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aenxiome · 3 years

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Chapter 3: Suck it up Fenton

The rest of the day ended up being lackluster.

In the beginning, things were going well, seating assignments had been changed, and more teachers roamed the halls during and between classes. Unfortunately, the changes aren't going to last. While teachers were punishing students for bad behavior, it wasn't always the ones who did the deed that got punished. It is almost like the trouble makers started rapidly evolving. Many of the A-List target students got detention, with their reflective bully doing a whole 180 when a teacher showed up. Thankfully I managed not to get detention for a second day and a row, but that may be from Dash getting in trouble earlier today.

I may be giving my classmates more credit than they are worth, though. Before today, none of the teachers ever monitored the events in the hallways—giving everyone free rein to do what they wished without any consequences. This isn't anyone evolving. This is their way of getting around the new, hopefully, standards that they are trying to implement. If things continue to go this way, the A-Lists and others are just going to become less subtle in their actions. Not that I expect them to be able to pull it off in the end, but the new arrangement might cause even more issues.

'Great going Fenton, you just screwed everyone, I tell myself. Not everyone can handle themselves as well as you can. This is going to mean so much trouble. But, I try to look on the bright side, thinking about Astronomy. I got some papers back today, full credit on my star chart, though that's pretty much expected of me at this point. So not too surprising. Hopefully, other classes will improve with the seating arrangements being changed, but there is no way of telling if they truly will.

Once classes were over and done with, I met up Sam and Tucker at the Nasty Burger. The restaurant is just starting to get busy with the constant incoming groups of students coming through the door. Thankfully we can claim our regular booth and put in an order for food. " So, how did your guys' day go?" Tucker asks, fiddling with one of his newer PDAs. He goes through PDAs as Dad goes through fudge, a lot of them and all the time. Sam and I just shrug in response and continue the conversation going through some random small talk.

In the middle of our conversation, Tucker suddenly goes still and stares at the PDA. He shoves the device in front of Sam's face making her read whatever has grabbed his attention. Once she is done looking at whatever it is, she and Tucker make eye contact conveying something to each other that I am unable to make out. Sam starts to say something but is interrupted by our food arriving.

"Danny," Tucker says as I shove fries into my mouth, " what happened last night?" I give him a questioning look. Sam slides over the PDA it is showing a local news article. The headline, "MORE DESTRUCTION IN AMITY," is plastered at the top. Below it shows a picture of a destroyed abandoned lot, the same lot from the fight with Skulker earlier this morning.

MORE DESTRUCTION IN AMITY

by Charisma Lynn

This morning residents of this local neighborhood woke up to the remains of another ghost fight. All around the grounds, traces of the battle can be found. Burn marks cover the ground in many areas showing the intensity of the fight. When officials first got on the scene, they found a couple of abnormalities not commonly seen. In a couple of different places, shattered pieces of ghostly green energy can be found. At first appearance, the pieces look like stained glass, but after the first contact turns into a gooey substance. Residents are being told not to worry as the substance is completely harmless but to still take caution. Along with the glass-like substance is a frozen piece of the ground. Even in the sunlight, the spot has shown no difference and is as hard as a rock. Out of the earth is a broken piece of ice. So far, we are unable to tell where the ice has come from, but our best guess is from some kind of ghostly interference. Many residents of the neighborhood have to ask where Phantom was? Was he part of the destruction, or is there a new ghost in town? Find out more tonight at 6 on APC.

I look up from the article to see Sam and Tucker staring at me. I shove more unsalted fries into my mouth. Did you know salt is a natural ghost repellent I, unfortunately, learned that the hard way. Never again. I finish chewing before reassuring them, " Guys, it's fine it was just a typical ghost fight." Tucker starts on his food apparently satisfied with my answer while Sam looks like she is getting ready to argue, but I interject before she gets the chance.

" It was just Skulker, it wasn't anything too bad" the mixture of "too bad" and Skulker grabs Tucker's attention once again. With him too now giving me a critiquing look over. " Are you sure dude? You aren't hurt anywhere are you?" His voice started to become a little bit frantic as he says, "Because Im not going to the hospital. Sorry but that's where I draw the line."

" Okay, but that doesn't explain what's up with the ice spot and glassy thingy," Sam says, bringing us back to the point of the conversation. " Not now," I tell them. I glance around the crowded room before looking back to them, "not here."

They look as if they are preparing to argue as I whisper, " in private." I get a couple of questioning looks as I continue, " Theres' too many people that could overhear" With the promise to talk about it later, our meal went back to everyday small talk and griping about whatever else is bothering us.

Thankfully they let it go. For now, at least.

We finish up our meal and leave the restaurant, then start on down the road. "So," Sam asks, looking in my direction, " where exactly are we going? Your place?" I start to agree but get cut off by Tucker, " We should go to the lot." I give him a questioning glance. He continues his thought, saying, " The picture in the article doesn't show much, and you never know the media could be over-exaggerating again."

"Why not," Sam says with the tone of excitement in her voice, " sounds like fun." I stop walking as I think it over. Before I can say anything, the two of them rush off ahead in the direction of the lot while a feeling of dread overtakes me. "Guys," I call out to them, trying to catch back up, " I don't think this is a good idea." I tell them in a rush, "I will tell you about it when we get to my place. We don't need to go there." Sam narrows her eyes at me before saying, "you're hiding something."

" No, that's not it," I wring my hands in my shirt, unsure of how to proceed. She doesn't let up with her glare at my words. Sam sighs and comes towards me, grabs my arm, and pulls me along with her. I try to pull myself away without hurting her, but I just can't seem to do it. Finally, I become resigned and hesitantly follow without protest.

Didn't they read the same article that I did? It says authorities looked at the lot. They would have had to call ghost experts. Who is to say that they still aren't there? What are we going to say if the Guys In White stuck around? Or even worse, my parents.

When we arrive, the lot is empty, only showing past signs of anyone having been here. The three of us cautiously walk towards the destruction. Next to me, I hear Tucker gasp before saying, "Oh my…" he stops himself before saying anything else. Sam isn't much better putting her hand around my arm in a vice grip.

Before them stands the evidence of one of my fights. In the daylight, the damage looks worse than it did under the moon, making me feel even worse about our actions than I already do. The ground doesn't look so much burned but scorched. As if a fire had burned away its beauty and left a hot steaming pile of muck in its place.

The few trees that line the property have missing limbs that have either splintered or lie on the ground. Shards of ectoplasm are scattered around in the grass, waiting for an unsuspecting human to fall victim to its goo or a ghost to impale its self on its sharp edges. In the middle of it, all is the spikey ice collum surrounded by the frozen frosty ground.

" So they under exaggerated this time," Tucker said, trying to bring humor to the situation, " who would have guessed." I look away from them, ashamed. " It didn't look this bad at night," I say softly, " It didn't" Unable to meet their eyes, I walk forward towards the Ice. Sam and Tucker tell me not to touch anything that I don't know where it comes from As I get near it. I ignore them and put my hand on the side of the spike. Even in human form, I am still unable to feel any of its coldness. It feels just as warm as the air around us, a little moist but not cold.

Sam and Tucker, at some point, walk towards the spike and join me at my side while I inspect the spike. " What does it feel like to you?" I ask. " Dude, it's Ice, it's cold. What else is it supposed to feel like?" I continue to glide my hand over the ice while telling them to humor me. I watch as they put their hands onto the ice, and as soon as they touch it, their hands go flying away from it. They both hold their hand as if something is attacking them. "Danny, how can you touch that!" Sam exclaims, " that stuff is freezing!"

" It feels warm to me," I tell them nonchalantly as if this is an everyday occurrence. " Danny, this isn't normal," Sam says in a worried tone. I don't say anything in response, knowing that this isn't normal for human beings, not at all. Instead, I stare at the ice, trying to figure out how to fix it, when suddenly, an idea comes to my head. I look towards them and hum to catch their attention, "Hey, do you think you can back up for a second? I have something I want to try."

As soon as they are far away enough, I check and double-check that no one is around. Before going forward on my idea, I yell to Tucker, " Tuck, can you check for cameras and stuff first?" He pulls out his PDA and tells me, " No problem with 'Simone' I'll know if anything is there in a jiffy." I wait a second until I hear him give the okay and start my attempt.

My eyes start to glow an icy ethereal blue as I stand before the spike and tap into my ice core. I can feel the cold rushing through me and out to my surroundings. In my presence, the spike starts to repair itself as I let my core come to the surface. In the middle of the spike, I can feel a connection to myself, its ectoplasmic connection to myself. Instead of pushing the ice out, I pull it in, and before my eyes, the ice starts to melt. Instead of shattering like before, it slowly becomes raw energy becoming a blue-white blob.

I gather as much energy as I can from the earth, defrosting it and adding it to the rest of the blob. I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding when all of the ice finished melting. I look around the lot for the scorched places, instinctively knowing what to do. I melt the icy ectoplasmic blob even more into water and send it around to saturate the ruined earth. When the ecto-water hits the ground, the earth lets out a satisfying hiss. The ground looks as if it has partially recovered, making it look like months have gone by instead of only a few hours since the initial conflict. Slowly I let go of my core, letting my eyes go back to their normal human hue. A smile comes to my face at my accomplishment, and I look over at Sam and Tucker. They are both staring at me with huge eyes with different emotions flashing through them: amazement, surprise, and wonder.

I go to take a step towards them when the world starts to spin. I feel myself stumble forward. " Danny!" I hear my name called out in fear and a rushing of feet coming to me. A wave of nausea hits me hard, and I lose my balance falling forward. Luckily Sam is just close enough for me to fall onto. "Danny," I hear my name called out again, " oh my gosh, are you okay?" Feeling too weak to answer, all I can do is groan.

" What are we going to do?" I hear Tucker ask Sam frantically, " we can make it to his place from here, and both of our houses are on the other side of town." The two of them keep coming up with ideas that won't work to get us out of the lot. I try to interject but just moving my mouth causes me pain.

Finally, I manage to groan out a name, "Jazz," but they don't seem to hear me. I try again, a bit louder this time, "Jazz," Sam stops talking, and when Tucker doesn't, I listen to her hit him in the back of the head. "Hey, what was that for" he complains, "Shush, Danny said something." With the raging quiet for the last time, I groan, "Jazz."

A quick vague phone call later and give or take a few minutes, Jazzs' car pulls up, and they give a sigh of relief. I hear a door slam and a worried Jazz making her way over. When she gets to us, I try to look up at her and grab her attention, but I am unable to reach her eyes. " What happened" She interrogated as she crouches down to take hold of me. I feel fatigued and start to lose track of the conversation. The next thing I know, someone has picked me up, and I'm in the car. I feel at ease with the motion of the car as we race home. It doesn't take long for me to close my eyes and fall asleep.

When I come to, I'm staring at the old stick-on stars that are attached to my bedroom ceiling. I cautiously sit up, feeling the strain of an invisible muscle, my core, in my chest. My sister and friends are spread out in the room, passed out exhausted. I glance at the clock next to my bed and read the time 3:18 AM. I try to get up from the bed, but I tumble down onto the floor. The sound wakes up Jazz, making her spring into action, helping me back up. "Hey," she whispers, "don't move too fast. You are still recovering."

I wince a little at the movement. Once she gets me steady, I whisper, "Can you help me get to the bathroom." She nods and carefully helps me to the bathroom. Once everything is situated, Jazz brings me back to my room and helps me onto the bed. I scoot over, making enough room for her to join me, which she quickly accepts.

"They told me what happened at the lot," she says, motioning towards my friends, " What were you thinking trying something like that?" She admonishes. I snuggle into her, getting comfortable before starting my defense, " I was just trying to clean up the mess we make," With a look, I explain further, " Skulker and I fought there last night. It went a little longer than expected. I didn't realize that we made such a mess."

"What about the ice," she inquires. I give half a shrug, " It was unexpected; I don't know how it happened." I tell her truthfully, " I plan to go visit Frostbite this weekend and see if he knows anything." She starts raking her hand through my hair then continues the conversation, " They said you got rid of the ice and fixed part of the ground? They didn't explain it too well. Care to elaborate?"

"It's weird. I just kind of knew how to do it. It was like…." I trail off, not liking the word I need to use. Jazz, unfortunately, knew where to pick up at, "Instinct?" She questions, with my silence being the only acknowledgment she needs. She sighs before saying, "It's okay, you know, to admit it." We lay there for a while before I decide to respond, " I can't." I react in denial, " If I acknowledge it, then it makes it true." Jazz lets out a breathy laugh at that, " So, what if you don't talk about it? It's going to go away?"

" I wish," I mumble, "It's just if I talk about it, then it becomes more real. I can pretend to be normal." She scoffs at my response, " Normal is overrated anyway." I let out a yawn and looked over at the time 4:03 AM. " Can we talk about this later? It's late." She lets out a yawn of her own, having caught mine before saying accusingly, " You just don't want to talk about it." I don't deny her accusation but put some more distance between the two of us and painfully turn over.

What does she want me to tell her? That I feel drawn to go to Ghost Zone? That I like laying around in my ghost form? I can get away with feeling like me under the stars and use insomnia as an excuse, but there is no way to explain anything else. If I told her some of these things, it would just be more of a confirmation of what I already know: I'm a freak.

" Good night, Jazz."

"Good night, little brother."

#dash baxter #danny phantom #danny fenton #phantom #sam manson #tucker foley #jazz fenton #mentions of skulker #skulker

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your-ace-cousin-clover · 3 years

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okay soooo... sorry for the delayed reply, i've been kinda busy!

i gotta start this off by saying how much i loved the way you wrote "[...] that feeling of wanting to reach divinity and holiness with your writing. The raw, exposed nerve of that writing." - it's hard for me to refer to writing as a hobby because it's such a substantial part of me, if that makes sense? or maybe that's just my codependent relationship to writing... whenever i don't write for a while i start feeling like a non-person! (ok, in hindsight this doesn't sound 100% related to the holiness bit, but that's what sparked the train of thought)

on for colored girls who have considered suicide - when the rainbow is enuf: i actually listened to a monologue from this a while ago on youtube, but I'll be sure to check out the full text!

also, on the topic of spoken-word & slam poetry: i'm going to a poetry reading at a friend's place later this month and it's nerve-racking. i mean, hey, of course i bleed into my poetry, and in theory i'm cool with that. but reading it aloud to a room half full of strangers? that's like lying on an operating table, flesh sliced open with surgeons over you. (i'm sure it'll be fun, though)

i've read primer for small weird loves and wishbone (because they're both included in richard siken's book crush - which is definitely worth the money (& btw, he has a new book coming out this year in fall/winter; thought i'd tell you in case you didn't know))! out of the two i like wishbone a lot more - although that's probably just because i relate to it a little bit more. i like making lists so i've compiled some of my favorite parts from the poem:

• "I took the bullet for all the wrong reasons [...]"

• "Let's not talk about it, let's just not talk."

• "[...] we keep doing it Henry, we keep saying until we get it right... [...]"

• "If you love me, Henry, you don't love me in a way I understand."

• "This is where the evening splits in half, Henry, love or death. Grab an end, pull hard, and make a wish."

it's crazy (well, not really, but you know) that you mentioned jericho brown, because we read something by him in english class a few years back and he's completely slipped my mind since then! so, thanks for reminding me :)

first of all, i love how duplex starts and ends with the same line - and this may be a reach, but it feels sort of like coming home? he introduces us to the line, we go away for a while, then we're back at the beginning. and maybe i just feel this way because for me going home is synonymous with going back home. (not always, but a lot of the time.) also, the contrast of "none of the beaten end up how we began" & the poem ending exactly how it began? i don't have the right words to explain what, but there's something that grabs me in that.

now, let's take a short detour because i feel like dropping some recs. here's two poets whose work i really enjoy: chen chen and jasmine ledesma (who i think is on tumblr, too? @/candiedspit if i'm not wrong). i'd specifically like to recommend (and hopefully hear you opinion on) chen chen's i'm not a religious person but & jasmine ledesma's short stories no candy, sorry and FIEND.

links (just in case the previous ones don't work):

i'm not a religious person but: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/58152/im-not-a-religious-person-but

no candy, sorry: https://tinyletter.com/jasmineledesma/letters/no-candy-sorry

FIEND: https://marchharemag.com/fiend

lastly, thanks for the prompt! i'll be sending you the poem in a separate ask (although i'm convinced it only makes sense if you're me) as to not make this one too long haha

-cat

Cat!

Sorry on the delayed reply on my side too. I've been sorta busy with a lot of stuff, but I had to drop in a message.

First of all, the poem? Iconic. It is so well written!!! Ahh! The way you use the numbers to count down all the things in a list sort of a format . And the splendid use of a clock ticking to signify the time coming closer and closer. It reminds of the Doomsday Clock which always reminds us that we are two minutes to complete destruction and in a way it is an inevitable destruction. "I'm one drink away from holiness and I'm not stopping" is such a vivid Ginsberg line that ahhh, it hits with the concept of the Beat Generation being these drunk, high poets who ultimately want to experience divinity through their intoxication and writing. And the ending with, "it's almost Valentine's- please tell your wretched heart I'm sorry." AGHH, the way the narrator tries to stop the inevitability of the sadness of romance?? Or being stuck in a relationship and trying to do better? The interpretations are left wide open and I love that.

[Let me know if you'd be okay with me sharing your poem? And oh, if you like to send me another prompt, I would love that.]

And I wanted to give you some advice on slam poetry performances, I have a bit of an experience with them. The surgical metaphor is indeed apt, there is some vulnerable to stand in front of a group of people to carve out yourself into words and see it take on a meaning for everyone differently. But, revel in that vulnerable state and see how that conveys meaning. Focus on a spot in the room and speak to it and let meaning take its own hold. And remember, even if you don't get the reception you are hoping for, hold onto the meaning that you initially wrote it with. How your poetry affects you in the end is what matters. And good luck! Let me know how it goes.

[I didn't know about the new Siken book. Do you know if it has a name? I'll have to look it up whenever it releases.]

Ahh, and I love the idea of listening favourite lines of poems, I might start doing that with my favourite poems too.

[Also, I know it's in the name, but there's something about the way Wishbone is written that it makes you keep as if you are splintering into bits and dissolving. Especially in the bit where he goes I wish you'd stop reminding about the debt because you can do nothing about it and even if you love me, it is not the way I want.; Please let me go, I cannot let you be in my debt anymore.]

Jericho Brown? Iconic. The cyclical nature of the form as well as it is sort of the same line all the while not being the same line is such a beautiful way to express the repetition, but all how each cycle in a way is different than the last one.

I loved Chen Chen's poem. The way God chooses to escape from his own reality through someone who does not believe enough in him to question him at first it beautiful. And what hits me is how God stops and creates a barrier again by sending the angel as soon as he is questioned in adjacent to his role in the universe. What interests me is how the atheist (I know it does not mention atheism directly, but close enough) is sent an angel and later meet with God, and therefore, the relation that they form is a meaningful bond between two individuals rather than being a power dynamic with the worshipped and the devotee.

There's something about Ledesma's stories about hopelessness in her both protagonists. In the same way, both are extremely tired of their circumstances and want to be somewhere else in perhaps a better versions of their selves. The scattered prose certainly draws it very strongly together.

And finally, to drop a rec of my own, let me know what you think of Ada Limon's "The Problem With Travel" and "Accident Report in the Tall, Tall Weeds." They both are very beautiful poems.

Hope to hear from you soon! :)

#Cat anon #poetry

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anonymousflubber · 4 years

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How Not to Keep an Eye on a Lion Cub

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-Leona was off sleeping in one of his usual spots while Ruggie was left with a tiny visitor that he was in charge of keeping an eye on. -

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"So. You're a prince huh?"

Ruggie questioned as a tiny red-orange haired lion cub was doodling on some of his History homework. It looked like he was drawing a giraffe but Ruggie couldn't remember the last time he saw a pink giraffe in the savanna.

Cheka smiled and nodded as a response to the Hyenas question.

"Yep! Papa says I'm gonna be the king one day and rule over Alllllllll of the kingdom!!"

When saying this the cub made sure to sit up and stretch his arms as far as he could to somehow show a physical representation of his future kingdom's size.

Ruggie chuckled. He's surprised that the kid wasn't as annoying as Leona made him out to be. Of course he talks a lot but somehow Ruggie feels compelled to listen. Maybe it's his instincts to listen to royalty. Even if that was it Cheka was surprisingly good at speaking and telling stories though most of them were about Leona...man does this kid not hang out with anyone else?.

" I'm guessing you've been taking some sort of classes to be prepared for this right?"

" Mhm. They aren't fun so i like to hide in the garden and play with the fishes in the pond till the guards , papa , or Mr. Zazul finds me."

Ruggies ear twitched at the unfamiliar name.

"Mr. Zazul?"

"He's like papa's helper. I don't really know what he does but i know he loves doing it. It's really fun when we play tag!" Cheka stands so he can demonstrate what playing tag is like moving side to side and tagging the older Hyena. "Whenever I tag him he sounds like he squacks its hilarious! I get in trouble if i get caught though, Mr. Zazul doesn't really enjoy playing…..i really wish i had someone to play with when Uncle Leona isn't around."

The cub plopped back down on the floor, his face growing sad.

This is bad usually when kids get sad they cry right? Ruggie doesn't know if royal kids are different then the kids in the slums. The most he knows is that Leona rarely shows any emotions other than being angry or annoyed and Cheka is the Complete opposite!

The hyena thinks for a bit then remembers what always cheered up the kids he took care of in the neighborhood. He stood and picked the tiny lion up.

"No need to be sad bud you got me right now!" Ruggie lifts and turns Cheka in different ways when in the air as if he was an airplane causing the lion cub to burst into laughter, his tail swishing around in excitement.

"So what do you wanna play? Tag? Chess? Hide and go find the sleeping leona? Pin the tail on the big bad wolf?" The last game suggestion caught Jack's attention who was working on homework nearby but he quickly ignored what was said and got back to his work.

Cheka stopped laughing and began to think about what game he'd like to play. After a few seconds his smile grew when he decided on what he wanted to do.

"Hide and go seek!"

Ruggies ear twitched and he sighed.

"You sure you don't want to play Hide and go find the sleeping leona?

"Im sure"

"You 1000% sure"

The cub crossed his arms and gave Ruggie an angry look which kinda resembled that of leona….scary how these 2 are related…

"Fine i give in we will play hide and go seek"

Chekas normal smile reappeared and he squirmed out of Ruggies grasp plopping onto the floor.

"I hide you seek!!" The cub stared at Ruggie waiting for him to cover his eyes.

Ruggie didn't see any problem with this choice...and he also didn't know if the prince could count to 10..so he covered his eyes and began the countdown.

What he didnt think of was how sneaky the cub was after his eyes were covered. Cheka snuck out of the dorm as quick as he could and went on an adventure to do who knows what.

"3...2…

..1.. ! Ready or not here I come!!!"

The hyen uncovered his eyes feeling confident in his finding skills as he strolled around the savannaclaw common room looking under pillows or behind couches.

The cub seemed to be a pretty good hider…"I wonder if Leona taught him some tips" Ruggie began to think.

A minute went by...then 2...then 7..Ruggie still hasn't found the little lion even after searching the whole dorm..3 times!

Oh no.

He lost the prince!!

Ruggie sat on a couch trying to think of where he could have possibly gone. What if he never finds him? Will he get arrested?? Is this treason????? No. No that doesn't make sense. All he needs to do is stay calm and ask around.

So he does just that!

Ruggie goes to the cafeteria first knowing that by now the cub could be hungry….what if he starved to death how long can a prince go with no food?? Leona eats a hefty amount but Cheka is so small what if he's shriveled up into a raisin due to dehydration.

This was supposed to be a simple , easy game that requires little effort in taking care of a child. Not a game of where could this very important prince be and is he hurt cause leona will kill me if the child gets as much as a splinter.

~ 1 hour later ~

"Where could he be…"

Ruggie ran through almost every part of the school he could get into and found 0 traces of the future king. He was starting to give up and decided to head back to the dorm and ask for extra help even if it meant using some of his lunch money to persuade some students.

As he entered the dorm he saw something he didn't expect. Something that made his smile take up his whole face.

Cheka! He was there asleep on a couch no angry leona nearby he was safe!!!

The hyena jogged to the tiny cub and looked over him making sure he wasn't hurt or dead. Thankfully there was no scar in sight.

Now Ruggie could relax, maybe take a small nap until Leona finds his way back. He decides to do just that closing his eyes and laying back his usual smirk on his face and his ears twitching every now and then. Once he got nice and comfy. Arms propped behind his head he opened his eyes to look up at the ceiling and think about how great he did.

One problem..

When he opened his eyes he didn't see the usual plain tan ceiling. What stood before him was the 2nd prince himself...Leona Kingscholar with his usual angry scowl.

"H-Hey Leona-san"

"Hyena."

#twst savanaclaw #twst ruggie #twst headcanons #twst writing #twst #disney twst #twst cheka #cheka kingscholar #twisted wonderland cheka #cheka #ruggie bucchi #twisted wonderland ruggie #leona kingscholar #twisted wonderland

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twansgendew · 3 years

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One time I was cleaning my room and I tripped over a tooth pick in my carpet, and in the process managed to impale my toe on a different tooth pick.

My attempt to contact my parents for medical help went over their heads and so I sat in the bathroom for like 15-45 minutes trying to figure out what to do.

Of course, me being an independent little fucker, decided to try and pull the tooth pick out using a pair of pliers for making jewelry. When that failed I texted my parents like "I require medical assistance"

Of course, part of why I waited was because my dad was just running to Costco to pick up a chair(which they didn't have in stock) and instead of coming home he just decided to go out with his girlfriend from the quad my parents are in with another married couple.

Now why am I telling you this you ask?

I nearly did it again but with a drawing pencil I sharpened to a dagger, as one does with all pencils, while climbing out of bed to go pee.

Ps: tooth pick impalement didn't hurt as much as being bitten by a rather large and moody nonvenomous snake

Owch that must have hurt a lot, like a splinter but bigger, i think if that happened 2 me i would have just cried until someone came and checked on me </3 also how do u sharpen pencils in2 daggers? :0 that sounds fun and also dangerous , im glad u didnt get stabbed by your pencil dagger :] ALSO ive held snakes b4 but ive never been bitten by one, did it hurt a lot?

#tw injury #ask response #pagankingfinn

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nightmaretyrantvantas · 4 years

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When tensions break too often- a dark side au story

So I got my ideas back for some angst and some tension in this au, and I just couldnt resist writing it. Plus its a good way to warm me back up into doing things for this au.

This is also a bit of a deeper dive into the dynamics of darkside! Virgil and the other dark sides and how they all bounce and thrive off each other, as well a some backstory and peeks at the full effects of Deceit leaving( jealousy is with the dark sides but is only mentioned, he currently doesnt make much of an appearance in this one in particular, he gets his own angst later)

This was fun to write, not gonna lie. Its been awhile an this is gonna be long so buckle up with me

I also got alot of inspiration to finally write this out(and revise parts of it) due in part to @aimasup ‘s recent comics and writings about their kid sides(which I love, like alot alot and I hope they dont mind me getting super inspired by it!)

ships: Past prinxiety, past anxciet, implied intruxiety, implied intrulogical, implied intruloxiety, implied one sided remus x wrath, implied past demus, implied current roceit

Im putting a trigger warning here for cussing, fighting(verbal and physical), descriptions of panic attacks and emotional breakdowns, violence, gross and inappropriate language, some body horror descriptions, as well as implied unsympathetic sides(all sides are morally grey but the perspective is biased towards the dark sides as its seen from Wrath’s view- keep that in mind)

Things are about to get angsty my friends but i promise it ends happy(for once in this au)

I hope you guys enjoy

~~~~~~~~~~

Wrath Sanders had a lot more patience then almost everyone gave him credit for. Most considered him the biggest hothead there was, going off at the first irritation. But, the truth was he was eerily patient...Sure he may simmer and seethe and hold onto things in unhealthy grudges, but he never lost his cool as often as some would want you to believe.

Wrath Sanders kept his cool during many things, even if that was the last thing he wanted to do.

He had sat back through many things, biting his tongue to hold back the venom and yelling and grinding his teeth together in anger and forced himself to sit through many many things that happened around him out of respect- out of a deep fucking respect- for Virgil’s Fear’s Anxiety’s authority. Instead, he watched shit go down over and over again and held himself back from reacting towards the problem, focusing his energy on the recovery.

But, the most recent event was his last fucking straw.

It had happened seemingly out of nowhere, Wrath had been slumped down on their shitty lumpy couch boredly watching some dumb movie. It was getting later in the night, around 10 maybe 11 and he had one of Remus’s crappy beers partially drank in his hand. He was just getting up to change the movie or turn it off all together when the whole house seemed to shift violently, the walls seeming to tremble. There was a moment of confusion before he heard it.

“ Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuuuughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

His whole body jolted to its feet unsteadily as the sound of Anxiety’s pain wreaked scream filled the house to an almost deafening volume as it distorted and deepened. His body moved before his mind, lurching over the couch and running for the source of the scream as another one wailed out even louder than the first, the sound muffling the breaking bottle and violently shaking the walls with their reverb. He heard other sounds too underneath, glass shattering heavy objects banging and wood splintering, wallpaper shredding. A third screech rang out, cutting itself in half with echoing high pitched sobs.

He hadnt been the first to make it to his room.

Wrath watched as he turned the corner in time to see Remus destroy Anxiety’s door with his morning star, a wild and desperately freaked out look to his glowing eyes as wood splintered and gave out under the weapon, some sending cuts into his cheeks. The creative side was then out of sight in a flash, forcing his way into the room yelling as to be heard over the screams.

Remembering the pain, the fear the absolute panic in Remus’s normally confident voice sent a deeper chill down his spine than the screams had.

“ Virgy??!! Fuck fuck fuck fUCK!! Virgy no no! Its me dammit!! Fuck FUCK FUCK!! No no NO! Virgy virgy virgy storm cloud creepy cryptid no no nnonononono look at me no no look at me cmon honey look at me not those at me. me me me me..” His voice continued, shaky and softening as the screams faded into heart wrenching sobs and high pitched hyperventilating gasps. Remus continued to speak, morning star thudding against carpet and a softer thud sounding.

“ Hey hey hey hey hey hey...hey hey hey I got you I got you I’m here im still here....i’m always here for ya honey...I got you now I got you see? Yeah yeah thats me....just focus on me....cmon cmon stormy cant pass out on me now...follow my breathing lets breathe together...in...out...in out...now....tell me five things you can see....cmon honey you got this just look up im here right here...”

The sight through the broken door haunted him, made his chest throb hard and bile burn his throat.

The bedroom before him was completely trashed. It was as if something feral and destructive had ripped it from its very foundation. Every piece of furniture, big or small, was broken and smashed apart, the anxious side’s bed and couch ripped into multiple pieces. Every shelf or flat surface had faced an even worse fate, thrown around and shattered into various pieces that had been strewn around the room along with glass fragments from anything unfortunate enough to have been made of glass. Papers and books were severed and torn apart viciously, and the wallpaper was slashed in huge wide cute, some of the slashes cutting deep into the wall underneath. And in the middle of the disaster was Remus and Anxiety. Long, protruding limb like dark shapes sprouted from the purple side’s back, twitching and trembling with adrenaline along with his heaving, hunched over shaking form. Remus was there in front of him, knelt down to the balled up figure and slowly but surely coaxing him up enough to pull him into his arms and rock him back and forth as he kept speaking to him. It took Wrath a few seconds of his vision adjusting to the room’s darkness to realize Remus had more cuts on him, and why.

Strings.

Millions of purple tinted, tautly pulled strings, like a tightly woven and intricate sickening spider web filled the room from top to bottom as if trying to shield the two in its depths. He could see parts of them hanging limp, likely from Remus forcing his way through to the other. He watched in a horrified shock as Anxiety’s body lurched and jerked with his piercing sobs, hand harshly digging into his scalp through his hood and shadowy claws threatening to rip said hood open. He could see many of the strings connected directly to various parts of his body and to the eight extra things on his back and it made him shudder. The room radiated a sort of fear and panic that was infectious, suffocating even. But he refused to leave the doorway and abandon the two there, in that too dense darkness.

He watched Remus manage to gather up the shorter side into his chest and rock him more, practically curling into a ball over him. He was still talking, his voice softening to the point he couldnt make it out anymore from the door. But he could see his expression. God his expression mightve been what pushed him past his bullshit accepting limit.

Remus’s face was grim, any traces of his grins and normal attitude gone. His eyes were glowing in a dark, dangerously violent fury but the way they stayed trained on Anxiety kept them, for the time being at least, soft and remorseful. There was so much pain there in that focused gaze, pain regret sorrow a disturbing amount of fear and understanding. His mouth moved with words not meant for Wrath to hear, soft gentle coos and reassurances too intimate to be heard by anyone else but the one trembling harshly in his strong arms. Brows furrowed and it made Wrath feel even colder to realize his hands, hands that were holding the other up and petting his hair through that black hood and rubbing between the spidery appendages, were trembling.

Remus was trembling.

After awhile the strings seem to fade away into nothing, those shadowy limbs following them scarily slow. Once that happened and the worst of the darkeness seemed to dissipate was when Wrath dared to take a few stiff steps into the room, debris crunching too loudly under his boots. He saw Remus stiffen and his eyes flicker up like a cornered, ready to attack animal before relaxing, glow never leaving.

“ W...wh..r...R-remus...”

“ Des...Dessy brat...h-hey spitfire do me a solid and go open my door ok? Dont worry itll lead to my bedroom...just...go open it for me...will you...?” Wrath’s voice failed him after that and he nodded, backing out of that suffocation and away into the brighter lit hall rushing from the room to push open the dark stained door further down. He turned around to go back, to try to help somehow...anyway he could, when he watched Remus instead picking his way out of the mess and into the hall, their leader cradled in his arms limply like a small sleeping child. Not a sound came from either of them as he stalked through the hall and into his room, a single nod dismissing Wrath before the door swung shut in front of him...

That was where he was drawing a line. Enough had been enough.

Wrath had sat back through many things, too many fucking things than he should have. He held back his doubts when Virgil and Roman had first started seeing each other when they were younger and dumber, had held himself and barely held Remus back from mauling the so called “good” creativity when things had gone awry and he had broken Virgil’s heart and left him in bitter, resentful pieces for them to pick up and help mend back together. He held back every time Thomas had, intentionally or unintentionally, slighted and undermined their jobs as a part of him, of their importance, of Virgil’s and Remus’s importance to him. He had sat back through the aftermath of ever fight with the “light” sides and with thomas, through every dismissal and banishment and arguement and accusation. He had helped and been there through countless sleepless nights and previous breakdowns and panic attacks between all four three of them, and he had been here, had been forced not to retaliate as per Virgil’s simple request.

“ Dont Des....dont go after them...Im forbidding it got it? Dont do it. it isnt going to be worth it...please...”

It had always been the please, soft and defeated that made him obey. Not the angry snaps and lashing out, not the cruel words and push and shove they all did for so long, but the plea in that word...the vulnerability it revealed.

He had sat through Deceit’s slow distancing from the rest of them...and his eventually leaving them for the light sides and the ensuing pain and breakdown that his leaving left behind.

It had splintered them, had struck both Virgil and Remus harder and more painfully than either side would verbally admit. Wrath had been forced to do nothing but helplessly watch it break them and break himself too, and try to clean up the aftermath best he could.

But this breakdown, seeing the side that had always stubbornly refused to buckle or back down reduced to a screaming sobbing wreck on the floor, seeing the other side he had always seen be nothing but strong and indifferent to everything thrown with a grin shaking in fear and softly pleading was too much.

He had stayed down, seething, resentment festering for years. too many years without an outlet.

He remembered the hand that had been held out to him all those years ago. Remembered coming along a little bit before Deceit ever did...and looking up from where he was angrily crying on the floor to see two figures before him. One was shorter, with two sets of brightly glowing purple and green eyes and a big black hoodie that was too big for him and messy hair that fell into his face. Behind him was someone much taller, with wild hair and a single streak of white in it, eyes feral and gleeful i a way that made him tense and made him mad through his tears. He was dressed extravagantly, like a prince or even a king grinning unnaturally wide. But his focus narrowed on the purple one, whose dark claw tipped hand stretched out in front of him in an offering. When Anger had put his head back in his knees to cry more he felt an arm drape over him. His head snapped up and he saw the princely one next to him with a softer expression, hand rubbing his back a little.

“ Hey....hey its ok Anger. Whatcha crying for? You did your job! Pretty damn well too! You were amazing the way you had Thomas screaming at that bully!” A clawed hand smacked him making him yelp and he looked in front of him to see Fear knelt in front of him with a look of understanding, a bitter smile on his face.

“ He’s right you know? You were only doing your job...you didnt realize how out of hand things would spiral and thats ok. How they reacted isnt your fault...”

They offered him a place to go, a place to thrive. Screw the others that refused to understand and stay with them. And Fear led them both deeper down the halls by the hand, making sure he didnt get lost

He was done standing down.

Someone needed to pay.

~ ~ ~

If he was honest, Wrath wasnt sure how long he sat outside the intrusive side’s shut door, sitting slumped against the opposing wall in a thick, deafening silence. It mustve been long enough for him to drift into an uneasy, restless sleep. His dreams filled up with memories of younger years, of pranks and scuffles and violent roughhousing the three of them got up to being on their own, of Remus making meals and running around frantic to keep both Anger and Fear from accidentally killing themselves or each other on something. Of Deceit hazily joining their trio, hesitant and quiet but able to snap back just as viciously and able to rough house back just as good as the rest of them after awhile. Of days filled with shrieks, squeals, bickering and shrilly laughter, of restless nights where they all broke into Remus’s room and dog piled on his bed to sleep. Of slowly growing up and watching Virgil come out of his quiet observance and transition from Fear to Anxiety and taking charge as a leader among them, of Remus stepping back and letting him with full confidence as his right hand and partner in crime in most cases. Of seeing Deceit come out of his terrified shell and blossom into a belovedly bitchy and...supposedly self assured side...of Virgil’s echoing screams that seem to reverberate through his very core...

He jolted awake at the sound of a door creaking, and sluggishly lifted his head to see a pair of familiar scuffled riding boots, laces fraying if you looked close enough. He lifted his gaze higher and soon locked onto tired green eyes that were dark and dull from exhaustion. Lifeless was a term he could describe those eyes with and that fact made him briefly queasy and cold. He looked tired, so very tired, and older. He was older than them both....but right now he looked much older than he was...There was a silence between them for a few moments that allowed Wrath to rouse himself up a little more.

“ Dessy....for all thats unholy...what’re you still doin out here dumbass? Did you stay there all night?”

‘Dessy’...‘ Des’ the nickname eased some of his shot nerves. Ever since they were kids they had joked that his name shouldve been “ Despair” instead of “ Daniel Williams” because of his very present pessimism and negative outlook. And soon it became so much more fitting that his nickname became “ Des” short for despair...or in Remus’s case “ Dessy” as he oh so enjoyed calling him. The annoying nickname was familiar though, and it helped him relax enough to speak. His voice was rough and awkwardly quiet in the small hallway, as if he’d been the one screaming.

“ I....wanted to make sure he’d be ok...” He trailed off, voice faltering with a clear shake. It sounded pathetic and weak to him.

But maybe, just this once pathetic and weak wasnt a bad thing. Because at the sound of his voice, and his dumb reason, Wrath saw some life flicker back into the older side’s eyes, some of their glow returning. Remus let out a tired, exasperated sigh and gave him a small sad smile, his expression softened into something sorrowful yet fond. That fondness, that softness sent warm tingling butterflies fluttering through his chest like it always did despite the grim circumstances. Remus let out a strained chuckle and shook his head, pulling his door shut with a quiet click.

“ He’s asleep now ya little Tasmanian devil...let him rest and we’ll check on him in a bit...now cmon, lets go make some breakfast and watch some movies or something....lets go up up.” With a grunt Des allowed himself to be heaved up by the armpits to his feet and didnt protest Remus wrapping an arm around him and guiding him down to the living room. He didnt want to see that pained exhaustion on his face...he needed to do something

and had a problem he was finally going to get rid of.

“ No Des you cant.”

There was that feeling as familiar to him as breathing bubbling in his chest, that hot smoldering feeling of anger or irritation igniting. It flushed out the cold he had been feeling in an unpleasant way but he ignored that part, pressing his palms flat on the table with a bit of force as he narrowed his orange eyes at the one across from him. He felt something like acid stinging his mouth and begging to be spilled free but he did as he usually did and grit his teeth to hold the worst of it at bay. Pushing it down. Holding back again.

“ Not again Remus. I refuse to just fucking sit back and do nothing again. They need to be taught a lesson! This is all their fault- all his fault--”

“ Even if it is so fucking what?! You blindly lashing out at them is only going to make things worse I can promise you that--”

“ Like hell it will!! They act like they can just walk all over us and treat us like fucking trash and cause things like last night and you think im lashing out blindly when--”

“ --When youre temper is as violent as a fucking feral mongoose--” “ Dont call me a fucking mongoose beetlejuice reject!!” “ Oh shut up and sit back down you twerp!!”

They went back and forth across the table, both their tempers and volumes raising as they fought. That bubbling feeling was twisting into a boiling, growing burning that began filling his chest and core. Why was Remus not agreeing with him for fucks sake--

His vision started tinging red.

“ Look brat you think I fucking like this?! You think im not pissed the fuck off?! Because I am! I’m beyond pissed off about this!! About the fact I know exact who and what caused Virgy’s breakdown and about the fact it happened at all!! I fucking get it!! But even I know you shouldnt just storm in there to take off trying to take off their fucking heads when youre too upset! Youre not thinking clearly enough for that kind of confrontation dammit im trying to protect you in this too!!” Remus’s words were loud, ruthless, and hard hitting. There were angry and forceful and made sense.

Plenty of sense.

And somehow that made him even angrier.

“ Oh? Ooooh! I get it, I fucking get it! Now that youve been sweetening up fucking logic youre suddenly the first to fucking defend them hurting our fucking best friend--”

“--oh for fucks sake bitch Logan has nothing to fucking do with this!! Im not fucking defending them either!! I swear to god im just trying to--” “ --to what huh?! Keep on his good side so you can get in his fucking pants?! Or so you can fucking push it aside and laugh about it later like one of them?!--” “ Goddammit you fucking stubborn brat you dont know what youre even talking about--” “ I dont know what im talking about?! I DONT KNOW WHAT IM TALKING ABOUT?!?!” His voice rose much louder, his own trembling distortion coming out and getting spat at the side who had helped fucking raise him like venom.

“ I dont know what im talking about?!! You mean like how I NEVER seem to know what the fuck im talking about?! Like how Virgil never knows what hes talking about or how you never seem to know what youre fucking talking about when your talking to them?! God now youre even starting to sound like those pretentious bastards!! Dont know what im talking about?! What part do I not know what im talking about Intrusive Thoughts?! huh??!!” His breath was coming out in ragged, squeaking pants as his eyes began to burn “Which fucking part do I not fucking know?! The part where ive had to sit back and bottle up my rage at being pushed aside and degraded and judged and dismissed or having to sit back for fucking years and watch you and virgil get hurt and hurt and ignored and dismissed and talked down and insulted and broken and having to swallow my protests of it?! Or of knowing last night fucking happened because Deceit decided to fully live up to his fucking name and abandoned us for those bastards and left us alone without a second thought and got away with it?! Or the fucking fact youre too busy trying to bone down logic to even fucking care--!!”

Smack!

It came so fast he hadnt had time to prepare for it before his head was snapped to the side and pain exploding in his face, on the cheek near the jaw in particular as he staggered to the ground a good foot and his eyes eerily slow dragged themselves from looking at the kitchen cabinets to Remus, who still had his fist outstretched near where it had collided with his face, his chest heaving almost like his own was, eyes wild and just as angry before a flash of realization went through them.

“ ....Des....fuck...i...you...” Nothing too coherent came babbling out Remus’s mouth, he was still way too hoped up on anger fueled adrenaline. His fist was starting to tremble and Wrath watched his pupils dilate a few times in his attempt to calm down.

And then there was something like an explosion as that burning feeling warped into a raging fire and Wrath let out a infuriated, inhuman shriek and lunged for Remus with a full intent to rip out his stupid fucking throat as his rage consumed him.

The two fighting sides went crashing into the living room loudly nearly knocking over the couch in their wake, both of them screaming and Wrath inhumanly screeching in an almost reptilian manner as he clawed and punched wherever he could reach. Remus wasnt just lying down and taking it either, yelling in loud angry spats of soon unraveling nonsense as he fought back mercilessly, throwing the other into walls, into furniture, throwing punches and kicks of his own. But nothing seemed to slow the orange side down and he struck back with slowly growing claws and fangs and something sharp growing out of his hair, angry tears burning his eyes and his voice too warbled and distorted to even be understood anymore, both their forms twitching and subtly shifting and glowing as they tried to rip each other to shreds, things fluid dripping and twisting lashing out from Remus’s back. Remus was stronger, he always had been, but Wrath had a seemingly endless stream of fury and adrenaline that kept him getting back up and charging in for more, the room being wrecked between them. Maybe things would have gone too far if it hadnt been brought to a hard, screeching halt.

By the time they could both blink they were ripped away from each other, both now uselessly struggling as they were entangled in roughly restraining strings that glowed a eye straining, furious purple color and seemed to tighten and wrap around them more the more they fought and struggled for freedom. Their indecipherable words and incoherent screams where just as ruthlessly cut short as strings wrapped warningly around their throats, not tight enough to actually choke or hurt them, but firm enough to be very present and felt, their voices being quite literally silenced the moment it touched looped once and touched the spot over their vocal cords. There was a horrifically tense silence as their mouths moved in spat insults and screams that never made a sound.

“......that....that is enough out of both of you.”

Virgil’s voice cut through the room like a cleaver, the tone dead, cold, and just as pissed off as they were. At first they couldnt see him, manic eyes darting around until Wrath saw the Duke’s eyes trained on top of the stairs near the hallway, pupils down to small pinpricks. When he glared over in that direction he fully understood and felt all that anger draining and quickly turning into a queasy, cold dread that made him want to cower.

That radiation of fury, or bone chilling fear and a kind of suffocating anxiety that made it hard to breathe and a panic that made them both feel like they were perpetually falling and simultaneously drowning swept over the living room like a flood, the corners and ceilings slowly developing intricate pulsing webs or strings that seem to absorb the rooms light as Virgil stepped, no, half crawled down the stairs and into view. Both sets of eyes were visibly, the whites dyed a void like inky black where his brightly burning purple and green irises cut into them coldly. Something sharp and gleaming poked from his scowl and revealed themselves as fangs as his snarl curled his lips. His hood was up hiding most of his pale skin but couldnt hide the flecks and scatterings of void like, inky and purple spots dusting parts of his slowly purple tinging skin. His hands, snapping out from his sleeves to grip the stair railing were fully blotched in that void, fingers curling into razor sharp claws that strings hung stickily too. The eight dark appendages, opaque and gangly half carried him down faster than usual, the ends digging into the carpet as if for stability. A shrill hiss whistled through Anxiety’s teeth and the panic inducing feeling of being stared at at being excruciatingly examined came from every corner, growing worse and worse as he stalked closer with silent movements.

“ What....the actual fuck are you two doing.” The words with sharp edged and cold, tone flat and tired. They both just stared helplessly, unable to move or speak and both beginning to mindlessly panic. Virgil blinked and a gust of air like an exhale swepted through the room and....left no traces of those fearful horrified feelings in its wake. Both of their feet thudded mutedly against the carpeted floor as the strings released them and retreated back into nothing, disappearing from all around them as if they had never been there to begin with...the room never dimmer than it had started in the morning light and the three of them stood there in silence. Any hints of inhumanity were gone from Anxiety’s form, leaving his two still glowing eyes losing their luster and leaving dull annoyance behind, no fangs, no extra limbs, no claws, no void dotting his skin. When he spoke he took a slow breath, as if unable to breathe just like them.

“....I...I mean it you two...what. the actual fuck did you two wake me up with.” Even his voice had returned to normal, if not for a bit shaky and hoarse from last nights screaming. Wrath saw his eyes were bloodshot, and his face was tinged with blotchy pink and was puffy from crying and something clenched in his chest, thudding hard. He looked at Remus, who was panting from lack of breath, eyes dull and exhausted and pain filled again, injuries from their fight blaring from the blood decorating his body and clothes.

He had done that....he’d lost control again...

“ Im dont want to repeat myself a third fucking time. What the fuck did you--”

“ I...This is my fault I started it...” Both of them looked at him, gazes drilling into him. But he let his head drop as shame took over, choking him a little. This was his family and they were already hurting and look what he’d done-

“Oh piss off Dessperato. It aint only your fault I fucked up too. Look virgy we were both tired and coming off that dumb worry adrenaline shit and we started arguing...and we got waaaaaay too heated and decided to beat the living shit out of each other...sorry we woke you you were suppose to sleep later.” Virgil let out a sigh and rubbed his temples, pulling off his hood and shaking out his messy bedhead.

“ Is that all that happened? Im not deaf and the doors arent sound blockers...” “ Then why are you asking.” Virgil and Remus as a bit of a stare off before finally, for the first time that morning all the life slowly returned to his eyes and he gave a toothy, blood streaked grin and started to laugh. The other two looked at him like he had fully lost it. Then Virgil’s lips twitched up and Des rolled his eyes and failed to stop the grin spreading across his face or the chuckles that he managed to choke out. Within a few minutes all three of them were laughing on the messy living room floor half sprawled over each other and Jealously bemusedly deciding they werent capable of making breakfast and making it for them all instead. Des watched half delerious from his exhaustion as Remus cackled and kicked his leg, just to laugh more when he kicked back.

“ I swear to god no more violence out of you two or I swear I’ll...” Remus let out a snort and gripped the other’s chin between his fingers sensually tugging their faces closer with a smug grin

“ You’ll what Hot Topic? Lock me in the closet again? Or send me reeling with nightmares and hallucinations~ Oh please virgy baby I dare you too~” His tone was light and suggestive, quirking his eyebrows up teasingly for added effect. Virgil snorted and and grinned back leaning close as well.

“ Oh dont start teeempting me with those sweet talkins about hallucinations dr. Hideous~ I might just take you up on that...” Then he flicked his nose and shove him away, both of them laughing. Des was about to try to give them the time to themselves when Remus yanked him between them waggling his finger disapprovingly, making him whack the other’s shoulder with a affectionate “ fuck RIGHT off” and for awhile, in that growing morning light, things felt ok.

It had taken alot of talking, and another arguement almost breaking out between himself and virgil to convince him to back down from confronting the light sides violently. Virgil brought a surprising amount of identical points to remus, while also reminding him that reacting to violently will only make them ignore and dismiss him further. Des was very reluctant, and stubborn, but ultimately he trusted Virgil’s and Remus’s judgement. He trusted Virgil’s reasoning and that he was looking out for him- protecting him. So when he asked him, softly, to refrain from trying to handle it on my own and let him deal with it Des had agreed, obeying his request.

And then a real tipping point pushed him back over the edge.

It was a few weeks later. He remembered distinctly because the mindscape was abuzz with excitement, even the dark sides were effected by Thomas’s unbridled joy. But Virgil had said he was getting a bad feeling...and headed off to the main part of the mindscape that morning. Things were quiet after, calm even. At some point him and Remus had started playing cards, though Remus was blatantly cheating and they were bickering.

Things were fine...things were calm...

Then Virgil crashing into the living room breathing harshly and in the midst of a bad panic attack.

They both jumped up and Remus caught the other in his arms, trying to calm him down and figure out what happened. It took a long time and for awhile they only got bits and pieces out

Thomas

A callback, a big important one he and Roman were thrilled for

Patton, something with both Patton and Deceit

Neither of them agreeing but both of them fighting Virgil

some kind of important friend event on the same day

they had argued, they had fought, there had been yelling by the climax of it

Him and Roman went at each others throat despite the fact he had been trying to help roman’s cause

Deceit fought him alot too, trying to cut him off at every chance in a form of fear response, out of defense

Him and patton argued and fought badly for the first time since Thomas’s last breakup

He thought logan would try to see his side and be a neutral party

Logan was getting tug of warred into agreeing to arguments to push him out

They kept trying to shut him down and dismiss him, they stopped listening fairly

Virgil had to pull out a form shift in front of thomas

He had to use his influences and fear to get them to stop talking over him and twisting his words

it only made things worse, and arguments harsher

They rejected him and his attempts to help more

He started having a panic attack mid argument

He thought logan and patton tried to help but they were getting drowned out by Roman and Dee

There was so much yelling, things that should never be said got thrown

They told Virgil he never does anything but make Thomas worse

Thomas finally nearly screamed for them all to stop and half asked half pleaded for Virgil to just leave until everyone calmed down

He lashed out and hit someone, he wasnt even sure who before he fled, not hearing them yell after him. It mightve been patton, or thomas, or maybe logan

And then his panic attack got worse and neither of them could get another understandable word from him.

In the end Remus eventually got him called down, after a good couple hours of trying, and it took everything in Wrath not to scream and destroy the room.

All Virgil did was try to help, and look what their....their bullshit left him. He was beyond seething at this point, he was fuming he was downright practically breathing fire and shaking from the effort to keep himself still. Remus gave him a cautious warning look, as if he was sizing up one of his many monsters in the imagination and debating if it would kill him or not and Virgil lifted his head to choke out for him to stand down, and to not do anything. Wrath had nodded silently and waited, watching Remus help him upstairs to his room to grab his headphones, and hopefully calm down more. Once they were out of sight he made a decision. He knew the consequences of it, knew theyd both be furious and Virgil would make hell for him for it. But none of that mattered to him

For the first time in many many years...he disobeyed Anxiety’s direct request.

It took a few days to find an opening, but once he saw one he took it, rising up in the big main living room, unknowingly in the middle of a video brainstorm.

Wrath always seemed to appear near the couch, between Roman and Thomas. Just seeing them made his blood boil more than it had been.

It was easy to say he scared the shit out of most of them by just appearing, his entire presence sucking the air from the room and making it hot and tense, a cracked dam waiting to break. Itd been months since he’d seen them face to face, and for a moment his senses got overwhelmed by everything.

But he let that fuel his anger further and he growled for them to fess up. Which one had said it. Roman had of course jumped to the defensive of his friends and that was all Wrath needed.

He lost it, pointing and yelling and accusing Roman. Blaming him for it. Roman didnt back down and fought back, and the fight only seemed to worsen. The others tried to interject, and maybe if Wrath’s vision hadnt been blood red from his fury he wouldve seen they were trying to diffuse the situation and calm things down, talk things out. But he ignored that, whipping around and lashing out at them too

“ Wrath you need to step back and take a deep breath! Youre getting irrational!”

“ Wrath kiddo please we dont have to yell and scream about this Logan’s right lets all take a deep breath ok?”

“ Like hell! Im not going to just let him force his way in here and yell and scream and pretend its ok and we can talk!”

“ Roman please!” “ro stop getting angry back is just making all of it worse the others are right we need to be calm or we’ll never get through to him.”

That voice. Silken and soaked with caution. He whirled around on Deceit and snarled pinning him to the wall without thinking.

“ This is all your fucking fault! Youre the reason they keeping hurting and virgil has breakdowns that put him out of commission for days!! Youre part of the reason Remus locks himself away beating himself up. they trusted you!! We all trusted you and you decided to fuck us over and throw us out like trash!! Was it worth it?!?! Was being here worth breaking the people you grew up with you and loved you?! Well?!” There was yelling around them, and he thought briefly he heard Remus’s and Virgil’s voices behind him as well. But now all that anger, that pushed down bitterness and resentment finally had a target and he couldnt focus on anything else. He didnt even heard Deceits struggling answer as he tried to claw him off, his different eyes wide and his mouth moving in words that werent registering.

“ -youre right ok?! Fuck youre not right at all--fuck fuck I get it youre angry and I fucked up with this, this isnt my fault and I havent been trying to figure out ways to fix it! I totally havent been beating myself up for what happened a few days ago with virgil and I dont regret it ok--” THe words blended together in his head, there were hands on his shoulders ripping him away the the freaked out snake and shoving him into the couch. He snarled but froze when he realized He was staring at the very formal business end of Remus’s morning star, inched from his nose and Remus standing over him with a dark look over his face...dark and upset The red faded from his vision and he blinked rapidly, eyes burning again and jaw aching from how hard he’d been clenching it or from yelling he honestly couldnt even tell anymore. From behind Remus stood both Logan and Virgil, side by side speaking in rapid low voices he couldnt decipher. Behind them he caught of glimpse of Roman and Patton both kneeling on the floor, fretting over a still freaked out Deceit as Jealously offered to help him up. Wrath was struggling to breathe, his body twitching and shaky from the quickly fading adrenaline. Soon he was left feeling cold and sick of himself, staring at Remus with just as wide and wild eyes.

“ Easy....easy spitfire....youre...just breathe for me ok?” He couldnt even nod, he couldnt move. He vageuely noticed Virgil and Logan both looking at him before the morning star was gone and Logan was in front of him, hands palm up in a non-threatening manner.

“ Wrath can you hear me? Good...just listen to my voice...I need you to name me five things you can see.” He blinked rapidly and barely heard Remus’s and Virgil’s murmurs of reassurance. Or maybe Virgil’s was more quiet talking, as he was standing at Patton’ side like the normally bubbly side’s shadow.

“u...uuh....y..youre tie...r-remus’s outfit....the stairs...the others...and the Roman’s s-sword...” Logan gave a nod, slowly kneeling in front of him with a calm, leveled expression that helped him focus more.

“ Good, now four things you can touch. Take your time Wrath.” He flexed his fingers, more of a twitch really as his breathing began to even out slowly. “ Um...My jacket...the couch...my jeans...uh...t..the carpet?” He nodded again through his faltered stammering as the deepness faded.

“ Three things you can hear?” He blinked again and listened for a moment.

“ .....your voice...Remus’s voice...the others...” “ Two things you can smell, remember take your time.” “ Bacon...from breakfast...and someones cologne..” A small smile came to his face as he adjusted his glasses in slow noticeable motions.

“ Just just 1 thing you can taste.” He managed to smack his lips once and his face screwed up at the taste lingering in his mouth.

“ ....acidic bile...” Both their brows furrowed a little but when Logan looked over his shoulder Remus shrugged at the silent question.

“Probably needs to puke Dr. Maywhoo.” Logan sighed at the nickname and turned back to him, holding up his hands a little.

“ Now, Wrath Id life for you to unclench your jaw, roll and relax your shoulders, loosen your posture if you can, uncurl your fingers and exhale please.” He blinked and slowly did as instructed, not realizing until then that he was wound up like a jack in the box. His jaw ached as he unclenched it and his shoulders slumped heavily as he relaxed, fingers sore from apparently being curled into firsts for so long, small red lines in his palms from his nails. He felt calmer, drained and upset, but calm.

“ Logan, Remus.” He looked past them to see virgil standing up tall, if not awkwardly, besides Roman and watching them with a hard to read look.

“ I...think sitting down and calmly talking...is now long overdue.”

~~~~~

Hours later Wrath Des found himself on the mindscapes main couch tiredly nestled besides a dozed off Jealousy Jacob and a cheerfully talking Patton. They had spent hours haphazardly strewn around the very room, just...talking and discussing and airing years worth of grievences. It wasnt easy, and things were no where near fixed or completely repaired. But, there were many small positive steps taken in that direction...and things were lighter and better as they stood at a better understanding of each other. Things werent perfect, and in the back of his mind he could list everything that could fuck up and send them back spiraling. Yet he didnt want to ruin what...whatever it was happening as dinner was cooked. Logan, Remus, and Virgil all sat together on the other side of the couch chatting among themselves and with Patton as they tried to decide on a movie and played candyland. In the kitchen he could hear Roman and Deceit cooking and giggling with each other, trying to outdo each other with some dumb food based pick up lines. But they sounded happy, so many it wasnt that dumb...Des watched them play candyland, staying relatively quiet aside from answering questions and jabs sent his way. It was comfortable and relaxed, and Des couldnt help but yawn. Without noticing , he ended up resting his head on Patton’s clearly unoccupied and underutilized shoulder as his eyes drooped shut. He felt Patton jump a little before slowly relaxing, and he didnt even need to open his eyes to flip Remus off as he let out an overly exaggerated coo at the motion letting himself relax. Patton smelled good he decided. Like fabric softener and baked goods and some kind of spice...Des also decided that the blurry sight of the trio next to them, with Remus’s legs draped across Logan and Virgil’s laps and one hand playing with Virgils messy hair as he sat on Logan’s right and Virgil contently and fully relaxed into Logan’s left side, head resting in the crook of his neck and his hand laced with the logical side’s unused hand as they played was also good. The sound of Jacobs soft snores was soothing and the joyful flirty voices in the kitchen blended into it well when combined with Pattons soft humming. If this was how things would be more often....he’d learn to add a little more patience to his supply of the stuff....

And maybe for once he didnt have to be negative, with no more tension for now to be broken.

The end.

Ok holy shit its finally finished!! This was over 7k goddamn words of emotion and holy shit was it a rollercoaster to write

THis is what happened when I wake up before 5 in the morning after not being able to sleep much...I apparently bust out 15 whole pages worth of words

Now....to go do my chores real quick and go pass the fuck out for an hour or two of sleep

I hope you guys liked it!!!

taglist

@phantommoonpeople @sweetsweetemo @leesacrakon @amazable01 @strawberryjellystuff @heyhelloitsk @jemthebookworm @max-is-tired @seriously-a-dragon @sar-kasstic @soupspam @riarities @yalltookmyurlideas @unsocialchapeau @hyperions-stallion @aqua-mazing @pancakewithamace @dee-ree-vee @sensibleghost @ro-roowo @baby-duck-boy @wack-ismygender

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tarithenurse · 4 years

Text

Stolen - 9

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson &/x fem!gifted!reader Content: Angst. Feels. Plot. References to other MCU events. A/N: Thanks for reblogs, comments, and likes <3 It has honestly made me get through these last two days. If you want on the taglist, just send an ask or reblog.

9. Irresponsible Hate Anthem

… Reader …

At least Loki has allowed you to sit down, and good thing too considering that today is the most you’ve done since pushing yourself and your limits by healing the priestess. He has also brought you something to drink and some grape-like fruits. All in all: he is procrastinating and it’s making you awfully nervous.

“Loki.” The god scurries off to fetch you a blanket. “Loki!” you call after him. “Just get your ass back here and start talking!”

Whirling towards you, his jaw clenches and eyes darken with fury...but he stops himself and does as asked. “This is the last time I will allow such insubordination, mortal.”

“Fine.” Ramping up the sarcasm, you clasp your hands and plead, “Oh, mighty Loki. Bestow your wisdom upon me!”

Silence stretches. If he hadn’t been completely stone faced then you might have feared you’d gone too far. As it is, however, the Asgardian simply sighs. He and the others...they should be immortal but he looks old now. A smidgen of discomfort wiggles into your chest, sending tendrils out to legs and arms with the urge to fidget, to tap an unsteady rhythm with a foot, anything to ease the tension you are feeling. At the same time, a self-empowering annoyance is nudging your mind from the other side in an attempt to point out the next issue. I should not feel sorry. He’s a bad guy.

“There are influencing factors to the events that have led to this point.” Loki speaks softly despite a strain to his voice that tells you he is holding back. “In a manner, of all this started many thousand years ago by your time...but what is of relevance to you is the understanding of why your realm was beset by the Chitauri under my command. Who I served by doing as I did.”

“It...it wasn’t your decision?” The wine in your glass is sloshing subtly so you set it down with a clatter.

The green gaze wanders from hands to face, wordlessly binding you to anything he is about to say. “I did not propose it...but I did not oppose it.” Sighing again, he shrugs. “Explaining why will take more time than we have available. Suffice to say that I found myself in the questionable service of a being, an entity, called Thanos. The Mad Titan, is another of his monikers...and quite descriptive too.”

“Titan? Like...Greek myth titan?”

“...no. I would almost suppose the Midgardian titans of old would be preferable. Thanos is powerful in more ways than you can imagine and my fear is that his plan is much worse than even I suspect. Wherever he goes, only half of the population survives to struggle through a ravaged realm, slowly dying from the blows he has dealt them.”

Liar! “But Earth survived! You didn’t even kill half of New York, and now you want to tell me there’s a dude that could end half a planet worth of people? Pfft!”

Loki’s cold hands wrap around your fingers. “Don’t be foolish. Conquering Mi- Earth was not his main objective but a bit of fun to test the strength of the forces, the defences.” Hesitating, he focuses briefly on the way he has grasped your hands. “What Thanos wanted – and still wants – from your realm is an object with immense power. That object, the Tessaract, is one of six and all together they will make him unstoppable.”

“The Avengers stopped you...him,” you try slowly, “they’d caught you. So...you didn’t get that...Tessa-thing to him. Right?”

“No, Thanos does not have the Tessaract,” he agrees before meeting your gaze again, “but he will try again. And he will have me hunted down for leaving his side...for failing him.”

There was a time, when someone claiming the epitome of evil from space would arrive to ransack the Earth they would be considered clinically insane. The problem is that every human watched the news footage from New York and saw the aliens pour out of the sky to follow Loki. Can there be someone worse than him? It stings to admit it, but you don’t doubt for a second it’s possible.

Looking to the god, you fight to keep the fear at bay. “We gotta warn them!”

“They have been and they are preparing.” He still holds your hands, grounding you in an inexplicable way. “After having fought the Chitauri, the heroes of Earth know what’s at stake.”

It’s all too much – worn out from the walking, dazed by the information, and frustrated with the situation you’re in – you slump into the seat in silent despair. “Then...but...nowhere’s safe?”

He draws you in by wrapping an arm around you and you don’t even care to bother about it. Of the two evils seemingly available, Loki is by far the lesser if he is telling the truth.

“One. One place might be safe for you although...it’s a long shot,” the god mutters into your hair.

... Loki ...

Night has fallen, enveloping the temple in velvety silence. Watching from the balcony, Loki sees the lights of the guards’ lanterns follow the same predictable pattern as always and he knows that for the moment, his frail mortal will be safe, so he retreats to the shadows of one of their rooms to use the Tessaract once again.

When the blue haze releases him, it’s into a cold world under the grey light of dawn. Crystalline particles are shoved around by gusts of wind, worn from the rock and ice that covers the ground as far as his eyes can see. Admittedly, the view is rather impeded by craggy cliffs to three sides and crumbling ruins to the other, but the Jotun knows what awaits him past the remnants of the civilization that dwelt here. My people. Scoffing at the thought, he stalks towards the open.

Between the castle ruins and the very precipice of a deep canyon stands a circle of Alfheim’s druids hand in hand along the precarious edge. Where Loki’s hair is whipping around his face, his cloak tangling in itself and his limbs, the Älfir seem untouched by the raging of the cold elements. At least none of us are freezing, a thought jeers in his mind.

Only as Loki comes to stand behind them can he hear the song. It’s almost as though he can see the words through the corner of his eye like a shimmer dropping into the darkness below but there is nothing to see when he focuses: no sign of the magic...and no indication that the efforts are working.

Crouching, fingers digging into the icy snow, a part of the god seeks to tether itself with the realm he came from. He can feel it. Or rather, he can’t. The frozen core should echo the songs of the Jötun of forgotten ages, reduced to a whisper before he himself silenced them forever. There is nothing. For a week now, the Älfir have done as promised and poured their living magic into the deadly wound Jotunheim suffered yet despite the constants efforts nothing has changed.

It is a lost cause. Loki knew from the beginning this was a possibility. Not all damage can be undone. Not all wounds heal.

This was never my home! Then how come an icy splinter which has been gnawing at his heart now grows and digs its own canyons until, with a painful snap, something breaks? Screaming out his rage, the agonized howl is swallowed by the wind, echoed by the haunting echoes from the depths below.

... Reader ...

You’re not sure what has woken you up. Lying perfectly quiet, the song of nightingale – maybe, you don’t really know what sort of bird it is – floats in through the open window and almost lulls you to sleep again.

Wait...there it is, the sound that doesn’t belong. Sitting up, it takes a moment before you figure out which direction the staccato creaks and huffs come from and you’re in two minds about what to do when you recognize the universal sound of a sob that someone attempts to stifle.

Loki?

There’s no doubt it’s him. He’ll kill me, if he realizes I’ve heard this.

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unicyclehippo · 4 years

Note

prompt: beau is *brilliant* but is flippant and hesitant to show it. sometimes the nein forget until they're reminded of this. aka beau is more than an athletic prodigy & it shows (i absolutely adore your writing btw & im so so grateful you share it with us)

human feat: prodigy—you have a knack for learning new things

it’s blazing hot, the blue sky burned nearly white, and the whole world smells like sulphur and iron and grass. it smells hot, like the world is one careless spark away from bursting into flame.

beau is eight and follows behind the new carpenter from the main house down to the woodshed, where she definitely isn’t supposed to be, and certainly not in the pretty dress she’s been dragged into. she flits from tree to tree, crawls on hands and knees behind the low brick wall that leads down to fields left and the stables and sheds to the right.

‘afternoon, miss beauregard,’ odwin calls to her as she contemplates how to sneak to the next portion of the wall. ‘you feel like standing upright or d’you prefer to wander with a new perspective?’

beau sighs. stands, brushing dust off her hands onto her dress. she frowns over at odwin. ‘how did you know i was there? i thought i hid really well.’

‘aye, you did. didn’t see you once.’

‘then,’

‘my deaf mum would’ve heard you coming, though.’

‘oh.’ beau crinkles her nose. ‘alright. i’ll work on that. what are you doing today?’

‘taking you back up to the house, i imagine.’

‘don’t bother, i’ll just leave again.’

‘i have t’take you back, miss beauregard...’

‘no you don’t. i’ll tell them i made you entertain me. if they even ask, which they won’t. are you doing anything fun?’

‘fun? aye, i suppose so. i’m using the oak wood we got in the last shipment to put together more casks. to put your fathers wine in, see.’

‘i thought the wine was bottled.’

‘it is. eventually. first though, well, after the brewing and fermenting, however that’s all figured, the wine sits nice and tight in the casks for, oh, at least a year. down in the cellars, nice and cool and dark. then he bottles ‘em and sends ‘em out.’

‘huh. and you make the barrels?’

‘aye, some of them.’

‘can i help?’

odwin sucks thoughtfully on his teeth, eyeing the girl for a moment. her dress—pretty as it once was—is already ruined from crawling in the dirt, a tear or two where she’s snagged it in the fence. it isn’t his place to say it but the girl isn’t suited to the indoors. it certainly isn’t his place to say it, but the girl isn’t suited to the parents she has.

he should say no.

‘you’ll be careful,’ he tells her, fuzzy brows settling sternly over dark eyes. ‘my tools aren’t play things, you realise.’ she nods quickly. ‘and you’ll stay put and just watch. i’m not having you lose a finger because of me.’

‘is that likely?’ she asks, intrigued.

such a strange child, he thinks, not for the first time.

‘well, no, not with what i’m doing today,’ he admits.

she steps up right beside him, eight years old and already nearly taller than him. she seemed to grow like a weed—tall and haphazard, all knees and elbows, and all of a sudden. he could’ve sworn she had been a half foot shorter only last week.

‘it’ll be fine then,’ she tells him, and smiles wide enough to show off the gap in her teeth, off to the right where she’d lost the last of her baby teeth.

odwin sighs. hopes this won’t lose him his position. so long as no one sees, it should be fine, right?

the woodshed is large, made for the human who had held the position before him. half-finished barrels, lids, and piles of the untreated wood have been placed around the outskirts of the room. to one side is a table and shelves with his tools and aprons; he ties his around his waist and points to a low stool.

‘you can sit there. don’t—‘ he pulls a bullhead hammer from her hands. ‘don’t touch anything.’

beau sighs. sits.

he endeavours to ignore her, working slowly at the task at hand, but it proves rather difficult. the girl has a pair of eyes on her like nothing else, crystal clear blue and intent on everything around her. for the first few minutes, she had scoured the inside of the shed, noting everything and its place, and then her attention had settled on him and never shifted.

‘how come you’re not bending the planks?’

‘staves.’

‘what?’

‘they’re called staves,’ odwin tells her. pauses a moment to wipe his brow. glancing over at his bare furnace, he can see it’s almost ready for him to begin softening one of the more complete barrels. ‘if i set ‘em in a second hoop, they’d crack. or splinter, and we don’t want that, no miss.’

beau just hums. adjusts her position—seated now upon a small barrel instead of the top-low foot stool—and settles still once more.

it goes on for some time, her asking the occasional question and him answering as best he can—sometimes with little more than a simple, this is how i was taught to do it, and she seems satisfied with that.

finally, when he rolls his shoulders out from their hunch, hammering the staves into alignment, he casts a look over at the girl. pretty layered dress all a mess, a healing scratch on her cheek from an old adventure, scuffed boots and loose laces peeking out from beneath the hem of her skirts. he reverses his hold on the hammer, holds it out to her.

‘care to give it a go?’

blue eyes light up, lightning in a bottle. she doesn’t take a moment to leap up, doesn’t question it for a second.

before too long, with surprisingly few corrections, beau has helped him to put together the first half of a functional barrel. they set it over the low fire, allowing it to soak and soften and eventually to toast, and he draws her back, offers her a cup of water. the jug is warm, almost hot from having sat on his work table all afternoon, and he thinks to apologise for it but the girl doesn’t seem to mind.

strange, curious girl.

‘you did very well today,’ he tells her. ‘you’ve a knack.’

‘what’s a knack?’ she asks, eyes narrowed and lips all a scowl like she expects it to be bad.

‘natural skill. my wife calls it a quickness. somethin’ you pick up real fast. maybe,’ he says, corners of his eyes crinkling with a smile, ‘you were a cooper in a past life.’

beau smiles, a mightily awkward expression on her face. ‘i like making stuff,’ she tells him, and odwin watches her relax into a real smile, big and unrestrained, when he simply nods.

‘learning a language is something that will require your full attention, miss lionette. tardiness will not be permitted, and a reluctance to practice will not earn you a reprieve—just more work. am i understood?’

her teacher is a strict woman and reminds beau of a spider. short sleek black bair clings tight to her scalp, and her dowdy grey school marm attire is made of some material that seems fuzzy and sharp all at once. a pair of glass lenses sit at the end of a barely there nose and she looks down at beau through them.

‘am i understood, miss lionette?’

‘huh? oh, yeah.’

‘you will speak in proper sentences in my classroom,’ the spider tells her, before launching into her first lesson.

beauregard is ten and school-bound. it had taken a full decade, apparently, for her dad to reluctantly agree that yup, she’s the one he’s got, and he should make the most of it by actually letting her learn things he would’ve taught the son of his dreams. bookkeeping, mathematics, finances, whatever. all beau takes from it is that the wood shed, the lake, the stables are now all well outside of her reach , locked as she is under the spider’s attention, and so she has to resort actually learning things to keep herself occupied.

the days pass in piles of paper and scratched tally marks on the lid of her desk.

she holds up a hand, ink splattered as usual. she can’t seem to get the grip right, an ache building in the fleshy bit of her palm after only a short while.

‘miss lionette,’ the spider says after a moment, making her wait. ‘you have a question?’

‘i’m done. can i leave?’

‘done?’ the spider coughs a laugh. ‘you had twenty problems, miss lio—‘

‘i’ve done ‘em. can i go now? please?’ she tacks on, remembering that sometimes helps.

the spider’s brows tug high on her forehead. she waves a hand. ‘bring them here.’

beau pushes back. her chair scrapes on the stone floor and the spider winces, an admonishment on her lips that beau ignores in favour of the hopeful flutter in her belly that she’ll actually get to go outside today. maybe even make it to the lake before the sun sets! catch that toad she saw in the reeds last time. she hands the papers over, watches the spider’s mouth pinch in distaste, examining the ink splotched pages. then, little by little, the distaste fades, and her brows crawl even higher.

beau fidgets with the tight collar of this stupid dress she’s in and flicks her eyes to the window.

‘these are well done, miss lionette,’ she hears the spider say.

darts a look up into magnified eyes, a yellow green the same colour of the lake reeds. ‘so i can go?’

‘do you enjoy learning halfling?’

beau huffs a sigh. ‘it’s fine.’ she bites her tongue so she doesn’t ask again. she never gets things when she asks for them too many times; it’s rude, or whatever.

‘you have grasped the basics of it very quickly.’

she shrugs. ‘it’s easy. there’s only four more letters than in common, and they always go with the same other letters. and the grammar is basically the same, except for questions.’

‘ah—yes. that’s very true.’ the spider taps beau’s pages of work into something more regular and sets them aside. then, folding her hands on the desk in front of her, she smiles. ‘you may go play. but i will see you here again promptly, miss lionette,’

‘after lunch tomorrow, i know,’ beau agrees, already breathless with excitement, and she ignores the spider’s reprimand as she tears from the room to her bedroom, struggling out of her dress and into better clothes, things no one minds if she gets them muddied or torn.

the monastery is grim and too much like the prison she was just bought out of for beau’s liking. the only thing it has going for it is the whole learning how to punch people thing, and that beau is fine with throwing her whole self into.

she stands rigid as a statue on the borders of the training room, which echoes with shouts of exertion and pain from the other monks. trainees, all with new crisp vestments like the ones she’s wearing, all with their heads shaved too. beau’s eyes are the only part of her that aren’t still, swivelling nearly out of her head as she sees the monks aren’t all human or elven—she sees halflings, half orcs, tieflings even among the intake.

‘here.’ a rough hand shoves a staff into her hands. smooth wood, about six feet. there’s a sudden stabbing pain as she holds it—the wood is white and all too familiar: oak. her trainer doesn’t notice or doesn’t care and she sweeps her own staff down to crack painfully against beau’s ankle, making her jump to the left.

‘hey, watch it,’

‘you watch it, greenstick,’ she retorts, face wide and stoic as a fucking brick. ‘guard.’

she doesn’t tell beau how to do that, but beau has never needed anyone to tell her how to do anything.

for that first day, beau earns bruises and smarting fingers. the day after that, she earns perhaps one less. on the third day, she realises that she can hit them back. a moment after she thinks it finds her trainer reeling back, catching beau’s staff in one hand. she rubs at her sore jaw with the other.

her trainer grins. tosses beau her staff back. ‘usually takes greensticks longer ‘n that. good work. guard.’

‘what are you working on?’

‘ah.’ caleb slips a hand over the spines of the books he clutches to his chest. beau doesn’t read too much into it, especially not when he immediately then offers them to her to look at. it’s a protective thing. she gets it.

‘algorithum’s of natural entropy and evolution, transmutation theorem’s, grades three and four, the power of herbalism in ritual—this is for nott’s thing?’

‘ah,’ caleb says again. she obviously had interrupted a train of thought, bursting in on his wandering through the stacks like this. ‘y-yes, yes in a way. and research, always.’

‘cool.’

he takes back his books. blinks owlishly at her.

fuck. she misses owl frumpkin.

‘need any help?’

‘certainly,’ he agrees, more readily now that he has the precious books back where they belong—in his hands, that is, not in their home on the shelves—and he waves to the place at his side for her to join him.

‘wanna tell me what you’re thinking about? maybe i just happen to know some shit about it. at least i can keep an eye out later.’

‘hmm? oh. well, there is—there is a spell, i believe, that halas has... ah... redesigned? it is an advanced form of polymorph—‘

‘polymorph two.’

caleb chuckles. ‘true polymorph, it is called. in some circles. i do not - i am not capable of casting it, but i can recognise it’s...equation. in what i have seen.’

‘mhm.’

‘i believe that if i am able to - to blend it in some way with another spell, perhaps an illusion or...’ caleb trails off, drags a finger over his chin thoughtfully. the scratch, scratch, scratch of his nail over stubble is the only accompaniment to their journey, other than their quiet steps. the library is not busy so late in the evening. not tonight.

‘what about a clerics spell?’ beau suggests. ‘it’d be crossed, ah, spell work—i dunno what you call that—but if you found a way to mix a revivify maybe? or resurrection?’

she stops when she realises caleb has stopped. his eyes—blue, like her own, but so often cool, glacial almost, are nearly white with the fire sparked in them.

‘beauregard,’

‘is that stupid?’

‘it’s brilliant! i don’t know if it will work, it would be mixing magics in a way i have never attempted, but if - the ritual could be prayer, or i have seen - for scrying and communing and the like, certainly rituals are not foreign to clerics,’ he mutters, accent thick as he grows more and more excited about the potential as he says several times. he shifts the stack of books into the crook of one arm and wraps the other around beau’s neck, pulling her in to plant a whiskery kiss to her forehead. ‘brilliant!’

‘ew.’

‘dorok! the undercommon is unfamiliar but the word is recognisable—halt!

the nein freeze, ice dripping down their spines as they consider being caught here in the shadow glade, far too close to the beacons for any deception to get them out of. turning, they take in the sight of the guards in their dark, jagged armour. the obvious mistrust on their faces. seeming holds over the nein’s forms, keeping them in their drow appearances, but it hadn’t hit until precisely this moment the drawback of not understanding the fucking language.

‘akarish iv’viosk na-doth rakki ishnau,’ beau calls back to them. her form is bulkier, typical of a drow warrior, and with proud angular features. her tone, though they cannot understand her words, drips with importance.

‘what the fuck is she doing?’

‘shh, shut up,’ jester hisses. ‘just nod when she nods.’

beau nods. the nein nod as well.

the guards narrow their eyes. speak quickly to beau, tone a little less strident, more conversational. she responds in kind and after a long, tense moment, the guards lift their spears and, with a nod, step away.

‘hey!’ drow fjord whispers when they’re gone. ‘what was that! that was fucking sick!’

‘very impressive,’ caleb agrees. ‘but let us keep moving.’

‘definitely. they won’t be gone forever,’ beau agrees. ‘thanks for the seeming, caleb, they can’t see that i’m fucking dripping with sweat. dude—‘ drow beau slaps a hand against fjord’s chest, her eyes wide with only slightly exaggerated fear, ‘they would’ve killed us. like, straight up.’

‘i know! that’s what we thought would happen!’

‘it would have! but you know undercommon now?’ jester says, and asks.

‘yeah, i picked up a couple books and talked to some people while we were in rex - uh - the capital,’ she says carefully, in case the name of the city might set off an alarm.

‘you learned undercommon?’ yasha interjects softly. ‘just like that?’ she clicks her fingers.

‘kinda? i’m a bit rusty,’

‘you’re obviously fine if you tricked those guards,’

‘i think i used the past tense for gardening—oh yeah, i told them we are gardeners so cad, you’d better tell me all you know about, i dunno, tubers.’

‘i’d love to!’

‘sweet. let’s move, people!’

#cr tag #tagging my stories #prompt fill #dont worry i will put a read more as soon as i get home

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transdonaldduck · 4 years

Note

*KICKS IN UR DOOR* I would love to hear more about ur tmnt universe stuff

okay!!! you dont gatta ask me twice. I drew these last night at 3 am and lost steam halfway through and gave up on donatello bc i wasn’t happy with any of my sketches and that’s that! forewarning: im edgy so this is edgy

the rest is under the readmore

The setting: It’s new york babey! We’re following our protagonist April O’Neil, 17 years old, as she navigates the confusing waters of high school, first jobs, and accidentally stumbling upon a mutant underworld. This samples a lot from rotmnt and 2012 bc i have no creativity

characters i’ve thought out

Irma- 18, senior, about to go to college to major in Architecture. She’s aloof but she actually cares about people deep down, she just doesn’t like to show it. She’s trying to let her natural hair color grow out from the years she dyed it black. She likes documentaries, chess, hanging out at graveyeards, and writing horror short stories. Seems sorta doom n gloom but is more apathetic than negative. She’s the president of the journalism club (who runs the school newspaper and morning news segment.) She’s looking for someone to take over the club after she’s gone, and has the perfect candidate in mind… if only April had the skill to match her enthusiasm.

April O’Neil- 17, junior, and aspiring journalist and reporter. She’s upbeat, determined, confident, and a real bright spot ot the people that know her. Her favorite things to do are listen to music, sing, take pictures, and take walks in the sun. She’s a go-getting, very self driver to acheive her goals, and her ultimate goal is to be the greatest reporter that has ever lived. Unfortunately, april doesn’t have the knack for reporting, and every piece she’s submitted to her schools newpaper has been fluff pieces… Irma tasks her with writing a front page headliner for the paper so she feels confident passing the club onto her, and in Aprils attempt to come up with the greatest story ever, she sutmbles upon a gang war and 4 mutant turtles…

Casey Jones- 18, Junior, and barely passing. Casey’s the kind of boy no one really expects anything of, so he doesn’t bother trying bc at least then he won’t fail. April inspires him to be better. He likes bad jokes, terrible coffee, and hockey- he’s hoping that April will tutor him enough to be able to bring his grades up enough to be allowed back on the school’s team. He seems sorta prickly and rude at first, but he’s just got a spiky outer shell and he’s really sweet inside. He loves horror movies and extreme sports competitons. He makes a point to walk april home whenever she stays late working on school stuff,

turtle time

the setting: They still live in the sewers, Splinter is still their dad but he’s very old when he gets the turtles, making him even older now. He does a lot of meditating and watching tv and doing crosswords, yknow old people stuff. He relies a lot on Leo to be the head of the house now that he’s old enough. He still trains the boys to learn martial arts bc he thinks it’s important they can defend themselves, considering what they are. He can kick ass when he needs to, tho

leo- 19, red ear slider, silent and stoic leader, raised as a child to be responisble for his brothers. He’s pretty socially awkward and weird bc he was divided from his brothers at a young age and didn’t get a lot of chances to grow and play with other kids his age. He doesn’t do much outside of train, study, and chores, and April is appaled by the fact that he doesn’t have like, ANY hobbies. she takes it upon herself as a personal mission to find something for him to do. He doesnt know the meaning of the word fun, but he tries not to always be a stick in the mud (mostly by removing himself from the fun situation in a misguided attempt to make everyone happier…)

raph- 18, Snapping turtle, and he’s got a short fuse and a big appetite. He’s a bit resentful of his families situation stuck in the sewers and darkness, and he hates being looked down upon. He’s only rebellious bc of how confined and trapped he feels, and though he can act like a grump and lash out he has a heart of gold. He likes wood carving, it’s actually how he made his little sun pendant he wears, it’s something to remind him the sun will rise soon and he’ll be there to see it.

donatello- 17, softshell turtle, bookworm and tech wizard. he likes to read for fun and he’s super into mechanics and computers. smarter than his brothers but thinks WAY too much, often holes up in his lab for hours trying to work out some particularly tough programming problem and will only come out for tea or pizza. he can be snooty/superior in situations where his intellect can be flashed. the worst ninja of the bunch (he thinks more with his head than with his body and never practices)

mikey- 15, box turtle, goofy gooey heartfelt younger brother. He cant draw for shit but still tries because he thinks it’s fun. He’s good at writing and poetry, he likes words and keeps a daily diary he writes in every day. He also keeps a dream journal and a log on all the tunnels in the sewers they’ve explored. He like to keep notes. Comic books are his favorite reading material but he’s picky about the art styles he enjoys, and he is very naturally talented with anything physical. good at easing tension but has 0 common sense, just a round angel

Leo is the shortest and lightest, agile and quick. Mikey is second shortest but he’s fat, which doesn’t detract from his natural flexibility. Raph is second tallest and broad shouldered with big arms, a powerhouse. Donnie is tall and lanky, a little uncoordinated but still strong.

#tmnt #Anonymous #teenage mutant ninja turtles #leonardo tmnt #raphael tmnt #michaelangelo tmnt #donatello tmnt #my art

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yourfaveisyanderematic · 5 years

Note

im thinking about that trish/bodyguard so piece you wrote a while back, and all I can think about is trish being so desperate for any sort of affection that she’s just like “okay, time to fake my own kidnapping”

Hm. I put my Narancia piece down to bang out something for this prompt bc this is, as the kids say, a mood. Modified it just slightly though, because that’s how I am.

love is just another kind of greed.

Trish didn’t get the appeal of dogs.

They were cute, sure. Little silky fluffy things that yipped and yapped and tolerated being carried around in purses. They were also expensive as hell—hundreds of thousands of lire could be invested in premium shampoos, gold-flaked specialty foods, champion breeding (why, again? You’re not taking this dog to any fucking show, Anastasia, you don’t need it)—and those two things alone should have had her clamoring to get one.

She didn’t want one, though. Dogs were frail, frilly little things that cried endlessly when you kicked them (even if it was an accident) and whined for attention even if you were busy, and they couldn’t do anything, anyway. They could posture, sure. Strike a pose and bark and bark like the silly boys playing at being gangsters she had to tolerate every now and then, but if you pointed a gun at one and pulled the trigger, that would be that. They’d fall over with a little sigh and get all still and silent, and then they wouldn’t be good for anything anymore.

The reason she was thinking about this, by the way, was because she was bored. You were taking forever. Weren’t you taking this whole kidnapping thing seriously?

“How’s your ankle, babe?”

Ugh. Trish took a breath and pulled a smile onto her lips, gently tipping her head back to look up at the man. Despite the coiffed hair and designer shoes, he’s nothing special; some dumb kid with good looks and soft hands, partying his youth away with cash that wasn’t his. A drop in the bucket of young hedonists. The kind who took a pretty girl’s smile as an invitation and the light brush of hands as a blank check. More importantly, however, he was the kind she could lure in without too much effort, too eager to get into her pants to ask many questions.

She didn’t even remember his name.

Trish raised her foot, a languidly elegant motion that let his eyes trace every inch of her delicate skin, and after a moment’s hesitation he rearranged the pillow to better cushion the black-bruised skin, one of a handful of trophies from an ‘accidental’ fall she took down the stairs here.

“I’m bored,” she replied, as if the pain thrumming through the fibers of her muscles didn’t exist (it was that easy to ignore; she’d endured worse for less) “don’t you have anything fun to do?”

He hummed back, delicately rubbing small circles around the site of the bruise, cushioning the movement by keeping his other hand on her heel. She suppressed a laugh; were those tentative prods supposed to do anything? Did he think she’d shatter if he touched her?

Despite his arrogance, Rich Boy here didn’t have much initiative; the only thing Trish didn’t have to prod him into doing was getting her back to his expensive loft. Frankly, it was a miracle the two of them had managed to slip away from you at all.

I’d love to party with you, cutie, but first we have to ditch my chaperone. Come on, let’s go before they notice we’re not at the bar anymore.

Throwing herself down the stairs in a tangle of Versace and toned limbs had been an impulse, but wasn’t everything tonight? So what if she’d scraped herself up, or felt a horrible snap inside her leg as she plummeted to the bottom. It’d all be worth it soon, once you’d realized she’d been made off with and had to go find her.

You really did need to hurry it up, by the way. Eventually Rich Boy here was going to get his nerve up and actually try to touch her, and then she’d have to just kill him and wait for you by herself. That would be boring, too.

He probably didn’t even notice she was getting impatient, honestly. His eyes seemed to be on a rail, tracing a line from her plush lips to the delicate hollow of her collarbone to lower still. Typical, really.

Rich Boy starts to chatter, some fumbling innuendo about the things they could get up to with just the two of them, but she isn’t paying any attention to that. In the space between heartbeats, the air changed, the stale conditioned air suddenly heavy with tension that only she could feel. The storm had rolled in. It was coming down the hall.

Rich Boy’s voice registered, asking if she was okay, and it was in that moment Trish realized she’d been sitting bolt upright, abandoning the discomfort of the expensively minimalistic couch as she waited for the storm to draw nearer.

It knocked on the door. Three short, sharp taps that resounded in the relative silence of the loft, a muted thunder.

“Who could that be?” Rich Boy muttered to himself, and then “Stay right here. I’ll get it.” as he wandered off. She didn’t reply, just listened, heart in her throat as his footsteps echoed across the tile, undoing the lock on the front door and drawing it open to meet the interloper.

“Can I help—“ the words weren’t even out of his mouth as something—your fist, Trish thought with a thrill of delight, you must have hit him—connected with a hollow-sounding thud, and his body careened into the dining table.

“Holy shit!”

“Where is she?” In contrast to his own panicked scrabbling, your footsteps were slow and measured as you advanced. You didn’t even shut the door behind you; there’s no need to. Nobody stupid enough to try to help could stop you.

Trish considers throwing herself off the couch—she wants to watch you work, and maybe seeing her sprawled on the floor would make her seem more helpless—but you’re already in view, poking your head into the doorway after the Rich Boy who staggered back in, and she knows what you’re seeing: your charge, sprawled on some pervert’s couch, visibly bruised. You opened your mouth to say something, but Rich Boy drew your attention.

“Jesus Christ—don’t come any closer, or I’ll—“ the gun he pulled was just as flashy as the rest of him, and equally worthless; under the gaudy gold plating and filigree was a waste of metal that wouldn’t be hurting anyone tonight.

If nothing else, because the safety was still on.

You didn’t even respond, except to sigh. The invisible blades of your Stand sliced apart the gun and the hand holding it, showering him in splintered metal as he went down with a high-pitched shriek of agony. You strode forward, stepping on his leg to hold him in place as he started to crawl away, already deaf to the whimpering babble that might have been bargaining. Your head turned, pinning Trish in place with your stare.

“I wish you wouldn’t do this, Miss Una.”

Your voice was soft, but with an edge, the one that always gave Trish a thrill of joy when she heard it. It was different from your normal tone, the indulgently subservient I’m your faithful bodyguard and nothing more mask you wore when other people were watching. Different, too, from the terrified adoration you held for her in private as she did what she pleased with you.

This was your bite. Incandescent rage, barely restrained in the taut coil of your muscles and your piercing glare. It was hideous, savage, implacable, the look that heralded only pain and death as you obliterated anyone who even breathed a threat in her presence.

How dare you, you said with every movement as your Stand opened the man up in a shower of blood, how dare you try to steal her. How dare you let her come to harm.

How dare you touch my master with your dirty hands.

No command she gave could ever get you like this. You were a killing machine she could point at anyone she chose with only a glance; you would destroy yourself for her whims, if she let you, but there was no passion in obedience.

Your voice has turned plaintive, almost hurt, and it puts her back in the moment. “Do you doubt my devotion? Were you just bored? You could have just told me to kill for you. Look, I’ve even let you hurt yourself. How can I face your father now?”

Don’t look away, Trish wanted to cry out, seeing you turn your glare back toward the remains of your enemy, get angry with me. Let me see how love twists your face.

These were the moments she knew you loved her. The uncontrollable passion of your fury, for her and only her, only shone when something threatened to take her from you. These were the moments that Trish Una well and truly and fully felt wanted, and they were getting addicting. Was it cruel to do this to you—to drive you to this edge of madness, repeatedly and on a whim, purely to satiate her cravings? Perhaps, but it felt good not to care.

You drew near to her, taking another look at her injuries, and she breathed the smell of blood and smoke that hung around you like it was perfume. Your touch was delicate, but not gentle, and after a few seconds you pronounced it definitively broken. She wouldn’t be walking for a while. She was fine with that.

“Then you’ll have to carry me everywhere,” she declared, crossing her arms. You met her eyes, searching them for something, and then raised a hand to graze her cheek. She leaned into it a little, sure that it was a caress, but your hand came away with a smear of blood; you’d been rubbing it away.

“If that’s your wish, Miss Una,” you murmured, and then gathered her into your arms. Her arms wrapped around your shoulders as she relaxed into you, until her lips were inches away from your own. You didn’t incline your head in the slightest as you carried her out of the loft, just let your breath ghost across her face until she finally closed the distance and kissed you full on the mouth in the elevator.

There wasn’t any appeal in dogs for someone who already had a wolf.

#by me #yandere x reader #yandere trish #I mean in a way?#this is a little different but the relationship is still pretty unhealthy #also hi! I'm not dead #I know it's been a week #digging myself out of this grave with a spoon #so things will take a while #but I will post what I promised

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theflutterbyliterature-blog · 5 years

Text

The Black Cat and The Faerie Queen

“I say, I’ve got a story to tell you. So, come round all you little boys and girls for I have a marvelous story to tell.”

Of course, once the magical cat started to speak, it caught the attention of all those who dared listen to his wispy little voice. As the crowd assembled into an audience, the cat smiled a wide sort of smile that stretched all the way to the tips of his ears.

A gasp sounded all around as the feline lifted his paws toward the sky. The clouds responded with flurries of snow but these snowflakes soon got bigger and bigger. Now, this was quite usual given that it was the peak of the summer season. Some muttered with worry that the frost would harm their crops. The narrator of this tale did not concern himself with such things for he was just a cat.

“Do not worry! Do not worry!” He called out to the crowd. “I did not gather you all here today to gawk at my dominion over the weather although I do concede that it is quite a feat for a feline such as myself. Many a great wizard have failed to do as I have just done with the greatest of ease.”

A few listeners shivered but despite the cold, they stayed to listen to their four-legged soothsayer.

“Now, this story begins in the dead of winter – in a blizzard no less…!” The cat clapped his paws together and a howling gust of wind tore through the plaza making visibility impossible. But while they could not see the teller of this tale, they could most certainly hear his voice carried upon the wind.

And so, we begin…

***

Once upon a time, there was a black cat – me – trudging through a valley of snow. It was so frigid that I was frozen through and through. Still, I marched on like a good little soldier going to war.

I do not know what I hoped to find but clearly, I was on the search for something. And, at last, I found it in the form of a castle. Shelter! Shelter! A refuge from these blasted winds hellbent on striking me dead with a spear made of frost.

To my dismay, the bridge was drawn. At the time, human language was not yet in my arsenal of skills so all I could do was meow a feeble meow that was snuffed by the wind’s howl.

Of course, it came to no surprise when my cries fell on deaf ears. Would no one rescue this poor cat’s life? The answer was ‘no’ as everyone was much more concerned with remaining warm by the hearthside. No one dared to venture into a cold winter’s night – or so I thought

My eyes flashed with a silvery light like two miniature moons cast upon either side of my nose. Through them, I perceived the frozen moat below but not its thickness. Could it support my weight or would one step send me plunging into icy depths?

With my body turning into an icicle, time was certainly not on my side. To stop and contemplate my situation would result in certain death. So, I threw caution to the wind and slid down the slippery slope made even slicker by the layer of snow. Halfway down my decent, I lost my footing and tumbled the rest of the way.

The ice cracked on impact but it did not splinter apart. Slowly, I rose to my feet and skidded to the other side. There, I craned my neck, preparing myself for the climb to come. I had little energy left but I had to make it last or I could mark my grave at the bottom of this unknown moat.

My hind legs protested but still, they propelled me from ledge to ledge until I reached the very top. And that is where my strength finally failed me. All I could manage was to drag my claws along the wooden drawbridge. The sound was less than that of a mouse. I had no faith that anyone would hear me.

That is, until the prince – yes, the royal prince – stuck out his head and saw me there half buried in a blanket of white.

“What might this be?” He exclaimed. The prince did not wear much in terms of clothing but this was of his usual fashion. For you see, dear listener, this boy was born on the first day of winter – or Yuletide as some might say – but I know nothing of this Yule and his tidings. “A playmate to be sure – one of the four-legged kind – but I hardly mind.” At once, I noticed his strange way of speaking like each sentence was secretly a song.

I did not have long to consider his speech before he scooped me up in his arms and cradled me against his chest.

“I will warm you right up, oh yes, I will.” He ran through the maze of corridors that constituted his castle. His footsteps echoed through the silence. Where was the life of this place? The knights? The jesters? Even the ladies-in-waiting were nowhere to be seen and anyone who has been to high court would know that they travel in a pack, petticoats ready to be brandished as weapons. I dare ye if you call yourself brave to stand in front of a group of women looking to be betrothed.

But I digress from the tale because I still cringe in memory. That night, the prince held me so close to the flames that he singed off most of my fur. I was warm alright but I was hideous for weeks to come. To my luck, it did not matter for we never left the castle and so I never found a mate worthy of impressing.

The years ticked by and our little prince wanting to become a powerful sorcerer one day spent his time mulling over spells that never obeyed him. Instead, all his would-be magic funneled into my body where it manifested into special abilities. First, the ability to talk which pleased the prince very much because it finally afforded him the opportunity to have a conversation with someone – or more specifically, somecat. And it pleased me very much because I’m rather fond of the sound of my own voice as you can probably tell.

Then came the ability to make flowers bloom. It’s a rather useless ability but at least I can make any room colorful and if I had a lass to impress, she’d never be wanting for a pretty rose.

Like those who have had contact with the sorcerer’s stone, I can turn semi-precious metal into pure gold. It doesn’t do me – a cat – much good but I suppose it’s a nifty little trick to have especially if I’m ever required to buy my own freedom. Not even a feline is safe from the gallows.

And, of course, I can control the weather as you have all witnessed this morning.

But what does all this have to do with my tale, you might ask.

Well, good listeners, every great adventure starts with some magic…

***

When the prince was 18 years of age, I finally asked him the question I had been wondering from the very start.

“Why do you dwell here alone, dear prince? Ten years have come and gone but I have never seen a single soul stir within these walls.”

“The Faerie Queen has taken them all.”

“The Faerie Queen?” I cocked my head to the side. “Tell me more.”

“She is a beautiful creature, more beautiful than you could ever imagine with porcelain skin and hair the color of roasted chestnuts. I have only seen her drawing in books but even there, her eyes sparkle with the deepest shade of azure. Nothing in this world can compare and so, I have made up my mind. She is to be my wife!”

“But where is this Queen and does she not have a King to call her own?”

The prince did not answer the question outright. Instead, he started for the east wing, a part of the castle that had remained untouched during my stay. I followed at his heels as he swatted away cobwebs that hung high overhead. A few times, mice dashed from one room to the other. I had half a mind to catch them by the tail and have some fun with them. Perhaps I could use my magic to turn them into golden statues, now isn’t that a thought?

Daydreaming as I was, I did not notice the prince turn into a room.

I looked up and he was gone. Perhaps he had finally succeeded in a magic spell of his own. That theory was dashed as soon as I backtracked and saw him standing inside a room, back to the door, face to the window. He squinted against something round held between his thumb and pointer finger. Upon closer inspection, it became obvious that it was nothing more than a ring.

It was simple and silver. Nothing about it was particularly eye-catching or extravagant. As I said, it was just a ring – one you might give to your wife one day – or perhaps you have already given her a similar ring which she wears every day to show her faithfulness. Whatever the case, trust me when I say that it was a bore to look at.

“When my brother received an invitation to attend her Winter Ball, this ring was included. It shows the way to her kingdom. The journey is treacherous, they say, but I am determined.”

“Why then is the ring here? Did your brother not go to the Winter Ball?”

“His heart belonged to another and he could not betray her in favor of the Faerie Queen as fair as she might be. The Queen took great offense to his decision and dropped an evil curse on this land. I am the only one spared and I take it as a sign that she wants me to journey there one day and take her as my wife. Will you not come with me, my feline companion?”

“My debt to you is long overdue. So, I will journey with you to these unknown lands and lend a paw when the opportunity arises.”

He smiled then and it was the first time I had seen his lips curve in such a way. Typically, he wore a mask of concentration as he poured over his countless spells and incantations. During all other occasions, his expression was somber, muted by the silence of his castle.

Suddenly, as he slipped the ring onto his finger, there came a flash of light. This light manifested itself in the shape of a sword. Its edge was impossibly sharp, capable of splitting a page in two. The handle was wrapped in cords of leather making it a comfortable thing to hold.

His grin deepened as he swung the weapon, twisting his body into the motion. The sword collided with a nearby vase. The glass shattered on impact and if not for my cat-like reflexes, I would have been bathed in a shower of shards.

“Come. With this, no foe can stand in my way. I will accomplish what my brother was too cowardly to do himself and I will restore this kingdom to its former glory, mark my words!”

***

And so, we set off into the dead of winter. I kept the snow at bay but it blasted around the bubble I had cast. Beyond it, we could see nothing but the ring guided us in the right direction like a compass pointing north.

“How much farther, you figure?” The prince asked.

“I do not know.”

We continued on and on and on.

There was no end in sight but still, we carried on.

Finally, we arrived at a small cave. “We should rest here. We do not know what to expect and so, we should gather our strength as best we can.”

“I have a feeling that the castle lies just up ahead.”

“Do not assume. It is better to be safe than sorry. I have been caught in a winter storm before and I have no intention of doing so again. If my magic fails us, we will be frozen within the hour. Is that a risk you’re willing to take?”

“Yes.”

He plopped me onto his shoulder and off we went. He marched for hours upon hours. Each footstep sunk deeper and deeper into the snow. He had started to shiver.

Fatigued, I could no longer stave off the snow in such a manner. It trickled in where my spell had weakened. That snow swirled around us and chilled us down to the core.

“We should return to the cave!” I advised although I had no idea where it was. The world was nothing but a directionless vortex of white.

“We are almost there…” The prince could barely see the ring on his finger and yet, he followed it.

To my disbelief, a giant castle loomed in our wake. I was starting to think that the whole thing was nothing more than a tall tale.

The drawbridge had been lowered, acting as an invitation for us to step inside. As soon as we did, the prince collapsed. His forehead was burning up with a fever. I looked around but there was no one to call on for help. I tried to speak but all that escaped my lips was a soft ‘meow’ that I hadn’t heard in a decade’s time. It seemed my magic was connected to my master’s vitality. Without him, I was nothing more than a house cat doomed to hunt mice for the rest of his life.

“Meow!” I scratched at his face but there was no response. He didn’t even flinch.

Just then, a beautiful woman dressed all in white emerged from the woodwork. She had a soothing smile on her face that calmed my nerves. Without thinking, I rubbed against her legs and purred. I tried to stop but it was like a spell had been wrapped around my fur, making me a prisoner inside my own body. She reached down and scratched just behind my ear. It was enough to put me into a deep slumber.

***

When I next awoke, I was alone. It was the peak of the summer season and after a day’s travel, I ended up here. So, dear listeners, what is the moral to my story? Why tell it at all? Well, that’s for you to decide because my lonely assistant has just absconded with all your coin! Oh, the folly of lending someone your ear!

Again, a collective gasp emerged from the audience as they turned and spotted a white feline with chestnut colored ears holding a pouch of cash between her sharp set of teeth. She seemed to wink before disappearing into the night.

And so, our devious narrator ran away with the mate he never claimed to have.

***

If you liked reading this fairy tale consider jumping over to FairyTalez.com to give it a like. I need 5 to be eligible for the competition. Your support is much appreciated! https://fairytalez.com/user-tales/the-black-cat-and-the-faerie-queen/

#fairytale #winter #magic #snow #fairy #travel #fantasy #nature #christmas #magical

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mouser26 · 3 years

Text

An oldie but a goodie

So in light of realizing I really don’t have a lot of Mags stories on here I decided to go dig through my old DA account and see if anything survived since I wasn’t the best at cross posting from Y!...and now I feel old cause Y! went down in 2016 and now is back apparently....so yeah ANYWAYS!!!! Enjoy a gently edited (oh god this was posted how long with those errors?!) first time I and Foxy ever collabed from Nov 2008 aka the First time Mags and Cassius met The Barcrawl ( and to any new readers.....yeah Cassius just talks like that

Cassius hated Canadian pubs. They insisted on calling them bars, and they never had the right food. How was a guy supposed to enjoy his beer without a proper accompaniment? And why had the yellow insisted on meeting here?

“Oy! You in the purple!” a strident woman’s voice rang out. “Your people tried to blow up my brother!”

“Dat’s righ’,” Cassius rumbled, sipping his beer, “but not me pers’nally. I doan do good wit splosives.”

“Well, I don’t see anyone else here,” she retorted. “Maybe I ought to take a down payment in lumps out of you!”

“I warns yer, lady,” Cassius growled. “I’s tougher dan I looks.”

“You don’t look so tough to me!” Magenta challenged.

“Wow, mouffy AN’ blind,” Cassius rumbled. “You got it bad, sister.”

Magenta’s face grew rosy to where it matched her hat and vest. Without another word, she picked up an unoccupied barstool and brought it down on Cassius’s head.

Cassius didn’t flinch; he took his beer bottle and smashed Magenta across the face, sending her soaring towards the leisure section of the bar.

She landed in the midst of a game of eight ball, and, cursing, picked up the cue stick underneath her. She stood up in the middle of the table and kicked the three and the fifteen balls at Cassius’s chest. With one fluid move, she jumped from the billiard table to the bar and pivoted, breaking the cue across Cassius’s face.

Cassius picked himself up off of the floor. Seeing Magenta aim a kick at his face, he seized the leg she was standing on and hurled her bodily into the plate glass window at the bar’s façade.

He grabbed another bottle and waited; she’d be back. One of the patrons with more alcohol than brains approached Cassius, who was picking shards of glass out of his knuckles.

“How dare you hit that lady!” He accused. “That’s not very nice at all.”

“Neither is she,” Cassius growled, “an she hit ferst. I jes hit ‘er back.”

He saw Magenta coming, and he braced for the impact. Outside, she’d landed next to a ‘Valet Parking’ sign for the restaurant next door, and she brought it with her. It caught him squarely in the side, breaking three ribs.

He grunted, and snapped the sign in half.

The patron turned to Magenta who said, “Don’t interfere!” and punched him.

Cassius grabbed the patron’s leg, Magenta grabbed his arm, and together they threw him bodily over the bar. He took out the shelf of high-end liquor and the mirror, and lay groaning behind the bar. Most of the patrons had fled; the bartender was nowhere to be seen.

“What a waste,” Cassius mumbled. “Lookit all dat good booze fallin’ on der floor.”

Magenta straightened her neck with an audible crack. “Not bad, Twinkle-toes. You ARE tougher than you look!”

“An’ yer no sloch eider,” Cassius conceded, drinking rum from a bottle with the top broken off. He offered her the bottle, and she took a long drink.

Idly, Cassius took a long splinter out from her violet hair. “Dat woulda hurt when you put yer hat back on.”

Cassius dusted the glass shards off of his purple vest. “Okay, yer smashed der stool on me head, n' I walloped yer wit der beer bottle, den you broke der poolcue 'cros m' teef, n' I sent you troo der window,” he counted out on his fingers. “Split der damage downna middle?"

“You forgot the cracked ribs, the pool table, and the guy we both sent into the bar display,” she corrected, “Otherwise it all sounds fair.”

Cassius nodded and took out his wallet. He counted several large bills and placed them under the bar counter, weighing them down with the bartender’s shotgun. “He wuz askin' fer it, callin yer a lady 'n sayin I ourtn't smack yer,”

“An’ doan worry 'bout der ribs. I've broke dese tings more times'n I cn count. He should have ter pay fer der mirror doh, on accoun' o' his head doin' der breakin'." Cassius spat out a gob of blood. “Can’ stann innerlopers.”

Magenta snorted. “I smacked you first, you were fair ta shmack me back.” She felt her mouth, where her lower lip was already starting to match her hair. “Shon ova bish! I'm shwelling!” She clapped Cassius on the back. “Good job! Thas shom right hook ya got there.”

“I’d box, but der’s no one big enough to fight,” Cassius said, apologetically. “I'd buy yer a roun', but der bar appears to be desert'd. I know 'n all night biker bar. No place fer a lady, but yer orter be okay. I wanna see 'f yer cn drink's well as yer fight. Say, do yer like karaoke?”

“Did weh not jusht a'tablish I aint no god damn lady?” Magenta demanded. “And fer crooning a tune even if i did like it the lishener ushlly don't. LESH GO! Wait a minute, thish biker bar doesh karaoke?”

“Not yet,” Cassius rumbled. “But dey will.”

*~*~*

Hours and many many MANY drinks later Cassius and Magenta staggered tipsily down the street. “I can' bleev dat guy hekkled us berfore we got troo der first vers,” Cassius growled. “Good ting I hit him inna head wif dat hurled bottle.”

Magenta glared at him. “YOU hit him with a thrown bottle? I beg to differ. I threw that bottle, shir.”

“I hit ‘im inna head,” Cassius corrected. “YOU hit ‘im inna crosh.”

“Good point,” Magenta conceded. “ But I WARNED you I don't shing! And can you believe that whore that shaid my hair was shtupid? I mean what the fuck! She had a fucking hole in her ear the shize of a 28 gauge shell with a fucking ANKER in her lip! I have violet hair an I'm weird?!”

Cassius smirked. “I like yer hair. Mash's m' suit. An, I don' sing eider, but we got's der harm'ny down pat. Don' worry 'bout dat chick. When she wakes up wid der stishes inner forhed she'll know who's shtupid lookin'.”

Magenta howled with laugher. “DAMN SHTRAIGHT! By the by thanksh for docking her boy toy. Elsh I wouldn't have been able to shlash her sho good.”

Cassius shrugged. “Is no problem. Yer good wit dat swishblade!”

Magenta smiled. “Shtill, you are a-shom.” She tried to pat Cassius on the back, but missed the mark by a few feet.

Cassius grinned an evil smile. “He made it easy. Whenever I sees a guy wif nipple clamps anna chain froo 'em, I finks 'Dat's jes beggin t' be yanked.' I din' know he hadda Prince Albert hooked to it too, but dat's his prerorg...perogga..”

“Prerogative?” Magenta supplied

“Dat’s der bunny!” Cassius agreed.

Mags giggled. “Bunny...Shtupid fashin shatement sho was ashkin' for it! Even I don't shcream that fucking girly.”

“Der’s lotsa ways a guy cn look tough,” Cassius rumbled thoughtfully. “Dat’s gotta be one o’ der dumbest I seen, an’ dat’s sayin’ sumtin’.”

“You know,” she mused. “For a Purple, you’re not half bad.”

“An’ you’re pretty decent fer a Red girl, too,” Cassius said.

Magenta bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean? Just because I’m a girl means I can’t pull my weight? Or do you have something against Reds?”

“Nuttin’ gainst eider,” Cassius amended. “I jes tink I’m bedder at some a’ dis dan you.”

“Put your money where your mouth ish,” Mags retorted. “I’ve got a hundred bucksh that says I can do anything you can.”

“Alrigh’,” Cassius said, smirking. “Der blacks ‘ave a buildin’ roun’ here, righ’?”

“They do,” Magenta agreed, slowly. “It’s an office they ush when they’re trying to get at the White HQ, which is kinda all the time anymore.”

“Righ’,” Cassius said. He smiled and rubbed his hands together. “We gots a wager. Whoever gess der potted plant outta Black’s office is der better spy. Yer caught, ya lose. Deal?” He held out his enormous hand.

“Deal!” Mags agreed, shaking his hand.

“In der innerests of fairness,” Cassius rumbled, “We go dere inna same cab.”

“One question: what happensh if we Both get caught?”

“Den we bofe lose,” Cassius replied. “An’ we’re ebenly mashed as Spies. We calls it a draw.”

*~*~*

Rusty raised an eyebrow as he looked at the unknown number flashing on his phone. It was a sealed number though so it has to be someone familiar he reasoned as he answered, "Resident robo speaking."

“Rusty?” Mags asked. “It’s me. I need a pick-up at…WHAT PRECINCT IS THIS?...precinct 18, downtown… wait, WHICH DOWNTOWN? ….I’M FROM GATINEAU THAT’S WHY!…Ottawa. Can you bring bail money for…I see ten, but only four of them are ours.”

“Remin’ me,” Cassius groaned, “How did we end up here?”

“Well after we caught you two bickering over the theft of a potted plant,” Seventy-two started, “Brother and I convinced you two that dancing would be as much fun as Karaoke. So, we went downtown to the hippest club and somehow managed to get in.”

“I think the big guy bribed the bouncer,” Twenty-seven mused. “But regardless of how, we got in. The hottest dance crew in town was on the floor, they danced in front of us,”

“We got challenged,” Seventy-two continued. “I told the big guy and the woman. They looked at each other,”

“And together, they punched out the front man,” finished Twenty-seven. “Then, they proceeded to mop the floor with the rest of the crew.”

“Hey,” Mags retorted, “if they didn’t want to get beat up, they shouldn’t have thrown down in the first place. Besides it was a fair fight: two of us, eight of them.”

“That was bad enough,” Seventy-two said, “but did you two have to take on the whole SWAT team?”

“Dey said her hair was funny,” Cassius mumbled. “I had to knock dose tree out, odderwise we’d be in for longer. Smackin’ a cop is a shorter sen’ance dan rippin’ ‘is goolies off via his nosdril.”

“I would have done nothing of the sort,” sniffed Magenta.

“Then why did you threaten to do just that?” Seventy-two countered. “Every man in the club winced in sympathy pain.”

“Sides, der cops asked us nicely to come along,” Cassius said. “If dey’s willin’ to be polite abou’ it, I figger we might as well come ‘long peaceably.”

“They hit you with three tear gas grenades and tazered you at least six times,” protested Twenty-seven. “That’s what you call polite?”

“Dey dint use der guns or battans,” Cassius said. “Dose tazers were nice; dey tickled. Once Rusty gets ‘ere, I tink I need breakfast. Who wants homme, ommer..”

“Omelets?” Magenta suggested

“Dat’s der bunny!” Cassius agreed.

“I don’t know where you’ll put them,” Mags said. “Over the course of the night, you drank eight beers, fourteen assorted shots, a bottle of rum and a coke, and a centerpiece bud vase with a rose in it.”

“Tought dat one tasted a bit torny,” Cassius rumbled. “An’ yer one ter talk. You matched me on alla dat.”

“Couldn’t have you show me up, could I!” she countered. “And you’re right, it DID taste thorny!”

“MAGS!” Rusty finally yelled, interupting the four-way recounting of what sounded like a wild night.

He could picture Magenta staring at the receiver in her hand a moment before remembering who was on the line, “Hey Rusty.”

"... You do know I record all my calls, right?"

"...Fuck."

Rusty managed to hold in a chuckle, “Do we need an armored car or can I just pick you up?"

"Uh... I got two blacks and a purple...what do you think?

"... Fuck, I'm just going to get the nice company car to do this kind of crap. Google maps says I'll be there in about Forty-five minutes. Are you armed? Wait, don't answer that. ... WHAT are you armed with?"

"I left my babies at home. I HAD A SWITCHBLADE BUT THEY TOOK IT!"

“Actually you lost it when that one dancer kicked your hand,” Twenty-seven chirped.

“And his girlfriend tried to bite your ear off,” Seventy-two added

“Oh yeah…”

“Probably for the best...” Rusty muttered quietly. "Well, I'll get your spare from your desk as a security blanket of death. How's that? Anything else I should know about? What are the sobriety levels?"

"Hang on let me check… How sober are you bitches?!"

"Hung-over and hungry!”

“Dat depends,” Cassius mumbled. “Did I jes step on m’own fingers?”

“No sir,” an unknown voice, Rust assumed another prisoner cried. “You’re standing on mine.”

“Den nuttin’ a Bloody Mary woan fix,” Cassius said. “Or are yer a scewdriver woman?”

“I’m a Sonic Screwdriver woman, thanks to my darling partner. Electrolytes over acid. There’s your answer,” she said into the phone.

"... I'll have Laurie call me en route to see what's open. On my way."

“Thanks Rusty!”

“Den les’ get outta here,” Cassius picked up the groaning twins by the back of their belts. “I got der lightweights. C’n you get der door?”

“Yep. Hey Rust, we’ll be outside. Trust me, you can’t miss us.” She hung up the jail cell’s pay phone.

“Let’s go”

“Damn!” Cassius smacked his forehead with the heel of his right hand, eliciting a groan from twenty-seven.

“What’s wrong?” Magenta asked, picking the jail cell lock.

“I wuz gonna meet a Yellow at der bar we net at.”

“Really?” Magenta looked up from the lock. “I was supposed to meet a Yellow there too. Think the bastard set us up?”

“Hell of a coinkydink,” Cassius growled, shifting his hold so he had the twins under each arm safe and sound.

“Next time I’m thank the bitch before I shoot him,” Mags soothed as she finally devoted her attention to the lock, earning a laugh from the purple agent.

#Agent Magenta #Mags #My writing #old writing #Agent Cassius

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