#This post is about wanting to die and live and breathe and decay and shout and whisper and laugh and cry

[bookoramaenderteeth]

Can't even exist in multiple simultaneous contradictory states any more. Because of woke.

[saphirered]

Saph I hope you feel better! I really liked the VM Snow White you just posted, but could you also please do the same prompt but with M9 boys including Molly? If you’re not feeling up to it that’s fine too!

Thank you! The meds are beginning to do their job luckily. I'm glad you liked the last one. I blinked, my hand slipped and now it's here. Prepare for some angst. Hope you enjoy! 😘

(Caleb)

Caleb had always known his past would come to haunt him. He was prepared for it. Prepared to take the hit, take responsibility for everything and he’d face his past be that with or without the people he loves. Part of him, once he got used to having these fools around, having you around, wanted it to be on his own, to protect them and protect you. To not have any more lives lost in the grand scheme. The people he loves becoming collateral would be unacceptable. But you had become collateral in the grand scheme of things.

When it became clear to his enemies he was a bit more attached to you than the others, they took this weakness and exploited it. They pushed his buttons before, using you as a tool, verbal bait even, but he never fell for it. His reluctancy to act on his feelings, to keep them to himself instead, were the very thing he hoped would keep those loose ends from latching onto you. His love is a curse, the objects of his desire always to be torn away from him no matter how hard he tries to prevent it. He’s lost you to that same curse. Not lost. Almost lost.

You’ve been cursed, your conscious mind separated from your unconscious body. Simple healing spells wouldn’t do the trick here. This curse holds no roots in the divine. He’s spent days researching and that much he could confirm. This curse would take an arcane approach. Something he prides himself in to be his specialty. Lucky you. Lucky him. He had the others bring all books, ancient scrolls and other sources of knowledge brought to him, along with a wide variety of components once he’d made a significant dent in the research matter, assuring him this would have the greatest chances of success.

It’s not the soft canopy bed with the plush pillows from the fairytales you’re placed on. Instead you lay on a wooden table, inscribed with all sorts of arcane sigils. Nor do you look like some angelic peaceful being. Your brow is furrowed in discomfort, your hands balled into fists at your sides. Caleb moves a brush against areas of exposed skin, painting symbols to match with precision and care, afraid to even make a single mistake, triple checking every mark. He speaks the incantations while incorporating the components varying from precious gems crushed and whole, herbs and incense. And then he waits. He doesn’t expect the effects to be immediate, often with these magics it is not and he knows that but that doesn’t get rid of the impatience and fear.

“How I long to hear your voice again. I know this will work but that doesn’t ease away the sliver of doubt. What if… What if… That’s what I keep asking myself. I know it’s stupid.” Caleb wipes an hand over his brow as he pulls up a chair and sits at your side, elbows leaning on the table careful to avoid any sigils just in case.

“It also faced me with the harsh reality that I held off telling you how I feel. It looks so stupid now in hindsight because what good did it do anyone. In the end you still ended up paying for my mistakes. I was stupid to push you away, try to convince you your own feelings were unreciprocated. I know I didn’t have you fooled in the slightest but to know I could have loved you, it makes me feel like I am to blame for wasting that opportunity and possibly shortening our time together. The thought of losing you before having given you my love will forever be my greatest regret.”

Caleb watches the muscle of your hand unclench and relax. He hears a deep intake of breath and staring at your face he’s met with your smile, one filled with love as he helps you sit up. All is good once more.

(Fjord)

Fjord’s drenched to the bone, out of breath, anger running through him like he’s never experienced. Still he’s unsure if his anger is directed at the one responsible for your eternal slumber or at himself for making a ballsy move that didn’t pay off in the slightest and in fact backfired in a worse way he could have ever imagined. He played a game of chicken with Uk’otoa and lost. He’d have been fine by letting someone else pay the price for him. Why should he care about some stranger becoming victim to the leviathan? The one who paid the price, became the victim to his actions didn’t end up being a stranger. It had to be you of all people hadn’t it?

Uk’otoa must have been watching his dreams, even his waking actions if that were possible and have seen his infatuation with you. When the leviathan threatened Fjord in another briny dream of his mentioning your name he had called bullshit. The snake had never been able to reach out to anyone it didn’t already have some kind of grasp on. Little did he know Uk’otoa had just that. Just enough of a sliver through him, and the Cloven Crystal to get to you.

So there Fjord sits at your bedside. You’re just as drenched as he is, hair dripping, skin glowing in the candle light of the room reflected off the water particles. Your lips are tinted blue, a redness around your eyes, your skin is cold. The sleep you’re in is a state of perpetual drowning and Fjord knows what it feels like, to drown. He can only hope you’re spared that pain. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to forgive himself if you are tortured like so because of his actions. Clasping your hand between both of his he runs his fingers over your knuckles. He bows his head. It still feels so wrong to not have you respond to his touch. So wrong.

“I want you to know that I am to blame for your fate. I’m about to do a very stupid thing to make it right. I know you’d tell me not to but I can’t sit by and watch you suffer like this. I’ve tried everything. I’ve begged and bargained. I’ve shouted at the skies but I got no reply. Everything comes up empty and I see no other choice than to do this. It might sound stupid but I came to ask for your forgiveness.” Fjord pauses. Usually he would have gotten a reply. He would sell his soul for just having you tell him everything will be alright. It’s a good thing he’s about to sell it for so much more than that. It’s worth it. It’s worth having you alive and well.

“I won’t ask for forgiveness for what I’m about to do because I will never regret it. I ask only you may one day forgive me for what I might become. I need you to know I love you and did, will do all of this out of love. That’s why I hope you’ll never see me again after I give myself to Uk’otoa. I can’t bare to watch that affection in your eyes being replaced by hatred, but most of all disappointment. I hoped to be worthy of your love and I will always regret never having truly experienced it.” Fjord’s voice cracks slightly. He studies your face, as if to ingrain every detail into his memory, as if he thinks he might never see it again.

“I’m afraid. I’m so deadly afraid.” Fjord whimpers pressing a kiss to the back of your hand before he lets go. He checks his supplies, taking out the Cloven Crystal, glaring at the orb intensely cursing the thing to oblivion. Coughs pull him out of his staring match with the crystal. Your body moves, leaning over the edge of the bed vomiting up brine. Fjord drops the orb and his belongings running over to you and helping you gather your bearings until you’re no longer chocking on sea water.

“You better not do what I think you’re planning with that orb or so help me Storm Lord, I will drown you myself.” Fjord can’t do anything but laugh despite the very real threat on his life as you pull him into your embrace.

(Caduceus)

Caduceus isn’t bothered by death. Death is part of life as much as living is. It’s inevitable. Every soul will move on, leaving its vessel for the earth, the fire or the wild things to bring forth something new. What does very much bother him are perversions of death, those who try to cheat death, upset the natural balance, maim and manipulate that what is and should be. He hates it with a passion and seeks to rectify it, return the world to that balance when faced with it. That’s where you come in. You much like him have a respect and understanding of life and death similar to his own. Very few people understand that. Very few people do not fear the end when they see it coming. You’re one of those very few people.

You understand Caduceus on a different level, in his sentiment and mannerisms while others may think him strange. Not that he cares if people do, you’ve been his filter in the big shiny new world past the borders of his grove. You’ve been his safety net, his grounding force, his safe haven when the world seems against him and he thinks his senses might be wrong. The Wild Mother must have gently blown her winds to bring you together.

That’s why it seems so wrong you’re affected by this darkness having taken hold over your body, leaving you in a state of not entirely alive nor dead. Resurrection has been futile as much as draining your life and allowing you to move to the care of the Wild Mother herself. You’re trapped and that’s why Caduceus fears what would happen should you die. He’s seen what this perversion of life and death has done to his home, the forests surrounding it and the creatures living in it. He’ll do everything in his power to prevent that from happening to you.

Caduceus has put your body through the typical burial rites and rituals, preserving what he can by using wards and the divine blessings granted to him by his goddess, sending her prayers of your recovery but you appear to be even beyond her reach now. He moves a damp cloth across your arms and face, brushing aside your hair, humming to himself until he’s done, moving on to clean the room around you, getting rid of the dust, placing things back where they belong and replacing the decayed flowers with fresh ones. Caduceus gathers his tea, preparing a cup for himself as he watches you.

“Can you show me how they’re doing?” The wind grows cold. He knew that would be the answer but still he could hope maybe that answer could change.

“Are they in pain?” The wind grows warm but then cold again. You were, but not anymore. It seems that the new wards he’s put up are doing their job. That’s good.

“Is there a cure?” The gentle breeze disappears. She doesn’t know then. This goes even beyond the goddess herself but it doesn’t mean it’s impossible. Caduceus will keep hope, though it is dwindling fast, for your sake he’ll have hope. He’s always spoken to the dead before and while you’re not really dead, there’s a strange comfort to something that feels so final.

“Hey. I’d ask you how you’re doing but that’s not gonna work now, is it? Don’t worry. You’re going to be fine. I know you are. You’ve managed to keep me alive with the others for much longer than I’ve been taking care of you like this. I think we’re going to be fine. I know you’re here but I still miss you. Calliope makes for terrible company watching things unfurl between the others. She’s too much of a hopeless romantic. You forgot to tell me the recipe to that special brew of yours. I’ve been trying to recreate it but I haven’t been able to. I think what I’m trying to say is, I could really do with having my best friend back. That’d be nice.”

Caduceus sips his tea, face devoid of his usual dopy smile. A sudden breeze hits through the window, blowing it open. A few lighter weight and loose items go flying but the thud of a heavier one is clear to hear. Caduceus closes the window and feels something solid hit his boot. It’s a crystal from the ones surrounding the grove. He picks it up, feeling the warmth run through it. The breeze directs towards you and he feels himself walking over to your body. The crystal calls to you and when it touches you your body runs with energy, pulsing, like you’ve been forcibly pulled back to this world. You look around eyes wide breathing heavy.

“Hey.” Caduceus smiles. “I made tea.”

(Mollymauk)

Maybe pretending you and him were some high born assholes was a questionable decision. Taking on an invite directed at the said people you were impersonating even more so, and stealing, sorry, borrowing without asking, some things from their summer cottage to swim in luxuries, an out right terrible idea when these people happen to be very well connected.

So when these fancy folk came back to the cottage earlier than expected, the two of you had grabbed what you could before making your grand escape, chased by their private guards until you lost them. A safe distance away you set up camp. Time to inspect your findings before returning to the carnival. Your eye for valuables had always been much more keen than Molly’s and your appraisals usually spot on. It was only natural he would let you do your thing but he’d still help you.

Particularly proud of getting some ornate jewellery box Molly had pried it open and revealed the jackpot. But of course you couldn’t just sell recognisable jewellery as is and you couldn’t keep such a thing on you very long. So of course you went to work, prying the stones from their settings. A particular necklace was giving you trouble, not even your tools being able to pry it out, you even broke one so you left that one for last.

The two of you had argued, eventually setting on just smashing the stone with the pommel of Molly’s scimitar, the broken gem still providing plenty of pay and not being as recognisable in peaces. So you held the necklace across a stone while he smashed it. When it did a spark hit, next thing he knew you were on the ground, your hands burned where you held the precious metal. At first he thought you were simply knocked out but when you didn't wake up he grew worried. Splashing water in your face, shaking you, lifting your legs, nothing got you to wake up so instead he carried you and the jewellery back to the carnival. Two days and still you didn’t wake up. It became clear this bloody gem was cursed when dark veins started crawling up your skin as the days passed.

Since this was technically on him, Molly took care of you. He makes quite a doting nurse when he wants to be but never without an inappropriate comment or two. It was quite strange to not hear you laugh at or scold him for these comments. Nevertheless he’d fluff up the pillow beneath your head, provide you an extra blanket when the night was cold, tell you stories, or simply the events of the day, the people who came to the carnival, some things he lifted from people’s pockets and so on. Molly has to say he’s ashamed to admit he’d got frustrated with your unresponsiveness or rather the fact you still hadn’t woken up and there was nothing the others could do for you. A healer would still be a week or so out.

“You know, while I’ve really begun getting used to these little one-sided conversations and your lack of judgement at some of my more terrible decisions I really prefer sharing them with you in the moment. I’ve gotten caught by the guards twice now and without you, Gustav is getting a bit sick of bailing me out. I miss our little flirtations. I miss your sometimes wrong opinions, though you’d say they’re proven facts. I miss your company. I think our time apart has given me time to reflect how much you truly mean to me and how much I need you in my life.” Molly leans on his elbow as he studies your face unmoving. You look so peaceful and asleep but he’d much rather get lost in your eyes when you’re awake.

“I laughed at you when you told me the most valuable thing in the world anyone could ever give another is their heart but I think I know what that means now. I’ll offer you mine if you will have it. So please, come back and make sure my head doesn’t get up too high into the clouds or I might just float away.” Molly leans back looking at the ceiling of the tent with a sigh. He’s pulled out of his mind by a snicker.

“A dramatic confession of love to the unconscious target of your affections? And you call me cliche.” Molly looks at your face, eyes still closed but smug grin clear on your face. He pokes your side making you jump.

“You are insufferable.”

[ftb-writes]

And the truth is revealed! I was waiting to post the Marvel fic for Captain Steve Rogers's birthday! Happy Birthday, OG Cap! And the next fic will be Skyrim!

No, but in all actuality, everyone. This was a really difficult fic for me to write, purely because it dealt with some darker themes, and very heavy-handedly. I had trouble writing this 'What if?' fic because it was so dark, and right from the get go. I had to put it down for a couple days at a time as I was writing. So, before you go into this, a few warnings. There is a bit of body horror, though I tried not to get too detailed. There is child death. There is implied (though not *directly* witnessed by the characters) torture. Of both adults and children. Admittance to suicide ideation. Implied cannibalism, and something that ended up sounding like a weird, pseudo-magical prion disease. Implied (though not stated) sexual torture/abuse. This fic is very dark. Please, proceed with caution.

*Please. Please, sir; kill me.

** Thank you.

It is dank in the cramped cellar-turned-laboratory of the crumbling Erskine estate. The age of the damp air hits Steven like a steam train. He chokes on the smell of death and rot wrapping cloyingly around him and the other Avengers. Next to him, Sam and Bucky are gagging, and he hears Tony curse quietly. For once, Steve lets the foul-mouthed inventor be -- the stench is bringing bile to the back of his throat.

The lights don't flick on, despite all the others in the abandoned estate working, and Steve sighs as he flicks the switch up and down a few times ineffectually. The agents with them silently pull out torches. Steve feels his mouth from a grim line as the artificial light washes away the perceived innocence of his old friend.

Abraham had shelves of jars lining the walls, all filled with formaldehyde and bits of human tissue, organs, even a whole fetus suspended in one. The cells on the other side of the ring of light the agents wield are rusty and blood-stained, and have rotting remains still trapped inside. Steve can't bring himself to look at the rib bones jutting up.

As they make their way deeper, the team quickly discovers that the celler opens up into a much larger space -- larger than was reported. They split up and begin to look around, and both the Avengers and the agents accompanying them are horrified by some of the remains they are finding. No one comments on how young the victims all are.

Steve steps around a shelf and notices another victim, this one tacked to the wall and opened up like an anatomical doll. He feels himself heave, and only just avoids puking. There's still some form, but she's mostly sludge by this point. It would have been a gruesome way to go.

To his horror, the girl lifts her head, and Steve chokes on a scream that threatens to tear out of him.

"Bitte," the little girl wheezes. "Bitte, Herr; Töte mich."*

Steve doesn't realize he's crying until after he's fired. He hears one of the nearby agents uttering a prayer for her. "This was a mistake," he tells the team. "We shouldn't be here. This place should have been left to hell."

No one responds.

A few minutes later -- and Steve's morbidly relieved none of the other victims still live -- Bucky mutters a curse of his own. "Stevie, you'll want to see this. Can I get a medic over here?"

Steve weaves his way around shelves, cells, and even a chain-covered operating table. Bucky motions him over to one of the cells, and Sam is just breaking the lock.

Inside the cage is Johann Schmidt, bound, bloodied, and bare. He barely reacts to their presence, but Steve can still see the small flinch. The German isn't looking at any of them, staring out the opposite side of the cell into the dark.

It's Steve's turn to swear. "Get a blanket," he tells the medic that's arrived. As they hurry off, Steve cautiously climbs in with Schmidt and starts cutting away the ropes.

"He's still alive," the German whispers. "Erskine. The fools used the wrong bullet."

"He's delirious," Sam huffs.

"That monster did all this," Schmidt continues, as if Sam hadn't spoken. "And now he's going to do it all to you, Rogers. You should not have come."

The medic returns at that moment, and Steve takes the offered blanket and wraps Schmidt up, before carefully lifting him. "What do you mean?"

"He's still down here," Schmidt breathes.

All the torches go out simultaneously. One of the agents yelps, and then gurgles. Schmidt begins to shiver.

"Please," he whispers. "Shoot me. I can't-"

Steve sets the German on his feet and draws his gun, but catches Schmidt as his legs give out. To see the once proud founder of HYDRA helpless -- Steve doesn't dare think what must have happened to him down here, alone and in the dark.

"Can you walk?" Steve asks, and Schmidt shakes his head.

"Can't feel my legs," Schmidt grunts, and Steve hates the spike of pity and fear that lurches through him.

"I'm going to get you out of here," Steve murmurs.

"I'm a dead man, Rogers. Finish the job and save yourselves. He's not even human anymore."

"What-" Steve starts to ask, and a massive black shape lurches out of the darkness and sinks long claws into the flesh of Schmidt's thigh.

The German screams, and as Steve empties the rest of the magazine into the thing's face, Schmidt pulls the shield free and slams it into the beast's chest. Sam and Bucky are shouting.

"I don't want to be hurt again," Schmidt wimpers, just loud enough for Steve to hear.

He reloads as best as he can one handed -- there's no way he's letting Schmidt go now -- and fires directly into the thing's wrist. It howls, but releases Schmidt and Steve scoops the German up and runs.

He can hear the thing barreling along behind him, whatever it is. Steve hadn't gotten a good look at it, but it reeks of decay, with a bleached skull for a face, and thick, dark fur. It looks like something out of a bad horror film, only real, and Steve can hear agents behind him screaming, and his team calling directions to the exit. Schmidt is sobbing like a child in his arms.

Somehow, in the dark, Steve manages to find the doorway, stumbles up the stairs, out of the cellar. Peter is right behind him, no doubt shoved ahead by Tony, and right behind Peter is the inventor himself. The rest of the Avengers make it out all right, but they've lost most of the agents, and the medic that had brought Steve the blanket. Thor slams the door shut, and the silence is deafening. The group slowly makes their way out to the trucks, stumbling over their own feet as the adrenaline wears off.

In the bright, summer light, Dr. Banner begins to look over Schmidt's wounds, and Steve asks about that beast.

"They have many names; none should be spoken aloud. They eat us mortals, Rogers. Erskine is a monster now. I came -- I was looking for signs of my son. For his sake, I hope the boy's long dead. I -- He-"

Bruce shushes him gently. "Once we get Erskine cleared out, you can search for his remains."

"Danke," Schmidt murmurs, "but he's probably been eaten."**

Steve shakes his head. "I'm so sorry," he tells Schmidt, and means it. "How long had Erskine been torturing people? When he-?"

"Even before he left Germany," Schmidt whispers. "That's why -- I wanted everyone to see what me and the others saw. They're all buried around out here, now. I'm the only one left."

"The others?" Steve prompts.

Schmidt swallows thickly. "When the Nazis were financing the super soldier program, and they had just signed Erskine on, there were about fifty-seven other kids that had been shipped out here. For… experimentation. I happened to be the most fitting candidate. So he didn't kill me, but I wish he had. I suffered so much under his thumb. Am still suffering."

"Other kids," Sam asks. "What do you mean, other kids?"

Schmidt looks at them in shock. "You mean, you didn't know? No one over there knew?"

"Knew what?" Steve hands him a bottle of water, and Schmidt sips from it before he answers.

"Rogers, I was only fifteen during the war. Three years younger than you. I was selected because I'd been an orphan for most of my life by that point. I arrived when I was, I'm not sure, maybe eight? By twelve, I already wanted to die." Schmidt seems concerned. "Did none of SHIELD really know how old I was?"

"No," Steve sighs, and he feels guilty now. If he'd known all of this during the war, he would have tried at least a little bit harder to de-escalate things between him and Schmidt. Maybe, the German might have been talked out of world domination. But then again, if he'd known all this during the war, a lot of things would have been different.

"I can see those sad puppy dog eyes from over here, Rogers. I assure you, nothing you could have said at that point would have stopped me. As I said, I wanted to die. At least as the Red Skull, no one would hurt me."

Before Steve can think of a response, Schmidt clears his throat. "We should come up with a plan. Before it gets dark. Things like that can't come out during the day. However, once it gets dark…"

Peter raises his hand quietly, as if trying to ask a question in school. "I'd rather not be eaten thanks," he admits, "I have a math test next week."

Schmidt laughs, surprisingly. "A good head on his shoulders, Junior," he says to Tony. "Now, do any of you have silver bullets?"

One of the remaining agents laughs, but as Schmidt silently turns his attention toward the agent, they realize no one else is laughing. The chuckles awkwardly trail off. No one actually answers Schmidt.

"Well then, the best thing we can do is leave to get some, and try to make it back before sundown. Otherwise he might just run off, and we'll never see him again."

"I'll go," Steve offers. "The rest of you, stay here and make sure he doesn't leave. Schmidt, you want to come with me?"

Schmidt hesitates, obviously a bit uncomfortable, but he shrugs and nods. "I'd rather be as far away from -- the thing Erskine has become as possible."

"We'll take care of it," Steve promises Schmidt, as the two climb into one of the trucks. "That thing, whatever it is, isn't natural. That's for sure."

"No." Schmidt shifts in the seat, clearly trying to get more comfortable while also favoring his injured leg. "No, it's not."

[archdukecaleb]

Monochrome Week 2020 — Day 1: Checkmateys

I posted this again because I totally deleted this while trying to fix the tags.

Word Count: 1592

“Unhand me, you ignorant beasts!”

Weiss pulled her arms as hard as she could, but they would not slip out of the brutishly strong grips of the two burly men that held them.

“Oh, no, Girly! Ye’re not goin’ anywhere!” said one of the men, his golden tooth, glistening.

“Not unless the captain throws ye overboard!” added the other.

The two men cackled in Weiss’ face, causing her to gag. The men were muscular. More so than anyone she had seen back at home. She reckoned that hours of manual labor around the magnificent ship they were aboard were responsible for that. Those hours also happened to be responsible for the sweat dripping down every inch of the men’s bodies, and causing them to smell like something that died weeks ago. Not to mention the strong scent of rum and God knows what else was decaying in their mouths.

“Oh, that is putrid,” Weiss gagged.

“What’s the matter, Girly? Would ye like it if I washed me mouth with a nice bottle o’ rum?”

The two men cackled harder as they passed a bottle between each other.

“How thoughtful of you…” Weiss cringed.

As charming as pirates can be, I suppose…

As Weiss was yanked from below the deck of the ship, she squinted in the bright sunlight that she knew would have burnt her skin within hours if it were not for her hooded cloak. When her eyes adjusted to the light, she could see more filthy people: men, women, humans, and faunus all working on the deck. Big, muscular men worked with the massive cannons and hauled munitions, smaller men cleaned the deck and kept inventory of freshly plundered goods, and the rest were singing sea shanties together to pass the time.

But the thing that never failed to steal Weiss’ attention was the limitless ocean that surrounded the ship. So much freedom… So many ways to go… She nearly forgot where she was in that very moment.

At this point, Weiss realized there was no point in resisting the two pirates that were currently dragging her along the ship. Their grips were far too strong. She huffed in annoyance as they pulled her to the stern of the ship, having the jolliest time of their lives.

“What do ye think the captain will do to this one?” one pirate asked the other.

“The captain will do what we always does with all the stowaways we find on the ship!” the other pirate cackled.

The first pirate practically started skipping as idiotic, childlike laughter burst from him, “The plank! The plank!”

“That’s right, Girly. The captain’s gonna make ye walk the plank!”

Weiss rolled her eyes, “I highly doubt that,” she said, unfazed.

The pirates looked perplexed, “Ye aren’t afraid? Don’t ye know what sort of foul creatures lurk in these dark waters?”

“As a matter of fact, I do kno—”

“Sharks! The size o’ those Asian elephants!” one pirate interrupted.

“Piranha that’ll tear ye limb from limb!” the other added.

“Um… no.” Weiss managed to interject, “Piranhas are strictly freshwater—"

“And don’t ye forget! The kraken is king of these waters! It’s as big as this ship, and it’ll swallow ye whole!”

Weiss sighed and adopted an unamused look, “Just take me to your captain already.”

The pirates shared a look and shrugged. They stopped in front of the captain’s quarters and looked up to where the helm was. Lo and behold, the captain was standing there, steering the ship.

“Oye, Captain! Look what we found sneakin’ about below deck!” the pirate bellowed as he presented Weiss.

The captain’s bright, golden eyes lazily fell upon Weiss’ hooded face and widened to the size of the sun overhead.

“Weiss!?”

The captain briefly nodded to her quartermaster, who took hold of the helm, and rushed down the steps that lead to the main deck.

“Hands off the lass, mates! Back to work, the both of you!” the captain commanded.

The pirates looked at each other with confusion evident on their features.

“But, Captain, we though ye—”

“Aye, you’ve both done good! Now go!” the captain demanded and pointed to a pile of cargo near the bow of the ship.

The two pirates pouted and turned on their heels.

The captain sighed and turned her attention to her stowaway, “Weiss… What in the world are you doing aboard my ship?”

Weiss laughed timidly, trying her best to avoid those sparkling amber eyes, “It’s really good to see you, Blake.”

Blake groaned and dragged her hand over her face, “This is really not good. How am I going to get you home?”

Blake turned and stormed into the captain’s quarters, followed closely by Weiss. She pulled her hat off and threw it onto a table piled with gold; revealing two, black, cat ears atop her head.

Weiss shut the door behind herself and took a moment to pull her hood back.

“You’ve put me in a horribly arduous spot, Weiss,” said Blake, “We’re nearly a day out from the bay, and you’re here instead of at home. They’ll put my head on a pike if I show up with you on my ship!”

“Well… Maybe you shouldn’t take me home, then,” Weiss hummed as she absent-mindedly played with some decorations on the wall.

Blake looked at Weiss, incredulously, “What are you getting at?”

“Oh, come now, Blake. Don’t act like you’ve forgotten what we talked about last night,” Weiss pouted as she slowly approached Blake.

Blake sighed and sat down on the edge of the table, “I remember telling you this would never work.”

“Don’t you want to try? At least give it a chance,” Weiss begged and place her delicate hands on Blake’s.

Blake looked down on Weiss’ hands over her own and frowned, “I’m a pirate, Weiss. The lord’s daughter deserves someone far nobler than me.”

“I’m not just the lord’s daughter!” Weiss cried, “This is exactly why I want to be with you, Blake!”

Weiss huffed and turned away from the captain with folded arms.

“Every day I wake up and look out the window, I see a vast ocean that lasts forever. The common folk say I have everything, but that’s not true. I have nothing! Just a title and a cage where everyone can look at me like some exotic bird from the Amazon,” Weiss ranted, “They’ve all taken away my ability to choose! Don’t you take that from me too.”

Blake looked down at her boots and stood up, “Weiss, I’m sorry. It’s just… Being with you? It feels too good to be true.”

Weiss hesitated for a moment and faced Blake again. With a small smile, she closed the distance between them and held onto her.

Blake wrapped her arms around Weiss and rested her chin atop her head with a sigh, “I’ll come see you whenever we have cargo to sell.”

“No,” said Weiss as she looked up into Blake’s eyes, “I want to come with you.”

Blake looked shocked, “What? You can’t be serious!”

“I am,” said Weiss, “I want to feel what’s it’s like to be free. I want to be on this ship and travel the world, and I want to do it by your side.”

Blake shook her head, “The life of a pirate is dangerous! The waters are unforgiving, and we’re always on the lookout for other ships that mean us harm! You could be killed!”

“I’d rather die by your side than locked away in a tower,” said Weiss.

Blake’s mouth fell open. It was clear she did not know what to say.

A loud outburst boomed from outside the captain’s quarters. Crewmen’s loud footsteps scurried about on top of shouting pirates and the incessant ringing of a bell.

“Captain!” a voice called from the other side of the door.

Weiss pulled away from Blake and shared a concerned look with her.

Blake slipped her hat onto her head and opened the door, “What’s going on out here?”

“Captain! There’s a ship on approach off the starboard bow! The Queen’s flag!” a pirate explained, out of breath, “They aim to board us!”

Blake cursed under her breath, “Tell the crew to man the cannons and get ready for a fight.”

The pirate ran off and Blake turned to Weiss.

“What’s happening?” Weiss asked.

“A British frigate has been trailing us for weeks. It looks like they’ve finally caught up,” Blake explained as she walked out the door, “Stay here.”

Weiss ignored Blake’s command and rushed out to follow her, “I want to help.”

Blake rolled her eyes and sighed as she climbed the stairs to the helm, “What did I just say?”

“I refuse to stand by like a helpless little girl!” Weiss stomped her foot.

Blake pressed her lips into a fine line and thought for a moment. She reached for one of the two swords on her hip and took it off her belt.

“Do you remember how to use this?” said Blake as she offered the blade to Weiss.

Weiss smirked and plucked it from Blake’s hand, “How could I forget? Your teachings were superb.”

Blake huffed in amusement and turned to steer the ship.

“Wait!” Weiss exclaimed as she gripped the collar of Blake’s waistcoat and pulled her in for a quick, searing kiss.

“For luck,” Weiss giggled and ran down the steps.

Blake blushed and tilted her hat forward in an attempt to hide her cheeks.

“So, that’s what you’ve been doing at the bay,” the quartermaster chuckled.

“Back to work!”  

[mephist0phallus]

Aim Your Arrow at the Sky (I’m so Tired Now)

For the 2019 Tolkien Secret Santa Exchange run by @officialtolkiensecretsanta

Recipient: @stand-up-and-fight-daleks

World: Silmarillion (First Age Middle Earth)

Rating: Teen and Up

Pairings: none (general audiences)

Characters: Celegorm, Oromë, Curufin

Summary: 

The bees in the west field hum as Nerdanel works, star-wife, clay-shaper, the bright babe of scarlet mother hears the wind-whisper of little things.

Author’s note:

Title from Florence and the Machine’s “Sky Full of Song.”

I didn't tag this as Graphic Violence because it's not super detailed, but there is a passage towards the end that has some gore.  If you want a synopsis of the passage so that you can skip reading it, please message me and I'm happy to do so.

I will post this on AO3 very very soon, at which point I will attach a link on this post.  Otherwise, I’m Barefoot_Dancer on AO3 and the pseud I use for Tolkien related works is Lorinand_Lost.

Aim Your Arrow at the Sky (I’m so Tired Now):

The little one is in the vegetable garden, cloth-swaddled, brilliant-haired. He inches beneath the fruit vines, out under the humid canopy of gourd leaves. A mole he catches; it wiggles the moist star on its nose, sable fur dappled in tree-light. Dirt-digger, brother-mine.

And the little one whispers, root-feeder, brother-mine, and he turns him loose to burrow.

The leaves part and his mother’s face appears. As mothers do, she wipes berry juice from his cheeks, gives a scolding for his clever escape. Back into her shawl he is wrapped.

The bees in the west field hum as Nerdanel works, star-wife, clay-shaper, the bright babe of scarlet mother hears the wind-whisper of little things.

...

The old forest is ancient-dark, loam-rich, and the air is full of the creakings of the mossy, the time-bent. The little one is now a childling, taller than the sword ferns and shorter than the elderberry.

Little-water-swimmer, the brook gurgles. The childling drinks, and the water is clear and sweet.

With a leap he's an arrow, a ray of light, and he's reached the lowest branch of the spruce. A third of the way up, he finds a nest, four pale blue eggs, and the disgruntled parents, fretful and feathered.

Egg-eater, whistle the wood thrush in their woven home, Bird-catcher.

He climbs to where the branches are whip-willow thin and the sun lances through the needles, to where the wind whispers.

…

Deep in the wood, there is shadow, under beech and oak of interminable age. Everywhere is covered in their leaves, and everywhere not covered by leaves, in a deep moss. The childling is now a youth, tall and lean, his gold hair braided back. He carries his spear, ash-haft, heart-finder. The youth kneels, feeling the moss. The hare has come this way, light-footed, liquid-eyed.

And there it is in the underbrush, and there the youth lunges in pursuit. Then everything blurs in a dizzying, frenetic sprint, and he is a boy, and he is the hare, and then he has it by it's haunches. It goes still, looking at him with one golden eye, sides heaving. Fleet-foot, danger-tooth, and as a plea, brother-mine. The youth feels another set of eyes on him, and looks up slowly.

In the clearing, in the heart of the forest, there is a stag standing in a shaft of light. There is ivy in his antlers, and then he is a man. In a breath, the shade of a deer, gleaming bone and wet sinew. And then a man again, with the stag's head. He moves between these aspects as he says in a voice as old as time, boy-prince, swift-runner, come you now a-hunting?

The youth lowers his spear. Forest-lord, monsters-bane, Oromë.

Gather for me the waltalís nectar from their cliff-face hives, and you may join my wild-hunt.

~~~

Around in a circle are the other Huntsmen. They bear torches, stamp to the beat of a hide drum, sing in a tongue that sounds like the running hare, the charging boar, a diving hawk. Oromë stands at their head, motionless; he has taken the form of a man, dark skinned, braids capped with bone beads.

There is a wind in the cliffs, and the old harvesting ropes groan. Overhead, the bees whir and circle lazily. In one hand, the youth holds the harvesting basket, in the other, a long wood shaft tipped with a blade. He seeks purchase on the ropes with his knees, his bare feet, toes white-knuckled to the jute. He begins to climb.

Inching his way to the top is slow, and grueling. The youth is cold from the sweat-damp tunic that clings to his chest, and the ground is dizzying down below. The bees grow louder. Flightless-brother, knife-bearer. They spiral down from their nests, humming around him, alighting on his clothing and on his bare skin. The youth can feel their little feet as they bump their way over his breast bone and into his tunic, their gossamer wings across the eyelids that he screws closed.

When he can hear the hive above him, he raises the long blade to cut. The bee-music swells. elixir-thief. And they bite him, quick flashes of pain that bloom and burn. They bite at his exposed feet, the youth cries out, tethering himself into the ropes tighter. Now they crawl across his lips, and he locks them shut; they carry with them their sticky and bewildering nectar, made from the cliff flowers that give visions and heat and euphoria.

But they do not stop biting him, and in anguish he cries Shining-wings, sister-mine, Queen, I beseech thee! The nectar is in his mouth now, and there is a fire behind his eyelids and in the sky as the sun sets. It is bitter, it is sweet, and he burns. And the queen says, Take with care and temperance our madding-sweet, thee who speaks with little things. The biting ceases, and the youth fills his basket. Thanks-be, golden-daughter.

With his descent can hear a wild music, and the air moves in strange forms with languid intent. Below, he can see Oromë, and his head seems to shift between aspects - deer, decay, man - antlers grasping at the sky and weaving like vines.

When his feet hit the ground, the youth crumples. Oromë looms over him, washed in torchlight. Turkafinwë you are, father-named for strength and pride.

…

It is dark here, except for the fires burning on the northern horizon. The youth is of majority now, forest-hardened, valinor-soft. Below him in the valley, the goblin army, tortured-legion, unfortunate-brother. Under him shifts his horse, a dappled grey mare. She snorts, unsettled by the smell on the wind, puissance and suffering. Gentle-girl, Turkafinwë murmurs, Peace-be, safe I keep you. She nickers, settling.

When the ground-crawlers and night-wrigglers bring word that the orcs are in the Vale, Turkafinwë lights his torch. In a wave behind him, his men light theirs. There is the rolling sound of ringing steel being drawn, and then it is a hot-rush mad-scramble down the hillside. There is a shout in the air, and a wave of lights charge down into the orcs, who are night-blind with the sudden fire.

Down past Eithel Sirion and into the Fens they are driven, hunted and harried by Turkafinwë and his men, splashing and stumbling into the salty water, muddied and bloodied by the horses' hooves.

Their screaming sounds elvish. And their blood looks elvish as it streaks his blade and soaks into his hair. Some cry for mercy, some cry curses, some fall silently and their bodies relax into a peace cheated from them in life. Turkafinwë surges forward; for mercy, for vengeance, none will be spared here.

Silence falls, except for the groans of the wounded. Overhead, the carrion birds wheel. Brother-hunter, fearsome-fighter, blood-glutted you are, and now we fall to feast. The spirit of Alqualondë is in the air, or maybe it is just the sea air. In the water, elvish hair and orcish hair appear identical.

Tyelkormo he is by mothers-wisdom, the hasty-riser, hot-blooded.

…

Snake's-brother, Orodreth names him, lie-smith, brutish-betrayer. Turned out from Nargothrond in the dead of night. He mourns Huan, and his brother mourns his son; both are living dead, and neither will see their loved one again on this side of the sea. They are shades in the forest. They hide in the day, and travel at night as traitors under a sliver of moon. They seek their brothers' company.

The birds gossip about him, the beasts ignore him. He hunts for food, and his prey fall with baleful glares and die inelegantly, and he can hear them cursing him.

He is not Turkafinwë, he is not Tyelkormo, he is Celegorm in this new language that he speaks poorly and of which understands little, and silence is now his friend.

…

In that blood-haze, in those dark caves lit with glittering lamps, he can feel that familiar oath-madness creeping at the tips of his bones.

Behind him, there is a cry, and he turns to see Caranthir with an arrow sprouting from his jugular. On the causeway above him is Nimloth holding a great yew bow. Celegorm screams like it's his throat in which the arrow is buried, like a panicked horse, like a she-wolf protecting her pups. From his belt, he frees his last dagger. Willing it to fly like a bird, that Oromë and his teachings haven't quite abandoned him, he looses it. His aim is true, and the Queen of Doriath falls.

A scream rings in answer to Celegorm, ripping from the throat of Nimloth's human husband. King Dior charges him, broadsword raised. When their swords meet, all else falls away. Celegorm is dimly aware of the tears on Dior's cheeks, and that he is crying as well. He thinks he can kill this man, who is only human, but when Caranthir, falls with a groan, Celegorm's world freezes. He is too late to block Dior's blade, which slides through his breast plate like cold fire. He coughs blood, grabbing onto Dior's pauldrons to support himself. But in Dior's hasty fury, Celegorm's sword has also found its mark. The light leaves the man's eyes, and he and Celegorm fall as one.

The cold seems to spread from the wound, racing across his body and relieving Celegorm of oath-madness. He cannot push the blade free, but he does have the strength to pull Caranthir toward him, to roll Curufin into his lap. Celegorm listens as their breathing slows, as they go limp in his arms. Now, with bloody faces and sightless eyes, they look younger than they have since departing Valinor.

At last, he too can rest. Cold darkness comes to claim him, rolling over him like a wave.

…

When Celegorm awakes, there is fog, and out of the fog come gleaming eyes. A pack of wolves ring him, and they speak with Namo's voice. Welcome-be, kinslayer, oath-keeper.

Well-met, doomsman, spirit-master, Celegorm whispers.

The wolves close in on him, and he draws in on himself. When they savage his body, he thrashes out, and then realizes that the wounds close almost instantly. This must be his punishment, he realizes: eternal torment, unbroken by death or the oblivion of the void to which he had promised his soul, but from which he had apparently been saved to experience this fresh hell.

The wolves speak with Namo's voice, naming him Prideful-child, headstrong-hunter and they tear at his arms.

The wolves speak with his little brothers' voices, naming him Failed-caretaker, and in his father's, oath-breaker, and they rip at his legs.

The wolves speak with the young voices of Elured and Elurin, naming him Butcher-brethren, child-murderer, and they rend at the soft meat of his belly.

The wolves speak with Finrod's voice, melodious and terrible, naming him Cousin-killer, home-defiler, and their teeth sink home in his throat.

One wolf nuzzles close to his throat, and says Hound’s-friend, brother-mine, and Celegorm begins to cry because that is Huan’s voice inside that wolf.

And then the wolves speak in a new voice, and they name him: Hunter who is now prey, Turkafinwë; wrathful Tyelkormo; wretched Celegorm.

And Celegorm gasps, This is my voice, Namo, you torture me with my own voice.

And they say, his blood dripping from their teeth, Of course we do, for we are you. So tell us, how do you name yourself?

As Celegorm struggles between the heaving bodies and snapping jaws, he cries I am a kinslayer and an oathmaker, I am a monster and a butcher! His head disappears beneath the sea of fur. But I am also a third-brother and my people's defender, friend to little things and silent-hunter! He surges upward, grasping the largest wolf around the neck. Above all else, I am tired, and heart-sick, and I desire only restful darkness.

The wolf laughs. You will have no rest, not here, not until the remaking of the world. And everything goes dark.

...

When Turkafinwë awakes, for the second time since his death and after an interminable age, there is sunlight.

Turkafinwë sits up with a start. "I must be dreaming!" He shouts horsely, "You mock me, Mandos!"

"Can't stand the idea that you're one of the last of us to be released?" Curufin rises lazily from his seat under a tree.

"Brother?" And then quietly, “how long have I been gone?”

"Mother says it's been about four thousand years."

“You said one of the last…” Celegorm says slowly. “Who else is left?”

“Maedhros, for starters,” says Curufin. “If I know our oldest brother at all, it’s more due to his prodigious capacity for self-recrimination and less to Mandos’ judiciary streak.”

“And father?” Celegorm asks, pretty sure he already knows the answer.

“Well, look at it this way. When I was in the halls, I only ever saw visions of Celebrimor’s torment; how do you think it feels to have failed not one but seven sons?”

Celegorm sighs. “What are we doing here, brother? Surely the council would rather condemn our souls to the void.”

Curufin laughs. “I think Manwe is something of an optimist. And I do remember one last thing from the halls - the shade of my son that I had conjured as my punishment told me before I was released that I would have no rest until the world is remade.”

Celegorm starts.

“We May have forgiven ourselves in the halls,” continues Curufin, “but out here, we must fight for the forgiveness of others. One individual seems like he wishes to be first in line.”

The bushes behind him rustle, and out steps Huan. Turkafinwë, brother-mine And he knocks headlong into Celegorm, who falls flat with a laughing face full of dog fur.

There are bees - which he can hear, but cannot see, because he is on his back looking up at the bluest sky imaginable. And the bees say Welcome-be to land-everlasting, son of Fëanor, he who hears the wind-whisper of little things.

Author’s Note:

Waltalís - derived from walta (excite, rouse, wild) and lís (honey) in quenya.

Inspired by something I read once about traditional honey gatherers who climb up the side of a cliff to collect the honey made from a particular psychedelic flower.

Concerning the battle at the fens of serech,I headcanon that since the orcs began as elves that Sauron tortured and experimented upon, the first few generations are startlingly elf-like in appearance.

I like the idea of Mandos being the rehab of Valinor. They both serve time as penitence and learn to forgive themselves.  So Namo’s brilliant idea is to have people overcome their self-hatred by handling their own punishment.  Celegorm feels guilt over Finrod and his younger brothers, so he punishes himself with wolves until he’s all worn out and willing to forgive himself.

[zoocross0vers]

Carcass Bride: Part 2

A/N: Hey everyone, sorry about the delay. I meant to post this up last night, but since it was pretty late already I decided to wait until today. So a bit later than expected, but I hope you enjoy this conclusion nonetheless. :)

...

Part 2: The Carcass Bride and Her Groom

If Judy hadn't been paralyzed with shock, she would've surely been crying with confusion and anger. How did things go south this quickly? She had surprisingly found the perfect mate for her in the male she was originally assigned to marry, but now…

Things had gone according to plan for her parents and family because she had still married someone who would provide her family with the money they needed to survive. In that sense she was happy to help out for their sake, but why did she still feel so broken?

Sure, it wasn’t a guarantee that she’d end up falling in love with her original fiancée, but the fact of the matter was that she did. She fell in love with Nick Wilde. She was willing to go to the farthest ends of the earth to find him after he had ran away embarrassed of his constant fumbling during their wedding rehearsal. What hurt even more was that she was aware that he too loved her. He had told her so when he had come back to her -- out of breath and petrified beyond belief. He looked as if he had seen a ghost just before he regained his color and told her with all sincerity that he wished to be with her always and wanted to marry her more than anything. 

But then...she realized why he had looked so terrified moments before. He had been taken from her. By a vixen... and not just by a vixen, but by a dead one! A literal walking carcass! And she dragged him away from her just as he had confessed his love for her. Her Nick. Her fox. He was in trouble and she couldn’t help him. She tried so hard but failed him. And now...now she had been forced to marry someone new. Someone who showed her no interest or concern. 

Her parents had at the very least thrown her some concerned glances -- noticing her evident sadness. But her husband? This Lord Woundwort. He hadn’t even looked at her, much less had he taken the time to ask her what’s wrong. He just continued on with his speech.

“Elegant, cultured, radiant. Judith has found a husband with all of these qualities and more,”  said the large rabbit, his voice heavy with arrogance, “Serendipity brought us together and no force on earth can tear us apart.”

Just then, as if he had tempted fate itself, a green flame suddenly surged from the fireplace. All of the rabbits in the room gasped in fear, wondering what was happening. It wasn’t long until some bluish looking animals started to slowly appear behind all of Judy’s guests and family. And then there was the sudden plop of an eye in Judy’s father’s soup. “There’s an eye in my soup.”

“Aaah!” screamed one of Judy’s aunts in horror as things quickly turned chaotic in a flash! Everywhere they looked, there was a skeleton or some other decaying blue carcass of an animal causing panic. It was as the town crier simply put it, “THE DEAD WALK THE EARTH!!!”

The dead soon ran out of Judy’s house chasing out her relatives and guests, all except her husband Lord Woundwort, who merely snorted at at any carcass that tried coming near him. Though they were dead, they seemed genuinely terrified of the savage looking rabbit. 

Not long after, everyone was gone, save for Judy and Lord Woundwort. “Right,” he said, practically unfazed by the previous chaos, “We’re going to take whatever money we can and get out of here.”

“Money?” Judy uttered as the word finally took her out of her depressive trance. “What money?” she asked again with a confused brow.

“Your dowry. It’s my right!” barked the hare sized rabbit.

“My parents don’t have any money. It’s my marriage to you that will save them from the poorhouse.”

Though the dead didn’t frighten Lord Woundwort, Judy’s words certainly did. “T-The poorhouse?!” he stammered in anger, “You’re lying! It isn’t true! Tell me that you’re lying!!!” he shouted as he harshly shook her by her arms.

“Did things not go according to your plan Lord Woundwort,” Judy asked, almost mockingly. Though she didn’t know why he had chosen to marry her initially, she had a feeling that it wasn’t for anything good and it seemed that she was absolutely right. She shoved him away from her, forcing him to release her, “Well, perhaps in disappointment, we are perfectly matched.” She marched out of the room in a huff.

The gray bunny made it out the door when she realized that the dead were still everywhere outside. The only difference now was that nobody seemed to be afraid of them anymore. They were all surprisingly walking side by side with them and they all appeared to be heading to the local church nearby with a giant wedding cake in tow. Where are they all going? Judy thought, as she followed behind them.

Pastor Bogo, a hulking cape buffalo and the church’s pastor, stood outside before the church’s entrance in his pajamas. He waved his arms menacingly toward the dead, “Back you demons! You shall not enter! Get back! Back! Back!!!”

The dead mammals merely glanced awkwardly at one another until a dead wolf spoke to the buffalo, “Keep it down, we’re in a church.”

The dead mammals ignored the buffalo and walked in as Pastor Bogo merely stood there, completely stunned over the whole scene.

Not long after, the wedding march began to play all throughout the church. 

At the altar, stood Nick as he turned to greet his marching bride. Skye, the vixen carcass bride, marched down the aisle while two small, skeletal otter pups decorated her path with flower petals. Her blue face was full of bliss as her sapphire colored eyes stared up blissfully at her awaiting groom. Nick watched her with a smile. She was beautiful. Even for a dead vixen with a completely skeletal arm and leg, she was still quite lovely. Though she wasn’t his ideal bride, nor the girl he truly loved, he still liked her. If he had to marry someone else beside his beloved Judy, it would be her. She was mature, kind, caring, and strangely enough, still full of life despite being dead. 

Besides, what did he have to lose at this point? The girl he loved...or at least thought he loved had betrayed him…

She had betrayed him for someone else…

How could she? It was all he could think when one of his family’s servants, a chubby cheetah who had recently been ill named Clawhauser, had suddenly died and informed him of Judy’s new engagement. He had told him that she had married that vicious looking rabbit that suddenly arrived to their wedding rehearsal. Was it that? Did she choose him instead, because he was one of her own kind?

Did that explain why it was he chose Skye too, despite the price being losing his own life in order to make their marriage binding? Did he really prefer a vixen over a doe, just like Judy very likely preferred a buck over him? Did Judy actually choose this buck? Or was she forced to?

It hurt him to think that she did, but he couldn’t say. All he knew was that he didn’t prefer a vixen. He loved Judy despite her being a rabbit. But now that she was snatched away from him, what more was there to lose? Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to die, if it meant making his marriage official with a girl who really did love him.

At this point, there was no turning back. He would numb his remaining feelings for Judy and promise to love Skye with all his unbeating heart. 

Skye finally made it to the altar, her smile never faltering. Finally! She would be the bride she was originally meant to be, but this time, it would be with a kind and sweet mammal. Not with the murdering monster that snatched her dreams away from her and killed her on what was to be the happiest day of her life. 

Nick was a handsome, kind, sweet, and loving mammal, and she knew that she would at last find her peace and happiness with him. 

He offered her his paw with a warm smile and she took it, standing beside him at the altar. 

Elder Otterton, a middle aged skeleton who was once an otter, stood before them to officially marry the two in death. He was referred to as ‘Elder Otterton’, due to him having died over three hundred years ago. In that regard, he was one of the oldest and wisest members of the land of the dead. It was he too who had informed the carcass bride Skye, that her marriage to Nick never existed because he was alive and she was dead. Therefore, death had already parted them.

Though now, they would correct that by having Nick drink from the ‘Wine of Ages’, a poison that would forever cease his heart and allow him to join Skye in marriage and in death. 

Once the wedding march ended, Elder Otterton began the ceremony, “Dearly beloved, and departed. We are gathered here today to join this fox and this carcass in marriage.”

Unbeknownst to anyone, another bride had at last made her way toward the church. Judy stood at the church’s entrance when her jaw dropped in shock. “Nick?” she gasped with a breaking heart. A cheetah skeleton that sat in the back shushed her after her surprised remark. 

Another deflating gasp escaped Judy’s mouth. No...this can’t be happening… she thought as she quietly made her way around one side of the row of seats to a pillar that stood to the side of the altar. She watched from behind Nick’s back. She was so paralyzed with sadness, that all she could do was watch as the love of her life was being married to the vixen carcass right in front of her. 

“Living first,” continued the skeletal otter, instructing him to recite his vows.

“With this paw,” Nick began as he raised his right paw, “I will lift your sorrows,” he lifted the cup where the poison he was to consume would go into. “Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine.” 

“Now you,” instructed elder Otterton to Skye. 

Skye took a moment to stare deeply into Nick’s eyes as he smiled at her. She was so appreciative of the sacrifice he was making for her. “With this paw,” she began, not wanting to waste a second longer. “I will lift your sorrows,” she lifted the red bottle carrying the poison that was to kill her groom, “Your cup will never empty,” she looked to him again as Nick gave her a reassuring smile to let her know that he was ready to meet his fate. Skye gave him a small nod and began pouring the poison into his cup as she continued to recite her vows, “For I will be…”

Her gaze wandered as she caught a glimpse of someone in the background. Skye gasped when she realized that it was Judy -- the 'other’ female -- as Skye had once jealously called her before Nick explained to her that Judy was his actual fiancee. 

Judy gasped quietly as well when she saw that she had been spotted. 

“I will be…” Skye repeated, struggling to keep focused as she glanced back and forth between Nick and the clearly heartbroken Judy. 

“Go on my dear,” encouraged Elder Otterton, completely oblivious to the vixen’s hesitance. 

“Your cup will never empty,” Skye repeated, forcing herself to continue and taking another glance at Judy. “F-For I will be…” 

Seeing that she was unable to continue, Nick finished the line for her, “I will be your wine.” Nick brought the poisoned cup toward his lips until Skye suddenly placed a skeletal paw over the cup, preventing Nick from drinking out of it. Nick turned to her, completely confused as their guests muttered in equal confusion. 

“She’s having second thoughts,” they heard one of their dead guests mutter to his living wife. 

Judy’s jaw gaped in awe, surprised at the dead bride’s sudden hesitance.

“I can’t,” said the vixen with a breaking voice.

“What’s wrong?” asked Nick with concern as he turned to glance back, noticing that something behind him was bothering her. Before he could see however, Skye placed a paw at his cheek, bringing his full attention back to her.

“This is wrong,” said the vixen, her voice heartbroken yet decidedly firm. “I was a bride. My dreams were taken from me. And now...now I’ve stolen them from someone else,” she wept with sincerity, “I love you Nick, but you’re not mine.”

The carcass bride released his cheek and with a humble smile, drew her paw forward, asking the bunny bride to step forth. Nick followed the direction of the vixen’s paw and his jaw dropped when he saw why it was that she was so hesitant to continue. “Judy!” Nick said, his still beating heart skipping a beat at the sight of her.

Judy made her way toward the two foxes, her gaze low at first in a mix between guilt and shame until she reached the vixen’s welcoming paw. Skye took the bunny bride’s paw and then took Nick’s paw, placing it gently over the bunny’s.

Skye smiled happily at them both. It was only at the sight of her reassuring smile, that two original lovers felt that it was okay. They returned the vixen an appreciative smile and then turned to one another with a loving smile towards each other.

“Oh, how touching,” spoke a malevolent voice. Everyone turned to the church’s entrance where Lord Woundwort stood. “I always cry at weddings,” he said with a mocking sniffle.

Judy took a step back from him in disgust. In her joy at being reunited with Nick, she had completely forgotten about her previous wedding to the large vicious rabbit. 

“Our young lovers together at last,” Lord Woundwort said mockingly as he made his way down the aisle, “Surely now they can live happily ever after,” he reached the three mammals at the altar, practically hounding over Judy, “But you forget…” He violently grabbed Judy by an arm and pulled her away from Nick and Skye, “She still my wife!!! And I will not leave here empty pawed!”

Judy struggled in the rabbit’s grasp until Skye spoke, garnering everyone’s attention. “You!” she said, as if suddenly recognizing the vicious brown rabbit. 

The savage-looking rabbit’s own eyes widened as well, suddenly recognizing the vixen too. “Skye?”

That gave the vixen her answer. “YOU!” she hissed furiously. 

“But...I left you,” said the rabbit.

“For dead,” said the vixen, finishing his sentence. The crowd gasped in shock. Skye had just come face to face with her former betrothed and murderer. Their wedding guests began to growl angrily at the large rabbit. 

“Stay back!” hissed the rabbit at the guests as they began surrounding him. The hare sized rabbit took a large sword out of a short skeleton fennec fox’s stomach. He brought it under Judy’s neck and sunk his claws into her arm.

“Aah!” Judy gasped in pain as the rabbit tightened his grip on her to ensure that she wouldn’t struggle. 

“Sorry to cut things short, but we must be on our way,” said the rabbit with a wicked smirk.

“Take your paws off her!” Nick growled at the brown rabbit with bared teeth.

The psychotic rabbit smirked at him and pressed the tip of the sword toward Nick’s stomach, “Do I have to kill you too?”

With Judy now free from harm's way, Finnick, the small skeleton fox, bit Lord Woundwort’s rear, forcing him to release Judy. Judy free herself and ran away from Lord Woundwort, standing beside Skye as she held her arm in pain.

“Nick! Catch!” yelled an old armadillo with glasses as she tossed Nick a weapon to defend himself. Little did she know that she had tossed him a two pronged fork.

“Really?” Nick spat in disbelief when he realized that it was just a fork.

“Sorry,” responded the dead armadillo.

Beggars can't be choosers however as the rabbit charged at Nick with the sword. Though it wasn’t at all an ideal weapon, Nick made due with the fork, blocking Lord Woundwort’s attack. Nick mostly dodged and blocked with his fork, getting in only a couple of pokes at Woundwort. One at his already injured rear and another at his foot when he had forced Nick to take cover beneath one of the church’s pews. 

“Aah!” Lord Woundwort growled in pain as he fell back, knocking down the nearby pews like dominoes. Judy and Skye stepped back as the pews fell in their direction. 

Nick jumped back on his feet when Lord Woundwort did the same, popping out from beneath the pews. With an almost savage-like growl, he slapped the fork away from Nick’s paw with the sword and then he violently slashed at Nick’s stomach with his own claws, forcing the fox down on his tail. 

“Nick!” Judy cried as she tried to run to his side, but Skye held her back.

Nick hissed in pain and clenched at his stomach. Lord Woundwort hounded over him and pointed the blade right at Nick’s face. The hefty rabbit smirked with an evil sneer, “Look at you, pathetic. You call yourself a predator when a prey animal can easily knock you down? You lack the viciousness your kind should have. If I were you, I would’ve put those claws and teeth to good use and tear my enemies limb from limb.”

“Well, lucky me I guess that you’re not a predator,” Nick quipped sarcastically.

“Maybe not, but I can kill just as well. After all,” he turned to Skye with a sadistic grin, “You wouldn’t be the first fox I’ve killed.” Lord Woundwort pulled the blade back, ready to stab Nick right through his skull. He launched his arm forward with a growl.

“No!” Judy ran to him, only for Skye to push her back as the sound of a blade meeting flesh rang in everyone’s ears. Nick, Judy, along with all of the wedding guests gasped, when they all saw that it was Skye who had taken the blade in Nick’s stead. 

Skye removed the blade from her stomach and pointed it at Lord Woundwort. 

Lord Woundwort scoffed, “Touche my dear.”

“Get out,” Skye growled, having had enough of the rabbit.

“Nick,” Judy ran to Nick’s side. 

“Carrots,” he stood and protectively placed an arm in front of her, keeping her safely hidden behind him and away from the psychotic rabbit.

Skye meanwhile kept the sword aimed at Lord Woundwort. The large rabbit laughed mockingly as he circled around her and headed toward the altar. “You’re going to kill me now?” Skye gave him no answer, she merely kept the blade aimed at him with every step he took, “Very well then, I’ll leave,” he stopped at the altar and raised up the wedding cup that Nick had held earlier. “But first, a toast! To Skye! Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.” He mocked as Skye’s ears fell back in sadness and humiliation. 

“Lemme at him! Lemme at him! No! Don’t-Don’t hold me back!” cried a little green maggot named Maggot, who was Skye’s friend and local resident who lived behind one of her eyes. He was so appalled by Lord Woundwort’s words, as were the rest of the dead who desperately wanted to kill the cruel rabbit but were held back by Elder Otterton. “Wait!” he cried, “We must abide by their rules. We are amongst the living.”

Lord Woundwort chuckled and then turned back to Skye, “Tell me my dear, can a heart still break once it’s stopped beating?” He chugged the wine from the cup with one full gulp. He smacked his lips together and tossed the cup to the side. “How about...we find out!” he said as he charged toward Skye with a paw up, ready to strike at Skye’s chest with his sharp claws. Skye blocked with her arms, only for Lord Woundwort to suddenly stop in his tracks a second later. “Agh!” he choked, reaching for his throat and fell to his knees. He began to gasp and gag desperately as he moved his paws down to his chest, clutching at his heart. 

Maggot smirked, thinking back on Elder Otterton’s previous words, “Not anymore,” he said with a sing-songy tone. When Lord Woundwort looked up, his face and fur were all blue now -- he was dead. 

“Yup, you’re right. He’s all yours,” said Elder Otterton, letting the dead drag a now terrified and very dead Lord Woundwort back to the land of the dead with them -- to do whatever wicked thing they wished to do to him. 

The armadillo cook from before, shut the door that led to the land of the dead, but not before eerily stating, “New arrival.” 

Elder Otterton stayed behind for a moment and covered the ‘Wine of Ages’. It would no longer serve its actual use as Skye relented Nick to allow him to return to his true intended, Judy -- who was also now free from her own marriage as Lord Woundwort was now dead. 

Judy rested her head and a paw against Nick’s chest, “Oh Nick, I never thought I would see you again.”

Skye smiled happily at them, but with a sadness still carried in her heart. She headed toward the door where the rest of the dead had left through. 

Nick watched her go, saddened. Though he knew his place was really with Judy, he felt that he still owed her one. “Wait, I made a promise,” he said as he walked toward her. 

Skye smiled and shook her head, “You kept your promise. You set me free,” she removed the wedding ring he had placed on her finger and placed it in his paw. She wrapped his paw around it. “Now I can do the same for you.” The vixen then looked back to Judy, “Take care of him will you? He’s a good guy.”

Judy smiled at her with a nod. Skye continued back toward the door when Judy called to her, “Wait, where will you go?” she asked, concerned for the selfless vixen. 

“I guess, wherever death takes me,” she shrugged, “Congratulations you two. You make a lovely pair.” Nick and Judy held paws and nodded appreciatively at the vixen. Elder Otterton then came by the carcass bride’s side. She took his arm and gave the happy couple one final glance before she crossed the threshold back to the land of the dead. 

Nick sighed as Skye forever disappeared as the door shut behind her and Elder Otterton. Though they weren’t meant for each other, he knew that she would always carry a special place in his heart as a dear friend. 

He looked down toward Judy who looked as if she wanted to cry. “Hey,” he spoke gently to her, “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” she replied wiping at her forming tears, “It’s just...were you happy with her?” she asked meekly.

“What?”

“I mean, did I ruin your wedding? You both seemed happy until...I came along. And...And I just...” Judy’s eyes looked like they wanted to fill with tears again.

“Hey, don’t say that,” Nick cooed gently to her, cupping her cheeks in his paws. 

“But…” she sniffled, “I want you to be happy and I don’t want to be the reason that you’re not.” 

He couldn’t help but smile at her sweet words, “Listen to me Carrots,” he looked her in the eyes and spoke sincerely, “I won’t lie to you and say that I didn’t care for her. I did like her, but...I think that even she knew that you’re the one I truly love Judy.” Judy watched him, reading the sincerity in his eyes. “I felt so broken when I heard that you had gotten married to someone else. More so when I heard that it was a rabbit that you had married. I-I thought that you didn’t want me because I was a fox and…”

Judy gripped his wrists, “How could you think that? I could never willingly replace you with anyone else. I don’t care that you’re a fox.” His eyes shone as she lovingly caressed a paw at his cheek, “I love you Nick.”

He smiled wide, his heart fluttering with joy. He rubbed his thumbs against the fur of her cheeks, “I love you too, Judy.”  Judy moved her face forward, attempting to kiss him, but he put a paw at her lips, “Wait, before we do, there’s something I need to tell you. Something I should have told you properly the first time around.” Judy raised a brow in confusion, until Nick lifted his right paw and confidently began to speak, “With this paw, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty for I will be your wine.” Judy gave him a giddy smile, “With this candle,” he pointed at his paw, “Just pretend there’s a candle there,” he quipped as Judy giggled, “I will light your way in darkness. With this ring, I ask you, Judith Laverne Hopps,” he gently slipped the ring on Judy’s middle finger and took her paw in both of his, “To be mine. Forever and always.”

Judy couldn’t contain her tears any longer as she jumped up at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I do! Forever and always too.” Without another word, they kissed. Two very different mammals who were only meant to marry for financial gain, but instead found love in one another as they were at last reunited once more. 

Though they were happy, there was one question that remained unanswered: What had happened to the carcass bride that had accidentally torn them apart, but then selflessly brought them back together again?

.

Back in the Land of the Dead…

Skye sat on a small set of stairs looking up at the sky. Her friend, Maggot crawled up to her and noticed her just staring up at nothing, “What are you looking at?”

“Back in the world of the living, the moon would be right up there,” she pointed to the sky. 

The little green maggot grimaced sadly at her with a shake of his head. “I don’t know why you gave up that boy to that bunny.” He climbed aboard her arm up to her ear.

“I didn’t give him up,” she replied. “I accidentally stole him from someone else and I just set him free.”

“Call it what you will,” scoffed the maggot, “I still think you’re just making yourself blind to the truth,” he said as he popped out of her eye socket and forced her eyeball out of it.

“Hey!” she barked, “How often are you going to do that, you nasty little worm!” 

“Until you come to your senses,” he replied, “You’re just going to let what that horrible rabbit said about you be true? That you’ll always be a bridesmaid?”

Skye huffed sadly, “That doesn’t matter now Maggot. I’ll always be a carcass bride on the outside, and maybe I’ll never be the bride I was meant to be in any other regard. But I’ve made my peace with that, so quit bugging me with your cynical opinion.” She looked around her, “Great, where’d my eye go?” she walked a little further down the street she was on and spotted an eyeball on the ground. “Oh, there it is.” 

She picked it up and put it back on, though there was something off about it. “What the?” she said as she could swear that she was seeing two different things -- one of which was a profile view of herself. She looked to her side and saw a blue striped hare in a tuxedo looking at her with one pale blue eye and a sapphire one. Skye removed the eye she picked up just as he removed the sapphire eye from his own socket. They blinked with their one remaining eye and looked down at the extra eye in their paws. She held a pale blue one which matched his remaining one, just as he held a sapphire one which matched her remaining eye. 

“Oh, sorry,” they both said simultaneously with an embarrassed chuckle. 

“Here, allow me to,” The hare exhaled on Skye’s eyeball and gently cleaned it against the lapel of his tuxedo. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to take your eye by mistake,” he said politely.

“That’s okay,” she said as she too took a moment to clean his eye with the skirt of her dress. “I’m sorry I took yours. You have a nice eye color,” she said.

“Thank you,” he replied with a smile as he took his eye back and handed her hers. “You have a very lovely eye. Er, eyes. They’re as bright as real sapphires.”

“Thank you,” she said with what may have been a blush at her cheeks had she still been alive. She placed her eye back at her socket. With it back in its rightful place, she was able to see that he was quite handsome. Not to mention, he was also very well dressed. “That’s a very nice suit you’re wearing. I like that flower at your pocket,” she complimented.

He placed his eye back and looked down at his suit, “Oh, thank you. It was my wedding suit.”

“You’re wedding suit?” she asked with a curious brow, “You mean you died on your wedding day?”

“Yes. I’m afraid I did,” he replied with a hint of sadness.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said the vixen, sympathetically. 

“Don’t be. In certain ways, it may have been for the better.”

“Why’s that?” she asked curiously.

“Well, at least this way I’m no longer married to my now ex wife. She’s the one who murdered me you see.”

“Your wife?” the vixen asked in shock. “That’s awful!”

“Yes,” his tall striped ears fell back, “And what hurt the most was that I actually thought I loved her and...I thought she really loved me as well. She looked so innocent and sweet with those large glasses and her beautiful wool.” He sighed in disappointment, “Not long after our reception however, she asked me where I kept my stocks and bonds and after I answered her, she poisoned my glass of wine.”

“So you became a carcass groom?” she asked the obvious.

“Yes,” he said patting down his tuxedo. He then looked up at her, “And you? I see you’re a carcass bride.”

“Yeah. I guess I picked the wrong mate too and basically went through everything you did.”

“That’s truly horrible to hear. You seem like a sweet girl and you’re very beautiful. I can’t see why anyone would want to harm you,” he said with a polite smile.

Skye giggled shyly, “Well, I guess I could ask you the same thing. Why would someone want to harm such a polite and handsome gentlemammal such as yourself?”

The hare shrugged bashfully, “I suppose we’re two parts of the same romantically deceived coin.”

“I guess we are,” she agreed. “What’s your name by the way? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around here before.”

“Oh, that’s because I died in a town called Bunnyburrow, just outside of Zootopia. But I couldn’t stand wandering around there any longer, knowing that that sheep was living off my wealth and lying to my family about my death. So I opted to leave instead.”

“That’s terrible,” she sympathized, “But don’t worry, she’ll be caught soon. Life, or I should say death always catches up with scum like the in the worst ways.” She smirked proudly with a cross of her arms, “I should know, the rabbit who murdered me died recently and, let’s just say that even in death he can’t rest in peace.” She winked.

“Really?” he asked amazed, while Skye nodded proudly. “Well then, perhaps justice will eventually find its way in my case. Last I heard, my family was starting to grow suspicious of her, so perhaps there is a chance my death will no longer remain a mystery to them.”

“It won’t,” she gave him a confident smirk.

The hare smiled in turn and offered her his paw in greeting, “Oh! Where are my manners? My name is Jack Savage, and you are...?”

“Skye,” she replied, offering her paw to him. 

“It’s an honor to meet you,” he gently took her paw and placed a soft kiss on it. He then looked up to her eyes with a smile. “I look forward to getting to know you better during my stay here, Miss Skye.”

“Likewise, Jack,” she returned his warm smile.

They continued to hold paws, neither of them ready to let go of the other anytime soon. 

Caught in one another’s gaze, neither noticed their respective maggots pop out of their respective ears. Maggot peeked out from Skye’s ear and locked eyes with a pink female maggot sticking out from Jack’s ear. The two stared at one another for a moment, until the female maggot batted her eyes at Maggot who shook his eyebrows at her with a flirty growl. And she in turn gave him a sultry growl.

As it were, it appeared that both Maggot and Lord Woundwort were wrong about Skye, for she was one carcass bride who had long last found her carcass groom. And this time, it would be a union that not even death would ever be able to part.

                                                         The End

…

A/N: Went with a different ending. She deserved a happy ending too, darn it! Lol! xD

Apologies once again for not having the full thing ready by Halloween, but I hope you enjoyed this abridged fic of Corpse Bride. Maybe for Christmas I’ll have something else done on time. Until then, hope you guys had a great Halloween, Dia de Los Muertos, and just have an overall good day! :D

[lux-i-fer]

Believer of Faith and Mortality

Ao3 link

Synopsis: Lucifer and Chloe's victim shouldn't be alive, but the fact that he's currently alive and giving a statement says otherwise. When more and more miracle cases begin popping up, Lucifer believes that their lives aren't being spared out of the goodness of his Father's heart. The knock at the door only proves his theory.

Rating: T

Notes: Hello, welcome to the prologue! As you can see this is another multi-chapter fic, so I'm sorry in advance for the wild and uneasy posting schedule this will be operating under. Pats and cats to @titconao3! 

Chapter Number: 1

There was nothing in the afterlife, save for a blinding white path that stretched further than John could see. His gasping breaths echoed off of the darkness built like iron walls around him. The gunshot that he was certain had ended his life pinged against his eardrums on a deafening loop.

The gunshot. Penny. Oh god, John thought, Chloe.

They were at home, they didn’t know what was going on. He wasn't sure he knew what was going on, but what he did know was that it not his time to go yet.

John turned his back on the path and ran away from the light. The ground beneath his feet was rough, but with each stride he could feel something pulling him back towards the light. John pumped his arms harder, breath tearing from his magically unpunctured lungs in ragged gulps. His foot struck the ground but this time instead of feeling grit his boot fell through.

John let out a cry as he collided with the honeyed terrain. His stomach flipped inside out when his hands met oily sludge instead of dirt, and he had to force himself to swallow the bile back down when he felt something wiggling inside of it.

The shadows uncoiled themselves from the walls, and John could have sworn there were Cheshire grins slathered across their inky faces. As they slithered closer, John struggled harder. He yanked one of his filthy hands free. With a yelp, he blindly tried once more to grab something, anything, to pull him out, but was only met with a splash and oily tar sliding down his throat. He coughed, but it only slid down faster, curling around his stomach and lingering in a sheen on his tongue.

Another cough.

A smokey set of claws drew across his cheek, one hooking the corner of his mouth and tearing the tender flesh as if it had been paper. John choked as his blood mixed with another mouthful of sludge.

He had to get out, he could feel the shadows’ hot breath on the back of his neck and the murky ground teeming with maggots.

The sludge around him gurgled with a sickening squelch, and John sunk deeper. His heart shuddered in his chest. Thump, thump, thump, out, out, out. He needed out of this place, out of this hell. He needed to get back to Penny, back to Chloe.

A force shoved his head under the slop, and John resisted the urge to retch as he inhaled another mouthful that reeked of sulfur and decay. He tried to flail his arms, but the thick ropes of filth sucked them back into the ground. No amount of police training had ever prepared him for whatever torture was happening now.

The force yanked him back up by the scruff of his neck, undoubtedly pulling out tufts of hair with it. John sucked in a breath, sludge and blood sticking to the back of his throat, as he prepared for the thing to dunk him once more, but nothing came.

A hand--yes, a real human hand-- hauled him up by the shoulder. The rotting stench vanished and the oily strands that slicked his skin slid off of him and slithered back into their dark corners with a hiss.

“Now what do we have here?”

The shadows shrank back, their smiles replaced with snarls. They quivered and cowered as the voice seemed to shake the very essence of the world they resided in.

John’s eyes snapped up to the man it belonged to. They widened when he realized that man might not be an accurate description. Two spotless white wings loomed over the mystery man’s shoulders, glowing with deadly intensity. The man’s dark eyes were calculating as John’s gaze trekked over his body. The smirk on his lips should have come off as playful, but against the angelic wings, it was a twisted and broken thing.

“You don’t belong here,” the man cocked his head with a startling bird-like motion, “How did you wander out here, darling?”

John gaped at the man-- angel, with a mixture of awe and terror.

The angel’s feathers ruffled on their own accord as he stuck his hands in the pockets of his tailored slacks. “Don’t be shy, I won’t bite.” His eyes dragged their way down John’s form salaciously. “Unless you want me to, that is.”

“I--” John distractedly brought a hand to his mouth, fingers marveling over how moments ago it had been torn and seeping before continuing, “I need to get back to my family, they need me.”

Another rustle of feathers and a flash of recognition. “Mmm, didn’t want to kick off then, did you?” The angel sidled closer to him, as if they were sharing a secret.

John took a step back. “I just want to get home. Can you please help me?”

What John thought was a bolt of mangled sympathy colored in the angel’s murky eyes. He offered John a softer version of his prior smirk, and John decided he liked this one much better. It would have almost made him look more human, more alive, had it been genuine instead of strained around the corners.  

“You can’t go back to Earth, I’m afraid,” John’s shoulders sagged, “but, I can guide you out of Limbo,” the angel drew on.

His head shot up. Limbo? This wasn’t hell?

As if reading his mind, the angel chuckled, displaying old laugh lines that shocked John more than they should have. “Nope, this isn’t hell. Sometimes Dad has a bit of trouble with the whole ‘weighing your heart’ thing when humans don’t want to die. It’s rare, but sometimes you lot end up stuck here. It’s even rarer that I catch one of you before the beasties snatch you up.” John winced and shot a look at the shadows that had almost devoured him. They returned the favor by gnashing their fangs.

The angel loosed a hand from his pocket and offered his arm in an oddly gentlemanlike fashion. “Shall we?”

John blinked. “What?”

“To Heaven,” he responded through the same brittle smile.

“I need to go home!” John shouted. Limbo seemed to tremble at his outburst.

The angel dropped his arm, face hardening. “You can’t.”

John bit out a frustrated growl. “I have to! I have a wife, a daughter! I can’t just leave them!”

“Oh spare me the details,” the angel muttered, eyes rolling dramatically, “I’ve heard all of it before.”

“You don’t understand--”

A steely hand squeezed his shoulder hard enough to bruise. When he looked up, the angel’s eyes were boring right into his soul. “No I’m afraid you don’t understand. You get one measly life to do as you please and then my father grinds you back into the ash that he created you apes from. That's the deal. So another wretched soul ended yours a bit early? What’s another few decades to put off the inevitable? Save the sob story, because I’ve heard millennia of them, and yours is about as vanilla as they come. So if you’d like to make your pretty way to heaven, it’d be in your best interest to stop now before you really piss me off.”

The angel released John with a shove.

He watched with guarded eyes as the angel huffed and began fiddling with his waistcoat buttons. Tense silence clogged the air.

“...Do I have to hold onto you to get there?” John finally asked.

The angel’s stony frown melted into one of quiet annoyance. John hoped he’d accepted his question as an apology.

“I suppose not,” he sighed, and without another word, set off towards the light.

John had to jog to catch up to the angel. He knew he was no short man, but goddamn did the angel tower over him.

“So, ah, you said you come out here often?” he asked, trying to keep the unsettling silence that dripped from Limbo’s atmosphere at bay.

The angel’s smirk returned and John accepted that it must be a common expression for him. “No, I come here when I need to think. I like the quiet.”

As if on cue, the silence was quick to fill the space after his words. Said words had been clipped, but John took it as an improvement from where they had stood a few minutes before. He decided to push his luck a little further. “What are you thinking about?”

The angel shot him a dismissive glance. “Why you’re asking so many questions.”

John didn’t know how to respond to that.

“I’m thinking about taking a vacation,” the angel continued softly after a few moments.

“That sounds nice.”

“Mmm, it does, doesn’t it?”

“Well if you need a recommendation, you should try LA,” John said with Penny and Chloe’s images plastered in the back of his mind.

The angel glanced down again, this time with curiosity tinging his countenance. “LA?” The word rolled off his tongue as if it were foreign to him.

“Yeah, you know, Los Angeles?”

“The City of Angels? How fitting,” another chuckle rumbled in the angel’s chest. Suddenly, as if stopped by an invisible barrier, he halted, the last of his chuckles dying away in favor of curious detachment. “We’ve arrived, it seems.”

John paused mid-step, he’d been so invested in the conversation he’d barely noticed that they’d reached the end of the path. The light was almost blinding, and he had to put up a hand to shield from the glare. But despite the brightness, John found himself getting lost in the soft white glow--or was it yellow? Maybe blue? Purple--no, he shook his head; it didn’t matter.

The light was hypnotic, whispering muddled phrases in jumbled languages that John could almost make out, but not quite. He feet took an unconscious step forward, but paused when he didn’t feel the angel’s presence beside him. Turning back over his shoulder, he saw the angel, wings folded more rigidly down his already ridged spine, and chin lifted slightly.

“Aren’t you coming?”

The angel crossed his arms. “‘Fraid not.” His smirk had stretched so thin, John feared it’d shatter.

The light was growing brighter and the angel’s form began to waver. John felt a tug on his hand. It was a different tug than before, though. This time it was almost inviting, and the presence had considerably less claws than the last.

“Will I ever see you around?”

The sad smile he got in return answered the question for him. John put out his free hand in one last friendly gesture. “I’m John.”

The angel considered his outstretched hand before reciprocating the motion. “It has been a pleasure then, Jonathan.” His name was gentle on the angel’s tongue.

John gave his guide one last smile and let himself walk into the light, thinking to himself about how he’d never caught the angel’s name.

[zisurru]

my big bad list o’ bartimaeus fanfic recs (updated september 2020)

it’s long so I put it under a cut. [unfinished] means the fic has been apparently abandoned :(

Gen:

On Names, and Becoming Them by me malum: "You have many names," the old crone continued. "Did you know you've gained another?" Bartimaeus, in the centuries after 'Ptolemy's Gate'.

Hair by Kyuunen: Jane Farrar wishes she could lock away the razor and the shaving cream. Lock them away forever.

In the End by Volkie: In a way, she was glad. She would rather die than live in a London controlled by commoners and second-raters.

Ties that Bind by chibideath:��Concerning what happens to Kitty Jones and Bartimeaus following the end of Ptolemy's gate. A story about names, hearts, and what comes with being human.

Of Uruk by electrumqueen: Five stories of origin for the djinni known as Bartimaeus of Uruk, as told to Ptolemy of Alexandria over the course of his research. Some of them might even be true.

one day you will go away from this by electrumqueen: Enkidu becomes a real boy; Bartimaeus is dubious about the process. Uruk changes everyone who comes into her walls.

coda by asdfghjkla:  a series of unrelated prompts taking place during and after the events of ptolemy's gate. spoilers for everything. mostly kitty and kitty+bart focused.

Of Pentacles, Rocking Chairs, and Presumed Deaths by yonwords: Kitty summons Bartimaeus after the events of Ptolemy's Gate. 

Far From Home by Contrarian: Bartimaeus is summoned for the first time after Ptolemy's death.

After Icarus by Bialy: The boy in the pentacle is skinny and pale, and forever twelve years old. He has dark, combed hair, and his black eyes are locked on the thick chalk line at his feet. He is regretting this form. Oneshot, five years after the end of Ptolemy's Gate.

o brother you are not by DrMeh: He's always tried his hardest to forget the difference between cowardice and courage, Nick has.

Semantics by TheAliensDidIt: Detailing the exploits of Bartimaeus of Uruk (i.e. moi), the Serpent of the Silver Plumes, N'gorso the Mighty, the Bane of Magicians, in great battles of wit and cunning... you'd best say your incantations correctly and pray your pentacle has no faults, for if there is one, I will find it.

Untitled by @notaflower whom tumblr won’t let me tag

Untitled by @joons​

Stages by @tarragonthedragon​: Faquarl's view of Bartimaeus over time changes, and ultimately, stays the same. Their very nature seems to revert them to the status quo of uneasy disdain.

three doors, three souls by @avinryd​: “B-” He clears his throat. “Bartimaeus?”(He's not sure where that name came from.)The boy blinks, then shakes his head. “No, my name is Ptolemy.” He looks expectant, as if waiting for a response.And what to respond? Does he have a name? After a moment of thought he decides, yes, he does have a name: Nathaniel. He says as much and Ptolemy smiles.“Hello, Nathaniel,” and it sounds so right and familiar in his voice that Nathaniel aches.

it doesn’t really bear thinking about by @avinryd​: "He wonders, vaguely, what might have changed if they’d lived; all three of them against the world. It doesn’t really bear thinking about, but then again, he’ll be dead in moments. Why not spend those dwelling on happier things?"

Cats by @tarragonthedragon: Prompt: Bartimaeus and Queezle being happy. Maybe one of their adventures?

Just One Yesterday by @shadowy-dumbo-octopus: Bartimaeus stumbles upon an old enemy, and sees them in a new light after certain events from the last book.

a song skims over the nile, by dolokhovian: call it the earth turning.

Untitled by @shadowy-dumbo-octopus: Evil Nat AU!

A Road Trip (A Disgusting Human Invention) by @tarragonthedragon: In which a magician, a spirit, and a commoner are crammed into the cramped space of a single Honda Civic and are unable to stop and shout at each other. It's not going to end well.

Bartimaeus/Nathaniel:

Thorn by Maiden of the Moon: Nathaniel was a thorn in Bartimaeus' side. But now that he is dead, now that the thorn is gone, the resulting wound is free to fester and ooze and bleed...

Chaos by Maiden of the Moon: Sometimes, I understand why he hates me.

Distractions by Maiden of the Moon: The djinn flopped backwards, rearranging his puppet's toned body and dark hair in a sexy sprawl on his master's desk. “Why?” the demon pressed, voice husky with suggestion. “Do you find this distracting?”

It’s A Harsh Thing by Existence’s Bane:  For each breath taken... 

Written Aramaic and Other Tips for Everyday Living by Kyuunen: Somehow, in the thrum of everyday life, the djinni that drives Nathaniel to near insanity is the only thing keeping him sane.

miserable company by BoltAcid: Nine cheesy, mismatched prompts and one familiar, mismatched pair.

warm chromatic by atrophie: bartimaeus is on a desk and annoying nathaniel, as usual.  

A Very Fetching Rug by ThePurpleRose: Nathaniel, you have a very feching rug in your hall." Bartimaeus plans to bring out the Nathaniel out of John Mandrake. Involves necklaces, guilt trips, soaps, coat stands and rugs.  

As We Dream by the Fire by Wit Unraveled: Time progresses and turns to evolution; seasons decay into change. Magician boys do both. - In honor of the season; there's just something about all this snow.

Untitled by @chokopoppo

Untitled Part 1 Part 2 by @princefado

no dose of emotional chemotherapy (can halt my pathetic decline) by @singacrossthemoon: For all of his sarcasm, all of his acerbic wit, Bartimaeus could not, for the life of him, remember the last time anyone had treated him with anything less than nauseating kindness, never mind such immediate, obvious distain. I think, he realized in a rush, that I am in love.

love is colder than death by izzybusiness: Bartimaeus first meets Nathaniel at eight-thirty on a Monday morning. It’s not the most auspicious of meetings. Then again, when you’ve taken a job as a barista with the sole purpose of poisoning someone’s drink, he supposes that any sort of meeting is favourable to its end. 

love is colder than death au fics by @singacrossthemoon​ [Series]

one for the money (two for the pain) by @singacrossthemoon: Or: Five times someone asks about John Mandrake, and one time Bartimaeus talks about Nathaniel. [Content warning: sexual assault]

fire and air by @transarty: Nathaniel wants to see Bartimaeus' true form - but what could he possibly expect? Bartimaeus delights and frights over this. / light bartnat and headcanon on bart's shape, feelings and a little mush  

Bartimaeus/Kitty:

Autumn Leaves and the Endless Fall by otherworldviolet: Kitty dies. This is about what happens next. [Unfinished] [Content warning: brief mention of sexual assault in Chapter 3]

Of Fire and Roses by Anti-Logic: But this was different. That place had been all gentle waves and currents, always intermingling and flowing. This was a world of fire and roses. [Unfinished]

Of Auras and Oracles by conception.creation: The trilogy is complete, but Bartimaeus’ adventures are far from over. When a prominent politician goes missing, Kitty and Bartimaeus must find him, but who is behind the mysterious attacks on Kitty’s life?

Monomyth by conception.creation: Nouda didn’t die in the Glass Palace explosion. Now Kitty must rely on her wits to survive in a post-apocalyptic London overrun with enemy spirits.

The Haunting by conception.creation: A rebel turned demon hunter treks across the world in pursuit of escaped hybrids. Now she must track down a spirit with a mysterious agenda, and nothing is as it seems.

Restless Spirit by conception.creation: Quick thinking saves Kitty from assassination – unfortunately, she’s now without a body. Can she solve her own murder in time to stop a massive conspiracy threatening Britain itself?

Panache by conception.creation: When Bartimaeus' master sends him out to win him the hand of a beautiful commoner, he doesn't expect the djinni to fall for her himself. Based on the play Cyrano de Bergerac.

That Awful Rush To Say Goodbye by cacophonyGilded: Hope is what kills you. Kitty knows that. Bartimaeus, somehow, is still learning.  

children of dust and ash by callunavulgari: Kitty summons Bartimaeus on a chilly fall day in her thirty-eighth year. Her children are at school. There is no husband. She is alone in the house, save for a fat persian who slumbers happily on a cushion in the window seat downstairs. The persian, she knows, will not wake before noon.The words are familiar to her, and she does not stumble over them. Smoke billows into the room, as expected, but instead of a creeping sulfurous stench, there is the faint smell of sandalwood and wet earth. When the smoke clears, Bartimaeus is there.

the way to the graveyard by @singacrossthemoon​: Djinn are beings of fire, Kitty realizes anew; they leave naught but ash in their wake.

Bartimaeus/Kitty/Nathaniel:

stars are projectors by asdfghjkla:  Someone is kissing her. She is not sure which one he is.

Entertainment by princefado:  In which Kitty and Bartimaeus double team Nathaniel. In a skirt. Gratuitous smut.

the root of the root by @singacrossthemoon​: The pyre burns with the misery of passion. She does not try to stop it.

Bartimaeus/Kitty/Ptolemy:

this isn’t our first time around by nighimpossible: It seems that the spirit she thought was dead and gone isn’t so dead after all. Kitty could spit she’s so furious.“This is about the worst way you could tell me you’re alive, Bartimaeus,” Kitty grits through her teeth. Her fingers curl against the countertop, nails nearly cutting into the wood.The man gives her a confused look. “Sorry,” he says carefully. “I think you’re mistaking me for someone else.”

Kitty/Nathaniel:

The Matchmaker by conception.creation: Eight lousy, stinking months have gone by and Nathaniel still refuses to let him go home. Bartimaeus gets creative.

Bartimaeus/Ptolemy:

Eyeliner by Chokopoppo: Generally, I’m known for my keen eye and my acute knowledge of universal human culture. There are few others, even among humans themselves, who so completely understand the workings of their past, present, and inevitably future, as I do. Few things are beyond my scope of great knowledge.This, apparently, was one of those things.

Coffee by Chokopoppo: He would follow the boy to the ends of the earth in every cycle of time, if he could.So he does.

Choices by Chokopoppo: He needs flight, he needs home, he needs the stars and dark eyes and shifting essence and warm skin and vast great oneness and a gentle fragile voice calling his name but he cannot have both the Other Place and Ptolemy and the universe has made his choice for him.

As Far As Adventures Go, It Was Pretty Okay by jonesandashes: Judge not - developing a proper threat rapport does not happen in a day. We got better.

drives you crazy getting old by electrumqueen

and we talk of things that matter, in words that must be said  by @lupevensies

Lullaby by @shadowy-dumbo-octopus: In which Ptolemy refuses to sleep because who needs sleep when there's research to be done? This forces Bartimaeus to try and get him into bed before the poor kid burns himself out. Short and fluffy.

Bartimaeus/Queezle:

Battlecry by The Sad Privateer: "You are either a genius, or the luckiest idiot on the planet," she remarks to him one day. "And I'm leaning towards the latter."

Bartimaeus/Faquarl:

Hold Your Colour by otherworldviolet: Faquarl comes to Bartimaeus with a proposition. Set during Ring of Solomon.

A Mirror Darkly by badpriestess: Two entities so alike yet so crucially different can't help but clash, but in the end they always come back to each other.

Anger Was Good by @lupevensies​

Eeeuuuggghjjjjj by meanfrogs: Bart and Faq con non suspecting people into buying terrible copper in some market stall in Ur. They hate each other and also kiss, hell yeah

Faquarl/Jabor:

Why you should never cut your fingernails in the kitchen by JTJonah: So Jabor and Faquarl are discussing ways to ruin Lovelace (as per usual) and then - you know what, we all know what you came here for, they swive okay they swive and that's all we're here for, I hope you're all goddamned happy with the results.

Indoor Voices by JTJonah: So they had just broken into a tomb in the middle of nowhere.

Khaba/Ammet:

The Master's Shadow by badpriestess: Khaba has been inadvertently cruel, and Ammet's dissatisfaction comes to a head.

Untitled by @madanach​

More Thank Your Shadow by bluebeholder

Multiple ships:

Just Hold Me Close by Chokopoppo: A series of reincarnation romance AUs, set within the writing constraints of the Songfic Challenge from the early 2000s.

quiescency by @singacrossthemoon: “What a beautiful portrait,” the teenager gasps, his admiration genuine. “Is it of me?” The boy pauses, reconsidering the picture. It is yet unfinished. He cannot recall when he started it. “No,” he says at length.

[clown-bait]

29 Neibolt ST (Monster Roommate AU)

Alright I’m just going to start posting this anyway since I have so much of it already written. This is my first venture into writing so go easy on me. Im normally an artist not a writer. I’ll intro my OC too she’s a grungey stoner girl going through some big changes. Those changes being that she’s slowly turning into a nosferatu style vampire. She “Dropped out” of bartending school, dumped her abusive ex and moved to Maine where she found out that every monster in the world had the same idea. Eventually she moves in with everyones favorite clown and feelings start to happen. This chapter is just intros really smut and romance is coming. Mostly a parody humor fic with horror and romance thrown in. There is lots of gore, NSFW, drug use, alcohol, death, swearing, and violence. So you’ve been warned. Chapter 1 The Contract She had been there for a month now. Somehow she was still alive, and living amongst monsters. “You know…It’s not that bad mom, the house is a bit old but it’s charming you get used to it after awhile.” as she says this a chunk of the Old Well House’s ceiling falls onto the ancient dining room table. She flinches a natural reaction left over from humanity’s days as a prey animal but she recovers quickly mostly unfazed. “Visit? Oooooh no, no, thats not a great idea. Roommates are a bit quirky you wouldn't like them.” she said into the phone. Quirky was a massive understatement. She opened the fridge and let out a groan of frustration at the severed head and arm sitting on top of her tupperware. “that son of a bitch” she whispered “Hey mom call you back, kitchen trouble. Love ya.” she hung up the phone and shouted “ALRIGHT WHO’S IS THIS?!” her voice echoed through out the old decaying house. She was met by heavy breathing and guttural grunting the kind you would hear in a horror movie sound clip. She turned to the doorway towards the owner of the sound, a hulking behemoth donning a butchers apron. He’s covered in old blood soaked handprints and his signature mask made of the leather from a human face. “What the hell Leatherface you have your own fucking fridge for this shit” she stated unafraid. Now one would be wondering at this point why is this girl so relaxed? Why has she not died of a heart attack or been murdered by these horrible housemates. This clearly wasn't your average college drop out living situation, not by a long shot. No my friend, this is the story of a human who literally lived with her monsters and in the process became one herself. But the only thing you need to know right now dear reader, is that Lucy Smith never turned down a good deal.  It all started when she wanted to get out of the city. Adam and our dear Lucy had just broken up after being her high school sweetheart and boyfriend for 5 long years. It happened at the end her second to last year of college, he had become an absolute monster and she was done with his shit. Lucy wanted to get away. Away from everything that reminded her of him and the life they had shared together. “I’ll go to the other side of the country,” she thought “as far as possible I’ll go to fucking Maine.”   When she found the house it looked abandoned. “Fucking hell this must be a fake ad or something. No way this place is inhabitable.” she groaned but there was a small sign in the window of the house on Neibolt Street that read “Room for Rent” in badly drawn red ink. “Wellp I got nothing to lose anyway, either I die via whatever serial killer is squatting here or the drinking will get me later.” She had next to nothing other than a car, her belongings and enough money for three months worth of rent. This really was her only option. As she walked by the sun flowers haphazardly planted in the front yard in some sad attempt to make the house look pleasant, the front door creaked open on its own. “Yeah I’m definitely going to get murdered.” she mumbled. Lucy stepped cautiously in the doorway “Um hello? I’m here about the room?” something scuttled on the floor above her, it sounded like the pitter patter of children’s feet. Lucy’s heart began to pound her blue eyes wide now and her senses heightened. “Anyone?” she called out into the decrepit house. Lucy made her way to the window and picked up the for rent sign clutching it tightly to her chest. She was an avid horror fan, and she was no idiot. This house screamed ghost murderer she began to step further into the house when suddenly the door slammed shut. “FUCK” she shouted trying to pry it back open but it wouldn't budge “ALRIGHT ASSHOLE” she yelled “I’m fucking done with this game! You going to discuss the room with me or not?!” a door in a different room had creaked open and Lucy could have sworn she heard the faint sound of bells. “This isn't funny bitch” she yelled nervously searching for an exit “be brave be brave be brave” she whispered to herself. Down the hall she heard footsteps from something large they seemed to be dragging across the floor. Fucking hide you idiot her brain told her she quickly and silently bolted to the kitchen, almost on the verge of tears now cursing herself for even getting into this situation. She frantically searched the room for something to hide in and a half open cabinet caught her eye. She made a dash for it when she hear the jingle again this time louder and coming form the basement of the Well-house. She reached for the rotting door and screamed when something grey and furry leapt out at her. It smelled almost dead and its eyes were lifeless and faded. The creature was a very pissed off dirty grey cat. “Holy shit little guy” she managed to say. The cat darted off into the house and Lucy let her guard down slightly breathing a sigh of relief, only to turn around to meet a twisted smile with long fangs and glowing yellow eyes. Suddenly the demon clown shot a gloved claw out around her throat. Lucy passed out from sheer terror, dropping the for rent sign on the ground next to her.  ___________ Lucy awoke to voices, they were twisted and clearly agitated. Their tones were enough to make someones skin crawl. Her thoughts were foggy and her head ached from hitting it on her way down. She moved to rub it but she found she was tied to a chair, she thrashed a bit in a sad attempt to escape. the girl knew knew it wouldn't work. She was frail and malnourished looking, a text book punk kid in flannel and a stupid t-shirt that had a skeleton hand holding up the cliche devil horns. She wasn't getting out of this. The voices began to sound clearer now she had yet to open her eyes but she could hear what the owners were saying. “We can’t just kill her we need the money.” “She’s fucking human Tiff, just let the clown and the big guy fight over her meat!” “We’re about to lose the house babe! This is the best place we've had in years!”   “You know the rules no regular humans allowed in our society.” “Leatherface is human!” “PFF barely,” “Will you two PLEASE stop bickering for 5 seconds!” “Oh you wanna finally join us Jingles? Because you've been sitting there drooling for the past five minutes while we've been trying to figure out what to do about YOUR house.” “DO NOT CALL ME JINGLES, DOLL!!!” Lucy opened her eyes, light stung them at first and her vision adjusted. She gurgled out a moan of pain and the room suddenly went silent. Across from her were two dolls one a pretty blonde girl doll with dark makeup the other a boy haphazardly stitched together in a terrifying way. “What the fuck” she mumbled turning to look behind her, she heard heavy breathing that coming out so deep they almost sounded like moans. The monster towered over her and most horrifying of all he wore the skinned face of a dead woman. Lucy quickly turned away to finally find the other inhabitant pouting in the corner, the evil clown from earlier. He was tall, lanky and had a giant forehead with fluffy orange hair twisting around like cotton candy. The clown was staring right at her with a terrifying hunger in his eyes, like he could smell her fear from across the room. She tried to soak it all in. This isn't happening this isn't real. Oh god I'm going to die here she thought. Then, something deep within Lucy’s mind snapped. She began to laugh. Her laughter was a mix of hysteria and horror it was insane and manic. “Wellp I’ve finally lost it.” she thought to herself as her cackling died down. The monstrous flatmates stared at her slightly confused by her reaction.  “Well that the first time I’ve made that kind of impression. Thought makin' them laugh was your thing jingles.” the boy doll mused The clown let off an inhuman warning growl and the doll grinned wickedly. “Y-youre all r-real.” Lucy stuttered starting to slip into insanity. “Careful who you say isn't real around here toots, Jingles over there tends to get real triggered about that subject” the male doll quipped “Are you done insulting me yet? You disgusting excuse for a child’s toy.” the clown hissed “Not on your life chucklefuck.” “Chucky! Can we please focus on the girl!” the dolls female counterpart snapped “Sorry pumpkin, they've been having a bit of a dispute ever since the clown left a huge pile of drool outside the fridge yesterday morning” she turned to Lucy who now was a mix of terrified and utterly confused. “I was very hungry and couldn't decide what to eat!” the clown pouted “YOU HAVE AN ENTIRE PANTRY FULL OF DEAD CHILDREN IN THE SEWER DO YOU EVEN NEED TO EAT ANYTHING ELSE?” Chucky shouted back at him. “Wow that hurt. I don't just eat children you know” the clown mocked being struck in the heart followed by a sharp glare. The silent behemoth behind Lucy had decided enough was enough and banged on the counter next to him. All in the room went quiet. The female doll sighed “Well if you two are going to be children about this I’ll make the decision for us. Alright look hun. We’re in a bit of a pickle and we need an extra roommate or Penny here is going to lose the house. Then well all be shit outta luck, especially you sweetheart. So I’m givin ya two options” she looked at the grumpy killer clown who huffed and finally nodded giving the female doll permission “One, you take the room. You will live here as the fake owner so the town doesn't try to reclaim the house and tear it down. Or two…. you die.”  “And if I don’t want either?” Lucy questioned giving in completely to this new terrifying situation she was in. All the inhabitants in the room smiled wickedly. The clown stepped forward and grabbed Lucy’s chin forcing her to look into his golden predatory eyes, they were slightly out of alignment as if he was barely managing to keep control of himself  “You can try to run kitten, but in a house full of monsters” he grinned his smile sadistic with a sprinkling of insanity “I promise you wont get far.” he inhaled sharply as if sniffing a freshly cooked meal before taking a bite. Lucy swallowed her fear and insanity pushing it down deep within her. “I’m a fucking survivor and I’m not going to die in some rotting haunted house.” She thought to herself. The clown growled and shoved her face back roughly as if offended by her sudden burst of bravery. “How much is rent?” she stated cool and suddenly collected.She wasn't really but the girl was no stranger to putting on a brave face. The group turned to the clown who was suddenly put on the spot “….$450” “Fuck that. Does this crackhouse even have running water?” she spat. “Watch your filthy little mouth!” the clown growled. She had obviously hit a very sore spot. A weakness she smirked. “$300” she haggled.  “Just for that remark, five” the clown sneered in her face again, he was so close she could feel his breath on her nose. “You cant go up you fucker” “How much is your life worth to you little human” “About 300 bucks a month, clown.” “Four.. not including utilities” he smiled like the devil himself. She broke. “Look if you don’t kill me then my ex probably will. Im dead either way. Probably safer with a bunch of monsters than with that psycho, so $350 with utilities and I wont call the cops and make sure people stay away from your place. You all obviously want to remain here in secret so I keep my mouth shut about what you are and you give me a cheap place to live and start over. I honestly don't give a shit if I'm living with demon dolls and cannibals. I just want freedom from my old shitty life and my old shitty ex.” she stared back into the clowns eyes in pure defiance. Blue and gold bore into each other in some unseen battle. Few have ever done this to him before and were allowed to live. Finally the clown broke the stare he was a bit thrown off. “I’m not a cannibal I'm not even human you disgusting Leech.” he mumbled. Clearly the demon clown had a pride issue. “Wait call the cops? Ah shit Chucky you forgot to take her phone???” the Tiffany yelled at the male doll. “You didn't fucking tell me too! I thought we were going to kill her like we do with all the humans that wander in here!! Didn't see the fucking need but apparently were all going soft because Buck Tooth McForehead over here is worried about foreclosure!” “You idiot! You never listen to me!!!!” she screamed and lunged at him.  The clown rolled his eyes at them, apparently this happened a lot. “Can you guys please take this to the bedroom, since I know where this is going and I really don't want walk in to find you making up on my sofa again.” Leatherface who had been mostly silent had moaned and covered his eyes clearly grossed out at the thought. “FINE were leaving! Tell us when you two kids make a damn deal instead of eye fucking each other for hours” Chucky shouted from the floor his wife’s hands around his neck. “Ew what the hell man we weren’t…” Lucy began but was cut off by an eruption of anger from the clown. “GET OUT.” the clown roared.They stood up and Chucky took his wife’s hand in his and Tiffany gave Lucy a wink as she left. “what the hell was that-“ Lucy started. “Ignore them” the clown interrupted once again. “Ok but like what did he mean by-“ “Ignore them” She turned her attention again to the tall murderous, inhuman apparently, clown. Who was clearly extremely annoyed with the whole situation. “So we have a deal clown?” “Pennywise” the clown said. “PennyWhat?” “I have a name and its Pennywise… The dancing clown.” “You dance?” “Not the point.” “Can I see?” “No.” “I thought clowns liked to preform.” “Are you finished?” “Maybe.” Lucy fired back at him.  The clown was not used to this amount of sass from such a small frail looking thing. She could certainly run her mouth. It reminded him of a very specific boy that had smacked him in the head with a baseball bat all those years ago. He knew he was going to hate this human, but he had little to no choice in this. The Well-house was apart of him and desperate times call for desperate measures. He decided to wait to kill her when she tries to move out. It'll happen eventually anyway, after all this human will be living amongst monsters, horrible abominations true living nightmares! No normal sane human would be able to last long in this situation. And then he will enjoy feasting on this small thing’s flesh. Biting into her pale skin hearing her cry out in fear when he turns on her. Oh yes her sweet, delicious, beautiful fear. He'd inhale her scent and burry his nose into her bleeding flesh licking the wound in her neck. Those big blue eyes wide in terror as the filthy leech rose up finally floating. Her short platinum hair swirling around her frozen face. Beautiful, intoxicating, delicious, alluring, all mine, mine, mine, MINE- he woke himself from his trance his eyes had drifted apart and he was drooling immensely. She was staring at him waiting for him to say something. He mentally cursed himself for those strange thoughts that had just drifted through his head. “You uh…. you ok there? It looks like you left earth there for a bit”   The clown sighed and growled more turning to his giant flatmate. “Untie her and bring me some ink Leatherface, lets just get this over with” Pennywise said exhausted. The giant equally concerned and confused grabbed a knife off the kitchen wall and cut her free. Lucy’s first instinct was to run but she glued herself into the reality of her situation. The behemoth walked over to her still holding the knife and she suddenly felt the fear come back. What if the clown had lied? The giant grabbed her hand roughly. Shit she began to panic as he pressed the blade into her hand and cut. Pennywise was now sporting a devilish grin seeing his flatmate to be squirm and whimper under the blade. He suddenly had an old looking contract and a quill in his hand which he laid out on the table in front of her “Read it and sign it Leech” he sneered “Really? Im signing it in blood? Really?” “You’re being difficult and childish just sign the damn paper.” “Why do you keep calling me Leech anyway?” “Because you're sucking me dry with this $350 a month deal, sign the paper.” “Do I get to at least remodel my room?” “SIGN THE PAPER” “Bite me clown. I want to know the fine details.” “Careful what you wish for little Leech it just might come true.” he muttered. “That a threat Penny?” she fired backThe clown glared at the nickname. “You know, you’re cute when you're mad” she chuckled reading the document. “Interesting requirements you got here. Don’t know what the hell this whole community council thing is and all these weird secrets but eh its cheap living can’t complain.” she dabbed the pen on her open wound and scribbled her name on the line.  “Congratulations were flatmates.” the clown growled snatching the paper and walked off towards the basement. Lucy turned to Leatherface and chuckled. “I like him, he’s fun. So you guys gonna take me on the grand tour?” the giant still very confused with the whole situation nodded silently and Lucy followed him out. She didn't quite know what she just agreed to and this definitely wasn't the change she had in mind. All she knew was that she had wished for a new start and she sure as hell was getting one. 

[winterequinoxx]

The Lost Eschaton

Ok, since I decided to start posting actively on here, I wanted to share an original short fic that I wrote a few years ago. Totally unbetad. Can't even remember why I wrote it in the first place, I think it was a prompt challenge?

Here ya go:

There is junk everywhere. Stacks of outdated newspapers lean against a tower of decaying photo albums. Are those….Yes. All of her old high school trophies were underneath the window, behind the pile of winter coats. Broken electronics are scattered across whatever empty floor space they landed on. 

“How did it get this bad, Martin? I can’t...he was never like this before Mom died…”

Tiffany stands in the kitchen, peering over the bar at the war zone that her childhood living room had turned into. When she had agreed to help her brother clear out the house after moving their father into a nursing home, she imagined reminiscing with him over the good times they had in the house, perhaps crying over a forgotten piece of jewelry that her mother had left behind, definitely getting drunk at the end of the day, but she is beginning to think that the bottle of whiskey that she had stashed in the trunk of her car was going to need to be cracked open before she could even process the amount of work that needed to be done. Her brother has planned ahead though, benefits of living five minutes away from Dad instead of five hours, he knew what he was walking into and was on his second beer. It was nine in the morning. 

“Yeah….this all started about three--no wait, Sarah had just gotten pregnant with Jenny---so yeah, four years ago? He was so worried that people were listening in on him or something. Paranoid sonovabitch. You invent one superlaser and you start to think everyone’s out to get ya.”

Martin’s laugh is a tight, forced thing, as if even the air didn’t want him to kid himself anymore. His normally perfectly styled hair and pressed clothes are nowhere to be seen, exchanged for heavy bags under his eyes and paint splattered t-shirt and shorts. Tiffany couldn’t help but grin when she eyed the bright pink and purple flecks. Hazards of having two daughters under the age of eight. Pastels everywhere.

“Speaking of, where is the rest of the brood? We are going to need more backup. Any chance you can call in some of your Marine buddies. OH! How about Jason? Jason’s hot. He seeing anyone?” Tiffany grins over her shoulder as she starts putting the large moving boxes together, she can at least start shoving appliances from the kitchen out of the way.

“Jason is very happy with his new boyfriend. Stop hitting on him. Sarah and the kids will be by later after the fairy princesses have their naps, but Trent should be here any minute. He just got his Driver's license. Be appropriately impressed.” No sooner had he said it than Tiffany hears a car door slam in the driveway. Her adopted nephew shuffles into the house, gives a cursory glance around at the chaos that was the living area, and seems to deflate.

“Hey Trent, why don’t you help me in the garage. That’s where dad kept the heavy stuff, and I’d rather get going on that before the sun gets much higher and we roast in that tin death trap.” Martin finished off his beer and snags the teen by the shoulder, shouting back at his little sister “Don’t let anything in there bite you. You know how Dad liked to tinker!”

Tiffany cleans for hours. It gets moderately better when her sister-in-law and nieces show up, but if there is one thing that those two little ones did not like, it was getting dirty. To forestall the screaming fit that would erupt if a speck of anything tarnished their princess dresses, Sarah set the seven and three year olds up at the kitchen table with coloring books and a tablet streaming kid-friendly YouTube. Martin and Trent make quick work of the garage, arranging for a local scrap yard to collect some of the larger items before they return to the blissful relief of the air conditioning. With the house in a much more manageable state, the three adults and one teenager decide to tackle one last area.

The Basement.

Tiffany and Martin stand in front of the door. It is unlocked. It has always been unlocked. But Tiffany has never set foot on the staircase before. The Basement was Dad’s Space: Do Not Enter, By Royal Decree, Under Pain of Grounding. 

“Ok, brother mine, go ahead. You know what’s down there, right? We gonna need to have Trent haul old computers out on his back?”

Martin slowly turned  his head, looking at her as if she had suddenly sprouted whiskers, a tail and called herself Lassie. “The Hell you talking about? I’ve never been down there. I didn’t have a death wish.” 

“You two are ridiculous” Sarah shoves her tiny frame between the siblings and opens the door, feeling along the wall for a lightswitch.

It isn’t necessary. 

As soon as the door opens, lights begin to flicker, a generator hums to life, and metal shutters slam down covering every exterior window and door. 

BIOMETRICS UNIDENTIFIED. SYSTEM LOCKDOWN INITIATED. STATE IDENTITY.

The voice that echoes out of the walls of the house was definitely their father, but much younger. Tiffany remembers that voice reading her bedtime stories when she was Jenny’s age. It shouldn’t be yelling like this.

STATE IDENTITY. INTRUDERS WILL BE TERMINATED. 45 SECONDS.

“WHOA! DAD! Um...It’s Martin...the person who opened the door is my wife Sarah…”

MARTIN: VOICE PRINT CONFIRMED. SARAH: IDENTITY VERIFIED. FOUR MORE INDIVIDUALS IN THE BUILDING

“SHIT! DAD, Don’t shoot. It’s me, Tiffany. The other three are the kids, Trent,  Maria and Jenny. DO NOT TERMINATE ANYONE!”

TIFFANY: VOICE PRINT CONFIRMED. BIOMETRICS CONFIRM CHILDREN IN THE HOME. TERMINATION SEQUENCE CANCELLED. PLEASE ENTER THE WORKSPACE

“Oh, hell no. Nope. Not gonna happen. You two have fun going down into deathville. I’m taking the kid and we are going to sit and watch videos with the girls. You can deal with whatever craziness your father dreamt up.” Suiting actions to words, Sarah stomps down the hall, dragging a wide-eyed Trent with her. Tiffany and Martin peer down the narrow stairs. Only room to go down single file. An intense battle of rock-paper-scissors breaks out, with Tiffany coming out the loser. 

“Big bad Marine sends his baby sister to her death. I can see the headlines now.”

“Shut up, you won’t die. Dad liked you better anyway.”

At the base of the stairs is one of the most elaborate computer systems Tiffany has seen outside of NASA. Security cameras show the exterior of the house, and a couple of warehouses and storage rooms that have even more sensitive equipment set up.  On one screen, there is a countdown. 3 days, 7 hours, 56 minutes, 18 seconds.  Right in the center of the console was a simple VCR, with a post-it note that said “Play Me”. Tiffany elbows Martin, and he reaches forward to hit the play button. The center screen comes to life. 

Their father is sitting in his recliner, holding his glasses in one hand, a bottle of scotch on the end table next to him as he rubs at his eyes. With a deep breath, he looks into the camera.

I’m sorry kids. I’m so damned sorry. If you’re watching this it’s because the toxin got to me, and I’m no longer with you to explain. Your mother’s death was not natural. We had been working together to contain an airborne contagion that was manufactured by accident. By Our people. Our government covered it up, said that it wouldn’t be that big of a deal. Making fools of ourselves, overreacting. You know how it goes.

He paused to take a long swig out of the bottle at his side.

 We were the last hope and we failed. I got so close, so close to fixing it and then my samples were stolen right before we found out about little Jenny. I’ve been working backwards ever since. I wish I could say that everything is ready to go. That all you have to do is call General Whats-his-face and you could save the world. But I can’t. I can’t. I don’t know how far the damage will reach, but there are enough supplies in the basement here that you can survive for about three months. God I hope you brought the little ones with you. If the lockdown was triggered, it won’t lift for three months. By then you should be able to survive whatever diluted toxin is left. And whatever is left of humanity by the end of all this. 

With a last swallow of scotch and tears running down his face, their father reached forward and turned off the camera. Tiffany’s eyes are drawn to the countdown again, finally reading the heading:

PROJECT ESCHATON GOES LIVE

3 d: 7 h: 50 m: 20 s