear you. I'm so sorry." His face becomes even redder than his birthmark as he blushes embarrassedly.

I immediately sure up at his apparently soft demeanor. I lift myself back to sitting. He's young, naíve. Maybe I can make this go my way with a little bit of gusto.

"That's Clickspring to you, bub," I point at him with some falsely inflated attitude. "Where the heck am I, I want some ans-"

"Hang on, hang on," the behemoth stifles a giggle. "I can’t even tell what you’re saying. Gosh your little voice is adorable,"

My complexion broke at his words and I could feel my face heat up, angry tears well up in my eyes as I shoot him a venomous glare.

"Ack- I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to offend you! Let me get down more so I can actually hear you. I am so, so sorry."

He continues to apologize as he lowers himself even further. It is a much more controlled movement this time, but even without the massive earthquakes his body can cause, his voice still hits like a physical blow. His massive, resonating vocal chords make even the lowest whisper rumble through the air like thunder.

I soon find myself looking into intelligent violet eyes vastly larger than my whole head as the giant lays down before me and thrusts the lower part of his face into the mattress. The warping of the surface almost tosses me forward toward him, but by some miracle I am able to hold on and stay still.

"I'm really sorry," he says again, the muffling of his voice by the mattress makes him much easier to listen to. "I really didn't mean any harm, I swear. I even brought some things to help those wounds." He brought a hand uncomfortably close to gesture, but was careful not to touch me.

I suddenly recalled the bad road burns on my head and arm, beginning to throb again now that my adrenaline rush was calming. I jumped as the man's eyes suddenly pinched shut for a moment.

"Crap, I didn't even tell you my name. Gianni would kill me for being so rude," His violet irises returned and locked on to me. "My name is Celio. Celio Featherson. What's yours?"

I couldn't help but stare blankly, taken aback by the irrational averageness of the situation. I can feel my body still shaking from weakness, anger, and embarrassment. As much as I want to, I can't quite summon up my voice and attitude. Here I sit mere feet away from a creature so vastly different in scale to me that he could quite literally obliterate me with a sneeze. Awkward moments stretch out between us. Celio patiently waits, but doesn’t turn his expectant periwinkle eyes away. I find myself beginning to be overtaken by panic.

"Hey, hey, it's alright, don't force yourself," He picks up his head from the mattress and shows me a soft, encouraging smile. "Let's get you all fixed up first. I'll just call you Sorellina in the meantime. That’s uh, ‘little sister’ in my native tongue. Sound like an okay arrangement? ...I'm still so sorry for what I said earlier, I didn't mean to break your confidence like that, that was an awful, jerky move on my part."

I nod, half assured. Suddenly those huge purple eyes widen even bigger. I narrow my own, confused.

"Shit, your ears are bleeding! H-hang on!"

With muscular arms he launches himself back to standing and rushes away with familiar quaking steps. I was accustomed to light auditory trauma, and my body was already in such pain, I hadn't even noticed the sudden perforation of my eardrums. What was one more thing?

“Damn it all, am I really that loud? Crap, what if she can’t hear at all anymore? What the heck do I do? What the hell do you even say when something like this happens? ‘Sorry I literally destroyed your ears?’ Damn it...” Celio mutters from an adjacent room. I hear glass jars clinking about as he searches for something. Guess I’m not quite deafened yet.

I breathe deep and submit to the ache for a few meditative moments. Usually I have to handle these kinds of things all by myself. Strange as this day was going, it was kind of nice to have some compassionate company for once. Celio obviously cared - it wasn’t his fault that he could only be so careful with his big body. Rough handling was kind of normal in the business of robot repair, so this wasn’t anything too new. Not that the robots at the inn meant to be cold or uncaring, they just weren't programmed for contact and companionship. People hated me for being small. It was infuriating and unfair, so I made a point not to hold the consequences of size against anyone.

Celio's quaking footsteps returned, and I finally got a quick look at his full body. He had a proportionally short, sturdy form that was highly muscled. His clothing, minimal: his shirt leaving his entire arms, shoulders, and the sides of his torso exposed. His pants were cut just below the knees, and he wore no embellishments whatsoever. Not even shoes to protect his feet. I brace myself as he crashes into a kneel. He sets a bundle of loose cotton fiber in front of me. I look at it confusedly for a moment. Then back up at him. He gestures at the soft bundle and then pantomimes a compressing motion with his fingers. He then swishes his bangs aside and makes a gesture toward one ear. Earplugs. Got it. Apparently we’re done with talking for now.

I follow his pantomimed instructions. By the time I finish, I smell the astringent sharpness of surgical spirits, and look up. I expect to be handed a swab to clean my wounds, but instead find a massive hand approaching with soaked cotton. I automatically begin to backpedal, but almost immediately find myself braced in place by another massive hand. I struggle against his hand with all my strength. I can clean my own damn wounds, dammit!

"Stop that. You can’t hold me back and I don’t want to hurt you. C’mon, this isn’t so bad, just take it easy." Back to whispering again.

The earplugs helped lessen the blow of his voice considerably, and they held off the bleeding. My struggling is brought to an abrupt end by a swift brushing of Celio’s thumb that pins my uninjured arm and body down effortlessly. I flinch and close my eyes as the cold medical alcohol comes into contact with my arm and dabs the burn repeatedly. It stings horribly.

"I know, I know, this stuff sucks. But you’re not a junk giant, you’ll get an infection if we don’t clean these. Can’t you little guys die that way? I will not let that happen. Keep your eyes closed, I'm doing the burn on your face now."

When the alcohol drenched swab and Celio's hands retreat, I relax, thinking the torture is done. Celio rifles around things on a tray he'd set on the end of the bed when he first came. A jar of herbal smelling salve is unscrewed, and suddenly I find myself caught by the giant once more. I struggle against his unyielding massive strength again to no avail. Instead of allowing my stubborn fight to continue, the junk giant scoops me up in his palm and effortlessly wraps his fingers around my entire body in an imprisoning arrangement.

"That's enough of that! It’s just one more tiny thing. Geez, I'm not hurting you." I can feel the quake of a soft laugh echo through his hand. Then a clearing of his throat as he recoiled. “Not that it’s funny or anything. You need this, just work with me for a minute. I don’t want to do this any more than you do.”

Celio opens his hand for but a moment and carefully snatches my injured arm, holding it up straight as he curls his fingers back up, supporting my comparatively miniscule limb between his middle and ring finger. I decide not to struggle, being squished against his unbearably warm palm is enough of a punishment.

The junk giant is shockingly gentle with his treatment. His hands might be huge, but they're as deft as a surgeon's. He barely applies any pressure to my body as he slathers my wounds with the minty, cooling salve. It frightens me to allow it, but he even manages to gently apply some to my cheek, opening his palm and lifting my head with an imprisoning thumb. Despite my discomfort I almost laugh at his intensely focused expression: face crinkled tight, one eye closed, and mouth slanted tightly to one side. He finishes the job more quickly than expected, though leaves a massively thick layer of ointment on my wounds because of his vast size. I don't protest. Finally, his palm opens, and I scramble back to seated, taking in some cool air after being trapped next to his stiflingly warm skin.

"There. See, that wasn’t so bad, was it? That ointment should help the pain and fend off infection. We should let those wounds breathe a bit before we bandage them up. How about a cup of tea while we wait? I’m sure my brother has some snacks I could get into if you’re hungry: how about it?"

My blood is still boiling a bit from the last experience. Good intentions or not, being handled without permission is embarrassing. I hate not being given a choice, I allowed it, but now I need answers. I give him a stern glare from my position in his palm, and as loudly as I can manage, I give an order.

“Put me down. Now,” I say resolutely.

I am dizzied by a sudden move closer to his face. I crouch and try to maintain my balance, flinching away from his hot breath as I’m drawn to his level. The collective circumstances are dizzying, and I want to be down on solid ground more than ever.

“I-I’m sorry? Can you repeat that Sorrelina?”

Frustration boils through me. “I SAID PUT ME DOWN. NOW.”

The giant’s eyes grow wide and suddenly the world drops. I nearly faint as the big guy promptly follows my order. He spills me off onto the mattress again. I hold onto my stomach and spinning head, and my body flinches hard as I am hit with a sudden realization: I just yelled at a giant. Not a robot that will follow orders, but a fully autonomous person far outside my locus of control. I curl myself small, expecting anger, retaliation, violence even; but moments pass and nothing comes. I look back up at Celio. He appears concerned, a little hurt.

“Hey, you don't have to… Please, don't be scared like that. I promise, I would never hurt someone like you… Never on purpose anyway. I didn't save you from those lousy scavengers just to put you in harm's way myself. I mean, it’s not every day I get the chance to make a friend...”

The giant rises a bit and then very deliberately lays his head on the mattress next to me, making sure he was finally within earshot. I hesitantly plod closer and take a seat against his nose. The unexpected touch stirs a flinch that almost knocks me over.

“I hope you can forgive me for handling you like that. I just… I didn't want to risk you saying no to my help... I was afraid of what would happen if I didn't take care of your wounds.” His body shifted a little as his big arm swung overhead and covered his eyes embarrassedly. “I’ve heard littler folk can get such bad infections that you'll lose limbs or die. That doesn't happen to us giants. Our bodies are just too tough. I didn't know how long before it would be too late to stop it - y’know? Ugh, it’s probably a stupid assumption to make, but I was actually worried you’d die if I didn’t do anything,” he took a long, tentative pause. “Y’know Sorellina, I only really know four people. Two of them are my blood family so they don't even count... I just didn't want to lose potential friend number three before I even learned your name.”

I try to absorb the thought that someone other than a broken robot would want me around. To nearly every other organic person I've met, I'm 'just another borrower.' It is an unusual feeling to be wanted.

“Well, I guess we'd better get on it with the friend making business in case I get gangrene or something,” I chuckle, Celio doesn't seem to find it so funny. “Name's Kelly Clickspring. Everyone just calls me Clickspring... I think we might have some things in common, big guy.”

#g/t writing #giant/tiny writing #gentle g/t #gentle giant #celio #celio featherson #kelly clickspring #welcome to junktown #junktown #macro/micro #giant/tiny #g/t #gt #size difference #g/t first encounter #scribes writing #scribes oc #giant tiny #giants and tinies

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maedarakat · 7 years ago

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31st Oct: Monstrous // “Were you ever going to tell me?”

(Dagur/Tuff - Beauty and the Beast AU)

(Notes: So I’m a bit late for the @httydrarepair week, but this turned out to be longer than expected. Hope you all enjoy!)

A Strange Kind of Beauty

——

The boy was a thief.

There was no other way to say it. He’d come onto Dagur’s land, uninvited, and he’d helped himself to what wasn’t his.

(That made him a thief, right? And thieves should be punished. His father had told him that.)

He watched the slim hooded figure wrap a handkerchief around the thorns and petals of his ill-gotten prize, likely to protect it from getting bruised on his journey.

Dagur growled audibly from within the bushes, a low malevolent sound that quieted even distant birdsong.

He eagerly anticipated the look of alarmed dread, the head snapping up to focus on the source of danger just before death. He’d seen it on the faces of deer, rabbits - things that he hunted in the wilderness.

Instead, the boy turned his back on both hedge and beast, and started on his way back to the woods that surrounded the castle grounds. His casual nonchalance left Dagur dumbfounded and more than a little offended.

A frustrated roar shook the bushes like a windstorm. Dagur sprang out of hiding to land on all fours, arched and bristling, his sharp-toothed maw open wide.

At first glance, he looked like some enormous wolf - the kind that appeared in fairy tales to gobble up grandmothers and little girls. The color of his fur was like no wolf’s in existence, however - a unsettling dark red with mottled patches that looked like the blood spray of some poor animal.

Long black horns protruding from his head like a goat’s and the cloven hooves on his hind legs had sent many a lost hunter screaming from the woods, convinced he had encountered the Devil himself.

Dagur chuffed, knowing he made an impressively terrifying sight and waited for the trespasser to turn and witness his death.

The boy finally turned around, pulling down his hood and allowing Dagur to better see his face. He was just barely a man, with no beard unless you counted that wispy pale peach fuzz as facial hair. With his long hair tied back to keep from getting into his grey eyes, the boy looked about a year or two younger than Dagur.

He also had the gall to look entirely unimpressed.

“Look,” the boy sighed. “Can this wait? I just want to give this rose to someone, and then I’ll be right back so you can kill me. If you want. I mean, unless you’re just here to play fetch or something.”

Fetch? Fetch?!

Dagur pounced, knocking the boy onto his back. Enjoying the pained grunt he’d caused, he snarled in the boy’s face, paws braced on either side of his head. He had never killed another human before. As a beast, it was probably best to just do it quick and tear out this thief’s throat like the fell animal he was.

The boy gazed up at him. His expression still lacked any hint of the devastating terror Dagur had grown accustomed to. After a moment, the corner of his mouth quirked.

“Huh,” he said, looking Dagur over. “Nice teeth - sharp, serrated. So are you going to kill me? You know that death glare you’re giving me can’t actually do it for you, right?”

Dagur snorted, nonplussed and irritated. He’d never met a person who didn’t seem to mind dying all that much. In that case, the thief deserved a fate worse than death. He reached out and grabbed the boy’s blond hair, starting to drag him toward the castle.

Though his new prisoner winced and even whined a little at that, he didn’t seem to fight it all that much.

——

The castle was large, spacious and besides him and now the boy, it was completely empty. No servants walked these halls, but rather they lined them - trapped forever as sentient oil paintings.

The Enchantress had known he didn’t remember their names. It hadn’t been important at the time, still wasn’t - and besides, he’d already made up his own less than flattering nicknames for them. They would have to do since she’d inscribed their true names in runes he couldn’t read beneath their frames.

Unless he cared to translate those runes and ask nicely for the comforts of a prince, Dagur was sentenced to live in squalor like an animal. For years he had sulked rather than change his situation, letting his hair and claws go untrimmed, and sleeping in a pile of furs.

With no-one to clean, the castle’s Italian marble floors had become tracked with mud and moldering dead leaves. There were cobwebs on the chandeliers, slashed remnants of velvet curtains over the windows, destroyed antiques and furniture heaped in dark corners. It was a desolate atmosphere, but Dagur didn’t mind it.

As for food, he had learned to hunt for himself and, partially just to spite everybody, had grown to prefer the taste of raw meat. Every morning he dragged in breakfast, and ate it sitting at the carved oaken table next to the fireplace - because it amused him to do so.

Apparently, much to his annoyance, the servants seemed to like his new prisoner - enough to cause a bowl of hot oat bran exist for him the following morning. It appeared across from him, at an empty place setting.

Dagur had paused halfway through his freshly caught rabbit, and stared at the bowl cluelessly before realizing who it was meant for.

He supposed he could have just eaten it himself, but his prisoner had all night in a cold cell to realize his sorry fate, and Dagur looked forward to hearing him beg for forgiveness. He may as well take the food down to him if he was going to gloat.

Finding the thief sitting in a calm meditative lotus position had not been what Dagur expected. Did this kid ever do anything that was expected of him?

He huffed in exasperation, sliding the bowl beneath the grate and watching him.

The blond picked up the bowl, tucking into it like he hadn’t seen food in months. He was skinny enough that it might have been the case. “This is good. Did you cook it?”

Dagur held up his oversized paws with a flat look, wordlessly commenting on the intelligence of that question.

“Well, my compliments to the chef, whoever they are. So how long am I in for?”

“Forever,” the beast sneered.

“For a rose? Eh. I mean, I guess it was a pretty one. It’s too bad you crushed it when you pounced on me. You know, whoever your gardener is does not keep those things properly trimmed or pruned. Otherwise you’d have tons of new buds by this time of year, instead of like, eight to one entire bush.”

“Are you a gardener?” Dagur asked, curious.

“No, but my sister loves roses. That’s who I was getting it for.”

“Your sister. Not a sweetheart? Some foolish girl who sent you on an errand to a haunted castle?”

The thief actually burst out laughing at that, slapping his knee as though Dagur had told the funniest joke in the world. “You’re hilarious. Okay, so I’m here forever, right? So does that mean you’ll continue to feed me and give me a roof over my head for as long as I live?”

Wait, what? The boy had no right to sound content with that . . .

“You’re in a dungeon. You’re my prisoner,” he reminded sharply.

“Yeah, well, I’ve been in worse places overnight,” the boy said, looking around him appreciatively. “I can get used to this. It’s got no mold or damp spots. The bars make nice musical instruments. Maybe I can catch a few rats, keep them as pets . . .”

Dagur growled, inches away from a tantrum. “You aren’t supposed to enjoy your stay here!”

“Why wouldn't I? It could be worse. All I have to do for the rest of my life is sit here, look miserable, and get at least one square meal a day. Easiest job I’ve ever had.”

The boy gave him a brilliant smile. Dagur felt himself bristling. This wasn’t fair - the thief shouldn’t be able to make himself happy with a bad situation (certainly not when Dagur couldn’t. He was a prince - he deserved every happiness; it wasn’t fair!)

He flung open the cell door so hard it crashed against the stone wall. The boy had the nerve to not even jump a little.

“Get out here,” Dagur snarled. “You want a job? I’ll give you a job then, and make you earn your meals!”

If the servants didn’t want to clean the castle, then this brat could. He could work day and night, scraping mud and dead leaves off the marble, scrubbing the mildew off the banisters and polishing every piece of unbroken furniture until it sparkled. Dagur would work him until he dropped from exhaustion.

That should teach him, the little snot.

——

The entire castle was conspiring against him.

It had to be, because every menial task Dagur put before Tuff (which was the thief’s name apparently) was done perfectly within the hour, and the boy looked like he hadn’t even broken a sweat.

Floors were polished as though they had never witnessed a speck of filth, the furniture dusted, polished and some pieces even fixed as new. Pots had been scrubbed as though they’d never been used, and there was a cheerful roaring fire in every suddenly clean hearth at night.

He never caught the boy slacking, but he never caught him working all that hard either.

Tuff got his meals nonetheless; there was nothing Dagur could do about that - and though he’d made a point not to offer Tuff his own room, the boy had not complained. He simply stretched himself out by the big kitchen fire each night, curling on his side to sleep on the floor.

Dagur wanted to hate him. He really did. It was extra irritating to eventually figure out that it was quite impossible. Tuff was the first person to not be afraid of him in ten years.

Hope was a thing with feathers, and Tuff’s appearance had started making it fly around again.

There were only a few months left until his twenty first birthday, until the curse became permanent, but he’d successfully stopped hoping for a miracle far earlier than that.

Or so he’d thought.

The boy kept mentioning a sister. Day and night, whenever Dagur was around - Tuff seemed to talk incessantly about her. How she loved roses. How she hated being in the squalid, boring village, how much she’d love the library here because nobody in town liked girls who read and there were only five books in town for her to borrow.

At first he’d grunted in mild disinterest - not particularly caring about the subject matter, but liking the sound of his chatter. After years of silence, he’d sort of missed hearing another person talk.

He surprised himself one night at dinner, actually interrupting a brief silence to ask a question.

“This sister of yours . . . she pretty?”

Tuff looked up, eyes wide and strangely startled. “Um, well, kinda awkward to ask me, but yeah. I suppose so.”

“Does she have a boyfriend?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. He looked strangely downcast and Dagur wondered why. Wait . . . of course.

“Huh. You miss her, don’t you?”

The boy didn’t answer right away, but he fell silent for longer than a minute, staring at his soup. Dagur sort of felt like a heel for asking. Of course Tuff would miss his family. He was stuck here forever, wasn’t he?

“Well, she’s probably fine,” Dagur said, cluelessly. He scrambled to try and lift the sudden heaviness, in no mood to deal with someone else’s sadness. He could barely deal with his own negativity. “Tell me something else about her.”

Thankfully Tuff seemed to brighten up at that. “One time she punched a guy so hard he had to get false teeth.”

Dagur grinned, liking her already. If he could get Tuff to warm up to him more than he was already, maybe he could get the boy to bring his sister here.

She would learn to love him, hopefully quickly, and if he also fell in love with her, the curse stood a chance of being broken. He would be free to do whatever he pleased, and she’d get to stay in this castle, read all the books she wanted and tend to the roses she loved.

It was the perfect plan.

——

By the next week, he’d stopped heaping chores on Tuff, and they shared more meals together.

It wasn’t all bad actually. He asked countless questions about Ruffnut - which Tuff was only too happy to answer. In return though it meant he had to put up with endless annoying questions about him.

“So what cursed you anyway?” Tuff asked, around a mouthful of roasted elk. Dagur had caught it, but had graciously given some of the flank to Tuff. The castle had served it up for him in a white sauce. Dagur wrinkled his nose up and sulkily took another bite out of the raw leg. For the first time in a while, he found himself coveting a fancy meal.

“How do you know I was cursed?” he asked, trying not to sound irritated. “Maybe I was born like this.”

“Well, not unless you were born on Christmas, but then you’d be a werewolf and I’ve never heard of one of those with horns. Also you would’ve changed back at daytime. So it must be a curse.”

Dagur scowled, wanting to tell him it was none of his business. But nobody had ever come close enough to him since to hear the story. He surprised himself by giving in and telling it, curtly but truthfully.

“My father died unexpectedly in a hunting accident. So my little sister was sent to live with kin, and as Lord of the castle, I got to do whatever I pleased. I . . . may or may not have been very nice about it. Didn’t invite enough poor people over, or something. I guess.

“So one night, this crone shows up and it’s late, I have guests over, and she wants a room to stay in in exchange for a rose. From my own garden, probably. I told the servants to shut the door in her face, but she wouldn’t leave until I came out myself and told her . . . well, pretty rudely to get off my property. And maybe to go die in a ditch while she was at it. Guess she didn’t like that much.”

Tuff snorted. “Go die in a ditch? What, were you twelve?”

That earned him a scowl. “Eleven, actually.”

The boy looked taken aback. “Seriously? You were only a kid when she did this?”

Dagur shrugged. “Yeah? So? I pissed the old lady off and she turned out to be a witch. That’s on me.” He’d never actually admitted that before. Dagur felt a small spark of pride in himself. “I got turned into a beast, my servants got turned into all the nice little paintings you see.”

Tuff sat up straighter and snapped his fingers. “I knew it! I knew they were alive! I keep seeing them make little tiny movements out of the corner of my eye when I’m not looking. They never get to change position though. Wait, why did she punish them? What did they ever do?”

He sounded just as worried about them. It made a Dagur scowl; they were only beautiful paintings forever. He was the one cursed to live like an animal.

“Why are you concerned with them? They’ll be immortal works of art. Not like they’re good for much else lately.” Dagur gestured to Tuff’s fancier meal. “They won’t even cook for me.”

“Well, can you blame them? They didn’t do anything to piss off that witch. And now they have to stay perfectly still, even if a fly lands on their face or if they have to sneeze or worse . . . what if one of them has had to hold it for ten entire years?”

Huh. Well that would certainly explain Sir Snoudlout’s expression in the main parlor. Or wait - was it Sir Snothat? Snoodledoot?

Either way, Dagur had to admit, that did sound a lot worse of a fate now that he thought about it. At least he got to scratch and relieve himself.

“Well, what do you want me to do? Apologize, I suppose.”

Tuff smiled sweetly. “It would be a start.”

——-

Dagur frowned up at the gilded frame painting of a stern looking young woman, flaxen haired, with her arms crossed. In one hand she held a ladle and her expression was of someone who would dearly love to crack it down on top of someone’s head.

He didn’t really have to wonder who; Dagur guiltily remembered insulting her cooking constantly when he was younger. He hadn’t meant it but in jest, though truthfully she was a far better fighter than a cook. Certainly gave Sir Snortport a run for his money when he’d run drills for Dagur’s vanguard.

Tuff scrutinized the runes beneath the girl’s frame. “Says here her name is Lady Astrid.”

He could read runes? Well that was handy! Dagur laughed in relief. “Astreed! that’s right, I remember! I used to mispronounce her name just to tick her off - oh.”

Tuffnut was giving him a flat look, shaking his head. The portrait somehow looked even more pissed off.

“Now say her name right and tell her you’re sorry.”

Dagur puffed up his neck fur and scowled, fidgeting. After a flustered moment, he gave her the best bow his current form could manage. “My sincerest apologies, my Lady Astr- um?”

Momentarily stumped, he glanced at Tuff. “Astrid,” the boy stage-whispered.

“My Lady Astrid.”

“Good start. Now maybe ask her to make you a little something. Politely.”

“Hmm. Well. I’ve already eaten dinner. Can you make me some tea, please?”

Tuff gave him a thumbs up. Dagur beamed at him. “Tea’s easy right? It’s just boiling sugar and water - she can’t mess that up.”

He’d unfortunately stage-whispered that right back, which meant Astrid had clearly heard it.

Wincing, Tuff turned it into a thumbs down, just before an entire porcelain tea set, tray included, manifested in midair, a foot above them. A second later it crashed down onto Dagur’s head, showering him with hot water and broken crockery.

Dagur froze and then his temper flared. Unable to take it out on a painting, he whirled on Tuff. “You see?! There’s no reasoning with them! They won’t give me a chance and they’ll never forgive me!”

“Well, not all at once! Forgiveness takes time, effort. You made a decent start. You cared enough to start. That’s worth something, right?”

Dagur quite forgot himself, snarling. “I don’t have time for this! Two more months and the spell becomes permanent. For everyone.”

He hadn’t cared any more. Not until Tuff had showed up. It was his fault Dagur had started to care again - now it hurt. How dare he?

“I’ll help you break it. You have a huge library. And my mom was a witch - I can try to research spells like yours, maybe we can figure out a way to reverse -“

“No. You say you want to help? I know exactly how you’re going to help me, thief.”

Dagur collared Tuff and dragged him to the door, then out to the gardens - about where he’d first encountered him. It was just edging into autumn, but the first telltale signs of frost damage were visible on the surrounding rose bushes and grass.

He pushed Tuff to the ground and snapped off one of the still blooming red roses, tossed it at him.

“You can go fetch that sister of yours. Give her that rose, and tell her it’s cost you your life. If she doesn’t get here in a month and agree to break this spell, then I will hunt you down and kill you myself.”

It wasn’t the best plan, and it was a half-empty threat at best - but right now Dagur was overwhelmed and panicking.

Maybe it was the bits of broken ceramic piercing his skin, even through his fur. Maybe it was the fact that he’d actually been trying to be nice for once, and it had blown up in his face.

He didn’t want to hope anymore. He didn’t want to think there was a chance when there maybe wasn’t, and besides, it would be cruel to let the servants think there was, wouldn’t it? Dagur knew he was being horrible enough that the boy might not dare come back - he’d just run, and the castle would have nobody to gang up on him with.

Tuff was crouching on the ground, looking up at him imploringly. “Don’t do this. Please, I don’t want to go back there - look, I can stay forever no matter what. I - I can even tell you everyone’s name. We’ll figure something out, just please don’t send me -“

“Shut up! I told you how you can help, and you’ll do it or else!”

“But - you don’t understand - please, I want to stay -“

“I don’t want you here any longer!” Dagur roared at the top of his lungs. His bellow actually made the kid flinch back this time. “Go home to your family, and say your goodbyes while you still can! Because in one month, if your sister isn’t here, I will tear out your throat!”

Tuff looked at him, eyes wide and oddly devastated, holding onto the rose’s stem tightly despite the thorns. He was trembling from something other than fear. “I see. A month, then? You’ll come to kill me in a month if . . . if she doesn’t come? Th-that a promise?”

Dagur bared his teeth at him in a dark grin, though he hated himself for it. He’d actually started to like the boy.

If Tuff was smart, he’d take his sister and run very far away and never come back.

He watched as Tuff unsteadily got to his feet, looking pale. He walked toward the woods lining his property, leaving the way he’d come months ago. Dagur watched after him a long time before finally turning to stalk inside.

——

Winter was going to come earlier than normal this year. Dagur could tell from his hunts; how the animals had fattened up.

The month was nearly over. Nobody had come to the castle, not the girl, not even Tuff. Dagur wasn’t surprised.

He hunted alone, ate alone, whistled tunelessly as he ambled through the castle like Tuff had, just to fill the empty air with something. His loneliness and boredom had only increased since sending the boy away, but he figured it would pass.

Eventually. Yeah, maybe in a couple years, everything would dull up again.

Dagur woke at some point later that night, listening to the window panes shudder from the force of a cold wind, blowing in icy sleet and thunder. There was no fire in his room, but his fur and several tattered blankets kept him warm enough, like always. He felt a brief moment of pity for the unsheltered animals of the woods, and after some uneasy thought, wondered about Tuff.

He wondered where the boy was sheltering in this storm, and why Tuff had called being thrown in a beast’s dungeon a ‘roof over his head’. He'd been so delighted with common gruel, even at being given just a hard floor by the fire to sleep on.

Weird kid - hadn’t seemed to protest being kept from his family at all, for as much as he’d talked about them, about his sister.

The wind howled desolately through the chimney in his room, and Dagur got out of bed, walking toward a small table he kept carefully guarded, in an alcove by the window. Ignoring the shedding rose beneath its dome, he picked up the mirror the Enchantress had given him.

“Show me the thief - I mean, Tuffnut.”

He barely had time to wonder at the name coming to him so easily, before an image appeared on the mirror’s surface.

There was a ratty old church he recognized from his many horseback rides as a child. It had belonged to a quiet dull little village - something else he’d never bothered to learn the name of.

The boy was leaning against stone, either tears or rain tracking down his face - possibly both. He looked even thinner than when Dagur had first laid eyes on him, and he could just barely make out what Tuff was muttering. He caught the word ‘sister’ and ‘together’, and a glimpse of red petals on the dead grass, pressed beneath Tuff’s fingers.

Dagur blinked, finally noticing there were words carved into the stone - realizing what it meant.

His sister had loved roses . . .

A cough tore through the boy’s body, making him have to lean more of his weight his against the gravestone.

Dagur cursed, heart aching. Why hadn’t Tuff told him? Now he was all alone and ill, and . . . and it was entirely Dagur’s fault.

He put the mirror down abruptly. There was no more time to waste.

——

It was hours later that he strode into the castle, eyes wide, chest heaving and carrying a form draped limply in his arms.

Tuff was hardly even breathing - he hadn’t even been conscious by the time Dagur reached him.

Worse still, the churchyard had been crowded with gravestones, far more than what was normal, and there had been a half-finished fence around the old churchyard, as though the parishioners had been trying to make room for more before they fled.

The village, which had been bursting with activity this time last year when he’d crept close enough to spy, had been reduced to a graveyard itself - full of gutted out buildings and red crosses painted on barred doors.

It had been Tuff’s home once, but not any longer. He’d begged not to be sent away, and Dagur hadn’t listened. If he’d only known Tuff had nowhere else to go . . .

“Please,” Dagur moaned, carrying him to the fireside and cradling him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, stay with me - please . . . Hey! I need medicine!” he hollered, begging any portrait that would listen.

The castle was supposed to give him anything he wanted as long as he asked nicely, and remembered names, right!? That’s what the Enchantress had told him . . .

Dagur held Tuff closer to him, crouching before the cold hearth next to the table - where they’d once shared their meals together. He struggled to throw wood into the fireplace one-handed, unable to make himself let go of him even for a moment.

The boy was shivering and his skin was too hot - he didn’t know what to do other than start a fire, get him out of those wet, filthy clothes and into a warm dry bed. But none of it would do any good without medicine for that cough, the fever.

What had been his court physician’s name? Dagur screwed up his face, trying hard to remember.

The man had served his father faithfully, and he’d been a genius with alchemy and potions. A droll sense of humor, with mildly condescending intelligence . . . Dagur knew he’d blown up at the man more than once in his youth, even threatened to have him hung for witchcraft.

All because he’d once lost at a game of chess.

“Viggo!” Dagur gasped, after what felt like hours. “Viggo? Sir, with all due respect, please - I’m sorry. I know you must be very mad at me, but - but that isn’t Tuff’s fault! Please, if you can save him, please help! It isn’t fair to him!”

There was silence, and nothing happened for a long while. Dagur sobbed, listening helplessly as Tuff’s breath grew more labored, and feeling worse than he ever had in his entire life.

He’d killed many an animal in his time, but he’d never killed a friend before.

There was a polite scrape of metal on the polished wood of the dining room table. When Dagur didn’t turn around to look, it happened again.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes wet, and saw a metal tray with a stoppered vial of amber liquid, a tin full of loose-leaf tea, and a weathered piece of parchment with clear handwritten instructions.

Dagur gasped out a ragged thank you, and reached for the tray.

——-

His paws had been large and clumsy, but he had managed to do everything Viggo had instructed, by sheer carefulness.

By morning, Dagur - who had never tended anyone in his life, and barely even himself at that - had administered medicine, had gotten Tuff cleaned up and tucked into a warm bed, and had made the prescribed tea with a pot of hot water he’d humbly begged from Lady Astrid.

She’d been nice enough to refrain from dumping it on his head this time.

Tuff looked miles better than he had the previous night, but Viggo’s script warned he still had a hard road of recovery ahead of him. He looked pale and small, dwarfed by the size of the bed.

It was with just a little consternation that Dagur realized he would do literally anything to keep this boy here on earth with him.

Tuff groaned his way to consciousness a few days later, sometime after noon. As soon as he opened his eyes and lifted his head, there was a sound like a large stack of books hitting the floor, followed by a curse. Dagur was at his side, peering anxiously into his face.

Despite how big and fearsome he was, he looked like a scared puppy.

“You okay? You need anything?”

The boy looked at him and then around at the room glassily. “You brought me back here?” he rasped, not comprehending.

He remembered their last exchange and flushed with shame. “I’m sorry I said all that. I didn’t mean it, and I’m not going to kill you or even hurt you. I . . . I didn’t realize you had nowhere else to go.”

Tuff was looking at him like he’d been betrayed. “You - You didn’t mean any of it?”

Dagur felt a surge of concern at that, and put his paws over Tuff’s shaking hands. “No? I didn’t actually intend to hunt you down and kill you? Most people would find that good news?”

The boy bit his lip, eyes filling with tears though they still met Dagur’s. “You wanna know what the worst thing I ever did was?”

Dagur swallowed, then nodded hesitantly.

“I dared my sister to kiss a boy she liked. He was just a traveler, passing through. About a week later, he was dead from the plague. A few days after that, s-so was my sister . . . then my mom, my whole family. The villagers that didn’t die packed up and left the village. I stayed behind. I had to. She was my twin. I couldn’t leave her all alone.”

Tuff’s voice was no higher than a whisper, and tears spilled unchecked down his face. Dagur gently wiped them away. “You never told me you were all alone. Were you ever going to?”

He bit his lip. “I’m sorry. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. It was just . . . it felt like she was s-still around whenever I talked about her.”

Dagur nodded, feeling a pang in his chest. He could see why Tuff hadn’t wanted to go back to that empty shell of a village. In a moment of thoughtless anger, he’d forced him to.

“None of this is your fault. None of it, okay? You couldn’t have known that boy was sick. That’s why this plague kills so many and moves so fast. Because nobody knows who’s infected until it’s far too late,” Dagur said as gently as he could.

Tuff absorbed that for a moment and leaned into him. “Why do I feel like I’ve been spared as punishment?” He’d trailed off before he could add ‘twice, now’, but Dagur heard it clearly enough.

He wrapped his arms around Tuff, half climbing into the bed with him, and let him grieve. Even after the boy had exhausted himself from crying and fallen back to sleep, Dagur didn’t leave his side.

——

The last of autumn died out, making way for winter to ice the region. Soon even the leaves that had been blown up against the great doors were lost and buried by snow storms.

Dagur usually hated this time of year - when running in the woods was too cold and food was scarce. While Tuff slept, as Viggo indicated he would mostly do, Dagur found other things to occupy his time with. Like finding books of runes in his library and struggling to transcribe them.

The castle had started tending to both their needs. Now two bowls of hot cereal appeared on a cart outside the doors to the bedroom, sometimes just quietly rolling in when Dagur was too engrossed in his studies.

He’d look up, grin his thanks, and gently wake Tuff so he could eat. The boy was weak still, making it necessary for Dagur to hand feed him. He did this slowly and carefully, struggling to hold the spoon steady in his great big paw, and before eating himself. The castle kindly kept his bowl warm for him until he’d finished.

Tuff regained his strength slowly, and Dagur loved the days he was able to sit up and talk to him.

“What are you always reading?” he asked once, when Dagur thought he was out cold. The beast jumped, dropping the book, but somehow his place was kept by a cord and none of the pages had bent when he picked it up.

He turned it around to show the boy.

“It's a book of runes. I know you can translate them, but you’re still recovering. I tried copying down the markings on paper, but . . .” Dagur spread his paws helplessly.

Tuff smiled warmly at him. “Look at you making all the effort. Maybe I can get up and help?”

“Are you sure?”

Dagur’s anxious, eager question was met by Tuff’s palm caressing his face. “Might need help walking, but yeah, I can - oh!”

The boy trailed off as Dagur effortlessly picked him up, taking care to wrap a blanket around him to protect him from drafts. Not that it was as drafty as before. There was a roaring fire in each hearth as Dagur carried him through the house, and though wind outside shook the windows, no cold air could find any gap to intrude.

Tuff wrote down all the symbols and translated them into names, helpfully sketching a thumbnail of the painting next to its respective inscription so Dagur could study and remember who was who.

“Thank you,” Dagur said sincerely, once the last portrait had been found and recorded.

Tuff only shrugged. “It’s okay. If I’m going to stay here and eat all your delicious magic food, I might as well learn everyone’s name, right?”

Dagur blinked. “You - you’re - you still want to stay here? I mean, I want you to stay with me too, but it doesn’t have to be your only option. I can use the mirror to find any kith or kin you might still have?”

“I don’t want to go bother any distant cousin - not if I can stay with you. I think you were right, Dagur. It . . . wasn’t all my fault. My sister would have wanted me to keep going. And besides,” Tuff managed a grin. “I can’t leave you behind now. You’ll get all grouchy and sad again.”

He snorted. “I wasn’t grouchy and sad.”

“Yeah, you were.” Tuff softened the statement by leaning in to kiss his cheek.

Surprised, Dagur nearly dropped him on the floor.

——-

They memorized all the names between them, each one bringing forth cherished memories Dagur had forgotten with time.

Astrid was the best fighter in the entire court. She’d been unbeatable, especially on horseback. It was her parents that had pressured her to be the cook, and Dagur now knew with regret that it had been a thankless job.

Fishlegs had tended the garden, while Sir Uglethorpe (he’d been so far off with that poor man’s name it was embarrassing) had been captain of the palace guard. He’d bullied those two incessantly, but they had just patiently borne through - forming a close companionship that had seemed odd at the time, but not so much now.

Viggo’s brother, Ryker, was the castle’s huntsman - and he’d always been kind enough to ignore or at least chuckle fondly at Dagur’s awkward posturing. Which he now realized - much to his mortification, had been early attempts at teenaged flirting.

Gobber had been the boisterous, singing forge master. Hiccup had started out as his scrawny apprentice, but had proved himself to have a talent for training even the wildest horse.

Dagur had been delighted to find that his favorite steed was among those in the stables, kept alive in a painting of a herd , running through a beautiful valley. It seemed one of the few paintings able to truly move or shift, so long as you weren’t intently watching it. Sometimes the horses were drinking from a stream, or laying down rather than running. Apparently the Enchantress had some pity on them.

“Shattermaster,” he said, pointing. Dagur hadn’t needed any translation to remember his horse’s name. “And that’s Windshear, my sister’s horse.”

“You have a sister?”

Dagur smiled at him. “Yeah, she’s about your age. She went to go live with our cousins after Dad died.” He faltered. “I have no idea if she’s even alive.”

Tuff wrapped his arm around Dagur’s, knowing better than to offer false promises. “Who’s that one?” he redirected, pointing at another horse.

“Oh, you’d like him. His name’s Torch.”

They spent their days together this way now. Dagur had forgotten about time, more focused on making sure Tuff was recovering, and on improving his relationship with servants. They were feeling more like old friends from another life rather than just the common folk who’d worked for his father.

By the end of the week, only three petals on the enchanted rose remained, yet every portrait in the castle was smiling.

—-

He’d wanted to do something for Tuff.

Normally, he would have asked someone else to do it for him, but now he wanted it to be all him. Dagur did think to ask for advice though, since his gardener would be the one to know about this one particular thing.

Armed with handwritten instructions and a shovel, Dagur set to work late that night, after Tuff had fallen into a deep restful sleep.

When he returned the next morning before sunrise, he had a couple thorns in his paw, scratches on his arms and tears in his clothing, but he could not be happier.

Tuff was waiting up for him when he entered the room, looking anxious and oddly horrified.

“It’s okay,” Dagur soothed, as the boy embraced him tightly. “I’m back, everything’s okay.”

“Dagur,” Tuff started, but he put a finger to the boy’s lips. He led Tuff to the table in his room, not even glancing at the enchanted rose but instead grabbing up the mirror and asking it to show what he’d done.

Proudly he handed it over to Tuff, who took it in confusion. He looked at the glass, then gasped unevenly, eyes starting to fill up.

Roses, in the middle of dead winter, were intertwined beautifully around his sister’s grave. Dagur was no gardener, but he figured even he couldn’t manage to kill an immortal magical bush while transplanting it. It had been remarkable simple - the only hard part had been digging into the frozen ground.

“They’ll bloom forever, pruned or not. She’ll always have roses, no matter the time of year.”

Tuff’s eyes were spilling over. He set down the mirror and wrapped his arms tightly around Dagur’s waist. “Thank you, thank you so much - I’m so sorry,” he managed.

Dagur looked down at the top of his head, confused. “Why? Did - Did I do something wrong? It was roses, right? Not daffodils or something?”

He was about to berate himself, but Tuff looked up at him tearfully and then over to the dome.

At first he thought there was no longer anything inside it, but on closer look, Dagur saw the withered stem lying at the bottom, surrounded by fallen petals.

“I didn’t know you had so little time left,” Tuff murmured. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry - I promised I’d help you -“

Dagur felt a deep surge of disappointment, though for the first time it wasn’t for his own sake. “I guess I’m gonna have to make a lot more apologies to everyone.”

“I’m sorry,” Tuff said again to his chest, but Dagur gently tilted his face up to look at him.

“Don’t be sorry for me. I don’t regret it. I love you,” he blurted casually, without thinking.

Tuff’s gray eyes widened. Before Dagur could stammer out a mortified apology, he put his hands on Dagur’s face and pulled him down for a fierce kiss.

Dagur flailed a little, shocked, but after a moment of Tuffs soft lips crashing against his teeth and lips, he started to kiss back. He was careful even though he didn’t want to be, for fear of his fangs piercing the boy’s lips.

He had no cause to worry as it turned out.

Tuff reared back suddenly, breaking the kiss to gape at him.

“What?” Dagur asked, still in a daze. He couldn’t seem to care about anything but kissing Tuff right now, and reached for him again, drawing him closer.

It was then Dagur noticed hands attached to his body rather than paws. He yelped.

Tuff laughed, a little unsteadily and held up the mirror - now a plain, ordinary glass - showing Dagur his new reflection.

—-

There was pandemonium in the castle. Not the panicked kind, but rather a joyous one.

Tuff held onto his arm (his human arm!) as Dagur walked them carefully out of his room. It was Viggo who met them first, walking purposely toward them with a chair on wheels. Dagur wondered giddily for a moment whether it was for him or Tuff.

Giving him a smile that could only mean ‘well done’, Viggo respectfully nodded his head and eased Tuff down into the chair before looking him over critically.

“I’m okay, I can walk,” the boy protested, not letting go of Dagur. His grip had moved to Dagur’s hand. Viggo only chuckled.

“Have no fear, I will not separate you two. Among other things, our prince has proved himself to be an excellent caretaker.”

Dagur felt himself blushing. Coming from Viggo, it was rare praise, though he was eternally grateful the man wasn’t making a big production out of things.

That task was given to the other servants - now free of their frames - who cheered when they saw them. All except Sir Uglethorpe, who’d had to first run for the privy.

As overjoyed as he was to see them all uncursed, Dagur dreaded having to tell them about the fate of the village, where many had called home. Lady Astrid seemed to sense this and stepped forward to hug Dagur tightly, and then Tuffnut.

“We all know what happened,” she spoke, before Dagur could. “The walls have ears you know.”

Oh. Right. “You can stay here, all of you. Make this castle your new home. And no, you don’t have to work any harder than I will,” Dagur promised.

Astrid smiled. “Oh, going to lead by example are you? Like Alexander the Great?”

Dagur blinked at her, trying in vain to remember a long ago history lesson. “Was he French?”

Her laugh didn’t make him upset or defensive, like it would have in the past. Tuff squeezed his hand. “Currently he’s in your library. You’re gonna love him.”

He grinned back at Tuff. Who knew, maybe he would.

Love had already surprised Dagur more than anything else ever had.

END

#rtte #httyd #tuffnut #dagur #batb au #tuffgur #rarepair week

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queerstorian · 7 years ago

Quote

After Thomas Pickney left his in-laws, but was still being held prisoner, the British moved in, establishing a garrison on the property and forcing Rebecca Motte, a widow, and her children to take up residence in a farmhouse nearby. American troops, under Francis Marion and Henry Lee, surrounded the British encamped on her estate and demanded they surrender. The British, expecting reinforcements at any moment, refused to give up, leaving the Americans with just one choice - to destroy the Mansion, thus depriving the enemy of a bastian for defense. Since Rebecca Motte had been housing the Americans, caring for the sick and wounded, and since her son-in-law was considered a hero in the Continental Army, Lee was loath to destroy the house. He took the problem to Rebecca, who “gave instant relief to his agitated feelings by declaring that she was gratified with the opportunity of contributing to the good of her country.” Lee devised a plan to shoot flaming arrows into the roof of the house, setting it on fire. Rebecca was informed of the strategy, she told the general that she could help - she had some East Indian arrows that burst into flame when they struck their target. So she herself provided the weapons of destruction. When the flares started flaming, the British made a brief attempt to put the fire out but soon surrendered, making it possible for the Americans to save most of the mansion. Afterward, Rebecca served up a meal to the officers of both armies, which General Lee later remembered: “The deportment and demeanor of Mrs. Mott gave a zest to the pleasures of the table…. Conversing with ease, vivacity and good sense, she obliterated our recollection of the injury she had received.” The sheath for the arrows became the case for Rebecca Motte’s knitting needles.

From Cokie Roberts’ “Founding Mothers”

There is so much Happening™ in this passage….. .. like

1. Rebecca Motte was a widow trying to raise kids and not die during the war, while she was also housing and playing hostess to not just healthy American soldiers, but the sick and dying as well. That must have been a tremendous strain and I guarantee she had little to no time to relax

2. When asked if they could BURN HER HOUSE DOWN, Rebecca was not just for it but handed them THE FLAMING ARROWS to do so. This is big because I have no idea if she had been left any other properties by her late husband or family, or where the nearest family she could stay with was. Not to mention I doubt she had time to take anything from the house besides her and her children, so she was also putting all of clothes, furniture, valuables, heirlooms, money, etc., on the line. And again, as a woman without a husband during this time, she would have no source of income besides her property and any family. So none of this could be easily replaced.

3. “EAST INDIAN ARROWS THAT BURST INTO FLAME WHEN THEY STRUCK THEIR TARGET”. Like where the fuck did she get these??? She just had them laying around??? And they had to have been kept somewhere in her house, so when she found out the British were coming and was evacuating herself and the children, she had to have grabbed the random ass flaming arrows at the same time??? Like “lol these might come in handy. If no one shows up to help I’ll set those fuckers on fire myself”

4. She serves this amazing meal in the half-ruins of the house she just helped try to burn down, and it’s the best thing ever??? She’s even nice to the enemy she was totally down with burning to death?? The code of civility at this time was wild

5. This bitch. Uses the sheath from her flaming arrows (FLAMING ARROWS?? Did she buy them?? Did someone give then to her?? Who?¿¿) to hold. Her knitting needles. That’s so badass. Like imagine Grandma Motte sitting in her rocking chair like “be a dear and grab me my knitting, grandson. Oh did I ever tell you about the time I gave the patriots my sick-ass flaming arrows to burn the British out of this home? Lol yeah, my knitting case is the sheath from that btw”

TL:DR Rebecca Motte was a badass with flaming arrows who smoked the British out of her mansion before serving a world-class meal to them, and then proceeded to keep her knitting needles in the sheath from said flaming arrows

#i love her #what a woman #rebecca motte #badass women #women's history #us history #history #american history #american revolution

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tailorcadfael-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Storm’s Refugee - A Prologue, of sorts (Peter/Vidar)

It was pouring outside. The kind of storm you tie down anything you don’t want blowing away and pray your home is the sort that doesn’t leak. Peter’s trailer sat on the precipice of acceptable in that regard - the rain hammered down on its exterior and the wind howled around it, but he’d chosen a reasonably sheltered place this time, surrounded by large trees that absorbed the worst of what the little camper couldn’t handle on its own.

He just hoped his generator didn’t stall out. It was going to be a cold night, otherwise — and, yep, there it went. Piece of shit.

He had just bundled up in his sweatpants and a thick terrycloth robe, mixed himself a hot Toddy - a shot of Bourbon, with hot water, lemon, honey, and a bit of ginger was just the thing for a night like this - and had settled down with his laptop to watch Penn and Teller on Netflix. Not much chance at that, it turned out - even in good weather, the coverage out here was terrible - so he switched over to his hard drive of films and was just scrolling through the directory, hoping to find something he hadn’t seen in awhile, when he heard scratching at his door.

He almost ignored it, assuming it was a branch or some debris blown up against the trailer, but then he heard it again, too insistent to be the wind.

Cautiously, Peter approached the trailer door and peeked out the tiny window. At first he saw no one, but then lightning flashed and he caught sight of a pair of glowing eyes and a canine face.

His heart skipped a beat - were there wolves out here? No way… this was just at the edge of suburban areas, even if there were still wolves in this part of the country, they wouldn’t come this close to people… would they?

The lightning flashed again and the creature looked up at him forlornly, its ears drooping. It was soaking wet, from what he could see, and seemed smart enough to recognize a door - maybe it was just someone’s stray dog? Peter hesitated, then carefully pulled his door open.

Or tried to. The wind kicked up as soon as he got the latch open and blew him backwards. He managed not to get knocked over by spinning to the side, his hand still on the door handle, and taking cover behind his shelves.

“Shit!” Peter yelled, and as soon as there was a lull in the blast he pushed the door with both hands and slammed it closed again.

When he caught his breath, he realized he was no longer alone.

The wolf-dog was cowering in his kitchen, dripping water all over the floor and looking utterly miserable and, oddly, apologetic. Its head ducked low and it lowered itself to the ground when he took a tentative step towards it, trying in the very narrow space to roll onto its back submissively.

“It— it’s okay, boy. It’s okay. No one’s gonna hurt ya — we’re just gonna be pals, okay?” Peter murmured, trying to keep his own worry out of his voice. “….please be friendly, okay?”

The wolf-dog wagged it’s tail and half-crawled, half wiggled over to him.

It was enormous. He’d never seen a dog so big. He was sure, standing up on its high legs, it would tower over him easily, and if he was any judge, it was easily near twice his unimpressive weight. A paw the size of a softball waved at him invitingly, in a playful, almost coy gesture. Peter found himself smiling in spite of his reservations.

“Aw… you’re just a big puppy, aren’t you?” He sniffed, wincing slightly. “A big, wet dog-smelling puppy. Okay. Let’s fix that.” He dug through his cabinets, unearthing the only two towels he owned, and began scrubbing the wolf-dog down. It held still for him while he soaked first one, then the second, and was still looking damp and scraggly. Peter frowned, squeezed as much water as he could out of the towels in his tiny shower space, and rubbed the animal down so more. Finally, with a heavy sigh, he tossed the towels on the shower’s racks to dry, pulled off his robe, and dropped that over the dog next.

That did the trick. After a lot of rubbing - which, he noticed, the dog closed his eyes and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying - he managed to get the fur almost dry. He looked at his floor, and with another soft sigh tossed the robe on the ground to soak it up.

“Never let it be said that I’m a bad host, hmm? Are you hungry, buddy?”

The dog’s ears perked up, to his surprise.

“Oh… you know that word, huh?” That had to be it. Dogs picked up words fast when it lead to food. Peter stood up, walking over his robe and moving it on the ground with his feet till he was satisfied, then wrung it out in the shower and hung it up as well.

At least the extra body present would warm things up a bit. He could already feel the heat radiating off the dog, now that it was no longer shivering from the rain. Peter shuffled through his very, very small cabinet, pulling a paper bowl out of a stack of them and a tin of canned chicken meat. He’d been saving it for making sandwiches this week, but it felt wrong to have offered food and not followed through, especially when it was to a guest with teeth as long as his fingers.

“Sorry, not exactly gourmet eating here, but here ya go, Handsome.”

The dog wolfed (hah!) the offering down gratefully when he set the bowl on the ground, and Peter sat back on his bed, taking the opportunity to get a good look at the animal now that it was dry and preoccupied. He didn’t know much about dogs, but there were breeds that looked like wolves, he knew that much. It couldn’t be a real wolf - the color was off, for one, or at least he was pretty sure wolves didn’t get dirty blond fur. It was too friendly and comfortable in a human space, too. Definitely had to be someone’s stray.

It couldn’t have been loose that long, either. It’s hips weren’t jutting out of its body - in fact, it looked quite fit and well-fed, its claws hadn’t seemed overly long to him when he was toweling them off, its eyes seemed clear… and staring at him expectantly now. Peter straightened up, feeling oddly like he was under scrutiny. Well, that was fair, it wasn’t like he hadn’t been ogling, too.

“Well… looks like it’s you and me for the night, pretty boy. I’m not so much a dick I’d kick you out now.” He held a hand out, and couldn’t wipe the smile off his face when the dog approached, its tail wagging low and fast, and almost bashfully pushed its head against his palm.

A head the size of a damn bear. He hesitantly scratched its ears, letting his hand trail around the animal’s neck in search of a collar he’d hoped he’d simply missed in the process of drying it off. Nothing, but he did feel a patch of bare, hard skin around its throat, and frowned. Scar tissue, no doubt about it. The dog pulled its head away, and Peter held his hand up apologetically.

“Someone got you good, huh? It’s okay, buddy, I’ve got a few scars of my own. See?” He pointed at the incision scars on his bare chest. “Here’s where I got shanked in prison. And this one is from when I burst out of my chrysalis.”

The dog was watching him intently again, its head tilting in confusion as he spoke.

“Just kidding,” Peter said with a grin. “I was never in prison.”

The dog blinked, and Peter shrugged.

“Tough audience, eh?” He sighed, and scooted back on the mattress, then patted the empty space next to him. “Well, I’m currently down my main source of heat for the night thanks to you, so you can make up for it by keeping me warm.”

The dog hesitated. It moved up to the edge of the bed, peeking over it at him like it was pondering something it knew it wasn’t allowed to do. Probably trained not to get up on furniture, then. He supposed that was fair - if he had an actual house with furniture worth destroying he wouldn’t have been so eager to let an animal that big on it either.

“Come on up, Handsome, I won’t bite.” He paused, adding, “And I won’t tattle.”

The dog put one, giant paw up on the edge of the mattress, then another, then pulled itself up a bit awkwardly. It hovered over him a moment, its brow furrowing forward with an expression of almost alarming intelligence, its mouth hanging open for a second, then it seemed to think better of … whatever it had been thinking, but not until after giving Peter just long enough to wonder if he’d made a serious mistake.

Then the dog stepped over him and lowered itself behind him, squirming into the space between him and the wall and half curling around him so it could lay its massive head in his lap and look up at him hopefully.

“Yeah, I know a cuddler when I see one. Lucky for you, I’m all about that life style.” Peter said, placing a hand on the dog’s thick ruff and scratching. It sighed in pleasure and closed its eyes, and with his free hand Peter pulled his laptop up again and continued scrolling through his films list, till he settled on Grand Budapest Hotel. “How do you feel about Wes Craven?”

A contented sigh was the only reply he got. “Mhmm, sounds good to me, too.” Peter clicked the play button, picked up his now-lukewarm Toddy and leaned back against the dog like a pillow.

The dog slept still and quiet the rest of the night - honestly, a better bed partner than he’d had in longer than he cared to dwell on - but by morning the storm was gone and it was scratching at the door to be let out. Peter held it open and watch the big creature trot off into the woods. It paused just at the edge of the tree line, looking back at him; he waved, a little awkwardly, feeling a little melancholy as it seemed to nod before disappearing into the underbrush.

#marchenstrasse oneshots #deviantchronicles #peter and his wolf #terato #if you squint #original characters #original writing #pure fluff #werewolf #muse: Peter Moore

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ssbuniverse-blog · 5 years ago

Text

SUPER SMASH BROS UNIVERSE Part 1, Chapter 2: You Kongo

THE MUSHROOM KINGDOM…

The path to the Toadstool Mansion is now vastly different from what Peach remembers. She realized this when the road started to shake, the carriages were almost on their sides, and Toadsworth was clutching her waist. The carriage twisted and turned so much that the Luma burst at the impact. Midway through the rollercoaster ride she felt Toadsworth drift from her waist, he was knocked out. Then suddenly, after a fierce blow, Peach is knocked unconscious.

IN THE KONGO JUNGLE…

The inside of the carriage is in shambles; seat cushions are on the floor, the window is busted, and one of the doors is off. Peach wakes up to see the mess, there is a ringing in her head so she can’t focus on anything. She looks at her dress which is a little torn. Her body hurts, she feels for injuries. The side of her chest has a deep pain as she sits up. The Queen looks around to find herself in the cabin. Then, Peach runs out the door for Toadsworth, almost ignorant of her energy. Peach exhales as she sees Toadsworth standing outside the cabin, hands behind his back.

“It’s morning?” Peach looks at the sun rising behind the trees. They seem to be in a jungle.

“Seems you had a good nights rest,” Toadsworth says.

“This…is this the Kongo Jungle?” Peach asks.

“Sure smells like it,” Toadsworth ruffles his mustache and looks around.

“Where’s the Luma?”

“I’m afraid we lost her to the impact,” Toadsworth speaks quietly.

“Where is the Chancellor and Toad Minister?”

“I’m not sure Princ- Queen.”

“Well then let’s go!” Peach moves to the back of the carriage, she opens the trunk. “I just need to get my shoes…“ The trunk is empty, so all she has is her slippers.

“You want to go?” Toadsworth creeps closer to her.

“Yes, let’s go.”

“Peach,” Toadsworth hisses. “We do you expect we go? This is the jungle, we will die out there.”

“And we will die standing here,” Peach rips her dress, now it is more like a skirt. “I don’t want to wait for something to find us.”

“I think we find our way back to the castle, we must not be too far off.”

“And neither is Donkey Kong, he can probably already smell my perfume.”

“Please, I would not like to spend the first day of your reign preparing your will, Peach.”

“And I would not like to spend the first day of my reign cowering like I did for the past few years.”

“Listen,” Toadsworth gets quiet. “I know you feel like you have something to prove-“

“I do have something to prove,” Peach interrupts. “And I am not being reckless. The only problem we have in the Kongo Jungle is if we are left alone. Even King K. Rool won’t hurt us.”

“You have a lot of faith in these beasts.”

“These beasts have become my friends over the years.” Toadsworth has nothing left to say. Peach continues; “Right, let’s go!”

AT THE NORTHERN END OF THE KONGO JUNGLE…

Yoshi creeps through the trees and expects to find the river that leads to Yoshi’s Island. Instead, across the river, his native island is crushed against a long plains-like area. This must’ve been a result of the earthquake that happened throughout the jungle that night. Yoshi navigates his way through the trees to get closer to the new position of the island.

Yoshi can see movement as he is closer to the island. He then hears sounds coming from the island. He listens carefully and hears humans speaking. Next, screams from some of the yoshis! Next he smells smoke from a fire. These signs make him creep closer to the island in panic. Now that Yoshi can see better, he sees humans with swords and bows. He hears more screams from his own and from the humans. Yoshi stops. He turns the opposite direction and heads back to Peach’s Castle in fear of what might be happening on the island.

AT PEACH’S CASTLE…

Mario and Luigi stayed up the whole night. Luckily, Captain Toad and Toadette appeared to help out. They rescued the prisoners from the flooding dungeons and put them in a separate room. Some of the toad scientists were working on a scuba diving oxygen tank so Mario and Luigi could breathe underwater. The whole first story and basement of Queen Peach’s Castle is flooded. Everyone has been moved to higher floors, the furniture that could be salvaged has been, and the rest of the toads are camping out in the great hall.

Captain Toad brings Mario and Luigi out on his paddle boat. They coast outside of the main doors and into the long valley to the southeast point of the castle. Everything is flooded and now very muddy. They hear cries coming from the distance. There is a toad stranded on one of the hedges. Mario and Luigi paddle the boat towards him.

“Help!” the toad cries. “I can’t swim!” The toad jumps onto the paddle boat with the others. “What happened!?”

“We don’t know!” Luigi answers.

“Some of the other toads were able to climb the top of the castle wall, there is a huge lake covering the Mushroom Kingdom. They’re calling it the Wedding Lake.”

“What?” Mario asks surprised. “How’d ya get up there?”

“Come on I’ll show ya!” The toad directs them to a part of the rampart where the vines are nicely placed for climbing. “Right here.” Mario, Luigi, and Captain Toad start to climb the vines. “I’ll just stay here, I’m afraid of heights too.”

Then, Mario, Luigi, and Captain Toad climb the tall shrubbery rampart to the very top. Luigi makes the mistake of looking down; he feels his stomach drop. Mario and Captain Toad are mesmerized at the view of the castle from their height. The white castle and red roof shine in the sun, the flags are flapping only feet from them, and they are right next to the birds. The trio turns around to see water.

“All of the Mushroom Kingdom is…” Mario is astounded.

“Hey boss, any idea how this happened?” Captain Toad asks.

“Bowser maybe,” But Mario doesn’t believe that the Koopa King has the power to create a whole lake, right where the entire Mushroom Kingdom used to be.

“Boss?” Captain Toad looks back at the castle and the surrounding valley. He notices that there is a jungle that is awfully close. It never used to be that way before.

“Yeah?”

“Is that the Kongo Jungle over there?” Captain Toad asks.

“I guess it is.”

“It smells like it!” Luigi grabs his nose.

“Gee boss, what is it doing so close?” Captain Toad asks.

“We need to get back to the castle and get Rosalina!” Mario commands.

“Hey M-Mario, do you think you could carry me down?” Luigi asks.

Luigi latches onto his brother’s back Mario carries the both of them down. Mario is thinking that Rosalina will have some sort of perspective on what happened. She must’ve been able to see it all happen from the Space Observatory. They make it back to the boat and paddle back to the castle; returning the stranded toad back to safety.

Once back at the castle, Mario’s finds his Luma so he can call Rosalina. Usually the Luma likes to hide in his office, so he leaps over steps, avoids as many toads as he can, and makes it to his office to find no one. He could check the garden, right –its flooded. Mario runs too his room, one of the toads –Horacitoad? Mario can’t remember any of the governmental toads interrupts him. However, he runs past him anyway. Although Mario is rushing through the castle, he notices all of the goombas, koopas, and toads camped out. He asks them as he runs past them if they’ve seen a fat little star with a red hat on. One of the goombas tells him to check his room.

The doors to Mario’s room burst open from his kick. Looking out the balcony is his Luma snuggling up to his mom; Rosalina. She doesn’t seem to notice he walked in. Mario slows his pace so it seems like he isn’t in a panic. “I knew you’d come looking for me,” Rosalina is smirking. She turns around with the Luma mimicking her. “Seems like being the King Adjunct is a lot more work that you thought huh?”

“Yeah! Ima swamped!” Mario jokes. There is a pause in the room because the severity of the situation warrants a pause. “The whole Mushroom Kingdom is flooded.”

“I saw,” Rosalina responds. “I’m sorry this happened.”

“Yeah, but how did it happen?”

“It was almost instantly. I was away from my computer at the time. When I felt the shaking-“

“Wait! You’re saying you felt the earthquake too?” Mario asks.

“It seems to have been much more than an earthquake. Anyways, after…whatever happened, I looked at my computer and saw that most of the world had changed!”

“What is missing?”

“Everything, the Dry Dry Desert, New Donk City, and Delfino Ocean too!” Rosalina explains. “The only things left are Peach’s Castle, the Kongo Jungle, Yoshi’s Island, Sarasaland…”

“What else?” Mario is anxious, he looks a lot like his brother right now.

“Bowser’s Castle,” Rosalina states. “Birdo’s Luma was just captured and destroyed by Kamek. I don’t know what’s happened to her.”

“Do you think Kamek could’ve done this?” Mario asks.

“I don’t think so,” Rosalina is serious. “Which is why I have reason to believe that there may be a new threat!”

“Do you think Bowser may be back then? AGAIN?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Mario sinks in his chair. After years and years of trying to stop Bowser from tormenting them, Mario thought he finally won. Bowser has never been capable of flooding an entire kingdom. Some other force is at work and it scares the hell out of Mario.

“I’m sorry but there is one more thing I need to tell you,” Rosalina admits. “While Peach was traveling to the Toadstool Mansion, her Luma warned me…there was a crash and her Luma didn’t survive the impact.”

Mario’s eyes start to swell. Rosalina can see him holding back his tears so she goes to comfort him. “I need to go find her,” Mario says. “I need to find her.”

“Sure. I can help guard the castle.”

“No.” Mario snaps. He then wipes his tears and clears his throat. All he can think of are a few words. There are no other thoughts that Mario can convince him of the few words that are stitched in his mind. He says them; “Rosy, there’s not much left to guard. The Mushroom Kingdom is completely flooded. No one is left besides us.”

“Mario…”

“I think we leave Peach’s Castle. Move the rest of the people to the Space Observatory. I’ll try and find Peach with Luigi.”

“I think that sounds like a great plan, Mario. I’ll get everyone together and teleport them to the Space Observatory.”

LATER IN THE KONGO JUNGLE…

The sun refuses to pass through the trees of the Kongo Jungle. Peach and Toadsworth are worried that if they travel for too long then they will be lost in darkness. They found some luggage on their journey, but didn’t find Peach’s shoes. She continues to walk in heels throughout the jungle and it is certainly the hardest challenge she has had to face yet. They are both certain that they traveled farther from the Mushroom Kingdom, so there is no turning back.

Toadsworth is worried about all the kritters and creatures that roam the jungle. They gather large leaves and sticks thinking believing that what they are doing is productive. As soon as they gather a fair amount of supplies, Toadsworth and Peach look at the pile. They don’t know how they are going to survive the night. All they have is a few suitcases and a pile of scraps.

“Peach,” Toadsworth whispers, almost defeated.

“Yes, Toadsworth?” she asks.

“If we don’t survive the night-“

“Don’t say that!” Peach tries to convince herself as much as she does Toadsworth.

There is a rustle in the trees. After being paranoid for so long in the jungle their senses have become heightened. Every slight movement in the trees doesn’t slip past their ears. However, this has only made them more aware of their immediate danger, which puts them more into a panic. The rustling doesn’t get louder but it gets clearer, whoever it is, is moving closer to them. The rustling draws nearer, until its right next to them, then stops.

Donkey Kong comes out of the bushes to see Peach and Toadsworth. There is a huge sigh of relief. Until DK nearly tackles them both, they’re mutually glad to see each other. DK smells Peach and coos.

“I told you he’d smell my perfume,” Peach laughs.

It seems as though DK has experienced some of the loss that the Toadstools have as well. The Kongo Jungle seems much smaller than it usually is. It has never backed up to Peach’s Castle, the earthquake must’ve caused the land to redecorate itself. But the source of this shift is still a mystery.

DK takes Peach and Toadstool in his arms and starts jumping through the jungle. They swing on vines and glide under the jungle canopy. Toadsworth has never felt this kind of rush before. Peach laughs at his anguish because she used to be like him.

Toadsworth’s stomach starts to turn as DK climbs down closer to the ground. He brings them to Kongo Falls, which has now been cut in half due to the shift. DK sees the terror in Toadsworth’s eyes. He then takes them to his camp. There it is only him, Diddy Kong, and Dixie. The rest of the Kongs are nowhere to be found.

“Princess –I mean, your highness, we can’t do this!” Toadsworth commands.

“Do what? Stay comfortably with our friends instead of out in the wilderness alone?”

Toadsworth ruffles his mustache again and quiets down. Peach climbs the vines into the tree house that the Kongs have built. As she disappears in the house Toadsworth looks around and realizes that he might as well compromise. Toadsworth climbs the vines and joins the others in the treehouse.

IN BOWSER’S KINGDOM…

Birdo climbs one of the spiral staircases to her room in Bowser’s Castle. She dreads doing this every time. She once tried to get Bowser to put a window in her room but instead he clawed a hole in the roof. She is winding up the spiral staircase and getting just dizzy enough to know it is the end. Birdo gets to her room and plops down on the bed. It has been a long day of tending Bowser’s wounds. Before she can even think about food she wanted to lie in her bed for a few minutes.

Birdo pulls out some food from her pouch that she smuggled for Luma. After placing it on the table she calls for her Luma. There is no response. Birdo calls again. But again there is no response. It’s odd, even if Luma wasn’t hungry she would come out from hiding. Birdo gets up to look around; the dresser and under the cushions are all empty. Suddenly, there is a poof! Birdo hears Kamek cackling.

“Kamek, what are you doing here?” Birdo asks.

“I’m coming to give you a message from Bowser,” Kamek says.

“What is it?” Birdo snaps.

“What’s in the dresser?” Kamek asks. He knows something is up with Birdo. “You don’t wear any clothes besides that bow on top of your head!”

“What does Bowser need?” Birdo asks.

“He needs you to stop being a spy for the Mario Brothers!” Kamek says.

“I don’t-“

“DON’T!” Kamek starts. “Try to deny it! I found THIS last night,” Kamek shows Birdo her wedding invitation. “How was it? Lots of mushroom soup?”

“Where’s the Luma?” Birdo asks frantically.

“Destroyed, I know Rosalina has taught those little stars how to whisper to each other.”

“What are you going to do?”

“No, the question is what are YOU going to do?”

“What are YOU going to do?” Birdo quips.

“YOU are going to watch as we fly across the Wedding Lake then go straight to the dungeons!” Kamek laughs. Then with a swish of Kamek’s wand, Birdo finds herself outside.

An airship floats in the sky above Bowser’s Castle, the koopalings all prepare their clown cars as if for a battle. The canons are loaded, the hammer bros have sharpened their hammers, and the horde of goombas is ready to charge. Kamek flies up towards Bowser, who sits at the helm of the ship.

“We ready to go?” Bowser asks.

“Let’s go,” Kamek responds. With that Bowser commands the air fleet to charge forward. As they leave Bowser’s Kingdom they see a great lake overstretch the horizon. “Kamek! What happened to the Mushroom Kingdom?”

“A lake appeared after the earthquake, they’re calling it Wedding Lake. After Mario and Peach’s wedding.”

“Wedding!? Maybe we’ll catch them before their honeymoon!” Bowser’s jaw starts drooling with crave. He’ll be able to challenge Mario once again. Any fatigue he has been feeling since has passed, now the excitement of fighting Mario has given him energy. Hammer brothers escort Birdo to her cell.

The airship reaches the brink of the Wedding Lake and see the flooded castle. Bowser jumps off the airship and crashes into the roof, he breaks the roof and lands in the great hall. No one is around, not a toad is in sight. The wedding decorations are still up too. Bowser walks down the main staircase and sees no one. The koopalings fly into the castle from the front entrance. They have seen no one either. There is a wave of realization that pours over Bowser. For some reason everyone in the castle is gone, the toads, Peach, and Mario have all abandoned the Mushroom Kingdom. Flames pour from Bowser’s mouth and heats up the water in the castle. It now turns into a boiling hot spring.

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#super smash bros universe #two #mario #luigi #peach #yoshi #donkey kong #bowser

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