Lying loose and relaxed on top of satin sheets and under a dense, pillow-stuffed comforter, Marlow has never felt more comfortable. Sir’s bed is so extravagantly lush, not a single expense spared. The astronomically high thread-count Egyptian pillowcase is wonderfully soft against his cheek, his freshly washed and dried hair feeling coarse and tough in comparison, when really it’s as soft as it’s ever been.
The comfort, he knows, is a prelude to something that will be difficult to withstand. He’s not sure what’s coming, but it will likely be rough. Sir usually pampers him after painful things, so the fact that this is coming beforehand, out of the blue, scares him.
But a slight flutter of his chest and a few quick light breaths are all that give away his mild, muted terror. It’s much easier to focus on the soft things, the comfort of having had a lovely bath, the praise that he’s receiving just for being as well-trained as he is.
“Marlow, sweetheart, your hair looks wonderful right now.”
Marlow smiles and closes his eyes, tipping his head to the other side as his owner guides him to with a slight push against his head, then fingers carding through his hair.
“Thank you for washing it, Sir,” He answers softly, giving a sleepy sigh when the gentle touch continues without faltering. His owner must have plenty of free time today. Marlow’s very grateful for it to be spent so generously on him.
“Do you want another reward while you’re up here, beautiful?” His owner asks, leaving Marlow’s hair be.
“Yes, please, Sir!”
Marlow opens his eyes and wait. He hears a little, high-pitched yip and brightens up instantly, pushing himself to sit up and lean back against Sir’s pillows.
Sunny is lowered onto the bed, tumbling on his little legs and shaking his head to shift his floppy ears before spotting Marlow and dashing over to sniff at him. The goldendoodle’s little tail wags wildly as he hops up, licking at Marlow’s cheek.
Pushing the puppy down gently but nervously, Marlow looks up at Sir, paying the attention owed to him. “Sir, I’m sorry, he gave me a puppy kiss, is that alright?” He just had a bath, getting licked by his puppy isn’t a bother to him but it might be to Sir, it might earn a punishment. He isn’t sure if all these rewards are the kind happily given, or if he’s walking a narrow line between being in his owner’s favor, and being thrown back into the closet.
“Yes, that’s alright, of course it is, pretty thing. Your puppy’s excited to see you.”
“I’m -” Marlow has to catch himself and lower his voice before he gets too unruly. “I’m happy to see him, too!”
“How does it make you feel to get to see him, Marlow?”
“Happy, Sir! And grateful, thank you so much. How long will I have him, Sir? I just - can I lay down and hold him, or, or will he be taken away soon?”
Sir crosses his arms, thinking. Marlow holds perfectly still, his focus remaining perfectly trained even as Sunny rolls around and nips at Marlow’s fingers to get his attention.
“You can have him all day.” Sir smiles calmly when Marlow beams, stunned. “Go on, lie back down sweetheart, relax, you can stay up on the bed and hold your puppy for as long as you want.”
Big, brown eyes glisten with joy as Marlow whispers, “Thank you, Sir!” and holds his puppy, picking Sunny up a bit and then slipping down under the covers more to lie down as he pets the soft, curly golden fur. He scrunches up his nose as the puppy breathes in his face, panting with excitement, tail still wagging madly.
Christian blinks, frozen where he stands. The little paws digging into his pant legs press at him for attention, and his friends are staring, fawning over the little dog. There is no way in the world that this is real.
But the dog yips, and hops up higher on his hind legs as he scrabbles at the human he loves so much. At first, he didn’t react at all. Then he tipped his head to the left, to the right, to the left again, ears flopping as he tried to figure out this familiar human shape. Then the hesitant walk forward, and the sniffing at Christian, and finally, the tail wagging, the jumping, the barking.
It looks like Sunny. Only Sunny would react like this to seeing him, dogs don’t just lose their minds with excitement over random strangers who don’t have food on them. But how, how could this be his puppy, when Sir took Sunny away, what, two, three years ago?
“Chris, man, I think this dog knows you,” One of his friends says, his voice tinged with excitement and curiosity.
“Yeah, did you lose a dog? Did you ever have one?”
“I had one,” Christian answers, stuck in his shock. Sunny loses his mind as soon as Christian speaks.
“Well, is this him? Come on, aren’t you gonna at least pet the poor little guy?”
Glancing up at Blake, Chris looks harder at the dog, lowering himself warily to his haunches and reaching out a tentative hand.
“Sunny?”
The dog barks more, hopping up onto Christian’s thighs and nearly knocking him back, licking at his face and sniffing at his new scent, familiar even after all this time.
“That’s his dog!”
“Dude, dude, Chris!!”
His friends sound just as excited as Sunny is, and suddenly, Christian knows this is his puppy. The way Sunny hops off his lap, runs in circles around him and then jumps back up, the way he yips and howls, the nibbling at Christian’s hands as he tries, less and less uncertainly, to pet that little fluffy head.
Scooping Sunny up into his arms, Christian buries his face into the puppy’s fur and hugs him, smiling with tears welling up in his eyes as the dog twists and tries to lick him more.
“Sunny, Sunny, it’s me, it’s M-, it’s - it’s me,” He cries, voice muffled. “My puppy, my puppy! G-, guys, this is my puppy, he’s, he found me!”
valerie and eos are @sweetwhumpandhellacomf‘s ocs.
A box. He’s been pushed over to a box and been told to get in it. Marlow stares down at it, frowning slightly. He’s uncomfortable with the idea, but it doesn’t feel real. He can’t be made to go in there, he thinks to himself, frowning slightly. It’s too small, he’ll get stuck! He doesn’t want to be locked away, tucked out of sight and forgotten.
“I don’t want to, please-” Marlow gasps when his long hair is grabbed, and his arm too. The man behind him is strong and displeased.
“I said, get in the box, pretty boy.”
“Please, it’s too small - it’ll be dark - let me stay out here, I’ll behave, I won’t bother you!”
He’s pushed forward so that the only way to prevent himself falling is to step into the trunk. Marlow’s frown deepens as he’s pushed down so that his knees are forced to bend.
“I don’t want to,” Marlow tries again, voice faint with the foggy, timid filter that slips into place when he knows he’s going to be hurt or frightened. With every second that he’s being intimidated, his mind recedes farther to allow for obedience and prettiness to take its place.
“Shut up,” The man growls, and all resistance is stomped out of Marlow at the unwavering annoyance. He lets himself be shoved all the way down into the box, his thin body folding and curving how it must to squeeze in.
“Sorry, Sir,” He whispers, drawing shallow, forcibly calm breaths with his knees pressing into his ribs, and the man’s harsh shoving slows, gets a fraction more gentle. He likes being shown respect.
The lid of the trunk closes, and a lock clicks, and wide brown eyes blink in the sudden complete darkness. He hates it, but not enough to raise a fuss. He’ll be let out soon, surely. That man got less rough at that last second, he likes Marlow. He’ll let Marlow out of the box when he wants some pretty company.
~
By the time the box opens, Marlow is in a bit of a tizzy. He was starting to worry that he’d been forgotten - but it seems that the men who have him were just arranging their plan. The one who likes Marlow pulls him out, Marlow’s being let out! “Thank you!” he chirps, relieved, but his expression falls when he’s not unfolded and helped up to his feet. A cup of water is tipped to his lips, which he drinks a bit impatiently, and then a blindfold is pulled out, being brought up to his face. Marlow flinches back, panic truly seizing his heart now. “No, don’t - you don’t need to!”
“Quiet, or we’ll gag you, too,” The man says, frustrated but also kind enough to give the warning first. Marlow bites his lip and holds still as the cloth drapes over his closed eyes, then is pulled taut and tied behind his head.
“I want to go home,” Marlow admits, very quiet and as far from demanding as he can get.
Instead of answering, the man shoves him back down into the box and locks it again.
Now, Marlow doesn’t even have pinpricks of light to stare at like little stars on a pitch-dark night. Now, the bit of stuffy air that he has access to seems to cling to his lungs and make each breath difficult, worse than before. When the blindfold was tied, did it tangle up his hair? Curled up tight and panting as he is, how soon will he get sweaty? If he cries, won’t he look terribly messy? What kind of person puts someone in a box, knowing it’ll make them all sloppy and ugly?
Marlow can’t imagine.
~
Six glasses of water. Marlow isn’t sure how many days it’s been, how many nights, but he knows that he’s been pulled up out of the box just enough to drink, six times. The blindfold hasn’t been taken off, and the box hasn’t been opened except for when he was given water.
He makes sounds, now. He doesn’t know why. Maybe because it’s so lonely in here, so dark and hot and there’s only Marlow taking up the space he’s trapped in. Small sad hums and huffs of breath are his sounds, involuntary as the sweat that perpetually smothers his skin, dampens his hair. Like tears. But he hasn’t cried much, because each time he has, making whimpery miserable sounds, the box has been kicked, and he felt like he was choking as his heart leapt into his throat in panic at having displeased the man who maybe likes him a bit.
He hears footsteps outside the box. Water. It’s time for his water. Marlow pants against his knees and squeezes his eyes shut tighter, hoping that it’s time for water. Maybe the man will brush this damp hair away from where it sticks to Marlow’s cheek. Maybe he’ll be allowed to breathe the fresh air for an extra minute.
The lock clicks. Water! He draws a thin difficult breath, knowing that his air was soon to run out. They knew, they give him water regularly, they weren’t going to leave him in here to suffocate.
The lid of the box creaks open, and Marlow gasps at the chilly wave of air that crashes over him. His fingers curl tighter against his chest as he waits to be hoisted up.
“Oh, Marlow!” Someone cries, and Marlow frowns. He only wants two things - hands on his shoulders to pull him up, and a glass of water held to his lips. He’s good, he’s not greedy, that’s all he wants.
“Time for water?” He rasps, gently curious, sweet and unobtrusive.
His arm is taken and pulled on, his body sliding reluctantly upward; his shoulders are grabbed and he’s pulled up, and up, and up - too far, he’s getting heaved up out of the box. Marlow cries out in surprise and his weak, tingling-numb arms scrabble to find purchase against the one picking him up. What is happening? Where’s the water, where’s the man? His box - he should be in there, quiet and in there. His hair is frizzy and damp, his cheeks must be splotchy from the heat of the trunk. Marlow is a gasping, scratchy-voiced mess, why on earth is he out of the box?
“Put me back, please,” He begs hoarsely, legs wobbling as he’s gently set on his feet. He’s asking to be trapped again, but he’s clawing into the shirt of this person holding him like he’ll shatter if they do what he asks. “Please.”
“It’s me, it’s Valerie,” Says a familiar voice off to the side, and Marlow’s legs buckle. The big, strong man who lifted him out of the trunk catches him - that must be Eos. “Let me take this off for you,” The prince mutters, and Marlow can feel fingers working at the knot of the blindfold.
When the cloth slips away, Marlow squeezes his eyes shut tighter and hides his face against Eos’ chest.
“Better to do that someplace dark,” The Paladin informs gently.
“Oh! Yes, of course! I’m sorry Marlow.” A hand rests lightly on Marlow’s shoulder. “I’m so glad we found you. Let’s get you home, alright?”
Words failing him, Marlow nods. No more box, he’s going to be brought home.
By nightfall, Marlow is tucked into his bed. The windows are propped open to let in all the fresh air he could want; the blankets are laid lightly over him instead of tucked in securely around his sides. Marlow has had supper, and water, and he’s had his hand held constantly by his dearest friend.
“Are you sure you’re alright to sleep on your own tonight, Marlow? You could sleep with us, it would be no trouble. The cats would love to cuddle with you.”
Marlow nods. Thank goodness his hair has been washed and dried and brushed, he feels so much better not being an eyesore. “Thank you, Valerie. I think I’ll be okay. You’ll be close, right?” Though his words are brave and casual, Marlow’s voice cracks and goes breathy, worried.
“Just the next room over, very close. You’re completely safe here, I promise. It’s so good to have you home, Marlow, the manor’s just not the same without you.”
“I missed you,” Marlow answers sadly, his emotions restrained just a bit after worrying for days about how ugly he must look, and also that he might die. “I’ll see you in the morning?”
“Yes, first thing. Goodnight, Marlow.” Valerie leans down from where he sits to press a kiss to his friend’s forehead. Marlow smiles and cuddles down into the blankets.
“Goodnight!” He calls back softly as Valerie leaves the room, closing the door. His room is big and open, and the door wasn’t locked. The covers and pillows are much softer than the inside of a trunk. There are faint beams of light from under the door, and he can see the stars through his window. Marlow sighs, relaxing into his quiet assessment that he’s really, truly home.
Usually, in their house, there’s always some background noise. The sink running, sounds from outside the open windows, the TV on or music playing from the speakers beside it. But right now it’s quiet as Colten takes the stage, standing in the middle of the living room, holding a stapled packet of worksheets.
Emory and Lux are sitting on the couch facing him, ready to listen. Emory’s sipping coffee, fiddling with the cover of his sketchbook where he set it down in his lap. Lux has turned his phone off and set it aside to make sure his hands stay unoccupied. In every way, the couple are prepared to act as parents, listening to Colten as he delivers his speech.
“So, this is for my language arts class,” The young warlock explains, scraping the bottom of his sneaker against the carpet. He isn’t smiling - he seems nervous, worried. Lux smiles supportively, sitting up straight and nodding. “And I’m gonna read it to my class. There’s two papers here.” The eleven-year-old dangles the packet between his index finger and his thumb to prove that it’s stapled at that corner. “‘Cause, one page is what I can read to my class, and one’s the real one.”
“Which one are we gonna hear?” Emory asks.
“The real one. It’s - it’s - got stuff in it that’s not good to say in school.”
Emory opens his mouth to ask more, but Lux nudges him. “Okay, Cole, read us your speech.”
Colten nods, flipping to the second page. It looks like it’s got a lot more words written on it than the first one. There are splotches where the ink bled through the paper, as if he kept pausing, kept pushing the point of his pen down and thinking too long about how to finish a sentence.
“The question at the top says Who is your hero? Write a paragraph explaining your answer. The, the second part isn’t a question. No question mark.”
Lux nods along, as if the explanation seriously aids his understanding of the introduction. Emory smiles and sips some more coffee.
“My hero - I’m reading my answer now,” Cole adds, then continues. His voice gets quieter as he focuses entirely on his own handwriting. “My hero is my friend named Lux. He is a warlock.” The boy glances up to see Lux nodding. Emory’s eyes have widened as he realized that this is why Cole can’t read his speech to his class.
“Go on, Cole,” Lux encourages.
“He is a warlock. I’m a warlock too. I met Lux in a scary place. Lux is tall, and he has curly hair and lots of scars.”
“Little ones, little scars,” Lux mutters to Emory, commentating.
“I know that,” Answers Emory, and Lux shrugs.
“...lots of scars,” Colten repeats, finding his place after looking up again. “If he didn’t have any scars, I would say he’s only kind of strong. But he has a lot, and I know how he got some of them, and that’s why he’s a hero. Somebody didn’t like that Lux is a warlock, so he hurt Lux. I think that man has some personal problems.”
Lux snorts, slapping a hand to his forehead. At Colten’s worried, startled glance, he says, “No, it’s - you’re right, you’re really right, Cole. Go ahead, I’m sorry.”
“Lux got - is it okay if I read this part, Lux? It’s - I don’t want to say the wrong thing.”
“Yeah, it’s okay. Read what you wrote, I wanna hear it.”
Cole’s eyes flick to Emory, and Lux makes a dismissive gesture. “Emory can hear it too, it’s alright.”
The eleven-year-old takes a deep breath and nods. “Lux got kept in a basement. He got hurt with lots of things like a knife, and a whip, and he got beat up. I was there too. But Lux didn’t ever let me get hurt.” Here, Colten’s voice switches from the nervous droning of a student reading words on a paper, to telling a story with emotion behind it. “I was alone, since my mom and dad weren’t there, but Lux was my friend. I hugged him when I got scared, and I got scared a lot.”
Lux has fallen still, no longer nudging or nodding, but he’s no less invested in listening. Emory’s acutely aware of Lux’s posture, his breathing, his movements and lack thereof.
“A hero is somebody who protects other people. A hero puts their friends first, and doesn’t take credit. Usually, heroes fly away when they’re done saving a city. My hero has to hide because he’s a warlock, and warlocks don’t get to be normal. But Lux is a lot better than normal. Lux is my hero.”
After a few moments staring at the page, Colten lowers it to inspect his audience. Emory looks sad. Lux is wiping away a tear.
“Was it that bad?” The boy asks, shifting his weight to his other foot. “I know I can’t read it to anybody, I promise.”
“No, it was good, that was very good.” Lux finishes wiping away the next stray tear and then smiles. “I’m your hero?”
“Yeah. Well, a kid in my class said he was gonna write about a firefighter he didn’t even really know. And Riley said he’d write about a cop.” Cole scrunches up his nose. “A girl said she’d pick her dad ‘cause he works all day. And I wanted to write this, even if they couldn’t hear it, because you’re better than all those.”
“That was amazing, Cole, I wish you could read it to them, or show it to your teacher,” Emory praises, sounding like it’s a true loss. “You’re good at giving speeches. Did somebody help you with writing that?”
“No, I did it all by myself. I checked two words in the dictionary.”
“Woah!” Lux comments brightly, emotion making his voice crack after hearing the speech. “It shows, it was really well-written! Can I see it?” Once Colten brings over the packet and hands it over, Lux’s eyes crinkle at the corner upon seeing the sloppy handwriting. “You did such a good job. Thank you for writing this, Cole, I know you didn’t have to. Did you - did you read it to your mom and dad yet?”
“Uh-huh. My dad made a copy. I, I was thinking, you could have this one.”
“Oh, I’d love that, thank you Cole. I’ll -” Well, hanging it on the fridge wouldn’t be great. Lux doesn’t exactly want to think about his scars and the ways he’s been hurt while making food or wandering out for a snack late at night. “I’ll keep it somewhere safe. This is a great present, thank you!”
“Do you wanna read us the other one for practice, Cole?” Emory asks, leaning forward. “The one you’ll present to your class?”
The little warlock shakes his head. “No, that one’s just some lies. Talked about one of my teachers. I don’t even like him. But I think I’ll get extra credit.”
Lux nods sagely. “That’s the way to do it,” He adds, and Cole matches his nodding.
Emory watches the two of them interact. It’s odd, and sad, what this exchange has been: Cole wrote a short few sentences that were lies to share out of habit, and saved a long, emotional essay for his friend to tuck away somewhere and treasure it. It reminds him of how Lux values things, tucked away in the safety of their home, and when out in public he just tries to breeze through and take up little space, little time, fluent in the art of escaping. The truth is precious and hidden, and that’s just what warlocks can expect in life. Warlocks don’t get to be normal, Cole had said. It seems truest in innocuous moments like this.
Emory sets aside his forgotten sketchbook. “Thanks for letting me listen, Cole. I think I learned from listening to that.”
As he sometimes does when Emory proves that he’s, incredibly, someone without magic who is a good person, Cole raises his eyebrows. “You’re welcome.”
“At least he’s not calling you Mr. Emory anymore,” Lux nudges, and Cole is instantly flustered. Smiling again after the serious turn in conversation, Emory thinks to himself that he’s never seen Lux act like such a dad before. It suits him.
OH MY GOD!!!!!! *wacks the air with a racket* these whumperflies are EVERYWHERE! My stomach was clenched through this whole drabble, it was AMAZING!!!! And I kind love how it ended, seemed like a pretty good spot to break it. Stunning as usual, Scott!
!!! thank you so much! i’m glad that you enjoyed it. isn’t decker an angel! ISN’T EMORY GOOD! ISN’T LUX A SWEET BOY!!
Daaamn, Scott! I had to open the live write on my phone to read at work lol. It was so great! This line was such a killer: "his emotions restrained just a bit after worrying for days about how ugly he must look, and also that he might die". Honestly, the priorities stablished by such a simple line... Just wow!
so glad you could join! and i’m ecstatic that you liked that line, it was fun to write!! poor marlow, when he gets fucky he gets anxious about looking messy. he’s such a dearheart!
starting tonight’s live write now! i’ll be writing a drabble with lux and emory helping decker out, giving him a safe place to crash (tw: mentions of abuse). if you click the link you’ll be brought to view the google doc i’m writing in, and you’ll remain anonymous. you can pop in and out as you like, no harm no foul if you decide you don’t feel like staying!
What exactly is a live write? Well, I’m assuming it’s using google docs or something and letting readers watch you write like an art stream, right? Do you ever feel super pressured by it?
yup, i write in a google doc and people can join by clicking the link to it (which i post each time i do a live write!) it is like an art stream, yeah. i never feel pressured exactly, although i do get a little anxious in the first like two minutes, trying to get started quickly so the people who are in there don’t get bored watching an empty google doc and leave. but as soon as i get started, i get totally into the story and it’s just exciting! plus, on the best days, when the thing i’m live writing is extra good, my friends who are watching message me and holler about how much they love it!! that’s very affirming and it makes me happy. plus, after i post the drabbels i wrote in the live write, i get the best asks! people tell me they watched, and their favorite parts, and get excited about what i wrote. i’ve only done a few live writes so far but honestly they’re a massive boost to my joy for writing.
starting today’s live write! i’ll be writing decker and lux and emory again, i got a great request for those three, nice and angsty! staring in a minute or two, this’ll go for about 45 minutes.
