Uhoh. Everyone run and hide! It's ...
Jul. 18th, 2010 04:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladybug_archive... a really bizarre scenario.
I ended up on TVTropes last night thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dai_atlas. I found myself at the Fridge Horror page, and some links thereabouts led me to the Stuffed in the Fridge page.
I don't remember if I've ever had the courage to say so, but that scenario has been a guilty h/c fascination for me. I think it probably started when I saw the movie Donor. For those who don't know, it involves the food and the shelves being removed from the fridge and a person placed inside, usually dead or thought to be dead. o.o It's horrifying, and done to horrify someone else. I think I only ever did it in a private roleplay, since it's such a dark thing.
So anyway, I see the page and start to contemplate maybe doing something with the scenario. Then I go to sleep and have a weird dream involving my femme fatale character Vivalene, who turns up at some point in almost every major fandom of mine to wreak havoc. In a roleplay, she's been bothering Autor (cradle-robber), and that came out in the dream. In a half-awake state, I mused on combining the two elements.
In a fully awake state, I come up with the following tentative plot: Vivalene, determined to have her latest evil wishes, hires on at Kinkan Academy as a teacher (possibly teaching English, which I've heard is a required subject in Germany). She wants one of the fabled Story-Spinners to write a Story for her in which she gets a treasure she's having trouble finding, but she needs to get into their good graces. Fakir is immovable and does not trust or like her; Autor is a bit softer but soon becomes suspicious of her as well. Vivalene continues to try with him, but ends up in a situation when Autor plays along to trick her. Determining she really can't let him tell what he now knows, she has her henchmen hurt him and then puts him in the fridge before departing her furnished flat. Fakir and Ahiru find him there later. He's still alive, but very cold. He revives and is able to tell Fakir and Ahiru what he knows of Vivalene's scheme and they're able to stop her before she gets away.
That is so convoluted. I think Vivalene might try to drug Autor and make him write the Story for her that way, but something goes wrong. And that's when he's hurt and shoved in the fridge.
My only real question is whether people would come at me with pitchforks and torches for having a working fridge. LOL. For those who are unaware, I set my Tutu fics in the modern day. A controversial move, I know, but I think there are enough odd things throughout the series (such as Ahiru's midriff shirt, Raetsel's modern-looking wedding gown, and especially Fakir's Velcro-looking sports shoes) that modern-day can't be discounted as a possibility. Actually, I feel the only real options are a twisted AU world that's a mix of all eras or modern-day.
If anyone has read this far and actually dares to look, I've attached part of a scene below the cut. I swear it will be much more fleshed-out and polished if this bizarre story ever gets written in full. And oh, the cat stuff? Something else I threw in from the dream. It may be eliminated for the final draft. This scene is convoluted enough without them having to worry like that.
I promise my stories aren't usually this level of weird....
Ahiru looked around the flat, the panic rising in her heart. “It looks like there was a big fight!” she exclaimed, stepping over the fallen furniture. “Autor?! Autor, where are you?!”
Fakir cursed as he followed close behind. That witch! . . . Possibly a literal statement, if she had told the truth about being a spellcaster. But he had to hope she was just teasing them; she had told them on the phone that because of Autor’s stubborn behavior and refusal to cooperate and go quietly, she had turned him into a cat.
Ordinarily, Fakir would never believe such a thing. But considering that the girl standing by him had been born a duck. . . .
“It doesn’t look like anyone’s here,” he said. “Autor would never go with her if he had any choice, but . . .”
Ahiru’s exclamation of strangled alarm brought him sharply to attention.
“Autor?!” she wailed.
A black cat sat down nearby and looked up at her with a meow, curling its tail around its legs.
Fakir stiffened, staring at it. It looked like just an ordinary cat, but was it possible that . . .
“Autor?” he asked, feeling ridiculous.
The cat meowed again and stood. It walked around them, then padded forward and looked back.
“He wants us to follow him!” Ahiru exclaimed.
Fakir frowned. The cat was definitely anxious about something. Of course, maybe it just wanted to be fed.
Maneuvering their way around the couch and chairs, they made their way into the kitchen. The sight in there was another disaster. Chairs were cast about in every direction. The oven door was open. All of the cupboards also stood wide, revealing their bare insides. Vivalene had taken all of her personal belongings, it seemed, leaving only the furniture that had come with the flat.
“What’s this?” Ahiru blinked, lifting a metal rack off the table, which was miraculously still upright.
Fakir frowned, staring at it. “It looks like a shelf from a fridge,” he said. “But why . . .”
Both teens turned to look at the refrigerator in the corner. The low hum announced that it was plugged in. But that was weird. Why would Vivalene leave it on when she had clearly fled?
The cat yowled, scampering across the floor to the large appliance and pawing at the door.
A cold weight took hold of Fakir’s heart. “She wouldn’t,” he breathed.
Ahiru turned to stare at him. “Fakir?!” she gasped. “What? What wouldn’t she do?!”
Fakir did not answer. With swift steps he made his way to the fridge, taking hold of the handle. Even as his stomach was twisting, and as he was hoping desperately to not find what he was afraid he would find, he pulled open the door.
Ahiru screamed.
Fakir swore under his breath. Immediately he bent down, gripping the limp shoulder. “Autor!” he cried. “Autor, wake up!”
The other boy was very much still human. He had been cruelly placed in the fridge, his knees drawn up to his chest. A note was laying on top of his knees, scrawled in red ink. Fakir snatched it away.
I was kidding about the cat, darlings. I really decided to put him on ice. After all, I really couldn’t have him continually interfering in my plans, so I endeavored to teach him a little lesson.
Fakir threw the note to the floor and reached into the fridge, lifting Autor’s lifeless body into his arms. “Call the medics!” he ordered Ahiru.
“I can’t!” she protested. “The phone was taken too!”
Fakir cursed. Laying Autor on the floor, he bent over and checked for signs of life. “Don’t die on us now,” he snapped. “You can’t!”
Autor’s skin was pale and cold to the touch. It was impossible not to fear the worst. But as Fakir searched desperately for a pulse, he found it. He froze, feeling the weak but determined throb under his fingers.
“He’s alive,” he said to Ahiru.
Ahiru let out a sigh of relief and joy. “Thank goodness,” she said. “Is there anything I can do?”
“I guess it’s too much to hope for that there’s a blanket around here,” Fakir growled. “We have to get him warm, but it needs to be done gradually.”
Ahiru scurried around the flat, desperate and worried. But of course, Vivalene had not left anything that would help them revive their friend. She returned to the kitchen, her shoulders slumped. “There’s nothing,” she mumbled.
Fakir grunted. “Of course,” he muttered. “There wouldn’t be.” He rubbed at Autor’s wrist, longing for some response.
The cat meowed, nudging and pawing at Autor from the side.
Ahiru gently patted its head. “He knew something was wrong,” she said. “He was trying to lead us to Autor so we could help him!”
“Yeah, but can we?” Fakir retorted. He leaned down again, checking Autor’s breathing. Slow but steady. He racked his mind for answers. Was he supposed to perform artificial respiration even though Autor was breathing, to try to even it out?
“We have to!” Ahiru said. She reached over, resting a hand on Autor’s shoulder. “Autor, please, you have to wake up,” she begged.
Autor stirred, his eyes fluttering open halfway. “W-what?” he rasped. He looked from Ahiru to Fakir to the cat, seeming bewildered and dazed.
“This situation rivals even Drosselmeyer’s craziest,” Fakir said, even as relief washed over him. “Autor, do you remember what happened?”
Autor still looked confused. “No,” he mumbled. “Not really. . . .”
“You were in the fridge!” Ahiru wailed.
Autor’s eyes widened in comprehension and alarm. He had not expected that.
I ended up on TVTropes last night thanks to
dai_atlas. I found myself at the Fridge Horror page, and some links thereabouts led me to the Stuffed in the Fridge page.I don't remember if I've ever had the courage to say so, but that scenario has been a guilty h/c fascination for me. I think it probably started when I saw the movie Donor. For those who don't know, it involves the food and the shelves being removed from the fridge and a person placed inside, usually dead or thought to be dead. o.o It's horrifying, and done to horrify someone else. I think I only ever did it in a private roleplay, since it's such a dark thing.
So anyway, I see the page and start to contemplate maybe doing something with the scenario. Then I go to sleep and have a weird dream involving my femme fatale character Vivalene, who turns up at some point in almost every major fandom of mine to wreak havoc. In a roleplay, she's been bothering Autor (cradle-robber), and that came out in the dream. In a half-awake state, I mused on combining the two elements.
In a fully awake state, I come up with the following tentative plot: Vivalene, determined to have her latest evil wishes, hires on at Kinkan Academy as a teacher (possibly teaching English, which I've heard is a required subject in Germany). She wants one of the fabled Story-Spinners to write a Story for her in which she gets a treasure she's having trouble finding, but she needs to get into their good graces. Fakir is immovable and does not trust or like her; Autor is a bit softer but soon becomes suspicious of her as well. Vivalene continues to try with him, but ends up in a situation when Autor plays along to trick her. Determining she really can't let him tell what he now knows, she has her henchmen hurt him and then puts him in the fridge before departing her furnished flat. Fakir and Ahiru find him there later. He's still alive, but very cold. He revives and is able to tell Fakir and Ahiru what he knows of Vivalene's scheme and they're able to stop her before she gets away.
That is so convoluted. I think Vivalene might try to drug Autor and make him write the Story for her that way, but something goes wrong. And that's when he's hurt and shoved in the fridge.
My only real question is whether people would come at me with pitchforks and torches for having a working fridge. LOL. For those who are unaware, I set my Tutu fics in the modern day. A controversial move, I know, but I think there are enough odd things throughout the series (such as Ahiru's midriff shirt, Raetsel's modern-looking wedding gown, and especially Fakir's Velcro-looking sports shoes) that modern-day can't be discounted as a possibility. Actually, I feel the only real options are a twisted AU world that's a mix of all eras or modern-day.
If anyone has read this far and actually dares to look, I've attached part of a scene below the cut. I swear it will be much more fleshed-out and polished if this bizarre story ever gets written in full. And oh, the cat stuff? Something else I threw in from the dream. It may be eliminated for the final draft. This scene is convoluted enough without them having to worry like that.
I promise my stories aren't usually this level of weird....
Ahiru looked around the flat, the panic rising in her heart. “It looks like there was a big fight!” she exclaimed, stepping over the fallen furniture. “Autor?! Autor, where are you?!”
Fakir cursed as he followed close behind. That witch! . . . Possibly a literal statement, if she had told the truth about being a spellcaster. But he had to hope she was just teasing them; she had told them on the phone that because of Autor’s stubborn behavior and refusal to cooperate and go quietly, she had turned him into a cat.
Ordinarily, Fakir would never believe such a thing. But considering that the girl standing by him had been born a duck. . . .
“It doesn’t look like anyone’s here,” he said. “Autor would never go with her if he had any choice, but . . .”
Ahiru’s exclamation of strangled alarm brought him sharply to attention.
“Autor?!” she wailed.
A black cat sat down nearby and looked up at her with a meow, curling its tail around its legs.
Fakir stiffened, staring at it. It looked like just an ordinary cat, but was it possible that . . .
“Autor?” he asked, feeling ridiculous.
The cat meowed again and stood. It walked around them, then padded forward and looked back.
“He wants us to follow him!” Ahiru exclaimed.
Fakir frowned. The cat was definitely anxious about something. Of course, maybe it just wanted to be fed.
Maneuvering their way around the couch and chairs, they made their way into the kitchen. The sight in there was another disaster. Chairs were cast about in every direction. The oven door was open. All of the cupboards also stood wide, revealing their bare insides. Vivalene had taken all of her personal belongings, it seemed, leaving only the furniture that had come with the flat.
“What’s this?” Ahiru blinked, lifting a metal rack off the table, which was miraculously still upright.
Fakir frowned, staring at it. “It looks like a shelf from a fridge,” he said. “But why . . .”
Both teens turned to look at the refrigerator in the corner. The low hum announced that it was plugged in. But that was weird. Why would Vivalene leave it on when she had clearly fled?
The cat yowled, scampering across the floor to the large appliance and pawing at the door.
A cold weight took hold of Fakir’s heart. “She wouldn’t,” he breathed.
Ahiru turned to stare at him. “Fakir?!” she gasped. “What? What wouldn’t she do?!”
Fakir did not answer. With swift steps he made his way to the fridge, taking hold of the handle. Even as his stomach was twisting, and as he was hoping desperately to not find what he was afraid he would find, he pulled open the door.
Ahiru screamed.
Fakir swore under his breath. Immediately he bent down, gripping the limp shoulder. “Autor!” he cried. “Autor, wake up!”
The other boy was very much still human. He had been cruelly placed in the fridge, his knees drawn up to his chest. A note was laying on top of his knees, scrawled in red ink. Fakir snatched it away.
Fakir threw the note to the floor and reached into the fridge, lifting Autor’s lifeless body into his arms. “Call the medics!” he ordered Ahiru.
“I can’t!” she protested. “The phone was taken too!”
Fakir cursed. Laying Autor on the floor, he bent over and checked for signs of life. “Don’t die on us now,” he snapped. “You can’t!”
Autor’s skin was pale and cold to the touch. It was impossible not to fear the worst. But as Fakir searched desperately for a pulse, he found it. He froze, feeling the weak but determined throb under his fingers.
“He’s alive,” he said to Ahiru.
Ahiru let out a sigh of relief and joy. “Thank goodness,” she said. “Is there anything I can do?”
“I guess it’s too much to hope for that there’s a blanket around here,” Fakir growled. “We have to get him warm, but it needs to be done gradually.”
Ahiru scurried around the flat, desperate and worried. But of course, Vivalene had not left anything that would help them revive their friend. She returned to the kitchen, her shoulders slumped. “There’s nothing,” she mumbled.
Fakir grunted. “Of course,” he muttered. “There wouldn’t be.” He rubbed at Autor’s wrist, longing for some response.
The cat meowed, nudging and pawing at Autor from the side.
Ahiru gently patted its head. “He knew something was wrong,” she said. “He was trying to lead us to Autor so we could help him!”
“Yeah, but can we?” Fakir retorted. He leaned down again, checking Autor’s breathing. Slow but steady. He racked his mind for answers. Was he supposed to perform artificial respiration even though Autor was breathing, to try to even it out?
“We have to!” Ahiru said. She reached over, resting a hand on Autor’s shoulder. “Autor, please, you have to wake up,” she begged.
Autor stirred, his eyes fluttering open halfway. “W-what?” he rasped. He looked from Ahiru to Fakir to the cat, seeming bewildered and dazed.
“This situation rivals even Drosselmeyer’s craziest,” Fakir said, even as relief washed over him. “Autor, do you remember what happened?”
Autor still looked confused. “No,” he mumbled. “Not really. . . .”
“You were in the fridge!” Ahiru wailed.
Autor’s eyes widened in comprehension and alarm. He had not expected that.
