#Beryl Blerbs!!

[berryylll]

Chaos

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a/n : wrote this as a prompt based off my friends cat ☆

CW!! : Explosions, wounds, gore, implied animal death, implied human death, intense situations

wc : 670

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Chaos. Ok well not literal chaos but chaos the cat! Garrett was sitting in his bed with the cat, petting chaos as they scrolled through their phone. Then a loud buzzing came from outside, then a boom and next thing Garrett knows, his hand, previously petting the black cat, was gone. Blown off. As was the rest of the house, and chaos nowhere in sight. What happened? An unanswerable question at the time, no context known besides an obvious explosion had happened. Garrett couldn't think of much, ringing and dizziness filling his head like cotton stuffed in a jar. He stood up shakily, stumbling to find a solid surface until he made it to the crumbling door frame. Door burnt but partially intact. The rest of his room looked like a ruin from some kind archeological site. Dust, concrete, smote wood broken and trashed everywhere. Including his hand, just sitting there on the ground roughly blown off and halfway there. Oh shit. With the realization he was going to be sick, correction, apparently he already was, in the midst of throwing up as recognition came to him. Garrett clutched the frame for some sort of grounding, a sort of stability to at least keep him standing. ‘This can’t be happening’ he thought, trying to get his mind to focus.

It smelled like burning garbage and popcorn smoke from a microwave. It only furthered the nausea he was feeling. He had to find someone and get help, there's no way he could stay here without medical attention. His mom was a doctor, he's sure she could help. But she was at work last time he checked, hopefully she came home after the explosion. Was it always this hot? Garrett walks out to the living room, also crumbling just as he found out the rest of the house was. He could hear screaming outside but was too exhausted and unfocused to check. The sound felt like a car swerving on a rocky road. Garrett didn’t know how that was possible but didn't enjoy the sound of it hitting his eardrums either way. Thankfully he still had working eardrums. No one was on the ground floor so he made his way to the basement. He stood at the stairwell of the entrance internally hating the experience of what it was gonna be like going down the stairs. When he got down there after throwing up one more and two quick trips to grab his bearings he found Goose and his mom hiding. His mom was frantically trying to patch up the burn wounds and almost melting skin on Goose’s face. Goose was Garrett's younger sister, her real name was Gracey but 5 year old Garrett thought Goose sounded better then her birth name. So it sort of stuck. “Am I interrupting a cuddle session?” Garrett spoke hoarsely, surprised he could speak at all.

“Garrett! Oh holy shit!”Goose said, surprised at his very presence, their mom was quick to correct the vulgar language.

But she let it go quickly, getting up to usher Garrett over, checking him quickly. Her eyes landed on his hand and those same eyes widened in absolute horror, worry and shock all at once. It felt like he was being cared for by an angry crow. A squawking and trembling voice erupting from his mother as she got something to cut off the circulation quickly shoving a bottle of water and an apple in his face. To which Garrett ate though hesitating at some point because of his already upset and uneasy stomach. Despite her wounds, though already bandaged, Goose would not stop asking questions about what happened to him, he answered as many as he could with his head slowly returning back to a somewhat normal state. After his forearm had been wrapped in a tourniquet, his mom told him how they had ended up down in the basement, thankfully safe from all of the horrible radiation and damage. Oh man did they have a lot to catch up on…

[berryylll]

An Antique's Fate

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a/n : this was a one shot for a genshin oc I have? He's a clock-themed guy who was made to document all of teyvat created by a noble of khanr'iah. If you want more lore on him lmk!! ☆

CW!! : depictions of stress, hallucinations, traumatic memories, war, genocide, oc content, lmk if I missed anything! Ty!!

wc : 590 words

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Why must history be so long? Well of course it has to be, it must be. Without a lengthy history people wouldn’t have legacy, legend or even holidays. And holidays are extremely important to one’s culture and people. Though, antiques also seem to be incredibly important to the likes of historians, researchers and even just the common collectors fanatic. Antiques themselves, whether the thing is seen as a doll, a vase, a piece of jewelry, or even a song or book, have their own history. Their own tall tale. Their own gains and losses… even though it happens to be an inanimate object.

Inanimate object.

Is that all he is? An object abandoned? No. Ha. No, no. That can’t be it. Marcellus has a purpose. Surely. Because if he didn’t. Why is he still waiting? Why is he still waiting after being stood in a practical glass cage while watching his home world burn? After years of lies and planning? Why is he still waiting if his creator won’t be coming back to tell him he’s done well? Come on surely she will return— that forsaken yet still beloved witch… why won’t she come back yet? This poor antique of a puppet has been waiting for centuries, he’s been waiting for her to see how well he’s followed her instructions.

Her instructions, to document everything that happens and maybe even correct the predictions for the future she’s set up. All of it for when she promised she’d return, when she promised he’d be rewarded for his work. The letters and books of instructions and knowledge she left for him when he was created. They’re still in the same spot they were in when she left them for him.

Marcellus was made to be her replacement while she went off to explore the wonders of the unknown across Teyvat. It’s what his purpose is. To wait. To record. To watch. He was merely here to watch. To take everything and feed on it like it was his food source. If he doesn’t need to eat food, why not eat knowledge? If he doesn’t need to drink water, then why not drink wisdom?

He focuses back into his situation.

Well. More like the situation he’s forced to watch. Again. Everyday. A cruel reminder to his helplessness. The fall of his beloved home. Khaenri’ah. As he sits in a veiled glass domain as a form of protection from the fires and horrid slaughter he’s forced to watch. “It’s a part of your job. Stop crying.” He’s constantly telling himself as he watches, imagining the screams and sobs of all his beloved friends.

Marce quickly wipes away his tears and looks down at his hands, observing the little joints and ball points in each knuckle. His slight grimace taken on his expression is only contoured by the burning in front of him. He’s never hated existing more than at this very moment. He hated it. Still does. The bitter thought of not being able to help those he cares for. Instead, he picks up the book beside him as if in a trance, and begins to document the terrorizing scene before his eyes. Again. Like he does in this state of being everyday.

And he will do it again. Tomorrow, and the day after. Over and over. Witness , study, document. For this is his purpose. This is his future. For all he is, is an antique upon the highest shelf, destined to watch the world forever.

And it’s all but an antique’s fate.

[berryylll]

The Mushroom Boy

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a/n : short story time!! Kind of proud of this one, wrote it in an hour ☆

CW!! : disturbing descriptions of murder, blood, gore, mushrooms, depression, death, child death, desperation, lmk if I missed anything please!!

wc : 778 words

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There once was a young boy, isolated from the rest. The boy didn’t particularly like other people, finding them foolish and stupid, so he ignored them. He pushed others away and blocked them out, finding the nonsense they said disagreeable or wrong without a doubt. Though while isolated, it didn’t mean he was completely alone. For he had the forest, and in a forest there was no one to condone. So he went on with his days, with no one but himself, watching animals and explaining to the trees his ingenious ways.

But one day, a woman was at the well in his forest. When the wind whispered too loudly and the boy found out he was furious! Stomping to the woman to tell her to find water elsewhere, he noticed who she was. His mother, who had come to beg for her son back. She cried and pleaded to the boy for him to come home but it was in vain. For her son would never be the same. Never again, he told her, would he giggle with other children. Never again, he claimed, would he attend a school for that would not be sane. Never again, he spurred, would he eat dinner with her. So off she went, to sob and sob for her son had turned into a selfish hog.

The boy’s mother curses and groans with sorrow, not moving, eating or cleaning herself. It’s a destructive depression and it leads to her doom, starvation and sickness turning her into nothing but bones and a corpse created out of misery.

The wind, ever the messenger, whispers too loudly once again. But this time it is not the boy who hears, but the whole forest; trees shake and flowers wilt and the fauna mope, all in grievance for the poor mother. The trees gather an assembly for the forest, keeping away from the boasting boy. The trees howl with anger! “We must do something about the boy!”, the pines and oaks project.

“But how?”, a doe, sad and low asks, hoping for a solution.

This time, the flowers speak, “My friends the mushrooms will help! They can rid us of the boy! By taking over his growing body and overflowing it to make a new home!”

And the forest agrees so. The flowers talk with the vigilant mushrooms and they agree to take revenge on the boy. Weeks later, the boy comes to the willow trees, for they are the wisest. He asks them about the mushrooms he has started to notice., growing concerned that it may get in the way of his pacing when he rambles. The willow tree, while wise, was also cunning and a wily liar. So he lied, telling the boy that he had spoken to the mushrooms about that just minutes ago. He bluffs to the boy saying that they merely want to make a home with the welcoming and warm forest. And with the boy, having no reason to distrust the wisest of plants, falls for the deceit of the long-haired willow tree.

The mushrooms continue to grow. To spread.

A month passes and the boy runs to the aloe in a panic, for she is the best healer. He babbles about the mushroom that seems to have grown on his nose, he worries and shows his frustration towards the situation. The aloe simply tells him that it is harmless, and will go away a little after water is sprayed on it. The boy, having no reason to distrust the greatest healer of all, believes the dishonest aloe plant.

The mushroom does not go away, and he invites his fungal friends as well.

The boy now runs to the murder of crows, for they are the forest’s oracles, sobbing in distress. He chokes on his words, unable to catch his own breath. He babbles on about the mushrooms that have invaded his lungs. The crows, knowing his unfortunate outcome, squawk in pity. They tell him it is too late, and that he cannot change his fate. The boy is fueled with anger, finding this absurd and begging the birds to stop his horrid end. They tell him it is out of their power and he loses all rational thought. He's choking on fungus while screaming in grief for his own life. And he curses the forest, he sobs and eventually can no longer speak. He curls up in rage and it haunts him til’ death.

And soon the mushrooms completely hollow him out, truly making the boy’s body their new home. Now he will rot away with nothing but his skeleton and the beloved fungus to show of his existence.

[berryylll]

Why does ink never dry?

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a/n : just a thing I wrote earlier in the day, not the best but yk ☆

CW!! : disturbing descriptions of murder, intense situations, blood, gore, ends with a cliff hanger, excerpt of current works, lmk if I missed anything please

wc : 371 words

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Why does ink never dry? Because it wasn’t actually ink. It was blood, sticky and still dripping from my nose and the boy below me. Mine was fine but everyone else’s looked black… like tar dripping into the sewers. I had knocked a kid out. I don’t know why I did it, there’s more too, maybe five more teenage boys who were with me. It wasn’t my fault though, I swear it. The kid was trying to hurt all of us. I didn't know what to do. I have no clue what to do. It happened so quickly the way we all ran, well they ran, I was stuck on my own frozen in fear. I don't usually know what to do, it's a common thought honestly for me; to freeze up and get caught whether it's in the kitchen or a raging 16 year old boy with a metal pipe.

I run. Fast and like I'm being chased all over again, I can't tell if the dripping or splashing is from my nose or the sewage water around me but all of it is absolutely sickening. The only thing I can think of is to go back to school. What else am I supposed to do? Explain that i rsn from a crazy kid and tried to protect the rest of my friends from him? Even though I have no proof? Where is home? This place is like a maze. I can't find my way out until, there's an open manhole above, thank god that latter is there. I climb up quickly and start running even after. The fresh air hitting my lungs only gives me more fuel. I get onto a bus quickly after multiple weird glances and sit down on the bus quietly. I mean, I can't blame them for it. A drenched kid in blood and smelling like crap and rotten fish isn't something you see or smell everyday. I got back to school only to see it absolutely deserted, bodies everywhere. I can hear screaming, it sounds like steel scraping on pavement, like a rash infesting my ears. I peak through the entrance of the school to see blood everywhere, the same black blood. What happened?