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belphegor1982 · 4 years

Note

C and N for the brothers-in-law. Bonus points if it's Rick who's hurt and Jonathan who's doing the rescuing. :-)

[C: concussion] + [N: getting injured person out of situation]

All right! I went for the bonus points ;o)

And Not a Drop to Drink

The first thing Rick does when consciousness returns is gasp.

The second thing is deeply regret it as muddy water floods his mouth and throat.

The third thing is acknowledge the searing pain in his head that almost makes him pass right out.

It’s the faint but persistent nausea growing in the pit of his stomach on top of everything else that clues him in. Okay, so he got hit on the head and now concussion is setting in. Unless he drowns first, because that’s definitely an option too, apparently.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, his self-preservation instincts are screaming that he should be making fewer idle comments about dying and more attempts to, well, not die. That’s generally what you do when your vision is growing white at the edges from the lack of air. But the thing is, he’s had concussions before, and he’s jumped, fallen, or been pushed into deep waters before, but never both at the same time.

This is not good.

Just as one last spark of life runs from his brain to his toes and makes him try to kick his way up – no way he’s going to die in such a stupid way – he feels a hand grasp his hair. Then his jacket. Then – thankfully – his shoulder, under the armpit.

When Rick breaks the surface he spouts up what feels like half his volume in water, and he has no idea whether he’s expelling it from his lungs or emptying the contents of his stomach.

“That’s right, keep doing that, better out than in”, says a shaky voice right beside his ear. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to recognise his brother-in-law.

What the hell happened?

Rick’s brain doesn’t provide him with an answer right away and he decides it’s a question for another time. Preferably when his head isn’t swimming better than he is and he feels like he would sink like a stone if not for Jonathan’s grip on him.

He noticed early on that both Carnahan siblings do well in water, that time they had to bail out of the burning barge. Evy later told him her childhood included the occasional dip in the Nile and swimming lesson. As for Jonathan, the next time they found themselves having to swim for their lives again – it says something about their lives, Rick supposes, that he can open this sentence with ‘the next time’ – and Rick asked where he learned to swim, he said, “The benefits of a classical education, old boy. Rowed a bit when I was in Oxford. Did you know the Cherwell is beastly cold at seven in the morning?”

Turns out so is the Thames at eight in the evening. Especially in November. Rick’s teeth would probably be chattering if he wasn’t so damn beat.

Ah, well. Jonathan is doing enough chattering for them both anyway.

“– did a splendid job laying out the bounder – anyone ever told you that you could give Jack Petersen a run for his money? Too bad his rotten little friend had the nerve to bring a bat to a fistfight, I mean to say, that bat may have been cricket but the move was absolutely not. Then again, what can you expect from this lot – running about in those ridiculous black polo shirts and idolising foreign dictators, spewing garbage about people who’ve done nothing to—I say, Rick, are you still there?”

“Yeah,” Rick gargles somehow. He still hasn’t opened his eyes. But hey, at least he knows he’s not drowning, so that’s not all bad, right?

“Jolly good.”

Jonathan doesn’t say much after that. Either he talked himself breathless or it takes concentration to lug them both along and not be swept up by the current Rick can feel pulling at his legs. Damn. And people really swim in there!? Only mad dogs and Englishmen, like the song says.

Thankfully it doesn’t take them long before they wash up on the wharf. Good thing they drifted downstream a bit. Rick wouldn’t have liked his chances if the first thing they’d reached had been a seven-feet-tall quay, slippery as an eel.

When Rick finally feels solid ground he rolls onto his back and blinks his eyes open despite the headache. For a second it’s like nothing changes whether his eyelids are up or down. He experiences a short sharp stab of fear before realising that he’s just staring up at a cloudy London night sky. The Thames, when he raises his head a fraction, looks even darker, except for the winks of light where the crests of ripples catch the meagre light dripping from a lamppost somewhere behind them.

The bank underneath him feels cold and slimy and he doesn’t even need to look to know his clothes are coated with sludge. But it’s way better than the alternative.

Beside him, Jonathan is also sprawled on the ground, staring straight up. His chest is rising and falling quickly and deeply as he pants open-mouthed. He actually must be dead tired; nothing but sheer exhaustion can make him shut up, Rick thinks with something like the fond exasperation Evy gets in her voice when she talks about her brother, which was so foreign to him when he met the siblings.

“You all right?” he asks, and almost throws up. His tongue, his mouth, his throat taste like murky, brackish river water.

Jonathan’s head pivots a little. His stare shifts from the sky to Rick.

“Peachy, clearly,” he rasps. “But I should be the one to ask you, really, not the other way around. I’m not the one who got conked on the head and fell into the river. How’s the head?”

“I’ll be fine if we both use small words. What happened to cricket bat guy?”

“Damned if I know. I kicked him in the fork and jumped in after you while he was, er, otherwise occupied. He probably collected his colleague and their nasty little posters and buggered off after a while.”

Rick suppresses a laugh, which would be a really bad idea with a splitting headache and a stomach whose contents are sloshing back and forth like whisky in a tumbler. At a glance Jonathan looks like your garden-variety upper-class twit with more manners than sense, but that impression only goes skin-deep. He has no qualm whatsoever about playing dirty, especially if it means getting out of a scrape.

Or getting someone he actually cares about out of a scrape. This kind of little detail makes all the difference between him and guys like Beni Gabor, as Rick found out over the years.

“You know,” he says, still waiting for the headache to subside and the world to stop spinning – or at least slow down, “when you said you wanted to ‘go out for a drink’ I didn’t think you meant it like that.”

Jonathan snorts. “Well, I don’t. I prefer my drinks with a little more flavour and a little less sewage, thank you very much.” He lifts himself up on his elbows and sits up with a groan. “I might help myself to a whisky or two after this, though. For medicinal purposes. Lots of germs to kill.”

“Go ahead,” says Rick, who still hasn’t moved and doesn’t feel like moving – even though he probably should by now. “I’ll join you.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. You, my good son, are going straight to the hospital. I wasn’t exactly looking at my watch but I know you blacked out for longer than is wise.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“I know that. But that doesn’t mean you get to go home to lick your wounds like a cantankerous bear.”

Both the inflections and the words themselves are so familiar it doesn’t take long for Rick to dredge the memory from the chaos that is his mind. That’s what Evy said last time he got banged up. Which – fair point, even if it kinda feels like cheating.

Most of the time Evy and Jonathan are so different that it’s easy to forget they’re siblings. But every now and then they’ll have the same piercing squint, the same crooked grin, the same quirky turn of phrase, and the similarities hit you like a ton of bricks.

That he doesn’t feel up to arguing more than this tells Rick that a detour to a hospital is probably a good idea. He’s had his fair share of knocks on the head in his life, but there are delicate things in brains that don’t like being disturbed. Judging by the queasy rocking of his stomach, like he’s on a rolling ship instead of slumped on the ground, some things have been disturbed that shouldn’t have been.

He slowly – very slowly – half-rolls on his side and sits up. Then has to stop for a bit. Yeah, his brain definitely shouldn’t feel like it’s leaking out his ears. Even the poor light from the gas lampposts in the distance is loud.

Man, I hate concussions.

“Smaller words, please,” Rick mutters, fighting the urge to rub his eyes. When he opens them – again – he meets Jonathan’s and nods. Slowly.

“All right. But I phone Evy first.”

“St Bart’s has a phone, I can do that from there. Besides, opening with ‘Rick punched a fascist and fell into the Thames’ has a lot more entertainment value for me than ‘Good news, I’m still alive! Bad news, my car is now wrapped around a lamppost because the bloke I play poker with on Thursdays doesn’t like to lose’—”

“Jonathan?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Jonathan throws him a startled look. For a second the fear that made his voice shake while they were treading water – plus delayed reaction, Rick thinks – shows in his eyes, plain as day. He looks drained, his face white underneath the mud dripping from his hair and into his eyes, and he’s shivering about as badly as Rick is. But then his shoulders slump a little and he gives a small smile.

“You’re welcome. You pulled me out of the soup so many times, I couldn’t not try to pull you out of the drink. Next time you’re picking a fight with those blighters in the black shirts I might bring a bat myself, though.”

“I didn’t pick a fight with them,” Rick points out. Jonathan’s deadpan look as he slowly pulls him to his feet makes him say, “I didn’t! I just laughed at their stupid poster. Didn’t even throw a punch until that guy started ranting about the Jews.”

“I know. I might have taken the opportunity to stuff the rest of the wretched posters into their bucket of glue while they were distracted.”

Rick snorts and immediately regrets it. Some of what he’s feeling must be showing on his face, because Jonathan throws one of his arms over his own shoulder and doesn’t start walking until Rick is certain he’s not going to hurl and looks it. When Rick’s eyelids start to droop he slows down again.

“Don’t fall asleep on me now, old boy.”

“I’m not,” Rick mutters. “Just resting my eyes.” It’s not even a lie. They just passed a lamppost, and while the light looked dim from the edge of the river, the pool of gaslight they walked in stabbed his brain through his eyes.

Sleep is tempting, though, which is why he muses out loud, “Wait, what was that about your car and poker? At that time you said that was an accident!”

Jonathan winces. “So I did. Not one of my finer moments, I’m afraid. It’s rather a long story.”

“Well, we got time. Unless you’re planning to dump me in a taxi and go for that drink.”

“Exactly who do you take me for? All right, so that was around the time I used to patronise a nice little club in Covent Garden…”

Rick ends up paying for the taxi to the hospital, but the story is entertaining enough to stay awake for, even though, he suspects, the storyteller is glossing over certain details to make himself look good… ish. Jonathan’s grip on him is warm, and if it’s shaking a little he shows no sign of letting go. Which is a good thing, because while Rick used to be pretty good at winning bar brawls ten years ago in Cairo and be in good enough shape to limp home afterwards, he’d be in trouble right now if it was just him. Oh, he’d survive. But he wouldn’t necessarily enjoy it.

“Rick? Still awake?”

“Yeah,” Rick mumbles, and does his best to look like it. “Keep going.”

As lousy as he feels, he’s actually looking forward to the end of the story, and – much, much later, probably – a drink to celebrate punching fascists and not ending up a part of the Thames riverbed.

All in all, he really has had worse evenings.

___________

The title is in reference to Samuel Coleridge’s The Rime of the Ancient Mariner:

Water, water, everywhere, And all the boards did shrink; Water, water, everywhere, Nor any drop to drink.

It’s not really important, but this story is set in November 1934. British Fascists/Nazis were a thing: look up Oswald Mosley (who created the British Union of Fascists) and the Battle of Cable Street.

Jack Petersen was a British heavyweight champion in the early 1930s.

Re. Rick saying “taxi” rather than “cab” – I know, I know, Americans use “cab” where the British generally use “taxi”. But Rick hasn’t lived in the US for almost two decades at this point, so I stand by the word :D

I’ll be reblogging this shortly with the link to the story on AO3!

#the mummy #the mummy series #Rick O'Connell #Jonathan Carnahan #fanfiction #my stuff #ask reply #tinydooms

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real-jaune-isms · 3 years

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RWBY Volume 8 Chapter 8 Review/Remix

RWBY finally comes back from a 2 month break, and what does it do? It scares us all half to death and then obliterates the other half with insane new story concepts and body horror imagery. Gods I missed this show~...

We return to this chaotic mess with the scene you might be expecting the least, Qrow and Robyn in their prison cells. Qrow is awoken by the sound of ships and explosions outside, and find that his three block mates are similarly left sleepless. Jacques is particularly nervous, probably because he assumed Whitley would be here to bail him out by now. Qrow picks up on an incoming sound that sounds... different, and indeed a wall is blown down in a fiery explosions that starts sending down rubble. One section of the Hard Light cell walls have been taken down, but before anyone has time to act Robyn notices a crow vehemently cawing at her before some rubble comes down above her. And... that’s the last we see of Robyn or Qrow this episode. He transformed to be a smaller target for debris and she might not have made it out quickly enough even with his disguised possible warnings.

Back to more pressing matters, we take the perspective of... the Dragonborn in the opening of Skyrim?? Wait, no, it’s just Nora regaining consciousness to see Klein has given her an IV and is saying she’ll be on the mend real quick. So that’s some good news after a few months of worry, and hey! The fan theory was wrong, she didn’t go blind from the lightning! Before we can even dwell on her wellbeing for too long, Blake opens the door for Ruby Weiss and Whitley to carry in Penny’s unconscious body. As Blake points out, Penny is leaking a green fluid most likely comparable to blood. They set her down on a cot near Nora, and Whitley is pissed about getting his clothes stained again in the span of 48 hours. But I think robot fuel/blood is at least easier to wash out than red wine. Ruby of course wants to know if Klein can help Penny as well as he has Nora, but his wheelhouse of expertise does not cover advanced robotics. The saving grace is that Pietro made her so close to human so Klein has some idea what can actually be fixed, starting with sewing up the gash in her abdomen. A thunderous rumble is heard in the distance, and suddenly the lights go out. Whitely complains about this too, but it is rather valid. Nothing quite seems to be going right, even Atlas’ power grid is against them... Ruby gets a call from May, and we learn they parted ways so May could go regroup with the Happy Huntresses and save her city. They compare notes and it’s made clear a bombing run took out part of the city’s power, though less clear is who was doing that bombing, Atlas or the Grimm? Ruby apologizes for their current inaction while they tend to Penny, but May reassures her that this may end up being more productive than trying to find something worth doing outside the city. Great googly moogly, it’s all gone to shit, and there’s very little difference a few more huntresses can make to the Mantle efforts. Ruby is left in overwhelmed despair, there’s so many problems and she doesn’t know how to solve all of them. Klein butts in with a sneeze to say she should take it one problem at a time, focus on the most immediate and possible to achieve and work outwards. For one thing, it’d help a lot of they had lights and power.

Willow surprises everyone by showing up in the doorway to let them know about a backup generator on the edge of the estate property. She’s still the lady of this house, and she has enough self respect to not lie around getting drunk in the dark. Whitley greets her with a mix of disinterest and distain, and she notices Klein has returned to the manor and offers an off guard greeting. Weiss backs up her mom’s info drop with the fact that SDC executive members indeed have access to backup power sources if the city ever suffered a power outage like this. She doesn’t like that they have that kind of privilege while other folks suffer, but it’s for the greater good this time. This gets Whitley thinking, and my boy has a full Jimmy Neutron BRAIN BLAST! Since Jacques made him heir to the company, and the man himself is possibly dead under rubble, Whitely has full access to the Schnee Dust Company and all its resources. Since Ironwood put down the Dust embargo in Volume 4, their fleet of cargo ships are sitting empty and ready for use in a hangar. As we saw earlier this very chapter, there are automated drones that answer to the SDC rather than the Atlas military. They can use those ships and drone soldiers to give all the people stuck in Mantle a way out to fly away safely. Fantastic work, young man! You make your family proud... well, the family members who don’t commit war crimes for profit. But to do that they need the power back on so he can use Jacques’ computer, so that’s what Ruby and Blake set out to do. Getting inside the small building outside of the mansion is easy enough, and its just the flip of a switch to get the generator booting back up. In the meantime, the two share a genuinely sweet conversation. Blake reassures Ruby that the fact she’s trying to make things happen is all the world could ask of her, and an optimistic attitude like that is hard to stick with for long in this harsh world. Life in the White Fang and with Adam robbed Blake of her own similar mindset, but she truly admires and looks up to Ruby for how great a woman she is. Sadly, like most things, this moment is ruined by a Grimm. While all the lights are coming back on and Whitley gets to work, a bolt of lightning reveals that the Hound is just outside the window behind Ruby... Willow and Klein are casually sitting around waiting I guess, when they hear the loud crash of glass breaking and Willow reflexively reaches for her bottle of vodka. Weiss checks in on her teammates over comms and they tell her they need some help so she makes sure Whitley will have the business handled before she rushes out to save her friends. Ruby is getting tossed through a fresh hole in the wall, and Blake’s attempt to attack it while she regains her footing is just batted away. Blake assures Ruby that it’s just a Grimm, they can handle it as long as she can stay focused. Blake goes on the offensive again while Ruby tries to get her Silver Eyes going, but the Hound swats the Faunus girl away and tackles Ruby before sprouting its wings again with her in its clutches Blake uses the ribbon on her weapon to do what Ren had earlier in the Volume, though she anchors the other end in the ground as a tether rather than ride along as it leaves.

Weiss finally arrives at the scene of this chaos and reports the Grimm sighting back to Klein. Hearing the news of this beastly intruder leaves Willow so shaken she drops the bottle and glass she was pouring herself. Klein tries to reassure and calm her, but she’s too overwhelmed and runs out of the room... just as Penny reactivates with red eyes. Full on hacked now, and Klein gets shoved to the floor for all his concerns about her being on her feet again. But she barely takes two steps before the real Penny resurfaces and tries to fight back for control of her own body. The struggle is deep enough to summon a whirling wind around her much like Fria had last Volume, but this one is green because Penny. Back outside, Weiss is about to summon something when a couple Centinels burrow up behind her and tear through it. From the looks of it, I think it was going to be the Nevermore from all the way back in Volume 1, so that’s a pretty cool callback to how important that fight was, and the imagery of glowing wings behind her was beautiful while it lasted. The Hound breaks free of Blake’s tether and is about to soar away, much to her dismay, when it sees a bright green glow coming from in the manor, clearly Penny going through her identity crisis. Ruby puts two and two together and realizes why the Hound has been saying “Take the Girl.” The girl is Penny, whose blood is still on Ruby’s clothes so it got a little confused while tracking. She warns her teammates, but the Hound chooses that time to drop her like a sack of potatoes and there goes the last of her Aura. Blake tells Weiss to go back inside and stop the Hound while she handles the Centinels out here, and they split up, but before Blake can reach her leader a new creature erupts from the ground and it’s bigger and more gross than the last bugs. It spits acid that comes up through a tube along its belly, and I’m confident in calling it an Alpha Centinel. Back in the eye of the storm, Klein tries to reassure Penny that she’s okay, which is phrased a little but I assume he means as “you’re in a safe place and your injuries have been treated, you don’t need to defend yourself like this”. The man is just a butler, he doesn’t know what we do about her internal struggle against antagonistic programming and her wrestling with her sense of self. Whatever new orders Watts has given her, she really doesn’t want to follow them. Luckily, there’s someone at her side to comfort her and hold her hand, and that’s Nora. Passing along the comforting words she got from Blake earlier this Volume, she tells Penny she doesn’t have to just be and do what other people expect of her. She may feel like a part of her is making her do what she doesn’t want to, but don’t forget about the rest. She’s more than just that one part of her mind or persona. It’s nowhere near the same situation as Nora’s own identity crisis earlier, but the words have the same positive effect. Penny gains control again and the wind barrier subsides. Weiss reports in that the Hound is heading inside and she’s on her way to intercept, and gets the bad news that Willow fled the room to go who knows where. Well, we know now cuz we see it, she went to what I assume is her own bedroom (god forbid she and Jacques still share a bed after 8 years of the most sour their marriage has been). On her vanity there’s another bottle or two of booze, and her Scroll. She wants to retreat to what she knows best, but hesitates and then gets spooked by the shattering sound of the Hound breaking in through the window above the front door.

It picks up on Penny’s scent from the blood stained on the floor, but by the time Weiss charges in through the front door it’s gone. The next five minutes of the episode have major horror movie vibes, and I love it. Weiss slowly looks around the foyer for any sign of the beast, when Willow screams over her Scroll to look out above her and indeed the Hound drops down to backhand her into a piano. Instead of staying to attack her, it goes to follow Penny’s scent again and leaves Weiss to check in with her mom after that sudden warning. Biggest triumph thus far, Willow threw her bottle against a wall and instead pulled up the feed from her series of surveillance cameras around the manor on her Scroll to track the Hound. It’s near Winter’s old bedroom, and Willow doesn’t seem to understand that it’s tracking a scent like a bloodhound. Maybe she just doesn’t encounter Grimm a lot or they’re just usually not this competent and singularly focused. She recognizes the direction it’s heading next with great horror, and what we see next gives us that same dread. Whitley still has blood on his clothes, and he dismisses Willow’s warning cuz he probably doesn’t think she has anything to say worth hearing after his years of dealing with her drunken state. He’s almost done setting up the automated orders, when he hears the door starting to open and angrily snaps at what he assumes is Willow coming to check on him since he didn’t answer the call. But he is dead wrong and hides behind the desk immediately, because it is indeed the Hound come to potentially kill him. He’s doing his best to hide, but it expands its vocabulary to tell him it knows he’s here. Just as it’s about to round the corner, an Alpha Boarbatusk charges in and pins it to the wall. Weiss isn’t the only Schnee in the house who can summon, and Willow will not let her son die this day. He’s about to bolt out of the room while it’s preoccupied with the summon, but turns back to hit Yes on the computer and get the evacuation plans started. Good job kid, you did more to save Mantle than your father and Ironwood combined. The two sprint down the hall with the Hound in hot pursuit, but get some respite from an ice wall forming between them and the Grimm thanks to Weiss arriving from the opposite direction. She’s out of breath, but assures them she didn’t forget about either of them, most likely as a callback to the conversation she and Willow had last Volume about Whitley being left behind when Weiss and Winter sought independence. The unarmed Schnees express their gratitude and retreat from that wing of the house, and Weiss prepares her summons for combat with the beast breaking through the ice.

Back outside, Blake is struggling with the Alpha Centinel and complains about how gross it is. She avoids its scythe blade-like arms with some clever use of elementally charged shadow clones and begs for Ruby to wake up and give her some backup. But that can’t last forever and eventually it holds her by the neck ready to slice. Before it can, though, Ruby wakes up and bisects it first. She laughs weakly and tells Blake she heard what she was saying. They hear a scream coming from inside the mansion and head inside to meet up with the others. Weiss and the Hound hear it too, and the Hound stops doing its best “Here’s Johnny” impression through the hole in the ice to go chase down this new sound. We see the source of it, and it is in fact Penny losing control of herself again to the new programming. The red eyes stay this time, and she shoves Klein aside once again to stiffly and mechanically walk out to the foyer. As fate would have it, Willow and Whitely are there too, and they naturally question the fact that she’s emotionlessly walking past them when last they saw she was bleeding and unconscious. She responds that she’s going to open the vault, and then apparently self destruct. Not to state the obvious, but we really can’t let that happen so lets hope the power of love will break through to her. Before Penny can even get down the stairs, the Hound arrives to try and grab her and she catches his hand effortlessly, and then the other, so they’re stuck in a shoving match stalemate. The Hound solves this problem by growing a new arm out of its back and using it to grab Penny by the head. It slams her around like a ragdoll, still repeating “Take the Girl”, and holds a claw up to her throat when RWB arrive at the bottom of the stairs. Blake and Weiss are unsure how to intervene, but Ruby goes stone cold serious telling it that’s enough. In the literal blink of her eye, a Silver Eyed blast blinds it and sends it falling out the window behind it leaving Penny to tumble down the stairs unconscious again. They hope and pray the threat is over as they check her body, but the real horror starts now.

The Hound claws his way back up through the window, and part of his head has been blasted away to reveal a dog faunus with one intact silver eye. In a voice likely not used in a long time, he continues to repeat his orders to “Take the Girl...” Ruby is mortified and shell shocked to see a living person within the frame of this beast unlike any she’s known prior, and I’m sure the wheels in her mind are turning to wonder if Summer Rose suffered a similar undying fate at Salem’s hands... and if that’s what will happen to her if she is captured? He begins shambling towards them and they try to carry Penny away from him but end up cornered. Whitley gets an idea and he and Willow start pushing on the knight statue nearest to them. Just as the Hound, whose human portion I have been inspired by a podcast to call Johnny, is about to grab the girls the statue falls down and crushes him to death. A choir chants in Latin as the Grimm fades away... and for the first time leaves behind a skeleton. Ruby seems shaken to her core as she confirms to the others that that was in fact a person they saw in there.

Ending that side of the story entirely for the week, we go back to the rubble in the jail cell to see Cinder has found Watts and the two make a flying get away. So that’s fun, we’ll have to see if they make it back in time to intercept JRY trying to sneak through Monstra. Until then, I’m gonna sleep like the dead. Ciao!

#rwby reviews #qrow branwen #robyn hill #arthur watts #jacques schnee #nora valkyrie #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #penny polendina #klein sieben #whitley schnee #willow schnee #the hound #tw: body horror #horror elements

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mrslittletall · 4 years

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Prompt: Chained to a Bed

Fandom: Bloodborne Characters: Laurence the first Vicar/Ludwig the Holy Blade, Vicar Amelia Word Count: 3.069 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18718291/chapters/60727141

Summary: Laurence, the halfbeast, wakes up chained to a bed, asking himself how he got into this situation.

(Author's note: So, this is part of an AU. In this AU, Laurence pretty much managed to stop his beastly scourge last second, but was left stuck in a half transformed body, mainly beastly teeth, left arm and antlers. He wanted to share the cure he found with the population, but got horribly slandered and now has to fight against his inner beast and the very same church that he started.)

Written for @badthingshappenbingo The prompts marked with blood vials have already been filled out, the ones marked with madmen’s knowledge are planned. Feel free to suggest scenarios for the unmarked prompts.

Laurence woke up with a terrible headache and equally terrible nausea. His first thought was that probably had overdone it with drinking, but then he remembered that he didn't had any alcohol at all last night... It was strange, Laurence didn't remember at all what he had done before falling asleep... or passing out? He didn't know.

Laurence opened his eyes a crack only to close them immediately again because it was far too bright for him. The light made his head throb and his nausea even worse. He raised a hand to cover his mouth and rub his temples, but he couldn't get it far, seeming to be restricted by chains, if the rattling sound was any indication.

“Laurence, are you awake?”, the voice of Ludwig sounded next to Laurence. “How are you feeling?”

Laurence needed a while before he could answer, swallowing down bile that threatened to rise from his throat. “Put out the lights, please.”, he murmured after what had felt like several minutes.

“Oh, of course.”, Ludwig said. Laurence heard him rustle around for a while and then he spoke: “The lights are out, Laurence.”

For the second time after he awoke, Laurence opened his eyes, breathing out a sigh of relief when the absence of light didn't make his head throb this time around. Unfortunately, that didn't mean that his headache and especially his nausea had gone away.

Laurence gaze travelled down to his arm. “Ludwig, what the fuck?!”, he said as he saw that his arm in fact was chained to the bed by the wrist. He slowly turned his gaze to the other side only to be rewarded by the same sight. That arm was the beastly one, so it got restricted even more, with three of four chains wrapped around. Laurence could barely move his claws. He further assumed that his feet weren't free either and as he tried to move them, the rattling of chains and the clear constrict told him that he was indeed completely chained to a bed. “Explain this.”, Laurence nearly whispered. He was upset, he wanted to scream, he wanted an explanation, but he also felt terribly weak. That he felt like minutes away from puking didn't help to lift his mood at all.

“So, Laurence, I know what you are thinking...”, Ludwig said. “But we had to restrain you for your own and our safety. Do you remember what you did yesterday?”

“Um...”, Laurence said, trying to recall his memory. What had it been indeed? “I think... I wanted to dissect... a corpse?”, it came more out as a question. Laurence kind of remembered that he had picked up a scalpel and the only two reasons for it would be either doing an autopsy or doing surgery.

“Yes, correct, you wanted to dissect the corpse we brought in to further research the beastly scourge and improve on the medicine.”, Ludwig said. “But... the moment you cut it open, you... lost control. When we tried to stop you, you became aggressive and the only way to calm you down was by restricting you..”

“...”, Laurence was at a loss for words. He had lost himself, huh? The traces of the beastly scourge inside him. While he had succeeded in stopping the transformation, it had already affected him. His left arm, his antlers and his teeth were proof. As well as losing himself how Ludwig had put him. A scary thought. However, he was back now and he really wished that he could move elsewhere, because his nausea didn't seem to do him the favour to just go away.

“So... why don't you untie me now?”, Laurence said, swallowing hard as he felt more bile rise.

“We can't.”, Ludwig said. “We have to make sure first that you are truly back. Laurence, that yesterday... that was dangerous. For anyone involved. We were lucky that nobody got seriously hurt.”

“...Ludwig, but what is when I need to get up?”, Laurence murmured, really wishing that he could clamp a hand on his mouth. He could feel how his mouth started to water, it was inevitable. It would happen.

“Do you need the bathroom?”, Ludwig asked, having the right trail of thoughts, just a tiny bit off.

“Don't need a piss.”, Laurence said and then added as quickly as he could: “I am gonna puke.”

Luckily, Ludwig did had a bucket nearby, if for the case of puking or for the case if Laurence really would have needed the bathroom, he didn't know, but he was glad that he wasn't vomiting on his clothes or on the bed he was lying in. Ludwig helped holding up his upper body with one hand while the other was holding the bucket, helping Laurence to get rid of the contents of his stomach while being restrained as best as possible.

Laurence had the feeling that he had puked for half an hour or longer until his stomach calmed down. He still held his head close to the bucket, breathing heavily as he felt how Ludwig wiped his mouth, probably cleaning up any vomit that had run down.

“I should get you some water.”, Ludwig said, but before he could stood up, Laurence stopped him.

“Wait... I don't know... if finished...”, he brought out, still feeling a lingering nausea, afraid that his stomach would act up again. Ludwig sat back down and rubbed Laurence' back.

As Laurence' body slowly calmed down from the efforts of puking his guts out, he got a good peak into the bucket and froze at he contents. The first thing he noticed was how red it was... had he puked blood?! Then he noticed a lump that looked like raw flesh and then... something that dangerously looked like human skin.

“Ludwig...”, Laurence said, realization dawning. “Have I...?”

“Yes, Laurence.”, Ludwig replied. “We found you busy devouring the corpse you wanted to dissect. And.. and when we tried to stop you, you were losing it.”

“...Have I hurt anyone?”, Laurence asked, head laying down back on the bed, his gaze wandering to his claws. At least there wasn't any blood on them, but it could be that Ludwig had simply wiped them clean.

“Fortunately not.”, Ludwig said. “You were more protective of your, uh, meal. But, and that was the problem, you wouldn't let us get closer and let it take away from you. It was getting so worse that you started to attack me and I had to knock you out.”, Ludwig averted his gaze and fidgeted with his hands in his lap. “I am sorry, Laurence. Amelia had to stitch up the wound.”

“Ugh, that explains why my head hurts so much.”, Laurence said. He probably had a bandage around his head when he needed stitches. Laurence would have liked to check, but with his arms being restricted, he couldn't.

“Do you want some medicine...”, Ludwig said. “Also, has your stomach calmed down? Would you like some water as well?”

Laurence contemplated Ludwig's words for a moment and closed his eyes for a few seconds, determining that his stomach indeed was emptied out. Now that the shock and the pain were slowly fading away, he became hyper aware of the taste in his mouth. Acid and blood. Yuck.

“Yes, please.”, Laurence said. “No medicine... just water.”

Ludwig nodded and left the room, leaving Laurence alone, who didn't had much choice as to look at the wall. At least Ludwig had only chained his arms and legs to the bed and not his complete body, but he still felt utterly restrained. Laurence asked himself if the measurements were still necessary, he had snapped out of it, hadn't he? He would ask Ludwig if he could get released once he came back. If Ludwig had intended for Laurence to be chained to the bed the whole day, he would need help with everything. Eating, drinking, bathroom breaks... he couldn't even read a book on his own and Ludwig was such a slow reader. If he really had to stay restrained the whole day, Laurence should consider to ask Amelia to keep him company.

Ludwig came back with a glass of water and Amelia in tow. Funny, just as Laurence had thought about her. She had once been a blood saint, but had started to study medical practices and picked up quickly on them. For a girl of sixteen years, she was the best doctor they could get.

“Laurence, how are you feeling?”, Amelia asked, her mouth smiling but her eyes were nothing but worry.

“Sore.”, Laurence said. “Bad taste in my mouth. Though I am glad what I ate isn't in me anymore.”

“Let me help you wash out your mouth.”, Ludwig said, sitting down on the bed and once again helping Laurence to sit up as good as he could with his arms being restrained, guiding the glass to his lips and offering a new bucket to spit out. Laurence shuddered when he still saw a bit of leftover blood and flesh mixed with the water.

“How much do you remember?”, Amelia asked, sitting down on the bed next to Ludwig, holding a clipboard which she probably got from Florence, pen in her right hand. It seemed like she wanted to make notes.

“Nothing.”, Laurence replied after Ludwig had wiped his mouth because some water had run down his chin. “I was picking up the scalpel to cut in the corpse and the next thing I remember is waking up, being restrained as I am now.”

“I see... so complete memory loss... of course that could be due to your head injury. Ludwig had to hit you quite hard. I needed five stitches to close the wound.”, Amelia said as she scribbled down a few things.

“Five? Was I bleeding that bad?”, Laurence said, feeling how the blood vanished from his face. It had never been a problem when he still had used the old blood, but without it, his old chronic problem of having anemia came back and... whenever he was bleeding more than a normal amount, it usually left him feeling quite bad.

“Don't worry, I was treating the wound right away.”, Amelia said. “You didn't had the chance to bleed too much. You still should lie down and take it easy for a while, at least today.”

“Well, it isn't like I could go anywhere.”, Laurence said and then turned his attention to Ludwig. “Ludwig, is it really necessary to chain me down like that? I promise I won't go anywhere, I just would like to have it comfortable.” And be able to do things on my own., he thought but didn't add.

“I am sorry, Laurence, but like I said earlier, that won't be possible.”, Ludwig said, trailing a hand along Laurence' cheek and brushing one of his curls out of his face. It was smelling good, Ludwig's smell was surrounding Laurence. Laurence could have basked in this sense forever, how he wish he could just take a little nibble out of this rough, coarse hands...

“Laurence, what are you doing...?”, Ludwig asked and when Laurence opened his eyes he noticed that he had Ludwig's finger in his mouth. Biting down on it, sweet blood netting his tongue. Laurence gasped and let go.

“Ludwig, I am so sorry.”, Laurence said, “You.. you were smelling so good and I... I...” wanted to taste you. Laurence didn't dare to finish the sentence.

“And that is why we have to keep you restrained. I am sorry, Laurence.”, Ludwig said another time, pressing a handkerchief on his bleeding finger. Laurence secretly wished he would just put a bandage on it. That smell... it was making him wild. It was so sweet, too sweet.

“Let me take a look at that.”, he heard Amelia say and his gaze wandered to her small hands taking Ludwig's big one. Without even thinking, Laurence growled. How dared she trying to steal his prey?

Both Amelia and Ludwig stared at him, at this inhuman sound he had produced and then stood up and moved a bit further away. Laurence screeched and wanted to get up, lunging at the both of them, get more, more of that sweet taste, quenching that hunger that he felt, but the rattling of chains brought him back to reality, he was complete and utterly restrained. Laurence could only react by starting to whine as that restriction, his prey would get away.

“Sedatives...”, he heard someone say. “Let's try out some sedatives.”

He could hear footsteps going away and growled in growing frustration about not being able to leave, pulling at the chains and try his damn hardest to just get out, go after the sweet smell, the prey. The blood, he needed to taste the blood. The flesh. The smell was so sweet that he had the feeling it would make him sick.

“Laurence...”

There was his prey again, coming back, to let him have a bite. Laurence wanted, no, needed it. He lowly screeched at the realization that he was too far away, that he couldn't finish what he started. He rattled at his chains, it must be possible to break them!

“I am so sorry, Laurence, but I will need to manhandle you now.”, his prey sighed. Laurence couldn't see him, but his whole senses seemed to have taken over by smell, so he knew that he was near. Laurence growled and spit as he felt being pressed against he bed, fighting with all his might against the new restraint. Wasn't it enough that his arms and legs were chained? Why was he prohibited to hunt?! It was even worse when he felt a hand on his mouth, there it was, that sweet smell and taste he craved so much. Laurence opened his mouth, to ram his teeth into his prey... only to feel how something wet and bitter, that was definitely not blood, landed on his tongue.

Laurence' face scrunched up and he was on the verge of spitting whatever that had been out, but then the hand covered his mouth again, tightly.

“I need you to swallow this, Laurence.”

Laurence trashed around a bit more, trying to rebel against the insane weight holding him down, but ultimately he had to swallow before he would choke.

In an instant, the fog over Laurence' eyes lifted and he blinked, once, twice, at Ludwig's relieved face over him.

“By the holy moonlight, it worked.”, Ludwig breathed out. “Here I thought we had lost you to the beast, Laurence.”

“...What happened?”, Laurence asked, memory hazy. He only remembered that he had been hungry and that there was some food he wanted to eat, but got denied. Or was that a dream?

“Oh, don't worry about it.”, Ludwig said, hugging Laurence. “The important thing is, we can get you back with sedatives.”

Oh... so that had happened. He had lost himself again and this time, he hadn't been satisfied with just a corpse.

“Ludwig.”, Laurence said, tears dwelling in his eyes. “I am so sorry.”

“You aren't at fault, Laurence.”, Ludwig said, wiping away the tears that threatened to fall. “It was the beast inside of you.”

“But... but...”, Laurence voice quivered. “The blood, the church. That was all me. If I had never... If I had never brought the blood, this all wouldn't have happened!”

“Laurence, I know things aren't easy for you right now.”, Ludwig said, carefully stroking over Laurence' hair. “But I know you are giving your best. You want to fix your mistake. Despite being stuck in a half transformed body and despite having been slandered.”

“The worst thing is, half of these slanders are true.”, Laurence sobbed, but relaxed a bit under Ludwig's care. “If I just would have tossed the blood into the lake.”

“I, for once, am glad that you didn't.”, Ludwig said, making Laurence stop shivering, staring at his boyfriend with disbelief.

“Ludwig, how can you say that?!”

“If you wouldn't have brought the blood over, we would have never met.”, Ludwig said, giving Laurence a smile. “You are one of the best things that ever happened to me and I mean that, Laurence. Please don't let a minor setback get you down. I know that you can pull this whole situation around.”

“L.. Ludwig...” While Laurence had barely avoided crying for the last few minutes, hearing these words made the dam break. Ludwig sat with him until his tears dried, wiping his face with a handkerchief occasionally until only a few sobs remained.

“Are you feeling better?”, Ludwig asked. Laurence just nodded, throat feeling utterly dried out from crying so much.

“You know what? I think it is save to take your chains off.”, Ludwig said, presenting a key. “Would you like to move around a bit? Maybe getting a glass of water without me helping you?”

Laurence couldn't help but chuckle at the way Ludwig was teasing him. “I very much would like that, yes.”, he said, but then frowned. What if he would lose himself again? “But... are you sure?”

“Yes, I can feel it. You are not in danger to lose yourself anymore.”, Ludwig nodded. “Besides, Amelia carried together all the data and we are pretty sure that blood is your trigger. We would need to make a few more tests to be sure, but not for now. We decided to keep blood away from you and sedatives near. That should help getting you back into control and not letting the beast take over.”

“Blood.. it's always the blood.”, Laurence murmured. “Ludwig... thanks for being so patient with me...”

Instead of saying anything, Ludwig just bowed down to give Laurence a kiss. “Of course. Someone needs to keep an eye on you. And I gladly fulfil that role.” (Author's note: I want to write more scenarios in this AU. I probably use it once or twice for remaining squares on this card. That Amelia wasn't there anymore at the end was, because Ludwig went alone into the room, deeming it better to not put her in danger if Laurence would manage to break free.)

#badthingshappenbingo #chained to a bed #bloodborne #laurence the first vicar #ludwig the holy blade #laulu #vicar amelia #littlewritesstuff

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qwertythepopstarian08 · 5 years

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Feeling Blue, Part 2

Finally! FB Part 2 is done!

This was a bit of a hassle to get through, and I’m still not entirely sure I like how the battle scene turned out, but it’s here! The battle’s pretty short, but there’s a ton of feels in this chapter, and I’m pretty proud of it. Hope you enjoy!

Description: A run-in with an old foe makes Fresh rethink his choices.

Warning for slight angst and canon-typical violence. Also, Lycan is a bit of a brat.

The familiar beat of Lycantropy’s song thrummed in the air. Lava spewed from the craters beneath them, an inferno of liquid flame searing all that it touched. The corrupted blossom thrived in the heat, however, their spiky fur bristling with excitement.

It was a setup for a true battle, the threatening song shaking the very ground with a bass-heavy beat.

Blue stood their guard, their claw-arms tensed. They didn’t want to fight, but…

The wolffish blossom cackled, “This oughta be fun, heehee! I haven’t had a real fight since that little square.”

Blue felt Fresh shudder behind them. They stole a glance behind themselves to flash a reassuring smile, although they couldn’t hide their own nervousness. Tears had welled up in his eyes, and his gaze had adopted a haunted, distant glaze. He was lost in bad memories, fearful of the enemy before them.

Before the cube could react, Lycan suddenly pounced. A spray of lava followed them as they rushed forth, claws outstretched. The cube sidestepped narrowly, yet Lycan seemed to foresee this, catching their arm in a painful grip. They dragged Blue down with themselves, sending them both tumbling towards a pool of lava.

Painfully, pink raced up the cube’s arms. Lycan could no longer harm them with their powers, but the lava was hot enough to singe.

Fresh leapt to his feet, rushing to catch them. “Blue, no!” He managed to narrowly grab the edge of their jacket, the fabric snagging on his claws. Lycanthropy was sent flying from the inertia, nearly landing in the lava only to catch themselves on a nearby rock. A relieved sigh left Fresh, and he stood, approaching the wild blossom.

Blue stood shakily, a frown spreading across their features. Some of Fresh’s normal demeanor seemed to return as the formerly pink shape made his way towards Lycanthropy, his eye glowing in anger.

He stopped when he was only a few inches away from the blossom, casting a threatening shadow over their form. Even in his harmless, blue state, he still gave off an aura of danger, showing that, although he couldn’t hurt anyone with magic, he was willing to put up a fight.

“Now, listen, you spiky mutt,” he hissed. Lycan scrambled to their feet, their ears flattening in fear. Fresh’s voice lowered to a gravelly snarl as he continued, “Blue didn’t ask for a fight, so-”

“You’re one to talk, cyclops!”

He was cut off as Lycan suddenly pounced forth, screeching. Their music blared with violent intent as they clawed at their opponent. Eye wide, Fresh scrambled backwards, hollering. The pink blossom’s very touch hurt, and not just from their spikes.

Each inch of his form burned from the mere contact, and he suddenly knew exactly how Cyan felt. As a blue shape, he was now deathly vulnerable to pink. Startled, he managed to throw Lycan off, landing a solid punch to the creature’s midsection for good measure.

The beastly blossom was sent flying, slamming against a stalactite before tumbling to the cave floor, crumpling like a battered insect. As suddenly as it had began, the music faded out, stuttering like a broken record before dropping into silence.

Blue watched, tense, wondering what would happen next. Fresh scowled down at the defeated blossom, although he made no move to attack, his offensive stance dropping.

After a moment, Lycan twitched, groaning. “You… you’re in for it…” Their voice shook, muffled. “When I stand… up…”

They attempted to stand, to be stopped by a hand. They looked up, seeing Barracuda looming over them, a haunted look in his eye.

Voice low, he breathed, “That will be enough, Lycan.” His tone dropped to a low, warning inflection. “There is no need to fight.”

The blossom opened their mouth to retort, although the snake-like shape’s glare was enough to subdue them. Growling, they relented, allowing themselves to be picked up by the triangle, held in their arms like a doll.

They pouted like a petulant child, ears flattening against their head. Barracuda slithered back to his previous perch, mirthful glint shining in his eye.

He turned to look at Blue. “I apologize for Lycan. They get very… fiesty around visitors nowadays.” He added with a small growl, “No thanks to your friend.” A slight concern filled the triangle’s voice as he looked over at Fresh, who seemed to be staring into space again, his anger having worn off. “Speaking of the nuisance, are you alright, Fresh?”

The formerly pink shape failed to respond. He stared towards the wall where he’d thrown Lycanthropy. Still as a statue, he seemed to be focused on his own arms, his gaze darting between the singed wall and his hands.

Worried, Blue called, “Fresh…?” After his momentary return to normal, the idea of a relapse made the cube nauseous.

The magenta tint that had previously spread up their limbs retreated, banished by their normal, nervous blue shade. Approaching Fresh slowly, they tapped him on the shoulder, slowly turning him around, hoping that his gaze would be filled with something other than a lost, empty glaze.

What they saw was much worse.

Even Lycan could be heard gasping as the formerly pink shape turned around. His eye was watery and wide, a deep fear clear in his gaze, which Blue followed to see his arm.

A spiderweb of fractures lined his arm, like a network of broken pieces. The fissures glowed very faintly, sizzling with fresh, magenta energy, energy that had burned and broken that part of Fresh’s form. The breaks started at his palms, racing up to his elbows like gauntlets of pain.

Eyes wide, Blue held their friend’s damaged limb, careful not to aggravate the wounds. Filled with concern, they questioned him, “Are you okay?” The answer was obvious, but they felt it was a nice sentiment.

They gently guided Fresh by the arm towards one of the larger, rounded rocks, where Barracuda leaned forward to inspect the injuries.

Still cradled in Barracuda’s arms, Lycanthropy piped up, “He’s definitely not okay, heehee!” Their voice became squeaky with sadistic glee as they cheered, “He’s gonna shatter, he’s gonna shatter!”

That earned them a passive-aggressive pluck in the ear by Barracuda, who glowered down at them before returning his gaze to Fresh. He tilted his head, eye narrowing.

The triangles above Blue’s head tilted downward, flickering in fear. They voiced their anxiety, frowning. “He’s not going to…” They couldn’t say the word without breaking down, but Barracuda seemed to understand, shaking his head with a sigh.

“Of course he’s not going to shatter. It took your small square friend at least three good hits to break, right?” At Blue’s nod, the elder triangle hummed, “Then Fresh will be fine. His body is just adjusting to being blue, that is all. As long as nothing else happens, he will recover.”

Lycan took the opportunity to scramble onto Barracuda’s head, batting at his face with their pawlike hands. “You know I’m gonna make trouble for ya, kitty cat!” They kept cackling even as Barracuda grabbed them again, holding them in a restraining bear-hug. “Serves him right, serves him right!”

Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Barracuda addressed Blue again, his tone mildly irritated. “It appears to be obvious that neither of us can help much.” He ‘stood’ to his full height, slithering over to eye the wagon full of equipment that Blue had brought. “So… now that both parties have done their part… you may leave.”

Blue felt their cheeks flush with annoyance. Crossing their arms, they growled, “We just got here, though!” They reached for the wagon with an indignant huff, only for a group of Barracuda’s snakes to block the way, hissing. The creatures had materialized from a bright magenta magic, their glow resonating with a threatening aura. Blue looked back to the triangle, arguing, “All you did was hurt Fresh!”

Barracuda hummed in mild amusement, “I helped to the best of my ability, little cube.” He chuckled darkly, his eye glowing in the dim light, “And I refuse to let you leave without payment.”

The cube lingered, glaring at the constructs, although they ultimately relented, grabbing Fresh’s hand and beginning to drag him out. “If you can’t help us,” they started. “Then so be it.”

They stormed out of the cave, already feeling their internal power spike with anger. It was a minor anomaly, although the cube wanted to leave as soon as possible, lest they cause another battle.

They weren’t entirely sure how much more they could take before breaking down, their nerves on edge from the situation itself. Fresh didn’t seem to notice the slight shudder of their arms, too focused on his own predicament to care.

Blue felt a twinge of sympathy for him; unlike Cyan, who was used to being thrown around, Fresh’s only experience with being almost shattered was during the incident. Fueled by nothing but rage and leeching off of the Treeangle’s power, the tyrannical shape had attempted to blast Cyan into oblivion.

It had been a miracle that the little square had survived, even with their odd ability to rewind time, to defy death. In retaliation, the empowered square had given Fresh exactly what he’d dished out, cracking his fearsome Annihilate form like an eggshell.

As they exited the recesses of the volcano, Blue breathed a sigh of relief, glad to be free of the lava-spewing cavern. They glanced over at Fresh, who seemed to be lost in thought, cradling his injured arm.

Before they could ask if he was okay, however, the formerly pink being spoke up, his voice airy. “This is hopeless.” His catlike ears had folded back, showing his despair. There was a quiver in his tone, his eye watery and unfocused as he whispered, “Let’s just go home, Blue. No one’s going to help us.”

Blue shook their head wildly, crossing their arms. “That’s not true, and you know it!” They scowled, disappointed with their friend’s desolate attitude. “You’ve proven more than enough times that you don’t just give up when someone tells you no.”

That seemed to strike a chord. Fresh looked up, his frown twitching. The light in his gaze seemed to reignite, if only for a second, before he looked away again, sighing. “You don’t have’ta remind me, y’know.” He hugged himself, voice wavering. “I’m stubborn, yeah, but… I think it’s time to throw in the towel on this one, Q-Bee. I’m just blue forever, now.”

Fresh felt as shards of his body flaked away, watching with dim eyes as his very form glitched out and cracked, hair-thin fissures spreading across his arm. It hurt to move, and each sting of pain sent a wave of guilt rushing through him. And yet… he could only watch, powerless to stop it.

He’d broken and corrupted countless other shapes during his rampage. Cyan still didn’t trust him, and Lycan’s friend, Leyland, that poor cactus whom he’d battered for no reason other than the fact that she was in his way, was still terrified of him.

He’d scattered the shards of helpless shapes in a path of destruction, leaving deep scars, both physical and emotional, that would never heal. Even those who had just been corrupted still held echoes of their tainted powers, including Blue.

To him, it felt like retribution to be subjected to a powerless existence.

Voice soft, Fresh restated, “It’s fine, Blue. Like I said before, it’s probably for the best.” He averted his gaze, trying to hide the tears in his eye. “At least I can’t hurt anybody anymore.”

There was no answer besides the faint whistle of the wind. Confused, the formerly pink shape looked up, expecting to see Blue frowning at him, preparing to scold his attitude again. Despite their own easily saddened disposition, the cube always tried to cheer him up, if only to see someone smile. The lack of retort puzzled Fresh, but when he looked around, he realized the reason behind the silence.

No one answered him… because Blue had already left.

No one was there, and Fresh was all alone.

#just shapes and beats #jsab #fresh #lycanthropy #barracuda #blue #chill #Chill Out AU #Oh Look a Story Thing #the plot thickens

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axel-writes · 6 years

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The old Gods are dead, chapter one - mobile users

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I noticed I’ve never made a post for this chapter for those who are mainly using the app ^^” So here you go :)

The Mardale forest was a vast, misty and ancient forest. Its canopy was dominated by birches, sycamores, and hawthorn trees, and abundant dancing lights would bounce through their crowns for colourful shrubs to grow in the boulder covered grounds below. A variety of beastly sounds, most of which were fleeing animals, echoed in the air, and formed a chaotic orchestra with the croaks of frogs in the nearby ponds. Silent climbing plants waved from every tree, and a hodgepodge of flowers, which clung to any space they could find, added more life in the otherwise amber forest grounds.

Raven hated the Mardale forest. Through his eyes of an eight years old child, they were walking through a dark and eerie forest in the early morning of that day. The trees were too tall making him dizzy each time he was trying to see their crown and their branches were looking more like arms reaching for his throat than branches. He wanted to go home, far away from here and go back in his bed where he knew he was safe but telling that to his mother now would only upset her more than she already was.

He looked up to his mother. Silver short hair like his covered a bony face with narrow green eyes that were focused on the path before them, determined, her hand tightly closed on his, almost crushing his bones. Freckles were spread across her tawny face and neck, freckles he remembered spending time counting them one after one before going to bed. Her chapped lips once pink, smooth and always smiling were now shut in a tight line, moving and forming words he wasn't paying attention to every now and then. She looked upset with her furrowed brows, he could feel it in the way she was walking faster, and faster, turning left and right walking even further from the path Raven knew they had to keep on following. Her mother and father were always reminding him to never leave the path, why doing it today?

"Mama? Where are we going?"

"Picking blackberries, remember?" She said without looking at him, her voice showing no emotion. "We must pick enough to sell them on the market and buy food. Hurry now, we're soon there."

They had thought that living near the royal capital, Vaneria, would make their life better, they had thought they would find a way out of poverty. But none of what they had wished for happened. His father was always out during the day and would only come back late in the nigh with only bad news and a gloomy face. His mother even had had to cut her beautiful long hair and sell them for a good price as silver was a rare shade of hair in the whole country. But it hadn't been enough. And then came a day Raven had learned to hate, a day something awoke in him. Something terrifying.

It had happened overnight, without warning, without giving them time to adjust to the situation.

Like every other day, Raven had been helping his mother with chores around the house, helping her fetch clear water from their well. He had then dragged the bucket with his tiny hands back to their house while being careful to not drop water on the ground. Water was scarce in some areas of Obreau, especially in Kilead, their hometown and they had been lucky enough to have a well. It was their little treasure. Raven had put the bucket on the small table just beside the fireplace, his hands flat on each side of it, his hazel eyes focused on the tiny waves.

He had felt something warm flow through his veins and tickle his fingertips as he was watching the water dance. The sounds around him were distant, he could barely hear the birds singing outside, or even the crackling fire. He was focused on the water inside the bucket which was now whirling slowly, then even more quickly when it started to boil.

"Raven?" His mother called him while getting down the ladder leading to his room, a broom in hand. "What are you doing, sweetheart?" He didn't answer. She walked to him, then placed a hand on his shoulder, before caressing the back of his neck. She frowned when Raven didn't move, nor laugh. He was ticklish there, he should have reacted.

She turned him around and couldn't help a scream to cross her lips. His eyes were rolling into the back of his head and tiny black dots looking like constellations were on his shoulders. When she was a little girl, she had heard many stories about people like that. They could use abilities they would call 'magic', some could control the elements, other could wiped away a thought by a single touch on someone's forehead, other could manifest their powers as blue flames or sparks at their fingertips. Those stories her mother and father would tell her had always scared her. How could the gods allow beings like them to live in Obreau? Were they their punishment? Did Obrean people anger the gods? And why was it happening to her son? Raven was her only child, she had loved him like every mother should, was raising him as well as she could despite their poverty. What could she have done wrong so that the gods would hate her that much and give her a monster for son?

When Raven had finally come back to his senses, he didn't understand why his mother was crying, huddled up on herself, screaming at him to stay away from her. He couldn't understand why the bucket was now empty.

Later that day, he heard them talk about him while he was supposed to be sleeping. He heard them call him 'monster', he heard them say they would have to find a solution, heard them say they couldn't live like that with fear gnawing them from the inside. It could happen again, he could do something worse, hurt them. They didn't talk to him for days and only watched his every movement in case one of his 'absence' would happen again. They didn't talk to him until that morning when they told him a walk through the forest to go pick some fruits would be a good start for the day.

"How lucky we are," she said without even looking at him. "They're full. Stay here, I forgot to bring a bucket. Don't move from here, your father will come soon. Don't move, you hear me?"

"Mama, you're scaring me," Small tears were running on his cheeks as she turned her back on him, walking further from him.

'Don't move!' was the only thing he heard from her before he couldn't see her shape anymore.

Raven started to pick some blackberries, putting them in his shirt and his pockets knowing they would be mad if he'd done nothing while they were gone. He didn’t know how long they would take to come back and hoped with all his heart that he wouldn’t have to stay alone here for a long time. Hearing the wind through the leaves was scary, seeing the bushes move from the corner of his eyes was terrifying. Anything could come out of there and jump on him. Maybe it only was a rabbit, or maybe it was a wolf patiently waiting for the right moment. Waiting for the right moment to jump on him and bite his throat. No one would be there to help him. He would die alone in a forest he hated.

Raven couldn’t tell how many minutes, hours, went by before the thought of his parents never coming back crossed his mind. He should have known it, their behaviour towards him should have warned him. Since that incident with the bucket, his mother had stopped telling him bedtime stories, she had stopped taking him to the market with her. She had stopped telling him how much she loved her little boy, had stopped hugging him. It wasn’t different with his father. Each time he was in the same room as his father, each time he was meeting his eyes, Raven could see them glisten with sadness, disgust, fear. The words he was saying to him when he would finally talk to his son weren’t ones a father should say.

The more days had passed by, the more he had started to believe their words. Raven was a monster. Raven was dangerous.

It had happened one day again when he was alone at home. They had been spending a day or two in Vaneria, just the two of them because “mama and papa need some time alone”, as they’d told him. The rain had been falling heavily for hours leaking through the roof, and Raven hadn't known what to do more than putting buckets and pans underneath each hole. The atmosphere inside the house was damp, their linen soaked. He hoped the rain would stop soon and that everything would dry before they'd come back. His parents had never been violent, but now that their behaviour had changed, Raven could never be too careful. One of the holes in the roof had drawn his attention because of its strange, but funny shape. It looked like a star.

Raven had stretched his hands to the roof without realizing it, and let the rain fall on him. It was then that he'd felt the same sensation flow through his veins and tickle his fingertips, something calling for him in the depths of his soul. His eyes had rolled into the back of his head once again, the black dots adorning his shoulders came back as he was focused on the rain, focused on the black clouds slowly disappearing to give way to the sun and a beautiful blue sky before falling to the ground, exhausted and terrified. He couldn't control it, whatever it was, and he feared something would happen again when his parents would be back home.

He jumped when he heard a branch snap, then another, and another. He didn't want to think what kind of animal was coming for him, or maybe it was the trees coming closer. They would wrap their branches and roots around his body, trapping him in a tight embrace until his bones would break, one by one. They would then free him and let him die in the Mardale forest, moss would grow on his body as the years would go by. No one would miss him, no one would remember him, no one would notice his parents had abandoned him here out of fear.

A scream crossed his lips when he felt something brush his ankles, and he started to run dropping the fruits on the ground. He ran as fast as he could without knowing where he was going, without paying attention to his surroundings, but most of all without looking behind him. He didn't want that thing to catch him and eat him. Raven hated that forest and he was sure there was more than cute little animals like foxes or squirrels. He remembered some of his mother's stories and that made a shiver run down his spine.

One in particular that had given him nightmares was about a forest paved with emeralds and diamonds. The trunk of the trees was made of black onyx striped in white, their leaves were made of rubies for some, sapphires for other, and their fruits - not bigger than a pearl - were the most delicious thing on Earth and one single of them could sustain a grown-up man for the whole day. But most people would only pick them to make them into necklaces and other pieces of jewellery. Men and animals living in the forest were living in harmony. There was no hunt, nor poaching, and war between men didn't exist. Until one day when a beast-like creature thirsty for wealth invaded the villages around the forest. It wrought bloody havoc on the villages, killed many of its villagers and had destroyed every path leading to the forest, digging deep trenches all around it with its blue breath so no one could reach it. Many had tried to kill the beast, peasants, knights, warlocks, but all had failed. The only trace of their attempts were ashes and charred bones.

He didn't want to die in the same way as the characters of his mother's stories, didn't want to die alone in that forest. But he was a monster, maybe this was his only option.

Raven didn't want to die.

He stumbled over a root and fell on the ground head first, the soil staining his tears-streaked cheeks. Raven screamed. Raven hit the ground until the side of his hands were bleeding, until he was too tired to even feel the rain falling on him and hear the thunder rumbling in the distance.

What were they doing now? Were they having dinner, happy without him? Did they say to their few neighbours the real reason why he wasn't with them, or were they lying to them? Were they thinking about him? Were they happy now that the monster wasn't living in their home anymore? Was a part of his mother regretting their decision? Was his father telling her they had made the right choice? Raven didn’t know if he wanted the answers to all of these questions. He surely wouldn’t like them.

Lying on his side, Raven shed countless tears as the rain was now pouring down on his shivering body, turning dry soil into mud. What was he supposed to do now? He was lost, the forest was too vast, and he should have paid attention to the road they had taken earlier. He wanted to go home so badly, go home to them, to his mother’s arms who would hug him close to her heart, and hear them tell him it only was a joke. A really bad joke. They would laugh, and he would cry telling them they were mean, and he had been so scared. But nothing like that would happen. They left him in that forest, alone and scared.

A part of him thought it could have been worse. They could have sold him to a merchant, or worse to some mercenaries, and who knows what they could have done to him. Raven had witnessed a scene like that a few months ago. He had been surprised by screams coming from the streets and running to the window out of curiosity, he had seen a little boy not much older than him being dragged away from his crying mother, his father’s hand closed on his arm. The boy was crying, screaming, begging his mother to not let him do that, that he didn’t want to go with them, but his mother had only turned her head from the scene and had shed more tears. A beautiful woman dressed in clothes embroidered with gold had then wrapped her arms around the little boy, whispering into his ear things Raven couldn’t hear as the man beside her – her husband perhaps – put a heavy purse in the father’s hand. They had left after that and the same night, Raven fell asleep with the boy’s screams echoing in his mind.

His parents had barely answered his questions when he’d asked them why they did that. They only told him that sometimes, people had to do things they didn’t like or never thought of in order to survive, even if that would mean they would suffer. Raven never saw the little boy again.

His feet were hurting him, but he had to keep on walking. His throat was dry, his face damp with tears and drops of rain, he was hungry too, but he couldn’t stop, didn’t want to. He had to leave that forest and go back home, but the more he was trying, the more he knew he was putting more distance between him and them.

Raven wiped his face with the back of his hand smearing more mud on his cheeks, when he came across a clearing. A few ruins were scattered around a small river, ruins of an ancient temple whose only remaining were the arch and the statue of the protective divinity of the forest. Raven didn't care about the temple, didn't care about the statue covered in moss and vines as he ran to the river and fell on his knees. He gulped large mouthfuls of clear water, coughing when it went down the wrong way, before he removed his torn shoes and let his feet dangle in the water. With a hand he took out from his pocket the few fruits he still had, undamaged after his fall, and ate them. He was sure he would find another bush on his way, he just needed to keep his eyes open. His back met the wet grass and he couldn't help himself but shed more tears once more when he looked into the eyes of the statue above him.

Nei, that was the name of the divinity. They were a kind and caring deity thanks to whom the forest was always green, even in winter. They were taking care of each tree, each plant and flower making sure none were hurt or sick, making sure no one was harming the forest and its inhabitant. According to what the priest had taught him back in Kilead, Nei wasn't living with the other deities in Niovie - a series of large islands floating above the clouds inhabited by the divinities - but instead had decided to stay with humans and help them in any way they could without ever revealing who they truly were. Nei wasn't the only divinity living in Obreau, they were a few dozen across the country hiding their true identity and using their powers to help those in need.

"You are supposed to help those who are lost in your forest," Raven said to the statue with a hoarse voice, a lump in his throat. "Where are you? I want to go home."

He reached a hand to the statue hoping it would take it, hoping someone would come for him and stood up quickly when he heard a noise behind him coming closer. His eyes roved the clearing searching for the origin of that noise, a growling noise that raised his hair on the back of his head and pricked his fingertips. The sky above him was changing, becoming darker and darker, lightning streaking the sky as Raven's fear was seizing his body. He didn't dare to move, didn't dare to breathe as long as he wouldn't see what was coming for him. He tried to stay calm, tried to not panic and run as fast as he could. It was only when he felt the statue against his back that he saw them.

Four black wolves with golden eyes were staring at him, ears sticking straight up on their head, teeth bared, and growling. Raven knew that if he moved one single finger, they'd come for his throat and he'd become their next meal. Had they been following him since long? How was it that he hadn't heard them? The rain had eased off, he should have heard them. Or was it maybe Nei that was sending them to get rid of him? Would a deity be that cruel and kill a child? He didn't remember Nei being an aggressive deity, they were quite the opposite in his memories.

Their sibling though was one of the most vindictive deity from Niovie. Were the wolves under their command? Why would they be after him? Nei's sibling was the protective divinity of the seas and Kilead was too far away from the seaside, Raven didn't know how he could have angered them.

His teeth were rattling, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he was calling for his mother. Raven was still hoping it was just a horrible nightmare, that these wolves weren't going to eat him, that his blood won't soil the statue. Who knows what could happen to him in the afterlife if he'd profane with his blood the statue of a deity? He had heard so many stories from the priest about men and women being tortured for days before they had the right to a new life, a new chance, and now he didn't know anymore if those stories were real of if the priest had only been telling them to scare them. Why would the gods want him dead? Because strange things were happening to him? Because he was a monster?

The wolves were circling him, growling louder, coming closer. Thunder was rumbling above them once more and Raven felt his fingers burn with each rumble. Then, out of the corner of his eyes, he saw one of the wolves jump, aiming for his small body. Raven acted by reflex. He raised his hands in front of his face, eyes closed, waiting to feel the wolf fall on him and crush his body, waiting to feel its teeth sink in his throat. But he felt nothing apart from the burning sensation in his fingers growing more and more until he heard it, a cracking sound followed by a stench and burning smell.

Raven opened his eyes, surprised he wasn’t dead yet, surprised he could feel the warmth of the sunlight caressing his cheeks when there were only dark clouds a few seconds earlier and noticed four black and smoking spots surrounding him. He walked closer to one of them, a hand on his mouth and nose, closer enough to notice it wasn’t just burnt grass, but charred bones and flesh. Raven fell on his knees and puked from the shock and the smell, his hands closed in fists on the still green grass. He didn’t know how but he knew it was him. The lightning had burnt them all before they could have reached him. He had killed them.

He cried while crawling on the grass dragging himself away from the sight until he could feel the roughness of the statue against his back once again. He screamed until his throat was hurting him, his face raised to the sky asking Them ‘why’. He wasn’t waiting for an answer, he knew They wouldn’t give him one. They never did, not when he’d been crying in his bed late into the night the first time they called him monster, nor when he had wished for Them to make his parents love him again, and Raven thought that maybe right now They were laughing at him, up there on their island. They wouldn’t help him. He was all alone.

Raven walked for hours. Hours during which the pain in his heart hadn’t eased off. Hours during which he could feel how hostile the forest had become towards him, playing tricks on him. He couldn’t remember how many times he had stumbled on roots and fell, thus hurting his knees more than they already were. He couldn’t remember how many times he had felt a presence behind him carving holes on his back, couldn’t remember how many times he thought to have seen someone from the corner of his eyes and followed the shape, getting lost in the darkest parts of the forest, only to realise it weren’t his parents nor Nei.

When the sun started to set and fall below the horizon, Raven found a shelter in the crook of an old trunk. Curled up on himself, knees against his chest, he pressed his forehead against the wood thankful the dead tree wasn’t trying to kill him. He reached for his pants and pulled out from the pockets a few berries he had picked on a bush not far away from here. Raven put one in his mouth, but immediately spat it. What if they were poisonous? If the trees hadn’t managed to kill him, maybe the forest was taking advantages of his hunger and had turned every fruit into poison? Raven couldn’t take the risk. He wanted to die of old age, in his bed surrounded by his children and grandchildren. Not in a scary forest, hiding in a trunk, with gods not listening to his prayers.

A stupid thought crossed his mind. What if Nei wasn’t in the forest but rather visiting their sibling in the North? Maybe that was why they weren’t here helping him find the way out, maybe the forest wasn’t trying to kill him for whatever reason, but instead his frightened self had been imagining all of these things? The roots, the shapes, the voices, the poisoned berries.

His gaze lost in the distance, he didn’t notice a white point the same size as a wool ball moving between the trees, beckoning him to follow its silvery trail. It took him a while to notice it was a luminous orb, something he had never seen before, and just looking at it move back and forth, hiding behind a tree before he could see it again, made his lips stretch in a big smile. Looking at this light was filling him with warmth and hope he thought he had lost for good.

Raven left the safety of the trunk and walked to the light, cautious. Despite the happy feelings this ball of light had scattered in him, Raven couldn't help himself thinking it could be a trap. Something could be waiting for him wherever it would lead him, something Raven didn't want to meet; an evil spirit maybe, or another monster just like him, someone scarier, someone who wouldn't hesitate nor regret killing a child. A part of him trusted that ball, so he kept following its path being careful where he was putting his feet, asking it to slow down when he could barely see it in front of him and at certain times, Raven could bet he had heard it laugh.

He had the feeling he was following it for hours, avoiding many branches that could have scratched his face, stepping over more roots and crossing over small streams. He had no idea where it was leading him, but he hoped they would get there soon. Raven was starting to feel dizzy and weak, and his blurred vision was making it more difficult to follow the light.

The ball bounced in front of him and Raven took it as a 'we're almost there!' as it sped up, forcing him to run after it as he didn't want to lose its track, not after spending so long walking behind its trail. They ran past many trees and other bushes before Raven couldn't see any vegetation around him, but instead he saw a crossroad. One sign was leading to his hometown where no one wanted him back, where only hate and deception was waiting for him, while another was leading to a still opened gate. A road sign on which he read the name of the next city.

Vaneria.

Raven gritted his teeth to restrain a scream of joy and anger. He had been so close to that city, and yet so far. How many hours had he spent in that forest before that light took pity on him and helped him find his way out? Would he have spent the night in the trunk, cold and hungry if he hadn't followed it? Would he have stayed there and died with his last thoughts being for his parents? Raven didn't want to think about it, he was finally out and away from all the fears it had made him feel.

Raven followed the light to the gate, one foot after the other, his hazel eyes fixed on the sky every now and then where many stars were shining and was surprised the guards didn't stopped him when they crossed the drawbridge and entered the city, surprised they didn't even pay attention to him and the ball of light. He fell on the stone floor when they passed the tavern full of patrons and music, his legs no longer able to support him. The last thing he saw before he fainted were the flickering orange lights he could see through the windows of the tavern, and the ball of light above him disappearing.

#this is making me anxious but yolo!#wip: the old gods are dead #first chapter #raven #writeblr #long post

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raindrenchedstories · 5 years

Text

Not myself

Day woke in the middle of the night to a strange yowling noise outside her window. Sitting up, she opened the window to find Reaver perched precariously on the balcony. “Mhn... Reaver? The hell?”

Her response was a low, worried growl. Day paused. Reaching for her book on Gordylie. Reaver didn’t normally act like this. So she assumed it was a Gordylide thing. Sitting on the balcony with him, she flipped through under the porch light.

He shifted his weight and whined uneasily as she read through the care guide. “Let’s see... I don’t see any injuries. You’re not looking sick. Can you speak?”

“Waaaarg!”

“Nope. Nope you’ve forgotten how to talk.” She sighed. Taking in the heat radiating off his body. She placed her hand on his, he wasn’t boiling yet. But he was shaking.

From everything Reaver told her, heating up was either a conscious act to warm himself, or a defense mechanism. He would forget how to be a person in emergencies as well. So something happened. He either was scared or hurt. She pulled his shoulder, encouraging him to climb down from the railing and into her lap

He complied readily. Nearly clinging to her. She soothed a hand down his back circling her fingers around the base of one spike and adding pressure. He melted. Frightened little whines creeping out of him every so often. “Okay. I gotta get you home bud. Come on.”

She stood, and he hesitantly followed. Leaving a note for her sister Day packed herself up so it didn’t look like she was wandering Calgary with nothing but her pajamas on. She held Reavers hand the whole time.

Dragging the reluctant gordylide through town, Day stuck to well lit, but private areas. Reavers beastly nature showing in full at this time. Oddly it was a pretty safe time for women on the streets. Something had been abducting men specifically.

A lone man walked the streets across from Day. He was armored like a hunter. Any weapons he held must have been concealed. He paused. Staring at Day with her gordylide boyfriend. Tilting his head, the man crossed the empty streets.

Day stayed still as the man approached. “Sorry to bother you miss. Um... Is this your familiar?”

“Sorta’. He’s one of the smart ones. Just... Well he’s not really there right now. Don’t know why.” Reaver was still shaking. Still twitchy. He clung to her as they were stopped.

The man paused. Eyeing him. “I see. Ah, Mort by the way. And you are?”

“...I don’t give out my first name but please call me Day.” The mans eyes lit up red. Day immediately shut her eyes and turned away.

“Oh! Oh no don’t worry miss. Not a vampire. Not human but not a Vampire.” He responded. “That just happens sometimes. I’m glad you know better than to give your first name out like that though.”

“Yeah well... My sister’s a changeling.” She shrugged.

“Got it. I just... I thought I recognized this guy is all. He looks a lot like my dad’s familiar. But... It’s not him. Sorry to have bothered you miss... You should get home. It’s not safe out tonight. For him.” The man gestured to Reaver. Day sighed. Running a comforting hand over Reavers shoulders.

“I know. What about you?”

“Best bait is the thing they’re hunting. Besides. This thing’ll get more than it bargained for. Have a good night.” They parted ways there. Reaver still clinging to Day. His movements were stiff.

They arrived at Reavers apartment after a while walking. She hastily unlocked his door. Bringing him some place he knew would probably help him calm down. As if it were clockwork, Reaver found the one spot on the floor he seamed to gravitate to. Laying down there and facing the door.

Day approached the door to lock it again only to hear a protesting whine. Reaver seamed to grow panicked. She locked it, striding back to his side as his whines turned to soft whimpers. He clung to her hips, burying his face in her stomach.

“Oh Reaver. What happened out there?”

Daylight pooled in from the kitchen window. Reaver winced. Covering his eyes with his arm. God his side hurt. From his hip down. He remembered bright lights, and screeching tires.

He took a deep breath. He was home. Day’s scent was heavy in the air too. She must have brought him here. Though he had no memory of what happened between the car and waking up.

He could tell his favorite blanket had been draped over him. His shirt was taken, but that was probably due to his spikes tearing through it. A pillow rested under his head. Day was breathing lightly in the same room.

He probably freaked out when she tried to leave. He’d feel guilty if he knew more about the situation. But after shedding in front of her, Reaver had decided to brief her on certain things.

Opening one blue eye, he found that damn book she kept with her by his elbow. The fucking care guide she kept referring back to. He sighed. Pushing himself from the floor. Hissing in pain as he got up.

“Mh Reaver?” He froze, Day was staring at him from the sofa with concern. He forced a smile.

“Hey beautiful.” He moved to sit up, blanket falling from his shoulders.

“What happened last night?” She mumbled. Slowly crawling off the sofa and making a B-line for his kettle. In need of tea. “Also lemon ginseng today?”

He slowly made his way into a standing position, forcing himself forward to sit at the counter. She joined him. “I wanted to ask you the same... I...I know I got nailed by a car but it’s a blur after that.”

“A CAR? Who the fuck!? -”

“Hangover rules babe.” Reaver winced. Clutching his head.

“Where?”

“W- twenty second street I think.” He sighed. Waiting for the inevitable angry ranting and demanding they call the police. Which, if he freaked out, he might not be able to do.

“No, I mean where did you get hit?” He paused. Looking at her curiously.

“On my right side. It was low.” One minute he was talking with his girlfriend. The next she was gone. He heard water cascading down from his bathtub. Something clattered against the porcelain surface. “Must’ve wanted a shower.” he muttered to himself.

“REAVER! Get your bruised ass over here!” He jerked, nails trying to sink into the counter-top. Eyes wide and staring down the hall to his bathroom. After Day didn’t get the response she wanted she stormed out. Glaring at him.

“Daaaay?” The stool was kicked out from under him. But as opposed to being dropped on the floor, the diminutive woman caught Reaver by the middle. Lifting him and carrying the flailing man down the hall. “DAY!”

There wasn’t much arguing with the woman. He highly regretted spotting for her workout routines now. He was afraid to try and over power her. So he soon ended up being wrestled into a salt bath. Sitting with his arms folded, a hand firmly planted on his chest keeping him in place.

“This wasn’t necessary.” He huffed. Day giggled splashing his face with water, before letting him sit up. Taking something from her ‘care kit’. He hated that bag as much as he hated the damn book.

“Retract for me?” With a long, agitated sigh, Reaver relaxed, his muscle mass decreasing and spikes pulling into their place in his back. A soft cloth ran up his back alongside a hand bracing his shoulder.

“It’s my hip that’s banged up babe.” He chuckled. Popping his left knee out of the water to rest on it. He couldn’t really complain too much. As she made sure to get the salted water where it needed to be. And he couldn’t lie, it felt good.

The rest of the day he had to sit there awkwardly being tended by Day. As well as letting her examine just how strong his legs actually were. Which she didn’t shut up about for an hour.

“...Did I do anything last night? Anything bad, or uncomfortable?” The question rested on his mind for a while. However Day just laughed it off.

“No. You did get a little weird when I went to lock your door. But other than that you just wanted to be held.” She smoothed a hand down his back carefully. Letting him melt under her touch.

Reaver heaved a sigh of relief. “Good. That’s good.” Sure, asking for physical comfort was embarrassing, but normal for a gordylide. Turning to a trusted companion for help was also normal. He understood it.

“Reaver? Why did you freak out when I got close to the door?” Reaver blinked back. Laying his head flat in his arms.

“Pfft. It’s... My dad went out hunting, back in my realm. He closed that door... and never came back.” He stared off into the distance. Trying to push the image of that day aside. “Now, when my brain’s working, I know people come back. I know there aren’t a ton of monsters out to eat the people I care about.”

Day sat listening. Trying to press down at his spikes and ease his growing tension. “But when it’s not working. I don’t know that. I just know sometimes people don’t come back. And I don’t want to lose anybody.”

She sighed. Rolling Reaver so he was laying on his left side, she squeezed under him and let him curl around her. “Well. I’m coming back. Always.” He laughed, leaning down and giving her a kiss on the head.

“I don’t think I could get rid of you if I tried.” Still, she was squeezed a bit tighter to his frame. He held her like a security blanket while calming himself down. Staring at that damn book again. He pulled it to himself, flipping it open to a marked page.

Reaver froze part way. As it turned out, Day used notes as bookmarks. Notes that fell awkwardly onto the floor. Day herself had apparently fallen asleep in his arms. So Reaver pulled the notes back together and read them. Eyes stinging a bit.

They were lists of his personal favorites just from watching him. From lemon drop candies, which he seamed to be getting a lot of lately, to which blankets were his favorite. Listed most to least.

He read through them. Noticing the things he’d told her about himself. He paused. Seeing a small plan she’d laid out in one of the last notes. Detailing how to handle a day like yesterday. Including the bath, and keeping him calm the next day.

He glanced at the last page at the end. It detailed the things she loved about him. And it was surprisingly cramped. She still searched for places to put more information it seamed. The whole page was filled with small things. Things like “He smiles in his sleep” but they meant the world to her.

And she meant the world to him. He sighed, leaning his head back into the pillow. Only now realizing she’d bought him THIS pillow because it was firm, and scratchy in texture. He put her notes back in order and shut the book. Playing idly with her hair.

A soft smile crossed her face. She turned so she was her face into his chest. “Love you...Don’t worry about work. I called and said you wouldn’t make it.”

“Thanks babe. Love you too.”

#original species #Reaver #beastmode #Fluff

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