#gray fox skull

[capricornbones]

I’ve really dropped the ball on keeping up with my Tumblr, so I figured I needed to update with my recent completed additions to my cabinet. More on the way in due time…

[hmtaxidermy]

Two-faced

—

One of my friend’s bones I cleaned! This lil guy was caught in a forest fire postmortem, and has become one of the coolest skulls I’ve cleaned.

[sunny-possum-pal]

Memento Mori

[thebonerr]

my curio cabinet :3

[dead-dogs-still-fetch]

Cool Classroom Specimens

Our teacher brought in some fun teaching specimens from the field museum for us to sketch!

Gray fox and Great Horned Owl. There was also a funny raccoon but I forgot to snap a photo of him.

[thewishingrose]

[angelkids]

vulture culture whatever collection grows evrey day

[blackbackedjackal]

Gray Fox Skull with Hyperdontia - one extra premolar on the right side of her jaw.

[ghostgorlsworld]

Moondrunk Monster Pt 1 (Ghost x reader)

Hey so this is my first Call of duty fanfic, so the characters might be wack. The general idea for this one is based off of a Love, Death, Robots episode where werewolves are basically in the military.

You're a retired combat medic that made a mistake, costing you your cushy office job. As punishment, you're sent to an active war zone, where you meet the 141, a squad of werewolves that slowly accept you as their own. (I know, I know I'm bad at summarizing)

Warnings: Extreme violence, smut in the future

Part 1

It was odd to think of how much your life had changed in just a few weeks. At the beginning of the year, you were placed in a cushy job at a base where you were paid large amounts of money to stitch up red-faced recruits and perform physicals on the higher ups–it had been nice, a simple existence where you didn’t have to see blown apart soldiers or hold poor boys down while they screamed and screamed.

But things changed, and for the punishment of your mistake, you were flown here. An active warzone deep in the desert, where there were no boyish recruits eager to please, just grizzled soldiers that look at you like an intruder, a hen in the midst of foxes.

When you were younger, this was easier. You had liked the excitement and adrenaline of danger, of scurrying in the heat of gunfire with your medpack to save lives.

Now you’re older, grumpier, and generally out of shape. They hadn’t given you time to prepare before the Colonel shipped you out here, so here you were in an ill-fitting uniform, setting up your medic bay beside the wolf-soldier’s tent because the Captain insisted that was the only space left in camp.

Their original medic had died after both he and his supplies were blasted to pieces. Captain Graves shortly put in a request for an experienced combat medic, and you could imagine his surprise when he saw you step off the plane, a woman in her early thirties, soft from five years of office work.

The Captain, understandably, hated you. He was saddled with an overweight female medic and a squad of wolves, you were sure the combination put a few extra gray hairs on his head.

Ironically, wolf-soldiers were highly sought after in the military. They were quicker, stronger, and smarter than even the best of the best, able to walk barefoot in the desert without a blister or sniff out an enemy from miles away. You had seen a wolf blown nearly in half get up and walk out of your tent the next day. 

Captain’s group was a particularly intimidating bunch. There was Johnny–or Soap, as he preferred–a mohawked wolf with charming blue eyes and a deadly sense of humor. Gaz was the sweetheart of the bunch, smiling at you in a friendly sort of manner whenever you were forced to sit at the end of their lunch table.

Price was their leader, a wide man with a deep voice and commanding presence. Honestly, he reminded you of your father.

Then there was Ghost, the wolf in the skull mask. He was the biggest, all broad shoulders and muscles encased in a healthy layer of fat–and, from what you had learned from your patients, the most dangerous.  

On your first day, you had to dig a piece of shrapnel the size of your hand out of his shoulder. Ghost refused when you offered wolf-friendly pain medication, seeming to enjoy your expression as you watched the skin around his gaping wound knit itself back together.

The other soldiers disliked them, simultaneously jealous and fearful of their abilities . The 141 were excluded from the rest, much like you were, so you spent meals at  the other side of their table, minding your own business with a novel.

They didn’t seem to mind, after all, you spent half your time digging bullets out of them when the other medics refused to touch them. They weren’t used to humans being kind to them. 

You quickly adjusted to life in the desert, sleeping in the back of the med bay in a rickety cot while your patients tossed and turned through the night. You got used to the early mornings and the shitty food, the screaming, the blood, settling back into a life that you had thought you left behind.

This morning was no different. You wake to the noise of shouting, the dark sky telling you it was far from morning. 

“Where the fuck is the medic?” Price’s voice dominated over the others. You quickly stumble out of bed, shoving your legs through your pants and hastily buckling them as you hurried outside, wiping the sleep from your eyes. 

The scene before you was gruesome. Gaz lay prone on the ground, throat slashed and guts strewn out of his belly like noodles.

If he were a man, he would be dead.

But even a wolf can die, and a body can’t heal around its  own intestines.

You were awake in an instant, shouting orders to the men around you as you dropped to your knees. His pulse was slowing as more blood pooled into the dirt, his body unable to replace what he was losing so quickly. 

The thing about werewolves is that they are partially human, which allows them to take human blood in small doses if the need calls for it. But the issue was the blood itself. 

Every week, you get a shipment of fresh, cold O-negative blood, giving you ample supply for every occasion. But a sandstorm had interrupted the usual shipment yesterday, and while you knew that the shipment was supposed to arrive at noon later today, that didn’t help you now.

Gaz gagged, blood gurgling from his throat.

“Shit, shit,” Soap said, his mohawk slicked with his friend’s blood. “Is he gonna make it, doc?” Soldiers huddled around you, supplies in their hands. You ripped strips of gauze and placed them over his throat, slowing the bleeding before you started on his gutted stomach. 

“We’re out of transfusion blood,” you announced. “Is any soldier here O-negative?”

Silence. No human soldier would volunteer to give his own blood to a wolf. 

Except you. You nodded, swiping an alcohol swab into the crease of your elbow before connecting the two of you with an IV, the bright red of your blood flowing into his veins at the gasps of both human and wolf around you.

It would stir up the healing process so you worked quickly, Amon, another medic, joining you as you worked on closing his stomach.

It felt like hours before his pulse grew strong again, but you knew it could only be ten, twenty minutes. You slid the IV out of your arm, blinking as black spots appeared in your vision.

You might have given a bit too much. 

Gaz looked at you, his dark eyes replaced by an eerie yellow stare. A chill stole up your spine. 

 “Good morning,” you said through numb lips, taking a peek under the gauze on his throat. It was now only a pale scar, just a memory of a wound. “Look at that, soldier, you’re practically brand new.”

Gaz smiled weakly, his head falling back into the dirt. Soap whooped, gripping your shoulder in a vicious hug. “Good job, lass, I thought the pup was gone for sure.”

You stumbled at the weight of him, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Amon, will you get him set up in the infirmary? I think I need a moment.”

Price waved Soap off, gripping your elbow in a guiding hold. “Ease off the poor girl, Johnny, she’s dead on her feet.”

Soap merely grinned apologetically, ruffling your bedhead with a rough palm before helping the others move Gaz into the infirmary. 

Ghost stood behind you, a reaper in sand-colored tactical pants. Price pushed you gently into Ghost’s direction, “Get her something to eat, Lieutenant.” “I’m alright,” you tried to insist, a spike of nerves in your belly about being with Ghost. He was the least human of them all.

“That was an order, doc,” Ghost said, his voice a dry rumble as his hand fell on your shoulder. “Go on.”

You allowed yourself to be herded to 141’s tent, having half a mind to curl up in one of their bunks and sleep until dawn, free from the smell of blood and antiseptic. 

Their tent was neat and smelled, well, like an animal den–not unpleasant, just overwhelmingly…male. 

Ghost nudged you towards the sink without a word. 

It took you a moment to see that you were still wearing gloves, caked in Gaz’s blood. You stripped them off, then began soaping up your hands and forearms, scrubbing the red from your skin.

When you were clean, you hovered over a cot, about to take a seat for your shaky legs.

Ghost stiffened from where he was crouched, his hands in a tub of supplies. “Not that one.” You glanced down, seeing the Scottish flag on the wall, the photos of a couple that looked exactly like Johnny. “Oh, sorry.” 

He jerked his head to another cot, this one bare of any decoration except for a cold cup of tea. You assumed it was Price’s, perhaps he doesn’t mind the stench of a human on his sheets.

You took a seat, your hands trembling in your lap. Ghost tossed an army bar your way. “Eat,” he said, in a tone that didn’t invite an argument. 

“Ew,” you said, eyeing the packaging. He gave you a dark-eyed look, the kind that probably made wolves bare their bellies and whine. “Oh fine,” you huffed, tearing into it. It was awful, the kind of chalky that let you know they stuffed enough nutrition and calories in the bland, tasteless bar to keep a soldier going for days. You chewed and watched Ghost shift around in the makeshift kitchen, heating a pot of water over a spindly propane stove.

Was he making-

“Drink this,” Ghost said, passing over a cup of tea. He kept one for himself, pulling up a chair to sit across from you. He was still filthy from whatever mission the Captain had set them on, blood and dirt smeared over his gear and mask.

“Thank you,” you said, sniffing it doubtfully. You were American, so you didn’t have much taste for tea unless it was iced and sweet. 

But when someone like Ghost makes you a cup of tea, you drink the fucking tea.

He nodded, turning away from you so he could lift his mask over his mouth to drink his tea. You looked away quickly, focusing your attention on the Scotland flag on Soap’s corner.

The two of you sit in silence for a long time, long enough that your cup is drained and you’re blinking heavily at the darkness still outside.

“Go on,” Ghost said, slipping the cup out of your hand.

You hide a yawn, pushing yourself up from the bed.“It’s alright, LT, I’ve got my own bed somewhere.” “You have half a dozen men in your tent, love.” Ghost backed you up against the bed, his heavy hand on your shoulder. “Sleep. We’ll keep an eye on Kyle.”

It made sense. You kicked off your boots and curled up on the cot, hiding your throbbing head in a pillow that smelled like gunpowder and musk. 

Ghost ducked out of the tent as you laid down, your eyes falling on a skull mask folded up neatly beside the cot.

It was then that you realized this was his bed. 

[astoundingbeyondbelief]

Deleted/altered Monsterverse scenes in Godzilla & Kong: The Cinematic Storyboard Art of Richard Bennett

Kong: Skull Island

There's a longer opening sequence, with Marlowe discovering Gunpei's camp instead of them both crashing at around the same time.

Conrad stows away on the expedition instead of being hired as a tracker

Weaver and Conrad meet at a Philadelphia train station (no clue what the context was).

Kong swings around a helicopter while the gunner is still firing and the bullets hit another helicopter, which I think is the closest he's ever come to using a gun.

Packard's group watches Kong fight the Mire Squid instead of Chapman.

Very different take on the Iwi village, with smaller lost ships/planes incorporated into the architecture.

The big one: Conrad flashes back to an encounter with King Ghidorah in Vietnam. The three-headed monster's silhouette is basically just the Godzilla vs. King Ghidorah version, but he has at least five prehensile tails he uses to snatch up soldiers.

Conrad and Weaver are tied to a tree during the napalm plot against Kong. Another character sets them free and they go wild on a few soldiers, with Weaver hitting one on the head with a rock. The Skull Devil emerges in a separate scene.

Kong uses a plane wing as a weapon in the final fight.

The Skull Devil has a grappling tail similar to that of Otachi in Pacific Rim.

The Iwi fight Conrad's group (I think) as the Gray Fox is lowered down a waterfall with a pulley system and something ambushes Kong in the background. This one was especially hard to make any sense of without dialogue.

Godzilla: King of the Monsters

Jonah spies on Emma and Madison as they drive to Mothra's temple.

The video montage in the Senate hearing is done via hologram. A mushroom cloud is displayed while Serizawa argues with a senator.

Mark bows to a wolf that approaches him in a nice bit of foreshadowing.

Mothra arrives in Boston alongside Godzilla instead of turning up later.

Godzilla vs. Kong

In an alternate opening, the Iwi retell the history between Godzilla and Kong's species using highly-elaborate puppets. There's a horned character loaded with weapons who briefly traps Godzilla in a cage and transforms into a Rodan-like figure. An ancient mecha?

Text mentions that "the Pensacola/Florida Godzilla attack scene was going to be much longer, involving a mall stampede.

A massive explosion takes place on Skull Island (I believe coming from the Vile Vortex there).

Jia is first shown signing with Kong just before the fleet engages Godzilla.

In true kaiju kid fashion, Jia messes with the controls of the ship to set Kong loose.

Nathan discovers his brother's crash site in the Hollow Earth and gets into a fight with several guards. This scene was definitely filmed.

Bernie was at one point a woman (drawn with ultra-short hair, although in general the human characters in these storyboards bear little resemblance to their screen counterparts).

Kong finds a skeleton of another member of his species sitting on the throne. He breaks off the skull, stares at it, and throws it aside.

Group troops engage Godzilla and Kong during their Hong Kong fight; neither even notices.

Mechagodzilla coils into a semi-sphere to deflect Godzilla's atomic breath.

Echoing his fight with Kong, Godzilla tries to outrun Mechagodzilla's Proton Scream through the streets of Hong Kong.

[coyotebrisket]

Gray fox (eastern) - full pelt - M

old man gray fox out of the tan, had a healing puncture on his left ear and some quite worn teeth. I’ll probably clean his skull up too some time in the spring!

[hmtaxidermy]

Cleaned a fox with a pellet to the nose

[zaptrapp]

Imagine The Bad Batch members angry at eachother or just in the mood to get on their bro’s last nerve and to reprimand the mischievous brother they start calling them the most absurd names…

Hunter

Hunnie, Hun, Huntie (he hates cute diminutives of his name, to be called cute and soft).

Miracle Blade serie 3, Skull Head (by Wrecker).

Pursuer (by Tech, don’t need to explain any further).

Hunta’ (by Echo, regs or anyone that has a death wish)

Sensodyne (like the toothpaste yes) since he has enhanced senses.

Half Pint/ Shot Glass (since he’s shorter than his bros)

Tech

TECHNOLOGY!! (by anyone who’s angry at him, mostly by his mom Hunter)

Specs/Specky (works the same as goggles)

Droid (derogatory, by Crosshair)

Don Giovanni, Mr. Steal Your Gf (by Wrecker since he had that thing with Phee going on).

Loudspeaker (by Echo)

Crosshair

Reticle, Collimator or Bullseye (mostly by Tech, he thinks it’s funny and should be his actual first name).

Toothpick Destroyer (by Wrecker)

Moaning Myrtle, Grumpy Grandfather (by Hunter)

Gray goose, Silver fox

Dried Plum

Wrecker

Food processor (by Tech)

Bottomless Pit (by anyone that has seen him eat)

Mr Boombastic

One Man Army (by Hunter)

Weights Belt, Triangle man, Meat Ball (by Crosshair)

Echo

Reverberation (by Tech… yes).

“FIVES! Oh, sorry…” (exclusively by Rex in a fit of anger for accident, like a grandma exchanging nephew’s names 20 times before getting yours right)

Mom (by Omega)

Kitchen Robot (that one time when Hunter tried to make “ends meet” by selling him as a droid).

That one serious reg (by Crosshair since I’ve never heard him call Echo… Echo. I don’t think he knows he has a name).

Omega (but they don’t get angry with her)

My daughter, kiddo, (by Hunter)

Tiny bundle of joy (by Tech)

Sweetness, cutiepie, bunny (by Wrecker)

Little birdie (by Crosshair YES HE CALLS HER THAT)

Peanut, Tuppence (by Echo)

SNOOPER! (by everyone)

[pacificremains]

Gray fox skull dyed with pisolithus fungus

[moriah-dooodles]

The moment you all have been waiting for:

HERE IT IS!!! This is my ENTIRE plushie collection!!!

Also featuring my keychain board, pins, and Eclipse Funko Pop in the background!

I feel like these photos do a good job of showing both my personality and my obsessions…

Plushies featured:

- Squishmallows: Triscuit (red panda), Finix (fox), Stardust (gray owl), Tree-Stump (deer), Strawberry (pink owl), Marshmallow (cat) & Ice-Cube (penguin)!

- Pusheen

- Purple Stitch

- Poley the Polar Bear (stuffy I’ve had the longest/childhood stuffy)

- Pea (Pea-pod) the green chick

- Kuma (Rilak Kuma)

- Grape the crochet stegosaurus 

- Five Nights at Freddy’s: Sun, Moon, Eclipse, Foxy, Funtime Freddy, & El Chip

- Rise Of The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Turtle Tot Raph, Mikey, & Donnie (Leo sold out)

- Mystery Skulls Animated: Arthur & Vivi

- The Amazing Digital Circus: Jax & Pomni

- Poppy Playtime: CatNap & DogDay

[starsandink13]

The White Crow Game Chapter 7

The white doors gave way with a deep, grating groan that sounded like a dying person. Light from outside flooded a small part of the art gallery, revealing walls painted a deathly gray. It was a vast room cloaked in a deep, impregnable gloom. The only thing you could make out was marble floor and the long black runner carpet on it. Taking in a deep breath, you took a quiet step forward. The lights above you turned on suddenly, making you gasp. You relaxed slightly and put a hand over your racing heart before turning your attention back to your surroundings.

There was of course, the statues and paintings featuring Corvin that you were accustomed to by now: there were also artworks that featured different but just as unnerving subject matters. Some were still-lifes of vases with skulls and insects crawling over dying and withering flowers. Others were landscapes that featured gray woods cloaked in heavy fog with ghostly figures peering from behind the dead trees with their yellow glowing eyes. A few were watercolors of dimly-lit abandoned dungeons covered in cobwebs with various torture instruments caked in old dried blood. There were some statues of black and white marble in the shape of crows, owls, foxes, snakes, spiders, and other animals associated with trickery and magic.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you held your satchel closer to you. Your heart drummed in your chest like a frightened bird, a cold sweat clung to your back. You took another hesitant step into the gallery, and the doors behind you slammed closed.

"No, no, no!" You yelled and jiggled the knob, but it remained firmly locked. You squeezed your eyes and let out a scream of frustration from your throat.

Damn it, of course it had to do that!

You took a moment to calm your frayed nerves down, turning around and braced yourself for whatever horrors that may be lurking. No way but forward. Either find the key or a way out of this gallery before something else happens.

As you hurriedly walked, you noticed a large and detailed painting featuring a handsome man lying down on a stone and wearing only a white loincloth being impaled through the stomach by a trio of black-cloaked angels wielding spears. His body was contorted into a rather sensual pose and his face was a cross between ecstasy and agony. The man's dark eyes were rolled back with his mouth partially open as blood trickled down from the side and the stark lighting highlighted his bare, muscled chest.

What a charming painting. You grimaced and turned away from the artwork.

The further you walked, the stronger your dread grew tenfold and the disquieting silence made it worse, making each echoing footstep sound deafening. It felt as if your feet were made of blocks of ice; each step was agonizingly slow as you half-expected something to attack you. Your skin had broken out into small bumps, even the slightest brush of your clothes was unbearably uncomfortable. The gallery seemed to stretch on for miles, the artwork became more sinister the further you walked. Almost as if they were alive. You looked over your shoulder to see an alabaster statue of Corvin with its head turned towards you and wearing a devilish expression with an impossibly wide grin.

I-I could have sworn it wasn't looking this way! You shivered, your heart felt like it was going to burst from terror. The palm of your hands was drenched with sweat, making it difficult to hold onto your knife. Keep moving. Don't look over your shoulder. Just continue on.

You wiped the sweat from your palms with the side of your jeans. Your heart thrummed in your chest, each beat was unbearably loud in your ears. The temperature in the room seemed to have dropped, causing tiny bumps on your arms despite your heavy jacket. A cold drop of sweat rolled down your chin. Your breath came out in short, labored pants. The sound of chuckling came from behind you.

Reeling around, you held your knife in front of you and darted your eyes across the gallery. The air was thick and cold; each breath you took felt like breathing in small, icy needles. You readied yourself for an attack but continued walking, holding your knife tighter.

A few paintings from where you stood, you saw a portrait that had a key in his hand at the forefront. You smiled broadly and ran towards the canvas. Your relief was short-lived as you came closer and noticed that the painting only had the silhouette of a key.

You stomped your foot in frustration and clenched your forehead with your hand. That little--! Of course he would hide it again!

As you grumbled, the sound of scraping stone came from behind you.

What was that!?

Quickly turning around, you watched in horror as one of the statues began to move. First a little twitch in its fingers before it cracked its neck. The statue stretched out its fingers, testing out its heavy marble body before approaching you with a stiff gait and smile.

"Hello (Y/N)," Corvin's voice came out of the animated statue as it slightly bowed its head.

You were too frozen with shock to respond. Your open mouth was quivering, trying to find what words to say to the being. You clenched the knife in your hand tighter. The pounding of your heart was nearly deafening as it took another step towards you.

"Can you hear me?" The marble being tilted its head to one side.

"Y-yes. What the hell is this!?" You shouted.

"Any artwork bearing his resemblance are representatives of the mansion's master; they do his bidding when he cannot be present for whatever reason." The statue explained.

"Why isn't he here when he was perfectly fine appearing out of nowhere to annoy me before!?" You demanded.

"That we cannot tell you," the statue shook its head.

Because he's trying to find a new place for the key. You squeezed your eyes, trying to stifle back the scream in your throat.

"I see," you grumbled.

"He has summoned us-- well, rather animated us-- to see how you are and to ask you of your preferences."

"Preferences?" You raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, for the wedding ceremony." A painting said as the figure in it leaned back on the sofa within its frame.

"Of course," you put a hand over your eyes, not bothering to suppress your groan anymore. You slowly put your hand down to see that the statue was waiting patiently for your answer with a pen and note in its hands.

"Can you put that away?" You snarled, "I am not in the mood to answer any questions for this stupid wedding!"

The statue nodded its head and put the pen and note aside on a nearby table as a Corvin wearing a heavy cloak with a spiderweb damask from the painting next to you leapt out from the frame. It looked at its arms before clenching its hands a few times, turning one of its arms a few times over before doing the same thing to the other one. It gingerly put a hand on your shoulder and gave you a stiff smile.

"Please take a seat," he said and patted his hand on a chaise.

You did as the painting told you and the room suddenly became chillier. You shivered as small bumps rose on your skin and wrapped your arms over yourself in a feeble effort to warm yourself. The statue attempted to take off the coat, only to realize that it was attached to its body.

"Pardon that," it sheepishly said and looked away from you.

The living painting shook its head and walked over to where you were. You flinched as it sat down on your left, the painted Corvin draped its dark silk cape over your shoulders.

"Is that any better?" It asked.

You nodded your head a bit and dropped your head. Exhaustion made every part of your body ached: from the soles of your feet to your throbbing finger tips. All of your limbs and joints felt heavy, as if they were made of solid metal.

"Tired?" The painted fairy asked and put your head on its lap.

"Yeah," you murmured. You were too weary to protest and let him run his lithe, pale fingers through your (H/C) hair. You closed your eyes and let out a small sigh.

"From the game?" The living artwork continued.

"Mhmm," you mumbled and buried your face further into the painting's lap. You opened your eyes slightly to see it giving you a tranquil and soothing smile.

"Poor thing," it said as it pulled a stray lock away from your face. "You deserve a bit of rest after all of that you've been through."

You raised your head slightly to get a better look at it, only for the painting to gently push your head back down. You threw your arm over its lap and turned on your side.

"Why not just marry him?" It asked and brushed a lock of hair out of your face.

"Why should I?" You countered, your voice muffled by exhaustion and its lap.

"A better question is why wouldn't you?" The painting responded. "You wouldn't have to worry about anything ever again. You won't have to answer to anyone and you don't have to worry about such silly things like bills nor deadlines. But most importantly, if you want something, he'll provide it. He'd be a slave to you and your whims."

You numbly nodded your head and pulled the cloak closer to you. Your exhaustion had almost completely numbed your mind and body. You wanted nothing more but to fall asleep in the fairy's lap. Thoughts of never having to worry about paying your bills on time, budgeting, or putting up with annoying co-workers ever again played in your head. The thought of spending each day in luxury in a grand mansion with everything you could possibly want at your fingertips swam through your mind. The more you thought about it the stronger it became. You wanted it. You could almost feel it within reach, just barely grazing your fingers.

"That sounds absolutely..."

You stopped when the statue and painting was leaning in closer, its eyes almost seemed to glow with victory. You realized what Corvin was doing. This is was his way of trapping and making you lose. To wear you out and exhaust you until you couldn't take it any more and give up.

"...Awful." You spat out as shoved the painting away from you and stood up with your chest out. Your determined, (E/C) eyes glared into the cold, blank ones of the painted fairy.

Every painting and statue went still. Their blank eyes were trained on you. A stifling, heavy tension filled the air. The lights began to flicker and a chorus of deafening screams filled the gallery.

The nearest Corvin lunged out towards you. You screamed and jumped away from them. On the walls, the other painted Corvins leapt out from their confines or begun to drag themselves towards you with half their bodies out of the frames. All of the artworks' eyes were completely black and their faces twisted with an unholy anger.

You shrieked as one of the marble Corvins grabbed for your ankle. Swiftly bringing your foot up you stomped on the statue's face. Pins of pain shot up your leg and you gasped before stomping into it once more. The nose broke off and the statue let go of you. You scrambled away from it as an ocean of portraits crawled after you. Not even ten steps in and one of the paintings made a grab for your wrist. You tripped over pedestal as they swiped at your legs. You gasped and struggled to stand up.

This distraction allowed for a painting to charge into you. Before you could react, it grabbed your wrist tightly almost to the point of breaking the bones underneath. Its lips were twisted in a giant grin, revealing knife-like teeth.

"No!" You cried out and tried to pull your arm away, only for it to tighten its grip and making you yell in pain.

Your eyes were wide with horror as the painting slowly sank back into its canvas, pulling you towards it. The other artworks watched with anticipation and victory as your hand got closer towards the canvas. With a shaking hand, you grabbed the knife and stabbed the painting in time as your fingers nearly grazed the canvas.

A sharp cry of pain came from the portrait before it let go of you. The surrounding art screamed in frustration and continued their chase. As a statue grabbed at you from the side, you quickly dodged its grasp and it collided into another-- shattering into rubble.

Your legs felt like they were being stung by wasps as you ran. Each breath you took was painful, like you were inhaling nails. Your bleary eyes strained for the exit.

Where is it!?

You screamed as a statue grabbed for your wrist. You stumbled backwards, nearly falling into the arms of another behind you. The artwork was starting to close in on you. Their mouths were pulled into gaping black smiles and they let out a collective, chilling laugh. You threw the knife in the air, diverting their attention as you sprinted through the small gap. You felt their fingers pulling at your jacket and pants.

By now, your head felt like it was filled with stones. The throbbing pain in your legs worsened with each step. Just as you were about to collapse, the doors came into view and you let out a small cry of joy. Biting back the discomfort, you ran faster towards the escape.

You slammed the door open. The army of artwork let out a collective shrill, earsplitting scream like a plague of locusts as you shut the door closed on them with a grunt. Quickly, you barricaded the door with a table and chair and took a step back. Splinters of wood shot towards you as the artworks barged against the door.

"(Y/N), let us in!" They screamed in a distorted voice. "Let us in right now!"

You shrieked as a large splinter narrowly missed your shoulder. Peering from the jagged hole was countless pairs of soulless black eyes. Before you could run over to the exit, the barricade gave way and the first wave of Corvins came in. Their eyes were wild as they exposed grinning maws full of sharpened teeth.

"It's over now," the one at front cackled.

You grabbed the candle from the pedestal in time for the nearest painting to leap at you. You struck the painting in the face with the lit candle. Its body erupted into flames and screamed in agony as it stumbled backwards, setting the other paintings on fire. Horrified screams ripped from them as they tried to scramble away from the raging inferno. The flames began to spread, licking away at its surroundings as a thick cloud of smoke filled the air. You coughed and crawled low to the ground as the artwork was distracted from the chaos.

Your vision was getting hazy and was spotted by large, black dots. The smoke leeched away whatever little strength you had left in your weakened body. The fire was coming closer to you. Barely four feet away from your foot. It inched closer with each second.

C-come on. You coughed as you struggled to stand up. You leaned against the exit's door, each movement felt impossibly heavy and slow. You could barely see the outline of your hand. Hot sweat rolled down your face and made your shirt heavy and cling to your back. Your shaking hand reached for the doorknob.

Little more....

As the fire was about to lick the hem of your pants, you finally opened the door. You collapsed out of the room and slammed the door shut behind with your numb foot. Massive beads of sweat dripped down the side of your face as you stared at the the door in shock.

I can't believe it. You looked down at your quivering hands and let out a choked cry of relief. I'm still alive.

You heard someone click their tongue in annoyance and you turned your head. Behind you, Corvin shook his head as he approached you with a look of disappointment on his face.

"What a shame," he said and opened the door: revealing that the fire was now gone. The only things left behind were destroyed remnants of canvases and furniture smoldering with plumes of black smoke.

"Some of them were commissions by my favorite artists," he lamented.

"Maybe you should have thought of that before you sent them to attack me," you snapped, your voice trembling from exhaustion.

"Fair enough," he said, "I can always get the artists to redo it."

Corvin approached a burnt piece of canvas and gingerly picked it up. "Really is such a shame. I liked that portrait a lot. He really emphasized my best features: such as my eyes and cheekbones."

You shakily stood up and brushed the front of your shirt, giving the fairy a withering glare. To which he responded with a barely noticeable but arrogant smirk. Before he could make another comment, you shoved your hands into his coat pockets and began to feel around for the key before moving onto his pants' pockets.

"Oh?" He tilted his head in curiosity with his half-lidded eyes twinkling.

"Take off your hat. Now." You demanded.

To your surprise, Corvin obliged and lowered his head towards you: revealing a full head of alabaster hair that shined radiantly in the light. Without the shadow of his hat, you saw that his eyelashes were long and black, and that his lash lines were rimmed with black kohl. You slowly ran your fingers through the silky, smooth locks. Carefully, you felt for the key through the thick strands of hair only to find nothing. You patted down his shoulders before moving down to his chest, patting that down as well only to feel nothing but the toned pectorals underneath his shirt.

"Damn it," you huffed and adjusted your jacket.

"My, if you wanted physical affection, you could have just said so," he snickered.

You rolled your eyes, not having the energy to argue with Corvin any further and stormed away from him.

"I wonder where you'll head to next," he pondered and put a finger to his chin. "There's so much left of this mansion to explore and you've only scratched the surface."