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the-durin-boys · 5 years

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You’re Okay Pt. 3 ~ Thorin and Company x Reader

Part 2 is here!

The battle cry was astounding. The anger and anguish in the voices of the dwarves echoes violently off of the forest life in a melancholic song, and the brutal battle between orcs and dwarves begins.

The clashing of blades is what Thorin first hears, and what truly brings him into the reality of the now. Up until this point, his body has been moving on his own, and his blade cutting faster than he can understand. He is just so… angry. To attack one, while they do nothing wrong, no harm, and no evil, especially you. Oh Mahal you. Thorin never felt such anger over someone, such emotion. Hordes of orcs come from their hiding places in the trees.

“They’ve been stalking us!” Thorin isn’t quite sure who speaks, but he doesn’t care.

How could they? How could they? How could they?

The Orcrist sticks wetly inside the skull of a pig-headed orc. The orc falls, and takes with it the blade. A fatter, boil-ier orc throws himself onto Thorin, knocking him to the ground. The fall pushes away the slain pig-headed orc and Thorin is left with a small blade, just bigger than a letter opener. The rusted blade of the orc sinks deep into the dirt, just shy of Thorin’s left ear, and the orc itself gleefully laughs as Thorin cuts at it, taking each hit in stride.

“Oh hehe! King Thorin! Dwarf under the Mountain! He sits just like the pointless rock he chooses to defend!” Another stab at the ground, this time it gives a shallow cut at the nape of his neck. Thorin hisses angrily and flicks the blade around in his hand, stabbing at the vulnerable pulse of the orcs neck. The orcs gasps and gags, falling sideways off of Thorin, groping desperately at the open wound in its neck. The light soon fades from its eyes and Thorin moves on, pulling the Orcrist from the pig-headed orc with a sticky squelsh.

“More come from the north!”

“And east!” Thorin backs up and joins his two nephews, each facing the aforementioned directions, young eyes wide with adrenaline and pride. “We can take them, Uncle!”

“Yes Uncle!” Cries Fili as he swings at a warg. “We can take them!” Kili notches an arrow, and watches with glee as it flies through the air and sticks in the eye of his waiting target,

“We’ve got the north and east covered!” Thorin cuts down one, and spins to avoid a blow from another. The Orcrist sinks into the stomach of the second orc, and it falls.

“Watch each others backs!” Thorin’s breath is gaspy, and sweat beads on his forehead from the afternoon sun.

“Of course Uncle!”

“We always do!” The boys chime together, backs pressed against each other as the fight off a swarm of orcs.

It’s late afternoon by the time the fight is done, and the twelve dwarves are thirty minutes off from the campsite, worn, weary and exhausted, each sporting an injury of their own. The blood has long stopped pounding in Thorin’s ears, but he has yet to feel the full extent of his own injuries, attention focused on getting back to the camp, getting back to you.

How are you doing? He wonders. Are you okay? Are you sick? Fatally wounded? Is this the last time he will get to see you? Or have you started your recovery? Was Oin able to get the arrows out? Were the arrows poisoned? Are you strong enough to survive on what little medical supplies they had? The others will need their own medical attention. How is everyone else doing?

“How is everyone else doing?” He calls out, arm clutched to his ribcage.

“I’m fine, Kili took a blow to the head, but he’ll be fine come morning.”

“I think I broke my fingers.”

“Eh those are nothing more than bruises, lad.”

“What about the burglar?”

“I-I’m fine. Nothing more than a few bumps and bruises.”

“Does anyone need urgent care?” A chorus of no’s, and I wishes, come from the company, but no answer brings concern. Thorin, satisfied with the well being of his company lets himself get lost in his thoughts once more.

How could they fire upon you? Unarmed and almost naked! Thorin growls and unconsciously picks up his pace. To see your untouched skin, marred by the makings of orcs! Filthy scum of of Middle Earth! Thorin’s hands are curled into tight fists, almost breaking through the weave of his shirt, when he finally notices that his company has grown quiet.

“What?” The growl escapes his tongue before he can catch it, but the anger delt doesn’t seem to affect any member that it might have been directed to.

“Uncle, you’re bleeding.”

“What? No I’m no-” Thorin looks down and see his hands. His hands are red. Very red. Very red and very wet. The red is very very wet. It’s blood. Who’s blood? His blood. Is it his blood? He doesn’t feel as though he’s been hurt.

“Uncle?” The world starts to turn, trees dipping angularly against the horizon of his vision. “Uncle!” He doesn’t feel himself start to tip forward, vision leaving him for just a second. When the world regains color just a few moments later, he is held up, arms thrown over the shoulders of Fili and Kili.

“Thorin, you fool! Why did you tell none of us that you were injured!” Balin steps forward, pushing away layers of cloth. “You were cut deep, right between your ribs! We need to get you to Oin!”

“I’m fi..n...e.” The sentence almost leaves his mouth smoothly, but his tongue feels oddly swollen and stiff. “I can wa..l..k.” The ‘k’ is over-pronounced as Thorin tries to make up for the slur in his voice, but Balin takes none of what Thorin is saying and takes Kili’s place under Thorin’s arm.

“Not without help you can’t! Everyone! Pick up the pace! We need to get Thorin back to Oin!” The walk back is quick, as quick as it could be with a near unconscious Thorin being dragged along.

When the company reaches their camp of two days, night has breathed its air onto the world and Oin has a bright fire burning. Thorin, barely conscious, is hauled over to his bedroll before the fire.

“What has happened?” Oin rushes over from where he was tending you, to quickly help Thorin lay back.

“Thorin was wounded during the fight, a blade sliced him just between his ribs on his left side.” Balin sets Thorin’s head on a makeshift pillow and pulls back Thorin’s coat, grimacing at how sticky his blood had made it. Oin shoos Balin’s hands away and lifts Thorin’s shirt, sucking in a quick breath at the sight of the wound. It was jagged, made by a dull, rusty blade. The flesh was pulled and torn and blood oozed sluggishly from the center. Oin presses his fingers to Thorin’s neck, and places his hand on Thorin’s chest at the same time.

“Heart is beating as it should and there is no punctured lung. Was the blade poisoned?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Will Uncle be okay?” Oin sighs and gestures for Balin to grab his pack.

“Thorin has lost a lot of blood, but his lung wasn’t punctured and there is no sign of poisoning or added infection. I need to clean it and stop the bleeding to see the full extent of the injury, but Thorin will be fine.” The air is deadly still and quiet as Bombur cooks a late supper and Thorin is stitched back together. Small bowls of water soup is passed around (Bombur didn’t have enough left-over meat and he didn’t want to ask someone to go hunting for more at a time like this) and everyone ate in silence. Thorin, delirious and in pain, mutters something inaudible as Oin wraps his chest.

“Wh’ bou’ ‘er?” The company stops eating and lifts their heads to listen to their king.

“What’d he say?”

“Shush Bofur! We can’t hear if you’re talking!” Bofur is about to comment back when Thorin speaks again.

“What ‘bout her?” You. Darling, precious you. You, that warned everyone. You, that stumbled into camp, almost naked with two arrows sticking out of you. You, the one who turns her eyes whenever Kili catches a squirrel, and the one who coos over little forest animals. You, who laughs so loud and freely. You, who is so small, so fragile, so susceptible to the cold.

The company jumps with a start, angry at themselves for forgetting you.

“Where is (Y/N)?”

“How is she? Is she okay?” Questions fire from left and right, each one growing louder than the last.

“Quiet!” Dwalin’s deep and heavy voice booms over the sound of the company and the questions cease. “Let Oin speak!” Oin stands, hands clasped behind his back.

“She is here.” He gestures behind himself, letting the company see you, covered in bandages and laying still, chest barely moving, right next to Thorin. How had they not seen you? “And she is hurt. Dreadfully so.” Oin swallows and paces around the campfire. “She was not as lucky as Thorin, the arrows pierced deep, and were dipped in poison. Easily reversible, but it has greatly weakened her ability to heal. If she does wake up, it will be hard. I don’t even know how she got out of the forest, the extent of her injuries should have immobilized her. But she is strong, and with a little bit of help, she will heal.”

“And she’ll be okay completely, right?” Ori’s little voice speaks for everyone in the group.

“I can only hope so.”

----

With the morning rising, so does Thorin, and the first thing that he sees is you. Dreadfully pale and breathing shallow. He shoots up, but immediately hisses and falls back, gripping his side. Oin, who was dozing nearby, snaps his head up and rushes over to Thorin, helping him to sit straight.

“What happened?” Oin checks Thorin’s bandages for any signs of the stitches being torn.

“You were wounded and lost a lot of blood, Thorin.”

“I mean to her.” Oin’s eyes stop looking over Thorin and flick to you.

“She was badly wounded. I feared that she would not make the night.” Thorin sucks in a sharp breath and then winces at his wound.

“Will she wake?”

“I don’t know.”

Thorin’s heart is aching. It’s pounding. How could they hurt you? When he holds you so close to his heart? How could they hurt his…..One. Thorin feels his eyes go wide as he runs the sentence through his head again. How could they hurt his One? His One? His One? Oin chuckles as he moves from Thorin to you.

“Have you figured it out?” Thorin is snapped out of his trance.

“Figured what out?”

His One, next to him, hurt.

His One.

“That she’s your One.” The world seems to slow a bit as Thorin takes in what Oin said. He’s already run the words through his head, but hearing them being stated outloud is…. Astounding.

“How..?”

“The look in your eyes. The watchfulness. The protectiveness. It’s a wonder that none of the others have picked up on it.”

“O-oh.” The soft tender side of Thorin that is showing right now is not a side that he normally has the privilege of showing, and Mahal does he need it.

The rest of the early morning was spent by your side, holding your hand and wiping your brow. Thorin can’t bring himself to look at the wounds, each time he sees the blood marked bandages, he feels a surge of anger, and he has to remove himself from your presence and go calm down. As the rest of the dwarves wake, Thorin doesn’t allow himself to show the tender side of himself like he had done with Oin. These are stressful, hard times, and for that the company needs a strong, impermeable leader who isn’t moved or swayed by his emotions. Oin has repetadly told Thorin that he would not be able to walk for long, and that you are in no position to be moving about (being unconsious and all), and wouldn’t be able to do so for a week or so. So Thorin sits, grumbling all the while, but thankful that they were weeks ahead of schedule, which gives himself, and more importantly you, time to heal.

It’s the third morning of your injury, and Thorin has been your side, just as he has been for the past three days (closer than what he had already been since the hypothermia incident). The air is cool and damp with all the signs of early morning rain, and the company is packing up, getting ready to move into a small, unoccupied cave ten minutes into the forest.

“Tho’in?” A small voice snaps Thorin from his thoughts and he looks to the sound of his name. It’s..you? It’s you!

“(Y/N)!” The blankets he was holding (he had to argue with Oin for about an hour over these) fall to the ground as Thorin rushes over to you. The small amount of people that are still left in the camp watch Thorin, and they smile with happiness and knowing. Of those people, Fili and Kili.

“Uncle is she awake?”

“Kili! Let Uncle have his moment, you know how he is around (Y/N)!” The two brothers stifle their giggles. “Would you like a moment alone with her, Uncle?” Though the statement was just polite nothings, the two brothers giggle like it’s the funniest joke in the world.

“Come, Fili. Let’s gather some more firewood and tell the others to keep out of the camp for fear of indecency!” With that, the brothers leave, walking past you and each stealing their own glance at you to truly make sure of your welbeing.

You, on the other hand, are out of it, head swimming and vision slurring together, individual words melting together.

“Wha’shapp’in’? Where ‘m I?” A few twigs snap out further in the forest and you jerk upright, eyes wide and panicked. “Th’orcs! In th’ wood’!” You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head, trying to rid yourself of the dizzyness that overtakes your vision.

“Hey hey hey hey.” Thorin’s hands are on your shoulders, steadying you. “The orcs are gone, they’re gone, it’s okay, you’re okay.” He pulls you close to him, feeling your heart beat wildly in your chest as you try to stifle tears. Your hands find their place on his shoulders, and you let yourself be held, feeling so small against the firm chest of Thorin Oakenshield. Your fingers grip at the fabric of his tunic, when your nails catch at the wrappings on his shoulder under his tunic. You gently move the shirt away from his neck and gasp when you see faintly bloodstained bandages.

“You’re ‘urt!” You words are becoming more clear now as you wake up. You gently push yourself away from Thorin’s chest and he lets you.

“So are you.” You look at him incrediously.

“That doesn’t matter!” You look around your surroundings, eyes catching on familiar stones and set-ups. “Why’re we still ‘ere?” Thorin looks at you with soft gentle eyes.

“You were hurt (Y/N). We couldn’t move you in the state that you were in.” You look at him with wide eyes, a panicked expresssion on your face.

“Why did you do that? I don’t matter!” You push yourself a little bit further away from Thorin. “I’m only slowing the company down!” Thorin feels a strange rush of anger at your words. Not at you, but at the way you spoke of yourself.

“(Y/N). You aren’t slowing the company down. You are a valued member of this company, and you’re injuries and needs are taken into account just as much as any other person.” His words do nothing to calm you down.

“But I’m usless! I’m nothing! I’ve done nothing but get myself into trouble the past few weeks! That’s why you’ve been watching me, isn’t it? Because you think I can’t take care of myself? Is that it? It is isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not if you-” You cut him off.

“No! It is! You’re so overly-protective of me cause you think I’m weak! That I can’t fend for myself!”

“(Y/N), please just liste-”

“I don’t need to be protected! What happened at the river was a fluke and the hypothermia wasn’t my fault. I can take care of myself! I don’t need you to do it for me! Why do you even care so much!?”

“BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!”

You fall silent and your cheeks flush.

“Thorin I-” This time Thorin is the one to interrupt.

“Because you are my One! And it hurts to see you in pain, to see you suffering! I can’t bear the sight of watching you almost be taken from me, and I feel that if I let you out of my sight that you’ll be taken from me forever!” You don’t say anything, you just lean forward and pull Thorin close to you, burying your face in the uninjured side of his neck. Your hold is tight, but it doesn’t press on the wound on Thorin’s ribs or touch the cut on his neck. Thorin’s hands hover over your sides for just a moment, before he wraps his arms around your small frame and letting his head rest on the nape of your neck. You don’t say anything when you feel him shaking and feel wet tears touch your skin. You place your hand on his head and let him cry into your shoulder, feeling tears of your own well up. His hair is soft under your fingers as you gently run your hands through his hair, calming him down. When the crying stops, he doesn’t sit up, he just lets you hold him.

“I love you too.” At these words Thorin sits straight up.

“You do?” You flush deep red and hide your face in your hands. Thorin can stop the gleeful grin from spreading on his face as he pulls you into another tight hug.

“Did anyone see that?” You’re voice is muffled by Thorin’s chest. He laughs, the deep rumble bringing a smile to your face as you swat at his arm.

“Maybe..”

“What?” You look up at Thorin’s face and then follow the direction of his eyes to see the entire company, standing up big goofy grins, waving throwing thumbs up, and exchanging money. “..They were betting on this? I think I’m gonna die?” Thorin laughs again and gently turns your cheek to look at him. When you do, Thorin dips his head down and peppers soft kisses all around your face, on your cheeks and nose, before finally settling on your soft lips. You squeak in suprise and pause for just a moment before kissing him back.

Whoops and hollers are heard from the company as they continue to exchange money and each smile over the happy embrace, and Thorin pulls away and just rests his chin on the top of your head, giving him the perfect vantage point to glare at the company, all of which don’t pay attention to and continue to celebrate the (not all surprising) new love. You giggle, fully aware of what Thorin was doing, and gently pat his chest.

“It’s okay Thorin.

We’re okay.”

I hope you enjoyed the final part of You’re Okay! This chapter comes to 3247 words, Chapter Two comes to 1994 and Chapter One comes to 1927. I hope the finale was what you needed, and I tried to make Chapter Three the longest to celebrate the end of the series.

Thank you for reading and I hope you stick around for more writing!

@meraki--mei

#Thorin Oakenshield #thorins company #thorin x reader #thorin imagine #x reader #the hobbit

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1upmushrooms · 7 years

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The First Rebel Chapter 2 (1up Deadfic)

Chapter 2: Traveling into a new age.

The warehouse, I thought Wario hated that place. He said it was too old and dusty for him. That's why he moved into the abandoned clubhouse in central part of the city, at least I think that's why he moved. Anyway, from looking on the gas meter, the car's almost empty. We'll never be able to get there tonight without running out, plus I'm too tired to give a shit about anything right now so we out to sleep in a hotel for the night.

The Rebel patted on Wario's shoulder as he said, "Pull over". Wario turned to a parking area and stopped on a dime.

"What?"

"We should stay at a hotel tonight,"

"Why?"

"We're almost out of gas; we'll never make it there before we completely run out. Besides it's a long drive to the next gas station if we go now, I say we stay here."

"Ok, but I still don't see why we can't just refill and get out of-"

"BECAUSE I'M TIRED AND I WANT TO SLEEP IN A REAL BED, JESUS CHRIST!"

Wario flinched and drove to nearest hotel as fast he could. "Don Pianta's Casino and Hotel", a huge giant building that took up most of the left side of the street was a good choice. It looked really nice with its heavy use of neon, and had unique structure, the fact that it was next to a gas station certainly helped. After parking the car Wario got out and entered the hotel lobby, leaving the Rebel to sleep. He tried closing his eyes in order to descend into another world but that was ruined by the tapping on the window.

After Wario opened the back doors and got out the extra clothes, he threw a pair at the Rebel in order to make it even. After a couple of minutes walking on stairs, they were finally at their room as they ditched they're prison uniforms and lay on the beds. Wario turned on the TV as he fixed his pillow a bit and relaxed. He turned a couple channels until he stopped at a channel which showed low budgeted action movies. The sound of people shooting each other was amusing for a while especially since the actors were terrible but eventually the Rebel gave up and turned the channel. Wario wanted to object but he was tuned out by the Rebel's snores.

With a grunt that accepted defeat, Wario slept, probably dreaming of a decapitation scene. When the morning came, he was the first to wake up. Sleeping in that bed really did wonders for him, his back was better since it no longer rested on solid ground and he felt better too. After making his bed as best as he could, Wario turned on the TV and, after seeing that nothing good was on changed it to the news channel,

"Be on the lookout for two escaped nutcases who just last night, had entered the central part of the city. They are known to be very conniving, very dangerous and more insane than a retarded mammal. Here is what they look like."

Then, pictures of him and the Rebel came up as the Newscaster explained in more detail.

"Oh for the love of-"

The TV was turned off in less than a second as he shoved the Rebel out of the bed.

"Come on, we got to get out of here."

"Why, did you screw something up?" He said with a smirk,

"No, the news warned the public about us."

That woke him up.

"What?!"

"Just saw it a couple minutes ago; the whole city knows we're criminals now."

"Well don't panic yet, just 'cause they know we're here doesn't mean-"

"They showed our pictures on the news as well."

"Ugh! Well what do we do?"

Wario simply pondered, trying to get his brain to work for once, finally an idea formed.

"Barely anyone watches the news anymore; the true way news is spread here is by gossip. That means we have some time to get out of here before the authorities hunts for us. Let's just get out of here silently and quickly!"

"Gotcha,"

The Rebel then began making a rather complicated plan when Wario grew annoyed of this and threw a chair at the window, following a expression from the Rebel that screamed What the hell?!

"You weren't fast enough."

After collecting everything, the duo got out of their rooms by climbing down a bed sheet tied into a knot. In a mere second or two, they got in the car and drove to the gas station. There was no messing around as they had a time limit, the scariest part being that they didn't know when it ended. As soon as they payed for the gas, they sighed in relief as they fled east.

Well, we're off to the ware house, where Wario's wife Mona and their son are going to be. Wario said she fixed up the place. All I really know right now however, are two things. One, we're going to be far away from the central part of the city, which in a way is good, because that's where all the cops are. However, the second thing I know is that I got to be very careful around Wario's wife, Mona. Anything can set her off, clothes, attitudes, food, certain kinds of alcohol, anything.

During the drive, a question suddenly appeared in the Rebel's subconscious.

"Who's all gonna be there?"

"Just Mona and the kid."

Pure surprise crowded the Rebel's face.

"You mean, you and her-"

"Heh, heh, does that shock you?"

"No, I just thought you weren't interested in-"

"He's an accident."

A minute long pause surrounded the car as the Rebel muttered,

"Well, obviously."

And boom, the car stopped at a very run down place in a very run down town named "Petals-Burg". It was obvious the warehouse hadn't been used in years. The Rebel got out of the car and just stood there waiting for Wario to make his move. Walking up to the warehouse, Wario simply knocked. As the door slowly opened, Mona became more apparent. Her red hair didn't exactly mix with her black suit well but if you told her that she'd just say I never wanted it match anyway.

"Well," She said with a certain look of disgust, "You're out."

"Yep."

"That's all you're going to say?!"

"Well, what do you want, a cookie? Let us in already."

"Oh I see! You impregnate me, belittle me, push me around, abandon me and the kid for a long time even before you get arrested, and after all that you expect me to welcome you with open arms and just let you enter?!"

"Well I do own the damn place."

"Creep!" Mona said with disgust,

Wario approached her still either with great courage or great stupidity. After a minute or so, they both smirked at each other and an aggressive but passionate kiss followed suit. As their lips let go, Wario said,

"Let's go," and walked right through the doors.

The Rebel got the supplies out of the car and walked through, stopping to greet Mona, but only moving faster when she hissed at him. The main centre of the warehouse was actually quite huge, if it wasn't for a couple of rusted cars still around and the fact that many of the so called "rooms" they'd be staying in were mainly for storage; this would've made for a decent home.

He stopped at one office that he quite liked, it was average, had a decent sleeping area, a desk, two cabinets, a place to his supplies and a little TV on the desk. What wasn't to like? After his stuff jumped to the floor, the Rebel sat at the desk and turned the TV on. Since the TV had no remote, he had to press the little odd buttons to get around. There were thousands of shows on, but the Rebel just put it on the news.

"And now for today's special announcement from one of the king's noble knights Koopa," The Newscaster said in a monotone voice,

Royal knight? But Koopa's an advisor isn't he?

The TV cut to a very busy public area in the middle of the town square. The King was there, sitting on a rather expensive looking chair while sporting a I really wish I could just out of here expression on his face. His red hair looked quite faded though that could have been because of the TV.

It didn't matter anyway as Koopa was the important one here, he was on the podium, waving people, wearing an obvious plastered on smile, and waiting to begin his speach. His hair was as usual tidy and clean, with that little taint of blonde color to it while his eyes were looking at everything, probably looking for the reporters. After a couple of seconds, Koopa raised his hands as the audience finally quieted down.

"Ladies and gentlemen, first I'd like to say thanks for coming here, in order to save time I'll get right to the point. For a while now, there have been certain rumors of a secret weapon we've supposedly worked on for the past 3 decades. It was said that this so called weapon was designed to mutate it's victims into thin air, that it was mobile and that it would have the power to annihilate this entire city. Well, I say this is clear proof that you don't trust the fucking tabloids."

A small laugh emerged as Koopa continued,

"However, I'm here to put these rumors in their place and tell you the truth. Yes, we've been working on a secret project. However it's best not think of it as a weapon but more as a step into the new age."

Much to the crowd's confusion Koopa pressed on, clearly getting into his speech.

"Many of you've heard of evolution right? Constantly changing, upgrading or downgrading-heh-during the ages of time. Well, what if I said we've found a way to somehow figure out the physics of evolution and have created a machine to perform the notion itself?"

Everyone started getting interested as Koopa continued onward.

"Imagine, sitting on a comfortable seat, thinking normal thoughts when a bright light comes at you. It takes 4 minutes but it feels like 10 seconds. Then, after you wake up you feel like a new person. What do you mean you say? Well just think of the possibilities! Clearer vision, better strength, stronger skin, there's no end to the many things that'll evolve!"

A reporter said, "Like?"

"Well think about it! Vaccines will no longer be needed! Minor injuries will heal in seconds! We may be able to lift many heavy objects we couldn't before because of our strength!"

The crowd was now hooked as Koopa who hadn't lost a breath said,

"Any other questions?"

One arm shot up, "Koopa, when we be able to experience this amazing piece of technology?"

"Well you see we're still working on some bugs. During several tests we've found that the machine would only evolve minor things like a sense of vocabulary, eye sight, but not the entire specimen. Exactly what the machine would evolve is a mystery as well since out of all the test subjects we used, not one subjects had the same results. So after we've fixed these problems we'll reveal it to the public and history will be made."

Another arm shot up,

"Yes."

"Sir, you've said this machine could evolve subjects. But, have you ever thought of including a function that could de-evolve a subject?"

Koopa hesitated but after gave him a nod of approval he pressed onward.

"Um, Yes, we've toyed with the idea before. Also might as well get this out of the way too, we also decided to transform this ability into a gun. These will be used by the cops as a means to quickly dispose of criminals. However as you've probably guessed there are some complications. The fact that we've spent almost 30 years on building this machine proves how difficult a project of this magnitude is. Plus, cop guns have been stolen many times. We can't risk the idea of these guns being stolen too. One more question."

An arm shot up, "Sir, have you ever thought that maybe this could backfire on our race? Like if we used this technology, nature will come and make us regret it some day?"

"That thought has come up once in a while. But Simon, the creator of the machine has done some calculations and has proven this concern is very unlikely to happen due to how perfectly built the machine will be when it's finished. Now then, I'd like to thank you all for coming again and have a good day."

The Rebel turned the TV off and sat in the desk.

A machine that can de-evolve anything huh? Interesting.

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AU: Ohhhh dear. This chapter. First of all, the little things. Like a plot hole that occurs one line down from each other (The Rebel is shocked to find out Wario has a son...even though he just had an inner monologue discussing about Mona and the kid seconds before), or the fact that small TVs exist in the 70′s (admittedly, this is supposed to be a parallel universe but still), and of course more grammar and spelling mistakes!

Now, onto the biggest flaw. This right here is what I meant about bad characterization. In this story, Wario’s wife is a version of the Warioware character Mona....a very loosely based interpretation......an interpretation that is treated like garbage by her spouse....an interpretation that is belittled by her spouse, treated like a joke by said spouse, and is immediately rendered harmless when her spouse kisses her in a Blues Brothers esque moment....an interpretation that will later be shown to be a clueless reckless jerk that’s often called out by the men who are arguably even worse when it comes to being reckless.

I severely regret writing her this way, hell I even regretted writing her like that back when I was still revamping the story (This is the revamp....and I arguably made it worse).

The only way I could justify this is by pointing out that not only is Mona herself a dick (I know, just hear me out), but everyone treats each other like garbage. It’s a shitty world run by shitty people. But even that explanation isn’t pitch perfect.

So yeah, that aspect drags this chapter (and arguably, the whole story) down a lot. If I try to revamp this story once more, Mona will be the first thing to get heavily rewritten.

However, Next chapter will bring along new developments and a new character that I feel was much better written and not nearly as cringey. Hope to see you there.

#1up Deadfic #smbmovie #super mario bros movie

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towncalledkingdom · 7 years

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Moments whirled in Caracal’s head as she struggled to rise from the dark. “Time to pay for your crimes” a Privateer officer whispered as she tipped and wheeled. Eleanor’s daughter stepped into a metal suit, an insect titan of light bursting from the stage behind her, pincers raised and mandibles twitching. A dark woman in a green scarf stood behind Mamba with her brother. Caracal’s father throws one of Eleanor’s men to the ground, scarred hands falling- deep brown before rising red. Screaming. Fury. The faces of her conquered enemies rising and glaring in a spinning arc around her. A blind man kneeling with palms raised. The mask. The gleaming white mask, some spirit of the outside world. A needle of strength. Another of weakness. Eleanor’s sneer.

The visions crumbled as Caracal’s eyes snapped open. The featherfall touch of a hand on the doorknob outside her cell was enough. She was on her feet before it began to swing inward. Clean white light poured in around an average human frame, harsh on the woman’s still-adjusting eyes. “Sit,” said the figure, pointing to a small table with two opposing chairs at the other side of the room past Caracal’s bed. She wanted to fight. Instead, she sat.

The figure stepped into the cell and closed the door behind them. They pulled out the chair across from Caracal and, setting a thick book and a slim silver case on the tabletop, sat down. She didn’t want to blink the way she was blinking. She wanted to look fierce, strong, in charge. But seeing herself in the shining black lenses of Mercury’s mask left little doubt as to who held the power here.

Caracal clenched and unclenched her jaw in the tense, silent moments that followed. She shoved a scrap of paper across the table toward Mercury. Scrawled in neat, flowing ink were the words “It’s time.”

She dug her thumbs into her eyes. “You think you could have given me a little more warning ahead of time?” Mercury did not speak, just took the note in a glove and turned it several times.

“Hey! How about a little cooperation, huh? I’ve been locked up for days and you finally show up all stoic? How about a little mutual respect?” Still silent, Mercury pushed the book and silver case in her direction. She opened the case. Four shining needles stood in a uniform line like a box of crayons. She closed the case. Mercury nodded toward the book. The eyes of a furious predator glared hungrily from the cover. “The Caracal Cat,” she read aloud. Inside the front cover a message had been written in neat, heavy ink. She continued to read. "Some say the desert lynx- the Caracal cat- is the fiercest of all felines. It's ears hear all, its powerful legs allow it to jump to incredible heights. You are the Caracal cat. You will take it as your totem on the day you are named. You will train harder than your peers. When they leave for their beds you will be fighting. When they rise in the morning you will be fighting. You will stalk the training yard. In the dojo they will fear you. At celebrations they will forget you. When the time comes you will hunt down each who threatens you. You will bend them to your will. You will not see your father again until you rule his people. Then we will find you. Then we will help you wrest him from his cage."

Caracal paused. Mercury had not moved. She picked up the silver case, turning it in her free hand. "You stopped sending these after the Tournament." Mercury's head dipped in acknowledgement. "Why? Didn't you want me to be strong? Aren't you the one who wanted me to rule in the first place?"

Mercury spoke for the first time. "You've done well. We were pleasantly surprised with your willingness to cooperate."

Caracal's eyes narrowed. "And now? Will you remain true to your promises or have I been caught in an elaborate deception?"

"Both, I suppose," mused Mercury. "But now comes the fun. Caracal, you're going to have to forget everything you know if you want to see your father again. The woman you were is dead and buried. People will look for her, yes, and they will be disappointed. Caracal is no more."

"I've only just been named Alpha! I am one of the most powerful human beings in Kingdom! Why would you have me spend years training for something only to rip it from my hands?" she fumed.

Mercury stood and walked to her, peering down from the voids where their eyes should have been. "That title is your ball and chain. Stay in place and watch the world crawl by. Wait for news of an old, scarred man passing away behind prison doors. Or, come with us. Allow us to elevate you. You think you know power? You think a couple of punches and beating your chest will ever allow you to shake the world?" Mercury bent to her level, placing their face so close she could hear soft, ragged breath behind the enameled mask. "If you are so powerful now make your move. Throw me down and rush out the door."

In spite of herself, Caracal was busy trying to see through the lenses in Mercury's mask. They were spotless, impossibly deep as if they had been forged from actual human pupils magnified a thousand times their original size. She pushed her chair from the table and stood. "Leave Phylla to Eleanor's kid and the rest of those back-stabbers," she sighed. "Let's go get my dad."

"We will," Mercury promised, opening the door and holding it for her, "but first I'd like to introduce you to your team."

"Hold on- what team?" she asked, scrambling after them. "Your going to send your people with me?"

"Not exactly," Mercury chuckled.

They walked down a long hall with sagging walls and half-melted paintings. Rooms branches off in either direction. The whole place smelled like new construction and wood rot. Between the peeling wallpaper, unlit bronze braziers, and bright, clean light the place gave her the distance impression of a wealthy person opting to move into a long-vacated home. A dark woman in glasses sat in a red chair staring at an enormous map outside of one of the rooms, not even glancing at them as they passed. "Who was that?" Caracal asked.

"Stop asking questions," Mercury replied. The hallway ended at two heavy wooden doors with thick iron handles in the shape of winged boots. A thin trickle of dirt fell from the ceiling as Mercury rapped on one of them. One popped from its place and Mercury pulled it open.

The room was small and dim, mostly an empty concrete pad with a pool table and a semi-circle of chairs. Several men stood in various places around the room or sat in the chairs speaking quietly to one another. Each of them was dressed in a drastically different outfit. Most of them sat in chairs. Caracal's eyes locked on the man in the center, a serious older gentleman sporting a Privateer Officer's uniform. His name was stitched into a front pocket: Berwald.

Caracal swore. "What is he doing here?" she cried. "Why on earth would you bring him into this?"

Berwald narrowed his eyes. "Are we going to do this every time I meet someone, now?"

A big young man dressed in a full suit of metal gave a condescending little laugh. "You think people are just going to forget about everything you've done because you tell them you quit?" He stood slowly to his feet and lumbered over to where Mercury and Caracal stood, reaching out a gauntlet in greeting. "I hear you're looking for your dad. Sounds like we're in the same boat. I'm Merrick, my friends and I were dragged in here on our way to... somewhere else. Mercury tells me they might even be holding our dads in the same place."

Caracal nodded but did not shake his hand. He looked like a child given muscles too early. "Nice to meet you, Merrick. I'm..." she flashed a look at Mercury. She struggled to think of a name. If she could no longer be Caracal, then who could she be? No animal names. "I'm..." her face grew hot. "Cara," she blurted.

"Miss Caracal!" cried a voice from the back of the room. A man wearing what appeared to be an enormous weevil came bustling out from a narrow doorway. "I didn't realize you were here already!"

"You flushed, didn't you?" boomed a giant of man who stood polishing an out-of-date Phylla light suit.

"I'd better double check," cried the Weevil-man. "Don't leave, Miss Caracal! I have questions!"

"So do I, sir," she sighed. "So do I."

When the Weevilsmith reappeared everyone had taken their seats in the half-circle of chairs. Merrick pulled a seat out for Caracal and she accepted without complaint. Mercury hushed the Weevilsmith before he could open his mouth.

"There will be time for questions later. First, I would like to welcome each of you to your new faction," Mercury began. Rhino grunted at the word. "Rhino. Weevilsmith. Merrick. Berwald. Each of you chose to leave your factions. You are defectors, and will be known as such. Take pride in those choices. You may hold the very keys to Kingdom in your hands. And leading the Defectors, we have the former Alpha: Caracal. That is the last time she will be called that. Caracal is dead to Kingdom's citizens, and will soon be forgotten."

"Didn't sound like Kestrel or Mako had forgotten her," said Berwald.

"Leave that little problem to me." Mercury seemed to smile beneath their mask. "You five will have enough to worry about. You will obey your leader, Enko, explicitly because she will be taking her directives from us."

Rhino raised his head sharply at the mention of the new name. "Enko?" his eyebrows lifted. "You don't mean..." he turned to look at the woman. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"No time for questions, my friend," Mercury continued. "Merrick and Enko- we will do everything we can to bring your fathers out of this safely. You need to understand, however, that your mission is bigger than that. You are the moving parts of a plan that has been in motion for decades. You must follow my directions or you may not see them out of this alive."

Rhino sat whispering below his breath. The Weevilsmith was attempting to ever-so-carefully hold a shining trading card in Enko's line of site but failing miserably. Berwald's arms were crossed over his chest, face unreadable. Both Merrick and Enko looked ravenous.

"There's something else I need all of you to understand," Mercury hesitated, turning toward Berwald. "The situation inside Eleanor's domain isn't just dangerous. It's going to stick with you. If what Berwald has told us is true, you'll need to prepare your minds for the worst."

Enko pulled a slim silver case from her pocket. She drew a needle from it and plunged it into her arm, hissing as she pushed the plunger. Merrick's eyes widened. Berwald watched without emotion. Enko placed the empty syringe back in its place and stood to face the Defectors. She turned to Mercury.

"When do we start?"

#chapter 7 #ATCK #defectors #Berwald #mercury #roach #Enko #caracal #weevilsmith #rhino #phylla #mantis #merrick longfellow #eleanorsucks #wyrm

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