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superbataddicted · 4 years ago

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Writer’s Month 2020 (Day 10)

Day 10 Prompt: Bunnies

Pairing: Superbat

Title: The Artist and his Florist - Chapter 10 - Lifting the Curse

Her emissaries came down in a swirl of stardust and shooting stars, and Bruce wanted so badly to laugh.

But Clark jabbed him in the ribs.

“This’ serious. You wouldn’t want something else to happen, right?”

That was all very true.

They were at the end stage and with this last bit of formality – sort of like players shaking hands after a match – their curse would be done. So they shouldn’t be jeopardising the situation with any improper display of behaviour.

But Bruce just couldn’t help himself, shoulders shaking with the effort to contain his mirth. For the emissaries were not at all what he had expected.

Having witnessed Her majestic grandeur, Bruce thought that Her emissaries would be of that standard too. However, it turned out otherwise, and the contrast was simply too comedic.

Instead of some awe-inspiring or fearsome entities, there stood two white bunnies about the height of Bruce’s knees. Perched on their heads were tiny crowns and in each gloved paw was a wand with a crystal star on top. Dressed in matching butler outfits, they looked as if they were drawn by a comic artist high on fluff and cuteness.

Giving them a bow, the slightly taller bunny began to speak.

“Kal of El and Bruce of Wayne, the Queen sends her congratulations.”

Upon hearing the words, the shorter and younger one snorted.

“No, She did not. She didn’t say any...”

And the younger bunny yelped in pain, thwacked on the head by the taller one with his wand.

“But I’m telling the truth! She was roaring in...”

“A word more...” the taller one warned, whiskers twitching agitatedly, “And you will not have dinner tonight.”

That shut the shorter one up immediately, but it set Bruce off instead.

With a loud guffaw, Bruce burst into laughter, a hand gripping Clark’s shoulder as his body shook. Clark wasn’t doing any better either, making choked gasping noises as he sought to control himself.

This was really beyond their expectations.

To think that She with all Her power and might, sending such emissaries...

Instead of being offended, the taller bunny visibly deflated, ears drooping dismally.

“Alright, alright! I give up,” he threw his paws in the air and the younger one clapped his in glee.

“Told you it won’t work. So can I change back now?”

The taller one waved his hand in resignation and together, they tapped their wands three times against their foreheads while muttering a chant in a strange language.

There was a magical discharge that had Bruce’s and Clark’s hair standing on ends. That sobered them up immediately and eyes curious, they stared at the albino twins who had replaced the cute bunnies.

Instead of crowns, on their heads were conical helmets embossed with a pair of wings. They still had a wand each – now a crystal rod inlaid with filigree. Their heights were still the same though, but they had switched out their butler suits for leather biker’s outfits.

“What exactly are you?” Clark asked, having no recollection of meeting such entities in his long ago past.

“Just messengers for hire,” the younger one shrugged, “This’ our real looks. The bunnies, that was his idea.”

“I just wanna do a special,” the taller one groused, still noticeably disappointed, “It’s not everyday we get to extract Her punishments. It’s been like...I dunno. I can’t remember.”

“Yah, but bunnies?” the younger one made a circling gesture with his index finger by the side of his head, “Let’s the worst idea ever.”

The taller one looked even sadder and the younger one patted his head to soothe him.

“Never mind and let’s get on with it, okay. The sand’s running out and She don’t pay for overtime.”

Nodding in agreement, the two arranged themselves such that the taller one was facing Clark and the younger facing Bruce.

“So what is going to happen now?” Bruce asked, extremely apprehensive. His encounter with Her and Her people had not been exactly pleasant.

“Nothing that will bring harm,” the taller one replied, understanding where Bruce’s concern was coming from, “Just stand still, hold hands if you want. Doesn’t really matter.”

Gulping nervously, Clark and Bruce did as was told, entwining their fingers together just in case.

Straightening up, the taller one began to speak, voice deepening as power began to gather.

“Kal of El. For your act of forbidden love and soul-bind, you have been cursed to wander through time and space, never to die and always seeking your love lost.”

“And you, Bruce of Wayne,” the shorter one intonated, “For your act of forbidden love and soul-bind, you have been stripped off your name, Brug of Ehrosh and made mortal, living only to die, re-born only to suffer the same fate.”

Both Bruce and Clark could feel the magic thrumming through the air, like the heaviness before a thunderstorm. They dared not move nor make a sound, afraid of disrupting the ritual.

“But you, Kal of El, succeeded in finding the love you have lost,” the taller one spoke.

“And you Bruce of Wayne, fulfilled the three trials as was called for,” continued the shorter one.

“And so,” the two joined voices, speaking in unison, “What has been demanded of has now been satisfied and what has been meted out must now be taken back.”

The oppressive feel of magic against their skin. The nerve-wrecking suspense that had Clark and Bruce on edge. Both of them were so highly-strung that they almost jumped out of their skin when the twins lifted their wands high up.

Muttering another chant, different from the earlier one, the magical energy was suddenly sucked into the wands causing a roar of wind, loud and fierce. Clark and Bruce hunkered against each other, buffeted by currents that tore at their clothes and lashed their hair against their skin.

Then all went still and silent. And Clark and Bruce opened their eyes to find the twins high-fiving each other.

“Still got it, right!” The taller one, grinned, “Was afraid of forgetting bits here and pieces there.”

“Yup,” the younger one nodded, eyes shining with excitement, “The last part was real hard. For a moment, I thought I had it pronounced wrong.”

“And what will have happened if it was wrong?” Clark asked, concern creasing his brows.

“I dunno,’ the taller one shrugged, “Maybe turned into a chicken or something?”

And Bruce and Clark shuddered, breaking out into cold sweat. She must really be that upset to have sent such emissaries to do Her work.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 - Part 1) , Chapter 6 (Part 2) , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 , Chapter 9

(Last Chapter - Lights (And there will be smut.))

#writersmonth2020 #writersmonth #superbat #writer: batzmaru65 #writersmonth2020 - Day 10 #clark kent x bruce wayne

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duskowithapen · 4 years ago

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Day Ten: Bunnies

Fandom: Harry Potter, Addam’s Family, and Monty Python and the Holy Grail

Pairing: Familial Harry Potter and baby Killer Rabbits of Caerbannog

Warning: Blood, Gore, and Death

Read on Ao3

Read on Fanfiction

Say Hello To My Little Friends

Harry licked the blood off his lip and smiled sadly with red stained teeth. “Sorry babies, no meat for dinner tonight.”

The six tiny baby bunnies stared at him with pink eyes. One hopped closer and started to lick at the blood dripping down his arm. When he didn’t push it away, the others followed. Harry ran a finger down each of their little backs. They were all so soft, with sleek black fur that shone different colours when the light touched it – a little bit like oil on water. He had found them huddled under Aunt Petunia’s rose bushes a few days ago. They must have run away from their owner, but Harry didn’t think anyone was looking for them. There hadn’t been any missing bunny posters or anything.

When one of the bunnies – the Ringleader, Harry thought of him as, with more of a green tint to his fur than the others – started climbing up his shirt in search of more blood, Harry pulled him away. “No, you’ve had enough.” They had all had enough – Harry was starting to feel a little lightheaded.

The bunnies’ nest was made out of a stolen towel and a pair of too-big jeans. It was tucked into the smallest corner of the cupboard, where the stairs met the floor. For extra protection, Harry had put all the chemical bodies in front of it like a wall. Now that the bunnies were relatively fed, he started to sit them one by one in the nest.

“Goodnight Ringleader,” he said to the green tinted kit.

“Goodnight Stormy,” to the fluffiest kit with a silvery tint to its’ fur.

“Goodnight lil’ Fighter,” to the kit missing part of one ear – Harry was pretty sure it had gotten into a fight before he’d found them.

“Goodnight Demon,” to the red tinted kit with deeper pink eyes than the others.

“Goodnight Shadow,” to the biggest kit. It was always following the others. More than once, Harry had to stop it from following him out of the cupboard.

“Goodnight Witchy,” to the darkest kit. It had an almost purple sheen to its fur, but it was also the quietest and most sneaky. Harry would be doing his chores, and suddenly find Witchy in his pocket, or climbing out of his shoes, or even in his hair. (If Harry was being completely honest, out of all the kits, Witchy was his favourite)

He didn’t want to get too attached to the kits – they couldn’t live in his cupboard forever – but he couldn’t help it. They were the closest thing he’d ever had to pets, or friends, in the seven years of his life.

Once they had all settled down in their nest, Harry started to wrap his wounds. Uncle Vernon had lost a drill deal of some kind today and blamed it on Harry and his freakishness. He hadn’t pulled out his belt, but he did accidently break a plate and then shoved Harry down on top of it, so there were pieces of glass ground into his back. He didn’t wince when he pulled them out. Even though Uncle Vernon couldn’t see him, he refused to react. To show that it hurt.

That night, curled up on his cot, Harry dreamed about the day when he would get Uncle Vernon back for every hit, every cut, every stripe of pain from his belt. In his sleep, Harry smiled.

As it turned out, that day came sooner than he thought.

It was a week later. Harry had just finished cooking breakfast for the Dursleys, painfully aware of the three raw sausages in his pocket. Like him, the bunnies preferred their meat rare, and they were getting hungry. Their last proper meal had been a couple of bacon rashers the day before last. As the Dursley’s ate, Harry started on the dishes. If he got them done fast enough, he’d have a few minutes of peace in his cupboard with the kits before chores.

Unfortunately, Dudley had not long since learned how to count. And he was very much aware of the fact that the sausage package held twelve sausages, not nine. “Where are my sausages!?” He cried out with both chubby hands banging at the table. “I want more sausages!”

Aunt Petunia immediately surged out of her chair to comfort him. “What’s wrong with your sausages, baby? Tell mummy what’s wrong.”

“There-there-there’s only nine sausages! There’s meant to be twelve!” Dudley screamed out at the top of his lungs.

Both Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon turned to look at the sausage plate. Indeed, there were only nine.

“BOY!” Uncle Vernon bellowed, “What the hell do you think you’re playing at?!”

Harry turned around at the sink, hand closing around the last dirty knife. “I don’t know, Uncle Vernon.”

The man’s face went red, and then purple. “Where are all the sausages?!”

Burning a hole in my pocket, Harry thought hysterically. He never should have tried to take the sausages – too many, too early, too much. He was just considering the merits of handing them over, maybe it would lessen his punishment, when a large hand connected with the side of his head.

WHAM

Harry stumbled away from the sink, hand still clutching that knife, only to be sent to the floor by another blow. Uncle Vernon stood over him. He looked so much bigger from down here, completely blocking the light from the window, casting his face into shadow.

“How dare you steal from us! We took you in after your worthless parents went and got themselves killed, and this is how you repay us? Stealing food from your own family?! You greedy, ungrateful brat!”

With every insult, Uncle Vernon took another swing at Harry, kicking him along the ground until his was a huddled ball against the wall. Harry struggled to breathe. His ribs were creaking. His wrist was on fire. In his other hand, fingers curled around metal.

“I should send you to an orphanage, see how you like that. Do you know what they do to thieving little brats like you? They –”

Whatever they were going to do to him Harry didn’t know. He was too busy twisting his hand, sending the knife blade deeper into the meat of Uncle Vernon’s leg. The larger man had his mouth open in a silent scream, stumbling away from the attack. Blood ran thickly down his leg as Harry pulled the knife out.

Aunt Petunia hadn’t noticed. “Vernon, what –”

He turned.

She screamed.

“VERNON!”

Harry stood up, unnoticed. His ribs didn’t seem to hurt as much. Reaching out, he grabbed another knife from the knife block. This one was getting slippery.

Aunt Petunia turned to him with a horrified look on her face. “What are you doing?!”

Harry grinned, showing off every bloodied tooth. “I’m getting even Aunty.” He had finally had enough.

She stumbled back a step. Her mouth opened, then closed. Eyes flicked to where the phone was sitting on the hook. Harry’s grin grew wider. “Go ahead Aunty. The neighbours are going to love seeing all the policemen here. I can show everyone my cupboard. Or the belt.”

Apparently, the threat of having all the freakishness Aunt Petunia tried so hard to hide revealed to the neighbourhood wasn’t enough to stop her from stumbling towards the phone.

The screams of her child was.

Harry stepped to the side to see Dudley, still sitting at the table, a half-eaten egg in one hand, writhing in pain as four tiny black blurs darted across his body. One of them – Harry thought it was Ringleader – stopped on his neck and bit down. Blood sprayed across the room. Some of it got into Aunt Petunia’s wide open mouth.

Then there was another scream – Uncle Vernon thrashed as another two bunnies crawled up his body. Demon started to bite at his throat, stopping the screams. Witchy darted under his shirt, where a small lump reached his armpit. Red grew in a wide stain.

Aunt Petunia slowly turned to face him. It was like all the blood had been drained from her body. “What – what – what –”

There was a grin. A flash of sunlight off silver. Blood sprayed the kitchen splashback.

Later, Harry was watched by six attentive bunnies as he carefully carved up the Dursleys. “It’s not really that much different from the chicken Aunt Petunia had me doing last year,” he explained, “Or the goose at Christmas. It’s just harder cause Uncle Vernon’s so fat.”

Aunt Petunia had already been put into the garbage bin Harry had emptied earlier. “I don’t know how I’m going to get rid of them,” Harry grunted as he finally cut through Uncle Vernon’s rib cage. “Maybe I’ll just leave them here.”

“Perhaps I can help you with that, little one,” A smoky voice drawled. Harry shot up, throwing one of the smaller knives towards the woman standing in the doorway. A touch of freakishness helped it fly true.

She caught it. “Very nice shot, little one.” She didn’t seem to mind the stickiness of the handle, or the blood that dripped down onto her fine dress. It was black anyway, so it’s not like blood showed.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?” Harry was sure he’d locked the front door after emptying the garbage bin.

“A locked door doesn’t keep out an Addams for very long.” Blood red lips stretched out into a razor thin smile. “And I am Morticia. I have come for my family’s rabbits.”

Said bunnies were climbing Harry’s legs. Witchy hid in his hair, with Shadow following right behind. Ringleader stood on one shoulder. Demon, lil’ Fighter and Stormy cuddled into his arm, which he’d automatically curled around them.

“Oh. They belong to you?” Harry wasn’t sure how to feel. It was good that their owner had come to find them, but he’d miss them. They were his friends.

“Not to me personally. The Caerbennog rabbits have been familiars of the Addams for centuries. Their mother is quite attached to mine, and when her kits went missing, I came to find them.” Morticia seemed to only take one step but managed to cross the entire kitchen. Harry looked up at her.

“You have done marvellous work on these, little one,” she remarked, kneeling down beside the partially dismembered Uncle Vernon.

“I’m not little one,” Harry said quietly, “My name’s Harry.”

“Harry… Thank you for taking care of the kits. They seem to have grown up very nicely in you care.”

They were a bit bigger, Harry noticed. When he first found them, he could fit three of them in one hand. Now, they were each the size of his hand, with much thicker fur. “I just took care of them, Miss Morticia.” Harry shifted back a step and whimpered. His ribs were starting to hurt again – or rather, he was noticing his ribs again. He kicked at Uncle Vernon’s leg with a scowl.

Morticia raised a thin eyebrow. “Are you alright Harry?”

He went to nod, to lie, because she was an adult and no adult has ever been good to him, but lil’ Fighter kicked out at his ribs, making him hiss.

Something in Morticia’s face went dark and terrifying, as she brushed a hand across his face. He’d forgotten that Uncle Vernon had hit him.

“Little one, did they hurt you?”

Harry nodded.

“Do you want to come with me, Harry? The kits have become quite attached to you – you would be welcome in my home.”

“Can I – can I grab their nest first?” He whispered. His wrist was protesting the firm hold he had on the knife, so he let it drop.

“Of course you can. Collect all your belongings.”

Morticia followed him to the cupboard, where he had to put down the kits so he could crawl inside. When he emerged with the nest wrapped up in his only clan shirt and pants, she had returned to the kitchen. There were squelching noises, but when she stepped out, there was no blood. “Is that everything, little one?” He hands, when they clasped his, were ice cold and soft.

He glanced back. “Just one more thing…” It was hidden inside one of the stairs, but with his ribs, and his wrist, getting it out was going to hurt. Thankfully, he didn’t have to. The kits hopped out, Shadow, Demon and Witchy pulling a tattered sketchbook with them. Harry smiled, but couldn’t help the tears that started to fall down his cheek. That was his most prized possession – Harry had rescued it from the bin when Dudley threw it out, and it had since been used almost to capacity. Morticia picked it up carefully, Demon climbing her dress and hiding under the fall of her hair.

“You are very skilled,” Morticia murmured, slowly flicking through the pages. Harry held the nest bundle closer to his chest.

She looked up and smiled that razor thin smile. “Come, my husband will be delighted to meet you. Do you have any family?”

Harry glanced to the side. He couldn’t see their bodies anymore, and the blood was gone. “Just the Dursleys. My parents are dead.”

A cold arm wrapped around his shoulders. When Harry dared to lean in a little, it was like being cradled by a marble statue – cold, unyielding, sturdy, supportive. “Hmm. Harry… how does Harrier Addams sound?”

#WritersMonth2020 #day 10 bunnies #harry potter #killer rabbit of caerbannog #morticia addams #blood and gore #violence #violence warning #blood warning #I love the killer rabbit #inspired by Harveste Addams

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