#the huckybucky forest | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

louthegreatfurrry · 5 years

Text

title?? no (pt1)

@justafictionalthing

Claus doesn’t quite see it at first, he’s driving too fast in anticipation of the meal waiting for him at home. There’s something wrong about that turn, though, something a bit off about the placement of that car.

He screeches to a halt with his motorbike, turns, and speeds back to the mountain wall.

His heart threatens to choke him when he sees that the whole front of the car has crumpled like paper. Adrenaline pumps through his veins before he quite knows what’s happening himself, his hands starting to shake even as he hops off the bike and rips off his helmet.

“Fuck,” he says, with feeling, and his mind is already five steps ahead of him. Thirty to two, it reminds him, thirty to two, fresh air, check pulse and call 113 and bandages and –

There’s the warning sign beneath his seat, and he needs the vest as well –

casting hasty, worried glances over at the crushed car Claus flings open the seat, throwing on the vest before bolting for the road further away. He slams down the warning sign, then rushes back to his bike, shooting off to the other side of the crash and flicking on the warning lights.

His phone doesn’t have a lot of power – it was on 10% when he left Hucky and that was 15 minutes ago –

it’s on 7% now, he checks while he bolts back towards the car –

He’s shaking when he types in the familiar numbers. “113, what can I help you with?”

“Uh, uh,” Claus stutters, frantically trying to remember the order. “I’m – my – I’m Claus Climbermouse – just arrived by a car crash, one car into a mountain wall.”

“Can you tell me your location?”

No! Claus’ mind yells. His mouth speaks for him. “Er… a 15-20 minute ride from Hucky – I was going towards the Woodlands.” He’s by the car when the phone lets out the dreaded beep. “I – my phone is dying – please hurry!”

“An ambulance is on its way. Can you see if – ”

The call cuts off.

Swearing loudly Claus stuffs his phone into his pocket again, rushing over to the car window. There’s a young man in the driver’s seat, no one in the passenger – back windows are darker, but there seems to be someone in the back seat – a kid? Oh, fuck, damnit –

He tugs at the door handle. It doesn’t budge. “Hey,” Claus says, tapping the window, “hey – hey! Can you hear me? Are you awake?”

When the man doesn’t even twitch Claus curses again, casting about wildly for a blunt item. His gaze lands on a rock by the side of the road, and with a well-aimed smack to the corner of the passenger window the glass is pulverized.

The man’s face is covered in blood, slowly trickling down from his hair line and nose – on his neck and from his mouth and –

Claus cuts his own thoughts off and reaches across the car to unlock the door before running back around again, flinging the door open and leaning into the room. A little girl with dark skin and wide eyes sits in the back seat. She’s breathing, but unfocused – in shock, maybe – and looks far less harmed than the man in the driver’s seat, so Claus shifts his focus back on him.

He’s not breathing – his chest is terrifyingly still and no air brushes against Claus’ hand from neither mouth nor nose –

“Okay, okay, okay,” Claus whispers, cradling his face in careful hands – there’s blood on his fingers and blood on his shirt and he’s smearing it all over the place but the man can’t breathe –

he tilts his head back to open up his airways. He casts a frantic glance towards his chest, but it remains as still as ever. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispers, more to himself than anything else, “it’s going to be alright, I – ok, ok – pulse, does he have a pulse?”

In his desperate look for a pulse he discovers the gash down his forearm.

“Breath first,” Claus reminds himself, looking away from the forearm just for now. “Breath – okay – ”

He doesn’t have time to hesitate, doesn’t have time to move the man, only crawls as much into the car as he can, pinches his nose, and covers his mouth with his.

There’s blood on his lips and blood in his mouth and he’s panicking, panicking, the taste metallic and red and terrible –

the man’s chest is stubbornly still.

Claus heaves after breath himself. He’s not getting air in his lungs even when Claus breathes for him – what does he do, what can he do, what could be wrong – ?

His windpipes, the part of him that still remembers his education whispers, they must be crushed in some way or another.

Claus runs feeble fingers down the man’s throat, gentle and careful –

and sure enough, the flesh gives in under his prodding touch.

He searches for ideas frantically, doesn’t know what to do, the guy can’t breathe –

he’s got a knife in his pocket and a pen in the other –

can he really do that?

He doesn’t have time to think or consider, he can only act! Claus tugs out the pen first, his fingers shaking so badly he barely manages to pull it apart before flicking up the knife, as well. He inhales, exhales, hopes to the heavens he isn’t too late, and makes a clean cut across the man’s throat.

Claus winces at the trickle of blood, but it’s just a steady stream, so it wasn’t any important veins –

he closes his mouth around the deep cut and exhales sharply.

The guy’s chest rises steadily.

Tears prick in Claus’ eyes as he heaves a relieved gasp, and then he fumbles with the pen for a bit, heart thundering in his chest –

when the empty pen tube is lodged in the man’s throat he holds his own breath for a moment, willing his heart to be silent –

a small, quiet whistle as air moves through the tube.

“Oh, thank fuck, thank fuck, thank fuck,” Claus stutters, and he falls out of the car in relief, climbing out of it in fear of worsening the man’s condition. His knee connects to the ground in a way that is absolutely not right, but he can’t worry about that sickening crunch right now, he’s covered in blood and the guy still has that gash to worry about –

The blood is warm and slippery against his skin when he grapples after the man’s arm, pouring out in a pulsating rush –

“It’s gonna be fine,” he says, “It’s gonna be fine, gonna be fine – ”

He needs a bandage, doesn’t have time to look for a first-aid kit, every drop of blood is a lesser chance of survival. His hand is still clutched around the Swiss Army knife, his shirt drenched in blood. “Fuck,” he murmurs, again, again, and he has to try three times before the knife bites into the cloth. “A rock,” he says, looking about frantically, his chest closing up, he can’t breathe –

Calm, he reminds himself, calm, he must be calm.

“A rock,” he repeats, slower. The blood comes pouring down his arm.

There’s one to his right. He lunges after it, fingers closing around it – he barely notices the sharp burst of pain, barely cares that he leaves skin on the ground, that there’s already blood on the stone when he presses it to the cut –

He wraps the worn cloth around the man’s arm and fastens it, sitting back briefly to check his work. Not good enough, his mind yells, he’s still bleeding! Cursing softly again Claus falls forward, untying the bandage and tightening it to the extreme. Better to lose his hand than lose his life, after all –

He needs a first-aid kit, a bandage, a tape, something, anything. His bike doesn’t have that, but maybe the car does? He struggles to his feet, rushing for the back of the car – and he stumbles, falls, his shoulder giving a painful screech. His throat burns, vision blurring for a moment before he manages to scramble up again.

“Thank God,” he blurts, reaching after the orange first-aid kit before hurrying back around. “Bandage,” he mutters, ripping open the kit and rummaging through it. “Banda – bandage!” It goes easier to wrap this around the man’s arm, the cloth made for this purpose, but Claus doesn’t stop to think about that, for now he’s noticed that the man has several fingers missing. Most of his thumb is gone, along with half his index finger and the tip of the middle one.

Oh, for fuck’s sake – the blood is still pouring and his chest is tightening –

breathe, he reminds himself, breathe, breathe, breathe. He pulls out the knife again, going for his sleeves this time, needed slimmer thread – he doesn’t even care when the knife sinks into his own skin, his blood trickling down his arm and mingling with the man’s blood on his hands. He does his best to wrap the strip of cloth around the man’s mangled fingers, as tightly as he can – and when the flow seems to still somewhat he reaches for the other bandage in the kit, bundling up around the bloody stumps.

He sits back and stares, bleeding fingers pushing the man’s hand into his lap.

His ears ring.

And then the child begins to screech.

Claus jumps to his feet with a start, nearly having forgotten the kid in his panic. “Hey!” he says, trying frantically to keep the worry out of his voice as he tugs the back door open.

The girl is flailing around, screeching like a banshee, eyes wide but focused.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Claus whispers, putting a knee inside the car, “hey, look, listen – ”

She gulps down a deep breath, and it’s like turning off a switch. “Uncle Marvin?” she whispers, her gaze locked on the man in the front seat.

Uncle Marvin.

Claus swallows. “Hey,” he says, and secretly wishes she was rather unconscious. “Hey. I’m Claus. I’m Claus. You’re going to be alright. You’re gonna be fine. Help is coming.”

The girl stares at him with her wide, dark eyes. Bottomless. “Is he fine?” she asks.

Claus doesn’t know what to say, but he sees the need in her eyes, sees how she trembles. “He’s fine,” he confirms. “What’s your name? How old are you?”

“I,” the girl says, and then she’s twisting against her belt, unclicking it and nearly flinging herself out of the car. “I’m Lise,” she says, and then she bursts into tears.

Breathe, breathe, breathe – Claus takes the kid into his arms and sinks to the ground, leaning back up against the side of the car. “Shh,” he whispers, putting a hand to the back of Lise’s head. Her messy curls are sticky with blood. “It’s gonna be fine. It’s gonna be fine.”

He closes his eyes and reaches up blindly with his free hand, grasping after the man’s uninjured one. Pressing his thumb against his wrist he slowly, painstakingly seeks out his pulse.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The quiet whistling noise of air pushing through the empty pen echoes in Claus’ ears. It almost drowns in Lise’s continuous sniffling, but Claus dares not ask her to keep it down.

“Do you like songs?” he asks, because he’s wound up and she’s wound up and they’re both more than slightly terrified.

A moment, and then Lise nods against his throat. She’s wrapped her spindly arms around his neck, pressed her nose against his skin, and the continued puffs of breath is incredibly relieving.

Claus sings in hushed tones, not enough to deafen the whistling from the driver’s seat or Lise’s whimpers, but calming nonetheless.

It feels like forever, when he sits there, his bike blinking distantly, the whistling filling the air.

When the ambulance comes Claus is too numb to care.

#hakkebakkeskogen #the huckybucky forest #Marvin #mikkel rev #claus #klatremus #meg og mitt #my writing

1 note · View note

louthegreatfurrry · 5 years

Text

how to live

so this is old but i’m reading it now and oh, look at that, i’m a good writer. so here, have Marvin’s backstory - aka angst. that’s it it’s angst it’s pure angst

If someone asks Marvin when he first was told that he is worthless, he will reply that he can’t remember.

(This is a lie; such memories are not easily forgotten.)

It begins when the other kits shy away from him, true fear and disgust in their eyes and upon their lips. Marvin is three, maybe four, his teeth aren’t even fully grown yet, and he doesn’t understand - but he’s not stupid, so he stays away, reluctant to talk to those he’d otherwise call friends.

The first time this happens, Marvin goes home and talks to his mother, to his father, and he asks them – “What’s wrong with me?”

And his parents exchange glances. Something terrible lays dormant in those glances, and Marvin’s heart trembles. “There’s nothing wrong,” his father says gently, and Marvin knows, almost instinctively, that he’s lying.

“Liar,” he whispers, “you lie.”

“They fear you because you are a fox,” his mother says, and she sounds so unbelievably apologetic that Marvin takes a moment to just breathe.

“But – but – it matters?” he stutters, confused at why that should have anything to say.

“Yes,” his father whispers.

His family becomes, from that point on, the only place that he feels safe. Here there are others; his parents, his siblings, younger and older – they’ve gone through, are going through, will go through the same things – and Marvin is at ease around them, even when the other kits flee from him and bully him into submission.

He hates it; hates it all; can’t believe it’s something that they actually care about. And he doesn’t fully understand, either – why? Why do they hate him so? There’s no real reason to – he knows he’s a fox, but – why should that matter?

Then, one day as he’s walking through the forest, he hears adult voices nearby. He’s learned not to trust them, learned that adults don’t fear him because of his age, learned that lack of fear doesn’t mean lack of hate –

he hides behind a tree and listens.

(“They’re sneaky, those foxes”)

(“Yeah, you shouldn’t trust them –“)

(“It’s in their nature”)

(evil, uncanny, clever, sly)

(murderers)

(It’s the first time Marvin hears those insults.)

(it will not be the last.)

He leaves when he can’t take it any more – his stroll becomes a march and his march becomes a run and his run becomes him throwing himself onto all four and dashing through the forest at a wild pace. Later he wonders how he managed to survive that run, unexperienced at running at all four and unexperienced with the forest and unexperienced with how tears blur your vision, but in the moment, all he cares for is to get away.

He comes home, blood sticking grossly to his fur in places it shouldn’t be and tears on his cheeks – his mother greets him at the door, an understanding and comforting look on her features, and Marvin burrows into her embrace and sobs.

Something… happens, to Marvin, that day. Something cracks within him –

(so that’s why they hate him that’s why that’s why)

(but he doesn’t feel like a murderer)

- and he decides – in a moment of vulnerability – a moment when the other kits yelp at seeing him –

(is that really what he is - ?)

(is that all he is?)

(and – and he’s so young he doesn’t know or understand but he’s four or maybe five and that’s – maybe the adults are right and maybe they’re not but it’s obvious that other animals believes him to be like this no matter what the truth is -)

Marvin growls.

The kits scatter like fireflies in a moon-lit field.

(He manages to hold off on the tears until he comes home and lies under his blankets.)

His oldest sister – fifteen – takes his paw and leads him to the shadow of a birch tree – and she says, in hushed tones –

“I’ll teach you how to fight.”

Marvin’s eyes go wide. “Fight?” he repeats, and he’s five and he’s too young – “Fight with – with biting and clawing?”

“No,” his sister says quietly, shaking her head with a sad frown. “No; I’ll teach you how to survive.”

And Marvin –

(thinks of the kits, of their desperation and fear and hate)

(thinks of the adults, the disgust in their voices)

(thinks of all the animals he’ll ever encounter, thinks of how he’s already lost hope)

– understands.

His sister teaches him – teaches him to apply a mask, to be who the world wants him to be, to understand that this is a fight he can’t win.

(“Give them a reason to hate you,” she says, “and it’ll feel better.”)

She does a lot for him, and Marvin feels like he might love her more than his parents, when he manages to not cry the next time the tears threatens to spill over – but when it becomes too much, when he feels as though his heart might shatter and cut apart his skin as it fails –

(he’s worried he actually is like this and is he a murderer, is he really, truly a murderer, is there a point in fighting, does he, should he, would he –)

– his sister flees him, leaves him to his self-disgust and his confusion and his horror.

One night he lies in bed and listens to his parents’ shushed voices, snarling in anger at his sister, speaking harsh words –

“He’s just five, what are you doing to him - !?”

“Someone has to teach him – he has to know – he deserves a fair fight – ”

“He deserves nothing of this!”

“Neither do any of us – but we need to fight – we can’t just let them – ”

“If you are to be his mentor,” – father’s tired voice – “Then at least do it right.”

“…thank you, pa, I will.”

“- Morris! You can’t just – ”

“I can and I will, Mary. Good night.”

(He doesn’t shed a tear before he falls asleep, but his dreams are filled with horror)

Marvin, who’s learned on his own to not interact with the other kits, takes to walking through the forest and trying to find joy, perhaps even peace, in the towering trees and the sun shining through the green leaves.

It’s when he returns from this walk that he comes home, and –

and –

he doesn’t stay long, just long enough to deduce that no one is there and that the air reeks of death and blood, and his heart is in his throat and through his chest tears horror stronger than anything he’s ever felt before –

the smell of humans linger on his fur, and he scrubs himself sore in the river –

(dead, they’re dead, everyone is dead)

(his safe space, his parents, his sister, all his younger siblings and his adoring older brother -)

(they’re dead and he wasn’t even there - )

While he kneels in the river, seven and hurting and raw, water up to his waist, he sobs until he has no tears left, laying his heart bare for the world to see –

(and he cries not only for his family but also for himself; for all the pain he has and is and will go through; for the hate of everything alive and the hope that died when he was three)

(and some part of him, a fairly large part of him, knows that this is the last time he will find it acceptable to cry.)

and then, when there’s nothing left in him but dull acceptance and a sharp blade of hate, he stands up, dries his tears, and begins to walk towards the house of the reindeers, the animals in position of power.

(he plans to just run after this, run and never come back – maybe he’ll die, maybe he won’t, who knows, who cares)

(he’ll tell the reindeers that his family is dead, the local fox family is gone, they don’t have to worry anymore, and he’ll soon be gone, too, and by the way, beware of the humans.)

The reindeers surprise him by offering their apologies; the female, whose name Marvin does not know, frets over him for a bit before telling her husband that they need to find a home for “the poor sod.”

Marvin wants to say no, wants to just run, doesn’t want to be placed with someone he doesn’t trust, but the male, whose name he also doesn’t know, nods solemnly and says “I have just the family in mind.”

It’s squirrels; of course it’s squirrels, the species who feared him second most, beaten only by mice – they’re hesitant to take him in, but the reindeers insist and say that “he’s just a kit; look at him, just lost his family, doesn’t know”.

(“Maybe you can teach him better,” the female says softly, quietly, worriedly, “teach him how to be, oh, less like a fox…”)

(and Marvin wants to be sick, he wants to cry, wants to scream at the world)

(but all he does is sneak back to his new room and lay down in his bed)

(when the adult squirrels check in on him, later, Marvin pretends to be asleep, and pretends to not hear the key turn in the lock afterwards)

Things are so uncertain in the beginning – Marvin realizes soon that life will be easier for him if he is polite and kind – so he is, because maybe – just maybe – this family will – maybe he can be happy here, if they just accept him –

(he lies in his bed that’s really just a mattress on the floor of an office and)

(he thinks it’s foolish, it’s idiotic, of course they won’t accept him, has he forgotten the words –)

(foxes are emotionless vessels for a greater evil)

(“shut up,” he whispers, the words breaking through the night and sparkling like hope, “shut up, shut up, shut up”)

It takes weeks, it takes months, but eventually – thanks to kind words and small smiles and a willingness to help and no harsh words and no anger – the family gradually accepts him as one of their own.

And – and –

(foxes can’t create a home)

he’s – found a family again –

the son, thirteen and daring and brave, is the first to truly befriend Marvin – he laughs at his jokes and worries when he stumbles and offers him genuine thanks when things go askew and he helps –

jokingly, the squirrel – Kristian – begins to call Marvin his nephew –

and Marvin, seven and not quite as jokingly, begins to call him uncle.

Food is – a problem. The squirrels prefer nuts, of course, but for Marvin they add vegetables and fruit into their diet. It’s good, it’s fair enough, Marvin understands that they won’t eat meat in any shape or form, and he – he respects their choice, to a degree, but the vegetables and the fruit isn’t enough, he knows it should be, but it isn’t –

he walks around and is constantly hungry, and when he can’t sleep at night he stares up at the ceiling and thinks it would be easier, it would be so much easier if he just took that next step and ate another animal like world seems to think he should –

but he can’t, there’s a limit and it’s there –

he can lie and he can snarl and be mean but he will not kill another animal unless it is absolutely necessary – and he’ll just have to be under-fed, he’ll just have to go around in constant pain, he’ll just have to grow thinner and thinner each day, it’s alright, he’s not horrible here, and the squirrels are kind to him, if he throws away this everything goes to hell, and he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, why was he born a fox –

And although he is somewhat happy there – although he loves his uncle – although he wishes he could live there forever and be happy forever –

no good things last, it seems, for the universe catches up with itself and realizes that something is wrong.

Kristian and he are walking in the forest, on their way to the baker, when the humans come back. They’re children, Marvin can tell, and the only reason he survives is because he snarls at them when they try to pick him up.

He watches in horror as Kristian’s body falls to the ground with a thud, head bent in the wrong direction, and the human kits snicker – snicker – before running off.

Marvin –

isn’t allowed to stay with the squirrels after that.

(“Take him away from here, we can’t have him anymore, we should never have taken him in –“)

(Why didn’t you protect him, why didn’t you kill them, why didn’t you do something – this they ask from a ten year old fox who’s hurting, terribly hurting, from guilt and pain and horror –)

(and the positive thoughts Marvin had about the squirrel-family he was part of shatter.)

He wants to run, just wants to get away from everything, but the reindeers get to him before he can gather his possessions and make a dash for it. They take care of him for a few days while they struggle to find a family willing to take him in. In the end they find a small family of otters, two mothers and a son of seven.

(“Please take him in, please, please, he’s just ten –”)

Marvin doesn’t expect to stay there long. After Kristian’s death –

(terrified screams and the crack and the dull thud as he hit the ground)

(head at a wrong angle and eyes staring blankly at Marvin)

(blood splattered on the walls and the smells of humans and death mingled in the air)

(the kits’ disgust and fear, the adults’ hate)

He’s right. He doesn’t stay for longer than a month before they give up on him.

He’s eleven around this time, and he begins to be passed from family to family, from otters to beavers to hedgehogs.

(He must be doing something wrong, he thinks, in the darkness of every single room he’s given)

(no other predators seem to fight the fight he’s fighting, and he’s heard things about other predators, too, it’s not just foxes -)

(has heard how hedgehogs are greedy and wolves are aggressive and snakes sly)

(and his siblings, they never fought this hard, did they?)

(he finds that he can’t remember)

He’s eleven around this time.

And he begins to believe.

It’s true, he thinks to himself, it must be true, foxes must be evil, they must be, they must, this can’t all be for nothing –

at least that’s how the other animals see it –

and –

(Marvin is young he’s too young it’s too much)

(the hate for himself, for the world, begins to bloom, then, bloom thick and dark from within his chest, spreading outwards, and he -)

(slowly, he -)

(succumbs to it)

He hasn’t been keeping track of time, but he’s at the seventh family and is fairly certain that he’s just turned twelve when he packs his bags.

It’s after the other kits’ bedtime, but Marvin trots down to the living room anyway. He doesn’t step into the room, feels like it’s a boundary he shouldn’t cross, and begins to talk. “I’m going away,” he says. “Don’t send anyone after me. It’s for the best.”

The two adult badgers go still, then share a look. “Yes,” the male agrees slowly, “I think it is.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t do more for you,” the female apologizes.

Marvin is surprised. He hadn’t thought she cared – “You won’t hear from me,” he says, instead of commenting. “I’ll be gone from your lives.”

They both nod. “Good luck,” the male says. “I hope you find somewhere you can be happy.” They share another look. “We know how the world is.”

Marvin nods curtly and walks away.

He had expected harsh words and relieved laughter, not the quiet worry they’d emitted – it’s the most genuine nice anyone’s been to him since Kristian’s death.

Some part of him whispers that it’s the last.

And Marvin walks.

If he hadn’t realized how deep the hate for foxes ran before now, the gazes that slide over him like he’s worthless would’ve converted him. There’s some relief to it – no one cares about a teenage fox roaming the world unguided.

(“I hope he dies,” Marvin heard once, spoken by a bird he passed underneath, “the world would be better off without him.”)

He doesn’t know what he’s looking for – doesn’t know what it is that he needs – but he knows that nowhere he goes feels right.

There’s still a sliver of youth in him, still a sliver of innocence, a teeny tiny glimpse of hope.

One night he lies on a river bank and stares up at the cold, harsh stars, and the youth, the innocence, the hope –

suffocates.

It takes some weeks of walking, of never eating enough, of never being enough, of never, never –

before Marvin finds somewhere he feels like he can rest. Some research shows that the forest is – is new, in a way, animals haven’t been living here for long – and the ones who have been living here the longest don’t really care that he’s there –

he finds a small hill and sets upon digging himself a den. He doesn’t want to look at the stars anymore, they’ve seen too much of him, and the darkness of a den and the soft smell of dirt is more comforting than anything Marvin knows.

He’s not planning on staying for too long. It’s a few years, at most, depending on how things go.

(Somehow that feels like a lie.)

Slowly, ever so slowly, Marvin begins to introduce himself to the forest and its inhabitants. There are no obvious leading animals, but there’s a bear couple with an adopted hare kit who sits with most of the power, and they have a moose friend who sometimes assists with things –

there’s a hedgehog who never speaks to anyone, a hare that bakes and sells his products, an old mouse who supplies the baker, a squirrel couple with newborn kits, an owl, a crow, and several smaller birds.

The days pass, and as Marvin grows more hungry, it becomes clear that he has to throw on that crooked, broken mask and get food in some way or another.

It takes him three weeks, but he eventually settles on using the fear to his advantage. So he snarls and he spits and he growls, and through his threats and only somewhat-forced anger he gets the other animals to give him food.

He survives almost entirely on pastries and bread and the occasional handful of berries that he recognizes from his time living with –

(Kristian)

ahem.

It’s not ideal, but he can’t admit to the other animals that he has a weakness –

(“Don’t let them see you as anything other than strong,” his sister’s voice echoes in his mind, “or you’re the one who becomes the prey.”)

– so he obviously can’t ask someone to explain which plants are edible and which are not.

(but it would’ve made things easier, it would, it would, but –)

(Marvin is stubborn and now it’s too late.)

(“Give them a reason to fear you!”)

(Marvin sure has.)

Winter comes, and Marvin expands his den to better keep the warmth; he builds a fireplace and, after a lot of thinking and a bit of experimenting, manages to build a chimney to match.

After winter spring settles in, and it marks Marvin’s full year in the Huckybucky Forest. It’s incredible, the thirteen year old fox marvels, as he sits and stares into the fires of his fireplace – he’s still alive.

And he has a home.

It takes a long time before he notices. Of course it does, it’s not like there’s some big announcement whenever someone new comes to the forest. Marvin is disappointed in himself anyway, thought he ought to have noticed it earlier – he really should’ve – but alas, he does not, and the arrival of two mice fly straight over his head.

He stays away from them. They’re young, even younger than him, and he –

(“Give them a reason to fear you.”)

– doesn’t want to break their youth and innocence before he has to. Besides, there’s nothing they can offer him foodwise. He’ll wait until they’re older, and then he’ll –

(“Give them a reason to fear you.”)

– make his move.

He learns from the baker – Mister Hare, the other animals call him – the names of the newcomers.

Well – not learns, exactly, but –

(“Say,” Marvin says, leaning against the counter and throwing an apple into the air before catching it again, “what are the names of the new mice?”)

(And Mister Hare, frightened but brave and nineteen, clutches a shelf behind him and spits, “You stay away from them, you bastard!”)

(“That,” Marvin snarls, catching the apple and looking up at Mister Hare with a scowl, “was not what I asked.”)

ah – their names –

their names are Claus and Morten.

(It’s an evil circle, Marvin is an evil circle, a gross and disgusting circle that keeps looping around and around and around)

(- he hates the insults but because of the way the world is wired he has to bow to the insults and he hates bowing to the insults but since he has to he does and he hates himself for having to and that hate leads to the bowing being fiercer and that leads to more anger and the angrier he is the meaner he gets and -)

(Marvin hates he hates he hates -)

(himself)

The years pass like this, Marvin spending his time in his den, expanding it or gathering wood to make a somewhat nice couch – he nicks some books from some of the other animals, and learns to knit from one of them – and it’s nice, it’s good to have something to occupy himself with. So he knits and he knits and he knits and he reads when he doesn’t feel like knitting – and within him is a cold and harsh hole that grows neither bigger nor smaller and is just a constant dark presence.

Before Marvin knows it he’s sixteen, then seventeen, eighteen – the other animals become more and more skittish around him, but – it starts to become evident for them that he doesn’t plan to eat them, he thinks, because they stop treating him with respect and treat him more like someone stupid that can harm.

(That hurts, just as much but in a different way, because Marvin isn’t stupid but he can harm and are they right?)

And then one day he’s walking through the forest, returning from a trip to see if he could find any berries – and he crosses roads with Claus for the very first time.

He tenses up – is ready for the mouse to yelp and run away, he’s only, what, fifteen? But Claus surprises him, nods at him without a sliver of hesitation, and says “Good day.”

Marvin is so horribly surprised that he’s unable to do anything but open and close his mouth a few times.

At this something flickers in Claus’ eyes, and he leans forward with a grin –

(a grin! a grin! Marvin has never seen a mouse grin before!)

– and says, “Left you speechless, have I?”

(what the fuck is he supposed to do he’s never been in this kind of situation before and if he stays for too long then the fragile mask will rip and what oh what and and and)

(he should leave but he can’t just leave that’s not appropriate and it will seem suspicious)

(why doesn’t he fear him why is he different and why is he why is he -)

(“Give them a reason to fear you”)

And Marvin lunges after him – Claus runs, then, but it seems like he expected it, because he doesn’t seem surprised –

Marvin doesn’t run after him for long, but the short run is more than enough to get his mind off of things – and when he comes back to his den later that day he plops down on the couch he’s made for himself – and –

and he smiles.

(Claus had laughed; had laughed while Marvin chased after him, and that’s confusing but also -)

(also -)

(who is Claus?)

Marvin spends the next few days wondering, puzzling, pondering – what had it been about? The first and only creature since –

(Kristian)

– to not flinch away from him on instinct.

* Then, a week later, he stumbles into Claus again – he sneers at him, expecting him to run immediately when he sees him, he must, right, after what happened last, but –

but Claus only comes with a sarcastic, “Isn’t it a wonderful day, Marvin?”

And the confusion and surprise surges through him, but all Marvin does is growl, “You don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Nope,” Claus replies, and he pops the damned P sound, what the – “Hope that’s not a problem?”

It’s too much, and Marvin is so confused, so he does the only thing he can think of as logical and leaps after him.

(Marvin is so – so confused, why is he – why is he doing this, deliberately, what is going on –)

(he spies, a teeny tiny bit, hiding behind trees and listening to Claus talk to Morten, and –)

(and it’s nothing like the Claus he’s already seen, nothing like that at all, and his movements are strained and his voice too high, and –)

(and is he wearing a mask? is he wearing a blasted mask? something about him seems – off, slightly off, but why would he –)

And over the course of the next two months, Marvin and Claus stumble into each others’ path three more times – each time Claus uses more sarcasm, each time he becomes less like the Claus he shows other animals, each time Marvin is more puzzled and more pleased at the turn of events.

It comes to the point where Marvin chases Claus upon sight – he’s not even fully sure why – knows only that this seems to be something Claus – wants? He is by far the animal Marvin sees the most – it feels almost like he seeks him out, but that can’t – that can’t be right –

But it’s fun, it’s legitimately fun – Marvin feels like – feels like –

(he feels like maybe he might be happy)

They don’t talk, he and Claus, not in the beginning, but – two years after he first began chasing him, when Marvin is twenty-one,

(god has he really lived this long)

Claus starts hiding in open sight. Before he’d just – he’d just run, until Marvin couldn’t run any longer or until Marvin lost sight of him – but now it turns into some sort of game, Claus finding a hiding place and Marvin shooting insults at him –

one time Claus climbs in through a window, and Marvin growls instead of laughing because it’s better if he growls. It – it becomes their thing, taunting and being sarcastic and mean – yet somehow Claus always knows when to shut up, he always stops before it goes to far, and he never actually insults him –

and it becomes an outlet, Claus becomes an outlet, a way to let his feeling show – sometimes he feels like he shows too much, but then he turns around and feels like he doesn’t show enough, and – and even if this makes things seem easier things also seem – seem better, and – and –

(Marvin doesn’t know anything at all anymore he doesn’t know but he’s better than before but – )

It’s not before he’s twenty-two that he realizes Claus trusts him – not before he’s twenty-two that he realizes they’ve somehow made friends – not before he’s twenty-two that he realizes Claus has become one of the most important people he know.

(Not before he’s twenty-two that he realizes he’s falling in love.)

And then he’s twenty-three and Morten comes up with that blasted law of his, making everything harder for Marvin –

and then Marvin comes up with the genius idea of stealing meat from the Farm –

and then that genius idea causes Bernie Jr., a kid, to be kidnapped.

Marvin – sort of – drops all his masks, both the broken ones and those that are only a little bit cracked, swears to help get Bernie Jr. back, and – and he doesn’t have the time to worry, he just smells, he just tries his best to help –

and then he doesn’t even receive a thank you.

(He’s not surprised, not really, but rejection still hurts even though it’s anticipated)

Claus and Morten volunteer to go rescue the young bear cub, and that’s when Marvin begins to worry.

(Claus, who’s become his happiness, who’s become his hope and his relief and everything that keeps him going – he can’t let him go alone - )

He follows after them, can’t let the two defenseless mice go alone up against Hannibal.

The escape plan goes smoothly until Morten gets stuck underneath the root of a tree, and then Hannibal begins to inch towards him, growling –

(the dull thud as Kristian’s body hit the ground, blood splattered on the wall, “why didn’t you do anything –”)

– and Marvin bursts through the bushes, landing deftly before Hannibal and swiftly luring him away from the two mice –

he runs into the humans on the way, and the sight of them, of the cold metal in their hands, the smell of hate filling the air –

(he can’t he can’t he can’t)

He thinks he’s going to die, but when the gunshot sounds and he can’t feel any pain he makes a run for it, once more falling down onto all four in his panic.

And he –

survives.

At the party, later that day, when Marvin is sitting quietly and eating free food for the first time in decades, Claus shows up at his elbow. “Finally showing your true colors, eh, Marvin?” he asks, and his tone is light, but –

Marvin blinks, then he realizes –

(mask mask mask they’re both wearing masks)

He huffs, grins down at him, and scoots over to make space for him on the bench. “I’ve always done that,” he says –

(the others are still here keep it up Marvin keep it up keep it up keep it up)

“Well, it’s never been this clear,” Claus says, raising an eyebrow. A moment later he turns to the table and proceeds to stuff a muffin into his mouth.

(masks)

“You think you’re the right person to talk about this?” Marvin asks, amusement dripping into his voice like melted sugar.

Claus shoots him a look – and it’s sharp, there’s something unbelievably sharp about it, and – and it’s true, he is wearing a mask – “Yes,” he says, “yes, I do.”

It’s first later, when they’ve removed themselves from the party and sat down at the edge of the hill, that Marvin lets his mask drop. It’s a struggle to keep it on all the time, and it hurts, it hurts, so it’s a great relief to be able to take it off.

They sit there in silence – the moon hanging soft and full and cold in the sky above them, the dull murmur of the party at their backs – until Marvin has had enough. “You going to drop that mask anytime?” he asks, and though the tone is light, nothing else about the moment is.

Claus heaves after breath for a moment, as though he has to fight for words – and then he grounds out a tired, “I – can’t.”

Marvin looks at him; actually looks at him, at the way his shoulders tense, the way he turns to the moon as if it can help him, somehow. “Why not?” he asks.

“I – it’s – been so long – been too long - ” Claus stutters.

(been so long been so long been so – )

(oh, claus – )

(Marvin knows what that means, knows what it means for Claus, and – )

“Do you even know who you are?” he asks, soft and quiet, voice cracking just a little bit.

And Claus – Claus –

crumbles, burying his face in his hands and shaking his head sharply –

Marvin reaches for him, wraps his arms around him and pulls him to his chest, because Claus is one of the two prey animals who’s never been afraid of him and Claus is Claus and he needs –

“Not a word,” he mutters.

Claus shifts, leans into the embrace, and Marvin, unconsciously, lets his tail drape over his lap. “I’m not saying anything,” Claus replies quietly, and his voice shudders, catches on the words, and –

he shifts further, presses his cheek against Marvin’s chest, and –

(he’s so close to crying, mere inches away, and, oh, oh god)

“No,” Marvin says, wondering, “apparently you don’t.”

(It’s not before later he realizes that Claus had dropped the mask.)

Things get a bit weird, the first week or two – they stumble around this new relationship dynamic, because of course they do, they’re not used to openly being friends – but somewhere along the way it seems like Claus stops caring, and – things are – easier, after that.

Marvin stays away from Claus, actually. It’s not like he’s – openly avoiding him, he just… doesn’t seek him out the way he did before, but – but he keeps stumbling into Claus in strange places, and Claus always seems happy to see him –

they keep circulating around each other, drawn in, and – and Marvin wonders –

what is he to Claus? What is this thing between them, what is it Claus expects from him?

But – there’s a point where he stops caring.

(that’s a lie; he cares less, cares less, he’ll always care in one way or another)

Why does it matter, what he means to Claus? That’s right, it doesn’t.

(Marvin is fine with being Claus’ friend, forces himself to be fine with it, he’s so greedy for wanting more –)

Claus helps Marvin find food; teaches him how to act when visiting someone; teaches him songs and how he uses his ukulele to his advantage –

(Marvin is grateful, ever so grateful, he can’t put it into words, he won’t have to go hungry the way he always has)

Marvin teaches Claus, whose mask has become part of him, how to let go and let himself be.

(It’s not enough to repay the debt Marvin owes him, isn’t even nearly enough, but it’s better than nothing)

Marvin smiles genuine smiles for the first time in forever, he laughs, he jokes, and he feels so at ease that it’s not even funny anymore.

They walk together in the forest, because it’s better than just staying in his den all the time –

(anything is better than that anything anything anything)

– and – and there’s a night, a night when Claus tugs Marvin with him into a clearing, and they lie in the grass while Claus excitedly points out constellations his mother showed him.

(Marvin looks more at Claus than the stars.)

Ever since the night on the riverbank, after Marvin ran away when he was twelve, there’s been nothing beautiful about the starry night sky. There’s been nothing beautiful about the world at all. But now – slowly, very slowly, the coldness of the stars fade into a warmth Marvin has learned to compare to Claus.

(it’s love, part of him yells, it’s love it’s love it’s love)

And – Marvin feels – okay.

#meg og mitt #hakkebakkeskogen #the huckybucky forest #marvin fox #mikkel rev #marvin #klatremus #claus #clarvin #my writing

2 notes · View notes