#if i had to pick a family metaphor... maybe uncle/nephew? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dbcoatl-art · 4 months

Text

Pokémon Mystery Dungeon: Hunters of Ruination

Chapter 4: Getting Settled [15 Pages]

Mila returns to Trueno Village with Jin, his family, and Mayor Sparky. There, she is given a place to stay as well as a task of setting up traps to capture the beast. Mila also finally reveals to Jin the truth about her identity: that she is a human.

Meanwhile, a lost child bides his time in a Mystery Dungeon, hiding from a fearsome foe.

At last, the fourth chapter is up, and with it the end of Episode 1! Enjoy!

~Trueno Village Outskirts~

Sunlight filtered through the canopy of the low trees as the small group of Electric and Grass-types walked down the dirt path. Mila stayed close to Jin, who had Mayor Sparky perched atop the latter’s back.

“So, Jin,” said Uncle Volt, earning a nervous gulp from his nephew in the process. “What exactly happened while I was gone?”

Jin lowered his gaze towards the dirt path, narrowly missing a small stone that would have tripped him over had he not kicked it out of the way.

“Jin, be honest with me now,” Uncle Volt continued. His voice was stern, but he managed to maintain his calm composure.

“W-well…” Jin began hesitantly, glancing over at Mila before speaking further. “I-I wanted to prove to you and Aunt Leif that I could be responsible by catching that beast of the valley, and rescuing George.” He raised his head towards Mila. “But instead of a beast or George, I found this Sprigatito. And she wasn’t dangerous at all…just scared and lonely. And hungry, too.”

“And what about that Scovillain we found earlier?” Aunt Leif asked. Compared to her husband, she was much gentler with her words, and her voice had a sweet, soothing tone – almost like that of a mother.

“When that Scovillain came, I tried to run, but I ended up injuring myself in the process,” came Jin’s answer. “I told Mila to run, but she didn’t. She stayed and blinded that Scovillain with some Geo Pebbles she found. She saved my life!”

Now it was Mila’s turn to look down at the ground, face red-hot with embarrassment. “I-it was nothing, really,” she stammered.

“I’d say otherwise,” Mayor Sparky chuckled. “You jumped in and fended off those feral Scovillain without a second thought, even when you were told to run. You even learned how to use Leafage because of that. You’re a hero through and through, and I am truly grateful for what you’ve done. On behalf of my village, thank you.”

Jin smiled a little, though it quickly faded when he looked back at Uncle Volt. “Still, I’m sorry,” he said. “I ended up putting Mayor Sparky in danger. Maybe I really am just a screw-up.”

Volt picked up his pace a little and stood in front of Jin. He lowered himself down so he could see his nephew at eye level. The Luxray’s expression was softer now as he spoke. “No, Jin,” he said with a small smile. “If anything, I’m sorry if my words from this morning pushed you to do this. I know you’ve got a good heart, which you used quite well with Mila. But I would really appreciate it if you thought things through first.”

That was more than enough for Jin to put that smile back on his face. “Thanks, Uncle Volt.”

“That being said…” Volt added, glancing over at Mila. “Where’s Mila going to stay?”

Jin and Mila looked at each other wide-eyed. Both of them had been so preoccupied with everything that had been going on today, they had completely forgotten about a possible place to stay for Mila!

“Also, what happened to my Egg?” Aunt Leif added, rubbing more salt on the metaphorical wound. “Did we not tell you to keep an eye on it while we were gone?”

“Zipper has the Egg,” Jin blurted out. “As for Mila, I really don’t know. She doesn’t have any Poké on her, and the inn won’t just give a free room to anyone.”

Mayor Sparky simply chuckled. “I’m sure we can sort it all out once we’ve returned to the village,” he said. “After all, you Lightfangs never fail to impress me!”

Volt simply grumbled as he trudged forward along the dirt path. Mila couldn’t hear what he said, but she hoped that having somewhere to stay would be the least of her worries…

* * *

~Trueno Village~

Mila didn’t know how long she’d been walking down the dirt path. Her paws were beginning to hurt, and she could feel exhaustion creep along her entire body. Eventually, however, the trees finally cleared up, and Mila found herself standing atop a small hill. From her vantage point, the dirt path continued onward, winding down the hill to a cluster of buildings. Large mountains bordered the northern area, while another path continued westward to what looked like a beach leading out to the ocean. A small drop led to an eastern part that consisted of a few cliffs. Was this the village everyone had been talking about?

“We’re almost there,” Mayor Sparky announced. “Just down this hill, and we’ll be back home!”

The group began walking down the hill, following the winding dirt path as they went. At last, the dirt path came to a stop at a pair of stone statues. The statues were identical to one another, each resembling a dragon-like Pokémon that was almost robotic in nature. Electrical horns protruded from their eyes, while a lightning bolt adorned their tail-tips. From those statues, the path converged into a stone pathway that led to a plaza – the main square, perhaps?

As soon as Mila walked past the statues, Mayor Sparky hopped off of Jin’s back and waved his paws. “Well, Mila,” he said. “Welcome to Trueno Village!”

Mila looked around, wonder and amazement dancing in her eyes. Sure, it wasn’t impressively big (it was a village, after all), but it was definitely impressive in a league of its own. A large stone plaza stood at the center of the village, encircled by several buildings. Some of the buildings looked to be made from stone, while others were adorned with decorations resembling the Pokémon who manned them. At the center of the plaza was a much larger variant of the two dragon statues that marked the entrance. Short, yellow grass sprouted along the sides of the pathway, dotted by colourful flowers. Two more pathways protruded from the left and right sides of the plaza, reaching out to other areas of the village.

“What do ya think, lass?” came Mayor Sparky’s voice. “Pretty neat, am I right?”

“Very,” Mila replied, still in awe at how Pokémon could live in a place like this. She felt like she could get used to the village.

Mayor Sparky smiled as he scampered ahead. “Come along, now,” he called out. “I’ll take you to the Town Hall first. It’s just right by the cliffs.”

Mila took a few steps forward, but then stopped and turned back to Jin, Volt and Leif. “Are you guys coming?” she asked.

“I’ll come with you,” Volt replied.

“You two go on ahead,” Leif said, waving a vine. “I still need to retrieve my Egg.” She glanced down at Jin. “And I can’t do that if the little mister over here can’t help me track down Zipper.”

Jin sighed guiltily. He knew this would come back to bite him in the rear soon enough. He waved good-bye to Mila before following Leif down the other path.

Mila felt Volt gently nudge her along before walking down the path leading to the cliffs. Mila took one more glance at the disappearing figures of Jin and Leif before following the Luxray to the Town Hall, where Mayor Sparky would wait for them.

* * *

~Trueno Village, Town Hall~

Compared to most of the buildings, the Town Hall was easily recognizable. Though it was built only a few ways away from the cliffs, just its appearance alone was what made it stand out. It looked more like a small mansion than a town hall, with various orange and yellow tapestries adorning its front. Several yellow, orange and black patterns decorated its sides, while the roof had a large clock. On the front of the building, big black letters read “TRUENO VILLAGE TOWN HALL”.

“Wow,” Mila breathed. She turned to Mayor Sparky. “You weren’t kidding when you said the Town Hall was right by the cliffs.”

“Well, of course,” Mayor Sparky replied with a slight chuckle. “Come along now.” He scampered ahead to the big double-doors. Once there, he pressed both forepaws against the doors and pushed with all his strength. It took a bit of effort, but soon the double-doors swung open for all to see. Mayor Sparky then motioned for Mila and Volt to follow him inside, which they did.

Once Mila entered the Town Hall, she was even more impressed by what she found. The colours of the wall were a warm, dark yellow, while the floor was a burnt auburn topped with light sienna carpentry. The corners of the building housed one Berry tree of each kind – Pecha, Oran, Cheri, Rawst. A brilliant orange sofa sat on one wall, while the other wall was adorned with portraits of various Pokémon – past mayors, Mila guessed, from an Ampharos all the way to Mayor Sparky.

“May I help you?” came a feminine voice. Mila’s attention was drawn from the wall to a desk of the same burnt auburn colour that sat right at the center of the room. Behind the desk sat a light brown mouse Pokémon with round yellow ears, and yellow electric sacs on her cheeks. She sat cross-legged on her yellow lightning bolt-shaped tail, while she stared at her with greenish-blue eyes with a rather unamused expression. She wore golden spectacles while a white cravat was wrapped around her neck.

A Raichu, thought Mila, even though this was a different Raichu than she was used to. She looked around the room again. So this must be the lobby, then.

Mayor Sparky approached the Raichu, hopping on top of the desk so he could meet her eye-to-eye. “Greetings, Malia,” he said. “Disregard the spices – we had a bit of a run-in with some feral Scovillain today.”

“I can tell,” the Raichu replied, wrinkling her nose. “Just make sure you don’t get them all over the desk – you know I can’t stand spices.”

Sighing to himself, the diminutive mayor turned around to dust some of the spice off the front of his waistcoat, making a mental note to sweep it up later. Once he was done, he turned around and cleared his throat. “So, Malia,” he said. “Would you care to file a Missing Pokémon report for little George Burrows? He was kidnapped by a ferocious beast last night, and his mom’s worried sick.”

“Sure,” drawled Malia, turning to a small device of some sort. She pressed a button on the front of the device, which caused a blue holographic screen to pop up. She then proceeded to tap her paws on the holograph, arranging a series of letters, numbers, and photos for the report.

Mila was on the verge of nodding off when she heard one final ding from behind the desk. Soon after, she heard a whirring noise, like paper being printed. And after that, she watched as Malia hovered above the desk and handed Mayor Sparky a stack of papers, still seated atop her tail.

“Here you go, Mayor,” she said. “The Missing Pokémon report for George Burrows Phanpy, age 16.”

“Thanks a bunch,” Mayor Sparky replied as he hopped off the desk with the papers. “I’m sure he’ll be found safe and sound in no time. Oh, and uh, don’t forget to post it online as well. I’m sure there are a few hunter teams who might want to look into that.”

“Will do,” the Raichu replied, resuming her attention to the holographic screen. She pressed a few more buttons to proceed with the online posting. Another ding shortly followed, confirming that the report was sent throughout the network.

“Hehe,” Mayor Sparky chuckled to himself. “That’s my lovely secretary for ya. She knows how to get things done. Pretty tech savvy, too. And our network is simply top-notch, thanks to the local Miraidon and their Iron brethren.”

Mila was confused by what the Dedenne meant by all of that. But rather than ask that question, she decided to put her focus on the report instead. “Do Pokémon turn up missing all the time?” she asked.

Mayor Sparky blinked. He pulled up one of the papers, taking a good look at the image of George, before letting out a sigh. “Yes,” he replied. “We’ve had a rash of incidents right here in the archipelago lately. Ferals wandering too close to settlements; Mystery Dungeons taking over civilized areas; even Pokémon being corrupted, or going missing.”

He grinned as he held up the paper with pride once more. “But that’s why we’ve got hunter teams going out and about, taking on the jobs to help other Pokémon in need! Especially those from Greenleaf Academy, trained by a good friend of mine.”

Mila nodded. “I see.” She glanced over at the papers again. “You mind if I take one of those?”

“Sure,” came the mayor’s response as he handed her the report. “There’s plenty more where that came from. Help yourself.”

Mila glanced over at the report, her eyes fixated on the image of a Phanpy. The little elephant-like Pokémon was a bright blue colour with red accents on his floppy ears and the bridge of his long nose. His eyes were a bright bluish-green, and a green scarf was wrapped around his neck. Surrounding the photo was the information provided in the report. Mila began to read:

MISSING: George Burrows Phanpy, age 16 According to his mother Pacha Burrows Donphan, age 43, George was last seen in Thunderclap Valley, just outside of Trueno Village. He had a green scarf made lovingly by his mother, which was lost on the night he was kidnapped by a beast wandering in Thunderclap Valley. It is currently unknown if he is trapped inside a Mystery Dungeon or not. DIFFICULTY: E REWARD: 1000 Poké + 1 Cheri Berry

“Poor George…”

Mila’s ears twitched at the sound of Volt’s voice. She looked up to find the Luxray looking down at the floor. A somber expression crossed his face. “I hope he’s found soon.”

Mila silently nodded. Me too, she thought.

“And he will be,” Mayor Sparky said, his voice comforting. “Have a little bit of faith, Voltmire.”

Volt said nothing, but gave a small smile nonetheless.

Mayor Sparky turned to Mila and approached her. “Now, for our second order of business,” he said, plucking a twig that had been stuck in her mane. “Where do you plan on staying for the night? The inn ain’t a cheap place, and I don’t suppose you got any Poké on hand.”

“Poké?” Mila asked. She’d seen it on the Missing Pokémon report, but she didn’t understand what it meant.

Mayor Sparky sighed as he slapped his forehead with one paw. “I swear to Solgaleo, yer obliviousness is gonna be yer demise,” he muttered. “Poké is the currency we use ‘round these parts. It’s the money we spend to buy, and the money we earn when it’s time to part ways with what we don’t need anymore.”

Well, that definitely explains why the reward for the report says 1000 Poké, thought Mila as she looked over the sheet again.

“She can stay with us,” Volt quickly spoke up. “We’ve already got a spare room anyway.” He was still smiling, but Mila swore she caught a glimpse of something in his eyes – sadness, perhaps?

Luckily, that seemed to get Mayor Sparky grinning from cheek to cheek. “Great!” he said, clapping his paws together. “That leaves one less thing to worry about.” He then turned to Mila and held out a paw. “Well, I guess we’ve got it all settled, little miss. Get some rest tonight. Tomorrow morning, we head out to Thunderclap Valley and start setting up some traps!”

Mila looked hesitantly at Mayor Sparky’s outstretched paw. Having a place to stay was great and all…but setting up traps was definitely something she didn’t sign up for.

Still, anything was better than being forced to sleep outside.

Letting out a sigh, she shook the mayor’s paw. “You got yourself a deal,” came her answer.

* * *

~Trueno Village, Lightfang Residence~

While Mila and Volt had gone to the Town Hall with Mayor Sparky, Jin and Leif had gone in search of Zipper to retrieve Leif’s Egg. Thankfully, the Blitzle wasn’t too hard to find, mostly due to Jin’s good nose.

After retrieving the Egg and giving Zipper some words of thanks, the two began walking down the path back home. As they did, Leif decided to make a small conversation with Jin…one that Jin was not at all looking forward to.

“Now, Jin,” Leif began. “I know you wanted to do the right thing by capturing this supposed beast. But what were you even thinking, running off like that and abandoning your chores? Your uncle and I specifically told you to watch over the wagon and the Egg. And what did you do? You decide to leave it to your friends, as per usual.”

Jin lowered his head in shame, unable to respond. While Aunt Leif was gentle with her words, she was also stricter than Volt when it came to doing chores. She was the family’s sole breadwinner, after all – her job was to help manage the restaurant at the local village inn.

Leif let out a sigh. “Your uncle and I have been raising you as best as we can,” she went on ranting. “Working ourselves tirelessly to the bone. Making sure to keep a roof over our heads, as well as yours. Keeping you well-fed, and fit. But it won’t work if you keep slacking off on your own chores. Especially since…”

She stopped right there. She always did. Jin already knew the rest of it, after all. He knew and remembered all too well about that dreadful night that changed his life—no, all of their lives—in the worst way possible.

It was hard…difficult, even. But Volt and Leif always tried to find ways to make things work.

Still, Jin knew it was only a matter of time before even the work they did wasn’t enough. He needed to find a way to help…and soon.

“Well, anyway,” Leif said, bringing him back to reality. “We appreciate how you’re always looking out for your friends. Especially George. But it won’t do you any good if you get hurt…or worse. You’re lucky to have met Mila at the time; otherwise, who knows what might have happened if she didn’t?”

Jin sighed. “I know.”

They eventually came to a stop at a small fork. Up ahead, the path continued onward and downward to Crackle Beach. There, Jin could catch a glimpse of Kilowatt Cavern and Kilowatt Heights, a joint Mystery Dungeon that overlooked the ocean beyond. And at the top rested the Booming Thunder Titan, who oversaw all of Thunderclap Valley.

To the right was a small cobblestone path that led up to their home – a simple blue dome that gradated to green at the base, decorated with yellow stars. A garden adorned the front of the house, while a clothesline for laundry was posted behind. A small hedge circled the property with a blue mailbox at the front. They took this path, only stopping once they got to the entrance.

“Now, there’s a good chance that Mila might stay with us for the night,” Leif said.

That was enough for Jin to perk up. He turned to his aunt, tail wagging with excitement. “Really?”

“Mm-hmm,” Leif replied, nodding her head. “Especially since she doesn’t have anywhere else to stay. And I don’t think she would want to take any chances of sleeping outside.”

“Well said, sweetie.” Volt’s voice brought their attention to the Luxray who was approaching them just now. Mila scampered next to him, her smile looking wider than before.

“Welcome home, Voltie,” Leif said as she walked over to nuzzle her husband’s face. “How was everything at Town Hall?”

“Better than I anticipated,” replied the Luxray, returning the favour. “We even had to help set up some of the Missing Pokémon reports around the village. Mayor Sparky is already on the move to deliver the rest to be distributed everywhere else.”

“Well, that’s good to hear,” said Leif. “And what about Mila?”

“Mayor Sparky said I could spend the night with you guys,” Mila replied. “He also said he was going to help me set up some traps tomorrow.”

“Wonderful!” Leif bleated, tapping her front hoof. “I really hope everything goes well!”

Jin nodded. “I really hope George can be found soon.”

“I hope so, too,” Mila added.

A sudden gust of wind passed by, ruffling everyone’s pelts. They all looked up to find several black bird Pokémon with yellow highlights zipping across the sky. Each one wore a pair of brown aviator goggles over their eyes, and carried brown satchels as they flew off toward the distant horizon.

“Looks like the Wattrel Postal’s gonna be busy this afternoon,” Volt remarked. “Nice to know word travels real fast across the archipelago, though.”

He then padded forward on the cobblestone path and reached for the doorknob. He twisted it to the left before swinging it open, and then turned to Mila with a warm smile on his face.

“Welcome to our home sweet home, Mila,” he said, ushering the Sprigatito inside. “Please, come inside.”

As Mila entered the doorway, she took a moment to look at her surroundings. The room she was in appeared to be some kind of living room. There was a large, circular carpet in the center of the room with a blue and pink gradient, similar to a night sky. A wooden table was positioned on top of the carpet, surrounded by light blue cushions (presumably for sitting, she guessed). In one corner, a fireplace dimly burned, while in another corner sat another table with several picture frames. And straight ahead, behind a counter, Mila thought she could see what looked like a kitchenette of some sort, judging by a few wooden bowls and utensils.

She looked down and noticed that she was standing on top of a small welcome mat. It was soft as moss, and felt very soothing when she wiped her paws on it. She then scampered a few steps ahead, admiring the living room even more.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she heard Leif’s voice. Mila trained her gaze to follow the Gogoat as she made her way over to the kitchen area. “Would you like anything to eat or drink?”

A loud growl coming from Mila’s stomach answered Leif’s question. Mila’s face turned bright red as she quickly nodded. It had been a while since she’d eaten that Perfect Apple anyway.

Leif chuckled as she turned to something that was obscured by the counter. Mila could barely see what was going on, but she did notice two slender green vines sprout from Leif’s neck, followed by a series of creaking noises as Leif retrieved something.

As Leif rounded the counter again, Mila noticed that she was holding two identical objects in her vines. They looked like brown bricks, yet they smelled so sweet, so sugary…

“Chocolate!” Mila squealed, her tail rapidly wagging with excitement.

“Actually, it’s called Sweet Chocolate,” Jin corrected her as Leif handed the treats to him and Mila.

Mila retrieved her portion of the Sweet Chocolate and immediately took a bite out of it. Much to her delight, the taste of it was exactly how she remembered it – that sweet, sugary, savory treat, the kind that left her wanting even more.

She was so focused on the memory that she didn’t even realize that she’d already taken the last bite until all that was left was where bits of it melted on her paws. She wasn’t deterred from this, however, and merely licked her paws to get just a little more of that sweetness.

Leif chuckled. “Goodness me,” she said. “It’s been a while since anyone showed that kind of enthusiasm towards Sweet Chocolates. Looks like it must have hit the spot with you, am I right?”

“Very right!” Mila replied. She didn’t remember why, but somehow, she just had a nagging feeling that she really loved anything that was sweet – especially chocolate!

“So, Mila,” Leif said, turning to Mila. “Why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself?”

“Yes,” Volt agreed. “What were you doing in Thunderclap Valley? Did you, perhaps, try to explore beyond the Misty Woods and lose your way? Or were you tired of how things were going there and wanted to leave?”

Mila fidgeted with her paws. “I… I really don’t know,” she said. “I can’t remember anything. But I know I’m not a spy, nor have I heard about the Misty Woods until now.”

“Hmm…” Volt put a paw to his chin and closed his eyes, concentrating. Then, he opened them. “That sounds like a case of amnesia,” he concluded. “Though there is something that doesn’t seem to add up.”

Mila’s blood ran cold. Had Volt believed in Niko’s baseless accusation of her being a “spy”? Was she going to lose her one and only chance of figuring out about this world, and the archipelago? Was she…going to be all alone?

“It usually takes about a few months to cross the woodlands to Thunderclap Valley,” Volt went on. “And even then, there are still other Mystery Dungeons to consider.”

“Dear…” Leif tried to interject, but Volt glanced over at her before continuing.

“I may have to take her to see the doctor tomorrow,” he said. “Perhaps he might know something about her ailment, if she has one.” He smiled and clapped his paws together. “But first, I think we should help get you settled down.”

Leif nodded in agreement. “I’ll get the guest room rearranged,” she announced before heading to a doorway from the right, Volt following close behind. Soon, it was just Mila and Jin all alone in the living room.

Mila slumped back with a sigh. It had been one crazy day, and after everything she went through, a good night’s sleep was the best thing she could do to get the stress away.

She felt a paw touch her shoulder, drawing her attention to Jin. His yellow eyes were glowing with curiosity.

“There’s something I want to ask you, Mila,” he began.

“Sure, what is it?” Mila asked.

Jin took a moment to glance at the hallway, his ears pricked as he listened to the shuffling of furniture. It seemed as though Aunt Leif hadn’t used the guest room in quite a while. He then turned his attention back to Mila. “Earlier before, you said you weren’t a Sprigatito,” he told her. “If you’re not a Sprigatito, then…what are you?”

Mila stared at the table, taking the time to carefully think over her next words. She then took a deep breath and said three words…three little words that would finally reveal her true self:

“I’m a human.”

For a few second, the room was all but silent. Mila waited with bated breath as she glanced over to Jin. She noticed that he’d gone silent; his eyes were wide with surprise and his mouth was slightly agape.

“You’re…you’re serious,” he said with a slightly cracked voice.

Mila nodded in response.

Jin turned his gaze to the table, mouth opening and closing as he tried to formulate one single response to all of this. Mila, the once-scrawny Sprigatito who’d saved his life as well as Mayor Sparky’s life, was a human this whole time. And he didn’t even realize it until now!

Mila tilted her head to the side. “Um, are you alright?” she asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

“NO FREAKING WAY!” Jin suddenly squealed with excitement. His yellow eyes glowed with excitement as his tail wagged rapidly.

“Shhh, will you keep it down?!” Mila whispered, covering his mouth with both forepaws.

“Why?” Jin asked, pushing down her forepaws. “I mean, you’re a human turned into a Pokémon. That’s completely unheard of in the Raidon Archipelago! And this world hasn’t had a human come here in twenty years!” He leaned a little too close for Mila’s comfort. “Does that mean you’ve come to save the world? Did some Legendary Pokémon choose you, and that’s why you’re here?”

“What? No!” Mila squeaked in protest. She had absolutely no idea what Jin was talking about. Chosen by a Legendary Pokémon? Save the world? None of this made any sense. Besides, apart from the feral Scovillain and the beast of the valley that still held George hostage, she was pretty sure this world was doing just fine.

Jin frowned. “Then, why are you here?”

“I don’t know,” Mila sighed. “I just don’t remember anything. I know I was brought here for a reason, but…” She groaned and rubbed her head. “I don’t know what that reason is. It’s all a blank slate for me.”

Jin felt a strong sense of disappointment. This was the first time in his life that he’d met – and even befriended – a human. Yet, she didn’t know why she was here in the first place. Maybe the gods had mistaken her for another human they had chosen? No, then she would have been sent back to the human world. Besides, the gods had never made a mistake before, and even the Raidon Archipelago’s beloved guardian would have been smart enough to know whether a human was worthy or not.

Mila glanced over at the hallway. It sounded as if Leif was almost done with the guest room, and she wasn’t sure where Volt was.

She turned to Jin. “Can you promise not to tell anyone about me being a human,” she pleaded. “I don’t want to spread any more panic through the village.”

Jin thought this over carefully. He knew that Uncle Volt would eventually find out anyway, thanks to his X-ray vision. Plus, he was really excited to introduce an actual human to the rest of Trueno Village, even if said human had turned into a Pokémon. At the same time, however, he knew Mila was right. The villagers were already in a tussle over trying to find George and bring the beast of the valley to justice. Having a human in their presence could potentially make things worse.

“Alright,” he finally said. “I promise.” It wasn’t worth the risk after all.

Mila smiled. “Thank you,” she said. She placed a reassuring paw on top of Jin’s. “Don’t worry, though…we’ll tell them once we’re ready.”

Jin only nodded in response.

The soft clapping of cloven hooves drew the kids’ attention as Leif poked her head back in the living room. “Everything’s all set,” she announced. “Follow me, Mila.”

Mila stood up and began to follow Leif, only stopping to turn back to Jin. “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.

Jin smiled. “Yeah,” he replied. “I hope so, too.”

Mila returned the smile before turning to follow Leif down the hall to another room. Though it wasn’t as spacious as the living room, there was still plenty to be found. The back of the room had a large window that gave a clear view of the mountains ahead. To her right was a tall mirror, and next to it was a wooden chest of some sort. And at the very center, atop another circular carpet with a blue-and-black crystal pattern, was a single straw bed, the last of which Volt was putting together.

“Well, here it is,” Leif announced. “I know it’s not much, but…”

“No, no,” Mila replied. “This is perfect. Thank you.”

She trotted inside just as Volt was about to leave the room. “If there’s anything you need, just give us a holler,” the Luxray told her. “Otherwise, Leif will be escorting you to the Town Hall early tomorrow.”

Mila nodded her head. “Okie-dokie!”

Volt smiled. “Get some rest,” he said as he and Leif left the room.

Mila approached the bed and placed a paw on it, surprised at how comfortable it felt. Looking around to make sure she wasn’t being watched (and that Volt hadn’t turned on his X-ray vision), she then proceeded to pluck a few twigs and leaves that were still stuck in her fur, decorating her bed with them. Afterwards, she hopped up on the bed and circled around a few times before finally settling down.

As she felt the last of the sun’s warmth on her fur, Mila took the time to reflect upon all that had happened today. She knew she was a human who had woken up in Thunderclap Valley, apparently transformed into a Sprigatito. She also learned that there was some kind of beast roaming in the valley, and which had kidnapped a child.

Then there was the manner of the feral Pokémon, particularly that Shiny Scovillain. Though she barely knew what a Scovillain was like, she thought she was seeing things when its eyes returned to their natural black colour. Did that mean that the Shiny Scovillain had been possessed when its eyes were still blue?

She shivered, not wanting to think about it.

She felt her eyes grow heavy, and a great big yawn escaped her lips soon after. It was getting late – and besides, she needed her strength and energy tomorrow, didn’t she?

Curling up her body as tightly as she could, Mila allowed the soft straw bed brush against her fur. She took one last glimpse of the window, sleepily admiring the way the mountains stood out against the dusky purple sky.

Well, tomorrow’s another day, she thought as she slipped into a deep slumber.

* * *

~???~

“M-Mom? Mom, where are you?”

The Phanpy sniffled as he wiped his nose once more tonight. He’d been crying so much that he pretty much lost count of how many times that had happened.

It had barely been a day since George had been kidnapped, yet from his hiding place inside a crevice in the wall, it felt like an eternity. The passage of time was little more than a mere illusion when one was inside a Mystery Dungeon, after all.

George let out another sigh as he lowered his head. His mother’s warnings played in his head over and over again: “I don’t want you getting trapped inside a Mystery Dungeon.”

He’d followed that instruction to a T. Always did, ever since the day his father was lost to ruination. Corrupted in a way that he was no longer himself.

He shivered at the mere memory and buried his face even further.

He’d always been a stickler of the rules, always did what he could to obey his mother and make her proud.

And yet, all it took was for a feral to ruin it all. Kidnap him and bring him to its lair. He’d escaped, of course, but in the process he’d ended up lost inside the one place his mother warned him about: a Mystery Dungeon. And now, because of his reckless stunt, he was trapped.

So, here he was now, inside a stupid little crevice, hiding from his kidnapper. Sometimes, he’d poke his face out, only to cram himself back inside at the mere sound of a hissing noise.

He hated it here!

He wished he was home!

He wished he was with his mother again!

She’d probably gone and arranged a search and rescue party for him. Or, better yet, Mayor Sparky might have gone and contacted a hunter team – those groups of Pokémon who were best suited for doing dungeon rescues.

He glanced over at the supplies he’d managed to gather for himself: a half-eaten Perfect Apple, along with a few regular ones, some Oran Berries, even those pink, puffy Sleep Seeds.

He knew he’d done well gathering the necessary resources – learning about hunter teams was proof of that knowledge. And he was lucky to have gotten anything at all. But he knew his luck was beginning to run out, as was the food. And he didn’t know how much longer he’d last before he…

Before he…

George quickly shook his head. No! He couldn’t dwell on that. Jin never gave up, and neither should he.

Reaching out with his trunk, he sighed as he grabbed one of the Sleep Seeds. It was a long day, and he knew he was going to need his strength.

Cramming the Sleep Seed in his mouth, he chewed on it for a moment before gulping it down. He shivered as the sleepy feeling began to take over before finally giving in to sleep.

As he slept, he wondered how Jin and the others were doing without him…

End of Episode 1

#cyber art #cyber drabble #PMD Hunters of Ruination #Pokemon #Pokemon Mystery Dungeon #Mila the Sprigatito #Sprigatito #George the Phanpy #Phanpy #artists on tumblr #writers on tumblr

7 notes · View notes

antiquarianandunusual · 2 years

Text

Duck the Halls Week One: And a “Bah, Humbug” to You Too!

Duck the Halls Masterpost

Read it on AO3!

Synopsis: The annual Duckburg Christmas Decorating Competition is on the horizon, and Flintheart Glomgold has weaponized it to make a mockery of Scrooge. The millionaire miser, never one for the Christmas spirit, recruits very merry nephew Donald to help him figure out the ins and outs of the holiday.

The only problem is, Glomgold has the same idea, and his bribe, however small, is looking mighty tempting for the upcoming season. Looks like Donald has his work cut out for him!

Fandom: Disney Duck Comics/DuckTales (I took inspiration for the characterizations from both medias! Glomgold, however, is entirely DT87.)

A/N: I came very close to not getting this posted on time because this ended up being so much longer than I originally intended it to be. :_D

Scrooge McDuck had never been much of a Christmas man, or if he had been he certainly had an odd way of expressing it. Chasing carolers away with a tight fist (both literal and metaphorical), frustratedly changing the radio station in flight from perky holiday tunes, and displaying outward disdain for any season’s greetings before December 1st were just a few of the ways he proudly demonstrated his complicated views of the holiday. He didn’t hate it entirely, of course, but Scrooge was notorious for his jaded resentment of certain festivities ad although his family fought tooth and nail to lighten him up, he was also known for being stubbornly set in his ways. Most McDuck Industries celebrations came to pass via merry nephews and mirthful employees, and only then because he weathered the jollity for his loved ones.

So, imagine Donald Duck’s surprised when he pulled into the driveway of McDuck Manor, already humming Jingle Bells in his favorite snowman sweater, to find the mansion dripping with winter cheer on the first of November. The gutters were lined with icicle lights, twinkling even in the midday sun, and the roof had traditional holiday lights trickling down it; the strands were alternating between neon greens and brilliant reds. A winding row of abnormally large, plastic candy canes stuck out from the grass along the driveway’s path. Maybe not extravagant to the average eye, but for McDuck? It was simply a winter wonderland.

Donald hadn’t even begun to think about picking his jaw up off the ground before Scrooge appeared in the manor’s doorway like a disgruntled Santa Claus with his red coat and unkempt whiskers. He was scowling, and the dark circles under his eyes quickly betrayed his lack of sleep. “Nephew!” he barked, taping his cane on the steps.

Normally, Donald would never have let dear Uncle Scrooge regard him in such a way, but he was reeling to the point that rather than reciprocating, he obediently exited the car and stumbled towards the door. “Uncle Scrooge, wh-”

“Ssshh!” Scrooge tugged him by the sleeve and fully into the house. The only light in the main hallway after Scrooge slammed the door behind them spilled through window curtains, creating an eerie, conspiratorial air. Even more suspiciously, he rushed to press one eye to the peephole. “He might hear you!”

“Who, Uncle Scrooge?”

Only tentatively certain the coast was clear, Scrooge tilted back slightly and side-eyed Donald. “Glomgold! That no-good, low-down-”

“Slow down!” Donald hollered. “What’d he do this time?”

“Nothing incriminating- yet.” Scrooge shoulder-checked his nephew and stormed towards the dining room, the taps of his cane echoing ominously throughout the hallway. Donald nervously gulped, yet still followed, and when Scrooge haphazardly gestured towards a chair, he took it, no questions asked. The autumn sunlight blasted through the window on the far side of the cavernous room, which cast Scrooge in a pale, almost ghastly light as he took the seat across from Donald; the light’s reflection on his spectacles rendered his expression nearly unreadable, save for his tight, almost morbid frown. Shadows falling over him accented every ruffled feather and line on his weathered face. “As you know,” he started, “Flintheart Glomgold and I have been rivals for many a year.”

No kidding, Donald thought. He opted to keep it to himself.

“Of course, no matter how small the battle, I pride myself on besting him each time because it shows the world that liars, cheaters, and stealers will always be at the bottom of the barrel. Now, I refuse to stoop to his level, that’s not what I’m getting at. But I know when there’s a fight I cannae weather on my own.” He rose from his seat to cross the threshold and gaze out the window. “You noticed the decorations outside, correct?”

“Well, they’re kind of hard to miss on your front lawn, Uncle Scrooge.”

Scrooge elected to ignore this. “The annual Duckburg Christmas Decorating Competition is on the horizon and Glomgold has plans to enter it.”

“... So?”

“So, he’s taking it as an opportunity to humiliate me!” He sighed and sank into a different chair at the head of the table, massaging his temples. “He announced it on the news last night and called me out by name for ‘not having a merry bone in my body’, as if I don’t know for a fact that the cheat hired a decorator to do the work for him.”

“... But he’s right.”

“That’s beside the point, lad! I’ve never let anyone drag my name through the mud and I certainly don’t plan on starting with Flintheart Glomgold. Regardless, I can’t in good conscious let him take the win away from someone who deserves it.”

With a smirk, Donald reclined in his seat and kicked his feet up onto the table. “You want the $50 prize, don’t you?”

Scrooge swiped his legs back down. Underneath his feathers, he was beaming red. “It’s a perk, yes, but ultimately beside the point.”

Donald readjusted his sailor hat, which had fallen over his beak. “Alright. I’ll bite. What’s this got to do with me?” he grumbled.

“You said it yourself, Glomgold was right. What you see outside is about as far as I got before I hit a roadblock. If I’m going to win, I’ll need the help of someone who knows his way around Christmas.”

“Really? I thought you wanted to come by it honestly.”

“Well, clearly, I’m going to do the work, too! All I need is someone to put me in the right direction.”

“And what do I get out of it?”

“You get the knowledge that you helped your dear, old uncle. Consider it your good deed of the season.” Donald also received a hearty pat on the shoulder, and he sank under Scrooge’s hand with a squawking exhale.

“I don’t get a choice, do I?”

“Not if you want an inheritance.”

“You know, I hate that you can use that against me! Your own nephew!” He whirled around on Scrooge, who was grinning wryly.

“10 A.M. sharp. And don’t be late!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Of course, bright and early the next morning, an exhausted Donald was pushing along a cart- obviously, the only one in the store with a broken wheel- down the narrow aisles of the bargain store. He knew he could do a lot with a little and had for as long as he’d had his own house, but he had a bone to pick with Scrooge’s impressive home and characteristically minute budget. At least, he reminded himself, it wasn’t coming out of his own pocket. That was a Christmas miracle he wouldn’t turn his beak up at.

Already stocked in the cart were boxes of more lights with colors of all sorts; tinsel snowmen and Santas with stakes to go into the lawn; rich, green, plastic garland for the front of the roof and door; and all manner of quirky signs that said things like, “Santa stop here”. Donald could already vividly imagine Scrooge’s disdain, a thought that gave him the utmost satisfaction; the miser had demanded a Donald Duck Christmas, so he was going to get one. All that remained on his list was a wreath for the front door. Put it all together and you wouldn’t necessarily have a lavish set of decor, but a charming one, nonetheless.

He continued scouring the aisles, which were looking barer and barer as he shifted towards the back of the store. It appeared that they had moved most of the stock up front in wait for new inventory, which was no significant deal, but the idea that his original plan wouldn’t come to fruition already had him agitated. And he certainly wasn’t about to scramble around Duckburg for it.

It was the next to last aisle, with a flickering- yet still heavenly- fluorescent light above it was his saving grace. The wreath was absolutely hideous; it was made of peppermint-colored tinsel, glittery green ribbon wrapped around it in a way that culminated in the most endearing little bow. A total eyesore, Donald knew it was the most perfect of outcomes. He reached for it on instinct and would have had it had someone not careened head-first into his cart with theirs. The buggy he was steering violently jolted back and the handlebar went into his stomach with such force that he immediately doubled over. Little else mattered as he worked to suppress the sudden, overwhelming nauseous feeling, but he caught a glimpse of the light reflecting off of his coveted wreath as it was held high in triumph.

“Nice try, Duck!” a glib, Scottish voice proclaimed. “That’ll teach you to play errand boy for old Scroogey.”

Donald would have recognized that voice anywhere. “Glomgold?!” he sputtered. He pried his eyes upward and sure enough, there stood the richest duck in the world, who looked immensely out of place in suburban Duckburg. He looked as mean as ever with his brow furrowed over beady eyes and his beak contorted into a wry grimace.

“The old skinflint couldnae be bothered to do his own dirty work, eh?” Glomgold cackled. He tossed the wreath into his almost empty cart. “How honest of him.”

Donald was quickly possessed with the need to defend his uncle; Scrooge got on his nerves, but when it counted, he was still family. Now mostly recovered, Donald rose to his full height. “Tough talk for a guy who has to pay for someone to do his for him. At least ScACK-”

Glomgold’s breath was hot on his face, the collar of his shirt balled in the smaller man’s fist. His feet had left the ground and his torso was hovering just slightly over his buggy. “How did you know about that?!” Glomgold hissed.

“Word travels fast in Duckburg?” Donald choked.

“Bah!” Glomgold shoved Donald backwards. “Doesnae matter. I’ve got more important things to worry about.”

Rubbing his neck, Donald gave Glomgold a nasty look. “Where is your decorator, anyway? Shouldn’t they be doing this kind of work?”

“That’s my personal business and no one else’s!” For a moment, Glomgold’s eyes went wide with embarrassment, but after a moment, he recovered with a scowl. He spat a covering scoff and swiftly moved to back out of the opposite end of the aisle. His face might have been red, although Donald wouldn’t have known; the world’s second-most miser diligently kept his head down.

That is, until an idea struck him. He jolted back up and suddenly gave a mildly alarmed Donald a once-over, landing first on the buggy of seasonal goods and then on his snowflake-patterned sweatshirt. He took a deep breath, swallowed his pride, and approached again, this time careful not to slam into the other’s cart. “How would you like to help an old man out this Christmastime?”

“No, thanks.” There was an apparent edge to Donald’s voice. “Helping Uncle Scrooge is going to give me enough trouble.”

“What if I paid you?”

That caught Donald’s attention. His eyes narrowed, yet the extra layer of suspicion did little to mask the evident excitement. “How much?”

“One hundred. Not a penny over.”

The duck would have been lying if he said his heart hadn’t skipped a beat. $100 would never solve all of his problems, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt anything; there were dozens of ways he could use the extra cash. Presents, groceries, bills... Scrooge would never let him live it down, but he was always complaining about Donald not working hard enough to earn his keep...

Who said Scrooge had to find out, anyway?

“Pay me up front and we have a deal.”

Glomgold frowned. “And why exactly should I trust McDuck’s nephew to keep his word?”

“Why should I trust my uncle’s nemesis to actually pay me what I’m owed?”

“Hmm... Touché. Fine. Be at my mansion by 2 o’clock this evening- no later! You’ll get your money when you show up. My old decorator, erm... left behind most of his decorations, so all you need to do is handle putting them up.” Glomgold backed away, this time for real, and as he rounded the corner, hollered, “Remember- 2 o’clock!”

Once he vanished, Donald sighed. This was going to be a very long day.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Task one was getting McDuck Manor in tip-top shape in just under four hours, and Scrooge was already making things difficult.

If you had ever even heard of Scrooge McDuck, you were well aware that his stubbornness was unparalleled. To phrase it nicely, he was a particular man who knew precisely what he wanted, and when that vision was compromised, he quickly became testy. This was discernible from the moment Donald had begun unloading the car when he approached, at least appearing slightly more rested this time. However, a good night’s rest did little to prevent him from being ornery; all it took was a sideways glance for Donald to gauge what kind of day it was going to be.

Knowing this, Donald made the executive decision to tackle the worst of it first: the garland. Should tensions have escalated, he wanted to have solid ground beneath his feet by the time it happened; although Scrooge wasn’t particularly malicious these days, his loving nephew still didn’t entirely trust him not to “accidentally” send him over the roof’s edge. So, the dynamic duo took Donald’s old toolbox, Scrooge’s rickety ladder, and some semblance of team spirit up and to the top of the manor.

Everything started off with enough niceties. They began by temporarily removing the icicle lights that were already up, which they would reinstall over the garland. Scrooge’s habit of micromanaging manifested only in claiming the brunt of the work while Donald collected nails and wrapped the lights up neatly. They small-talked about how school was going for the nephews (surprisingly well; Donald didn’t have to tell them to do their homework as much, anymore), how Daisy was faring (as high-strung as ever), and how McDuck Industries stocks were looking (still worth trillions despite certain efforts). It was rather pleasant for a time until they actually moved on to the main part of the job.

Scrooge started on the left side of the roof and Donald on the right. The garland was just long enough to cover the length of the front of the roof, which they both concurred was all they really needed. But it was pulled taut with little give; it was only a matter of time before someone got caught on it or adjusted it just slightly too far. This person, of course, just so happened to be Donald, not even realizing he was tugging on it.

“Watch it, lad!”

“What do you mean, ‘watch it’?!”

“I mean what I said!” Scrooge gestured frantically. “You’re yanking on the blasted thing! It’ll go all uneven!”

Donald grumbled something slightly foul under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, Uncle Scrooge!”

For a long moment, Scrooge glowered at Donald. Upon realizing his nephew wasn’t going to remove his gaze from his hammering, he pulled on his end of the garland. This ripped it out of Donald’s hand and sent half of it fluttering to the ground below.

Donald rolled his eyes and with a sigh, marched over to Scrooge’s side to reel the rest of the garland back up. “Really, Scrooge?”

“No clue what you’re talking about, Donald.”

And so, the games began.

The garland installation continued exactly as it began, in a passive-aggressive back-and-forth, a quiet battle of seeing who would lose their temper first. When this was done and the two of them were red-faced from pulling against one another, the replacement of the lighting kept the legacy going. These strands were just a little bit longer than the garland, so engaging in physical combat wasn’t much of an option, but they substituted tiny, antagonistic remarks and conveniently timed sighs with the sole intention of driving the other mad. No one lost it entirely, although headway was certainly made.

Afterward, they shifted to the lights Donald had just purchased, which he proposed they wrap around the driveway candy canes to create a humble chain of light along the path. This seemed to please Scrooge well enough, so Donald moved to open the boxes and dumped the strings out into his hand.

Every box was tangled into a catastrophic ball. Scrooge’s sneer quickly returned, yet he extended a helpful hand. “Let me take care of that,” he offered. “You just worry about the signposts.”

Conceding, Donald forked over the strand he was working on and snatched the bags with the signs and tinsel figures in them. He could already hear Scrooge quietly cursing as he fumbled with the lights. As he selected a tattered mallet from the toolbox, Donald opted to ignore it.

In the bags, there were currently six signs with various sayings and four of the adorable figures. An even total of ten meant five on either side of the lawn; they could be staggered, too, creating a sense of chaotic order. The image of it alone made Donald wish they had more of a front yard at the Duck household; most of their decor was confined to the porch and inside the house, which was fine, but he occupied his mind as he hammered away with thoughts of what he could do if he had as much space as Scrooge did. Inflatables were his favorite of the ideas.

“Oy!” hollered Scrooge, breaking him out of his trance. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m putting the signs up like you asked!”

“Not like that, you’re not! They’re too neat. Try mixing them up a wee bit.”

Mixing them up? Donald mouthed incredulously, though he still began pulling the stakes from the grass. He assumed Scrooge meant less orderly and more random, although he didn’t think they were particularly “neat” to begin with. Either way, he resigned himself to Scrooge’s bossiness just for the sake of getting it done; the best he could do was try for a general idea of what his uncle wanted. He had barely begun moving a red, green, and gold sign that read “Jingle all the way” before he was snapped at once more.

“A little to the right, lad! Now, just a tad back. No, the other way! The way you’re facing! Right, right, there you are!”

Donald hammered the signpost into the ground and as soon as he was finished, marched over to Scrooge. He took the half-detangled lights from his hand and replaced them with the mallet.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” quipped Scrooge.

Since Scrooge had already powered through most of them with surprising alacrity, the lights were quick work and fairly straightforward. And with McDuck occupied at either side of the property, there was no reason for the two of them to be bickering with one another. Once left to their own devices, they even glanced at one another occasionally to make sure everything was alright, offering reassuring nods and maybe even affirming smiles. When Scrooge was done with the signs, he wordlessly took a light strand and got started on the candy canes opposite Donald. Their tasks were completed much faster as they operated in silence.

Finally, both of them stepped back to admire their handiwork. By no means was it fancy or even really above average, but no one would believe they were passing Scrooge McDuck’s house. With its homespun Duck touch, the mansion looked cozier than ever. Donald couldn’t help but take pride in what they accomplished, and neither could Scrooge, who gave him a well-meaning smack on the shoulder.

“Would you look at that! Not half bad, lad.”

Donald beamed. “Thanks, Uncle Scrooge.”

“But I cannae help but wonder if there’s something missing.” He pointed thoughtfully at the door. “What about hanging something there? A wreath, maybe?”

Donald inhaled sharply- he had just about forgotten. “I tried to find one while I was out,” he threw out as he pulled out his watch. “They were all out, so I’ll have to look again when they restock.”

It was only 12:35. A sigh of relief escaped his beak; he was way ahead of schedule.

“You’ve got somewhere to be?” He looked back up at Scrooge and noticed the billionaire’s eyebrow was raised. A bead of sweat fell down the side of Donald’s face.

“Oh, uh... I’m... just working an odd job downtown. To make some extra money for the holidays.” It wasn’t entirely a lie- simply a paraphrased version of what was really happening. Right?

The response began as a small hum of what seemed to be understanding and a slight nod. Scrooge audibly exhaled and for a moment, Donald wondered if he might have been disappointed. “Alright then, lad. You best be going, then. Don’t want to be late, do we?”

“Of course not, Uncle Scrooge.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Donald had meagerly hoped that Glomgold would be thrilled that he was there not only on time but over an hour early. He was, in fact, the opposite. He was already shouting about Donald’s audacity for showing up at his door without warning and how when he gave a time, he meant it. At least he kept his word about the payment.

Glomgold hadn’t even bothered to get the decorations ready or have one of his many staff members take care of it; everything was piled up in the main hall and looked to have been there for several days. There were boxes that had toppled over and not been picked up, ornaments that had rolled out of the fray and across the floor, and some containers that had dents in them from where they had seemingly been kicked. It was already apparent that this was going to be a much bigger job than he had just done for Scrooge and longer, too, because there was no way he was going to coax an already bilious Flintheart into helping him.

He didn’t even have any place to start. There were no decorations already up, and when he asked what was wanted, Glomgold offered little more than a “figure it out” before retreating into his study. Donald didn’t entirely mind being given creative liberty, yet he had a feeling deep in his heart that he didn’t have nearly as much freedom as he was being led to believe. Either way, his only choice was to swallow his pride and get to work.

The rest of the afternoon and into the evening was one of the worst work experiences he had ever had the displeasure of having- and he had had many a rotten one. He arrived at around 12:45 and ended up at the manor until approximately 8 p.m. In that time, he redid the decorations he had worked so hard on a grand total of three times.

It wasn’t the workload or the time it took that bothered him, but rather the lack of respect on the part of his temporary employer. Whenever Glomgold broke away from his study to check in, it was always to nitpick, to berate, to demand he do it again, do better, with no other instruction. He would slam the door when going back indoors, which almost always knocked decorations of some kind down; there was one time when the ladder Donald was using shook and almost fell to the ground, the only saving grace being that the duck was quick to catch onto the gutters for stability. That was the third time he had done it, and the time that helped Donald realize it was intentional.

Scrooge was obnoxiously discrete, but by the second time Glomgold had demanded he take everything down and start completely from scratch, he desperately missed his uncle’s criticisms.

By the time 8 o’clock had finally come around, Glomgold seemed absolutely indifferent about the grueling work Donald had diligently put into this round of decorating. As he worked, the worn decorator came up with the most intense, inspiring speech he could in the event that he was told to do it again. He was actually rather disappointed that he wasn’t and what somehow made it even worse was that Glomgold didn’t even say he liked it. He just told Donald his job was done, and he could go home.

Donald’s exhaustion became fully palpable when he sank into the driver’s seat of his car. Each and every muscle he had used begged for rest and he could barely keep his eyes open and focused on the road. He didn’t even remember most of the ride home.

He more fell into the doorway than stepped. The triplet nephews were already in bed by now, but he could see the living room light on where Daisy, who was keeping an eye on them, was still awake. “Daisy, I’m home,” he half-whispered as he shuffled towards the quiet sounds of the television.

He heard the voice before he saw the face. “How was your workday, lad?”

A jolt of energy sparked through Donald’s body. He looked up and there was Scrooge on the couch, arms crossed like a parent waiting for a teenager that was out past curfew. “Uncle Scrooge? Where’s Daisy?”

“Oh, I sent her home. You said it yourself, she’s just been working so hard lately, I figured she’d want a break. Besides, I want to have a little chat.” Scrooge patted the seat on the couch next to him. Very carefully, Donald approached and sat down. “How was old Flinty?”

“How did you-?!”

Scrooge scrunched his face up in morbid glee. “‘Word travels fast in Duckburg.’” He half-sighed, half-chuckled. “After you left, a certain someone left a voicemail on my answering machine. Oh, that mountebank was just dying to tell me that he got my nephew to work for him. Real proud of himself. I didn’t even make it through the whole message, I was so angry with you. I almost marched down there myself and dragged you back home!”

“... But...?”

“Well, Duckworth heard through the grapevine that his decorator had quit after a series of disagreements. A whole lot of foul behavior out of that man.”

“It’s because he’s awful!” Donald finally snapped.

“Which is exactly why I restrained myself.” He leaned in and firmly gripped Donald’s shoulder. “Learned your lesson, did you?”

Donald festered in it for a moment.

“‘Yes, Uncle Scrooge. I’m right sorry I worked with your arch-nemesis, Uncle Scrooge!’”

“Oh, fine! I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry! Now, can I go to bed? I’m beat.”

“Just one more thing.” Grinning, Scrooge held out his hand. “Give me half of what he paid you.”

“What? No way!”

“Och, well now I’m never going to forget the sting of your betrayal-”

“Shush up, you old geezer, here!” Donald slapped fifty out of the hundred into Scrooge’s hand. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

“Aye, we’ve all got something to be ashamed of. Now, you best be getting upstairs. I overheard the bairns planning to pull out your decorations tomorrow morning.”

Donald buried his face into one of the couch’s pillows, Scrooge’s cackles echoing in his ears.

#fanfiction #disney ducks #disney ducks comics #ducktales #ducktales 1987 #i know the characterization is kind of wacky here but bear with me!!#i'm kind of generally combining the characterizations from different adaptations #hence why glomgold is scottish and not south african #also this is my first short story in forever!!#the last one was a drabble that i posted in april and ended up deleting #i don't think i've written a legitimate story since my be more chill era #anyway #sorry if this is kind of a rough start but i'm hoping it lets me jump into the other stories!#also i promise scrooge and donald actually like each other they're just both very stubborn #scrooge mcduck #donald duck #flintheart glomgold #not me forgetting to tag the characters the first go-round #christmas #duck the halls

6 notes · View notes

matrixaffiliate · 4 years

Text

Endeavor

Chapter Update! FFN and AO3

This chapter is going to be fun my friends! We're meeting the families today! Next week's chapter is going to go up probably Tuesday, October 13th. Then we'll go back to Saturday updates. Have an amazing day! See you next week =)

Chapter 14

Victoire was unconsciously wringing her hands as she sat in Ted's car that Friday and he drove them to his flat.

"Vicky," Ted moved a hand from the steering wheel to her hands, gripping them in his gentle but firm grip that he always used when she was rubbing her skin raw. "What's wrong?"

Vic stilled her hands, turning one of them over to hold Ted's hand.

You are brave. Her mum's words echoed quietly in her mind. She took a deep breath and ripped off the metaphorical bandage.

"I, er, I was thinking, maybe, maybe we should meet each other's families." She spoke quickly trying to keep her voice from trembling.

Ted squeezed her hand, interlacing their fingers. "I would like nothing better than to get to know your family and to bring you home to mine."

Vic looked over at him to see him smiling. She really liked seeing him smile.

"Yeah?"

"Of course, would tonight be too soon?" He smirked at her and she knew he was teasing.

But even though she knew he was teasing, Vic suddenly wanted to get it done and over with. She wanted to take the fear out of it, to stop worrying over it.

"Let's do it."

Ted blinked as he chanced a glance back over at her.

"Really? Because we could. It's my parents' turn tonight to host the monthly dinner the Marauders hold; it would be my parents and my aunts and uncles; you'd meet the whole lot of Dad's side."

Vic swallowed. What he was describing was mildly terrifying if she was honest. But it also gave her an opportunity to meet nearly everyone in his family at once. It would be like ripping off the bandage in one go, instead of bit by bit, and that was just the slightest bit appealing.

Vic squared her shoulders and nodded.

"Yes, let's go introduce me to your family."

Ted glanced back at her again, and then drove past the turn he would have taken to get to his flat.

"Alright, let's go show my family that I'm not blowing smoke about how amazing you are."

Vic squeezed his hand and hoped she had made the right call. Maybe this is what her mum meant when she called her brave. Vic personally would have called this insane, but maybe her mum had the meanings of the words confused.

Ted seemed to be just a bit nervous as well, at least Vic assumed the way he'd gone quiet meant he was nervous. He kept his fingers intertwined with hers though, and that seemed to help reassure both of them. It certainly reassured her.

After twenty minutes or so, Ted pulled into the driveway of a beautiful old home.

"Last chance to back out," Ted pulled his hand from hers and put the car in park.

Vic bit her lip. Heaven knew how much a part of her wanted to turn back, but she was realizing that she did, in fact, love Ted, and she wanted to show him. She wanted him to have some substantial evidence of it when she finally mustered up the courage to say it out loud to him. So she took a deep breath and nodded.

"Let's go in, I want to meet your family."

Ted leant over and kissed her slowly, reassuringly.

"I love you." He whispered against her.

Vic smiled at him. She was going to say it back, not right now, but soon, she was going to tell him how she was head over heels for him too.

Ted held her hand firmly in his as he pushed open the door to his parents' home.

"Mum? Dad?" He called out as he led her into the small entryway.

"Teddy?" A woman an inch or so taller than Vic came around the corner with bubblegum pink hair and she nearly knocked over a hall lamp when her eyes landed on Vic, but a man with brown hair and a soft smile reached out and caught it just before it hit the floor.

"Hi Mum," Teddy pulled Vic closer to him. "Surprise."

Vic gave Ted's parents a nervous smile while his mum looked shocked and his dad had an amused twinkle in his eye.

It was Ted's dad who broke the silence.

"Teddy, the family is here you know?"

Ted nodded. "I warned her, she said she was brave enough to face them all at once."

Ted's mum seemed to get over her shock and moved to the door, her hand outstretched.

"It's so nice to meet you, Victoire, I'm Dora."

"She's Nymphadora if you want to tease her," Ted smirked as Vic shook his mum's hand.

"You may be taller than me but I can still smack you upside the head Edward Remus Lupin." Dora's hair seemed to almost glow with more intense color as she glared at her son.

"And I'm Remus," Ted's dad smoothly stepped between his son and wife to shake Vic's hand. "I have to say Victoire, I'm impressed with your willingness to meet all of us at once."

Vic gave a nervous laugh as she answered. "Ted talks about how wonderful all of you are. I didn't see the point of spreading it out if I could meet all of you at the same time."

"Why won't our nephew come in and say hello?" A man with black hair graying at the temples and rectangle framed glasses stuck his head around the corner. Vic could have sworn it was Uncle Harry for the brief glance she caught of him.

"Ted's on his way, James," Remus stepped in front of Vic and she didn't miss the mischief in his eyes. "Gives us a moment."

Vic couldn't see James' reaction but Ted grinned down at her and winked.

"I'm afraid we're surrounded by a bunch of boys who think they have a flair for the dramatic." Dora smiled at her. "But if you're ready, why don't we go say hello to our little family?"

"Yeah, I think I'm ready," Vic smiled as Ted moved to drape his arm across her shoulders.

Remus winked at her and led the four of them from the entryway to the sitting room where the Marauders were gathered.

"We have a guest with us tonight," Remus announced blandly, still standing in front of Vic.

"We all know Teddy," a man spoke up.

"Oh, yes, I suppose you're right, we all know Teddy. I won't worry about introductions then." Vic blinked up at Ted, who winked at her as he worked to keep his laughter in check. Then Remus moved so that she was in full view of the room and its occupants.

"I told you I saw someone with them!" James looked triumphantly at a woman with long auburn hair sitting next to him. She rolled her eyes at him but smiled. Vic stared at the resemblance Uncle Harry had to his dad. It was strangely comforting to see James and Lily there. They weren't Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny, but simply knowing who they were, that they weren't complete strangers like everyone else in the room, made her feel a bit less like she was the main act for the evening.

"I knew you were more like me," a man with black hair and the face of a model spoke up. The woman sitting on his lap had long blonde curls and she laughed at his comment, turning to give Vic a bright smile.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," a woman with short-cropped brown hair stood and moved to where Vic was standing with Ted.

"I'm Teddy's Aunt Bridget," she took Vic's hand. "My Marauder is Pete over there." She gestured to a portly balding man who smiled and lifted his glass to her. "Those two," she pointed to the man with the blonde in his lap, "are Sirius and Marlene. And the one who swore he saw you at the door is James and that's Lily."

Vic smiled and held up her hand in what she realized at the last moment was probably a rather pathetic wave. This was far more intimidating than she'd originally expected.

Ted, however, was already moving right along.

"Everyone, this is my girlfriend, Victoire. She felt brave enough to meet you all at once."

"Then she'll fit right in," Bridget put a hand on Vic's shoulder and gave her a warm smile.

Remus caught Vic's eye and winked at her. "Dora and I are rather happy to meet her as well. So why don't we move to the dining room and we can show her where Ted picks up all his annoying habits while we eat."

Ted's mum shook her head but laughed as she led everyone to the dining room, "Stop teasing her, Remus."

Vic spent the evening learning that Dora's assessment of their family was spot on. But what Vic also started to see was that the flair for the dramatic these men all seemed to have had a very specific purpose; it made their wives pay attention to them. And she realized that she was no different really than these ladies at the table with her. Every time Ted acted the way his dad or uncles were, she became his bated breath audience. Making her guess his name, never letting her pay for meals, all his teasing, it kept her eyes on him and her smile on her face. She suspected that if she watched Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny the next time, she saw them, she'd see the same thing.

It was in the midst of that realization that another epiphany came. No one had pulled her or Ted away from each other. No one seemed to hate her for what she put Ted through. No one was trying to scrutinize her. On the contrary, they seemed to like her, a lot. And they seemed to think of her as a permanent fixture as they described what to expect for birthday celebrations and Christmas.

Vic turned to Ted as he laughed at his dad's story, and she smiled at him. He had been using that dramatic flair from the moment she met him. He'd claimed her heart with a silly comment about an antique time stamp machine. And Vic finally felt like she knew what Ted meant when he said that it wouldn't matter what anyone said, he'd stay with her. She understood why Harry's comment about a possible end to their relationship had bothered him so much. When Vic had been with Sean, she constantly felt like she needed to defend him or his decisions, and more specifically her staying with him. But what she felt with Ted was different. She didn't feel the need to explain away his actions. She didn't really care what other people thought of Ted, because she knew who he was. He was the man she wanted to be with, regardless of what others might have thought about the start of their relationship or about either of them individually. She wanted to be with Ted, because she loved him.

Ted seemed to notice her eyes on him and turned toward her, his smile bright but his amber eyes questioning. Vic didn't respond to the unspoken question; she simply rested her head against his shoulder. She certainly wasn't going to say those three words to him for the first time in front of his family, even if she might be dying with the effort to keep it inside.

It wasn't much later that Ted suggested they head out and leave his crazy family to gossip about them for the rest of the night. There were a few indignant protests that the two of them certainly didn't need to leave in order for the group to gossip about them, but after a round of hugs and goodbyes, the two youngest members of the family that night moved to Ted's car.

"Well," Ted chuckled as he buckled his seatbelt, "You survived meeting all of them."

Vic laughed, "They're wonderful, Ted, I can see why you love them all so much."

"What would you like to do now, love?" Ted asked as he pulled out of his parents' drive.

Vic summoned her courage to ask if he wanted to keep pulling off the metaphorical bandage.

"Do you want to round out the evening and meet my family?"

Ted turned to look at her for a moment before remembering to watch the road.

"Er, I, yeah, are, are you sure you're alright with that?"

Vic felt the nervous pit in her stomach start to creep back up, but she pushed it down. She loved Ted, and nothing her family did was going to change that.

"If, if you're alright with it, I'd like to take you home to my family tonight." Vic managed a shy smile.

Ted came to a stop sign and leant over capturing her lips in a slow kiss.

"Is your dad going to threaten to chop me into bits?" Ted smirked as he pulled away and began navigating back to Vic's home.

"No," she laughed, "he usually lets the scars from his motorcycle accident be his intimidation." Vic slipped out her phone and let her mum know they were on their way.

Ted laughed, "I'll keep that in mind and try to look suitably intimidated."

"You're ridiculous," Vic grinned as Ted worked his magic on her.

"No, I'm in love with you." Ted grabbed her hand and moved it to kiss her knuckles.

Vic smiled, the anticipation of saying it back was starting to make her giddy. She had originally intended to wait a bit longer to say it, but as Ted drove them to her home, she realized that she wasn't going to be able to wait all that long. So rather than risk blurting it out in front of her whole family, Vic decided to be a bit more flexible with her assumed timeframe.

"Ted," she grabbed his hand as it went to undo his seatbelt in front of her home.

Ted stopped and looked up at her, his eyes holding that same questioning look they'd had at his parents' home.

"Yeah?"

Vic hadn't realized how nervous she'd be. It felt so natural to think about saying she loved him for the first time, but doing it was a completely different beast. A nervous chuckle escaped her lips and she tried to breathe a bit deeper.

"Ted, I love you." The words seemed breathless and Vic kicked herself as she went to say it again, intending to say it with more substance behind it.

But she didn't get the chance as Ted's hands pulled her face to his and kissed her passionately. Vic couldn't stop the smile that claimed her lips, making kissing Ted just a bit difficult, but he didn't seem to mind as he moved to kiss her jawline and behind her ear and along her neck.

"I love you," Vic laughed, feeling the elation that saying those words out loud gave her.

Ted finally pulled back and looked at her, his warm eyes filled with a kind of awe.

"I love you too," he laughed as his hand caressed her cheek. "I love you so much."

Vic moved to kiss him this time, still smiling like the Cheshire Cat, causing them to knock teeth more than anything.

"There is absolutely no way I'll be able to pretend to be intimidated by your dad, now." Ted laughed as he ran his tongue over his teeth.

"That's alright," Vic's smile was so wide her face was starting to hurt. "But we should probably go in. It's getting late."

"Why don't we," Ted kissed her once more before undoing his seatbelt.

Vic pushed open the front door and called out as she let Ted into the entryway.

"Mum, Dad, we're here."

"The lover boy has entered the building," Louis taunted from the den and Vic rolled her eyes before casting an apologetic look at Ted. To her surprise, he was trying very hard not to laugh.

"It's not a bad line, Vic," he defended as he regained his composure.

Vic smiled and led him into the den where her family was gathered.

"Mum, Dad, Dom, Louis, this is my boyfriend, Ted Lupin. Ted, this is Fleur, Bill, Dominique, and Louis."

Ted moved from her side and shook everyone's hands.

"It's wonderful to finally meet all of you," Ted commented as he sat down with Vic. "Now what did you all plan to interrogate me on first?"

Dom laughed, "At least he isn't under any illusions."

Vic rolled her eyes and went to grab her purse when she realized she'd left it in Ted's car.

"Can I borrow your keys? I left my purse in your car."

"I can grab it for you, love," Ted moved to stand.

"I'll run, don't worry, I won't leave you alone with my family for more than a few seconds."

Ted smirked, "Actually, that might be just enough time to get them started on some embarrassing story that you'd try and head off." He handed her his keys. "Or I can go grab it, of course."

Vic laughed and took the keys. "You'd learn all those stories eventually anyway."

Ted held onto her hand for just a moment longer before letting it slide from his as she sprinted for his car. She probably didn't have to run, but there were some stories she'd rather wait for a while longer for them to crop up if she could manage it.

She unlocked the car and snagged her purse, but in her haste, she didn't realize that the strap had caught and wedged between the dash and the corner of the glove box compartment.

"Oh, come on!" Vic gave the strap an upward tug but it wouldn't budge. Rather than risking breaking her purse, she quickly slid the key into the lock and unlocked the glove box, opening it to release her purse.

She stopped short when the compartment fell open.

A small burgundy ring box sat on top of a few other assorted papers and items.

Vic was frozen for a moment before she quickly shut the glove box and locked it again.

Slowly she picked up her now free purse and locked the car. She couldn't take her eyes off of the glove box as the door shut. Her emotions were a storm of excitement and nervousness and overwhelmed, and the knowledge that she needed to stop freaking out because Ted could absolutely not know that she had seen that box. Assuming that it was what she thought it was. But what else could he possibly have that would need to be in a ring box locked in the glove box of his car?

Vic bit her lip and smiled so wide that the reflection she saw in the car window made her wonder if she might crack her face. If the box was what she hoped it was, she already knew her answer.

Then she skipped back into her childhood home and to the man she was madly in love with.

19 notes · View notes

faintingheroine · 4 years

Text

Chinese Wuthering Heights (Episode 1)

A few weeks ago I’ve stumbled upon a Chinese soap opera based on Wuthering Heights. I’ve immediately decided to watch and do a review of it, but the fact that it is 30 episodes long and still doesn’t do the second half kind of made me hesitate (really they had no excuse to not do the second half). But my curiosity got the better of me and I’ve decided to watch and review it anyway.

Since I’ve found this series completely by chance and it might be difficult to find it on the internet, I will reblog this post and give a link to the playlist of the episodes.

Since I’ve went into watching this series with no idea what to expect and since the people who are reading this are unlikely to be familiar with it, this ended up being an opinionated and detailed recap of the first episode rather than a review.

I’ll call the characters by the names of their book counterparts for clarity’s sake.

I am unfamiliar with Chinese history and culture, so please feel free to correct me if I say anything widely off the mark or offensive.

So let’s get started with the first episode.

Intro is super dramatic with scenes of people slapping each other, and the scenes that are chosen seem to summarize the plot of the whole show.

According to the only English post about this show that I’ve found on the internet, the show takes place in Late Qing Dynasty/Early Republican Era China. So, it is set in early 20th century China. Based solely on the scenes in the intro, the clothing of the characters seems to get more Westernized as the story goes on.

The story is narrated by Nelly as in the book. The episode starts with Nelly (who is actually the age she is supposed to be in the book, yay) bringing food to Cathy. But Cathy is not in her room and is being naughty by attempting to free a bird (*metaphors*). Joseph scolds Nelly for Cathy’s naughtiness but Cathy defends Nelly.

Mrs. Earnshaw arrives at the scene and Cathy’s naughtiness is once again blamed on Nelly. But Cathy bravely tells that Nelly needn’t be blamed, it was all her. (This is honestly nicer than anything Cathy in the book has ever done). Apparently in her dream her father had told Cathy that she has to pick him up from the town (I don’t know how this relates to the bird to be honest). Mr. Earnshaw seems to be away at the equivalent of Liverpool.

Earnshaws of this version aren’t upper middle class owners of a farm but a noble family with lots of servants.

On the way to the town Mr. Earnshaw relives the trauma of losing his son. Apparently he arrived at the place where his grave is. There is a surprising amount of focus on the dead Earnshaw son in this adaptation.

Back at the Linton home, Mrs. Linton is scolding Mr. Linton because he doesn’t get Mr. Earnshaw from the town. Mr. Earnshaw is Mr. Linton’s older brother in this adaptation! (There wasn’t enough near-incestous relationships in the source material apparently). And Lintons are the poorer family and rely on the Earnshaws to support them! And Mrs. Linton is clearly envious of Earnshaws’ wealth and status. This is quite the change from the source material!

Isabella tries to get Edgar to come to breakfast but Edgar playfully hides from her and then scares her.

We see Heathcliff picking up fruits in the forest where the Earnshaw son’s grave is. I don’t want to be stereotypical and compare the two East Asian adaptations, but his hair looks a lot like that of the Japanese Heathcliff in the 1988 Japanese adaptation of Wuthering Heights.

I couldn’t find a photo of the child Heathcliff in the Japanese adaptation unfortunately.

Mr. Earnshaw immediately associates this child he met at the graveyard with his dead son and thus we get a neat explanation of Heathcliff’s adoption.

Nelly talks about how sadly Mr. Linton played his violin.

It is getting dark and Mr. Earnshaw still hasn’t arrived at his home despite Mrs. Earnshaw expecting him by supper time (which is a detail that is taken from the book). Edgar wants Nelly to play chess with him but Isabella wants Nelly to play with herself. Here all the children know each other from the start.

Cathy gets dressed up as her father and makes everyone laugh. They got her tomboyish and playful personality right. Hindley is still nowhere to be seen? I guess he isn’t in this. A Wuthering Heights adaptation without Hindley? That’s a first.

Mr. Earnshaw finally arrives at home.

Cathy and the Lintons have a very sibling-like relationship here. They call each other “brother” and “sister”. This makes the eventual Cathy-Edgar marriage even weirder.

Edgar talks about his studies to Mr. Earnshaw.

I get the feeling that in this adaptation the characters of Edgar and Hindley are blended and Edgar will be wary of Heathcliff since he is the next-in-line as the sonless Mr. Earnshaw’s nephew. Maybe the writers didn’t find Mr. Earnshaw preferring Heathcliff to his biological son appropriate?

Heathcliff is brought into the sight of the Earnshaw/Linton family. Edgar immediately calls him a “little devil”. Mr. Earnshaw scolds him. Mr. Earnshaw calls Heathcliff to the table and gives him food. Children are disgusted by his lack of manners while eating. Edgar calls him a “little beggar”. (I think it is clear at this point that this is a composite character of Edgar and Hindley, but I will call him “Edgar” for clarity’s sake). Edgar apparently tries to give Heathcliff some food but it turns out that he put some weird shellfish thing in it (which is certainly more of a Hindley move than an Edgar one). Heathcliff angrily throws something at him. (Is this the applesauce incident? It is too early in the story to be the applesauce incident).

Joseph blames the whole incident on Heathcliff since Edgar is above him in status. Classic Joseph. Heathcliff gets a haircut.

Mr. Earnshaw tells his wife that he believes that he was led by something to his son’s graveyard. This lends credence to the idea that there is something supernatural going on with Heathcliff. Mr. Earnshaw likened Heathcliff’s silence to his dead son’s (who apparently couldn’t talk at three years old - interesting). Mrs. Earnshaw is moved by her husband’s story (very unlike her book counterpart).

Next day, Joseph makes Heathcliff into a servant. Heathcliff starts to work at the kitchen and Cathy accuses him of stealing food. This is their first actual interaction. Slightly more promising than her spitting at him. Heathcliff gives Cathy the silent treatment.

Mr. Earnshaw sold some of his properties in his last business trip and Mrs. Linton clearly doesn’t like that. I guess Mrs. Linton is the resident Scheming Bitch that is mandatory in every soap opera. Mr. Linton is characterized as very shy and is not interested in worldly matters. (Maybe the dead Earnshaw son took after his uncle?)

Earnshaws are very forgiving of Heathcliff’s lack of manners and adaptability issues. They are characterized as a very nice couple that only aim to do charity work. All the evil here comes from the Scheming Lintons.

Heathcliff can’t talk at all instead of speaking “gibberish” like in the novel.

Mrs. Earnshaw likes Heathcliff nearly as much as her husband. Mrs. Linton offers to give Heathcliff Edgar’s old clothes to test the Earnshaws and is super offended when they accept it.

Mrs. Linton tells her husband when they are alone that she feels bad for the Earnshaws because their son died and that she can give them Edgar. Mrs. Linton is offended that a nobody Mr. Earnshaw brought home can throw things at Edgar and Mr. Earnshaw can be ok with that. To be fair, she is not completely wrong.

Edgar, Cathy and Isabella are studying while Heathcliff is doing housework. Cathy sees that Heathcliff is wearing Edgar’s clothes and tells Edgar. Edgar beats Heathcliff up, girls separate them. Nelly informs Edgar that Mrs. Linton was the one who gave Heathcliff his clothes.

Mrs. Earnshaw asks Nelly why Heathcliff looks beaten up. Nelly attempts to lie and say that he stumbled while fetching water. Classic Nelly. Then she tells the truth.

Mrs. Linton tells Edgar that he is the young lord of the family and Heathcliff is just a beggar. (Really I’m calling this character “Edgar” but he is 80 percent Hindley and 20 percent Edgar so far). Mrs. Linton warns his son that he shouldn’t offend his uncle, and that he is the only heir of the house and should act like it.

Mr. Earnshaw is talking about his businesses to his wife. Mrs. Earnshaw says to him that they need to buy new clothes for Heathcliff from the town, and that it is not actually appropriate for a servant to wear Edgar’s clothes. Her husband thinks that Edgar is too spoilt and arrogant because he is the only boy of the family.

Next day Mr. Earnshaw brings Heathcliff to the town to buy new clothes for him. The tailor mistakes Heathcliff for Mr. Earnshaw’s son and Mr. Earnshaw doesn’t correct him. Mr. Earnshaw buys some sweets for Heathcliff at the town and Mr. Linton witnesses it.

Mr. Earnshaw tells his wife of the mistake the tailor made. Mrs. Earnshaw thinks that he should have sent Heathcliff to the town with a servant. She worries that Edgar’s feelings might be hurt because Heathcliff attacked him. Mr. Earnshaw rightly tells her that Edgar was the first to bully Heathcliff by calling him a “devil” and a “beggar”. Mrs. Earnshaw tells her husband that Edgar had fought with Heathcliff over the clothes.

Nelly finds Heathcliff outside and Heathcliff gives her Edgar’s clothes. Nelly tells him that Edgar doesn’t get mad as long as the servants don’t upset him and that servants should be humble in front of the young lords and ladies. Heathcliff should be a diligent worker so that Joseph doesn’t scold him and he can ask for her help if he doesn’t know something. This girl really is Nelly.

And the first episode ends here.

Quite a bit is different from the source material. I feel like they wanted to change one thing, and they had to change a bunch of other things to make that change work. They simply didn’t want Hindley to exist in this adaptation and Edgar’s counterpart had to take his role. So they had to make him Mr. Earnshaw’s nephew and they had to make Lintons poorer than Earnshaws for Edgar to feel threatened by Heathcliff’s presence. And the whole logic of the story changed because of this.

I don’t know why they wanted to write out such a crucial character as Hindley. My guess is that it wasn’t appropriate for Mr. Earnshaw to bring Heathcliff home when he already has a son? I’ve considered it being for budget reasons but this is not a cheap production. It is a period drama with nice costumes and settings. Surely they could pay one more actor playing a main role? If this change has something to do with Chinese culture and values please let me know. Of course it is always possible that writers just felt like it.

A good portion of this episode is taken up by the interactions of Earnshaw and Linton parents and to be honest I didn’t really like their whole dynamic. I don’t know if it is even right to call them Earnshaws and Lintons since they are the same family. I guess they should be collectively called the House of Tian (the name of the family). I didn’t like the binary between the good, noble, patriarchal Earnshaws and the evil scheming Mrs. Linton and her doormat of a husband. I guess the character of Ambitious Scheming Sister-in-law is universal in soap operas regardless of their country of origin. And of course Lintons being poorer than Earnshaws is completely against the book. (Though I guess Cathy will be of lower status than Edgar when her father dies because Edgar will be the lord of the house).

But, despite the massive changes in plot, character motivations and setting, this still felt like Wuthering Heights. More than some of the more “legitimate” adaptations. I think there are two main reasons for this. Firstly, I can’t know how true the subtitles are, but the language that is used seems to echo the book’s language, especially in regards to the insults that are thrown at Heathcliff. And many of the scenes echoed the similar scenes in the novel, though they were placed differently.

Secondly, and much more importantly, Heathcliff and Cathy, the main characters, are mostly true to their book counterparts. Heathcliff is mostly Heathcliff and Cathy is mostly Cathy. We didn’t really see them bonding in this episode, and I’m curious as to how the show will present their relationship.

All the child characters are very well done. Even the Edgar/Hindley hybrid child is well-done if you can accept that he mostly plays the role of Hindley at this part of the story. Despite him being an arrogant bully, you can sympathize with his panic at the possibility of being replaced by Heathcliff in his uncle’s affections. In some ways his panic feels more valid than book Hindley’s, because he is Mr. Earnshaw’s nephew, not his son. Nelly is awesome. She is Nelly. From the little glimpses we saw of her, Isabella also seems true to her book counterpart.

As a show, I’ve had fun watching this. It was the first Chinese Drama I’ve ever watched and I’ve enjoyed it. It isn’t Art, it is very much a melodramatic soap opera, but it was fun for what it is.

If you have made it this far in reading this recap/review, please tell me if you are interested in reading more on this show. I think it is an interesting adaptation. I can’t promise that I will watch all 30 episodes, but I will try to make it to the “I am Heathcliff” part.

I will post a link to the playlist of the episodes in reblogs if anyone is interested in watching it.

See you next time!

#wuthering heights #chinese drama #asian drama #china #WH Chinese soap opera watch 2020

17 notes · View notes

daisyquakes · 4 years

Text

Gives You Hell || Discord

summary: Robbie takes it upon himself to break Daisy out of the Raft. But they see something unexpected on their way out that neither of them can let sit. trigger warnings: death mention, murder mention, suicidal ideations, mentions of torture, and general mentions of grief, depression, anxiety -- it’s dark and everyone is sad featuring: @vengeancedemons

DAISY: There was a part of Daisy that wondered if the Ice Box would have been a kinder place to be hidden away inside. But there... there they had experimented on people like Daisy. Inhumans. Made them stronger - tried to weaponize them - but Dasiy was at the point of her isolation where she would have been happy to see anyone. Even a doctor with a blade in their hand and a devilish look in their eyes, just someone who would speak to her. But in the Raft, there were two guards that were posted at the end of the hall, watching the others like her that were in isolation. Ready to jump into action if anything ever happened.

Not that it did.

The only thing that ever happened was when they whispered to each other, and their incoherent words bounced around the otherwise empty space.

She had a moment with Matt and one with Alex... but since then? She had been on her own. Restrained in a straightjacket and left to sit in a room with nothing. No chair, no toilet, no sink. Three walls and the fourth made out of bars. And her only constant companion. Silence. (She wished she could hear the water currents running against the exterior, but Daisy was sure that she was in the center of the facility. There was no chance for Daisy to lose herself to white noise.)

Alex had told her that she’d get her out of here - that Daisy would be back on the outside but that it would take time, and Daisy didn’t know how much of that she had. Or how much of it had passed. (It felt like time passed differently inside the Raft... or maybe not at all.) Patience was hard when you were turned so far around that you weren’t sure what side of the planet you were on anymore.

tucked into the corner of her cell, Daisy stretched out her legs and tipped her head back, gazing off towards the other corner of her cell. A blank wall. Wondering if now was the time to start praying to the God she had turned her back on years ago - wondering if she could ask for anything after all this time.

ROBBIE: It would surprise no one to know that Hell brought with it no shortage of nightmares. Some nights, Robbie didn’t sleep at all. He lay in his bed for hours with screams still echoing in his ears, roamed the streets with the heat of phantom flames still biting the air behind him. What some people didn’t expect, however, was that Hell wasn’t the only thing that haunted him. Hell wasn’t the only thing marring his sleep, and his memories of fire and brimstone weren’t the only ones keeping him up at night. There was more to it than that.

Mostly, there was Eli.

A lot of moments with his uncle followed him around but, more often than not, it was the end that made his breaths come in short gasps, the last part that made his heart pound. Robbie’s mind went back to that last conversation, to the carbon spike through his chest and the madness in Eli’s eyes. Why’d you do it? He’d asked, wanting desperately to understand. Become a killer? And Eli, god, Eli hadn’t missed a beat. Well, I guess it runs in the family.

Eli Morrow tore Robbie’s life to shreds. His mistakes left one of his nephews in a wheelchair, the other dead on the concrete and damned to Hell. He’d ripped apart every piece of Robbie’s life that mattered, left him in shambles.

And it was, at the end of the day, a habit that ran in the family.

He’d been sloppy. That was all there was to it. He’d showed up at Daisy’s place drunk and stupid, begged her to take him to his Charger so he could steal it back. He’d been so desperate to regain that last piece of his uncle that he hadn’t wondered whether he might turn himself into Eli in the process. One mistake, and that was it. That was all it took. Robbie tore Daisy’s life to shreds with one mistake. And now, it was on him to fix it.

The moment he heard about her imprisonment, the moment he showed up to her apartment after those unanswered texts to hear her neighbor chattering about how they arrested the freak, took her to where she belongs, no doubt, Robbie began planning. He refused to be the man who raised him, refused to let this be just another of the awful things coursing through his veins. When Robbie tore someone’s life apart, when his actions resulted in someone innocent losing everything, he was going to make an effort to fix it. Even if he had to walk through Hell to do it.

God, he wished that was a fucking metaphor.

It was something he’d learned in his travels, something he’d discovered in researching how to get back to Earth. Time wasn’t the only thing that moved differently between dimensions --- space did, too. One step in Hell might mean a thousand on Earth. You could pop in in one place and pop out in another.

You could enter a portal in your shitty apartment and exit it in the Raft.

It wasn’t a perfect plan by any stretch of the imagination, and it took time to get it right. Robbie spent hours in his apartment figuring out exactly where he’d need to go, looking at coordinates and scouring shady internet messaging boards. He used his insomnia to his advantage, didn’t sleep for his own reasons. A tendency towards murder, as it turned out, wasn’t the only quality Robbie had inherited from his uncle. When he put his mind to it, when he really focused, he could tap into Eli’s smarts, too. He could plot the world’s most dangerous goddamn prison heist in a few days.

(And he knew a few days might still be too long. He knew that stories of the Raft painted it as the sort of place where minds were lost in hours. He knew that. He was just trying not to think of it.)

Getting the Rider to agree was difficult… but not as hard as it would have been if it were anyone but Daisy on the line. The Devil had always had something of a soft spot for her, and with the two of them working together, Robbie found himself stepping out of his portal just inside the door to her cell. He stepped into the cramped space on shaky legs, swallowing as he tried to put on the mask of a man who hadn’t walked through Hell to get there. Glancing down at her, he clenched his jaw and tried not to explode at the sight. She hadn’t been treated well, that much was clear. Robbie wanted nothing more than to walk out of this cell and kill every goddamn guard in this place, and he didn’t think the Rider would stop him. But… They had to go. If they wanted to make it out without him landing in a cell identical to this one, they had to go.

“You look like shit,” he greeted. “Wanna head out?”

DAISY: There was that crackling in the air again. That familiar sound that came with a smell of burning in the air - one that she had only smelt twice before. When Robbie was dragging his uncle to hell, and that day when he finally came back. It had the same smell in the air and Daisy could feel her heartbeat pick up with hope.

But it was short-lived.

Because as soon as Daisy’s brain started to process the expression on Robbie’s face, the familiar clench of his jaw - the way he looked as if he was about to tear apart a person with his bare hands. It was a look she had seen in his eyes before, and Daisy was over the ledge of delirium. So, she laughed. Of all the people she could hallucinate. Robbie.

“You know,” Daisy started, as the laughter finally subsided. “I expected to see Coulson, you know?” But saying his name caused her heart to ache immediately. (And what Daisy would give to hear some parting words of advice from Coulson?) Her eyes had locked into her hallucinations and she could feel her eyes burning. She wanted to ask him why he was there, why, out of everyone, he was the person she was losing her mind about.

Had she really gone so long without food and water? Would they leave her like this? Imagining people she cared about, stumbling into her cell, with some misguided hope to save her? Robbie told her she looked like shit and Daisy couldn’t help but smirk. “Sorry, Reyes, they confiscated my makeup -- if I knew I had a hot date coming, I would have at least brushed my hair. Now... get lost.” Daisy moved her leg and kicked Robbie.

Only... her leg made contact.

Her leg made contact.

Daisy leaned forward, her head tipping so she could look up at him. “You’re really here.” She tried to catch her breath, wanting to latch onto some sort of humor and pretend that she wasn’t completely fucked up - but she couldn't. She looked at Robbie, her mouth was slightly open while she processed the fact he was actually there. “Get me the fuck out of here.”

ROBBIE: For a moment, a fraction of a heartbeat, there was almost a smile on her face. Robbie wasn’t used to people looking happy to see him, particularly not when he showed up like this, with the smell of burning air and smoke following in his wake, but Daisy wasn’t most people. And, shit, Robbie wasn’t exactly his usual self around her. Typically, Ghost Rider reared his ugly head to send people into Hell. He was the last thing they saw before fire and brimstone took them over completely, the last face they saw on the right side of the grave. But Daisy was different. Daisy was always different.

At least, Robbie thought she was. But then that smile was slipping from her face and, suddenly, he wasn’t so sure.

Did she hate him for landing her in here? He wasn’t sure he’d be able to blame her if she did. It was his fault, after all, his selfish demands that launched her from the government’s nice list to the world’s most secure super prison in a matter of hours. Robbie’d been in Hell for years now, and in that time, Daisy seemed to have made out all right. She’d been alive when he came back. She’d been free. A few days of him back in her life, and she was here. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.

She spoke, and Robbie’s brow furrowed, confusion clear on his face. “I expected to see Coulson, you know?” It took a moment for the realization to strike, took a beat for his mind to catch up to the situation.

Hallucinations were fairly common in Hell. Robbie had seen them often, either in the form of people he wanted to see, like Gabe or Daisy, or in the form of people he wanted to avoid, like Eli or Santino Noguera. He’d never stopped to think that the conditions here were dangerously close to the ones some people faced in Hell, never paused to consider just how thoroughly isolation could torture someone. Guilt washed over him in droves, and he pushed it away quickly. There’d be time to hate himself later. There always was.

Her foot made contact with his leg, and it was her turn to get that burst of realization. He noted the way her eyes widened, the way that flicker of hope was back and, selfishly, he was relieved for it. She didn’t hate him. For the moment, at least, she didn’t hate him. Maybe it was only because he was her ride, maybe she’d find time to be pissed at him the moment they landed back in New York, but it still felt good.

“I’m really here,” he confirmed with a curt nod. “And I’m really hoping you haven’t lost it completely, ‘cause the next part of this field trip’s really gonna suck if you check out on me.” He offered her a hand, ready to pull her to her feet. “We’re gonna get you out of that fucking jacket, Johnson, and then we’re gone. Won’t be much sightseeing on the way out. My shortcut doesn’t exactly come with a scenic route.” He nodded back to the portal still open behind him, Hell staring back at them both from within the circle. He doubted she’d like the ride, but the destination was definitely better than this shithole. And it was temporary. It was a few minutes at the most, and they’d be free. They’d be out. Robbie reminded himself of that over and over, desperate to calm his racing heart.

DAISY: The diet they had her on, Daisy knew that they were trying to control her more than just with the collar. The proportions, the choices, it was all to keep her body and her mind weak, so that just in case the collar failed, she’d still be docile. But how long had she been in here? Daisy didn’t know - and without knowing how many days had passed, she didn’t know how weak her muscles would be.

She wasn’t entirely sure what to tell him. Sorry that she thought he wasn’t really there? Or confess that it wouldn’t have been her first hallucination inside the Raft? It was one of those things that no matter how flippant Daisy wanted to be about it, it twisted her insides. She bit down on her tongue and tipped her head downward, hoping he wouldn’t notice the look in her eyes or call her out on how casually she talked to him like she had spoken to hallucinations before.

Maybe he was waiting until they were out of here - maybe he’d confront her about what she had been seeing on the other side of that portal... but she was thankful for the time to settle her mind. “I didn’t think---” Daisy cleared her throat and shook her head. “Alex said it’d take time. I would have told her not to worry about it if I knew that you were planning a jailbreak.” Not that Robbie had any way of letting her know he was on his way - it wasn’t like she could track him on her phone like Uber.

Robbie stretched out his hand and Daisy glanced up, shifting so that he could grab her arm easily. Her hands weren’t exactly an option considering the way the jacket was wrapped up. “I mean, I’m trusting you to navigate me through a hellscape and take me back to the real world - and -- really? We can’t do a direct flight?” Daisy quipped before turning so that he could undo the buckles on the back of the jacket. “Have to lose it a little to think a route through hell is the best way to travel.”

Joking was all she could do to try and tame the pounding in her chest. Her eyes darting towards the guards who were already on the radio, watching them - but thankfully, they had only seen Robbie from behind, and with any luck, the camera wouldn’t have caught his face either. (She’d double-check once she was on the outside. Brush off her hacking skills to protect Robbie from the consequences of his stupid choice to try and save her.)

“Hurry.” She urged. Daisy took a deep breath and glanced over her shoulder at Robbie, “And please tell me... we’re not going to spend two years in there.”

ROBBIE: She wasn’t all there, though Robbie wasn’t sure if it was drugs, malnourishment, or the collar around her neck making her feel off. It could have had less to do with her and more to do with their surroundings, too, of course. Hell raged to his side, the portal wild and chaotic and, above all else, impatient. Hell didn’t like to be kept waiting. Behind him, too, there was Hell. Robbie didn’t know what went on within the walls of the Raft, didn’t know what sort of punishments they designed for those deemed dangerous enough to be imprisoned within it, but he knew it was bad. The Rider was stirring within him at that sense of desperation in the air. This is Hell, he was saying. This is Hell, too. Hell is mine, Reyes, you know it is. Robbie clenched his jaw, pushed the Devil down, and turned his attention back to Daisy. It wouldn’t be so easy once they stepped foot inside that portal but for now, they were still in Robbie’s world. Barely, but still.

She looked a little better than she had a moment ago, a little more settled. Maybe it was the knowledge that she was getting out, the fact that she’d soon be as free as a person could be with the United States government on their ass. Still… She didn’t look great. She’d still thought he wasn’t real, still looked prepared to fall over at any moment. Part of him wanted to squat down beside her, wanted to kneel at her side and take her face in his hands and look her in the eyes, to make sure she knew she was safe. Another part wanted to tear his way through the wall of bars behind him, to tear apart the guards outside, the ones on the other end of the radios they were speaking into, the ones in the cushy offices with the big paychecks coming in every month, every goddamn person in this hellhole. In the end, he did neither because neither would help her in the moment. Neither would get her out of that goddamn jacket faster.

He swallowed, throat dry and aching as he shook his head slightly. “Fuck time,” he said quickly, because he knew time wasn’t feasible. If you left someone in a place like this, took time to get them out through the legal channels, they wouldn’t come back the same. Robbie knew firsthand what it felt like to take your time clawing your way out of Hell. He knew from personal experience just how broken it left you. “I don’t know who Alex is, what she’s got planned, but fuck time. We’re leaving now. Okay?” He hoped she didn’t say no, hoped she didn’t ask him to leave her there. It would be a painfully Daisy thing to do, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to stomach it. If she told him to leave him, he’d try to convince her until those bars came down, until those guards came in, until they tested their strength out on him. He’d already walked through Hell to get to her. It wouldn’t be much harder to stick around in it, if he had to. At least then she wouldn’t be here alone.

She shifted, and Robbie pulled her to his feet as quickly as he could, making short work of the straps on the straight jacket. He eyed the collar for a moment, but he could hear the crackling of the radio behind them and he knew they didn’t have time to deal with it here. “Yeah, well, if you don’t like the transportation I can always look for another flight. Just, you know, might take time. And I don’t think either of us want to spend a layover here.” He kept his voice light, but there was a tightness to it, too, a discomfort he couldn’t hide. They were both good at this, both skilled in telling stupid jokes while the goddamn world fell apart, but fuck, it wasn’t easy now. Nothing was easy now, not with most of his energy split between keeping the portal open and keeping the Rider at bay. “Plenty of people’d kill for a first class trip through the Underworld, you know.”

Behind him, he heard boots on the ground, and he knew they were out of time. It was now or never, this Hell or that one. Daisy told him to hurry, and Robbie nodded. “We’ll take care of the dog tags when we get settled,” he told her, taking her arm and leading her quickly into the portal. He caught sight of a guard entering the cell behind him, positioned himself between the portal and Daisy as the bullets flew in after them. The gate closed before anyone could follow, and Robbie sighed, letting out a groan as his lungs reinflated. “Stings like a bitch every goddamn time,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders with a grimace. Two shots landed. Not the worst show of resistance he’d ever faced. He could feel the Rider thrashing against the proverbial walls, desperate to get out of his cell now that Daisy was free of hers. “Uh, yeah,” he said, turning his attention back to Daisy. “I’ll do my best there, Johnson.” He grimaced again, shaking his head. “Look, I --- I’m not sure how long I can keep the other guy down. He gets out and I might not get out of here, but you will. Me and him have an understanding there.” Robbie shook his head again, taking a step forward. “Come on. New York’s this way.”

DAISY: Robbie knew the risk of coming here to break her out. He knew that if he wasn’t careful that there would be a cost - he had to know. Because Daisy’s faith in him in this moment hinged on her assuming that he understood what he was doing was dangerous and stupid and could harm everyone around them. If they got a good picture of his face, it wasn’t just Daisy and Robbie that would be in trouble, it would be every person they had wrapped their arms around. Every person that they looked at with even a hint of fondness in their eyes.

Neither of them had many people. Their families were limited - Robbie had Gabe and Gabe still thought Robbie was dead and Daisy... she had Matt (another person who had returned from the dead only for Daisy to find a way of fucking things up). But that bonded them, that burning feeling to protect the ones they did care about - and both of them were willing to walk through hell or take a bullet for the people they cared about. Robbie might not have been the hero type, but he was enough like Daisy for her to recognize it. The recklessness, the running headfirst into the fire, the Rider might not have given two shits about what happened to her.

But Robbie Reyes did.

And after all the shit she had dragged him through... he could have left her there. He could have shrugged off her being in the Raft and settled on it being someone else’s problem - he could have left Daisy to suffer the consequences on her own. But he didn’t. Not that Daisy would have blamed him for leaving her to the wolves - he had people to take care of himself, after all. (Him being there… it meant something. Even if it was unsaid, even if neither of them looked at each other and said that it, it was something.) “Fuck time,” Daisy repeated in a murmur. “Yeah... we’re going now.” Repeating his words, letting them echo in the space around them a second time - made them feel more real for her. Alex might have been able to clear Daisy’s name if given time, but as disoriented as Daisy was now, she wasn’t sure who she’d be once Alex sorted everything out. Daisy wanted to think that she could resist it, that she’d be the same at the end of it… but she knew better. Every mission she had gone on had left a deep scar across her psyche, why would the Raft be any different?

Space had taken so much from her. The Framework. Every other mission she had followed Coulson and her team on – it all took something. It was a miracle that there was any Daisy left to salvage. There was a very real possibility that it was Daisy that gave up on herself long before anyone else did... but in this case? How many could say they survived the Raft? This was the end of the line for most people like Daisy. Giving up was logical. Giving up was what sane people did. Coming to terms with their reality - another thing that sane people did. (Was Daisy sane? Or would she have driven herself crazy with some misguided idea that she’d be freed from this prison?)

But fuck time. Robbie was there - and there was no need to worry about what might have been. Robbie was there and Daisy hadn’t lost her mind. That’s all that mattered. The now. Daisy just had to focus on it. "That a joke about murder, Reyes?” Daisy huffed a laugh, letting herself find some odd comfort in his humor. (Focusing on anything but their surroundings - and even if it was Robbie’s gallow humor, she’d embrace it.) On the other side of the portal, Daisy turned around to watch as Robbie’s body threw out the bullets it had taken. She tried not to think about it as she started undoing the rest of the jacket. It wasn’t even about the heat of hell, it was the feeling of being restricted. (She would have torn off the collar too, but Daisy wasn’t sure what could force the damn thing off.)

“Fuck that, Reyes,” Daisy shot back immediately. The Rider wasn’t something that Robbie could control - not always - and this... this was his domain. She could only imagine how loud the Rider got here. “Don’t you fucking dare,” she warned. He had just gotten back - and he was already jumping back into hell? (No that wasn’t what was freaking Daisy out - it was another person willing to give up their life for her without asking what she wanted. Another person that would be destroyed because of her. How many names until it would end? Or would it end with her name?)

And what fucked up universe brought Robbie back to Earth and then stole him away immediately after? (The one they lived in, clearly.) She was ready to start yelling at him, Daisy stepped closer to him, reaching for his collar, ready to threaten to fight the Rider herself if the other guy thought for two seconds that Daisy was going to let that happen - not that she was much of a threat with the collar locked around her neck... but before she could start, she heard screaming. The anger quickly faded and Daisy couldn’t tell if it was because of the screaming - or the place they were in - but she was on edge. “Robbie...”

He said something about New York being a certain way - but all Daisy could focus on was the cheering and screaming, the sounds of a mass of people grouped in one area. On the horizon, it came into focus, it looked like a coliseum, an arena, a battleground. There was a woman being dragged towards it. A blonde - not just any blonde, Daisy recognized her. Trish Walker. “Do you see that?” Daisy asked, rubbing her forehead as she blinked, and when she opened her eyes... it wasn’t Trish she saw anymore. It was Coulson.

(It couldn’t be. It wasn’t the real him - it was a specter. It had to be.)

Daisy grabbed Robbie roughly by the arm, fueled entirely by panic. “Where is it? The portal - we need to go now.”

ROBBIE: There were a thousand different ways this could go wrong. Robbie knew each and every one of them, had a lengthy list of worst case scenarios lined up in his head. He could get caught here. They could put him in a cell in the Raft and he could rot until the Rider finally allowed his body to give out on him, until the Devil let him go from one Hell to another. He could get stuck between here in New York. The Rider could take him over at the last moment, could shakel him in his own mind all over again, send him back to that world where all he had was a freeway that lead to nowhere and his own thoughts reminding him whose fault it was he was there.

And those, those were some of the better options. There were things he wouldn’t let himself consider, thoughts he was afraid to give name to. They could realize who he was. They could go back to that shitty house in L.A., they could find Gabe and use him to draw Robbie out in the open. Or… he could fail. He could go through all this, he could walk through Hell to find her, could stand in a new version of the nightmare that still plagued him and plead with her to come along and she could tell him no. It was something Robbie learned the hard way, something that Eli and his parents and Coulson all taught him in different ways. You could fight for someone with everything you had, could walk through Hell for them, and sometimes it still wasn’t enough to save them. Sometimes, people were just lost.

He wasn’t going to let that be Daisy. That wasn’t how this story ended. Daisy didn’t get to disappear into the world’s worst prison for the crime of helping him. She didn’t get to spend the rest of her life in a cell because Robbie fucked up. He knew a thing or two about one person paying for another’s mistakes, had seen Gabe in a wheelchair because Eli fucked up. It was the Bauers, Eli had insisted, Joe and Lucy, they started this. They lied. And god, Robbie had felt like laughing. Gabe was in a wheelchair, Robbie had died, and Eli was still going on endlessly about his reason for it all. As if it mattered, as if any of that shit made a goddamn difference at the end of the day. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, that was how the saying went. Robbie could vouch for that personally, had seen just how Hellish good intentions could make someone. He’d never meant for this to happen to Daisy, just as his uncle never meant for Robbie and Gabe to be caught up in his shit.

Well, I guess it runs in the family.

Daisy spoke, repeated his words back to him, and the relief was nearly enough to take Robbie off his feet. Sometimes, you didn’t get to save people. Sometimes, you did everything you could, you went to Hell and back, you fought with every part of you, and it wasn’t enough. Sometimes. Not today. Today, he at least got her out of the fucking cell. He didn’t know what would happen next, didn’t know how this story ended, but it wouldn’t be with her spending the rest of her life in a manmade Hell because of his mistakes. And maybe the next story ended differently, maybe Robbie couldn’t get away from the things that ran in his family, but for the moment, they were all right. He could recognize a win when he saw one, even if it was a single battle in a war that would go on for years to come.

He huffed a quiet laugh, half genuine humor half leftover relief from the realization that she was coming with him. Shrugging, he offered her a brief nod. “Hey, joke about what you know, right? Murder’s kinda my thing. Seem to remember somebody labeling me a serial killer once.” If you’d told him back then, when Daisy Johnson was just a girl who showed up at his shop talking shit and pissing him off more than anyone else had in a long time that he’d one day walk through literal Hell for just a chance at making sure she was all right, Robbie would have laughed. He would have called you a goddamn idiot, would have done anything but believe you. Back then, the idea of saving her would have seemed insane. Now, the idea of leaving her felt far crazier.

She was taking off the rest of that jacket, and Robbie took a moment to close his eyes. It was an action with two purposes --- assessing the soon-to-be-healed damage to his back and attempting to push the Rider a little further down. The back would be fine. Already he felt the wounds stitching themselves shut, a stark reminder that the Devil wasn’t finished with him yet. His eyes snapped open when Daisy spoke again, noting that familiar anger in her voice. Robbie’d had a talent for pissing her off since the day he met her. Going to Hell hadn’t robbed him of that.

“You really think I get a goddamn say? What, I ask nicely and the Devil’s gonna see my side of things? I say please and he’s gonna give up his gig here and let me go back to drinking him into a fucking corner? I’m not giving up here, Daisy, I’m not telling you to leave my ass behind. I’m giving you a warning. Letting you know what might happen. If it’s up to me, you’re buying me a drink when this shit’s over.” But it wasn’t up to him. Not entirely, not with the Rider pushing and scraping at the edges of his mind. One second, that was all it would take. One second of Robbie letting his guard down, one moment of losing control. He remembered the church his mother used to drag him to in the days before she’d decided parenthood wasn’t for her, remembered the sermons the preacher spat out from the pulpit. Damnation takes just a single slip. He wondered if the man had known just how literal that statement could be.

But, of course, Daisy wouldn’t accept that. She was stubborn and, right now, she was angry. Robbie saw it reflected in her eyes, recognized the storm brewing behind her expression. He knew he was in for an earful… and he was kind of touched. Who else would take time to scream at him in the pits of Hell? Who else cared about him that much?

Her expression shifted suddenly, and Robbie tilted his head to the side, curious as to what might have caused the change. It took him a moment to recognize the screaming. He’d gotten so used to the sound over the last few years, heard it so often that it blended into the background as easily as the sound of his own heartbeat. It had been a constant soundtrack for so long that he forgot not everyone was accustomed to the noise. Turning back, he caught sight of a woman being pulled into the arena, shrugging at Daisy’s question. “That’s where they fight,” he said simply, as if it was obvious. “She looks new. Won’t be fun for her, but that’s not our problem.” He was about to turn back to Daisy, about to tell her they ought to get a move on when he caught sight of another face at the edge of the arena.

Coulson.

Their eyes locked for a moment, Robbie sucking in a breath as the older man held his gaze. His throat was dry, his heart pounding. After a moment, Daisy’s hand on his arm pulled him from the trance and Robbie whirled back around to face her. “This way,” he said quickly, taking her arm and tugging her towards it. “We need to go now. If we can get out of here fast, I can keep the other guy down.” He hoped.

The portal was visible up ahead and Robbie dragged Daisy towards it quickly, wanting to get out before Coulson or the terrified blonde woman or any of the thousand ghosts Hell had to offer could step into their path and slow them down.

DAISY: It was the extreme of the situation that was making the laughter bubble up from Daisy. The fact that of all the people to break her out of the Raft, it was Robbie, and his path back to the city was through hell. Why was she surprised that this was the turn her life would take? But maybe it was a good thing that she could still be surprised. That there was still some crazy left in the world that could sneak up on her. And maybe there was that small blip of hope that reminded Daisy that no one in the future ever mentioned her being imprisoned in the Raft or escaping it – which meant… it meant she had done something differently. And maybe the future she had seen – the one that she had created – it could be avoided.

“I was wrong,” Daisy said. It felt strange to smile after everything that had happened, and to be smiling in hell? Another thing entirely. “And no, I won’t ever say that again, Reyes. So, enjoy it. It’s never happening again.” For a moment, everything felt light, despite the oppressive atmosphere of hell. Maybe that was delirium or hysteria some part of Daisy desperately trying not to think about what they were actually doing here... but she was laughing. For the first time since she was arrested, she was laughing. Catching her breath, she wanted it to stay like this. To stay in this small moment of peace they had found in hell... but this was only the start of the journey. They had to get through hell, literally, and then she’d be faced with a new mountain of problems.

The collar. Being a fugitive. Find a place to stay - Daisy wasn’t going to be able to step back into her life as though nothing had happened. Once again, Daisy had made a series of choices that would turn her life upside down. (And those around her were sucked into this storm as well. Alex, Robbie... Matt.) And to highlight that, Robbie was trying to tell her that he had made a deal with the other guy to make sure she got out. Maybe it was their location that was fueling her anger or that she was reminded once again, she had no control over anything. None. Not who lives, not who dies, and not for what fucking reason. Robbie was willing to trade his life for hers, to make sure she got out (he didn’t get a choice, he claimed, but he had made one when he stepped through hell to reach her, he had a choice, even if he didn’t feel like he did).

Hell seemed to have the same impact on Robbie, he snapped back at her - and Daisy didn’t have the capacity to call him out on any of it. The drinking, the way he was making decisions for her (even unconsciously) - but the last part, she could do that much. But she never had a chance to shove him away and tell him a drink wouldn’t do him any good if he got stuck. Would her admitting to giving a shit about him help - or just give the Rider more leverage over Robbie’s soul? A new way to manipulate the body he borrowed.

(Daisy needed to start keeping a list of things she wished she had said. Moments she let slide right past her. Because she knew she was going to regret not saying anything... but the moment flew past them so fast, Daisy didn’t have time to form words.)

“Do they make everyone fight?”

A question she didn’t want the answer to. Whatever the answer was, it wasn’t like Daisy could do shit about it. Her stomach turned as Trish was pulled away towards the arena - it wasn’t their problem - but watching someone be pulled away to a place where Daisy knew they’d be suffering? Trish was right there but Daisy couldn't do anything to help her. A feeling of uselessness pooling in her stomach as Daisy tried to come to terms with that reality. (She was no hero and Trish wasn’t her problem. If Daisy believed that, this would have been easier.)

“Robbie,” Daisy said his name in a panic, barely nodding her head at his words. As much as she wanted to focus on him, her eyes and her attention had gone back to the figure on the horizon. Coulson. Coulson was in hell. Her mind was already tipping into a downward spiral, but as Robbie pulled her arm, she snapped out of it. (Mostly.) But thankfully, Robbie was aware enough to know what to do. Stable enough to guide her to the exit. With the urgency in his tone, Daisy let her adrenaline and panic move her - and she ran. As fast as she could. Her grip on him changed, her hand finding his - a reminder for herself that he was still there, and her grip tight enough to tell him she wasn’t about to let go.

When they reached the portal, Daisy practically threw herself through it, gasping for breath as she hit the ground. “Robbie - I -” Daisy looked at him, shaking her head. Did you see him too? That was what she wanted to ask, but the words died on her lips. Too scared to know if she was hallucinating or if it had been reality.

Daisy squeezed her eyes shut while she continued to struggle to breathe. Her mind running through all the wisdom she had received over the years. But nothing seemed to fit. So, she focused on the one thing she could control. Forcing everything else down. “Can you get this damn collar off me?”

ROBBIE: It was telling, Robbie often thought, that the Rider had never presented saving people as an option when he was convincing Robbie to make his deal. The Devil didn’t ask him if he wanted to be a superhero. He wasn’t given a choice that involved making the world a better place, wasn’t offered a chance to save people from those like the ones who’d killed Robbie. ”Do you want to punish those who hurt your brother? Do you want to avenge your own death?” There was nothing noble in the offer, nothing heroic. And yet, Robbie’s answer had been the same.

”Yes. More than anything, yes.”

For a long time, Robbie put a curtain up between himself and the demon inside his head. That wasn’t him, he’d swear. He wasn’t the one killing all those people. It was something else, something inside him, something that he couldn’t control. He told himself that over and over again, muttered it every time he left a trail of bodies behind, insisted on it any time someone attempted to hold him responsible for the dead in his wake. It wasn’t Robbie who craved vengeance, wasn’t Robbie who tore people apart. It wasn’t him, it was the Devil. It was Ghost Rider. It was someone else.

But it wasn’t.

It wasn’t the Rider who killed Santino Noguera in his cell, wasn’t the Rider who was so enraged at the sight of a former gang leader lying on a cot and reading a paperback that he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. It wasn’t the Rider who saw Eli standing across from him and lost all control, wasn’t the Rider who was willing to spend eternity in Hell himself if it meant he could personally deliver the man who’d raised him to the same fate. The Rider craved vengeance, but he hadn’t made Robbie take that deal. He hadn’t made Robbie answer with such desperate want in his tone. The Rider craved vengeance, but he wasn’t the only one.

Gabe had known it. Robbie didn’t think he’d ever forget the disgust on his younger brother’s face when he’d shoved Robbie’s touch away, the way his lips curled up when Robbie insisted that those gangsters got what they deserved for what they’d done to Gabe. Don’t you put their blood on me.

Robbie wasn’t a hero. He’d never once been that. Not before the Rider, and certainly not after. This, breaking into the Raft to save the one person in his life who was still willing to speak to him, this wasn’t heroism. It was selfish. Everything Robbie did, at its core, was selfish. He glanced over to her now, smiling faintly and huffing a laugh that wasn’t entirely genuine. “Yeah, I’ll put it in my memory banks. Take a mental snapshot. I’ll remind you you said it later.” It wasn’t what he meant to say. What he meant to say was, ’You probably weren’t far off.’ She hadn’t been. That initial assessment, the one that labeled him a serial killer, it was harsh but it wasn’t unfair. It wasn’t uncalled for. There was a difference, Robbie knew, between justice and vengeance. He’d never once pretended to fall on the right side of that line.

Daisy was laughing then, and Robbie wasn’t sure if he ought to be relieved or concerned. He’d seen people crack under far less pressure than this, seen Hell break strong willed people into shards of glass too small to hold between your fingers in less time than they’d been standing here now. He wondered if, after all this, she’d be lost anyways. If he’d come all the way here just for her to lose herself on the route home. You could walk through Hell for someone, but sometimes it still wasn’t enough. Some people, you didn’t get to save. Robbie was one of them, he knew. That was part of what had made this decision an easy one. It didn’t matter, in the end, whether or not he got out of Hell today. It didn’t matter if that portal closed before his feet were on the other side, because this was the deal he’d made. This was what was waiting for him when all was said and done. No matter how it ended, no matter how he got there, Robbie Reyes’s story only ever ended in one place. Sometimes, Eli would have said with that crooked grin and those eyes that never stopped laughing, the light at the end of the tunnel is fire and brimstone.

(Had he known back then that that was how his story ended? Had he known Robbie would be the one ending it?)

There was a fire burning all around them, warm and familiar and terrifying, and there was a fire burning inside him just as furiously. He was angry at Daisy for caring enough about him to risk her skin for him again and again, angry at her for being caught, angry at her for wanting a way out for him when all he wanted was for her to be okay. He was angry at her for daring to believe that he deserved more than this. He was angry at her for making him hope, even for a second, that she might be right. .

The anger drained out of him all at once when she spoke, eyes flickering back over to the familiar sight of the arena, the familiar chorus of cheers raising up from within it. Do they make everyone fight? For a heartbeat, that fire was back. It was burning in his eyes, in his chest, in whatever was left of his soul, and he remembered being here without her, remembered the rush of adrenaline, the way he didn’t know which feelings were his and which were the Devil’s, the way he almost didn’t care because as long as he felt something, if didn’t matter where it came from. “No,” he answered at last, jaw tight. “Some people, they don’t have to make.”

Robbie had never been like the blonde woman, fighting and clawing and trying with everything she had to escape her fate. Vengeance or peace? That’s what the deal he’d made boiled down to, in the end. Did he want to die on that dirty street with the world on fire around him, or did he want to live to set those flames himself? Did he want to go to his grave with only his own blood on his hands, or did he want to soak the earth with so much blood that the soil was damp with it? Vengeance or peace? Robbie had made his choice. He still wasn’t sure he regretted it.

(It was the choice Eli made, too. Robbie remembered Lucy Bauer, smiling at him with teeth that had rotted out of her head because Eli killed her, remembered the way she looked at him. ”You’re his nephew. Gabriel. Like the angel.” She’d sneered at him with those rotting teeth, smiled like she knew him, like she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. And Robbie --- Robbie had felt like laughing. ”No,” he’d said, shaking his head. ”I’m the other one.” Not an angel. Never that.)

(Well, I guess it runs in the family.)

She threw herself through the portal like a drowned swimmer desperate for shore, and Robbie stepped out after her with a relief so heavy it nearly knocked him off his feet. The Rider pounded on the wall that separated his consciousness from Robbie’s as his feet touched the earth, but Robbie knew it was too late. The portal closed behind him, and he was on the side that came with his mind in the driver’s seat, the side that meant he’d go to work in the morning and pay his rent on time and buy groceries before the milk in the fridge went bad. (Robbie didn’t know if it was the right side. It was the side he wanted to be on, but it certainly wasn’t the side he deserved.)

His name on her lips again, and he knew what she was thinking. He knew what she wanted to ask. Selfishly, he hoped she wouldn’t. Gabe hated him now. Robbie had known it the moment his brother pulled away from him in that containment module, the moment he said Ghost Rider in a breathless tone that was disappointed and terrified all at once. His brother hated him, his parents walked out on him, and he dragged the only father he’d ever known to Hell and left him to burn. Daisy was all he had, the only person who knew who he was and liked him anyways. And if she asked that question on the tip of her tongue, Robbie would tell her the answer.

And she would hate him for it.

There was a moment, a stuttering, heart-wrenching moment where she stared at him and he stared at her and the end was right there in sight. She would ask the question and he would answer it and she would hate him. He would get every goddamn thing he’d ever deserved, carve out the fate he’d earned for himself.

She shut her eyes and he steeled himself, ready for the world to implode around him, and then it didn’t. She asked another question instead, and Robbie hated himself for the surge of relief that came with it. One day, he knew, that other question would come. One day, she’d ask it and he’d answer her and it would be the end of everything. The world would burn away around him, just as it had on that dingy street where his blood still stained the pavement.

But not today.

“Yeah,” he said, the word coming out in a single quiet breath. “Hold still. We’ll see what we can do.”

#vengeancedemons #robbie reyes: gives you hell #robbie reyes: 5 #discord: gives you hell

4 notes · View notes

ophelialoveshandsomemen · 3 years

Text

S.I.M.P.L.E

A story about Dean having the apple-pie life he’s always wanted. As told by Sam’s perspective. Sometimes. Just roll with it, I wrote this for my own fun. Figured maybe all you lovely people could get a shot at enjoying it too!

Disclaimer. All mistakes are mine. The French-Canadian OFC is mine. The WInchester kids are mine. Dean, Sam and the rest of the SPN cast of characters, unfortunately, are not mine.

I believe @justjensenanddean owns one of the pics in the collage. Maybe… It was a while ago. Nicely let me know if I should take it down. Or if this is illegal or something, tumblr is still mildly confusing to me.

Summary. Sam learns some more about his quirky nephews and beautiful nieces.

Chapter 2: Dean’s Magnificent Family of Seven.

Sam dried off his hair, after his luxuriously long shower, with a towel that smelled vaguely of moss and oranges. It made him wonder if his newly discovered sister-in-law leaves the clothes outside to dry or if she actually uses a soap that is scented like moss and oranges. He did see a washing machine when he passed by the laundry room a little earlier, but he hadn't caught sight of a dryer. Louisa does strike Sam as the slightly more old-school type, so it's very possible that she just doesn't have one. He wonders exactly how old Louisa is, anyway? He's pretty sure that there's no grey in her hair and she was running really fast for a pregnant mother of four. But Sam just can't imagine his big brother to have actually married a woman that much younger than himself. Meh, maybe she simply athletic.

As he cautiously exits the steaming bathroom in the house's spacious and well-lit basement, Sam peeks around the corner to see if any of the kids are hanging about, ready to pounce on him. They aren't shy, that's for sure. He sighs a bit in relief, really, until he sees one of the twins, Robert, he thinks, pad over to him from the den where the two older kids are watching, is that The Magnificent Seven? Oh Dean... Sam crouches down to Robert's level. The boy seems to eye him warily, then leans in to whisper in his ear.

"Pweas, come wi meh. Stasie neeeeds ew!"

Sam nods quickly and lets Robert lead him to a nursery on the other side of the basement, where Anastasie was floating above her crib as she whimpered. Sam gulps. 'Not good.' She turned her head towards Sam and his heart fell into the pit of his stomach. They glowed a very faint blue. The same colour as Michael's... Before Sam could have a nervous breakdown about it though, Robert tugged on his sleeve to pull his ear back down to his level.

"Do't orry bout bue eyeses, aways ave 't. Wo't urtuh. Wan ick up!"

Sam, thankfully caught on to the fact that the kid said she won't hurt him and that she wants to be picked up. As soon as Sam grabbed her, her eyes turned a normal dark brown and her weight dropped into Sam's arms. He heard Robert say 'Tank ew.' and 'Come wi meh.' right before he was left alone with his thoughts in the forest green nursery.

What the hell! Don't be what I think you are!

He went and sat with the kids as they watched The Magnificent Seven, trying to figure out how he was gonna bring this up with Dean, when Marie plopped down beside him and said "Uncle Sammy we need to talk."

"Um, okay. What about Marie?" "What you just saw in the nursery. See, Mama was three months pregnant with Anastasie when Dad got possessed by the bad angel." "Archangel, you nimrod!" John-Henry interrupted from his spot under the hand carved coffee-table where he appeared to be searching for something. "Shut up dirt-bag! Anyway, Mama didn't know about the possession and when Dad sho..." "Or who she thought was Dad!" "I said shut it! Showed up Mommy was a bit confused, but sometimes Daddy acts a bit strange anyways. We were all asleep and didn't see him that night. But the next morning when I woke up Mama was in the kitchen crying and Dad was gone. Seems when Mama and Daddy got "reacquainted" the night before Mommy found out about the angel and how he'd given some weird power glow stick stuff to Anastasie." "It's called 'grace' idiot! And it's still archangel..."

Marie stuck her tongue out at him for that. Sam's head is reeling with information now. Between the fact that, apparently, archangels can turn already conceived children into partial nephilim and the fact that Marie used air-quotes and a metaphor for sex at the age of seven, Sam just didn't know what to think.

"Where are your Mommy and " he swallowed, "Dad?" Sam had never had to call Dean a dad. The word suddenly felt foreign on his tongue.

John-Henry shrugs as he lowers the volume on the movie using the remote he'd been looking for. "Getting reacquainted. Usually takes them twenty or so minutes. Unless Dad's been gone a while, then it can take an hour. That's when Marie and me watch a movie."

I shouldn't have asked...

"And Robert? Doesn't he watch the movie too?" " Robbie likes to sleep instead. Or play with the pool balls on the billiards table behind you." Marie answered.

Course there's a pool table. Did I really expect any less? Next up will be a trampoline and a gun range! Jeez!

"Mama's calling! Time for dinner!" "Yippee!" " You coming, Uncle Sammy?"

Sam must have really been out of it. He hadn't heard Louisa calling at all.

"Yeah, I'm right behind you sweetie..."

The whole family somehow settled down and sat at the heavyset, oblong, wooden table in the kitchen. Which was quite cute, in Sam's opinion. Yellow walls with dark blue trimmings and dark pine cabinets that had deer antlers for handles. Bit clashy maybe. But cute. Bright. It looked like a fairy tale cottage had a baby with a hunter's cabin, to be exact. Sam's attention was caught, again by Marie, when she made a comment about hoping that her Dad hadn't put another twin inside her Mommy like he did for the boys. Louisa snorted her juice out her nose, she was laughing so hard. "Honey," she said after, " I'm not sure that can happen twice to the same mama, so I think you're okay for now."

When Sam gave Dean the dude-what-is-she-saying face, Dean rolled his eyes and took a deep breathe before answering.

"Well apparently, some ladies can get pregnant after they're already, you know, pregnant. John-Henry and Robert were born at the same time, but not, uh, made at the same time. It's why Robert is so much smaller than John-Henry and has a bit of trouble pronouncing. He was on oxygen or some crap like that for a few weeks after he was born because he was technically two and a half months premature. But Johnny here was good to go within a day."

"Lord I hated that labour! Everyone buzzing around like headless goats and moaning on and on about how the babies mightn't make it! I ended up throwing everyone except Dean out of the room before the doctor forced himself back in. Which took just long enough for Robert to be born, then Doctor Ominous insisted on delivering John-Henry. I swore to never darken the door of a maternity ward again afterwards and so far haven't broken that oath, either!" Louisa smiled at Dean. "Lucky for me, I have a husband who is more than willing to stay home with me and bring these little ones into the world."

Louisa fondly kissed Dean at that, the kids giggling in the background as they did. Unfortunately, Louisa leaning over gave Sam the full view of her neck which exposed a blooming hickey. Sam shuddered.

"So, Dean was the one who helped with both of the girls?"

Sam both hoped and dreaded that the flippant question would pull a reaction from either Louisa or Dean which would inform Sam about the whole Micheal-gave -my-baby-sister-voodoo-powers thing. He wasn't disappointed. Dean's face immediately fell and Louisa bit her lips, responding " Technically, Michael delivered Anastasie. But now is not a good time to talk about that."

Supper was served by Louisa. A chili con carni made with beef chunks as well as hamburger. It also had sweet corn and some sort of white corn, possibly native corn, in it. Sam had to admit, for the amount of unhealthy cholesterol in this ungodly meat mix, the chili tasted divine. No wonder Dean was slowly but steadily gaining weight in the last eight years. Not that the diner food helped any either. Sometime in between Marie and John-Henry fighting over Lord knows what and Anastasie puking up half of her steak and peas mush all over Louisa's t-shirt, Robert, who was having a lot of trouble finishing his meal, grabbed his plate and silently slid into Dean's lap. That's when Sam noticed Dean's smile return, after the unwanted attention brought on about Michael. Robert settled in and tightly clung to Dean's waist. Dean wordlessly began to spoon feed him, eating his own chili in between hesitantly taken bites from Robbie. Robert never made a sound...

Sam began to wonder if the boy was naturally clingy or if his silent demeanor and slight anti-sociability was an indication to something else, due to being premature.

Supper ended on a anti-climactic note, in all honesty. Louisa carted Anastasie off to be washed, given gripe water to settle her stomach and set to play in the living room/study beside the kitchen. Marie and JH ran outside, having barely washed their hands forehand, and paying no mind to Dean yelling at them to stay in the yard or so help him. Sam sat back, drinking some unlabelled beer Dean had pulled out of the fridge. He chuckled under his breath at the sight of Robert with his shaggy head tucked beneath Dean's chin. Dean is humming Old Cotton Fields by CCR.

"Dean?" "Hmm?" "When did you and Louisa get married? You are married aren't you?" "Yeah, got married back in 2011, on Louisa's 20th birthday, June 10th. Most of her family refused to come cause she was marrying some no name pool stick slinging drunkard who drove a muscle car and was a little too handy with a shotgun for her mom's liking." Dean's pensive for a moment. "You know, in the end, only her dad and her oldest sister with her family attended. And two of her friends from college, they were the bridesmaids. Got married in a little Catholic church up in North Dakota, where Louisa's from. Legally, we're not really married, since the government thinks I'm dead. Louisa just changed her name." He huffs." Said my name was sexier than hers. Anyways, the priest was so old, he agreed to bless our wedding without the permission of the bishop. Or a marriage licence."

That answers my question about Louisa's age then...

Sam smiles at the thought of his brother, standing at the altar, watching as his bride marches radiantly down the aisle.

"So, her family hated you." Sam laughed "Who would've guessed that?"

Dean chuckled at Sam's sarcasm.

"Bitch." "Jerk."

"I wish I'd been there with you." Dean visibly tightens his hold on Robert, who had fallen asleep a while ago, drool pooling on Dean's t-shirt. "I wish you'd been there too, Sammy..."

Louisa steps back in at this point. She ushers Sam and Dean, still holding his sleeping child, into the living room. Louisa snuggles into Dean's side on the relic couch from the 60's. Sam lounges quite comfortably on the green plaid, cotton upholstered recliner nearby.

Not a word was said for the rest of the evening.

Send me an ask if you’d like to be tagged!

#dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x ofc #dean winchester has kids #french canadian #catholicism #dean winchester has a family #anti-veganism #some swearing

0 notes

lovsy-archive · 7 years

Text

Sequence [ii]

sequence masterlist

masterlist

chanyeol x reader genre: angst word count: 4.3k

DURING:

12.25.16

It was never supposed to be like this. You'd anticipated the pain, the longing, the heartbreak hiding far beneath your chest as you were jolted awake to an empty bed every morning. It was something that had casually become apart of your life for the past year since he'd started touring, and despite the dull ache constantly lingering in your core, the need for him to be with you and in your arms, you'd always been able to expect it. You'd managed to learn how to control it, how to harbor the feelings and tuck them away on a shelf, and you were able to manage the pain.

Only now it was Christmas. It was Christmas, and for the first time since you'd met him, you weren't being woken up by his warm lips dancing across the planes of your skin, testing his limits, seeing how far you would let him go. Which for the record was far, as your naive giddiness of Christmas morning overwhelmed any sense of morality, and his lips clouded every corner of your brain.

For the first time since you'd laid eyes on him, you didn't get to experience waking up to the smell of sugar cookies burning in the oven, or to a dozen presents in your lap, scattered and messy as he sat in front of you, hair askew and teeth flashing until he'd convinced you to open all of them. The childlike innocence that once wafted in the air was replaced with the stale loneliness that enveloped every inch of your apartment.

Now it was Christmas, his favorite holiday. The fire in your chest only singed deeper when you touched the cold sheets beside you, the dent from his head only faintly left in the pillow beside your own. You couldn't help but wonder if you'd get a call that day, if his fingers would even linger over the contact of your name, if he would try to hear your voice. Or if it would be just like any other day, where you'd get an email with another sound file attached, as if that was enough to ease the loneliness picking away at your body. You'd wondered if maybe this time there would be a voice message attached, a note, anything to tell you that he was yearning for you, doing more than just sending files of songs that you could truthfully not care less about.

In an idealistic world, you would wake up to a present on your doorstep, one of his jackets he was obsessed with seeing you in stuffed inside, wrapped with a pretty red bow on top, a card signed with his name and stamped with his love. Hell, in a perfect world you'd wake up to him on your doorstep, not a second passing before his arms were around you and you would finally be able to breathe again. But this wasn't that perfect world you'd dreamed of, this was your world. The world where you woke up alone, drank your coffee alone, and let the reruns of Christmas movies play lonely in the background, just so the white noise would fill your otherwise static apartment.

Your parents called you earlier in the morning asking you if you were planning on going to their family gathering. You'd told them no almost instantly, a pit deep in your stomach and a burn lingering around the rims of your eyes as you declined, not wanting to face your family or the questions you knew they would have about your new life with him away. But your mom had been persistent, complaining that you'd been holed away all holiday season since he'd left, especially nagging you about the way you faked sick for Thanksgiving.

You didn't feel like it was worth mentioning the way you cried into your pillow all day that Thanksgiving, your first holiday apart stinging worse than every other day piled into one, the weight of the realities of your separation proving too much to bear.

Eventually you would give in and take a hot shower, trying your best to ease the coldness in your fingers and toes that appeared when you were feeling anxious. You did everything in monotone, brushed your teeth and hair, wrapped a towel around your body, put your dirty clothes into the hamper. It wasn't until your fingers brushed the fabric of the dress, tucked into the very back corner of your closet, did you feel anything.

It was the same dress you'd worn that night, when he told you to wear something nice and elegant. The same dress you'd picked out because it was his favorite color, and you desperately craved the compliments that drizzled like warm honey from his lips every time he saw you in it. The dress that adorned your figure when he dropped to his knee, confessing his love to you and kissing you with reassurance that he would love you so intensely the fire in his chest would overwhelm you.

He did exactly this, though you could have never anticipated the fire to burn you so badly, to leave you sizzling and burnt out as a byproduct of his engulfing passion.

Tears spilled down your cheeks both times you'd worn the dress, but this time it was out of despair and longing, out of the nostalgia of the happiness that so overwhelmingly devoured your past, the happiness that seemed so distant and lacking now.

You slipped the dress on, ignoring the way the feeling of home scalded your skin and sat down in front of the mirror to put on a face for the world to see. To pick yourself up off the ground, to create a facade of happiness and hope, to appease your family and avoid the side comments and gazes from those wondering why you'd looked so lost.

But you were fine. For most of the night, you had small talk with relatives and ignored the burning buried deep at the base of your ribcage. You allowed the smile on your face to be almost genuine as you accompanied your niece and nephew, who'd begged you all night to play cars with them. It reminded you fondly of the talks you and Chanyeol had in the past about wanting your own kids, the twisting in your stomach being out of hope and longing, idealistically optimistic that one day your daydream of this occurring through happiness and joy would one day become your reality.

It was foolish of you to do such a thing, to let yourself fall into the bliss of a life ahead with the two of you, the pain only increasing when you would let yourself acknowledge the circumstances. You'd known the moment you let yourself daydream, you would be ripped away from the softness in your chest, anger and spite towards the man you loved most filling you instead.

Everybody asked you about him. It was innocent, like your aunt asking how you were handling the long distance. It was innocent in the way you lied straight through your gums, a fake smile on your lips as you laughed softly at her question, forced and bitter, answering her question with distance makes the heart grow fonder. You'd wondered if there was ever a time where that phrase was true, because it definitely wasn't in the life you were living now.

"And what about this here," your grandmother questioned teasingly, patting your lower stomach as her eyes sparkled brightly out of adoration, "when will something find its way home here?"

The front you'd managed all night faltered momentarily, the breath knocked out of you as if someone had punched you directly where her hand was placed. The facade around you crumbled, for just a second, before you regained your composure. You managed to laugh softly, airy and breathless as you wrapped your cold fingers around her hand that was still resting gently on the fabric of your lower stomach.

"Soon, I hope."

After that, you'd finally managed to stuff it away for the entire night, to fill the metaphoric and literal emptiness of your stomach with bread and other food, to entertain yourself with your niece and nephew long enough to have happiness bubbling inside of you. They didn't ask questions about him, about how he was doing, they made you forget.

Until your nine year old cousin tugged on your arm, asking you about Uncle Chanyeol and whining about how he hadn't given her her present yet. You'd been knocked into reality faster than any other time before at her comment, the genuine upset in the child's voice tugging directly at your heart and dragging it straight down into the pit of your stomach.

You smiled softly at her as you brushed the wispy bangs out of her face, eyes somber and already clouding with tears. "He hasn't given me mine either, bug."

The very next moment you found yourself locked in the bathroom, sliding helplessly down the wall of the door and clenching your fists at your sides. The last thing you wanted to do that night was cry, to smear the makeup you'd taken to long to put on, to erase every trace of the mask you'd painted to ease the pain in your heart and hide the anguish in your features.

But you were there anyways, silently sobbing into your hands as the pain you'd been trying so hard to push back crashed down onto you like a tidal wave during a tsunami. Your back shook against the wooden door, head dropping against it as you let tears stream silently down the sides of your temples.

You felt pathetic in the way you'd let him affect you so much, so deeply. You knew anybody who'd known of your situation would laugh at you for being so weak and so desperate for him. He'd been gone only fourty-five days, not even reaching two months, and your shell had been shattered. You tried to convince yourself that if he at least called, you would feel better. If you could imagine him wanting to hear your voice, being desperate to surround himself with you, you could get through the distance, ignore the pain. But it was the radio silence that took over every sense of your being, the fact that he didn't seem to crave you as you did him, that he didn't seem to need you as badly as you did him.

Climbing into the bathtub, you sat down, letting your legs curl beneath you as you took your phone out of your pocket and into your shaking hands. He was still your lockscreen. The two of you, actually, standing beneath an array of twinkling lights, a coyly placed mistletoe dangling just above his head, taken the same day just last year, probably even around the same hour, when he'd convinced you to go to a Christmas party with his friends. You both look so unashamed to be passionately in love, your arms thrown around his neck and your mouths almost touching as you laughed into eachother. The photo was taken just seconds before your lips clung together feverishly, before you connected as one.

You couldn't help but remember that day vividly. It was one of the worst days of your life, the day he'd told you about his busy and isolating schedule to take place over the next year. It all made sense then, why he was being so touchy and romantic with you all day, desperate to make Christmas happy and enjoyable. But he had to tell you, feeling as if he would explode with worry and guilt if he didn't, fear coursing through him at the idea of you finding out through a slip-up of one of his friends, most likely Baekhyun who could never control his mouth. You only smiled up at him that day, somber and full of bittersweet love, kissing him softly before telling him that you two had gone months apart, and that nothing would ever wedge between you.

But you were wrong. Wedged between the two of you now was the distance of thousands of miles, thousands of seconds gone with nothing but silence filling them, not a single connection being bothered between the two of you, for a solid fourty-five days, fourty-four grueling, sleepless nights. Wedged between you was the empty promises that he would talk to you everyday, that he would always make time for you, that you were his first and most important priority.

Life slipped away from him, as had you.

Sitting in your grandmother's freshly scrubbed bathtub, your hands gripping your phone as you scrolled through picture after picture of the boy who'd stolen your heart so many years ago, eyes angry and stinging as you refused to let tears fall any longer. If only you'd managed to convince yourself to be stronger, if only the walls you'd been building wouldn't crumble at the mention of his name. Maybe then you could manage to move on.

But the truth lied in the bitter fact that you could never just move on from Park Chanyeol. You could never imagine yourself loving anybody else, hugging anybody else, tracing circles into the skin of anybody else. You didn't want to imagine yourself lulling anybody else to sleep, humming into their ear as they drifted off, or waking up next to anybody else. You didn't want to imagine anybody else's lips on your skin, whispering into your ear until you felt as if your whole body was on fire.

Your chest heaved and your hands tightened as every dark, bitter thought flooded your mind. Could he imagine himself waking up to anybody besides you? Would he be so pathetically broken at the absence of you waking up every morning without you by his side? Did he crave the way you lulled him to sleep, or was it simply the presence of somebody else that was giving him comfort?

It was happening before you had time to register it, the ringing coming softly through the speaker of your phone as it trembled in your hands, the sound piercing your ears despite its soft volume. Your breathing caught deep in your chest as your nerves ignited within you. You tapped the glowing red button just as quickly as you had his name, the ringer silencing and the deafening sound of nothing filling your ears once again.

You couldn't call him first. You couldn't give into that kind of temptation. You wanted your name to run across his mind the way his did yours, so much so that he was desperate to call, to hear your voice. It was stupid, and naive, and selfish, but there was something inside of you that refused to press his name again. If he wasn't going to call you, if he didn't crave you enough to need your voice, you wouldn't. It was a temptation you couldn't give into, not this time.

The buzzing in your hands stopped the darkness as it tried creeping over your chest, eyes snapping towards the glow of the screen. He had texted you, for the first time since he'd left fourty-five days ago. It was three words, straight to the point, monotonous and not a hint of emotion lingering behind them.

[yeolie-8:29p.m.] did you call?

You deleted it instantly, the emptiness behind the words causing your head to throb and your throat to constrict. Fourty-four nights, fourty-five days later, and the one message you'd managed to get from him was a mere response to your mistake. An obligatory message that left you reeling, craving the acknowledgment of your presence in any way at all.

You knew how simply you could just text him, call him, just to hear his voice or initiate any type of emotion from him. You could be the one to make the call, to end the silence and halt the pain from forcing its way back inside of you after so much work of making it stop. But the screaming behind your ears, telling you that he had to prove himself to you, that he wasn't missing you in any sense so you shouldn't call him, it was louder than the reality. Much louder than the fact that you were playing just a big a part in your self destruction as he was. Louder than the way you knew your pain could be gone if you'd just trusted him, trusted the way he used to whisper his love into your ear and swallow you into his arms.

Time passed by slowly, like molasses pouring out of a glass jar, so slow it seemed to almost not move at all. You stood up and arranged yourself in front of the mirror, your makeup thankfully looking untouched aside from the few black tears that had welled under your eyes. Your mind reeled and your legs shook as you unlocked the door to the bathroom, the wave of holiday music and chattering enveloping your body, cutting off any and all chance for the silence of the bathroom to take hold of you once again.

Your nephew's hand found yours almost instantly as you walked out, dragging you into the living room, rambling on about the presents that sad under the tree, making sure to point out that the biggest one was all for him. He pointed to the smallest one, tucked gently under the lowest branch of the tree, matte red paper covering what seemed to be a box about the size of your hand. It was topped with a silver bow, glittering and soft underneath the twinkle of the lights adorning the branches above it.

"That one is yours from Grandma, she said it's pretty but that I wasn't allowed to give any hints about what it is," he paused for a moment, eyebrows furrowed across his small forehead, "but she didn't even tell me what it was."

You smiled down at him, brushing your finger gently across the skin of his cheek and pinching it softly. He giggled and your chest tightened at the sound, soft and pure, untouched by the world around it. He let go of your hand just as quickly as he'd grabbed it, taking the present from underneath the tree and handing it to you. The small box took up both of his hands as he pressed it into your thighs, and you thanked him for it as you took it from him. You looked up and towards your mom, holding up the gift with an eyebrow raised. She smiled brightly, excusing herself from the conversation she was in and standing beside you.

"Open it."

You didn't think anything of the small box, anticipating a pair of fancy earrings, or a necklace with a tiny heart on it, or something along those lines. Nothing could have prepared you for the tiny angel sitting softly on the snow-like fabric, gold and shiny underneath the warm essence of Christmas. Nothing could have prepared you for the way every ounce of oxygen left your body, leaving you reeling for air as your fingers glided over the glittering halo. You had no words, mouth agape and eyebrows furrowed only slightly as your heartbeat fluttered unevenly and sporadically.

"You had this custom made?"

There was no other way she could have done it. It matched his tattoo perfectly. The way the wings were spread slightly unevenly, the left one bigger than the other, the sparkling halo sitting just too high above the angel's head. The dress was long and a-symmetrical, something Chanyeol had specifically told the tattoo artist to add onto the design. He'd gotten it almost two years ago, coming home one day and gleaming with happiness and your fingers traced the tiny inking on his wrist. He'd told you it was for you, the way you were his guardian angel, the way you found him the day you two had met.

Your throat constricted as you replaced the lid back on the box and smiled up at her, your eyes reflecting the lights especially bright as they welled up with tears. "It's stunning."

She smiled somberly at you, thumb softly brushing over the delicate skin of your cheek and catching any tears that had managed to spill over. "He'll come back soon."

You nodded, closing your eyes and placing your hand over where hers still rested on your cheek. You hadn't had the comfort of your mother's touch in months, with nobody to blame but yourself. Standing there now with her skin on yours made you realise just how much you craved the feeling of having her unwavering support beside you. You missed her, almost as much as you missed Chanyeol. She always had her way of comforting you, of reminding you who you were without him, of helping you digest whatever pain was threatening you.

Her hand dropped down to her side and you breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of her soft perfume and opening your eyes. You'd told her it was getting late, even though it wasn't, and that you needed to head home. She understood anyways, kissing your cheek and hugging you tightly, not admitting to you that she'd wished you would stay longer. Your mother worried a lot about you, the way your eyes drooped and your shoulders stayed slumped. About the way your nieces and nephews would make your entire aura perk up, the way she could see the longing in your eyes as you watched them interact with their parents. She would never tell you these things, never wanting to put the weight of that burden on your shoulders alongside everything else you'd been forced to carry alone.

You drove home in silence, the small red box sitting on the passenger seat, metaphorically representing Chanyeol sitting beside you despite his concurrent absence in your life. The tiny figure, metal and cold, made you feel more at home than anything in your tiny apartment. It reminded you of the way you used to trace the angel on his wrist as he snored softly beside you, recalling every detail of the day he'd came home with it.

Only now, all you could do was trace the cold metal wings as they soared outwards, sitting in your car as you smiled fondly at the small gift. It encompassed everything you loved about Chanyeol, reminding you of him so deeply, so prominently, the pain of his absence fading slightly at the feeling of the figurine.

You placed it directly on the table of your apartment, wanting to see it every time you'd walked through the door, the emptiness of coming home to an apartment without him in it hopefully replaced with optimism, the golden figure a reminder that you were his angel, that he would be home soon, that he hadn't yet forgotten you while away.

Now it was Christmas, his favorite holiday. You wanted nothing more than to hold him that night, to have his face nuzzled into your hair as his lips kissed your skin until he was sore. Every muscle in your body burned as you hugged into his pillow, his scent still fresh in the sweater you put on and the feeling of his arms around you almost prominent on your skin, everything around you being so completely him, but his body itself being nowhere near.

You fell asleep Christmas night counting down the days he'd been gone, wishfully hoping that not much longer was to come. The only thing letting you sleep at night was the optimistic idea that he could easily walk through the front door the moment you'd wake up in the morning. Despite this, you felt as if your world was going to crash down on you at any given moment, not even the pillow hugged into your stomach enough to keep the painful reality of his absence at bay.

But the remembrance of the tiny golden angel guarding your front door was enough to have your mind at ease, even if just for the night. You pictured the figure as a stand-in for the man who held your heart thousands of miles away from your body, the man who was able to lull you to sleep, to keep your ceilings from crashing down on top of you, to keep your chest from caving in and your tears from falling.

You'd hoped he was somewhere in the world, tracing the tattoo on his wrist softly, imagining it was your fingertips instead of his own, reminding himself that you were waiting for him the second he'd been allowed to go home. You'd hoped there was a burning on his skin when he touched the ink, you'd hoped it kept his world together, the memories of the night he'd gotten the tattoo searing into his brain, allowing him to fall asleep with even breaths.

You'd hoped he'd fallen asleep on Christmas night dreaming of the day he would finally be able to lay in your arms again. You'd hoped he vowed to himself never to spend another Christmas apart from you, just as you had.

Because despite the pain you felt that day, despite the burning in your chest as you inhaled his scent but could do nothing about the absence of his skin, Park Chanyeol was everything you were. Even if he didn't feel the same way, even if he wasn't so devastatingly enamored by you, it was a feeling you would never manage to replace.

You'd wake up the next morning the same way. You'd wake up alone, drink your coffee alone, except this time it was the news playing lonely in the background.

He hadn't shown up at your doorstep like you'd hoped in your dreams. He didn't show up at your doorstep until you'd no longer dreamt of the day it happened.

↫ previous chapter | next chapter ↬

174 notes · View notes