keire_ke: (Sherlock - serious face)
[personal profile] keire_ke
Stuff I did lately. :)

“You are right to fear,” said the creature, lowering its voice to a murmur so primal Erik felt his intestines trying to crawl out his nostrils and away. Curse his stupidity, curse his sense of adventure! He crawls away on his elbows and his shoulder blades, but the thing follows, unhurried. It has hooves, Erik notes, and they are in the middle of a fucking castle. He is lying on a fucking grate and normally his policy is to slam creatures in the face with a metal grate before they can advance, but this time his mind is a blank; the creature is still advancing, and he cannot feel the shape of the grate with his mind.

“What the hell are you?” he manages to stutter out, thank you oh so much, teeth, you useless bony protrusions. What he wouldn’t give for a set of fangs right about fucking now.

The creature stops less than a yard away, towering over him, though Erik knows it’s shorter than he – no kidding, its horns were level with his eyes. It smiles in the shadows and either Erik is going crazy, or some magic is making it bigger than it actually is. It must be magic, because the shadows crawl over its shoulders, swallowing up everything which could provide perspective. “What I am, my friend, is a telepath,” it says, and fuck if Erik doesn’t go rigid with fright right then and there. The hooves and the horns and the frankly unreal blue of its eyes, the like of which only the Gifted could possibly have, throw all of that at his hapless head and he wouldn’t even blink. Hell, he’d take the thing out for drinks. A telepath, though? They are the stuff nightmares are made of.

Well, the cowering, rational part of him supplies, though it tries to crawl out through his ears and slip out of the castle through the grate, that explains a lot. I saw it move and it’s shorter than I am, and hardly threatening. It’s doing things to me. It’s fucking with my mind.

It’s fucking with my fucking mind! Erik thinks, and uses the wall he just hit his head with to get onto his feet, provided he still has feet and that is, in fact, a wall. He can’t be sure of a damn thing no more.

I know that technically she is not of the princess lineup, but she is Disney. So there!

Kurt, for reasons best known to Kurt, loved all Disney Princesses, but there was a special part of his heart reserved solely for the porcelain ballerina from Fantasia 2000 and her tin soldier. Raven, being a fantastic mother who would die before she subjected her child to the appropriate-gender-fancies mindfuck, no matter Azazel’s opinion, said nothing but smiled wider when he emerged from the attic one evening with a fashion victim of a porcelain ballet dancer and a fancy tin soldier, who was missing half a leg. There might have been a set, she recalled, a very old one, of which the soldier was part, designed to crush children’s souls.

She hadn’t yet told Kurt about the original tale, nor was she planning to. Mr Andersen was a sick fuck, best kept away from little kids, in her view.

She also carefully refrained from mentioning that the dancer, painted, no doubt, by the League of Blind Painters, was a guy. Kurt was happy with his find – no, scratch that, Kurt was ecstatic with his find. He even added a jack-in-the-box to the mix, a toy which was probably the handiwork of Satan himself. Raven was generally undisturbed by clowns, dolls and other misaimed toys, but this thing was a creature straight from the Twilight Zone. The only reason she hadn’t carted poor Kurt to counselling yet was that he obviously thought so too, as he wouldn’t sleep unless the box containing the Satan!Jack was in a drawer.

For the longest time (shut up, six months is a long time when there is a six-year-old in the mix) everything was fine. Then Charles returned from Afghanistan, missing half his left leg and most of his mind. Then again, he went in the first place, so maybe it was a joyful reunion for them both, mind and man, back on home soil. Regardless, Kurt quickly learned to worship him again. Then, a few months after that, Raven threw a small party, just for close friends and Erik, Kurt’s ballet teacher, whom she planned on shagging that night.

Suffice to say that, by the time the evening was done, Kurt had tangible proof Disney was on to something, and Raven… well, Raven had fun all by herself. Most importantly Charles was smiling at breakfast, and when the phone rang when they were washing up it wasn’t for Raven.


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September 2013

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