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aelin-queen-of-terrasen · 4 years

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Could you write something about how Jude is trying to hide a wound from Cardan but of course, our Cardan baby founds out and dotes/freaks out... your an amazing writer 💞💞

The Stubborn Queen

Pairing: Jude × Cardan

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 2441 words

Summary: Against Cardan's wishes, Jude goes on a mission and injures herself there. She is determined to hide the injury from Cardan but that is not easy.

Jude was an absolute fool.

When she and her husband had been informed that one of the lower ranking lords from the Court of Termites was visiting Elfhame, her first instinct had been to go after them as she always did and see for herself what business the Lord had, coming here unannounced.

As if he heard her thoughts, Cardan had said to the Bomb, "Keep an eye on him. Jude and I will be busy today."

Bastard. He knew she wanted to go after him, had probably made plans to keep her away already. Jude had grumbled under her breath, much to The Bomb's amusement and then huffed away, no more than a child who had been denied her favourite toy. Now, Jude was playing with a dagger in her hand with one thought in her mind, even if she knew it made her a fool because Cardan was right. There was no reason for her to risk her life. She was not expendable anymore and yet, she was restless.

Cardan sat beside her on their bed, sheets still rumpled since he had turned the servants away. He placed a cautious hand on her shoulder, only for it to be brushed off by his wife, his queen. "Jude," he whined.

"Can I help you, Majesty?" Pissed. She was pissed and restless and worried.

Cardan rolled his eyes, then took her hands in his own. He shifted so that he was facing her now and said, "My sweet villain, you can help me by staying out of trouble. You are Queen now—"

"I know. But I need to be doing something other than this paperwork. Something real," Jude said.

If she had known being Queen would be so miserable, maybe Jude would have remained a spy.

Cardan stared at her for a few seconds. "If you insist on risking your life, Jude, you will have to take me with you."

The Queen of Elfhame pressed her lips into a thin line. "You are untrained. You would raise suspicion," She argued. "And one of us needs to stay alive."

"Then why go at all? Why not let someone else do it, Jude?"

"Because I do not trust anyone else, not when your life is concerned." There. She had said it. The memory of a fanged beast that had haunted her sleep every night since that day. Now that half the truth was out in the open, Jude saw no reason to hide the rest. "Sometimes, it feels like these last five months didn't happen—like I cut the serpent's head and you didn't come back. It reminds me what it felt like to lose you and I don't think I can survive it again."

Cardan gently wiped the tears off her cheeks. "I came back, Jude. And I will never leave again."

"But what if-what if you did? I would gladly risk my life a thousand times if it meant saving yours once. Elfhame needs you. I am the expendable one." More tears rolled down.

Ire flashed across Cardan's face—ire not at Jude but at her words. He breathed deeply at the thought of something happening to Jude but the anger did not quite leave his eyes when he said, "Never say that again, Jude. You are not expendable, not to me. If something happened..." He did not let himself finish that thought.

Jude curled up beside him silently, her eyes falling shut and breaths soft and steady. Only once the High King's breaths matched hers and she was sure he was asleep, Jude snuck out of the bed. With how exhausted they had been recently, she doubted he would wake up any time soon. Thus, Jude grabbed Nightfell and a few wicked looking daggers before she was sneaking out of her own home, all while the thought of Cardan in his serpent form still lingered in her brain.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

If Jude had thought sitting on her ass and letting someone else keep an eye on the minor lord had been foolish, she thought what she was doing now was worse. She had not planned to engage in a fight, not when she spotted the mercenaries the young Lord had hired for protection. If anything, the absence of usual guards had only made her more suspicious.

She had been right to follow him to a discreet location near Hollow Hall, had heard clearly in her own human ears the order he had made of his acquaintance. "Slip a small amount to his food, enough that he would weaken enough to convince the Queen-bitch to trade with me for antidote."

Anger flared inside her chest, visions swarmed with blood—Cardan's blood on her hand. Jude had unleashed herself upon the men.

Now, as she sloppily stitched up the gash across her abdomen, Jude wished she had listened to Cardan. If nothing else, she wished she had brought someone with herself. She had managed to kill every single one of them but ended up with this wound, the stitches itching mercilessly at her. The wound on her thigh though... She refused to even look at it. With magic in her veins, it might heal in a day or two.

There was no way Jude was going to admit to Cardan what she had done or how he had been proved right.

That was why she was limping to the throne room now, her body screaming at the pain even as she willed her expression to remain calm. Fortunately for her, Cardan's attention was directed towards one of the lesser nobles as Jude settled down beside him.

Her breathing had almost turned steady by the time Cardan turned to her. "Where did you disappear to, darling Jude?"

"Taryn," Jude said in a calm voice. "Taryn called to meet her at her estate."

Her thigh was throbbing badly and her head was pounding. Jude wondered if Cardan could hear the pounding of her heart against her chest over the sweet music that flowed out of a faerie's lute. Cardan placed a casual hand on her thigh, far too close to the wound and Jude tensed.

Cardan frowned. "You look pale, love. Would you like us to retire for tonight?"

Oh god, her leg was going to kill her. She twisted in her seat to face him—a bad move since it pulled at her stitches. Jude reined in the urge to wince, shook her head. "No. I didn't get much sleep. I would-I would like to lie down. You should stay." She hoped her words came out more confident than she felt.

Cardan watched warily as she rose from her throne, face carefully blank. She wanted to cry out in pain but if Cardan knew, she would not be sneaking around again. He would make sure of it.

Jude took a step ahead, then swayed on her feet. Cardan was instantly at her side, a hand placed on her lower back. "If you were so tired, you shouldn't have come here."

Then they were making their way through the ballroom, each step an agony. They had made it to the hallway, a few faeries lingering there when two of the stitches ripped out beneath her dress. By the sharp sniff beside her, she realised Cardan knew too. He had smelled the blood on her, even through the ridiculous amount of scented herbs she had rubbed herself with to cover the scent.

Cardan halted, then turned to her, panic written over his face. "What happened, Jude?"

Blood had seeped out through the purple tunic she wore. So much blood. Cardan barked out a string of curses, calling for the healers. Pure wrath glittered in his crow black eyes, even as he kept his voice soft. "Who did this, Jude? Where were you?" Then realising she was in no position to speak, Cardan said, "This is going to hurt but we need to make it to our chambers. I am sorry." And then he had lifted her in his arms, gentle as he could be.

This time, Jude could not keep the cry of pain inside. Perhaps this was hell. The pain blurred her vision, even as Jude realised she was in her room.

Cardan held onto her hand as the healers first ripped out her own stitches. She screamed every time, holding her husband's hand in a crushing grip. He had taken to wiping the sweat on her face, around her neck with a wet cloth as the healers worked. Panting through her teeth, Jude said, "I was right. He was planning to injure you so I would trade for your life. He knew... He knew too."

Cardan tensed, fighting to keep his voice steady as if her pain hurt him just as much, if not more. "What did he know, sweet Jude?"

"He knew you were the one to attack too," She said between her shouts, still breathing heavily. "My mortal life is not half as significant."

Cardan's hand stopped rubbing circles on the back of her hand. "We will talk about this later, love." She knew they wouldn't. They never did.

Jude shook her head. "You can avoid the topic all you like but even the high king of faerie can not fight nature."

Cardan looked like he wished she had struck him instead. He sat beside her silently as the healers worked, then left the chambers. Jude drifted off to sleep, hand still clutching his. When she woke up, Cardan was sitting at his desk, a steaming bowl of soup beside him.

He was beside her the moment she tried to sit up, snarling, "Don't move."

Jude might have moved then, just to piss him off if she hadn't noticed the concern in his face as he surveyed her, then thrust a bowl of steaming hot soup in her hand. "Eat."

"Stop giving me orders," Jude growled.

Cardan was not taking any of her shit today. "Perhaps if you had heeded my request before, I would not need to."

She deserved that.

Heat flushed Jude's cheeks when Cardan sighed exasperatedly and took the bowl, feeding her himself with the spoon. It reminded her of a certain mortal woman who had sat at little Jude's bedside and cared for her similarly. The memory warmed something inside her.

"Why do you do this, Jude? What did I do to deserve this torture?" She hated the way his voice broke, as if her pain overwhelmed him.

She rasped, "I am sorry."

"Do you know how scared I was? Do you have any idea how much it hurt to hear you scream, to see you in pain? You say your life is not significant and yet every time you put yourself in danger, my heart stops dead inside my chest! It does not matter whether you are spy or queen, I will never forgive you for risking your life, Jude..." Tears rolled down Cardan's cheeks, washing away the glitter that had been painted there.

Jude was stunned into silence. What could she possibly say? Her own face was damp as she tried to sit up again.

Cardan glared at her as if to say, I told you not to move. If Jude would not stop for her sake, she stopped for Cardan's. She had never fathomed someone could love her as much and yet, it must all have been true it it came out of his mouth.

"You are absolutely terrible and reckless and you have no regards for the pain you cause me and I hate you for this!" Cardan scolded, though the words held no bite.

She made a show of sighing, "I am fine, you bastard. Stop fussing."

"I will not. This is your punishment. For the next few weeks, you will not so much as leave your bed without my permission, not until you are healed."

And despite herself, despite the agony ripping through her, Jude smiled.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Cardan lived up to his words. Jude was completely forbidden from leaving her bed for the whole week that followed. It drove her insane and she might have escaped, had Cardan not spent every waking moment with her.

"I am not hungry," she told him now.

Cardan raised an eyebrow as if to say How dare you presume you have a choice. When Jude made no move to accept the bowl of soup he extended towards her, the High King sat down beside her on the bed and raised the spoonful of steaming hot soup to Jude's lips.

Jude shook her head but let him feed her. It was only when the bowl was almost finished that she said, "You worry about me too much."

"Since you do not worry about yourself, someone will have to," Cardan said.

Jude might have bit back some sarcastic remark, might have insisted he should stop fussing over if she hadn't heard the hurt in his voice. The disappointment.

She sighed. "I am sorry. You can't deny that I was right though. If I hadn't gone there, you could have died."

She needed him to understand that it had not been some twisted urge to cling to her independence or some whim she had had. She had needed to go there and assure for herself that her husband was safe.

Cardan cupped her cheek in his hands. "Anyone who hurts me would be a fool, my sweet villain. Your wrath is something that should not be provoked."

She hit him in the shoulder half-heartedly, then leaned towards her husband, her King. "Sometimes it doesn't feel real, that this happened." Only here, in the privacy of their chambers could she admit the nightmares that plagued her in her sleep. Most of them involved Cardan ending up dead.

As if he could see it in her thoughts, Cardan leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Jude's forehead. "I have given you my heart, Jude. You are not doing a very good job at protecting it."

She couldn't promise to not go off on missions again but—"I promise to learn from my mistakes."

Though that resolved things between them and the tension in Cardan's shoulders released, it did not keep him from fussing over her all day. "Where do you think you are going, Jude?" He said.

Jude rolled her eyes. "Bathroom. Will you accompany me there too?"

The smirk on Cardan's face had Jude throwing an obscene gesture his way as she made her way to the bathroom. He was waiting right outside for her when she finished, hand outstretched. Jude debated telling him she could walk but maybe it would not be the worst thing in the world to be pampered by Cardan.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

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@faerielauren

#jude duarte #the cruel prince #the queen of nothing #the wicked king #cardan greenbriar #high king cardan #high queen jude #high queen of elfhame #jude greenbriar #jude x cardan #jude fanfic #cardan fanfic #jurdan fanfic #jurdan fluff #the folk of the air #tfota #tfota headcanons #tfota fanfic #incorrect tfota quotes

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artsynimbus · 4 years

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reddit(.)com/r/RWBYcritics/comments/in9qbr/if_adam_truly_was_objectively_evil_then_faunus/

AB 👏 SO 👏 LUTE 👏 LY 👏

To be honest, Imma give anyone the side eye if they say they hate Adam and the reason is for something shallow- which is usually the case- and ppl can be offended by that if they want to- but hey Im offended that you’re offended by the actions of a tortured black coded character, and offended by your expectations that he should be some sort of saint despite clearly being branded like cattle, and obviously being mentally fucked up because of obvious torture/racism. So yeah whatever right?🤷

Its laughable how in the beginning when we knew nothing about him, it was easy to dislike his character because he was just the racist guy who wanted to kill humans, but then when you see the SDC scar, then you realize, oh this mf has a whole reason for that hatred. Which, ok, isn’t right but understandable.

HOWEVER what makes me laugh even harder is even after the scar reveal, M&K do absolutely NOTHING with it..................... like what was the point? Its almost like it didn’t fucking matter how he was tortured.. I guess any faunus who is branded like cattle on the face should just suck that shit up and move on with their lives right?? Humans are racist.. get over it.. right? Im no Adam fan, but I thought his story could’ve been interesting when it came to the faunus racism subplot-- He literally just reminded me of Scar from FMA who wanted revenge on the military for what they did to the Ishvalans-- which okay, i wasn’t a scar fan either but I liked his story about revenge because it added a level of seriousness to that aspect of the story. I honestly think it would’ve been awesome to see Adam freeing faunus from slave camps and assassinating business men investing in the SDC or dudes taking part in making sure Faunus slave labor was a continuous thing, cause then as a viewer you could solidify that his character is technically morally gray- which would’ve been even better cause then you could give the only character who is trying to fight racism a 2nd chance and have him learn a better way to do it or sooommmmethiiiiing?? BUT NOPE- lets not show any of that cause again, we don’t want this character born from racism to have any redeemable qualities- lets instead have this dude, whos sole focus was getting revenge on humans, literally be a blank slate that the fandom can put whatever label they want on him and then kill him off cause gosh darnit.. he was just really mean to blake.. and the fandom didn’t like that. Forget the racism shit, lets just focus on the emotional abuse on our favorite cat girl........

Me: *blinks in confused poc* ...ok?

Like okay, before the brand reveal.. yes, adam is a straight up villain. And villains do bad things- like rob from a company that tortures your race, kill humans because you’ve been conditioned to believe that all of them are shit, emotionally and mentally manipulate/abuse your (at the time) naive ex, stab said ex cause at this point your twisted--- like, .. -insert shocked pikachu face- Adam is supposed to be bad. But after the scar reveal isn’t it kinda easy to connect to the dots and be like “oh.. hes fucked up cause of... ohh.” like....

nah, whatever, hes a meanie, men r bad.. lul

Anyway TLDR - absolutely thank you anon for having me reveal my non-hate for adam while also admitting that he could’ve been really pivotal to the racism subplot. Also funfact! ...terrible writing comes from terrible writers! See you in V37!

#my inbox #answers

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thelastspeecher · 5 years

Text

Parental Flute - “Children”

The final part in this long de-aging scenario I’ve been slowly posting here and here. Why is the word children in quotation marks? Because finally, the children have realized that wait, they aren’t actually children. Also, this has adorable smol Fidds in it so you know it’s a winner.

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Ford, Fiddleford, and Lute stood by the edge of the fountain, watching the sparkling water bubble cheerfully.

“So this is the Fountain of Youth,” Fiddleford said slowly. His wrinkled hands gripped his cane. “How’d ya find it, again?”

“During their visit, your mother as well as mine went in search of it. Mrs. McGucket had heard of a villain who had access to it. She went with my mother to convince said villain to give them the location.”

“Convince bein’ code fer…?”

“…I had no desire to learn what they did to get this information,” Ford said solemnly. He grimaced. “Mom and Mrs. McGucket are threatening enough on their own. Together? I doubt anyone could withstand them.”

“Feller prob’ly wet himself the second they showed up,” Lute drawled idly. He twirled a finger, causing a few ripples to form in the fountain. “By the way, it works. Ma ‘n Mrs. Pines tested it on themselves a bit. But they didn’t want to risk too much exposure, so’s they didn’t bring back samples.”

“Hence the trip out here,” Ford added. “We need to collect some of the water for experimentation. And since your cure doesn’t require altering the properties of the water in any way, we might as well cure you right now.” Fiddleford nodded.

“I’m eager to stop bein’ older ‘n sin.”

“Be careful. Try not to expose yourself to the water too much. You’ll risk overshooting,” Ford said. Fiddleford waved a hand airily.

“I can handle it. Here.” He handed the cane to Lute and braced his hands on the edge of the fountain. “Take a step back. I’d hate fer ya to get splashed.” Ford and Lute did as they were told, stepping a few feet away from the fountain.

“At least now he’ll finally stop actin’ like he needs this,” Lute muttered to Ford. “He’s obviously still spry. He don’t need a cane.”

“Shh. We should observe,” Ford hissed. Lute rolled his eyes. They watched Fiddleford brace his hands on the edge of the fountain, then duck his head under the water.

“That’s one way to do it,” Lute said under his breath. Ford frowned at him.

“Lute, please, stop being so difficult. I just want Fiddleford to return to his former self. Or have you forgotten that he has done his best to act the part of the grumpy old man?”

“Yeah, he has been actin’ pretty crotchety.” Lute sighed. “I’ll back off. Sorry. I’m a bit tired. You slept through it, but Angie had a nightmare last night and I had to comfort her.”

“Well, we should be able to reverse engineer a cure for her and Stan now that we’ve discovered this,” Ford said. Lute nodded.

“Yep. Yer a genius scientist and I know my way ‘round water. It’ll be easy street.” There was a loud splash. Lute and Ford both looked at the fountain. Fiddleford was no longer standing there. “Shit, he fell in,” Lute said, sprinting to the fountain, Ford close behind. Lute clapped his hands together then spread his arms wide, parting the magical water like the Red Sea. “Now you can grab him without gettin’ wet yourself.”

“Yes, I-” The words died on Ford’s tongue as he stared at Fiddleford on the bottom of the fountain. “Oh, no.”

“Grab him. We can say ‘oh no’ later,” Lute said in a distinctly strained voice. Ford looked at him. Lute’s face was pained, his arms trembling. “This water don’t like to cooperate. I won’t be able to hold it back fer much longer.” Ford snatched Fiddleford, who was curled up into a ball, from the fountain then backed away. Lute let his arms fall. The water splashed back into the fountain. “The water was fightin’ me controllin’ it. Like it had a mind of its own.”

“That’s likely due to the magical properties it possesses,” Ford said. Lute nodded.

“That sounds right. Now, what were you sayin’…” Lute trailed off, catching sight of Fiddleford in Ford’s arms. “…oh, no.”

“My words precisely.” Ford swallowed. “I think he fell asleep.”

“That seems to be the pattern with age changes. C’mon, let’s head back to the truck ‘n wait fer him to wake up.”

-----

Ford and Lute sat on the bed of Lute’s truck, Fiddleford still nestled in Ford’s arms. Lute sighed.

“At least we’re gettin’ out of the house and gettin’ a break from Stan ‘n Angie.” He looked around the autumnal forest. “And it’s awful pretty out here.”

“Yes.”

“Stanford, don’t worry. We collected some samples to run some tests on. It’ll be easy to whip up a cure now.”

“That’s what we thought prior to Fiddleford falling into the fountain.”

“Hon, trust me.” Lute cupped Ford’s face in his hands. “We’re nearin’ the end of this. I can tell.” He let his hands fall from Ford’s face. “Heck, we can even call Harper fer his expertise if’n ya want a second hydrokinetic to speed things up.”

“Or to babysit Stan and Angie,” Ford mumbled. “After all, you’ll be working in the lab with me while we try to come up with a cure, and…” He looked down at Fiddleford in his arms. “Fiddleford won’t be able to watch them.”

“I think we can get by with a regular babysitter fer a while. Stan ‘n Angie don’t know they used to be adults, ‘member? They think they’re just regular kidlets.”

“Yes, but will Fiddleford?” Ford asked. Lute chewed on his lip.

“I don’t know. But even if he doesn’t, I think Fidds will be willin’ to tolerate a babysitter fer the few days it takes to whip up that cure.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Fidds is very accommodatin’,” Lute said confidently. “He’s always been one to go with the flow.” Fiddleford shifted in Ford’s arms. “Oh, I think he’s wakin’ up.” Fiddleford yawned widely and stretched before opening his eyes. He frowned at Ford.

“Stanford?” he asked. Ford nodded. “What’s-” Fiddleford smacked his forehead with his hand. “I fell in the fountain, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did,” Ford said, gently setting Fiddleford down between himself and Lute. “You seem to have become a toddler.”

“Fantastic,” Fiddleford muttered, crossing his chubby arms. “Three years old.”

“I didn’t say three.”

“No, but I know that’s my age.” Fiddleford wrinkled his brow. “Somehow.” Ford and Lute exchanged a confused shrug. “Did ya change my clothes or somethin’?”

“No, they shrunk with you,” Lute said. He scratched the back of his neck. “Looks like they changed to fit yer age, too. You weren’t wearin’ overalls ‘fore ya took a dip in that fountain. Which is a bit of a shame. I’d pay good money to dress a lil tot up in clothes that ‘re more suited fer an old man.” Fiddleford glared at Lute.

“I’m not yer dress-up doll, Lute.”

“Okay, okay.” Lute held his hands up. “On our way back to the house, we should prob’ly stop somewhere to pick up some clothes fer you.” Ford let out a loud groan. “I know, Stanford, yer gettin’ sick of buyin’ clothes. But Fidds won’t want to wear Danny and Daisy’s old things.”

“Fiddleford, it would make it much easier on us,” Ford pleaded. Fiddleford shook his head.

“No. I love my nieces, but I refuse to wear their old dresses ‘n skirts.”

“They also wore pants-” Ford started. Lute silently shook his head at Ford. “…I’ll drop it.” Tension that Ford hadn’t noticed before eased from Fiddleford’s shoulders.

“Thank you,” he said softly. He pulled on his hair, which had lengthened. “I think I need a haircut, too.”

“Don’t worry, we’ve got scissors in the truck.” Lute grimaced. “But we don’t have a car seat fer ya. And Ford won’t bother tryin’ to summon one, since the back seat’s filled with samples we collected from the fountain anyways.” Fiddleford sighed heavily.

“Fine. Whose lap am I sittin’ on?”

-----

Ford sat on the couch, idly flipping through a book Lute had bought him during their trip to pick up clothes for Fiddleford. He was attempting to relax, at Lute’s insistence, but could feel stress increasing with every second he wasn’t in the lab. A few feet from him, Stan and Angie played on the patterned rug with Fiddleford, excitedly helping him construct buildings from blocks and handing him crayons to color with. It was difficult to keep up the façade that Fiddleford was a normal toddler, but so far, Stan and Angie didn’t seem to suspect anything. Ford glanced over at the three children.

In fact, Angie didn’t bat an eye when Lute claimed that Fiddleford was her baby brother. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, thinking. Is that due to the confusion from the initial regression, or, as Lute suggested, Angie’s innate gullibility when she was younger? Or perhaps it was because Lute told her immediately after she had woken up, given that she takes a while to become fully lucid after waking?

“Maybe some combination of the three,” Ford mumbled quietly to himself. Stan laughed loudly. He ruffled Fiddleford’s hair.

“You’re a little gremlin, Fidds,” he said genially. Ford set down his book, intrigued by Stan’s phrasing.

That sounded exactly like his interactions with his daughters. Angie playfully punched Stan.

“Stan! Don’t call him that!” she scolded. She beamed at Fiddleford and stroked his face. “He’s just a baby.” Fiddleford made a soft, disgruntled noise.

Angie strokes her children’s faces. Yesterday, she did no such thing. Ford set his book on the side table and got up from the couch. Stan and Angie were still completely engrossed by Fiddleford, and as such, didn’t notice Ford leave the living room and make his way to the kitchen, where Lute was trying to find a recipe to use for dinner. It was only 3pm, but Lute wasn’t the best cook, so finding a recipe and then successfully following it took longer than it would Stan or Angie.

“Lute,” Ford hissed. Lute looked up from the cookbook he had been perusing.

“What?”

“Have you noticed anything odd about Angie’s behavior?” he asked. Lute raised an eyebrow. “Relative to how she was acting, say, last week.”

“I…” Lute frowned. “Yeah. She’s a bit less hyper. Seems a bit more, I dunno, mature? I mean, that’s not very difficult, but…”

“Yes, I think Stan’s been acting like that as well,” Ford said. “It’s also remarkably odd that Stan is so interested in spending time with Fiddleford. When we were children, he absolutely despised spending time with toddlers.” Lute’s eyes widened.

“Angie didn’t really like toddlers when we were kids, either,” he said. “Not until we were teens did she enjoy spendin’ time with tots ‘n babies.”

“I think spending time with Fiddleford might be reminding them of their adult years,” Ford said. Lute rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Maybe…” he said slowly. He looked over in the direction of the living room. “Ford, they’re quiet.” Ford strained his ears. Sure enough, the laughter from earlier had stopped. Ford grimaced.

“That’s never a good sign.”

“…Angie? Stan?” Fiddleford’s voice said cautiously. Lute and Ford exchanged a worried look before rushing into the living room. Angie was staring numbly at her hands, while Stan looked off into the distance, but not focusing on one single thing in the room.

“Oh, dear,” Lute whispered. He walked over to Angie and crouched down in front of her. “Angie?” Angie looked up.

“Lute, why am I five?” she asked in a strangled voice. Lute’s jaw dropped. He sat on the floor.

“You- you remember?” he asked. Angie nodded silently. Ford joined Lute in front of Angie. Her eyes lacked the lighthearted sparkle they’d had mere minutes ago; they seemed weightier, like they bore experience.

“The confusion must have worn off,” Ford said softly. Angie frowned at him.

“What are ya talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Well, what’s the last thing you recall?” Ford asked.

“We were in your lab,” Stan said abruptly. Ford and Lute looked over at him. Like Angie, something about his demeanor suggested he wasn’t the carefree five-year-old he had been this morning. “You were doing somethin’ with the thing I got from that new villain and then there was a flash of light.” Stan gestured to himself. “And now I guess I’m five.” Angie nodded.

“That’s the last thing I remember, too.” She furrowed her brow. “Or…wait. I think a few things are comin’ back…but it’s fuzzy.” Stan nodded slowly.

“Yeah. Same here. I’m remembering a bit, but not very clearly.”

“That accident was three weeks ago,” Ford said. Stan and Angie’s jaws dropped.

“We’ve been five for three weeks?!” Angie squeaked. “And we don’t really remember it?”

“Well, technically, you’ve been five for two weeks,” Ford said. Stan and Angie frowned, confused. “The first week, you were infants.”

“We- we were-” Stan stammered. He swallowed. “Well, that’s just fuckin’ great.” Both he and Angie were slowly turning red from embarrassment.

“Thank the Lord I don’t remember that,” Angie mumbled. She rubbed her face. “I- I-” She took a breath. “I think I’d like to move on from this. I don’t particularly like thinkin’ ‘bout it.”

“Seconded,” Stan said. He frowned at Ford. “Hang on, you never answered Angie’s question. Why are the last three weeks all…fuzzy?”

“Fiddleford inspected the device, shortly after you were regressed the first time,” Ford said. “It has a…what did you call it, Fiddleford?”

“Discombobulater chip,” Fiddleford answered. Stan and Angie stared at Fiddleford. “It put the two of ya in a state of mental confusion. Guess it fin’lly wore off.” He huffed. “And it’s about time. I’m not very fond of bein’ treated like a toddler.”

“Okay, back up,” Stan said, holding his hands up. “Why the hell is Fiddlesticks tinier than we are? Did that thing hit him, too?”

“Yes,” Ford said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “But it progressed, rather than regressed, his age.”

“How’s he a lil tot, then?” Angie demanded.

“That was a mishap at the Fountain of Youth.”

“Yeah, he fell in,” Lute drawled. Stan and Angie stared at him silently. “Oh, boy. We lost ya, didn’t we?”

“No fuckin’ shit,” Stan swore. He rubbed his eyes. “Back to the beginning. Start over, from when we first got zapped.”

“That’s probably not the wisest move,” Ford said. Angie let out a small yawn. “It’s naptime.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Angie asked.

“Yer five. You need naps,” Lute said flatly. He glanced at the clock. “And Ford’s right. It’s time fer yours.”

“Hell no!” Stan said, jumping to his feet. “You’re not gonna make me take a nap like some little kid!” Angie stood as well and crossed her arms.

“I’m in the same boat as Stan. We ain’t children. You can’t treat us like we are.”

“It’s a biological necessity,” Ford started. Stan shook his head. “Really, it is! The both of you need to nap!”

“You can’t make us,” Stan growled. Ford and Lute looked at each other, exasperated.

“This is startin’ to make me miss when they thought they were our kids,” Lute said. Stan blinked. Angie seemed similarly taken aback.

“When we what?” Stan asked. Seizing the opportunity while Stan and Angie were temporarily off-guard, Ford looped one arm around each of them, then stood to his full height. “Hey! Put me down! You little shit!”

“No, you need to nap.”

“Fuck you!” Ignoring Stan and Angie’s various swears and protests, Ford carried them to the guest room they were currently staying in. He set them on the bed. Stan immediately leapt off.

“No,” Ford said firmly, closing the door before Stan could escape. Stan glowered at him. Angie yawned again. “Stanley, please cooperate. It will be much easier for both of us.” Stan continued to glare. “Fine.” Ford picked Stan up again and, once more ignoring protests, tucked Stan and Angie into bed. He then sat on the edge of the bed and began to sing an old lullaby. Stan crossed his arms.

“Good luck getting that to work. Yeah, Mom mighta sung it…but…” Stan’s eyelids drooped.

After a few minutes, Stan and Angie were fast asleep. The door opened. Lute poked his head in.

“Good, they’re sleepin’,” he said quietly. He stepped into the room, carrying Fiddleford, who seemed on the verge of falling asleep, but still barely awake. “I wanted to wait until they were asleep ‘fore bringin’ Fidds in. Didn’t want their arguin’ to get him all excited.”

“Lute, I’m older than you,” Fiddleford mumbled blearily, his eyes half-closed. “Don’t talk ‘bout me like that.”

“Sorry, Fidds.” Lute gently rested Fiddleford in Daisy’s old flower-patterned crib, which he and Ford had decided was the safest option for Fiddleford as a toddler. “Sorry I made ya wait so long too. Otherwise, ya wouldn’t have been too sleepy to walk.”

“Mm-hmm,” Fiddleford slurred. He pried his eyes open to look at Stan and Angie. “They should count their blessin’s. At least they can sleep in a reg’lar bed.”

“Yep.” Lute stroked Fiddleford’s head. Fiddleford closed his eyes and curled into a ball. Within seconds, his breathing steadied. Lute sighed heavily, then looked at Ford. “I can’t decide what’s worse. The three of them not knowin’ they’re really adults, or the three of ‘em bein’ full aware of the fact.”

#sorry for the short summary at the beginning but I'm eager to post this #I've had it ready for a while now actually #I just haven't posted it yet bc I couldn't think of a good title #luckily Whitney helped me out #Superhero/villain AU #Flute #Stanford Pines #Fiddleford McGucket #Lute McGucket #Stanley Pines #Angie McGucket #my writing #ficlet #speecher speaks

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dahlthir-blog · 7 years

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➜ Alar has been accepted!

Welcome to Dahlthir, Mark/Brent! Your application for Alar has been approved. You’ll have 5 days to turn in your blog to the masterlist. If you need more time, you can send us a message!

The character portion of the application can be found under the cut. I love all the details you’ve put into his appearance from the different aromas that tend to accompany him to what he can usually be found doing or enjoying! Dahlthir will gladly welcome him and his shipping company. If you’d like to add it to our map, by the way, you can send us a message or submit the information to us. Hmm, I wonder if he’d need an Assistant to the Regional Manager? No? Anyway, welcome to Dahlthir!!

P.S I love cactus and cat. so much.

( CHARACTER SECTION )

Other Characters: –

Faceclaims: Dev Patel for easy/quick reference as well as personal art

Character Name: Alar Housing: Crooked Lute Age: 31

Level: –

Appearance: Alar is a coastal troll, notably from a distant location along the beach! Visually, he appears a handful of years younger than his actual age, and distinctly more feminine rather than masculine. Height: 7'10ish when slouching, 8'0ish full Weight: 250ishlb Alar is tall, broad, and fit, and prefers the comfort of loose clothing rather than tight. Regardless, with his work, he owns a two piece work uniform that attaches at the waist by clasps and is body tight for ease of movement; it is fitted with few clasps and many modifications. He occasionally wears a leather harness fitted with loops under the top half, over his undershirt.

He keeps himself clean. It’s not unusual for him to smell spicy, dirty, and woodsy alongside the scent of oil.

His teal hair falls down in a messy bob cut along his shoulders, and his sideburns are well-kempt along his jawline. Customary with coastal trolls, his body, starting near his collarbone and shoulders, is covered in a light layer of teal fur, though has thicker patches of fur along his body. He has a scattering of freckles along his face and neck.

Piercings, crafted from fine metals and finer gemstones, adorn his ears in randomized locations. His small tusks curve up along his cheekbones, and a stud piercing can be found on his tongue. His eyes are a bright hue of amber and his pupils are slitted.

He wears a thin silver chain around his neck. Attached to such is a small, white claw hanging from a hook and beside that rests a small, silver ring.

Under his clothing, one can find a rather deep scar moving from his chest to his hip on his right side. Additionally, his right ear is torn and scarred over. His right palm, as well, holds a diagonal scar across it. His right side doesn’t seem so lucky. If he opens his mouth really wide, it’s apparent he’s missing a tooth.

He enjoys sunsets and long walks through the engineering workshop to get to the coffee maker. He can also be found reading trash literature. If he’s seen with a book out, he’s almost always ready to start bashing it (or praising it). He’s sociable, easy to talk to, and prefers quiet conversation with one or a few individuals rather than larger groups.

Alar has bad vision, a good sense of smell and hearing, and a kind personality. His accent isn’t as deep as other trolls, but still there; his voice is light and humorous. He’s sociable, easy to talk to, and prefers quiet conversation with one or a few individuals rather than larger groups.

Are they a part of the Adventurer’s Guild?: He is not, though considers himself an ally to the Adventurer’s Guild

Warnings: Mentions of parental abuse in background description; unmentioned sexual abuse (though he prefers to not speak about both topics)

Personality:

Romantic at Heart: Alar openly flirts with those who he is comfortable with or attracted toward, though he keeps from appearing overbearing. A bit affectionate if the receiving person is interested and comfortable, including a hand on their arm, a hug, or otherwise politely touching. He does not shy away from public displays of affection though is courteous of what that display is. He loves physical touches and intimacy.

Generous: Alar believes that being kind and generous are both important virtues. Despite his past, he does all he is able to show that he can be both. He’s very willing to go an extra mile or two and works to make himself more charitable than he was before.

Cleanliness: While Alar’s hobbies tend to be move involved in the grimier side of interests, he prefers to stay keep clean. He loves scented soaps, and when possible, hoards bath products.

Lazy: Alar has a lazy streak that stretches the length of the coastline he grew up on. He’d more than happily spend a day (or two) (or five) doing nothing at all except for sleeping in the sunshine.

Nervous Wreck: He’s always tapping his fingers and shuffling his feet, and more often than not his eyes are wandering around the room as though paranoid. He’s overprepared for most everything based on the jingling in his many pockets and the concealed weaponry in his clothing folds.

Loyal to a Fault: Alar is fiercely protective of his friends and acquaintances, and while this is more often a positive trait, he takes it two steps further nearing the extreme. He’s loyal, overly trusting, and loves too easily despite himself.

Background:

Alar grew up in a coastal region in a tribe of Trolls, prideful and patriarchal in nature; this led to a plethora of problems growing up as he took after his mother in a number of ways instead of his father. Even at a young age, it was clear that he would continue to grow to look like his mother– feminine facial features (including smaller tusks that jut upwards rather than out in front of his face) and a slender frame, a lighter voice, and a personality that lacked his tribe’s usual antagonism.

Without going into detail, Alar’s father was displeased with this and tried to “raise him like a true male warrior of the tribe;” this clearly didn’t work out too well. He continued to take after his mother and studied nature and healing Druidism at her persistence despite his father’s growing distaste.

Eventually, due to abusive circumstances, Alar was sent away at a young age to train and live under the care of a friend of his mother’s– there, he studied animal shifter Druidry before reaching an age where he was too much for her to handle; he held a lot of pent up anger toward his father in particular and took it out on his mother’s friend.

He wound up homeless for some time after abruptly running away and was taken in by a crafty but very poor group of goblins; from them, he gained access to a plethora of old and obsolete mechanics magazines, old technology, and the inheritance of a mechanic’s set.

He also learned, through them, how to commit petty theft and get away with it. The theft grew into other crimes, including working undercover, committing fraud, conning, and swindling, all under names and through disguises so as to not tie anything back to himself.

For a bulky number of years, Alar’s life was in disorder and, at any given moment, he feared arrest or worse. This reached an all time low when a co-worker and dear friend of his was finally arrested (though, bless Donnie’s heart, he never ratted him out, and he would have done the same for him). This led to the proverbial “wake up call” that he needed to start turning his life around.

Presently, Alar is in the trade and commerce business, and an avid learner and researcher in hobby. He spends his time tinkering and toying around both for money and to fill time. He loves rocks, gems, and precious metals, but hates working to get them. Instead, his interests lie in the obsolete mechanics and technology of the past. He owns notebooks filled with self studies on old tech, as well as can be found at any given time when free building something or taking something apart.

Skill wise, he excels in drafting building blueprints and engineering schematics, as well as drawing out maps. When carrying a bag, it’s not unusual for him to have notebooks and sketchbooks.

Alar lives and works in Dahlthir for Gearbloom Shipping, Dahlthir Division as the region manager; it opened as a business between him and a close friend, though the friend no longer runs the business alongside him.

He likes to jokingly refer to himself as a “professional illus-traitor.” He also is fine with the title of “villainous actor and an active villain.”

Nowadays, though, he tends to work alone, or with one other. He doesn’t appear to be wealthy, but seems to have a knack with gold.

He owns one cactus and one cat.

General Powers/Abilities/Unusual Traits Description:

He has a strange affinity toward magical items of varying enchantments, and the magic therein within them. This doesn’t correspond to people, however, just items.

Alar is a trained Druid though his studies are very minor in nature.

Alar has the ability to cloak himself into the shadows.

Specific Powers/Abilities/Traits of Note: Druidic Shapeshifting - Feline Affinity (Alar can shift into the form of a black panther at will) Druidic Plant Magic (at a very basic level, Alar can take minor control of plants around him to do his bidding) Druidic Restoration (at a very basic level, Alar is able to cure minor wounds through nature magic and healing) Rogue Shadow Cloaking (Alar is adept at blending into the shadows around him)

Extra (Anything you’d like say!): Alar is fluent in a wide range of languages, including the Common language, his native Troll tongue, and the language of Goblins. Being a rogue, he’s privy to Thieve’s Cant. With his studies in Druidism, he’s able to communicate with animals on a limited basis.

#dahl acceptance #alar

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